#but now it's five am and I have been on the internets all night

[genderqueerboy]

imagine how easy life would be if I actually got tired at the time you're meant to get tired and not all the other times.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Buzzed

steddie, omegaverse, modern AU, Eddie got out of Hawkins and got famous

Most days it’s easy to pretend. Steve and Robin share a house and a workplace and most of a life in Indianapolis. He can usually forget how he and Eddie almost had something.

But that was before Eddie moved to L.A. to try doing something with his music, found his way into playing a busker in an indie film that miraculously got oscar buzz, and suddenly he’s a household name, booking tons of projects.

And Steve is happy for him!

Really!

He is.

It’s just… He misses having Eddie around. How excitable and goofy he can be, but also having a thoughtful alpha to hang out with other than Robin.

Not to mention his campfire scent and the way his callused fingers feel against Steve’s skin.

They still talk occasionally, texting mostly, little check-ins every couple months, but Steve hasn’t seen Eddie in-person in at least five years.

That’s why it’s easy to pretend. Steve’s old friend, Eddie, and Eddie Munson, alpha movie star, are two different people.

Steve’s crush can exist between the pages of magazines and on internet gossip sites.

He can moon over the pics from Eddie’s photoshoots that he has saved on his phone in private. Can keep his fantasies contained in his nest as he imagines his fingers sliding into short curls.

At least until he gets a call from Dustin on an unassuming Friday night. Steve and Robin are already nearly through a bottle of wine, kicking their feet up after a long week of teaching, when Steve’s phone rings.

“Eddie’s next movie is shooting in Chicago,” Dustin starts.

“And he’s flying out early so he can stop in Indy for a week. I may have told him he should skip the hotel and stay in your guest room.”

“Dustin!”

“What? You’ve got one of the mattresses from the podcast ads in there! It’s comfy! And that way he doesn’t have to deal with paps!”

“Can you just say paparazzi like a normal person?” Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “But it should be fine. When does he get in?”

“Next weekend.”

“Dustin!”

“I only just found out! El and I are driving down in a week, and Mike and Will are only able to skype in.”

He doesn’t mention Lucas and Max, since they also live in Indy; Dustin and El are likely staying with them.

Robin elbows Steve and hisses for him to put the call on speaker, getting caught up as Steve has a private crisis at the thought of finally seeing Eddie again.

To make matters worse, his totally not stalkerish web alert for Eddie’s name pings after he hangs up with Dustin. A new photo shoot.

Eddie’s curls are gone, buzzed down to his scalp; Steve mourns for a fraction of a second.

Then he needs to squeeze his thighs together.

The wanting that he’s been squashing down for the better part of a decade comes back in full force, strong enough that Robin asks if his cycle is early and he’s going into heat.

Blushing, but knowing he can’t keep a secret from her to save his life, he shows her his phone.

“All I can see is how noticeable his ears are now,” Robin says with a judging look and a shrug. “And I am never going to buy Eddie as a tough guy, but I guess I can understand what you omegas see in him.”

“Rooooob!” Steve whines, indignant.

“Steeeeeve!” she teases back.

“I just… Fuck, I need to get laid.”

“I’m sure Eddie would if you asked him nicely.”

“Rob!”

“He looks like he could hold you down, get you to stop stressing so much.”

“Robin… I can’t think about that.”

“Sure you can.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, and you know why: The bulk of the conversations Eddie and I still have are about you. He always asks me how you are, what you’re up to, at least once a month.”

Steve’s taken aback by that. “What?”

“Yeah. He usually asks if you’re seeing anyone. Tries to sneak it in. Like I’m not going to notice.”

She raises a single eyebrow, and Steve feels intensely confused. “Then how come he doesn’t ask me? Or talk to me more?” He tips back the last of his wine and pulls his legs up tight to his chest.

“Because you’re both idiots,” Robin says, voice warm and full of love as she hugs him.

A week later, a car with dark tinted windows pulls up in Robin and Steve’s driveway.

Eddie has a baseball hat and sunglasses on as he gets out, the disguise barely enough obscure his features, but even if it were better, Steve would still recognize him by his posture.

Robin is out running errands and picking up dinner, but mostly giving Steve an hour of privacy. A chance to say something before either of them can get stuck inside their heads and fuck it up.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie says with a smile as he pulls off his sunglasses in the entryway.

“Hey yourself,” Steve replies, pulling Eddie in for a hug, ready to make it quick, only for Eddie to hold on tight and press his nose to Steve’s neck. A purr rumbles from his chest.

Steve reaches up and pulls the hat from Eddie’s head, letting it fall to the ground.

He rubs his fingers over the stubble of the alpha’s hair, keeping him pressed close to the bonding gland at his neck, his scent crying out for Eddie to claim him.

Soft lips ghost against Steve’s neck. “I missed you,” Eddie whispers.

“Missed you, too.”

Steve kisses the side of Eddie’s head, the only part he can reach, lips pressed to the velvet of his shorn hair. Then it’s like his brain suddenly catches up with him. “Sorry! We- I didn’t-”

Eddie presses a single finger to Steve’s lips, finally pulling back to look in his eyes.

Without his curls, Eddie’s gaze is somehow more intense, dark chocolate looking into Steve’s heart. “Don’t apologize, puppy. You have nothing to apologize for, not to me.”

“Eddie…”

“I’m the one who ran away, who’s been hiding instead of alpha-ing up and telling you.”

“Telling me what?” Steve asks, lower lip trembling.

“That even after all this time, I can’t get your scent out of my nose. That I still dream about you every night. That I work so much to keep from going insane missing you. That I sh-”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss.

Eddie doesn’t waste any more time, just picks Steve up, their lips still connected, and carries him to the nearest bedroom—fortunately Steve’s—and drops him on the bed. Getting out of their clothes doesn’t take long; they’ve both waited long enough.

And Robin will be home soon.

Part 2

Now expanded into a full fic! Read here

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: It's Rebecca Black day

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As expected, your mother is waiting anxiously for your return. It’s not often you’re at the mercy of her disapproval but she has some choice words for both you and Roxie.

Why didn’t you call? You forgot to, everything was so chaotic. Why would you make me worry like that? You know how I am, it isn’t fair to not answer your phone. I was about to call the police. You’ve heard the same aimed at your sister dozens of times but it’s much different to be at the end of it. 

Once she’s done and you feel thoroughly guilty, you retreat to your room. That’s all you wanted. For the last day, all you wanted was to hide away. Yet, now that you’re safely behind familiar walls, you still feel unsettled. 

That’s enough excitement for a lifetime. How does Roxie think that is fun? It’s terrifying. 

You take out your laptop, your most prized possession, and sink back into your virtual cave. It’s safe there. The things you see on the internet are distant and often times fake. Fanfiction and streams and discussion boards. It’s all so menial and unimportant. It’s not finding a job and dragging your butt to work five days a week or disappointing your mother. 

Mm, well, you should check the job boards again. Something’s going to come up eventually. That’s what everyone says and those people have jobs. Even Roxie works, even if it is at a night club. It’s work and she brings home some impressive tips. When your mom asked her to get you a gig, she just laughed. 

You interviewed at Taco Bell a few weeks ago but you haven’t got a call. That’s probably not going to work out. Move on, try again and again and again. 

The computer doesn’t keep your focus as usual. Maybe it’s that you’re overtired or that your mom was so upset or everything that happened last night, but you just can’t rein it in. You close your laptop and lay flat on your bed. You close your eyes, exhaustion hot on your eyelids, but you can’t sleep. You’re no good at napping. What are you good at? 

You sigh and kick your feet. What are you going to do? You can’t spend another summer like this. You’re not like everyone else. You didn’t get into your school and you didn’t get some lofty job from your uncle’s company. As much as you can blame it on other’s luck, you have to acknowledge you’re own shortcoming. You procrastinate, you get nervous, and sometimes, you just avoid things altogether. 

You get up and grab your purse. The strap catches on your sweater and knocks it onto the floor. You search for your phone and pull it out. You bend to retrieve your cardigan and toss it with your purse back onto the dress. You look down as something flutters onto the carpet. 

You didn’t forget about the little note. It’s the weight that been on your shoulders. You take your phone and the paper and sit on the side of the bed. You can rip it up, crumple it and toss it in the bin, pretend nothing ever happened. You should. Just forget about the worst night of your life. 

You can’t. It’s not about your sister’s drunken display or your embarrassment. It’s about a job.  

You hang your head as your nose tingles. Your mom works her butt off and she’s so giving. You want to return the favour. Even if it’s small. Even if it’s just you paying for some of the groceries or a bill or giving her a few bucks. If you don’t try this time, you won’t be able to forget. You’ll always know that you are the reason you came up short. 

You unlock your phone and key in the number. You drop it and let the paper fall too as you stand. You pace around in circles until you’re dizzy. You hate making phone calls. The sound of your own voice is grating. Ugh.  

No, you have to do it. You can do this. It’s one phone call. What if that’s the job? What if you’re answering a phone? Get over yourself. Grow up! 

You pick up your phone and hit call. Your chest locks up. You can’t breathe. Oh god. If you can’t breathe you can’t speak. You hang up and squeak. Frig. No, don’t give up. 

You try again. This time, you force out an exhale and shakily hold the phone to your ear. There’s an answer after two rings. 

“Barnes,” a voice declares from the other end. 

“Erm, oh, Bucky? It’s... me,” you stutter out, giving your name as you realise he won’t recognise your voice. 

“Ah, hi, doll, give me a moment, one sec,” he says and you hear a scuffing on the other end and a muffled ‘excuse me’. His movement rustles and he clears his throat directly into the speaker, “there we are, doll, all yours. How are you?” 

“Uh, alright, I’m fine, er, oh... you?” You close your eyes, Just melt into a puddle and absorb into the carpet.  

“Doing great now, hearing from you,” he purrs, “I’m very happy you called.” 

“Mhm, well...” you put your hand to your neck. Your skin is burning. “I... was calling about the job. In the note.” 

“Of course, doll, so you’re interested?” 

Desperate, but you won’t tell him that. “Yes, please, I mean--” you cringe. You’re not ordering ice cream, “would... what would be... would there be an interview?” 

“Sure, doll,” he says. His tone is light and airy. Is he making fun of you or are you just self-conscious? Both, probably. “How about you come by the casino tomorrow at noon? Does that work for you?” 

“Yeah, uh, whenever,” you agree, “I can get a ride.” 

“Sounds like a plan. Can’t wait,” he coos. 

“Right, uh, okay, yeah, I’ll see you,” you babble dumbly. 

“Mm, yeah, see ya then, doll,” he intones. 

“Yep, er, bye.” 

“Bye--” 

You hang up in a half-panic. You did it. You made the call and you got an interview. You think. The conversation wasn’t what you expected but you think it went well.  

You blow out through your lips and grip your phone tight. Your heart hammers again. You march to the door and stop just before you can grip the knob. You’re excited but scared to tell your mom. 

You swing the door open and clammer through. You hear her in the kitchen doing dishes. It’s Roxie turn so of course your sister is sitting on the couch nursing another coffee. 

“Mom,” you slow and tap your phone against your leg as you stop by the counter, “I... I got an interview.” 

“An interview?” Her surprise is genuine, both in her expression and her voice as she looks at you. Her face blooms in a smile. “That’s wonderful. When?” 

“Tomorrow,” you utter. 

“Tomorrow?” She echoes. 

“At noon.” 

“Noon, okay, I can come home from work and drive you, but you’ll have to get a cab home. I should have enough for the fare.” 

“Ah, yeah, okay,” you clutch your phone in front of you and sway, “thanks.” 

“No problem,” she chimes, “where is it?” 

“What?” 

“The interview.” 

“Oh, at the casino.” 

“The casino?” She turns back to the sink and stares into the water as she scrubs, “hm, interesting. What will you be doing?” 

“Hm, I... don’t know yet. Maybe a cleaner.” 

“Oh, that’s not bad at all,” she says, “think I have a shirt you can wear. Maybe I could hem a pair of my pants for you tonight.” 

“Mom, you don’t have to--” 

“You should look nice,” she undercuts, “it’s not a big deal. Besides, it would be really good if you got a job.” 

You nod. You can hear the thinness in her voice. She tries to hide it but you know it’s not easy around here. You saw the red notice in the mail box and heard her on the phone with the landlord. The bough is close to breaking. 

“Thanks, I’ll... I’ll do my best.” 

“I know you will,” she trills. 

You smile and go back to your room. You shut the door and shudder. Great, now you’ve hurdled over the phone call, you can dread what comes next. Not just venturing out into the general public but going to an interview. It’s one thing after another. It feels like a lot after so long of nothing. 

🃏

Your mom lets you out in Lot 4. It’s far from the main entrance but she’s in a hurry to get back to work. You won’t keep her. You can walk a bit. 

The sun has you sweating along with the polyester trousers. The belt is pinned and the legs have been hastily hemmed. The blouse doesn’t breathe either but you managed to iron the wrinkle out of the sleeve. 

You come to the front doors and steel yourself. Your mascara sticks as you feel the perspiration around your eyes. Oof. You did your best to follow the tutorial with your sister's borrowed makeup but you skipped the eye liner; it only ever turns out smudgy. 

You enter and the air conditioning cools the heat in your cheeks and chest. The woman behind the counter greets you with a smile and a ‘how are you’ before asking if you’re checking in. You’re almost speechless at the sight of her. She’s so pretty and she can do the contour the way those girls on Youtube do. You wouldn’t be good for that job; not gorgeous like her. 

“Um, yeah, actually, I’m here for an interview,” you say. 

“An interview?” She tilts her head, “I didn’t see anything...” she clicks around with the slim mouse on the desk, “who were you interviewing with?” 

“Bucky, uh, Mr. Barnes,” you say. “Well, I spoke with him. Maybe I’m supposed to talk to someone else?” 

She says your name and glances from the screen to you. You nod, “yeah?” 

“Right, okay, I see,” she keeps her shining smile, “Mr. Barnes has a car waiting for you.” 

“A car?” Your brows pop up. “Alright.” 

“If you just want to head back out, it should be waiting there. You’ll see Merv, he has white hair.” 

“Okay, thanks,” you reply then gulp as you turn around. 

You turn slowly and go back to the doors. What is going on? He said to meet him here but he isn’t here? He would be a busy man. You just hope you don’t blow it. 

You pull the doors open and come down the shallow steps. A man with white hair stands by a dark car. One more mountain to climb. 

“Uh, hello, are you... Merv?” 

“That’s me, miss,” he stands straight, “you must be the lady.” 

“I... guess.” 

“Come on then,” he turns and opens the door, “Mr. Barnes doesn’t like to wait.” 

“Okay, sorry,” you step off the curb and climb into the car.  

The door shuts and you buckle up. At least the interior is cool. You snap the belt into place as Merv gets in the front. He rests a hand on the wheel and points with the other. 

“You want this up or down?” He points to the barrier between the front and back. 

“Oh, I don’t... whatever you like,” you shrug. 

He chuckles, “miss, you’re a lot sweeter than the other ones.” 

Other ones? Of course there would be other candidates. You wonder if this is a test. If maybe Merv is going to tell Bucky that you’re too quiet. 

“Do you like Springsteen?” He asks as he slowly pulls out. 

“Don’t mind him,” you answer. Honestly, you don’t really know any of his music.  

Merv flips on the stereo, “I like you even more.” 

[hazz-a-bear]

FOODS FOR WORMS, wen junhui

♡⸝⸝ loving junhui comes to you as easy as breathing. so it's only right that you love him with everything you've got till you're nothing but foods for worms to eat.

.ᐟ fluff. comfort. junhui cries and he should never cry, especially on his birthday. very mild soonyoung slander because he's an alleged furry.

🎧 everywhere, everything - noah kahan, gracie abrams

A/N - This is a love letter to Wen Junhui and nothing less, nothing more. I hope he receives all the love he deserves not only on his birthday, but for the rest of his life <3

masterlist | taglist

The tenth of June was probably one of the most special days for you.

It was circled with a red marker on the calendar on top of your desk, there was a permanent countdown on your phone leading up to the day and it was also the sequence of numbers that acted as the password to all kinds of devices you owned.

Which, now that you think about it, is probably the most predictable thing and also the reason Soonyoung keeps getting access to your wifi from a five-mile radius of your apartment. But even after years and years of using it, you still haven't gotten the heart to change it. Not even when your internet provider, very concerningly, handed you a bill of your rising wifi charges and a list of browsing history you were honestly too scared to look at.

( You should probably ask him about the context of 'Help I accidentally started a cult' and 'Is it illegal to own a pet tiger?' but it's Soonyoung, so you're sort of glad you never did )

( It's still not as bad as 'Am I a furry if I pretend to be a tiger around people?' though, you have to agree )

The moral of the story is surprisingly not the fact that you should change your wifi password from 100696 so your boyfriend's best friend can't easily feed off of the service that you pay for with your money. ( For diabolical reasons that is, by the way )

The actual moral of the story, however: June 10th is a special day.

Junhui likes to call it his birthday. You like to call it his heritage day, his womb escape anniversary and the day that gave the world what would be the best gift of your entire life.

The fascinatingly beautiful being that is Wen Junhui was created nine months prior and was grazed upon this earth on the 10th of June.

Okay, that's a weird way to put it.

It's Junhui's birthday.

And you are anything but normal about it.

As always, the celebrations start on June 1st itself. You wake him up with a celebratory birth-month breakfast consisting of his favorites - pancakes with blueberries for eyes and a whipped cream smile for a mouth. Junhui gets up every year with a shy smile and a 'Sweetheart, you didn't have to do this' knowing damn well you're not going to be stopped from celebrating him at any point.

The two of you usually stay up the day before his actual birthday. Curling up on the couch with a show on the TV, it's tradition for the two of you to just rest and enjoy the silent night.

This time, Junhui saunters up to you just as you're finishing cleaning up the kitchen after dinner on the ninth of June. With a coy smile, he pulls you into the living room before sitting down next to you on the couch, quickly draping all over you and finding his comfort spot tucked into your side.

As some kind of show plays in the background, you pull him impossibly close to you. Between zoning out and focusing on the plot of the show, you press small fluttering kisses to the crown of his head. Junhui preens and leans into you like a cat, chasing the press of your lips with a tilt of his head. When you pull away at some point, he turns to you with the smallest pout on his lips.

The two of you spend the majority of the night like that, basking in each other's warmth and counting the minutes leading up to the second the clock strikes midnight.

And when it finally does and your phone chimes with a buzzing alarm to announce that yes, the day that you've been counting down is finally here, you turn to him.

Junhui knows the drill so he easily goes when you shift him to face you. There's a hint of a smile pulling at his lips because he knows what's coming.

The clock reads, ⩇⩇:⩇⩇

"It's your womb escape anniversary" Your voice is nothing above a whisper because the two of you are that close already.

"You're never going to stop calling it that, are you?" He sighs but he's clearly trying to hide a grin as he does.

"Never" You shake your head before you bring up a hand to gently cradle his face.

