#fast fiction

[miss-conner3]

Summary: An introspection of the last moments of the life of a sheep named Ando.

An introspection of the last moments of Ando's life—it is not all, but it is something.

Answering questions about him inspired me, so here I bring you this little story (ouo)

¡I hope you like it!

[positively--speculative]

I cringe thinking about the about 2010s and all the generic young adult vampire romance books that flooded bookstores for years because of Twilight's influence, but at the same time, I understand why they were there. It's sad that a lot of writers were probably pressured to shit these things out in order to be able to sell books. And in the end, it did nothing for their careers. We talk a lot about fast fashion, but I think we need to talk about fast fiction. Talented writers should not have to write shitty knock-offs that are ultimately meant to carry the careers of Stephanie Meyer, J.K. Rowling, and the like.

[gwillwrites]

Absolutely flabbergasted that Cold Open Stories gave one of my fast fictions the audio treatment. Flying high to start the new year.

[downthetubes]

In Memoriam: Chris Reynolds, creator of Mauretania Comics... tributes planned for an indie comics legend

News of tributes to the groundbreaking independent comics luminary Chris Reynolds, who died earlier this month

We were saddened to learn of the passing of a singular comics creative, Chris Reynolds, earlier this month, but delighted to hear his work is to be honoured, possibly in print but most certainly in film, in the near future. Chris is, perhaps, best known as the creator of Mauretania Comics, and was once described by Canadian comic creator Seth as “the most underrated cartoonist of the last 20…

[insect-biped-arachnid]

They Didn’t Know

This is not a story of a people misguided. Nor is it one about a people lost; for they knew exactly where they were. This is a story about a people in the dark. Literally. They could not see.

The child entered the forbidden aviary, led by the father. Neither had ever seen anything like it before.

She squinted her eyes once the sharp light hit them. Thousands of bright beams of sun ricocheted across a field of shattered crystal. They accosted her through the dome of glass, the only thing keeping her, her father, and the others safe from suffocation.

The father shielded his face with his arm and held the other out in front of his daughter. The others did not seem as phased. The tall one watched their guests struggle with the light, while the short one’s eyes stayed on his tablet.

“What is this?” Asked the child.

And the father said, “I don’t know,” with a grimace on his still arm-shielded face.

The short one was nearer to the center of the dome. He said, “I believe this is all… real.” Devoted to the truth, but reluctant to discover, he turned his face toward the father’s, showing him his worry. The man had long since grown apathetic, but now held a spark of emotion.

The tall one just stood for a moment. He had nothing to say. But he opened his arms to the child when she showed signs of distress, and scooped her up into them, holding her close. He expected her to bury her face into his chest like she’d done before, but she adversely could not close her eyes. Her tremors shook him a bit, but he held steady.

Her big eyes reflected light almost just as well as the crystal. Despite being a deep, dark brown, they were the brightest thing in the aviary. They were even brighter than the diphyllodes respublica and cotinga cayana lying dead on the floor, which she hadn’t noticed.

“We aren’t surrounded by the blackest black,” said the short one, “nor are we the only something in the middle of blank nothing.”

“It’s all a lie.” It surprised the others when it was the child who spoke. “It’s been a lie and they’ve been telling it since I was born. I just didn’t know what they were lying about… I thought-“

The tall one’s large hand rubbed up and down her back. And she let out a soft whine, then began to cry. The father and the short one glanced between each other, one worried, one stunned; while the tall one comforted the child. He was warm and gentle and sad. But that was just what the child needed.

[3sentences]

Three Sentence Stories #7

The first snafu of the morning was forgetting his wallet. He was almost at the front of the line to be dropped off at the departures terminal when he realized he'd left the most important item at home: verified ID, forcing him to order another Uber, ride the 20 minutes back to home, grab his wallet, get back in the car, ride 25 minutes back to the airport (traffic), run to pre-check, get his shoes x-rayed, hobble along running to the gate while trying to put on his shoes, wave his boarding pass at the attendant, and finally sit down in his assigned seat for a 1-hour flight to O'Hare. The second snafu was when the home office forgot to pick him up at the airport, requiring another Uber, another rush, another traffic delay, to pull up at the office and run to the elevator, ride the interminable 3 minutes to the proper floor, push an old lady out of the way so he could get to his meeting with his boss, only to find out it was the wrong day for the big meeting.

