#synthetic clothes inside

[cordeliawhohung]

pornstar!gaz x fem!reader

everything was fine until he showed up

cw: alcohol, parties, kyle is jealous jealous, arguements

Quiet music hums through the surround sound set up in the studio’s penthouse, but it’s not quite loud enough to drown out the sound of Kyle’s teeth grinding together.

Parties always set him on edge, but anything that involves work is especially excruciating. Everything is so fake. Plastic. Synthetic. The actors and actresses on set, the sounds everyone makes, the shitty positions directors always force people into; it’s just as bad off set as it is on set. Faux laughter, forced pleasantries. Even when the cameras aren’t rolling, no one can escape the fact that they’re always performing. 

Kyle wonders if you feel the same way in that sequin dress. It’s hardly long enough to cover the crux of your ass, and the spaghetti straps keep falling off your shoulders. Your lips keep curving into the most beautiful smile as you sip on your martini while chatting with various people next to the hors d'oeuvres table. Kyle’s been nursing his own drink for the last forty minutes; a strong whiskey on the rocks because they refused to serve anything as simple as a pint. The liquor is getting to him. Numbing his nerves enough to make it feel like he’s floating, but not enough to stave off that insatiable ache in his stomach. 

He’s thought about you all day. What he wants to say to you. How he wants to say it. Those words have stayed locked tight in his throat since the moment his eyes found you in the crowd. He’s nothing but a pathetic wreck of a man hiding in the corner of the room with the least amount of traffic. Some people search him out for a short conversation, but the sour mood he’s in must be acrid because they wander off not too long after attempting to chat him up. 

Leaving both you and that party far behind him is enticing. It’s hot and stuffy; utterly suffocating. Perhaps he can sleep off whatever this haze is — this roaring emotion he refuses to name — and return to it tomorrow. But he’s wasting away. That feeling inside of him has already eaten more of him than he can bear. 

It only gets worse when Simon shows up. 

He’s a difficult man to miss with his hulking size and tattooed arms. The brute cleans up nice enough with freshly washed hair and dark casual clothes that fits in well with the semi-formal attire everyone else is wearing. Kyle’s trying to be rational about the whole situation. Simon’s technically a colleague, not competition, and treating you like an object to be won feels cruel. Besides, for all he knows your little confession to him on set was scripted. 

Still, that thought doesn’t cease the memories. Doesn’t halt the way he can hear you saying it over and over again, nothing but a broken record he can’t fix. It’s corrupted the kinder memory he’s been trying to hold of your half-awake words when you told him you loved him. Him and not Simon. 

The vile thought that you say that to everyone crosses his mind, but only briefly before he flushes it out like a bad wound. 

Kyle chokes on his drink when he finds you in the crowd again and realizes that you aren’t alone. 

He can tell by your alluring smile that it’s a friendly conversation, something he shouldn’t be concerned about, and your shoulders dance with laughter at something Simon’s telling you. Kyle’s fingers twitch as he watches Simon lean closer to you, curving down to try and meet your height as he attempts to speak over the growing chatter of the crowd that fills the room. 

Something superheats Kyle’s blood to a rolling boil as he watches Simon’s hand skirt against the small of your back. He’s so incredibly soft and gentle with you, nothing but respectful as he assists you in moving away from the cunt who won’t stop digging his elbow into your side by accident — he hates it. He hates it because it should be him there with you, guiding you through a sea of drunken idiots. It hurts more knowing that it could have been him if he had just gotten over himself and approached you when he first found you.  

Then, the ever attentive Simon Riley looks through the crowd. Certainly he’s looking for a new spot. Someplace less crowded. Certainly he didn’t mean to look directly at Kyle, still hiding off on the sidelines like a proper recluse. It’s gut-wrenching, unnerving. The small smirk that pulls at Simon’s lips nearly has Kyle’s fingers squeezing through the glass in his hand, and he keeps himself from biting through his tongue as he watches the man lean down to grab your attention again. 

What Simon says to you, he can’t be sure. All he knows is that your gaze flickers through the outskirts of the crowd until you find him. Kyle has never felt so exposed in his entire life. Even his first time being bare and naked on set hadn’t left him feeling so open. But it doesn’t last long. The very moment your eyes land on him, you freeze. 

You freeze, expression stiffening, chest ceasing in movement, eyes widening. 

Then you look away. 

It’s then that Kyle realizes he can’t stand the stuffy air. 

The sun hasn’t quite set yet over London, and it’s fighting with fiery clouds and brilliant beams to stay above the horizon. It’s a luminous sight that he’s glad no one else seems interested in trying to enjoy. The terrace is completely devoid of anyone else, leaving him alone with nothing but the breeze. Everything is always better without prying eyes to ruin the view. 