You let yourself stare shamelessly at the face of the man you've loved for what feels like an eternity.

"Happy Birthday, my love" You let the back of your fingers caress the soft skin of his cheeks. "Thank you for letting me share all your days"

Junhui smiles before he brings up a hand to wrap around your wrist. He tilts his head to press his lips to your palm before he holds it close and peers into you with his eyes that you fall in love with every day.

"Thank you"

When you lean in to kiss him, it's all slow and languid, much like the love the two of you share. There's nothing urgent about it, just a continuous press of fluttering lips like you're breathing each other into your lungs. You hold him by the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the fabric of his t-shirt as he presses his lips to yours in a final kiss.

"I love you"

"I love you more", comes out easier than breathing.

On the day of his birthday, usually, the two of you would get an off day to spend the day by yourselves doing whatever Junhui's heart desired.

The year before last, he wanted to go to the Ghibli Studio Museum. The trip, no matter how impromptu or unplanned it was, had been one of the best trips you've ever been. More than the shops, the rides or seeing all the characters from your favorite movies, what made you happy was the sight of Junhui running around the place with twinkling eyes, a beaming smile on his lips and a stuffed Totoro tucked under his arm.

Last year, he very cheekily asked if he could go to one of those build-a-bear showrooms and you were getting in the car as fast as you could, driving to the place at god's speed with Junhui beaming happily in the passenger seat. Totoro from Tokyo gained two new brothers that day - a rainbow bear Jun had named 'Sir Bear the II' and a brown bear you very confidently decided to call not Dirt but 'Durt'

This year, everything was usual from the birth-month breakfast in bed to the mandatory birthday shenanigans Junhui decided to be a part of. But when you'd asked him what kind of adventure he'd like to take on the day itself, Junhui had very carefully sat you down on the edge of the bed with his hands lacing yours.

"Will you believe me if I said I just want to spend the time with you?"

You swear your brain short-circuited for a moment before you managed to kick-start back into reality, asking him what he's trying to say. He had been so sweet as he explained how exhausted he was after all the work he'd been buried under recently. Moving back and forth through countries, doing an ungodly amount of work and on the edge of a teetering peak of his career, he cast his eyes down as he asked you,

"I want to stay home this time, spend the day with you. Just us two, is that okay?"

Not that you were going to, but how can you ever say no to a man ( a child in disguise ) with big brown eyes and a pout that can make you kill for him.

"Of course it's okay. It's your day angel, we're celebrating you. We can stay at home, of course." You had assured him "But there must be something fun that you want to do, no? You can't spend your birthday stuck at home with me all day. That'll get boring, Junnie"

"Never"

So that is what led you to this situation - slipping out of bed at six in the morning to quietly make your way into the living room.

In hopes of not disturbing Junhui who's still curled up on his side, soft hair falling to his face as he sleeps, you grab your clothes and make your way to the guest washroom to get ready for the day.

Once you're done with your shower, you pad into the kitchen to start breakfast. The pancake mix had been sitting in the fridge already so you turn on the stove before pulling out a batch of berries you'd picked up from the market yesterday. And as quietly and fast as you could, you get the signature pancakes with blueberry eyes and whipped cream smiles done before he wakes up.

It's almost seven when you're cleaning up the kitchen, the plate of breakfast sitting on the counter next to a large gift bag and a pink envelope addressed to my moon.

My moon,

Hi, my angel. By the time you find this, I'd probably be out of the house. If not I'm probably hiding behind the couch but don't look for me there. I know you don't like waking up to an empty house but I promise love, I'm just out to get you some flowers. That's an excuse for you know I can't stand the sight of you even slightly sad and that's why I ran.

But I'll be back with your flowers before you even realize I'm gone, okay? Don't worry too much pretty boy.

You know that I'm not good with words, Jun, that's why I'm writing a letter in the first place. If only I had the guts to say all this to your face. Because you deserve nothing else, baby, nothing else. But I'm a coward when it comes to voicing out my love to you so here I am in the kitchen at three in the morning, two glasses of wine deep because I'm scared I'll mess this up if I'm sober or if it's not dark outside.

So, it's your birthday today - and no matter how many times you ask me to be normal about it and not call it your womb escape anniversary and make a whole scene - you know I'm going to

When else am I going to celebrate you, my Jun?

You know that if I could, I would, everyday for the rest of my life. Because you deserve nothing less than that.

Sometimes you say that you don't deserve me, or that I'm too good for you. And it makes me so sad because, Jun, what you don't realize is how lucky I am to have you in my life. If anything, I'm not good enough for you.

When I met you years ago, you still in your bleached hair, I never thought for a moment that you'd be the person I'd want to spend the rest of my life with. Not because I never saw you as someone I'd want to share my life with, but rather because how? How in the world can I call you, the kindest, the prettiest and the most beautiful soul I've ever met, mine.

Every single day that I wake up to you lying next to me, I thank the moon for bringing you to me. I don't know what good I'd done in my past life to have this kind of love, have you in my life.

I hadn't realised something was missing from my life till you showed up in front of me, Jun. With your silly little smile and your pretty face and the bounce in your step, you slowly opened the door to a world I had never even known to exist before. I hadn't realised what it meant to love until you came along angel.

I thought I'd been in love, before, you know? I thought love was fancy dinners in restaurants I couldn't afford for a night. I thought love was kisses that you share for the whole world to see. I thought it was going our my way to make myself better for someone else.

But, no.

You're the one who showed me that love is the 'good morning' you mumble around a toothbrush, the leftovers you put in the microwave for me, the sticky notes on the fridge, sending pictures of the sky even if it looks ordinary, the hair tie you keep around your wrist. Love is the way you follow me around the house, the way I cling to you when I come home. Love is putting a blanket on me when I fall asleep on the couch. Love is raising little pixel babies and running a shop in cats & soup.

I think loving you is the easiest thing I have ever done, Junhui. It comes to me as natural as breathing. I didn't need a handler or a guidebook to learn how to love you - actually, I don't think I learned at all. Loving you was so easy that I didn't even realize I did. I didn't realize how much I loved you until I thought about losing you.

You asked me once what my biggest fear was and I said heights because I'm a coward like that. But in truth, a life without you is my biggest fear, I think. Now that I have you, now that I've gotten a taste of what being loved by you feels like, I don't think I'll ever want to let you go. I'm scared I'll never want to let you go. I hope you never want to let me go either, my love. I don't think I'll ever be okay with that.

People like you and me, we don't let ourselves have nice things, Jun. We think it's a burden to be loved, to love. We think it's too much to want to be held and cared for. We think we don't deserve to be loved. But we do. We can have that, my love. You, me, we all deserved to be loved gently. We all deserve the impromptu flowers and the good night message and the 'I love you's. It's hard to not listen to the tiny voice in the back of your head saying you don't deserve this, but you do, Junhui. You deserve to be loved for your soul if not much more.

As much as you don't believe me when I say you're the best thing that happened to me, deep down we both know that each other is what keeps us grounded, we both know. You keep me afloat, Junhui. When I feel like a ship wrecked in the middle of the ocean, you're the one who keeps me afloat and guides me to the shore. You might not know it or not believe it, but without you, I'd be falling apart.

Without me, I believe you would be okay. Manage. But ultimately, I wouldn't be okay without you.

So, as selfish as it sounds, I'm going to let myself have this one thing for the rest of my life. I'm going to keep you next to my heart and love you for as long as you let me have you.

Selfishly, I can only ask you to do the same. Love me as long as you can, keep me in your heart for as long as you can, my moon.

Happy Birthday, angel. I love you for an eternity.

From earth, to the moon, underwater, on shore, with every star in the galaxy, I will love you with everything I have till we're foods for the worms to eat.

Yours forever.

You knew it was going to make him cry, you knew. That's one of the main reasons you left the house with an excuse to get flowers. You could have gotten the goddamn flowers delivered to your doorstep. Hell, you could have even done it yesterday. But if there was anything you hated, it was seeing Junhui cry. So running away with a flimsy excuse seemed like the best thing to do at the time.

Junhui knew it too - how much it pained you to see him cry. He also knew that it had taken a lot out of you to write that letter. You've never been comfortable with professing your feelings into words and voicing them upright. You showed your love through random gifts thrown his way with a shy 'saw this and thought about you' or occasional 'did you eat?' messages throughout the day that translated into a quiet I love you.

Your love was quiet, but it was strong.

It seeps from you and circles around his whole being, holding him tight until he's grounded to the very earth he stands on. It kept him whole, kept him together.

So this, writing down everything on your mind, two drinks in or not, he knows it must have taken a lot out of you. And the mere thought of you sitting in the kitchen with your head in your hands, trying to turn your feelings into words, destroyed him.

He knows he should have stopped crying when he hears the familiar sound of the front door opening. You're back. You're back and god, he needs to get himself together.

"Jun?"

You call out and he can hear the hesitance in your voice. You know he's read the letter and it breaks him to realize that you're probably nervous to face him after such a vulnerable pour of emotions. He wishes he could stop crying but it's so so hard when the words on the paper made him feel like he got stabbed in the heart. And the way some words were blotched in a way only tears could do, twister the knife in the wound even more.

So, here he is now, bleeding on the kitchen counter because he feels loved more than he has ever felt in his entire life of twenty-eight years.

"Jun"

You stand in front of him, lingering in the kitchen door as your face falls at the sight of him. He guesses he doesn't look his best right now. He's bracing himself up against the counter, trying not to fall even more apart as his fingers grip the letter. Valid.

He can't even answer you, let alone acknowledge you. He's still trying to stop his crying and failing miserably right in front of you.

Junhui watches as you carefully approach him with the bouquet you had brought home for him. It's a mix of daisies and baby's breath wrapped in a see-through paper and Junhui thinks it's so pretty. If he wasn't so preoccupied with his sobbing, he would have bounced up to you and accepted it with a big smile and a kiss on your cheek.

"You're crying" Junhui almost laughs as you blindly state the obvious. Your eyes are wide as you reach him, the bouquet still in your clutch. "Why are you crying"

"You're the one who made me cry" He says through his tears, tone accusatory. "This letter- what you wrote, yn it's- It's so...I don't even know- god"

With the force he throws himself at you, he's surprised you manage to stay upright. Junhui curls around your body, arms winding around your frame as he pushes his face to your neck. You can feel the way your skin dampens with his tears.

Carefully putting down the bouquet on the counter, you circle your arms around his shoulders and pull him into your embrace a little tighter.

"I didn't want to cry on my birthday" Junhui whispers, lips fluttering against your skin.

I'm sorry. "I'm not sorry, Jun"

You feel him still in your hold for a fleeting moment before he pulls back to look at your face.

"I'd wanted to say all that for a long time, Jun" You say as you bring a hand up to cradle his face. As always, he leans into it like a preening cat. "I'm sorry for making you cry. But I'm not sorry for anything I said"

Junhui lurches forward to hide his face again, another one of those heartbreaking sobs on the tip of his tongue. You hold him tighter, if it's even possible, as he breaks down on you. One hand rubbing comforting circles on his back, moving the both of you back and forth in a rhythm, you hold him until he's calmed down enough to breathe through his nose. When he pulls away this time, his face is crumpled in a kind of embarrassment and shyness.

"Oh, my baby" You can't help but coo at the sight of his flushed nose and damp eyes. "You're a wreck"

"Your fault" Junhui grumbles before bringing up a hand to wipe at his eyes. You chuckle as you cradle his face and wipe away the tears clinging to his cheek.

"Happy Birthday" You almost whisper, holding his face in the palms of your hand. "You look beautiful"

Junhui averts his eyes from yours, the shyness slithering up his spine at a rapid speed. He doesn't voice out his thank you but it shows in the way the tips of his ears turn red under wisps of soft brown hair.

"Oh- the flowers" You quickly move to pick up the bouquet from the counter. With a coy smile of your own, you hand it to Junhui who takes it with a smile and a soft,

"Thank you. They're so pretty"

Junhui is taller than you, so to land the kiss perfectly square on his forehead, you have to reach up on your tiptoes. Junhui laughs and ducks down when he realizes what you're trying to do. Lifting to hold him by the neck, you press your lips against his forehead.

Junhui only pulls you back in after putting away the bouquet. He takes you by the waist before leaning down to catch your lips with his, pressing forward and dripping honey sweet pure love onto you with a sealed kiss. Your hands cradle the back of his neck as he leans forward, tipping you ever so slightly backwards as his love bleeds through every press of his lips against yours.

Even when he pulls away to breathe, he keeps his forehead pressed to yours, holding you as close as he possibly could.

"I love you so much" You whisper. "I think I made that clear in the letter"

Junhui laughs before pulling you into a hug again. A proper one this time with your face pressed to his shoulder and his lips pressing kisses to the crown of your head.

Your fingers unconsciously grip the back of his shirt tightly like you're scared he'll disappear into the day before you. It makes him think back to what you're written on the letter. About how your biggest fear is a life without him. How you won't be able to live if you didn't have him.

And it makes Junhui come to a realisation of his own. Ultimately, he wouldn't be okay without you either.

Thinking back to how you had claimed you're going to keep holding on to him as long as you can, as selfish as it may sound, Junhui realises that yeah, this is what love means to him. This is the sole reason he's been standing for so long.

Even though there's still a voice in the back of his head screaming that he doesn't deserve this kind of love, he decides that yes, he's going to let himself have this. The pure need to selfishly love you for the rest of your lives overpowers whatever voice screaming at him anyway.

From earth, to the moon, underwater, on shore, with every star in the galaxy, he's going to hold on to this for as long as he can bear. Because there's nothing more he wants than to love you with everything he's got. All until you're food for the worms to eat.

Junhui, true to your words, very selfishly hopes that you keep his hands in yours and your heart in his until your fingers decompose.

For you're his forever as well.

thank you.

[qqueenofhades]

I'm watching the results come in for the French legislatives first round, and I have been following American presidential race and supreme court from afar. I am depressed. Please say something wise that will give me hope. I never thought to live through times like this.

Anonymous asked: Hey I know you said you’re avoiding posting about politics so absolutely feel free not to reply, but any tips about not getting hopeless? Especially when the fellow young people in your life are all clamoring to talk about how both parties are the same, they won’t vote, etc, etc (😑)?

Welp. It seems that what the people want to hear at this point is some Wise Words From Internet Grandmother Hilary, so... I will do my best to see what I can come up with. It bears repeating, as I have said many times before and will do so again, that I still have heard no better advice for living through The Horrors than the Gandalf: "So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us." Because, yeah. That, in its simplest essence, is it. We cannot control The Horrors. Individual people have never been able to control The Horrors, and five thousand-odd years after the invention of documented human history, here we still are, making the same stupid fucking mistakes. That is pretty maddening to deal with, and if you try to think of it like that, it is impossible to wrap your head around and it will only drive you crazy. So, then. What?

I will freely admit that I am scared too. Despite my best efforts, the post-debate furor wigged me out, I had to log off all social media and news sites for most of the weekend, not look at anything aside from one site I trust for two minutes, and try to get myself back in an okay headspace. So yes, rule number one: STOP DOOMSCROLLING. Please get a muzzle on that little voice in your head that says you HAVE to look, you HAVE to read everything, you have to KNOW JUST IN CASE HOW BAD IT COULD POSSIBLY BE. Then you look at stuff that makes you upset, and that leads to other stuff that makes you more upset, and then there you are in a stew of anxiety and anger and everything else that doesn't help. Do not look at the Bird Site Formerly Known as Twitter or news sites or anything else that is liable to have stuff that upsets you, especially in Panic!!! moments like this. It is designed to make you feel worse and it obscures the fact that nobody actually knows. Like, I devoutly hope that the anonymous "adviser to a prominent Democrat" and the NYT editorial board and everyone else screaming about how Biden should drop out right now step on ten Legos a day for the rest of their lives, but they also DO NOT KNOW (and given the NYT nakedly admitting to a personal vendetta against Biden for not giving them an interview, everyone can see exactly what this crass and unbelievably stupid sabotage attempt is, but yeah). Even if they get quoted in prominent publications, they do not know what is going to happen. They are not prophets. The NYT has, as noted, showed its ass 800 times before and keeps coming up with polls that are so ludicrously pro-Trump that it's becoming a cottage industry to debunk them. They are crass and cynical and trash and all that, they have vested interests, they have a platform, but repeat after me: WE DO NOT KNOW "FOR A FACT" THAT EVERYTHING IS DOOMED AND WILL NEVER BE OKAY AGAIN IF WE DO NOT LISTEN TO THE ALMIGHTY NEW YORK TIMES. In fact, the NYT has been so fucking wrong so fucking many times that at this point, I would bet on it being the other way around.

As part of my Bad Headspace Night on Friday night, I did picture the worst-case scenario of Trump winning, American democracy being overthrown, fascists around the world being emboldened, etc. It was a nasty mental picture and I didn't like anything that would come about if it did, but I had to remind myself that even if it did happen, well, the world would still be here, and good people who care about its future would have to do something to make that future happen. It would be ten times harder and it would be the result of another unimaginably evil and cynical fascist sabotage campaign, but... those are not exactly unprecedented in human history. (See: making all those mistakes over and over again.) People in the past were faced with those same exact moments where everything seemed monumentally hopeless and doomed for a generation, and they fought back, and they won. That's the thing. Fascists are evil and awful and terribly unnecessarily destructive, but they are not unbeatable, and they never have been. If we make the choice to resist them, then, well, they can be resisted. It will not happen by posting vaporous screeds on social media, or sitting on your ass and waiting for some miraculous savior/revolution/whatever to swoop in and save you, but it can happen, and it can work. That's what is very hard to remember in the current Horrors, but it's the way it's been for as long as there has been evil. It is not the be-all and end-all of the human experience and never will be.

Likewise: if a la the second anon you're being surrounded with people who are saying stupid things and making you feel worse: just don't be around them any more. It's that simple and you should do it. You can unfollow people who are posting defeatist rubbish, or you can avoid spending time with people railing about how everything is already doomed and voting is useless, etc. You may feel guilty because these people are your friends or you don't want to cut off contact, but you need to do what is best for your mental health, and if all you hear is BS, then, yeah. Pull the plug, cut the cord, do whatever you want. You do not owe anyone else your headspace, your attention, your mental health, or anything else, especially if it is demonstrably idiotic and incorrect. Find ways to do something. Go out and volunteer. Put down the phone (again, this cannot be overemphasized) and stop looking at doomerists on Twitter who get their engagement fix from making you upset and angry. Read a book, watch a TV show, visit a friend in real life, take a walk outside (if you don't live in a furnace, which unfortunately a lot of us do right now). Just sit and close your eyes and meditate. Stretch or move your body. Drink water. Super basic ordinary things that get you away from the increasingly frantic death spiral mindset and put you back in the reminder that things are never over and there is still a lot of time for everything.

As I said: I am doing this myself right now. It is not easy. I know it is not. I wish that we lived in a kinder timeline where this was not necessary, but as Gandalf says, nobody ever wishes for this and yet it happens nonetheless. But we can still control how we react to it and identify the things that are doing their best to make us feel terrible and doomed and hopeless, and make a choice to move away from them. We do not know what's going to happen, no. But we also do not know that everything is doomed, and you know what, it usually ends up not being that way. So that's what I can offer for now. Courage.