[ribbittrobbit]

[warakami-vaporwave]

Pizza Hut84

[soulmatesinc-if]

Demo Update

Here at Soulmates Inc we specialize in chance meetings!

As a soul-link, your job is to guide two people entrusted in your care to one another in a fateful meeting, for they are each other's soulmates. Aided by the soul-link powers, you will craft a story that will be told over and over to others, changed and misremembered or kept as faithful as humanly possible. Without your help, they would not find one another.

P.S.: a regular reminder to refrain from referring to yourself or your coworkers as Cupid.

|| LINK to the demo || [79k +40k]

In this update:

one soul should be enough to solve this, so get digging

immediately break a rule or two

partake in the company poker night

go out for field work where everything goes well

pay a visit to a certain vinyl store

finally, assemble the full house

Reblogs are much appreciated! ♥

[chimielie]

cw: reader is a business major. read tags if concerned about canon deviation

kuroo’s schedule this semester is insane.

he’s working part time to cover housing because his roommate dropped out without telling him, he’s taking something like fifty labs all worth half a credit each (only a slight exaggeration), and, worst of all, there’s no time in his day to see you.

he misses you. you’re trying to buck up and not be needy, but he can see it in your eyes, in the way you always fall right into his arms every time you do see each other, like you need to sate your skin-hunger because you don’t know when you’ll see him next. he appreciates your understanding, but… he misses you, too.

he’d set up a fucking chart, made you fill in your weekly schedule, overlapping his, until he found a hole in both.

“it’ll have to be while i do homework,” he’d said, foot tapping anxiously, “is that okay?”

“of course,” you’d given him your easy, sunny smile, and he planted his face in your lap and moved your hand to muss his hair more.

now, he looks over at you fondly, lying on your back spread-eagle in his bed. it’s something you rarely get to do, since he’s usually crammed in it with you. you sleep holding hands, when you stay the night, locked together like sea otters drifting on the waves.

he’s exiled to the desk next to the bed, though, working through reactions of aromatics and sneaking longing glances at your prone form.

“do you wanna—”

“i’m not in chemistry for a reason,” your voice floats up from the bed, though your eyes stay peacefully closed. “do your molecule splitting or whatever yourself.”

“mean,” kuroo says, pushing his chair back and running his hands through his hair. “what if i was gonna say ‘do you wanna cuddle?’”

“mm, you weren’t,” you say. “i said that earlier and you were all, no, babe, i have to finish my lab workbook because the—”

“i know what i said,” he grumbles. “go back to sleep.”

“okay,” you say. “i believe in you. or whatever. good luck.”

“thanks.” he picks up his pencil again for a moment, then tilts his chair back, tipping his head backward, hands braced on the desk. his room is so small he’s almost touching the bed. you tilt your head to the side, eyes opening the slightest bit. “what am i even doing this for?”

“because it’s your passion, honey.” one of your hands rests on your stomach, just beneath the hem of your shirt. that’s where he likes to hold you.

“but you’re gonna be the one making all the money,” he whines. “and all you have to do is make a bunch of supply demand graphs all day.”

“yep,” you say brightly, “but i make those graphs so you can be my stay at home husband someday. so watch your mouth.”

“fine,” he grumbles, righting his chair. “that’s what i’m doing this for. to be your househusband.”

“that’s right,” you say encouragingly. “work hard, tetsurō.”

as he settles back into the flow of his work and your breath eases into the steady rhythm of the sleeping, he looks at you again, now facedown in his pillows, one arm curled around the space where he should be. the melody of a life taking shape rings in his ears; for a second, he can see it. a house with a yard, with a garden, with a kitchen where you kiss his cheek while he cooks dinner and where he spins you after a couple glasses of wine. light suffuses him; he gets back to work.

[possamble]

Do you have any headcanons or thoughts about Falin having a crush on Marcille pre-canon? Especially during her later years at the school/the years she was with Laios.