But it’s too late. It’s difficult to enjoy the cotton candy clouds and beautiful shadows of the skyline when his mood is already contaminated. He’s decided that he cannot — afterall — go through with this attempt. This silly notion that he can admit his feelings to you. A storm of emotions brews in the cauldron of his stomach, and he’s choking on the fumes. It’s too much. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you over his inability to keep himself grounded. 

A loud burst of chatter bleeds into the evening air followed by sharp heels clacking against the concrete floor of the terrace as the sliding glass door opens and quickly shuts once again. Kyle freezes, knuckles creaking with strain as he grips the flimsy railing keeping him from turning into red paste on the pavement countless stories down. He’s hidden behind the brick corner of the building, trying to stay out of view, but he can feel that it’s you. You’re tugging on that string wrapped around your finger, and following the line until you find him. 

“Was hoping you’d show up,” you admit, chipper. Your elbow brushes against his as you settle against the railing next to him, and Kyle can feel the embers you leave in your wake, charring his skin. “I know these functions aren’t really your type of thing.” 

Kyle huffs something sour, something more abrasive than intended, and his head hangs low as he stares at his feet. 

“Yeah, gettin’ a bit crowded in there,” he concurs. 

Talking to you has never been so difficult before, but now Kyle can’t even bring himself to look at you. His own feelings and thoughts keep choking him, and he regrets not running away when he still had the chance. It’s all so stale and robotic, and he can feel the tension twisting up his spine, clenching his jaw and settling as a deep ache in the back of his neck. 

“I, uh, wanted to apologize properly for the other night, and thank you, by the way,” you continue. His aloofness is obvious. It permeates through his pores and soaks into the exposed skin of your arm, dripping down your dress until it stains your legs. “I’m still really embarrassed about all of it. I don’t normally drink that much.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Kyle says in an attempt to assure you. “I know you didn’t mean it.” 

The air shifts, and Kyle realizes he’s fucked up. 

He finally looks at you and finds your brows knitted close together. There’s a slight tilt in your head, a flicker of your eyes, an attempt to recall a memory that’s not quite there. His stomach drops when you open your mouth and he realizes that you don’t remember that night at all. 

“Didn’t mean what?” you question. 

It’s too late to turn back; he’s got one foot in the grave already. His lips press together and he swallows down the stale aftertaste of liquor as he shakes his head. 

“You didn’t mean it when you said you loved me,” he clarifies. 

Kyle doesn’t know what he expects from you. A real confession? You to backpedal? For you to call him crazy? What he doesn’t realize is that while he’s spent months learning you, months tracing your body with his fingertips and pressing kisses against your skin, or getting lost in the scent of you, you’ve been learning him, too. You’ve learned that he likes it when you kiss his stomach, and that he hates accidentally bruising you. You’ve learned that his eyes always dilate when they land on you, clothed or not, and his fingers twitch when he smiles, like they’re missing the warmth of something. Most importantly, you’ve learned that his jaw only flexes like this when he’s angry. 

“Kyle,” you say cautiously, “are you mad at me?” 

Confusion clouds his eyes and he tries his best to blink it away. “I’m not mad.” 

“But you are,” you insist. 

“Why would I be mad?” he defends as he pushes himself away from the railing. “If you didn’t mean it, then you didn’t mean it.” 

You turn and follow him as he backs away from you. There’s an odd twist in his feet as he points his toes away from you, as if he’s trying to flee. Your arms cross over your chest, and while Kyle would usually ogle at the way your tits press together with the motion, all he can do is stand there and wait for the retort he can see brewing in your eyes. 

“Who said I didn’t mean it?” you challenge. 

“Dunno, you hardly seem to remember it, anyway.” Kyle says with a shrug. Then he pauses. “Did you mean it when you said it to Simon on set today?” 

The shiny lip gloss coating your lips forces them to pop when you open your mouth to retort, yet the only thing you can manage is a laugh in disbelief. It’s such a sour laugh that it burns your throat on the way out, and you have to look away from Kyle to keep yourself from spouting a snarky comment you’re sure you’ll regret. 

“You’re unbelievable,” you say as you roll your eyes. 

“Am I?” he disputes. 

“Are you seriously holding something I said on set against me? Are you really gonna be upset with me over that?” 

“I’m not upset with you,” he retorts. 

“But you are!” 

An exacerbated sigh exhales between Kyle’s lips as he brings a hand up to his face. Long fingers rub at the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head. His teeth haven’t stopped grinding throughout this entire exchange. 

“This was a mistake,” he mutters. 

It’s a swift movement that he makes to turn around, nearly spinning like a top on his heels, but you don’t let him get away that easily. Sharp, unforgiving brick scrapes against your elbow as you reach out for him, and the tips of your fingers get caught in the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt. Kyle doesn’t fight against you as he turns back to face you with a huff. His fingers wrap around your wrist as he attempts to gently pry you off of him. 