[seat-safety-switch]

So many "car people" argue about engine oil. Everyone has an opinion on what weight, brand, sub-brand, synthetics package, and filter to use. If you use the wrong $80-a-jug stuff for even five seconds, they shriek, your engine will be irreversibly damaged.

Part of this is because the internet exists. Back in the day, I am told, people with strong opinions on what motor oil to use would have very limited opportunities to speak about those opinions. It isn't polite, for instance, to hijack a city council meeting's public comment session to speak about how Fram oil filters are the devil. Now, all those widely-dispersed weird assholes can be concentrated in a single forum, where they yell at each other for free.

Personally, I've never been too much of a snob about it. Sure, there's oils that I won't put in my car. That's usually because a lot of modern oils are too thin to quiet a disintegrating 1970s engine made mostly out of pig iron and regret. Sure, they still lubricate, but try telling that to the guy in the McDonalds drive-thru who is having some kind of traumatic flashback to The War when he hears the state of your rod bearings. Better just put in the thick stuff.

When you go through as many engines as I do, it's hard to get anxious about the particulars of a maintenance routine. Sure, if the previous owner had put in something nice instead of sand and sawdust about fifty years ago, this engine would have about three-and-a-half psi more compression by now. I'd still be struggling to get up hills and clattering every time I start the car while facing east. That's why I hang out behind the oil change place in the middle of the night and run their "waste oil" tank into a couple milk jugs in my back seat. Like wine, this stuff only gets better with time.

[cutielights]

Hey pookie!! I luv ur work sm and I was wondering if u could do a rottmnt boys x spider woman reader ab them reacting to her stopping a collider like miles did? Idek if u watched into the spider verse but maybe something like that if not u could wing it if you'd like tysm hope u have a good day/night! ❤️

>>:] yes. For the purposes of writing, im going to act as if you were a spider person for at least a year before this. Not supposed to be Miles’ story, but pretty similar (if that makes sense)

i waNT THE THIRD MOVIE. Frikin dying of miles morales deprivation over here, hand over the sunflower boy with in tact parents

@moonchhu THE OTHER SPIDER PERSON ONE TAG LIST

That Really Big Earthquake

LEO

“Heyyyy, I haven’t seen you in twenty four hours which truly is a record for us, I missed you, did you miss me? I bet you did right? Go on tell me aaaalllll about it.��

“So, I was just kinda minding my own business, y’know, thwipping and thwapping and going about being an awesome hero when I bumped into myself? Kinda. They looked like me, but they were different, and didn’t look like me, but, I knew they were me! Because my spider sense went off and they could do stuff I could do, but also some different stuff! And then we freaked out for a little bit before I went to auntie May to show her and she showed me four more other me’s who were hiding out in her basement and then we tried getting them home and we had to sneak about in this fancy restaurant wearing bow ties, and we cried and they went into this collider thing, also it turns out my favourite cousin was working for the evil genius corporation and he’s dead now and it feels like my fault, I’m so totally fine don’t worry about me. Howwasyourday?”

“Haha, what.”

“Stopped the collapsing of the multiverse.”

“Oh it sounds so simple when you put it like that.” Yeah okay sarcasm queen

Made you some tea after that, let’s just, take a breath for a minute, m’kay?

He has decided it’s a self care day now, at least he did after thoroughly checking you for injuries

How you do not have a concussion will always escape him, not one broken bone? Seriously? After all that?

Please remind him you’re an actual super hero and not a pane of glass

“Wait what was that about your cousin?”

RAPH

“Hey! How was your weekend?”

“Crazier than yours.”

“Okay, Bet.”

One explanation later sponge bob narrator voice

“Wait, so you’re telling Raph, that huge earthquake that happened, happened because of you and five alternate versions of yourself?

“That’s excluding a lot of things I just told you but, I am telling Raph that, yes.”

Huge bone crushing hugs are in order, according to him at least. And I mean, is he wrong?

Not letting you out of his sight for ages, please, Raph, let them go home

“Why are you so worried? I did it, I won!”

“It’s more the fact that it happened and less the fact that you’re mostly fine.”

DONNIE

Othello Von Ryan: Stay home, S.H.E.L.LD.O.N has picked up on some strange (possibly universal fabric destroying) activity. Also there has been some earthquake activity in the area you were in yesterday, not that I have a tracker on you. Because I don’t.

Only Two Legs: I handled it don’t worry :D

Othello Von Ryan: ?

Othello Von Ryan: Traverse to My Lab.

“Heyyy Deee.”

“Stop. Explain. This better be your attempt at humor.”

There was silence for a long while after you had messily glued together words to describe the past 24 hours, before he took a deep breath.

“First, How dare you stop the multiverse from collapsing without me that’s incredible rude. Second, therapy. Third, that earthquake and power surge destroyed My Lab, thankfully I have backup backups to my backups, but I couldn’t use the internet for an hour straight.”

“Y- You’re more concerned about the internet?”

“Not what I said. Now let me check you for a concussion.”

MIKEY

“Hey they took down those art displays.”

“The what?”

“Oh you weren’t here, BUT there was these reaaaallllyyyyy cool art statues along this street! Look, hey, look, I took pics!”

“Oh cooollluuuhhh that’s not an art display that’s five different fire hydrants merged into each other.”

“Haha yeah it does kinda look like that doesn’t it? I thought it was supposed to be a dog.”

“Mikey, no-“ You pulled him aside into an empty alleyway, trying to explain what had happened over the past twenty four hours.

It was an interesting experience, but you got there eventually.

Best believe this boy is giving you the biggest hug ever, and then buying pizza.

Oh, and Dr Feelings is going to be paying you a visit. Multiple. You can’t escape him.

“So they weren’t art displays?”

Speedily bulk writing and scheduling rn bc im going on a holiday with zero internet.

[banjjakz]

Seven Days at Granny Orimoto's Flower Shop ; Yuuta x F!Reader

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden. As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service. Please think of me kindly.

Or: An odd boy shows up every night begging for a job offer. Did you mention that he gives you handwritten letters? Do you have to report a workplace romance if the only other employee is your boss, who is currently dying? Asking for a friend.

notes: commission for the lovely mielle! thank you very kindly for 1) commissioning me!!!!!! and 2) putting up with my compulsion to surpass any and all word count specifications

warnings: general off-putting vibes, casual discussions of child death, implied stalking (at the very least), unethical(…? maybe ethically gray?) necromancy, etc. y'all know what's about to go down

♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

Life as a florist is every bit the dream that you’d hoped it would be.

The thought of working from nine to five in some cubicle for the rest of your life was enough to drive you out of university before even completing the feeble attempt you’d half-assedly made at a degree. While the path to your current state of employment had not been linear, easy, or even recommended, you cannot imagine ending up anywhere else.

You’re lucky enough as it is that Granny Orimoto was willing to take you on – perhaps, at first, out of pity – as a shop-hand. That day, all those months, is still as clear as unmarred waters in your mind. What a pitiful image you must have made: underfed, poorly clothed, with roving, vacant eyes.

Nevertheless, you adjusted quickly and gratefully to your new place of employment. Within months, your sense of self and purpose in life had been restored, watered and nurtured underneath the guiding light of Granny Orimoto’s flower shop. Like a corpse risen again, your days were once more filled with hope and aspirations.

Eventually, Granny Orimoto began bestowing upon you more and more responsibilities. You tend to think of your daily tasks as privileges more than anything else. You’ve graduated far beyond merely ringing customers up on the till – at this point, you’re somewhat of a budding horticulturalist. Or, at least, that’s what you’d like to think on your good days.

Recently, Granny Orimoto has even begun to entrust you to manage the shop on your lonesome for several days out of the week. It used to be the case that she would require you to work only hours that coincided with her own availability, so that you might fall under her constant supervision. Of course, this was back when you could barely keep a plant alive. Nowadays, things are quite different.

Quite different, indeed.

On this slow, Monday evening, managerial status finds its way to you once more. Closing the shop used to feel weird, without Granny Orimoto there to lay into you about your posture, or your clumsiness, or your naturally shy, stuttering nature. Now, it’s starting to feel eerily more and more like business as usual.

When the bell above the front door rings, you don’t think too much of it – this town is a bit of a tourist trap, so there are quite a few out-of-towners who aren’t used to respecting closing times. Usually, you’re too nice to shoo them out, but the weight of the day bears heavily upon your apron-clad shoulders.

But when you spin around on your heel, the polite-yet-firm “we closed four minutes ago” withers on your tongue like dead leaves crumbling away upon the unrepentant, earthen ground.

The most disturbing thing is not that he’s exactly your type of handsome: tall, gaunt, malnourished, with a strange, lost look in his wideset eyes. It would be easier, somehow, if your immediate and arresting attraction to the gangly stranger was the most of your worries.

Perhaps what unnerves you so, is the fact that you are powerless to do anything but devote the entirety of your attention to the odd young man. The terra cotta pot once in your grasp has suddenly been placed on the nearest shelf. The gardener’s gloves on your hands have now been stripped away and flung carelessly to the ground, the delicate flesh of your fingers on display for the world to see.

“Are you hiring?” He asks. The lights flicker. Granny Orimoto should really stop fighting you about calling an electrician – they aren’t that expensive.

No, is what you should say, because you don’t have the authority to answer this question and also the thought of having to train someone else when you are just barely getting the hang of your newfound managerial status is a terrifying prospect.

And yet, what ends up leaving your mouth is:

“Yes.”

His black hair is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The bangs are in a liminal state: too short to part, too long for comfort. It dangles limply in his eyes. Those eyes. Big and glassy and dark, like a dead doe gazing up, unseeingly, at the sky.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there an application that I could fill out?”

Is he not cold? The weather chills significantly at night, and his layers look rather thin. Or maybe that’s just the way the clothes hang off of him. “No, it’s alright. You can just – um, you’re good.”

“I’m…?”

“You’re good,” you repeat and then you have to fight for control over your own body, so that you can turn around and break eye contact before it actually kills you.  “When can you start? Do you have a phone number? Um, so we can get in touch with you about scheduling and training and verify your location and such and so forth.”

Okay, that last sentence was hastily tacked on. You’ll be the first to admit that much. But what kind of girl would you look like, asking a random stranger for his number out of the blue?

You hear more than you see him shuffle his feet, still lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “Um, no, sorry. I don’t have a phone.”

“E-mail?”

“Ah..no…would communication via letter be alright?”

What is his problem?

He shows up, four minutes past closing, poorly dressed and clearly in poor health, as well, to inquire about a job opening, and doesn’t even have a phone or any form of contact to provide other than handwritten correspondence?

Is this a prank? Are you being pranked, right now? You pause your fastidious, frustrated handling of today’s arranged bouquets just to surreptitiously scan your surroundings for any hidden cameras.

It’s like the man of your dreams has walked through the door. It’s almost too good to be true. You know you have eclectic tastes—and this is exactly why you’ve never had a boyfriend, before.

Because what living man could possibly compare to the fictional freakshows you stay up late at night reading about? Who would be worth fawning over, when you are already well equipped with a wealth of off-putting – and, quite frankly, disturbing – characters of ill-repute? Never has there been a living, breathing vessel capable of catching your jaded, heavy eyes.

Until now, that is.

“Sure,” you say, allowing the brain-rot to take control of your faculties. “Give me one second to write down our mailing information.”

But before you can cling desperately to another excuse to evade his magnetic presence, the strange boy speaks up, alluring you with the unsettlingly tranquil timbre of his voice: “That won’t be necessary. I can hand deliver the letters every day, around this time.”

You blink, sizing him up once more. Any normal human being would find this situation incredibly odd and even worth of a police report.

However, you’re comfortable in your own skin and are able to recognize that the screws you’ve knocked loose over time have, for better or worse, permanently altered your threshold for “red” or “green” flag recognition. For all you care, the flag could be purple. You aren’t thinking about flags right now. You’re thinking about his murky bangs, dark and deep, a rich obsidian, metastasizing over the smooth expanse of his alabaster forehead like a natural disaster.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting at this time every night, then.”

For the first time this evening, his gaunt face split into a tender grin, pink lips parting like spliced flesh. Somehow, he’s able to make the act of smiling something gory, something haunting. Your eyes are glued to the bone-white of his teeth. It’s like watching a car crash. You want, desperately, to look away. You cannot.

“I’m glad,” says the strange boy. “I’ll be here every night, right on time.”

A soft breeze stirs outside, just restless enough to tickle teasingly at the windchimes which dangle from the shop’s awning. Usually, the barrier of the front door dulls the melody. Tonight, you can hear the bells loud and clear.

Before you can think to demand (beg) that he reveal additional identifying information about himself – like, say, his name – the boy has all but disappeared from sight. Incredulously, you whirl around on your heel, scanning every visible inch of the shop for any possible clue as to where he went. But your searching is all for naught. It seems that he is, both in presence and absence, a complete mystery to you.

Well. There are certainly worse things that have happened to you. At least you got to chat with a cute, creepy guy for your trouble.

;

The next day, Granny Orimoto abstains from work yet again. Her modest apartment sitting atop the flower shop has kept her out of sight for many days, now. You’re no stranger to her fits and bursts of ill health, but you cannot recall the last time the brusque, full-hearted old lady has been bedridden for such a prolonged length of time.

You almost consider trying to drop by unannounced to bring her some soup and vitamins, but the thought dies immediately upon arrival. Memories of the last time you’d tried to caretake for her and were subsequently thrown out with indignant, irate gusto are enough to curb your momentary sympathy.

This means that you are effectively head of shop, once more. Over time, it gets easier to deal with the random accidents prone to any small, self-run business: leaks, clogs, jams, flickering lights, disappearing items, strange sounds at odd hours with an unlocatable source. All of it, you handle with def improvisational methods.

Even the spontaneously shattering bathroom mirror is no match for your handywoman capabilities! Really, Granny Orimoto should be lucky that it is you who happened to show up on her doorstep just as her health began to take a dive.

These are the kinds of thoughts buzzing around your skull as twilight descends upon the horizon like flies to a carcass. The death of the day is, as usual, a bloody affair: hues of bright vermillion spill across the sky, setting everything in the shop a brilliant, flagrant shade of fresh-burning red. The terracotta pots seem almost to be radiating with internal heat.

Night comes soon enough, bringing with it a brisk chill in the air. The wind rustles the windchimes, a forewarning of what is to come.

And sure enough, at 8:04 P.M., there he is, lingering in the doorway, daring to take not one step past the threshold, just as he’d done yesterday, that first night.

“Good evening.”

Clutched in his fingers is a wrinkled letter, wrapped in plain stationery. He offers it to you with both hands, politely.  

The space between the both of you evaporates in the fraction of a second it takes for you to cross the shop and greet him back, accepting the letter with greedy hands and a greedier heart. “Good evening. Thank you for the correspondence.”

“Thank you for receiving it,” he replies, scratching the back of his head in a stupidly endearing self-conscious gesture. “I know the manner of communication is a bit unconventional… sorry about that…”

“It’s okay.” And it really is. You, of all people, are no stranger to unforeseen and harrowing life circumstances. That the young man does not possess a phone or email address is not so uncommon, anyways – you’ve had time to reflect on the situation, and for all his off-putting looks and strangely formal manner of speaking, he could easily be a country mouse who has recently relocated to a more urban area. Who are you to judge?

“Shall I have a response waiting for you tomorrow night?”

He bows, then, for a bit longer and a bit deeper than what is normally appropriate for two virtual strangers. “I’d be grateful. Thank you for the trouble.”  

Once more, he evaporates seemingly into thin air, leaving behind not even the faintest trace of his existence. He appears to possess an uncanny ability to slip out of sight just as your eyes fall shut in the millisecond it takes to blink, to breathe.

Taken in stride with his dark-circled eyes and general aura of mysterious tragedy, the whole schtick is a little bit sexy, you have to admit. His vibe is that of a haunted family heirloom: beautiful, priceless, stained in generations of blood and cursed to doom those who dare to draw too near.

Your eagerness is almost feral as you tear apart the seal to the envelope in your hands, greedily pawing at the innards. What awaits you is a handwritten letter, complete with smudged pencil marks obscuring some of the more intricate kanji scribbled onto the page. Some of his radicals waver, lines bending or sprawling in odd and abnormal ways, as though he’d been shaking when we wrote it.

 As though he’d been nervous. So nervous, in fact, that upon handing you the thing, he had to immediately abscond from the premises without another word.

Cute.

To Whom it May Concern,

Thank you very kindly for your willingness to take me on as an apprentice to your shop. Please allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden.

As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service.

Please think of me kindly.

Upon reading the very last word of the very last line, you discover that your bottom lip has been bitten so severely that a fine trickle of blood is descending down your chin.

There is no resume or CV in sight – just this handwritten, strangle little letter in which he divulges some most interesting truths.

Is he playing mind games with you? “Accustomed to taking orders”? “Eager to be of service”? Is he trying to tell you something? Outside of the hiring process, that is.

The note itself is perfectly polite and proper. It’s you whose mind succumbs hedonistically to the gutter. Oh, for shame.

 At night, the shop tends to turn into a gnarly jungle of pots and leaves and vines and poorly-placed smatterings of soil; you wade through theses trenches, aided by no more than the moonlight attempting to feebly infiltrate through the shutters – as the lights are out, again. Should probably call someone about that.

In your frantic haste, it’s a miracle your hands aren’t sliced by a spare pair of shears lying forgotten on some counter or another. Before injury occurs, you’ve already located what you’ve been searching for: a usable pen and some clean, uncrumpled paper.

The matchbox in your back pocket proves useful as you strike up a flame and light a nearby candle, paying no mind to the potential danger of the wobbly column of fire in a room full of fauna.

Like a woman possessed, you feverishly scribble away at your reply. It takes you longer to draft this one particular letter than it had to complete your college entrance exams.

But it’s alright – the candle beside you burns throughout the night, neither the wick nor the wax diminishing even a wink.

Dear Okkotsu,

Your eagerness to work hard is clearly evident. Color me impressed.

As fate would have it, I am in dire need of some help with running the shop. The owner has been absent with illness for quite some time and the workload is starting to get unmanageable. The addition of a strong set of arms is more than welcome. Even when it was the two of us putzing around, we still wouldn’t have been able to do some of the heavier lifting.

I’m curious to hear more about your passion to serve. Was this instilled in you during your time at vocational school? What does “being of service” mean to you?

While we are ultimately a public-facing shop, the stream of customers is slow, and your daily tasks will often look like physical labor and horticultural activities. But, from your letter, it sounds like this will pose no object.

Overall, your enthusiasm is appreciated and your hard-working attitude is attractive to future employers.

You could start as early as tomorrow.

Please do respond at your convenience.

It was rather quickly with only a slight bit of panic running through your veins that you tacked on “to future employers.” Even while reading it back, you cringe a little bit. Too forward? Oh well. It’s written in ink and it’s much too late to go for hunting for another clean piece of paper in the shop’s opaque blackness.