Just full on "awkward and slightly gnc teenage lesbian has a massive crush on the touchy-feely girly girl straight best friend" tropes everywhere. Even better bc it's the "best friend is also the popular girl while lesbian is the slightly ostracized quiet one" dynamic in school. Falin gets so so so good at not having a heart attack every time Marcille gets in her personal space. But she's so resigned to never saying anything bc why would a girl as blinding as Marcille ever like her back. She also doesn't make an effort to get over it either, she's just content to be trapped in that stable dynamic of silently being in love with Marcille while getting to enjoy CLEARLY being Marcille's favourite person. She gets so used to it that it's almost just background noise most of the time-- it would have to be, unless she wanted to be freaking out 24/7 bc Marcille is so goddamn affectionate.

Her feelings also definitely change throughout the time that they're in school together-- at first it was this "whooaaah pretty older girl" puppy crush that you can clearly see developing in the flashbacks we get (I think she doesn't even like... realize her fixation on Marcille is romantic at all until years after it starts, when she's 12-14 ish and all the other girls around her are talking about crushes). But then they get closer, over the years Marcille starts getting really attached and letting down her guard, and Falin gets to see the ridiculous side of her. She gets to calm her down from her tantrums when experiments don't work out, or help her clean up when something explodes in her face. I feel like the progression of her feelings from "schoolgirl infatuation" to "unrequited love" probably almost exactly corresponds to how slowly Marcille goes from trying to keep Falin at a polite but friendly distance (like she does with everyone else) to her facade completely eroding as she becomes her cheerful and ridiculous self again for the first time since her father died.

That's probably the saddest part: Falin knows that she's clearly Marcille's favourite person on the surface level, but she doesn't quite fully grasp the enormity of what that means to Marcille. She doesn't get that she's the person who made the world colorful again for Marcille, that she is the first person outside of Marcille's family to really and truly make her laugh. She just thinks she's the beloved but dinky little short-lived sidekick, one of many that Marcille has had and will have.

Part of it is that, despite Marcille becoming such a clingy and affectionate best friend, I think her initial demeanour already did its damage. You see Falin being super adventurous and weird at first, bringing Marcille berries and other stuff, only to be rebuffed by Marcille exasperatedly saying she's working or looking kind of put off by it. And by the time you see her a little older, shes already quieter and better at masking -- and I'm not saying that that's entirely Marcille's fault (being the weird girl at an all girls academy for almost the entirety of her teenhood must have been brutal, my god) but she definitely learned that she's a potential nuisance to Marcille if she doesn't tone herself down. She learned that Marcille most likely sees her as a weird little kid following her around bc she has no other friends. And for the most part, she was never given any reason to unlearn any of that.

And that all very very smoothly transitions into Marcille being her "first love that was never meant to be anyway" when she leaves the academy. Chapter closed in her mind: she loved and pined from a distance and that was that. Every now and then she'll see another woman with Marcille's build or her shade of hair and be like ":( I miss her..." But then just kinda move on with her day. Same with when she's going through her own spellbook and finds a note that Marcille left her/correction that she made-- she'll smile fondly and reminisce about how much Marcille doted on her, and then move on.

Sometimes she thinks about contacting Marcille but convinces herself that it's too late (she spent too many months focusing on getting Laios healthy again and didn't mean to go no contact, but ah well). It's only when she has a practical reason to be reaching out that would also benefit Marcille ("Marcille is studying dungeons and we need a trustworthy mage to go with us to the dungeons") that she feels like she's allowed/that it wouldn't just be 100% a nuisance.

I almost think she didn't expect Marcille to reply at all, only to get a telegraph (or some in-universe equivalent of express mail, maybe magical pigeon carrier) that's like. EN ROUTE TO ISLAND. LETTER TO FOLLOW. and she freaks out like AAAA LAIOS SHE SAID YES WE HAVE TO CLEAN UP NOW.

I do think getting a response accidentally sparks a little hope in her, judging by the way she acts in the chp 57 flashback-- she's pouty that Marcille sees her as a kid, gets really worked up about being presentable, and then tries to play it cool when she actually meets Marcille (as if she didn't freak out and force Laios to shave while rambling a mile a minute about Marcille). She's an adult now, really and truly, and she's seen and survived things that her 18 yr old self would have never even imagined-- then all of a sudden, the person she was in love with since she was ten years old appears, and she's so desperate to be seen as mature and competent. She's trying soooo hard to impress Marcille with her newfound combat and dungeoneering experience...

Only to fall right back into their old dynamic. RIP. At least she gets the girl eventually, even if it takes dying twice and being the core catalyst behind an almost-apocalypse.