“You’re an idiot,” you say with narrowed eyes. 

“Oh, so I’m an idiot now? I thought I was unbelievable?” he asks with a raised brow, razor sharp attitude, and steam pouring from his ears. 

Heat radiates off of his body so feverishly that it doesn’t feel real. The way his breath fans across your face has your knees feeling weak, and despite the pent up rage that’s locked inside of him, he still looks at you with as much love as he always has. It’s infuriating how, despite it all, he’s still been the kindest person you’ve ever met. 

“You are. Because if you’ve got the ears to hear me tell Simon that I loved him on set today, then you certainly must have heard it when I accidentally called him by your name, too,” you seethe.

For a moment, all either of you can do is breathe. Air comes hot and heavy and they dance in the small, empty space between you and Kyle. He doesn’t speak, and neither do you, but the grip he has on your wrist starts to loosen. Desperate eyes scan his face, searching for something — anything — and yet there’s nothing new that there wasn’t there before. Still, he is silent. 

“Don’t you… don’t you get what I’m trying to say here?” you ask. Any frustration in your voice has vanished. Replaced instead with a tone that cracks as the fabric of his shirt slips between your fingers. “Kyle, I-”

Soft lips clash with yours, silencing the rest of your speech just as the exposed skin of your back meets the cool, rough surface of the brick wall behind you. Your wrist is still in Kyle’s hand, and he holds it close to his chest as he pins you with the rest of his body, holding you still so he can devour you properly. You don’t fight against it, in fact you do quite the opposite. Your free hand snakes around his neck and glides up the back of his head, and your mouth moves in sync with his. Salt and liquor melts on your tongue, and while the tension in your shoulders dissolves, a heedy want ignites in your stomach. 

Kyle only pulls away when you’re both panting between bites, but he doesn’t move far. His forehead rests against yours as his hands make a home in the curves of your hips. The sequins on your dress are abrasive and annoying, getting caught in the buttons of his shirt, but he doesn’t mind getting tangled in you. 

“Come home with me,” he whispers. His thumbs ghost the hem of your dress, and you can feel the way he wants to hike it up. There’s very little stopping him from throwing your leg over his waist and fucking you there on the terrace, and you know there would be very little protest from you if he did. “Please, doll.” 

“Okay.” It takes very little for you to give in. Hardly any effort at all. “Take me home, Kyle.” 

His lips crash against yours in another kiss before he’s pulling you away from the wall and around the corner. It’s then that you realize, you think you’d follow Kyle Garrick anywhere. So you do. You follow him back into the penthouse, through the crowd of co-workers, all the way until you reach the elevator. It’s childish the way you two grin and giggle to each other, sneaking off like young fools in love. Maybe it’s because you are. 

By the time the elevator doors close, you forget all about that stupid party. All you can focus on is Kyle’s hands on your hips and the look in his eyes. You can tell from his dilated pupils that he’s going to have fun making a mess out of you now that he’s finally going to get you all to himself.

[teaboot]

seeing the NSFW question and answers you've got happening here

my vulva is really itchy and sore but I haven't had any kind of sex recently or even used any sex toys recently. I haven't changed my washing powder. I haven't douched ever or used soap inside my vulva or used any lotions or scents around my vulva. I last shaved 2 weeks ago with a razor and the same body wash I always use. I don't think it's BV or thrush and its driving me mad. help?

CW DISCUSSION OF REPRODUCTIVE HEALTH

Shaving public hair can increase your odds of developing bacterial infections, yeast infections, and UTIs, all of which can present as soreness or itchiness. Underwear made of synthetic fabrics can, too. High-sugar diets, hormone fluctuations, thong underwear, dehydration, bath water quality, and some lubes can, too, as well as touching without washing hands thoroughly first. Long nails especially are fantastic at holding onto and transporting bacteria and fungi. Antibiotics can cause these issues, and antibiotics can cure these issues. Medications, too.

Short and simple annoying answer: Could be anything.

I recommend drinking lots of water and cranberry juice and seeing a doctor- if it is BV then using a yeast infection treatment will burn like holy hellfire and you dont want that. Getting a urine test is your best bet.

In the meantime, again, drink lots of water and urinate frequently. Don't wash with soap, but do wash, and do so with clean water. Wear loose clothing when possible made of breathable fabrics like cotton. Change underwear daily.

I'm not a doctor or a medical professional. These are just things I've picked up through work and life. My first recommendation is always to contact a doctor, and if you start producing unusual discharge, experiencing pain during urination, developing sores, welts, or a rash, or end up with swelling or pain in your lower back, DEFINITELY seek medical assistance.