Speaking of which… you really should call an electrician. And a plumber. And some sort of handy man, to help you clean up all the broken glass from the shattered bathroom mirror. And maybe it may also me a good idea to get in touch with a security footage company and inquire about their installation rates. It certainly can’t be normal; how many things go missing so frequently. Although you’ve spent most of your waking hours with an aging elderly woman up until very recently, you’re quite sure that dementia isn’t contagious.

Ah, well. These are all things to take care of tomorrow. Sighing, you tuck away the letter into your back pocket for safe keeping before you go about locking up.

You try not to think too hard about the lingering gaze you feel on the back of your neck. If anything, it feels better than being completely alone.

;

The fragrant scent of okayu fills your nose as you climb the stairs to reach Granny Orimoto’s apartment.

Usually, you would not dare to trespass inside her abode, despite it’s close proximity to the shop. She is a grouchy old lady who does not take kindly to meddling. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the seed of worry in the pit of your belly, which had blossomed over the course of the past few weeks into full-blown concern for her wellbeing. Besides her once-daily text message in the evening confirming the status of shop operations, you have not seen or heard from the old woman in what must be almost half a month at this point.

So, you’ve bitten back your pride and prepared a meal to personally deliver to her.

You are moderately concerned when there is no response to your three separate attempts at knocking on the door. Granny Orimoto hadn’t responded to any of your text messages, so you’d naively assumed she’d been asleep and hadn’t seen them. But is it possible to sleep through the ruckus that you’re creating?

The tension in your body only heightens when you try to the doorknob and realize, in shock and slight horror, that it’s open.

“Granny Orimoto?” You call out, haltingly yet loudly – loud enough to reach her wizened ears. “Granny, I’m sorry, I’ll be coming in now! Pardon the intrusion!”

Taking care not to jostle the still-hot bowl of rice porridge in your hands, you slip off your shoes at the Genkan and make your way inside of the apartment. Although you’ve only been here once before – and it had been an extremely brief stay before Granny Orimoto had shooed you off the premises – it still doesn’t feel all that unfamiliar to you.

It’s a traditional set-up, that much is for sure. Not much has changed, either. Same old floral blankets folded in various assortments and piles around the tiny room, same old plastic draining rack laid across the kitchen sink.

And, of course, there is that strange pair of guest slippers by the front door.

A bright, childish pink with the width and depth to accompany the foot of a young girl no older than six, these slippers had given you pause the first time you’d set foot in Granny Orimoto’s apartment. As far as you know, the old lady doesn’t have any living relatives with which she maintains contact. She spends every holiday alone, in her room, and refuses any offers of companionship between the two of you. You’ve always assumed something tragic must have happened, for a woman this advanced in age to have no one to visit or host during the New Year.

So why, then, does she keep a pair of children’s house slippers by the front door?

Although they are neatly placed and carefully aligned, the heels of the slippers face the direction of the household – as though they’ve been recently taken off and exchanged for outside shoes. Like someone has been here and left. Were they in that position when you stopped by before? Perhaps Granny Orimoto set them that way during her last cleaning.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you move past the entrance area and towards where you know the bedroom awaits. There is no overt stench of death and decay, so you aren’t afraid of walking in on her corpse. You’re, like, 85% sure that you could mentally recover from handling that situation, but it would be unfortunate and would likely mean an endless night for you and the poor EMTs who would be dispatched to the scene.

The bedroom door, too, is slightly ajar, and when you push it open all the way, you’re greeted by a sight that hits you squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from your lungs, stealing your voice, marring your eyes with shock and sympathy.

Granny Orimoto lies on her back, skin so pale that it is a near perfect match to the futon covers draped around her frail body. Even from this distance, you are able to clearly track the pathway of her veins as they course across her, the deep blues and greens standing out abnormally against the thin, alabaster flesh. Her hair, significantly grayer than the last time you’d seen her, has escaped from it’s usual, customary low-slung bun. You’ve never seen Granny Orimoto in any other kind of style – in fact, you’d begun to think – somewhat mischievously – that her hair had been surgically arranged to the nape of her neck.

But now, it sprawls around her skull in scraggly spirals, spilling across the pillow like leaking liquid. Thin and brittle, you’re sure that if she tried to gather it into a bun as she once had, it would split and break into a million fine pieces of ash.

“So, you’ve come.”

That hoarse voice snaps you out of your trance. You hadn’t even noticed that she was awake. One moment, you’d been gazing at her motionless body – and the next, you find her entirely unchanged except for the fact that her eyes are now open, peering at you. Unblinking. It’s disconcerting.

It looks like the effort pains her, to lift one hand and pat weakly at the comforter. “You came all the way here, silly girl. Might as well sit.”

You aren’t being kicked out?

Wow. She really must be dying.

Gingerly, you fold your legs beneath you and linger at the edge of the futon. “Granny, how are you feeling? I brought okayu. If you are feeling up to it, please eat. You must take care of your health.”

“Alright then,” says Granny Orimoto, mildly. “You’ll have to help me.”

“Of course.”

There is ultimately an insignificant amount of spillage down the front of her shirt, in the end. Still, you take it as an opportunity to encourage her to take a bath and change into fresh clothes, which you expect she has not done in far too long. This, too, requires your assistance. You don’t mind it at all. In fact, it brings you peace – to be able to care for the woman who had most probably saved your life by taking you in, all that time ago.

When it’s all said and done, Granny Orimoto lays back in the bed. The sheets could use some washing and the futon itself should surely be hung out in the sun to dry, but you recognize that this might be a bit too much excitement for her today. Having eaten and bathed, Granny Orimoto appears ready to return to her slumber.

You decide not to push your luck by overstaying your welcome. “Please rest well, Granny Orimoto. I will come back soon.”

It is when you are almost past the threshold of the bedroom door that you hear Granny’s whisper, faint as smoke and so soft it almost doesn’t sound like the stubborn, strong-willed woman you once knew:

“You remind me of my granddaughter.”

As though you’ve been struck by lightning, your body is immediately paralyzed, muscles helpless to do anything but twitch in confusion, overstimulation. “Oh…? I hope she is well…”

“She’s dead,” says Granny Orimoto. “The stench of death follows you.”

Ironic, coming from a woman who is quite obviously preparing to approach the far shore herself. “I see.”

“Whatever is hanging around you, get it taken care of. You’ll stink up the shop and the plants will wither.”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Are you taking care of my zinnias?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Better be. How can you own a flower shop if you can’t take care of zinnias…”

You want to whip around and ask her what the hell she means by that, but the rumbling of her soft snores fill the space before you can get another word in edgewise.

As you make your way downstairs, Granny’s words continue to marinate in your mind – and not just her implication that the shop would be left to you. That she thought it fit to tell you that you remind her of her dead granddaughter was certainly an event that occurred in your life. But what exactly had she been on about, telling you that you smell like death?

In absentminded thought, your hand fiddles around in your jacket pocket with the latest letter from Okkotsu. You can’t stop thinking about his response to your last letter.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Are you taking care? The seasons are changing during this time, so I hope your health is faring well.

I’m glad that my enthusiasm comes across as clearly as my physical capabilities.  Sometimes I struggle to convey my intentions and inner thoughts. It seems like we can understand each other well, even while communicating through letters, which makes me happy.

To me, being of service means unobstructed and clear-minded dedication of the self, body and mind, to another’s fulfillment. Not dissimilar to pure love. This “pure” element is important to me. In fact, I believe total service is a form of pure love. Would you agree?

Maybe this is a bit strange to say, and you might hate me for it, but you remind me of a girl I once knew. She is long gone now. It has been nice to see some of her, again. Of course, it has been even nicer to get to know you.

Regretfully, I cannot begin formal employment just yet. The country re-entry procedures are taking longer than expected and things are a bit complicated right now. It is burdensome, but if you could please kindly allow for some additional time I would be very grateful. I’m sorry to trouble you.

In the meantime, it’s fun to chat together, like this. I’d be happy if we could continue.

Take care not to catch a cold.

The first time you’d read it practically had you squealing into your hands like a schoolgirl. Pure love? Expressing concern for your health? Expressing his desire to continue exchanging letters, even if he can’t formally start the training process?

At this rate, you’re on track towards a confession.

Which, of course, is the ultimate goal. You could never forgive yourself for letting the physical manifestation of all your wildest fantasies slip away. No, you’ve got to reel him in. You’ve got to ensnare him in a web of infatuation, so convoluted and intense that he won’t be able to find his way out. You’ve already decided that he is yours. It’s only a matter of time before things fall into place.

As has become customary, Okkotsu drops by the shop at precisely 8:04 p.m. and not one moment sooner or later. You’ve grown to anticipate the tinkling of the windchimes which herald his otherwise soundless arrival. Like an apparition, his visage manifests in the front door.

There’s something different about tonight: uncertain, he chances a foot past the threshold. “Could I trouble you to come inside?”

Oh. Oh! Are you finally past the stage of contactless letter exchange? You could cry tears of joy. “Please come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion…”

When he breaks past the entry area, it’s as though a wave of heat pulses throughout not just your own body, but the entire shop, as well. A light sweat breaks out at the crest of your brow. Is this seasonally appropriate? You aren’t sure if there is any season wherein a heatwave past sundown is normal.

Okkotsu looks at you like a lost puppy, floundering at what to do, what to say next. You yourself are no less awkward, but you take on the burden of breaking the silence first:

“It’s funny, you mentioned in your letter that I remind you of a girl you once knew. Today, my boss said that I remind her of her dead granddaughter. Wouldn’t happen to be the same girl, huh?”

You’re trying for lighthearted, but the joke falls flat when Okkotsu pales, white as a ghost.

Damage control, damage control! “Oh, I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he cuts you off, raising a hand. “I should’ve been forthright from the beginning. You aren’t too far off from the truth.”

Huh?

Okkotsu continues, “When I was a little boy, Mrs. Orimoto’s granddaughter and I were best friends. Her name was Rika. When she was six, Rika died in a car accident. I was with her at the time and failed to do anything to stop it from happening, or to save her. I’ve always been very sorry to Mrs. Orimoto, who raised Rika from a young age. By working at her shop, I hoped to repay some of that debt…”

You blink once, twice. Time seems to fall apart and reconstruct itself in the space it takes you to conjure up a response. What can you possibly say, to a story like that?

“You don’t, er, have to say anything,” mutters Okkotsu, as though he’s read your mind. “I know it’s heavy. But that’s the truth…”

“Okkotsu,” you say, voice tinny and faraway to your own ears. “You have a good heart.”

His downcast face shoots upwards, wide eyes seeking out your own with a desperate sheen to their dark, bottomless depths. “Huh…?”

“I mean it,” you press on, stepping closer as you do. He doesn’t even flinch or waver. You know this, because your senses are acutely aware of every fiber of his being. “Not many people would be that brave, or honor that sense of duty. You’re an admirable man. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

It seems you’ll be staying well past closing tonight to mop up the puddle that Okkotsu is about to melt into. His ears burn such a bright red that they almost glow in the dim lighting of the shop.

“I- I--!”

“So that’s the depth of your service,” you muse, your toes stopping just shy of his own, “or your ‘pure love’?”

Okkotsu’s eyes flutter shut. The sound of his gulp echoes like a gunshot. “Ah… er, miss manager, I—”

“Call me by my name. I’ve written it to you for a reason.”

Obeying your direct command, he feebly whispers your name, invoking you like he’s scared of what he’s about to summon. It sets a live wire alight at the base of your spine. Sparks fly throughout your body and it’s all you can do not to pounce on him then and there in this very shop, sleeping Granny upstairs be damned.

“Good. It seems you really are skilled at taking direction.”

His eyes are still closed when you nods, face flushed. Cute. You can’t help but want to tease him more, push him further. “Good job.”

His head all but hangs, now, as he resolutely refuses to make eye contact with you. In front of him, his hands are clasped suspiciously in front of his crotch – a detail which you take in ravenously, hungrily.

Curbing the overwhelming desire to do more, you settle with pushing your sealed envelope into his firm, solid chest with both hands, letting your fingernails press lightly into the muscle. “Here’s today’s letter. Read it and respond well.”

“Yes, I understand,” he says, eyes still shut, head still hung.

It requires you to stand on your tiptoes, when you try to lean into his ear and whisper: “You deserve a chance to make things right. Let me help you with this.”

You let him go, then, because you’re sure he’s about ready to burst at the seams. The last thing you throw his way is yet another bit of praise, because you’re a little bit awful: “I admire your idea of pure love, Okkotsu.”

Before tonight, you’ve never seen a grown man walk straight into a windowpane. Okkotsu reels back, nods and bows to you in acknowledgement before hightailing it out of the shop so fast that, as usual, you fail to actually see him go through the motions of stepping out and leaving. He’s always in such a rush. An odd one, he is.

Good thing “odd” just your type.

From that night onwards, Okkotsu starts making himself more available outside of his usual 8:04 p.m. haunting. Now, he’ll drop by early enough in the afternoons for his shadow to be visible against the door. Still, he resolutely avoids any times when current customers are present. You tease him, lightly, for this, asking how he plans to work partially as a sales attendant if he is afraid to interact with the customer base.

His response?

“I want to work here for two reasons,” he’d stated simply. “For you, and for Rika.”

Normal women would probably find an issue with their ideal man likening them to his dead childhood sweetheart. Fortunately, you are not normal. It’s flattering, even.

Clearly, Rika was another manifestation of his pure love. That you can even approach that category, let alone be mentioned in the same breath as her, is, to you, a vibrant green flag. You must be doing something right here.

So you continue intertwining yourself deeper and deeper with Okkotsu Yuuta: the letters are a constant in both of your daily lives, as well as his visits become more frequent. As an interesting development, he’s started to bring you homecooked food. Usually, it is you who does the caregiving. The first time he shows up with an obento made specially for you – complete with a heart made out of specially cut seaweed set atop the fresh rice – you almost start crying.

Admittedly, it’s all moving very fast. Hasn’t it only been four days, now, since he’d first darkened your doorway, pitifully asking for a job with no form of communication? And now, here he is, feeding you the food he’d prepared for you to enjoy as you go about your closing shift.

“Would you ever want to go out?” You blurt, and then pause, mortified at the overtly forward implication to your words. “Like! To a restaurant! Or a café! You always bring me stuff. Let me treat you.”

“Hmmm…”

Okkotsu’s wide, dark eyes roll upwards in thought. “But I really like staying here. I like eating here. No one else gets to see your pleased, comfortable face while eating except me. I don’t think I can share that. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, dizzy. “You don’t have to.”

This is the right answer. Despite his soft, youthful features, the ginger grin he offers you is undercut by the ominous glint in his intense gaze. “I don’t have to share?” He gathers some pickled plum in the chopsticks, bringing them to your open, waiting mouth. “It’s all for me?”

“I am,” you say, and accept the bitter, delicious fruit on the tip of your tongue. It is pungent. It is sweet. It is overwhelming. You almost aren’t able to swallow.

Time spent with Okkotsu makes life seem so fantastical that it almost blinds you to the world of the living. That night, you cannot find it within yourself to leave the shop and go home after closing, instead opting to chat with this gaunt, ghoulish boy until you are startled awake in the morning by your phone’s automatic alarm.

When you come to, you discover that you’d all but passed out behind the front desk, where the two of you had sat, talking, for hours into the night. Okkotsu is nowhere to be found, but in his absence is a crisply folded piece of paper lying innocently upon the desk. Hastily, you scrub at your eyes and smack your lips, trying to wake yourself up as much as is possible before you unfurl the letter and dive into its contents.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be apart from you?

If I could have, I would have stayed with you all throughout the night. I’m sorry to have left you by yourself. But you aren’t really alone. If you ever feel lonely, in the shop, please remember that I’m always there with you. Watching over you. Can you feel me?

Thanks for listening to me last night. It was a heavy story to tell, but now that I’ve confessed it, I feel so much lighter. And you accept me! Words can’t express how I feel, so please allow me to keep showing you.

Also, since Mrs. Orimoto isn’t well these days, can I ask that you don’t share with her that I’m here? The shock may worsen her condition. When she is no longer bedridden, I will tell her myself that I wish to remain and work in the shop. You shouldn’t be caught in the middle of my situation.

As always, I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you so much already, and I haven’t even left the shop yet. I’m writing this as I watch you sleep. Did you know that you snore a little bit? It’s cute.

Please think of me often.

On the one hand, you want to bury your face in your hands and scream and cry and maybe roll around and die a little bit. A love note! It’s a proper love note, this time. The thought makes your insides feel as though they’re being set alight with a bright, brilliant, inextinguishable flame.

On the other hand, Okkotsu’s mention of Granny Orimoto has brought to mind the fact that you haven’t heard from her in what is now two days. Usually, she’ll send you a message or two at the end of every day, making sure that things are in order and that you haven’t burned down the shop yet. But the last time you’d spoken to her had been when you brought over the okayu to soothe her sickly stomach…

Inexplicably, a chill overtakes your body.

Operating on autopilot, you pull yourself together – running a hand through your hair, smoothing your wrinkled clothes – and make your way out of the shop, to the external set of stairs running along the west wall.

With haste, you climb the steps, nearly tripping over yourself to reach the front door which has been left, once again, unlocked. The sense of wrongness occupying your faculties only heightens when you realize this must mean that Granny Orimoto has not been up out of bed since you’d last visited.

When you stop to toe off your shoes at the genkan, you notice that the bright pink pair of children’s house slippers are nowhere to be found, absent from their perpetual perch by the front door, as though someone – or something – has stepped inside.

Mind whirling a mile a minute, you push into the apartment and immediately reel back at the offensive scent of pure, unadulterated rot.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It could be the spoiled ingredients in the fridge, you think, desperately, as you hustle towards the bedroom. It could be anything. Anything but what it is you’re most afraid of.

Dazed, confused, scared, and still freshly woken up, your clumsy limbs somehow manage to collide with one of the low-sitting tables filling the living space. The abundance of knick-knacks and keepsakes cluttering the surface clatter in indignation, making an obscene ruckus as they fall over and to the floor. Upon closer inspection, you realize, to your horror, that it is an altar which you’d disturbed.

The only things left unshaken by your blundering blight are two framed photos: one of which displays the portrait of a young girl, no older than six, with long, dark hair and a serene smile. She seems to peer at you through the barriers of the picture frame, through the barrier of time. Her gaze hooks into your soul and invites you to step closer, to look harder. The longer you stare, the higher the gooseflesh on your skin raises in alarm. It’s an uphill battle to slide your gaze over to the picture beside her, which displays the likeness of a young boy close to her in age – presumably unrelated to her, given their distinct features, and yet, he is placed next to her on what is surely a memorial altar meant to honor and house the deceased.

While the personal effects and other supplicating items have all been disrupted and thrown off by your collision, the incense in front of the two picture frames still burns brightly, steadfastly. Oddly, it does nothing to quell the horrid stench of decay in the apartment. If anything, the altar seems to be exasperating the smell, which brings involuntary tears to your eyes and a pucker to your lips.