[canisalbus]

Which is your favorite platform? (of the ones you have accounts to post things I mean. I can't imagine it being Instagram since you don't really post there which honestly fair)

Tumblr, Twitter (X?) bluesky? Something else?

I think I'm going to have to go with tumblr, and it's not just because we're here. Twitter and Bluesky are nice and my experiences on both are overwhelmingly positive. But tumblr has an atmosphere that encourages originality, sharing your creations and talking about things in depth.

[downthetubes]

Glenn Dakin’s A Trial Death and Other Stories available now from Colossive Press

Colossive Press launched A Trial Death and Other Stories, a new selection of ‘Abe’ comics by Glenn Dakin at the Lakes International Comic Art Festival last weekend

Colossive Press launched A Trial Death and Other Stories, a new selection of ‘Abe’ comics by Glenn Dakin at the Lakes International Comic Art Festival last weekend. Reading this book was, for me, a wonderful reminder of my early days discovering independent comic creators through Paul Gravett and Peter Stanbury’s Fast Fiction table at the Westminster Comic Marts, back in in the 1980s, where I…

[insect-biped-arachnid]

Ransom Letter

Sure, it wasn’t the most beautiful set up, and it wasn’t the most functional… but it got the job done. Sort of.

Jesse single-handedly cracked an egg into the miniature pan. This was already the seventh one. At this rate, these hybrids would bankrupt him by food expenses alone.

He was quite amused to see the green one stuff yet another sunny side up into her mouth. The Monarch mentioned these new three hadn’t had anything like that before. They didn’t explain in much detail though about why, or how even more kids with bug features were now showing up at his doorstep. But the lack of explanation was normal for Monarch. Although Jesse did intend to get to the bottom of it when the chance presented itself.

The four-armed, albino one seemed to enjoy the breakfast almost as much as her friend. Although she was a little more hesitant to let her guard down. Whenever Jesse turned to face either of the two, she’d give him a death glare, probably meaning it to be a lot more threatening than it actually turned out.

“For such a small kid, you sure have a big appetite,” Jesse said with a tiny smile, moving to sit at the temporary, folded out breakfast table.

The square surface was identical to the one he’d turned into a makeshift kitchen by placing a gas powered camping stove atop along with the now half empty carton of eggs and a stack of paper plates. He obviously hadn’t been expecting this kind of visit, so this was the best he could do at the moment. The Monarch assured him it was more than enough. He had been allowing them to make a home out of his property for just about two years now. And in return, they’d split their illegal earnings with him, which was overly generous in his eyes. Jesse had always struggled not to feel indebted to his friends. Even though most of the time they’re the ones who owe him.

“I like the goopy part.” The spider bit another piece of egg off her disposable plastic fork, glancing over to him in satisfaction as she swallowed. “Also, I’m a spider.” She blinked her six eyes at him with a straight face.

“Really?” Jesse joked, although she didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm.

She nodded aggressively before continuing, “Yeah! A green lynx spider to be specific. That’s why my name’s Lynx,” she explained, excitement lining her voice. Then she gestured over to her silent friend. “And she’s a honeypot ant, so she’s called Honey.”

“Oh- interesting.” Jesse humored the girl. At least he wouldn’t have to ask either of their names again. That is if he could stop himself from forgetting.

He still wasn’t back yet.

The Monarch contemplated this again. They’d been doing so ever since the sun came up, pacing back and forth, tapping a foot impatiently, and walking in circles atop the warehouse roof.

It was colder before, causing Monarch to bring a warm cardigan outside with them when they went to search for Locus. Now, they slid the sweater off their shoulders and folded it neatly in their hands. The butterfly bit their bottom lip, scanning their eyes along tree lines and tops of other buildings.

Last night’s storm was a rough one. Loose tree branches littered the park and sides of the street from what The Monarch could see. The grass and leaves still held a strong smell of morning dew, while the actual water droplets shimmered in the light of the midmorning sun.

“What’re you doing, anyway?”

Honey’s intrusion made The Monarch jump. They turned to face her, unexpectedly startled by her sudden presence. They must’ve held a pretty strong look of confusion on their face because Honey promptly explained herself while she approached. Or at least why she’d come up there in the first place:

“Your human friend is sure getting along with Lynx. So is Bug’s human friend apparently.” Honey scoffed, looking off into the distance behind Monarch rather than actually at them. She did that a lot to people. Her antennae lowered, just about flattening into a straight angle above her head. She crossed her arms, brows furrowed already.