It's less so that the stench itself is what drives you to such a reaction; rather, the sensation invading your olfactory senses fills you with an abominable concoction of violent emotions: rage, pity, sorrow, envy, despair. You are drawn follow the source of these feelings, and your feet lead you to the bedroom, hands trembling underneath the sheer weight of all that you are experiencing as they push the slightly ajar door all the way open.

A gasp escapes you, unbidden. There, in that same, white futon adorned with layers and layers of her signature floral blankets, lies the corpse of Granny Orimoto. You can tell she’s dead because her skin has started to sag and bloat in strange and inhuman ways. This is the least surprising thing before your eyes.

Next to Granny sits a little girl – the spitting image of the girl in the portrait you’d glimpsed mere moments ago. Her gaze had once been trained steadfastly on Granny’s body, but now she looks up at you, unblinking, all-seeing.

“Hello,” says the girl, with a little girl’s voice.

“Hi,” you respond. “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” says the girl. “This is my granny.”

You remind me of my granddaughter.

She’s dead.

Granny Orimoto’s parting words to you echo in your head, rattling your brain, fizzling your consciousness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rika. Granny Orimoto told me about you.”

Slowly, cautiously, as though you are approaching a spooked animal (ironic, given the fact that it is you who is shaking like a leaf), you crouch down and kneel on the floor, sitting on your haunches in a polite manner, mirroring the girl before you. Granny Orimoto’s body is the only thing separating you as you both sit, face to face, hands clasped in your laps, peering curiously at one another.

“I know,” says Rika. “Yuuta told you about me, too.”

Of course she would know about the conversations you and Yuuta have. This also might as well happen. At this point, after all you’ve just witnessed – first, the fresh corpse of your former employer, and now, the physical manifestation of a girl who died over ten years ago – there is very little left that could happen which would truly shock you out of your wits.

“Yes, he did. Have you been hanging out in the shop? Have you been lonely?”

The girl sticks out her bottom lip. “Yeah. You guys didn’t pay attention to me. Even when I was really loud, or turned the lights off, or broke the mirror. Sorry for breaking the mirror. I was mad.”

“It’s okay to be mad, but we mustn’t break things, or hurt others. I’m sorry for not noticing you sooner. Do you like plants and gardening? Like your granny?”

Rika nods. “Mhm, yeah. But Granny never lets me into the shop. Granny says all I do is mess things up. Granny says I’m no good. Granny says people died because of me. Did you know my dad is dead, too?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay,” says Rika. “I wanted him to die.”

You blink. “Did you want Granny Orimoto to die, too?”

She takes a moment to contemplate before answering. “Granny had to die if I was going to play with Yuuta again.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, desperate to understand. When she begins to explain, you lean forward, forgetful of the fact that it is an old woman’s corpse which lies beneath you.

“Granny has already lived for so long. I wanted to come back. I died before my seventh birthday. Yuuta and I were supposed to spend it together. Yuuta never forgot about me. Yuuta talks to me every day. Yuuta went to Africa. Have you ever been to Africa? I went with Yuuta because he made a shrine for me there. Now Yuuta is back in Japan. Yuuta promised that we would play together again. Yuuta said he needed some time to prepare things. Yuuta is good at things like that – Yuuta can fight and do magic. Yuuta does jujutsu. Do you know jujutsu?”

“I know it,” you tell her.

“Yeah, Yuuta has powers. Yuuta knows a lot about dying and things like that. So, anyways, Yuuta said he would use his powers to help me come back so we can play together again. Yuuta said that me and granny have to switch places. I said ‘OK, Yuuta!’ and then Yuuta said he needed seven days. What day is it today?”

Somehow, you know the answer, even without looking at your phone’s calendar. “Monday.”

“Oh, so it’s been seven days. Yay! We can play together again. Do you want to play with us, too?”

“I would like to play together, yes.”

Abruptly, Rika unfurls from her graceful little seated position and makes her way over to you, crawling over Granny Orimoto’s corpse. You try not to think too hard about the graphic squelching that occurs underneath the childish palms of Rika’s tiny hands.

“Yay! Let’s go downstairs. Maybe Yuuta will be there.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that Yuuta only swings by when the sun is out of sight. Her arms raise, clearly indicating that she’d like to be carried, and you are content to oblige her, as you scoop her up in your arms and make good on her direction. You exit Granny Orimoto’s apartment with Rika in your arms, her little feet dangling from your hip. The bright pink pair of slippers almost fall off as you make your way down the stairs, and you take care to remind her to make sure not to lose them.

When you get back to the shop, you must admit that you were mistaken in thinking Yuuta would not be there. As though he’d been anticipating this – which, you realize, he absolutely was, as this marks seven days from the first time he’d set foot in the shop – Yuuta stands by the front desk, wringing his hands before him nervously, sweat visible at his temples.

The both of you lock eyes, and he smiles, warm and fuzzy and entirely ill-fitting for the increasingly absurd scenario in which you find yourself. But you have little time to interrogate him about what the hell is going on – for Rika leaps from your arms and hits the ground running, screaming at the top of her little lungs, Yuuta!! Yuuta!!!, excited and so full of life, in only the way that children can scream in pure joy. Pure love.

He crouches and readily meets her, scooping the little girl up in his arms and sweeping her into the air, spinning round and round with Rika in his arms. Rika-chan!! Rika-chan!!! he cries – literally cries, that is, as you cannot help but spot the stray tear or two running down the swells of his flushed cheeks.

It is right as you are starting to feel a bit voyeuristic that Yuuta slows to a stop and finds your eyes once more. He comes to you, then, with Rika still perched on his hip, a chafingly tender smile splitting his face into two.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers with charged intensity, voice potent with unspoken feeling. “I knew you were special. I’ve always known. You never judge me. You always listen. You accepted me. And you accepted Rika, too.”

Have you? Accepted them, that is.

You shock yourself when you realize that you really have accepted all that’s transpired. Granny Orimoto saved your life when she’d taken you in and, for that, you must always be grateful. But from what Rika shared with you about how she’d been treated as a small child, and from what you’ve observed from Yuuta’s generally traumatized disposition and extreme reluctance to come face-to-face with the old woman, you realize, now, that there is a reason why Granny Orimoto had no living family to speak to or rely on when she was in her final days.

Whether or not her death had something to do with Yuuta’s apparent preternatural abilities (you remind yourself to ask about that later), it remains clear that she’d been in ill health long before you’d arrived at the flower shop. With no one to talk to. No one to care for her. You’d always felt pity. But, now, you realize that it may have been a situation of her own doing.

How could you argue with the living, breathing testament to that fact, who stand before you in fresh-faced, smiling glee?

“Of course I accept you both,” you say, earnestly, and mean it. “Rika is too cute not to love!” The young girl giggles, bashfully burying her face in Yuuta’s neck.

“And what about me?” Yuuta’s brows are quirked, his smile dipping into something a bit more cutting, a touch more heated than his simple joy from moments ago. “Am I cute enough to love, too?”

The answer is simple and requires no effort on your part: “I love you, Yuuta.”

You had more to say after that, but it proves a bit challenging to monologue your undying devotion to this man while said man is currently enveloping your mouth inside of his own. He kisses like a black hole: devouring, dark, impossibly comprehensive, and providing you without hope for possible escape.

He really is your type.

;

After those first seven days, Yuuta finally begins training at the shop. And Rika joins in, as well.

The three of you make an odd, adorable little family unit. After Yuuta had taken care of cleaning and renovating the apartment space upstairs, the three of you moved in without further delay. Your days are filled with home-cooking, raising Rika, maintaining the shop, and working alongside the man who has quickly made himself to be your life partner in every endeavor.

In fact, so much of your life is consumed with this newfound domesticity that there is little reason for you to leave the shop in the first place. Whenever you stray too far outside, you are prone to headaches, dizziness, fatigue, and even fever. It’s best to stay where is familiar, you reason. And Yuuta’s cooking is too good for you to want to eat anywhere else. He makes sure you eat three times a day, at least, and insists you finish your plate every time. Perhaps this is why you can’t stand life outside of this four, cozy walls – where else could you possibly find contentment such as this?

The business is re-named to “Rika’s Flower Shop,” which all three of you find quite agreeable given the current state of affairs. More customers than ever flow in, attracted by the colorful designs hand-painted by Rika herself on the building exterior. You generate enough revenue for additional renovations to be made on the shop. There is enough room in the budget to hire some part-time shop hands – local university students in the area looking to support themselves.

Everything is coming to fruition. For once, you truly feel as though life is blossoming.

And you can attribute all of it, every last bit of happiness, to them: Granny Orimoto, Rika, and Yuuta. The happiness is so overwhelming that you don’t ever want to leave their side, not even to run to the konbini, or to visit the post office. Why would you need to leave, when everything you’ve ever wanted is right here?

You have a family, a home, a life. You’ll remain in this shop with your loves until the day you grow as old and sickly as Granny Orimoto, and you’ll likely die upstairs, lying next to Yuuta, the both of you wrinkled and gray, curled together atop the futon, exactly where Granny had wheezed her last, bitter breath.

You wonder if Rika was there to watch it happen. You wonder if Rika will be there to see the both of you off, too.

You hope so. You really, really hope so.

You’re sure death will be every bit the dream you’re hoping it will be.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Screaming at an Empty Room -

Reintroduction/Update

Hello everyone! Probably too late to do an intro, given that I've been writing on this blog since 2017, but since I've returned after a few years away from writing, I wanted the opportunity to talk about my blog and projects completed and my upcoming plans!

I go by Avaleon everywhere else on the internet, but respond to pretty much anything, including Screaming, hey you, etc! Started this blog in my mid 20s, and aged normally into the early 30s from there. I love writing, have always loved it, but between work and life, it's definitely something that I mostly do late at night and on weekends. I love hearing from people, but I usually answer asks in bunches, and typically right before I post writing. Love hearing about other people's projects as well!

I write short stories, novellas, and occasional full length novels. I am not published, but actively working on self-publishing some of my full length works. Everything I write is posted online, I enjoy sharing my work. The main reason to self publish for me is to have physical copies for myself or anyone who might want one!

My short stories can be found under the #writing tag on my blog. As for the long completed stories, I'll post them below the cut!

Love you Tumblr, happy to be back!

A. Full Length Novels (100,000+ words)

Please Fix the Story!

Description:

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know why I’m trapped in this never ending cycle of rebirth. All I know is that I wake up inside the worlds of unfinished stories, with a mission to accomplish the author’s wishes and stabilize the worlds now headed for destruction. I do my best, hoping, praying that maybe if I complete enough missions, I’ll be able to remember my past and return to my home.

It’s just fixing stories, it should be simple enough.

So can someone explain who this random villain is who keeps following me to each world?

Masterpost linked here

2. I Can’t Eat Love

Description:

Lenora did not have a wonderful life. After her engagement to Prince Ronan is broken, she loses everything… her reputation, her home and her family. Starving on the streets, she dies angry and bitter at how her life unfolded… only to wake up in her old bed, fifteen again, five years before her death. 

Now she must struggle to change her fate, and the fate of the around her. This time she won’t trust in something as flimsy or changeable as love. No, this time she’ll have the power and the money she needs to protect herself. 

Lenora has already lost everything once. She’s not going to lose again. 

No matter the cost. 

Masterpost Linked Here

B. Novellas

I Refuse to be a Named Character

Description:

I woke up inside the world of one of the best selling fantasy book series “Deadly Crown.” Intrigue, handsome heroes, adventure… sounds great, right? Just one problem: all the named characters except the main hero and villain die, are replaced and their replacements die. Being important in this story is a death sentence, so I plan to move to the middle of nowhere, and avoid the plot! 

It should be a fool proof plan, so why do the main characters keep dragging me into the story?

Masterpost Linked Here

2. Living in a Rewrite of my Own Book World

Description:

This is the story about an author who gets hit by a car right before she can finish her bestselling book series. Trapped in the role of a terrible side character antagonist, she must find a way to change the story’s ending. Not just for her own survival, but for the characters that seem just a little too real to be fiction. (30K words)

Masterpost Linked Here

3.Baby’s First Revenge!

Description:

When Charlotte is betrayed and killed by the friend she sacrificed everything for, she thought it was the end. Instead, she found herself reborn as a baby, with her killer still enjoying the fame of stealing her work. Now, she's coming after him, and plans to make him pay... But first, nap time.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

4. The Supervillain’s Daughter

The story of Erica, a girl who finds out that her brother is the kidnapped child of superheroes, and that her parents are villains. Years later she is the best agent in the Villain Suppression Unit, and hates everything to do with superheroes. So of course she isn’t pleased when she is paired with the strongest man alive, especially because she knows him. But with even darker parts of her past surfacing again, she will have no choice but to join forces and save the world. 

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Other smaller works and the incomplete ones can be found on this page

Thanks everyone!

[itspbandjellytime]

The Assistant [Hailee Steinfeld x Fem!Reader] - Chapter 1

Plot: Y/N Waldorf is fresh out of college and her first job is being Hailee Steinfeld's personal assistant, but what Y/N doesn't know is that Hailee is hiding a huge secret from the general public and from her, as her assistant.

Notes: This is a multi-chapter fic, you can also read this on wattpad under the same username "itspbandjellytime". This fanfic is also going to contain NSFW themes in the near future, so if you're under the age of 18 please don't read this. Thank you!

Word count: 1.5k words

[Y/N's POV]

My name is Y/N Waldorf, I am 21 years old and I live in Seattle, Washington, and I just graduated from college a few months ago. After four gruesome years of this course that I didn't like, I am finally free and I get to choose what job I'll have in the future since this is America and it's a free country after all. I got to say College was mentally challenging, but it was worth it after all and I got my degree, which I will probably never use in the future.

My parents, are real estate brokers and they were high school sweethearts. But they're not your typical high school sweethearts where one is a football player and the other is the girl next door, my parents were a bunch of nerds who fell in love and gave birth to two girls. I am the youngest and my sister Kelly, is the eldest. 

If I can talk about their reaction to me graduating college, all I can say is that they were happy that I finished college after ranting to them I want to drop out every five seconds. However they have been bugging me for months to get a job which is annoying at first but I manage to get used to them bothering me at 3 in the morning to get one which I have- well had. I told my parents I've been working at the coffee shop somewhere in our local town, but they told me to get a PROPER job, a job that can pay me well and can give me money to support myself. As if the job at the coffee shop didn't support me when I was in college which it did for some time, I quit my job at the coffee shop a few weeks ago and now I am scouring the internet for a job.

My eyes start to hurt from staring at the screen of my laptop way too long, scrolling through countless job hunting websites, my ears start to hurt as well from the headphones I am wearing and blasting out my playlists as I look for the said job. I start to slowly give up at this point and start to overthink about my life choices until I was on the verge of tears, when all of a sudden I saw something that says: "Urgent! In need of a Personal Assistant, please contact Laura McKinnon." along with her details. I was skeptical at first when I saw the advertisement, I am fully aware about the scams happening which leads to people being in very life threatening circumstances. But with a quick google search, I realized that she works as a talent manager and she's based in California, I feel like this is also a sign from God at the same time. I immediately typed down her e-mail address and sent my resume to Laura, hoping for the best and I don't get scammed.

A few days have passed, I've been checking my e-mail almost everyday to see if I get a word from Laura which I did. According to the E-mail I sent, I am scheduled to have an interview with her via. Zoom the next day. The next day arrived and I was interviewed by Laura through Zoom, once the interview concluded she told me she'll contact me again once I get the job or not. I waited and waited, day and night for a response from Laura. I was desperate to get this job that I started to go to church almost everyday, I was religious for an entire week basically.

One day, while I was in a middle of a run just to count my steps in and getting my blood pumping, my phone starts to ring. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and answered the call from an anonymous number "Hello?" I spoke, panting and catching my breath "Hello is this Y/N Waldorf?" The person asked, the sound of the person's voice sounded sweet, feminine, and had a valley girl accent. 

I furrow my brows, checking my surroundings before speaking "Yes, who is this?" I asked.

"This is Laura McKinnon, from the office of Hailee Steinfeld. I am just here to inform you that you got the job as Hailee Steinfeld's personal assistant." Laura said, hold on... Did she say Hailee Steinfeld? Like... THE Hailee Steinfeld?!? I get to work as Hailee Steinfeld's personal assistant?!? I tend not to freak out in the middle of the street knowing I am gonna be a part of Hailee's team. I've looked up to Hailee since I first saw The Edge of Seventeen for the first time and I never looked back since, she is also the reason why I am into women and met one of my closest friends, Jackie.

"Miss Waldorf? Are you still on the line?" Laura asks me, I snapped back to reality and stammered for a bit to find words "Uhm... Yes. Sorry, I was distracted." I responded, chuckling nervously.

"It's all good Miss Waldorf, anyways you will be starting next week. I know you are based in Washington, but if you have any associates around the Los Angeles area, you can stay with them." Laura told me, all did was respond with a nod and a smile on my face "Yes... I will do that, thank you so much." I said as Laura ended the call.

After my run, I headed straight to my apartment and called up my bestfriend Jackie, I know it's crazy that I am calling my internet friend before my parents who have been bugging me to get a proper job. I met Jackie through our shared interest and love for Hailee Steinfeld, thanks to the website "Twitter", I was blabbering about Hailee on the site as usual and then she asked if we can be mutuals on that site  and we have been inseparable ever since also Jackie lives in Los Angeles around West Hollywood so I can crash at her place. 

"Jackie!" I said with a proud tone, running around my apartment like I am a dog who just got the zoomies. 

"Y/N/N! Hey, what's up?" Jackie asks me, I settle down on the couch and clear my throat. 

"Girl guess what?" I ask her, I cant contain my excitement as a huge grin forms on my face.

"What?" She asks me back.

"I got a job!" I exclaimed, not telling her what my job is and who I work for just yet to build the suspense.

"No way, congrats girlie! What job?" Jackie asks.

I clear my throat again, a smirk forms on my face "Personal assistant." I confidently say.

"For?"

"Hailee Steinfeld." I responded, giggling like a teenage girl. I heard Jackie scream on the other line, causing me to laugh at her response "Yes, I am being serious Jackie. And I need to crash at your place." I told her.

"Oh my God sure, you are free to stay at my place... holy shit... You bagged a good job." Jackie compliments me and all I can do is laugh.

"It's insane, I know." I said, smiling "I start next week, and I gotta tell my parents about it as well." I added.

"Well you better tell them, girl." Jackie encouraged me, I can tell that she's leaning against a wall and smiling with her phone on her hand.

"Of course, I'll tell them and I will drive by there tomorrow." I said, ending my call with Jackie.

I told my parents about the job that I got, their reactions were positive and they supportive of me moving from Washington to California the next day. But my grandparents are huge conspiracy theorist believers, they start to talk about random things about the entertainment industry and my parents just shook their heads and told me to ignore them and enjoy my job. And in the words of my mother, she told me that this job is a once in a life time opportunity and I should savor every moment. Which I will, cause I have a feeling that working with your idol will be one of the best experiences I will have in my life time.

I spent the entire day packing my things for California, and It's a good thing that my sister, Kelly is down to look after and live in my apartment for the mean time. I love my sister, I would die for her. 

The next day, I finally left Washington and headed to California. I decided to take my car and drive, it feels like a road trip with yourself and it's very therapeutic. I suggest that you try it, I spent the entire road trip blasting out Taylor Swift, eating convenient store food, sleeping in my car in empty parking spots. 

The trip lasted for 17 hours, and 17 hours later I arrived in sunny Los Angeles. The last time I was in Los Angeles was when I was 15, when I first met Jackie and we saw Hailee live when she opened Charlie Puth. I took time to look around the surroundings as I drove to where Jackie lives, a smile forms on my face and it made me realize that this will be the start of a new chapter of my life and I hope this one will never end.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Riddle Rosehearts - Bloom Birthday Vignette

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Birthday Party Venue]

Riddle: It's time for the customary interview. I must prepare myself to provide proper responses so as to be a role model to the other students.

Riddle: There is five minutes remaining until it is slated to begin. I wonder if we will be able to start on time…

???: For celebrities like me, it is crucial to be punctual. Although, I cannot say I blame you for your concern.

Riddle: Ah, so you're my presenter, Vil-senpai. It seems this interview should run smoothly.

Vil: Well, aren't you lucky, Riddle? Don't you think having me as your presenter is the best birthday gift one could receive?

Riddle: Fufu, you're right. Thank you, and please be gentle with me.

Vil: Alright, let me start from the beginning… Riddle, Happy Birthday. I'll start the interview now.

Vil: “If you could use flight magic to go anywhere, where would you like to go?”

Riddle: Anywhere while using flight magic, you say…? Given that condition, I believe I would be able to fly back and forth between the Queendom of Roses and Sage's Island.

Vil: If I recall, you're from the Queendom of Roses, yes? Are you looking to take quick day trips back home?

Riddle: Oh, I wouldn't go home, but instead, I'd like to go out to this one ranch.

Vil: A ranch? That's… actually not too surprising, I suppose. You are in the Equestrian club, after all.

Riddle: Come to think of it, I believe they also offered horseback riding lessons… My recollection is from some time ago, so I'm not sure if they still offer it, however.

Vil: Oh, so you've gone before?

Riddle: Yes, during one of my elementary school extra curriculars.

Riddle: It wasn't very far from my hometown, so many of my classmates would visit there on weekends.

Riddle: It seems it was common for them to buy some ice cream from the ice cream vans they had stationed around the ranch…

Riddle: Even when we visited for our extracurricular course, I recall many of my classmates eating that ice cream.

Vil: Well now, it must have been very popular. So, essentially, you wish to once more taste that ice cream from time long past, yes?

Riddle: I've never eaten it. At the time, my mother had forbidden me from having snacks of that sort.

Riddle: So, while I am interested in their ice cream… I would also like to visit the ranch's café.

Vil: Has that café still been in operation since that time?

Riddle: Actually, it opened after I enrolled here at Night Raven College.

Riddle: I saw an advert for it in a magazine that one of my dormmates were reading, so I researched it on the internet…

Riddle: They're really well known for their white and fluffy whipped cream topped sweets, so much so that apparently some customers come from overseas just to try it.

Vil: From overseas, even? That's impressive, especially for a ranch café.

Riddle: I agree. There was even a showcase of their delicious looking sweets on their website as well.

Riddle: Among them, I found the cream tart to look the most appealing… So I have been wanting to eat it someday.

Vil: So, put simply, you wish to go to this ranch and come back without your mom ever finding out? Ahaha! I like it!

Vil: For you of all people to want to secretly snack like this, I guess you've truly embraced the spirit of Night Raven College.

Riddle: That's not…! Ah, no, it probably is just as you've surmised, Vil-senpai.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Birthday Party Venue]

Vil: NEXT! Here's the next question.

Vil: "What is your best class?"

Riddle: As I always receive a perfect score on my tests, when it comes to grades, I have no obvious strengths or weaknesses.

Riddle: If I must choose one, I suppose I'd choose Practical Magic.

Vil: True, practical application of magic is a very useful skill.

Vil: Although, back when my magic first presented itself, I do remember thinking, that I could do it much faster if I didn't use magic, however.

Riddle: That's understandable. In Heartslabyul, we use our magic for practical application when painting the roses, or transporting our tableware, but…

Riddle: For those who are unsteady when it comes to their magical output and control, they often just do it with their own hands, instead of magic. This is especially true with our inexperienced first years.

Vil: You say that as if you were not like them.

Riddle: That's exactly correct. Before I even enrolled in Night Raven College, I already was capable of casting practical magic our classwork requires us to use.

Riddle: It wouldn't even take me 10 minutes to paint all the roses in our garden red.

Vil: I expect that would be true, especially coming from you. Were you receiving special training before coming here?

Riddle: Yes… My parents are both mages, so I acquired my knowledge through the assignments my mother tasked me.

Vil: I wouldn't know anything about how living as a family of mages would be. I'm curious to know what kind of assignments she gave you.

Riddle: The simpler tasks would be those such as putting away the books I had finished reading or changing my outfit.

Riddle: Let me see, I think it might have been when I was five years old when I once fell asleep from exhaustion in the middle of finishing what had been tasked to me...

Riddle: My mother had come in to check on my progress, and she scolded me fervently. After that, I was given another task to complete.

Vil: I assume your mother simply very earnest when it comes to your education… But she sure does not take it easy on her child, I see.

Riddle: …As I endeavored to complete all my assignments, I could tell that my own abilities were growing bit by bit.

Riddle: I could feel my own motivation surging after I had set a goal for myself, to complete all my assigned tasks before my mother would come to check in on me.

Riddle: I can still clearly remember that proud feeling that coursed through me the first time I was able to achieve that goal.

Vil: Essentially, you were challenging yourself to a speedrun, is that it? I can't help but be impressed by your diligence.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Birthday Party Venue]

Vil: Alright then, this is your last question.

Vil: “What would you like to do in the coming year?”

Riddle: I would like to improve my cooking skills.

Vil: YOU, COOK!? Rather, I should ask, why did you decide to try to improve that?

Riddle: I have several reasons, but… I suppose the biggest one is that I realized that there is still much I don't know about cooking.

Vil: Well, that is a laudable thing for you to say, a far cry different from your comments earlier. Perhaps you'd elaborate further for me.

Riddle: The other day, I was invited to have lunch with Trey and Cater. They said that Trey was planning on making the food…

Riddle: So I asked them what he was making, and he responded, "I'll just look in the fridge and decide after I see what's available."

Vil: And what did you eat that day, then?

Riddle: The main dish was a cheese omelette. It seems he used the leftover ingredients from when we baked some cheese tarts the day before.

Riddle: We had leftover carrots and raisins from making a carrot cake, and those were tossed into a salad side dish.

Riddle: In addition, he also made soup and dessert for us. All with ingredients that we had in the kitchen.

Vil: For a lunch that was made with whatever was leftover, that sounds as if it was rather splendid.

Riddle: IT ABSOLUTELY WAS.

Riddle: As the food was almost finished, Ace and Deuce showed up, having followed the aroma to see where it was coming from…

Riddle: In the end, it was the five of us eating lunch together that day. Cater, Ace, and Deuce had nothing but praise for the food.

Riddle: I was truly astounded… I never expected such a delicious meal from leftovers like that, let alone multiple courses.

Riddle: I always believed that cooking required one to plan the menu ahead of time and carefully prepare each step and ingredient properly.

Vil: You're not wrong, either. It's actually rather difficult to create dishes on the fly like that without any experience.

Riddle: Trey explained that there many times that he would cook instead of his parents, so he just naturally learned how.

Riddle: When he said that, I came to a realization. It wasn't enough for me to only memorize recipes, but I needed to gain more experience as well.

Riddle: Eventually, once I leave the dormitory and my parent's home, I'll be on my own and I may need to cook for myself.

Riddle: If I am able to use up all my ingredients and seasonings without being wasteful, then it should also reduce the time I would need for shopping.

Riddle: That's why I intend on taking continual Master Chef courses in order to gain that practical know-how.

Vil: I have this feeling that you may find that there will be many challenges when you live alone, much more than just cooking.

Riddle: …What does that mean?

Vil: Well, there's a plethora of things I can think of… But for now, I suppose I'm just extremely curious what kind of interior design you'll end up choosing.

Riddle: My interior design choice, hm. You're right, I would need to assemble a complete set of furniture once I start living alone.

Riddle: If I ever come to purchase any furniture, it would be an honor to receive advice from you, Vil-senpai.

Vil: This concludes the interview. I was able to learn many fascinating things about you.

Vil: Here, take this. This broom has copious amounts of bright red flowers and suits a leading man like yourself well.

Riddle: Thank you very much. Red is a color that symbolizes both Heartslabyul and the Queen of Hearts.

Riddle: If nothing else, it fills me with joy. I shall demonstrate flight skills that is worthy of such a broom.

Vil: What high spirits. Well then, go on now. I look forward to seeing what the Dorm Leader of Heartslabyul can really do.

Riddle: Of course. I absolutely won't disappoint.

Riddle: Flying in the sky is a simple task. I'll show every person gathered here my true ability!

Requested @leonakingscholarship and @agnesmontague.

[piratefalls]

once again the number of fics on these lists has escaped containment.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five. list six.

No Nut November by TuppingLiberty

The Super Six make a bet to see who can 'win' No Nut November. Alex is determined to win, but discovers something about his roommate Henry in the process. Aka, a simple college roommate au pwp grew some plot.

Feel your hands in my hair and you whisper my name by kiwiana

And, like, Alex is a smooth guy, okay? He’s charming and witty and has a killer smile. Generally speaking, he flirts well and it almost always works out for him. Even when it doesn’t, he usually ends up making a new friend. There’s all sorts of things he could say in response. ‘You could help me by letting me buy you a drink’, that’s a classic. Sometimes a well-placed cheesy pickup line about being distracted by someone’s beauty can break the ice. ‘No, but you can feel free to help yourself’ is a good one if the vibe is more hookup than date. These are all options he has. What actually comes out of his mouth is “Can I suck your dick?”

Henry's an Asshole (I Want to Kiss Him) by anarchyat4am

They hoist themselves up onto the counters, Alex on the island and Henry opposite him, tucked into the corner with his knees pulled to his chest. Henry can feel Alex watching him, but he’s not sure he wants to face whatever’s playing out in Alex’s expression. He gets through half of his ice cream before giving in and meeting Alex’s eyes, and he cannot for the life of him read what he sees in them. “Can I tell you a secret?” Alex says. Henry hums and lifts an eyebrow. “Is it a good one?” “Maybe?” Alex says. He pokes at his ice cream and eats another spoonful, looking carefully at Henry. “I was gonna kiss you at midnight.” * At the NYE Gala, Henry starts feeling the hazy edges of anxiety and an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. It takes him longer than it should to take notice of the feeling, and even longer to realise that the cause is likely the binder he’s been wearing all day. He escapes the party, Alex gets him upstairs to his room to change, and the rest of the night goes far differently than Henry could have expected.

Uncut not Uncultured by inexplicablymine

“Excuse me? Have I dealt with Uncircumcised Dick? Are you at a hookup or something right now and a little lost?” “Yes, have you dealt with uncircumcised dick, no I’m not at a hookup, I am having an existential crisis and I need support okay Liam!” Alex’s voice pitches up at the end showing that he really is worried about something to do with foreskin. __________________ One Trader Joe’s Pride themed phallic treat, one existential crisis with your ex and his current lover, one hot and steamy night to work it all out.

The Key to Home by MoonCheeseRavioli

Henry isn't like that at all. He's not cold and robotic, he's just nervous. He's just a boy. Maybe they can just be boys tonight. No fucking titles or parts to play. Just people in a room in a house, doing something for themselves for once.

You'll Be Glowing, Chasing Shadows Away by Mags (sparklepocalypse)

In the weeks leading up to Alex’s eighteenth birthday, he spends hours meticulously crafting a list of things that adults are legally permitted to do, and minors are not. It takes nearly twice as long to decide which items to sidebar, so he can narrow the list down to a manageable number. Finally, he’s left with four: 1. register to vote; 2. buy a lottery ticket; 3. get a tattoo; 4. go to the adult novelty shop. (Or, five times Alex tries something he's seen on the internet, and one time he involves Henry.)

The Better Part by dorian_burberrycanary

Henry has no reason to be in New York, no acceptable public excuse, just a three-day gap in his schedule and a boyfriend he hasn’t seen in six weeks. Six weeks and two days, his mind supplies. For a moment he considers blaming that knowledge on how the American election is an easy date to remember. Instead, he texts Alex: We’re apart for weeks but my body misses you in days, in minutes.

warm from the inside out by cricketnationrise

“Can I pull you away from what I’m sure is fascinating research for a bit of a break?” “Mmm, depends on what kind of break,” Alex teases. “Tax law is pretty captivating.” “I was thinking,” Henry begins slowly, smudging kisses from Alex’s shoulder and up his neck, “that the break could go something like this.”

(lord, save me) my drug is my baby by coffeecatsme

Henry isn’t home when Alex returns from his weeklong trip to his father’s lakehouse in Texas. There is, however, a bat hanging from their fan, wings curled around its little body, a drop of drool clinging to his lips. Sleeping. “Huh,” Alex says, tilting his head. “I didn’t know vampires could actually turn into bats.” Or, 5 times Alex learns something new about Henry and 1 time Henry learns something new about Alex.

Celebration by Anonymous

It’s foolish, to do this now instead of later when they have time, but Henry wants it too much to resist. He always wants, always. Henry and Alex celebrate the election victory.

So No One Told You Life Was Gonna Be This Way by DracoWillHearAboutThis

Alex froze in his tracks, the abrupt movement causing him to drop his freshly bought cup of coffee right onto his new white sneakers. At the sound, Pez and Bea both turned to stare at him, eyes wide and slightly panicked. “Please tell me you didn’t hear that,” Pez whispered, with a note of desperation in his voice. “What do you mean, Henry is in love with me?!” Alex asked, his own voice high-pitched. “Well,” Nora said, grinning as she leaned back in her own seat. “This should be interesting.”

A Long Way From the Playground by allmylovesatonce

Henry and Alex were best friends growing up until they went to separate colleges and they grew apart. When they see each other again as adults, against the odds, both living in the same city again, will it be a joyful reunion or will the pain of the years apart get in the way? How do you become friends again when there is so much of the past in the way?

and I see forever in your eyes by viciouslyqueer

“What went wrong, love?” Henry asks quietly, anxiety curling around him and weighing on his stomach at the thought of having hurt Alex in any way. To his surprise, Alex lets out a little laugh. “Nothing, actually.” Henry frowns. “But… you safeworded. Something was obviously wrong.” Alex stays silent for a few moments. He seems to hesitate before speaking. “I just… didn’t want you to open that drawer.” — A brief misunderstanding and a ruined surprise turn out better than expected.

Toe the Line by OrchidScript

Henry plays piano while Alex studies. Alex gets caught live-streaming. Henry has a response handy.

Tickling the Ivories by bleedingballroomfloor

"What is it, baby?" Alex asks with a lick of his lips, one hand squeezing Henry's thigh and the other cupping his face. Henry growls. "You know what it is, you wanker," he whispers. They're so close that their lips brush with each word they speak. "Now are you going to continue to tease me like the arse you are, or are you going to drag me to the bedroom and actually fuck me?" "The bedroom?" Alex chuckles, sliding up his hand to thread his fingers through Henry's hair. He moves his mouth to Henry's ear and says, "Remember when you wouldn't let me fuck you on that piano back in Kensington? Well, this one isn't an old antique, babe."

Teach Me, Teach Me, Teach Me (How to Love) by politics_and_prose

“The beauty of love is that you can fall into it with the most unexpected person at the most unexpected time.” - Ritu Ghatourey Henry expects the coming school year to be much the same as the previous ones. He couldn't be more wrong.

tiny pretty things by shinebackbaby

Having completely gotten lost in his thoughts, he must've been staring, because Nora's saying, "Earth to Henry. What are you staring at, babe? Would you like to try?" From the tone of her voice it's obvious she's mostly joking, but Henry, not knowing what's gotten into him, actually considers. He remembers wondering how it all feels. Sure, he's had concealer put on his dark circles about a million times, and blush on his cheeks to give his face just the slightest warmth instead of the pale and hollowed-out look he privately sported for many years after his father's passing. But it just never felt the same as the things they did to Bea, the things June and Nora are doing to themselves right now. He thinks. Wonders. Considers. And he nods. He nods his head and says, in a bit of a small voice, "Er. Yeah, actually. I'd like that, I think." Or in which Henry tries out makeup with the help of Nora and June, and Alex is positively in love with it.

First Time for Everything by Celaestis

“I love that you love it.” He moves, gesturing for Henry to sit, and then straddles Henry's lap. His smile is as sharp as a knife when he kisses Henry. “I love everything about it – the way you look, the noises you make. How fucking amazing you feel around me, sweetheart.” He grinds slowly against Henry as he talks. "I wanna feel that too."

In the teeth of strong opposition by clottedcreamfudge

"You know what?" Henry says loudly, annoyed beyond belief that he has to hear for the millionth time how fucking cool Alex is with Henry's sexuality. "If you're such a good ally, why don't you suck me off? Since you're so insistent, why not get on your knees, Alex?" He regrets the words as soon as he says them, but it's not like he can shove them back into his mouth; he can't take them back. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the shocked expression on Alex's face and takes a few deep breaths. "Sorry," he says tightly a moment later, eyes still closed. "That was uncalled for." "Do you want me to?"

would you wait for me? by smc_27

Henry Fox has made Alex nervous from the second they met. Now it’s different. Now Alex has to try and find a shirt to wear to a party where he’ll inevitably see Henry for the first time in a year. For the first time since Alex’s heart was broken and he’d made what felt like the brave and smart decision and left. Coming back might be a mistake.

Little Matters by pridepages

Henry Fox never expected to have children. As the black—or rainbow—sheep of the family, he accepted that long ago. But tragedy takes the lives of his brother and sister-in-law. Suddenly, Henry finds himself the guardian of his precocious little niece, turning his life upside down! Alex Claremont-Diaz is just fine, thank you very much. Freshly graduated from NYU Law, he’s ready to kick off his career. One day, he runs into a handsome man with his little girl. Sometimes we have to find each other before we can find ourselves.

jump in with your heart first by stutteringpeach

Pez sets it up. Some guy from work, he says. Gorgeous, too smart for his own good, a mouth that will get him into trouble. Henry raises an eyebrow. “Whatever you’re thinking,” Pez sings, wearing a smirk, “the answer is yes.”

Who Will I Become Tonight? by athousandrooms, ifyoustay

Attending their ten-year high school reunion isn't among Henry's ideal weekend plans, but Alex makes a really strong case for them to go together and have some spiteful fun. The problem is, Henry's in love with his straight best friend, and Alex thinks it's a brilliant idea to fake date. Best laid plans, they say.