“She seems to get along with everyone, huh?” Observed The Monarch. As Honey approached them and took her place next to them, they were able to once again look out at the mediocre view from atop their building. “Lynx, I mean,” the butterfly felt the need to clarify.

Honey sighed into the cool air, still tired and still anxious. The events of the few days prior were still taking their toll. She wondered how long these paranoid feelings would last. Perhaps The Monarch was the perfect person to inquire with.

“She sure does,” said the ant in concurrence. “I just-“ she folded her hands over and over again, messing with the positions of her fingers as if finding the right way could solve all her problems, “I wish she’d be more cautious about who to trust.”

The Monarch’s antennae noticeably raised, even before turning to gauge Honey’s tone based off her facial expression. They weren’t surprised to see the face of a scared little kid, eerily similar to how they’d been years ago. Except back then, they didn’t have anyone to worry about. Not anyone with them at least, who they could and had to actively protect. Honey’s situation was entirely different, but the same. They blinked and their eyes softened, sympathetic.

“If you’re worried about Jesse, don’t be. He’s been one of my most reliable friends since day one. I trust him completely,” The Monarch tried to assure her, but it seemed to fall flat despite the effort.

The littler bug shuffled her hands around her tangled albino hair as she responded, “But it’s not just that, it’s Bug and the other one. The lady with green hair who looks just like a security officer…”

Monarch’s eyes narrowed. “Juno. Her name’s Juno, and you’re right not to trust her. She and Bug have been chasing me down ever since me and Jesse’s first robbery. For one, total buzzkill-“

They were cut off by Honey’s sudden giggling, caught off guard too. It was quiet since she held a hand up over her mouth which muffled the sound slightly, but The Monarch could tell she must’ve found something funny.

“What’s that? What’s wrong with you?” They asked jokingly, a warmer feeling finding its home in them, a smile finding its way into their expression. Honey just laughed more at the question, amused at the fact that The Monarch was so clueless as to what they were even laughing about in the first place. In response, they snapped their fingers twice in her direction and continued their interrogation: “Hey. Hey! Stop that!”

The unusual grin Honey sported was a surprisingly refreshing sight for The Monarch. They couldn’t tell why. But when they stepped closer to the younger bug, as if trying to chase down an explanation, and she backed away with a playful demeanor, it became contagious.

The two of them continued their slow game of cat and mouse for a few seconds even after Honey began talking again, saying, “I’m sorry, I just-“ Honey scoffed humorously, the smile never leaving, and for a moment she held her breath. Her explanation consisted of one word: “Buzz-kill. Well I guess that would work better if you were the wasp. Butterflies don’t make buzzy noises when they fly, do they?”

The Monarch stopped and stood in place. “No, they don’t.” They answered calmly, contrasting heavily with the tone of their next statement. In which they pretended to take serious offense: “But me as a wasp?! No way. Never. Don’t even mention it, don’t even think about it, don’t even imagine it or I will have your head.” They pointed toward Honey, pretending to be intimidating, but The Monarch couldn’t suppress their smile for their life.

It only spouted more giggling out of Honey, which also turned out to be contagious. The butterfly shoved their cardigan into the younger bug’s face, which did very little to muffle the sound as she pulled it off, and caught the fabric in her arms. She gave a light shove to The Monarch before sliding her top pair of arms into the sweater’s sleeves.

She grinned, and Monarch looked down at her fondly, chunky orange wool draped around her shoulders. And an unfamiliar feeling washed over them. They’d never felt so responsible for one person’s safety.

The letter had been dropped off in person.

Honey had only moments ago convinced The Monarch to at least get off the roof and try to eat something. She reasoned that Locus would be back any moment, and that refusing to eat out of worry was not going to make that happen any faster. The problem is, she was right about one thing, but wrong about the other.

The butterfly’s face dropped when they saw the concern in Jesse’s eyes as he looked up toward the two of them. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost, holding a piece of crinkled up paper with both hands. He opened his mouth, then closed it as if going back on a decision to say something. But the man was ultimately silent as he passed the page forward. And when The Monarch took it from him, he stepped back, finally breaking eye contact and taking a seat at the bugs’ temporary breakfast table, forehead resting in his palm.