Love, Pyramus by SprigsofViolets

Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor has always been different, and he spends his life finding himself in the pages of a book, connecting with queer people through literature. “To every person in search of somewhere to belong who happened to pick up this book, I hope you found a place in here, even if just for a few pages. You are loved. I wrote this for you. Keep fighting, keep making history, keep looking after one another.” —Casey McQuiston; Red, White, and Royal Blue

five times alex and henry tried something kinky (and one time they didn't) by cmere

Alex knew Henry loved his stupid fucking dirty talk, but if he were pressed to admit it, he loved it too, especially knowing that they were doing something they very much weren't supposed to—and that even though it wouldn't be the same scandal it once was, it would still be a fucking shock to someone's delicate sensibilities and most likely get them in a lot of trouble. What Alex loved most was that Henry got off on this shit as much as he did, too. OR five times Alex and Henry tried something kinky, and one time they didn't

Stars and Stripes by lucy_in_the_sky

Alex and Henry’s Fourth of July celebrations ft. an oh-so patriotic pair of star spangled boxers.

Hope and Glory by everwitch

Any moment now, that door will open again and another man will enter, another stranger will bare himself and quietly slot himself into the hole in the wooden panel. And Henry will swallow him down, willingly, greedily. He will use his mouth and his tongue and both of his hands, and he will lose himself in every little sound, every low groan and trembling whimper, every sharp intake of breath. He will bring the stranger to the brink and then over it, will smile faintly as feels the man pulsing in between his hands, will brush a chaste kiss against the tip before he lets go. Henry joins an exclusive, members only sex club and lives out an impossible fantasy. Along the way, he forms a connection with an enigmatic lover.

Gay Panic Button by Void_senpai

In which Alex is Alex and Henry's little gay heart cannot survive his bullshit. Or Chapters from the book and offscreen scenes from Henry's POV

AirBnB My Baby by indomitablelove

Alex grips his hand on the poker again. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks through gritted, chattering teeth. “And why do you have a key?” His mind is spinning a thousand miles an hour. What if this guy is a former guest who had his own key cut? What if he’s been waiting to pounce after seeing Alex arrive alone? What if he actually was working with Shaan?  "Oh, fuck," he says. The word sounds different in his mouth, like it’s something new, crisp and barely used, not like it does coming from Alex’s mouth – well-worn, with an alarming frequency. Something seems to dawn on the man. Alex really, really wishes that he’d bring him up to speed. “Right,” he says, “yes. My name is Henry, this is… well, my house and I think I’ve monumentally cocked up.” -- After June and Nora's flight gets grounded in the snow, Alex ends up at the holiday cottage they booked alone. He gets an unexpected visitor in the night. Then they get snowed in together.

my little dove by dearestalez

“Kinda cliché,” Alex says, looking up at the mural. “It’s Bea’s favourite piece,” Henry says. Alex looks at him, “that makes sense.” They travel through a plethora of shops. Henry picks up a hat, Alex holds a jumper to his chest and twirls until Henry is giggling into his fingers. “Why do they never have my size?” Alex laments, holding a nice pair of shoes that don’t come in seven and a half. Only seven or eight. Henry doesn’t mean to laugh, he didn’t really think that was something he did. Laugh at people’s expense. But he isn’t doing that. Alex is pouting over a pair of shoes, with wide brown eyes and slumped shoulders, and Henry is laughing at the absurdity of it all. He never thought that the man across the building cradling a beer to his chest was the type to pout and whine when a shop didn’t carry his size. He never thought he’d find that out. He never thought that stranger from that bar would turn into someone he knows. “You’re a dick,” Alex says, but he’s grinning and Henry is weak.

Pump The Volume by absoluteaudacity

Zahra, sitting across the table from Alex, gives him a stony glare. “Aids?” she signs and he shakes his head obstinately. His hearing aids make his ears itch and he isn’t wearing them in his own house, even if that house is The White House.

you're leaving (now i'm left amongst the living) by peppermintpatties

Six years since they've been together, Alex and Henry were now a far cry from the lovestruck couple they once were when their history began. If you ask Alex, all of it was Henry’s fault. If you ask Henry, he’d agree and say that Alex was right. But before Alex could ever find out why Henry does not seem like the man he once decided to spend the rest of his life with, he already walked away from it all. Now, Henry was alone, left to deal with whatever shattered remains he could salvage from his life. Or, the one where Henry’s sick and Alex only finds out two years after they've broken up.

shaken, not stirred by annesbonny

It starts when Henry orders a vodka martini, shaken not stirred. Or, the one where Alex has a little bit of a Thing for Bond, and Henry, after a very small amount of convincing, indulges him.

Rome, By All Means by schmulte

After five years away from home, His Royal Highness Prince Henry is finally returning to Europe to embark on a royal tour. After a particularly rough night filled with anxiety and homesickness, Henry sneaks out of his hotel to explore Rome and winds up asleep on a park bench. He's taken in by Alex, the son of a former US president trying to lay low after too much time spent in the press, and spends the night on his couch. From there, Alex is determined to show Henry a good time for at least one day of freedom, and the two become unlikely friends, and maybe something more.

Aftercare by whimsymanaged

When Alex has an intense hookup without aftercare, he finds himself on his best friend Henry’s doorstep in desperate need of looking after.

you're so gorgeous (it actually hurts) by vibrantsaturn

He's planning on mindlessly scrolling through his timeline while he waits for Henry to join the red carpet, but he feels an amused huff leave him when he sees 'alex can you fight,' is trending. His lip quirks up as he clicks on the screen to see what all of this is about, and he feels his breath leave him instantly. What the fuck. So. Henry has made it to the red carpet. And he looks fucking ethereal. Shit, he can't believe he gets to marry this man. How is his life real? or, People are thirsting over Henry on Twitter, and you know what? Valid. Alex can fight.

love is blind(folded) by weather_stained

“Baby,” he says, “you know I love what you can do with your gorgeous mouth, but I don't think even you could make me concentrate long enough to actually come amidst all this." He waves his hand in the general direction of the street where it sounds like they're repeatedly putting pieces of concrete in a blender and then throwing the whole blender in the garbage disposal. "Hm." Henry cocks his head to the side, letting his messy morning hair flop in his eyes. He purses his lips. "I might have an idea. If you trust me." There's loud construction outside the brownstone, but Henry helps Alex escape the noise.

The Witching Hours by RadioFriday

Henry drowned today in the waters of Lake LBJ. Henry also drowned yesterday. Alex was there. He remembers. June is certain she is breaking some kind of witching law but can't bring herself to care. Death of the Endless is a good sport even though she's far too busy for this Groundhog Day bullshit.

until next week! if you want to be tagged in future lists, let me know!

[fruitylo0pz]

Five Stars (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut (with fluff), sub!Larissa, fingering, cunnilingus, degradation kink, strap-on.

A/N: After that last sad fic I needed to write something a bit brighter, and ended up bringing sub Larissa back. I wasn't sure I wanted to write about her, but she somehow found her way back in my mind. This one is quite long and with a time jump just to add some fluff towards the end. It's not my best work, but I hope you'll enjoy! I have proofread it, but there might be some mistakes as I wanted to finish it before going to bed.

Word count: ~3.5k

_____

Your job was in many ways repetitive, but when you started your own company focused on providing IT support to households you knew what you were getting into. You just wanted to be your own boss and have more freedom. This job was no different. She had called, telling you she had some issues with her Internet and needed someone to fix it quickly. She sounded attractive, you had noticed that right away. A posh British accent and a voice that sounded like velvet. She was the headmistress at Nevermore Academy, and you had never been there before but you were in awe of the beautiful building. When you arrived, you immediately saw that you had been completely right, only she was far more attractive than you had first imagined. 

“Thank you so much for coming at such short notice. I am so sorry for calling so late, and on a Friday night. I hope I haven’t ruined your evening. I usually have people working on this, but they don’t work this late and I have no clue about these things, but something is not working. Please, follow me.” She walked with a hip sway you could not take your eyes away from. She had a perfect hourglass figure and had legs for days, and oh boy, was she tall. 

You followed her to the IT department, and started working your magic. “It shouldn’t be a huge problem, ma’am. I think I know what the issue is, and I should be able to work through it within an hour or less.” You smiled as she looked attentively at you. You weren’t used to people watching you work, especially not actual goddesses. 

“Can I get you anything while you work?” Her voice was so caring and soft. You thought to yourself that the only thing you really wanted was her, but you couldn’t say that, of course. 

“I’m good, ma’am. But thank you so much for the offer.” You could not stop yourself from eyeing her up. She noticed, and blushed immediately. It surprised you, because you figured people must be staring at her all the time. 

You tried dismissing the thoughts you had, afraid you had made her uncomfortable. “I just have to run these diagnostics, and you should be connected to the Internet soon.” You winked and caught your eyes wandering again. 

“Do you need to be here while you do these things, or can you come back to it later? I feel bad about not offering you anything and I have tea in my office.” She sounded insisting and you agreed to go with her. Truth was, you wanted to know more about her and you also wanted to do unspeakable things with her. 

You could have sworn that you caught her eyeing you up as well, but she seemed shy and was very discreet about it. You decided to test her, and walked up to her as she was preparing the tea. You stood so close that you could feel the heat from her body, and she tried to hide a gasp when she felt you closer. 

You let your hand gently slide down her back, and she twitched. That was definitely a good sign. “Larissa, to be perfectly honest there is something I’d much rather do while waiting.” Her breathing was heavier now. Her entire demeanour changed and it was as if she was melting before you. 

“W-what is that, Y/N?” She turned around, looking confused but with a stare filled with a desire she was trying to mask. 

“I want to hear what your sweet voice sounds like when it’s screaming and moaning my name, Larissa.” You looked at her with a grin and raised your eyebrow. 

She blushed and looked away. “I want that, Y/N. But I’m afraid I don’t have that much experience, and I wouldn’t know what to do.” She was clearly ashamed and bothered by her confession.

You reached up and cupped her chin. “Just be a good girl and follow my lead. I’ll do the work, and you just do as I say, pretty princess. Can you be a good girl for me?” You reached to the back of her head and pulled her closer before kissing her. She let out a sigh, almost as if she had been awaiting it. 

“Yes, I’ll be a good girl for you, Y/N.” Her eyes followed you as you grabbed her hand and led her over to the sofa. 

“Can you start off by stripping for me, Larissa? I’m dying to see those curves without clothes.” You sat down as she stood before you. She started stripping down, but you could tell that it wasn’t anything she was used to. She seemed embarrassed, but the look on your face convinced her that you really liked what you were seeing. She looked even more breathtaking. 

“You’re beautiful, Larissa. Absolutely beautiful. Now, sit on the sofa for me.” You got up, and led her over to the sofa, gently pushing her down on it. 

You sat next to her, letting your hand wander up her thigh. It made her spread her legs as an automatic response, letting you know she liked it. You leaned forward to kiss her neck and she let out a low moan. “Good girl. I want to hear you, Larissa.” Your hand wandered up her waist and found her breast. You pinched her nipple between your fingers and she hissed. Your lips slid down her chest and replaced your fingers as you sucked, licked and bit her nipple and your fingers found the other one.

“I need more, Y/N. Please give me more.” Larissa’s voice was needy and desperate, and you loved it. This stately, stern woman was already a mess for you. 

“Aren’t you a desperate little slut for me, hm? Desperate for me to use you like my own personal toy?” You grabbed her chin and bit her neck, making her moan out loud. 

“Y-yes, Y/N. I am your desperate little slut. Please use me. Please do whatever you want with me.” Her legs spread more and more, and you noticed that her thighs were glistening. 

You got down on your knees between her legs and grabbed her thighs so you could pull her closer to the edge of the seat. “Oh, you are soaked for me, aren’t you? Your cunt is so ready for me.” You let your fingers slide up her slit, and she gasped. 

“P-please, oh… Y/N… I need you, please. I am ready.” She could barely speak, and you hadn’t even really touched her. You smiled to yourself as you slowly let two fingers slide in, making sure that she felt comfortable and got used to you. Her back arched in response, and you picked up the pace a bit.

She moaned and grabbed the edge of the seat as you started fucking her harder. You felt her walls clenching around your fingers and her breathing became more and more uncontrollable. You curled your fingers to reach her magic spot and she screamed out loud, making you smile. Suddenly, she came while screaming your name, sending a wave of her arousal down your hand. You let her ride it out as you slowly pulled out your fingers.

“Be a good girl and clean them up for me, will you?” You put your fingers to your lips, and she hesitated but opened her mouth. Half an hour ago she was an innocent and pure lady, and now she was sucking your fingers clean, tasting herself. The sight was intoxicating. 

You pulled your fingers from her mouth and sank down on your knees again. She looked confused, but you just smiled and kissed your way up her thighs. She spread her legs again and hissed when you reached her clit. Your tongue flicked it just to see her reaction. She bucked her hips towards you. She desperately wanted more. You pulled her closer as your tongue started circling her clit and she started whimpering. 

“Such a horny whore for me, pretty princess. You taste so good.” The words made her moan louder and she very obviously liked it when you called her names. 

You looked up at her while your tongue worked tirelessly to massage her sensitive bud and she gasped as your eyes met. You knew she was close, probably better than she knew as her first orgasm seemed to have taken her by surprise. 

You grabbed her thighs harder and her breathing let you know that the pace your tongue was keeping was about to send her over the edge. She once again screamed your name followed by a row of exhausted whimpers and gasps. You smiled as you sat up and wiped your chin. She was still trembling as she was trying to catch her breath. You found a blanket and wrapped around her so she wouldn’t feel so exposed as you got up and kissed her. 

She blushed and gave you a shy smile while looking down on the floor. “Thank you, Y/N. I have never felt anything like this before. In fact, I have… I have only ever done anything like that with one other person and it never went as far as this. And it was not anything like this, not at all. You are extremely skilled.” Again, her confession made her feel ashamed. She turned away and hid her face with her hand. She wasn’t used to dirty talk or sexual interactions. 

You gently stroked her cheek. You felt both flattered and extremely shocked. How on earth were you her first? You figured you weren’t really in a place to ask her, and you just smiled to make her feel more at ease about her confession. “Larissa, I am so happy you felt safe enough to let me worship you. You did extremely well. Now… As much as I would love to have more of you, I think I should probably continue my work. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll get a bad review for not actually fixing your connection.”

Larissa laughed and looked at you with a huge smile on her face. “You might not have fixed what you came here for, but I would certainly give you five stars for the other services you provided.” She blushed, but didn’t hide her face like she would have a few minutes ago. She seemed comfortable with you. She got dressed and walked you back to the IT department. 

You finished your job and packed up your gear. “Well, my job here is done and I must say… I have never once ended up feeling this excited about a job.” You winked and reached up to kiss her. 

“Y/N, may I please take you out to dinner tomorrow? Only if you don’t have other plans, of course. I’m not expecting anything from you, but I would like to get to know you better and pay you back.” She got a concerned look on her face, almost disappointed. It seemed as if she felt like she had asked for far too much.

You grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I would love to have dinner with you, Larissa. You really don’t have to pay me back, but I really want to get to know you better too. You’re a beautiful goddess. I just had to tell you that, because I am still stunned by you.” She blushed again, and it appeared to you that she wasn’t used to compliments. This both annoyed you and shocked you, because she deserved better than what she had ever gotten. You didn’t even really know her, but you could tell that much from her reactions whenever you complimented her. 

___

This one dinner led to many, and you both loved each other's company and you could talk about anything with her. After two months she had asked you over for dinner but this time she wanted to cook for you. You had bought a bouquet of flowers for her, a mix of pink and purple pastels. You really had no clue about flowers, but you had asked in the shop and they recommended that one and they looked like something she would like.

She was waiting outside when you arrived, and she was wearing a gorgeous cream white dress and she looked ravishing as she always did. You gave her the bouquet of flowers and she let out an excited gasp. “Thank you so much, darling. They’re absolutely beautiful!” She tenderly smelled the flowers before looking at you with a secretive grin. “I have a surprise for you later, Y/N.” She leaned down to kiss you, and you were surprised at her confidence, but it was a positive surprise. It assured you that she really was feeling more comfortable and at ease with you.

“What kind of surprise, Larissa?” You tilted your head while raising an eyebrow and looked at her with a curious look on your face.

“That’s going to be a surprise for now. I’ve already said more than enough. Now, let’s go while the food is still warm.” She grabbed your hand and led you back to her quarters. 

She had made pasta, and it smelled delicious. Before this, you had only been out for dinner because she was usually far too busy to have time for cooking, so this made you feel quite special. The table was set with live candles and she found a vase for the flowers. “Thank you so much once again, Y/N. You are truly charming.” She admired them and gently stroked your hand. 

After dinner, you helped her clean up and you ended up talking and laughing in the kitchen, and you loved these silly moments with her. You knew her job was tiring and made her exhausted, so you truly enjoyed it when she could let her guard down and just relax.

She looked at you with a sly grin before grabbing your hand. “I’m afraid I didn’t make dessert, but I can give you your surprise now instead.” She bit her lip as she led you to her bedroom. She pushed you down on her bed before she slowly backed away, and started stripping down. Her movements were slow and sensual, leaving you absolutely mesmerised. She knew that you liked her and found her attractive, and this seemed to fuel her confidence. She revealed a matching lingerie set, dark red and black, possibly one of the best surprises you had ever seen. Your mouth was watering and you were so hungry for her.

“It might not be a lot, but I bought it for your eyes only. It’s the first part of the surprise I have for you.” She smiled as she walked closer and kissed your cheek. 

“You look so fucking good, Larissa. You really are a true goddess, and I can’t wait to taste and touch you.” You leaned back as she walked over to her drawer. She stood there for a little while before turning around. She was holding a strap-on and she blushed before walking towards you.

“I bought this too, and I was hoping… I was hoping you would use it on me.” The fact that she had gone and bought it purely because of you sent a warm wave through your body. She trusted you so much and you knew how difficult that usually was for her. 

“Oh, I'll fuck you so good, Larissa.” You took it from her hand and set it aside before taking her hand and guiding her so she ended up straddling your lap. She wrapped her arms around your neck and kissed you. Your tongues swirled and twirled around one another before your lips started wandering down towards her neck. Your hands grabbed her ass and she threw her head back while you left marks on her neck. 

You pushed her down on the bed before your hand reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. Your mouth immediately found her nipple and you playfully bit it while your hand wandered down her body. She spread her legs and you smiled to yourself. Once reaching her panties you could feel how damp they were already. 

“Tell me what you want, princess. I want to hear what you want me to do.” You kissed her neck and she whimpered while your hands skilfully pulled down her panties and you started circling her clit with slow and teasing movements.

“I w-want… Oh… Y/N…I want you to fuck me and show me whose dirty little whore I am.” She moaned and took you by surprise, but fuck. You loved hearing her utter those words. 

“Such a good girl for telling me what you want. Get on your knees for me, princess.” You got up to put on the harness as she willfully got on her knees and spread her legs. Her cunt was so soaked you could see the arousal practically running down her inner thighs.

After you had attached the harness, you got on your knees behind her and teased her with the tip, rubbing it on her clit. “Are you ready for me, princess? If it’s too much, say stop and I will stop immediately.” You rubbed her gorgeous ass and leaned forward to kiss her back. 

“I’m ready, Y/N. Please fuck me.” She was already whimpering, and those words were all you needed. You slowly let the strap slide in, letting her adjust to it and making sure she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. You could feel her clenching as you slowly thrusted in and out.

You started pumping harder when you realised she had adjusted and gotten used to the size, and she was moaning uncontrollably. You grabbed her hips and kept a steady pace, until she started moving her hips to meet you in the thrusts. “Please fuck me harder, Y/N. Please use me. Stretch me out.” Her confidence was growing more and more and you spanked her before thrusting deeper, making her scream and whimper. 

You could tell she was getting close as she started gasping for air and her legs were trembling. “Cum for me, princess. Cum hard for me.” You spanked her and one last, deep thrust was all she needed to tip over the edge in an exploding orgasm, making her throw her head back as she screamed your name. She slowly collapsed on the bed while you let her ride it out and gently pulled out the strap.

You kissed her back before removing the harness and left for the bathroom to get a washcloth. You cleaned her up gently, as she was trying to gain back enough strength to move. “Stay still, princess. I’ll clean you up and then I’ll tuck us in. Here, drink some. You’re exhausted.” You chuckled and handed her a bottle of water.

After cleaning her up she managed to pull herself up to her pillow and you crawled into bed with her. She wrapped her arm around you, and you comfortably crawled closer. You enjoyed these moments, and even though you were the more dominant one you found an immense safety in her arms.

She stroked your cheek and kissed you gently. “Y/N? I need to ask you something.” You immediately felt nervous and she must have caught the change in your breathing. “No, it’s nothing like that, darling! Don’t worry.” She pulled you closer to calm you down.

“What is it, princess?” You pulled away just enough to see her face.

“You might think it’s too soon, and you might not want this at all. And I’m sorry if I have misread everything, but I hope I haven’t. But I am very fond of you, and I am very fond of the time we spend together and all the fun we have. And I truly hope you feel the same way. Would you like to be my girlfriend?” Her voice was more gentle than usual, as if she wanted to assure you that she meant every word she said from the bottom of her heart.

A huge smile immediately formed on your face. You never thought she would ask. “Larissa, there is nothing I want more. I wanted to ask you, but I wasn’t sure how you felt and I didn’t want to pressure you. At least one of us had the guts to take the plunge!” You chuckled before kissing her, tears of happiness streaming down your cheeks. 

“Y/N, my girlfriend. Nothing feels more right than this. You have made me the happiest person in this moment, and I will treasure it forever, like I will treasure you forever. You are so beautiful, and I will make sure you always know that.” She kissed you and pulled you closer. You knew she meant it, and you never thought you could feel this way about another person. It wasn’t the easiest for you to trust people or let anyone in, but she made you feel like you were the most important person in the world to her, and that was all that mattered to you. That night, you fell asleep feeling more content than you had felt in probably forever in the arms of your girlfriend, Larissa Weems.

[felldowntherabbitholefics]

OMG HIII

I need more mike faist fics in my life so your doing God's work

I was wondering if u could possibly do a fic with an singer/actress!reader who is finally able to come to mikes house due to having a day off, maybe she surprises him while he's still in bed or something (you can literally take it in any direction u want, whatever your heart desires😁😁)

I see you and I hear you and I am obsessed with singer!reader

I imagine she’s on tour; during the first leg, Mike was able to follow her around for at least parts of it. Cheering her on from VIP, watching amongst her friends, and the two would be spotted exploring the cities together the day before or after shows. Which would of course begin to spark rumors and curiosity online. I feel like they got together before Mike was crowned white boy of the month/challengers era so he isn’t recognized by all the fans but everyone is still curious if they’re dating or just friends. 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep up the groupie lifestyle for the second leg. And the two are now in a long term relationship, for the time being. But they've been calling every night, and texting all day, and counting down the minutes until they can see each other again. 

Which is how we get here. She has a slightly longer break between shows, let’s say four or five days instead of one or two. There obviously isn’t a question of how she should spend it. As soon as she gets off the plane (and grabs breakfast of course), she’s heading for his place. Even though it’s early in the morning, she can’t contain her excitement; she’s just pounding on his door. Annoyed by the rude awakening, Mike’s stomping out of bed and to the front door because who is knocking like this before 9:00 a.m. But once he opens the door and sees it’s her, he’d just get so giddy. She could not pass up her chance to surprise him and see the look on his face. 

They spend the morning in his apartment, eating their bagels and drinking the overpriced coffee she loves. And for a few hours, they just talk and talk as if it’s been years instead of months. Later in the day, they venture out for a museum date. Mike and her would be holding hands the whole time, whispering about the exhibits to each other, filling up that red iphone with photos. She’d have on just the right outfit for the occasion, praise her stylist, and together they’d look right out of a pinterest board. In fact, these two would end up on pinterest boards because Miss Singer Songwriter cannot go anywhere without a sneaky photo being taken. I imagine some candid pictures would end up online and would begin the conversation of “who is that with her?” and “so those two definitely are dating”. But then some fan in particular would ask her for a photo, which Mike would take. In recounting the story to the internet, it would pseudo-confirm that the pair was such. She would be much more offline during this break than when she’s alone on tour, so she wouldn’t see any of this until she’s back on the road. They can just bask in each other's company for the next few days. They’d go to dinner and her favorite bookstore. But what she’d cherish most was just being at home with him. She may not have said it to him, but he was really the only person who could make her feel normal. 

That wasn’t super long but I may keep writing within this storyline if people want. Also I’m not sure if people prefer third or second person for reader insert stuff so lmk what yall like.

[myteavsricochet]

Latest fanfics read, part 6

(Part. 1) (Part. 2) (Part. 3) (Part. 4) (Part 5)

I Keep My Mouth Shut Tight (Cause I Don't Want To Lose What's Not Even Mine)

"Being affectionate, he has always used certain pet names with me. He’s called me sweetheart since we met, and I have used several in turn. That night he used a new one... I realised that he had woken me, saying it was time to take another dose of medicine. It was the way he said it, though: “Baby, I need you to wake up for me...” I am only slightly ashamed to admit that I whined pathetically at him calling me that, but he seemed to take it as protest that I didn’t want to wake, and not for what it really was—me absolutely losing my mind over that word coming out of his mouth and being directed at me. The cherry on top of it all was when he kissed me on the forehead and my brain promptly stopped working completely."

OR: At hit wits end, Henry decides to turn to reddit to ask the internet if his roommate likes him back, or if he's going insane. Then Nora intervenes.

Additional tags: Social Media, Ask reddit, Cute, Short & Sweet, Silly, Sharing a bad, Didn't know they were dating, Cuddling & Snuggling

It's Not a Secret

Henry is a boring person.

This is an objective fact. It’s been such a constant in his life that it hardly bothers him. He prefers the mundane. Thrives under routine. Tolerates many things poorly: surprise parties, capsaicin, loud noises.

Another objective fact: Henry loves Alex. Alex is not boring at all.

Unfortunately, everyone else in Henry’s life seems to think that a bore like him is incapable of a relationship like theirs— and, more distressingly, that this must mean that Alex simply doesn’t exist.

Or: Five times that no one believed that Henry and Alex were an item, and one time that they all did.

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Director of Finance Henry Fox, tattoo artist alex claremont-diaz, Opposites Attract, Not actually a secret relationship, Misunderstandings, Developing Relationship, Sexual Content

in sickness and in health

Henry has a rather nasty cold, but June had her appendix removed, which means she wins. Because of her victory in the unwell olympics, Henry will stay in Texas while Alex flies to New York to visit his sister and the rest of their chosen family, something Henry desperately tries not to resent.

Additional tags: Slice of life, Sickfic, Married life

The Room Where It Happens

caged, Alex who he had never thought would be his, making himself at home, in a place Henry hasn’t thought of as home since his father died. It was simply a place he lived. His home was now sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his socks.

----

Or, a trio of firsts.

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, First Time Bottoming, Angst, But not like Alex/Henry angst, Lonely Henry angst, Praise Kink

the way it is suddenly there, total and complete

As Alex falls in love with David, Henry falls even more impossibly in love with him, and their little family.

Or: Over the first year of their new life together, Alex fully commits to being a dog dad. Henry is his captive audience.

When I Get Going

“On a scale of one to ten,” Henry says softly, stepping closer to him and lowering his voice in a way that has Alex’s pulse jumping in his throat, his entire body aching to respond, “how far gone are you right now? One being ‘I could easily hold a conversation with the Queen’ and ten being ‘I’m genuinely surprised nobody’s noticed yet’.” Alex grits his teeth, but even the reminder of Henry’s nefarious grandmother can’t quell the arousal burning hotly in his stomach.

“Six,” he hisses, embarrassed and turned on, every molecule of him straining to reach out and pull Henry into something that will start off as a kiss, and end as anything but.

“Let me know when you get to eight,” Henry says firmly, then he just-

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, PWP, Underwear, Coming In Pants, Orgasm Delay/Denial, delayed gratification, Control, Light Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Begging, Praise Kink, Henry is a fucking tease

crushed velvet

"In this brief moment of reprieve, Henry pants for breath, digging his fingers into the red material of the sofa to remind himself that this is, in fact, somehow real."

Or, movieverse couch blowjob missing scene.

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ficlet, Missing Scene, Blow Jobs, Skull Fucking, Simultaneous Orgasm, Coming In Pants

Comfort in the Backlight

For the prompt: "rainy day in the brownstone, fluff?"

Maybe sneakers weren’t the best choice of shoe for the day, Alex realizes as he shuts the front door behind him and grimaces at the quick puddle forming beneath him.

you are my medicine (when you're close to me)

After one last peck, Henry finally pulls away, leaving a sore spot of hollowness where his touch had filled it before. Alex forces his face to stay even– he doesn’t want his boyfriend to feel guilty for doing what he needs to do, doesn’t want to feed into the assumption that Alex is helpless without him.

Doesn’t want to be another obligation in Henry’s life that will one day grow to be too much to shoulder.

When the door falls shut, leaving Alex alone with a house that is much too empty and silent without his family there, there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t quite swallow. He thinks of Nora, making jokes that Henry is a saint for putting up with him during exam season; he thinks of June who uprooted her entire life to take care of him during college– and finally, he thinks of Henry, gentle and perfect Henry, that has had to worry about others way too much in his life– and a stinging sense of dread settles over him.

-

Or, Alex's no good horrible very bad two weeks without Henry.

Additional Tags: Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has Abandonment Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Long-Distance Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Established Relationship

Smile, You're on Camera

"Baby," Alex manages, and Henry groans in response, grazing his earlobe with his teeth. Alex bites his lip his stifle his own whimper. "H, hang on."

Henry pulls away from his assault on his neck, face flushed, chest heaving. "What's — what's wrong?"

"Nothing, sweetheart, nothing," Alex soothes, placing both hands on Henry's shoulders. "I just — do you wanna do it? Now?"

Henry blinks owlishly. Alex watches as the realization slowly dawns on him, and he turns his head to look at the camera. He stares for a moment, then looks back at Alex and says, "Can you bring it closer?"

Or, Alex and Henry film a sex tape.

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Tapes, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crying During Sex, in a sexy way not a sad way, Switching, Sub Top Alex

no bunny compares to you

Henry is a lot of things as a person and while much of his personality transfers over to his bunny form, his physical attributes do not. Most notably, his size.

Where Alex’s boyfriend stands tall and regal, his furry counterpart is small and fluffy, unable to summit even the most minor of obstacles.

Take their sofa, for one. Alex is watching TV and minding his own business, when he hears a steady thump from just below him. Peering over the edge of the dark cushion, he spots his boyfriend angrily pounding his back foot against the carpet.

“Ha! Is my little bun too tiny to get up here on his own?” Alex teases. He’s promptly rewarded with a whisker twitch followed by a nose scrunch. Henry is pouting and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever witnessed.

--

or, five times Henry shapeshifts for himself and one time he does it for Alex

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Magical Realism, 5+1 Things, Bunny Henry, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Shapeshifting, Idiots in Love, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Needs a Hug, Protective Alex Claremont-Diaz, Soft Boys, Henry Has Bad Days

[dustylogicalityrat]

hello, everyone! sometime this year, i started writing this silly idea. basically, since i can remember, i've been such a huge fan of time loops in film. so, i wanted to write some slice-of-life Sides stuck in a time loop. not exactly sure what their statuses are at this point, honestly. maybe some ambiguous LAMP. possibly won't focus too much on labels, and more on their relationships with each other if i do write more of this.

this really is just a test run. if any folks want a continuation, i might make this have multiple chapters! who knows? uh- enjoy!

Time Loop AU

WARNINGS: MILD DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD, STRONG LANGUAGE

‐SOME LOOPS ARE FUN!‐

Today, they were playing charades in the living room.

"Uh- Giraffe!"

"No, Patton, you're not-" Roman laughed. "You're not the one guessing."

"Thanks for the help, though, padre," Virgil added. "Hey, Logan, is it a giraffe?"

The one reaching his arms up stiffly to impersonate the word on his piece of paper sighed out of relief. "God, finally. But does that count?" He pulled out his phone to make an internet search. "What were the rules, again?"

"Nah, we can let it slide. Right, Patton?" Virgil lightheartedly jeered, nudging him with his elbow.

Patton snorted. "I guess that's fair."

Roman gasped. "Patton, no! Now they're gaining on us! How could you do this to me? The betrayal! Oh, Patton, the agony!" He laid across Patton's lap as his legs dangled off the end of the sofa.

"Oh, calm down, Princey. You always win," Virgil huffed.

"But this is charades! A game in which one performs! A talented, esteemed actor such as myself shan't lose even one round, or I'll be stripped of my honor and dignity!" Roman raised an arm to his forehead in a distraught manner.

Logan slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Aha! Apparently, Patton giving the answer to Virgil is- uh- 'fair game', as this website put it."

"Awesome."

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Okie dokes! Thanks, Logan!"

"I believe that makes the score seven to six, with 'Team Pizza' in the lead," Logan declared.

Even though the princely figure was still brooding, Roman and Patton high-fived each other.

"Come on, Logan. We gotta lock in. Team Lo Mein has to win. I don't think I can stomach another pizza night this month."

The four played three more rounds and resulted in a tie. It was nearly six, and they were getting hungry. There was time for one more round.

"I believe it is my turn. Best of luck, dear Patton, for if we lose," Roman narrowed his eyes with a threatening smile, "everyone will live to rue this day." He drew his paper from a "borrowed" bowler hat, and smiled. He was ready. Three, two, one... action—

The group jumped as Patton's phone rang. Roman sighed. "Who in the whole new world would be so rude as to interrupt my performance?"

"Some person called, 'Potential Spam'. Funny name," Patton claimed after picking up his phone. "Do we know a 'Potential'? Do I answer?"

"No, Pat-"

A voice came through. "Hello—"

"Whoops. Butterfingers, am I right?" Patton laughed.

The other three sighed.

Virgil grew anxious. "Patton, just hang up."

"Alright!"

The voice became louder. "This is—"

"See- Patton- What you've done there is you've pressed the 'speaker' button," Logan said with a slightly annoyed tone. "Perhaps you could just hand the phone to one of us—"

"—you are in grave danger. You must listen."

"Uh- Sorry, kiddo. I missed that," Patton apologized to the phone, snatching it away from the several hands trying to take it.

"If you are receiving this message, it means you have thirty seconds to evacuate before—"

Patton hung up with a sour expression. "I hate those manipulative attention tactics."

The others screamed and yelled at him in horror.

"Shit shit shit shit."

"Patton, why would you- Oh my God-"

"We're gonna die we're gonna die we're gonna die we're-"

"Calm down, everyone! It was just some oddly named stranger trying to get a reaction! We'll be just fine—"

An extremely high pitch shot through everyone's ears, knocking them out. They all hit the floor, unconcious.

Today, they were playing charades in the living room.

"Wait, what happened? Ugh, my ears are ringing."

"Virgil, could you shut up? My mind is doing somersaults," Roman complained.

"What time is it?" Patton whined.

Logan shakily got his phone out of his pocket. "It's—" He squinted his eyes in confusion. "Here, Patton. I can't be reading it correctly. Most likely due to this disorientation I'm experiencing. It couldn't possibly still be five fifty-seven"

Patton reached out his arm and squinted too. "No, Logan, it— You read it right."

"Check the date, Pat. Maybe we slept 'till the next day?" Virgil groaned, pulling his hood over his head to avoid the seemingly blinding light in the living room.

"No, I don't think that's it, son. It's... still the sixth," Patton said, confused.

Roman grunted as he picked himself up and off the desperately-needed-to-be-vacuumed carpet. "Well, I'm not going to leave this game at a draw. Patton, I need you at your most focused right now."

"Bud, I'm seein' double right now, and I think we should find out what's going on-"

"No! We are finishing this game! The right way! I have to win this." He cleared his throat and began to pose before noticing the others staring at him in horror. He sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve. Then he saw it. The red. He never got nosebleeds. How did this happen? "What's going on?"

"Roman, are you alright?" Logan stumbled toward him in case he was in need of support.

Patton raced to get tissues.

Virgil remained wide-eyed and shaken, sitting on the floor. "Roman, that's- I'm freakin' the fuck out, man- That's a lot of blood." He felt the tremor in his hands that he'd had since he was little. He didn't handle these kinds of situations well. "These kinds"? As if there was a way to categorize what the actual fuck was happening.

Patton came back with the tissues and a clean shirt for Roman, which he was thankful for. The blood had gotten on his collar before Logan had made the wise decision of tilting his head back to stop the bleed-out. "Do you think this was 'cause of...?" Patton stopped. He didn't really know what had happened, but he was making vague connections.

"Whatever knocked us out?" Logan suggested, taking Roman's bloody shirt and sitting it down on the coffee table. He held his forehead in his hands, groaning from the aching sensation. "It'd make sense."

"What did knock us out?" Roman questioned, holding the tissues to his nose after changing into the not-bloody shirt.

"How the hell would we know, Roman-? Sorry. I'm just- more stressed than usual, and my 'usual' is pretty fuckin' stressed." Virgil tugged on his sleeves, occupying his hands with something other than shaking.

"The best way to solve this is to recount the events that occurred before this happened," Logan supplied. "It could potentially help us remember."

"Well," Patton started, "today, we were arguing over what we wanted for dinner, and so-"

"We landed on a game of charades to decide for us," Roman added.

"It was a pretty close game, and the last person to go up was Roman," Virgil said.

Roman grumbled, "I didn't even get to start."

"Because Patton's phone went off," Logan answered.

"The phone! I got a weird call from someone named Potential! That was when it happ-"

The phone rang.

"Shit."