Three pairs of eyes watched the scene play out from a seat across the table. Jesse hadn’t shown her the letter. He’d just finished reading it while Honey and Monarch came down the last few steps from the roof.

A temporary calmness swept over the group, just before a storm of emotions could drop its weight on the four. First, Lynx read confusion, then fear, then anger.

The Monarch crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it to the floor. They stomped forward, not even completely sure where they were headed, but were stopped anyway by a hand gripped firmly around their wrist. When their head whipped around, Jesse could see their face redden like a ripening tomato and feel the boiling lava rushing through their veins alongside the adrenaline. He gave them a worried look; the same type of look which Locus had perfected over the years. Since when did Jesse look so much like him?

They wanted to rip their hand out of his grasp, but they couldn’t find the strength. No wonder they couldn’t protect Locus. How on earth would they get him back now? The Monarch’s breath hitched and their eyes swelled.

Meanwhile, Honey stood with Lynx, reading the words aloud for her: “We are in possession of test subject-002: brown recluse…”

Lynx eyed Jesse and Monarch as they made eye contact with each other, the butterfly hearing every word like background noise behind screaming thoughts.

Honey’s voice did not waver. In fact, she grew more cold in both tone and expression the more she read: “He will be delivered back to the remaining Pesticide Laboratories staff unless test subject-008…” she paused, turning her attention back to the hybrid-of-the-hour, “…takes his place.”

[3sentences]

Three Sentence Stories #6

An orange sun weakly shone through a heavy veil of hazy smoke, and even though it was summer, even though it was midday, the atmosphere was dim. Talam rubbed her face and blinked back tears; her eyes struggled to wash out the airborne grit. A low rumble announced an approaching rainstorm that would cleanse the air of soot, but not the memory of the terrible blaze that had raged through the valley.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

Impatience Born of Boredom

According to his mother, Sherlock learned to run before he could walk.

“You ran, even indoors,” she tells him every time his childhood is brought up.

Not by him, mind you.

“So, he was impatient and bored even as a child, then?” John asked the first time they visited Sherlock’s parents.

“Indeed,” Mrs. Holmes said, and rolled her eyes.

“He could have been an athlete, if he had bothered to put in the necessary training,” Sherlock’s father mused.

After that, it was Sherlock’s turn to roll his eyes.     

***

“You have an incredible stamina,” John pants.

They have chased another villain through parks, streets, and rooftops for almost half an hour. Sherlock’s voice, when they finally catch up with the man in question, sounds like he’s just walked from the tube to Baker Street.

“Running far and fast like this, is utterly liberating,” Sherlock explains, while they wait for Lestrade to show up.

John and the criminal are both breathless, and Sherlock handcuffs the latter with ease. He’s too exhausted to protest, trying his best to get enough oxygen to reach his lungs.

“It reminds me of my childhood, when I ran around like a savage in the forest. No one stops you when you’re running to catch a criminal, John.”

***

“What about when you started secondary school, and later, uni?” John wants to know later that day.

He’s suddenly fascinated by this topic.

Sherlock is curled up on the sofa, his head in John’s lap. This is not something he’s discussed with others, apart from Mycroft. He knows that John will find it unpleasant, but John’s too stubborn to let him off the hook.

“I still ran. I had to, if I should avoid my classmates.”

“Alright,” John says, hesitantly. “Why did you want to avoid them?”

“Oh, for numerous reasons. Mostly to keep away from ending up at the school nurse, or the infirmary,” Sherlock mumbles.

The memory makes the old nausea from his school days surge through him. John’s steady hands in his hair and on his back, allows him to ground himself.

It’s all in the past. You have John now. Breathe.

“I wish I could’ve been there, to prevent those brutes from hurting you,” John says, through gritted teeth.

“Mm, I would have loved to see you tackle them, wearing you rugby gear,” Sherlock purrs.

His earlier discomfort has been replaced by arousal and warm affection. 

“Would you now,” John murmurs, and pulls at Sherlock’s hair, so he’s forced to look up at John.

“Very much,” Sherlock agrees.

He frees himself, stands, and beckons John to race him to the bedroom. John doesn’t need to be asked twice, even though it’s a losing game for his short legs. The prize is in the chase, and what awaits him in their bed.

---------------------------------------------------------

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