Good luck, bud 👍

[merakiui]

Had a thought I wanted to share (CW for noncon+Yan stuff)

Idia being so obsessive and horny and making a sex doll that looks just like his darling, and using an enchanted onahole to ensure it feels exactly like them - even reacting and tightening just like them~

The one issue is that (either on purpose or accidentally) it turns out his darling can feel everything he does to the doll.

Omg yes!! This trope works so well for Idia. Not only is he using the doll for pleasure, he’s also treating it as practice for when he (hopefully) gets to fuck the real version sometime in the future. Even though creating something like this is no sweat for a genius like him, Idia feels like he’s really outdone himself. As synthetic as everything is, it’s still very soft and lifelike, functioning just like his darling beloved’s tight hole. He uses it more times than he'd like to admit, but he just can't help it. It feels too good, and there’s no way he's confident enough to talk to you in person, much less even broach the idea of dates, relationships, or sex. So this doll will have to do for now, and it certainly works wonders. It’s so warm and wet inside, and the doll's hole hugs his cock so snugly. He likes it even more because he can dress the doll up in your clothes just to pretend it's really you underneath him.

Unfortunately, there’s more to the doll than he knows.

You’re in class when it first happens, lazily scribbling away in your notebook while Professor Trein drones on about magic history. It’s the strangest, most invasive sensation. One minute you think you might fall asleep out of sheer boredom, and the next you’re jolting awake when a slick finger traces along your hole before sliding in. You’re staring hard at your notebook, wondering if that really just happened. But then another finger is easing in, and now these phantom fingers are beginning to work you open. Thankfully, that’s all that occurs. You manage to escape class right as the bell rings, your lips bloody from how roughly you bit down to silence your noises, hurrying to the washroom to see what's causing this. The minute the door shuts behind you, though, is when the fleshy head of someone’s cock is prodding at your hole. You can't see it, but it’s there and it's pushing inside, inches stretching you so slowly before whoever it is swiftly bottoms out, promptly knocking all coherent thoughts from your brain.

You’re fucked silly against the wall by an invisible dick and it takes all of your restraint not to make the lewdest sounds you can possibly produce. By the time this person has finished using you, your hole is spattered with cum and you think you might just faint from the overstimulation. Luckily for Idia he has a surprising amount of stamina when he’s in the mood. Unluckily for you, you’re going to be spending the rest of that day bedridden for…reasons. :) and he always cums inside no matter what, so you’ll be very exhausted and very filled by the end of everything.

[gkutfdvnn]

It had been quite the summer, some friends of mine had rented some new apartment and we all decided to chip in to wallpaper and paint all the different rooms. Though some of us complained that it was too hard a job and exhausting, I found that it was quite easy. The four rooms were shared between the six of us, first we would do the three bedrooms in groups of two and then the kitchen all together. Luckily I had been paired with Frank, he had already started his own painting business and walked me through every step, taking off the wallpaper before putting the new one with glue. Eventually Dylan, Bryan and Chris whom the apartment belonged to, and Jeff, to had asked for his help, after making sure I could finish alone. Eventually after three days we were all finished wallpapering and painting the bedrooms and decided to take a one day break. Mark complimented me on my work, stating that I had put the wallpaper perfectly on and that the paint looked great, jokingly asking if I would join his business. That's when Bryan and Chris chimed in, suggesting that we could finish the kitchen, against pay of course.

That's how Mark and I ended up doing the kitchen together, I didn't mind the extra money, and he seemed to be used to the job. Since he had already walked me through the different steps we were quick to work, we had plenty of time to hang out and chill. When it came time to pay, Chris suggested he could transfer all the money to Mark, who then could issue me a check. Just wanting to go home I promptly agreed and we left it at that.

That's when to my surprise I received a letter, with my check, through Marks business, stating me as an employee and worker. I sent him a short message explaining the mistake before heading out towards the bus station, leaving for my afternoon classes.

Mark's response came in the middle of the ride, apologizing for the mistake and joking that it wouldn't be so bad to have me as a worker, he then assured me that he would fix the mistake immediately. I laughed through my nose and thanked him, bending myself forward to grab what would have been my bag, except that in its place instead stood a big black gym bag. I looked to my left and to my right, maybe it had slipped to one side or the other while the bus was turning. There were few people sitting around me and my bag was nowhere to be seen. None of them looked like the gym bag could belong to them. That's when I noticed it had my name written on it.

Curiosity got the better of me and I opened the bag. Inside layed some well folded change clothes that seemed a bit too big for me. Some lunch and an axe spray. The smell of fresh paint hit me strong and I had to lift my head up to sneeze. At the same time my feet felt cramped inside my shoes. At first I stretched my legs thinking it would help with the pain. But then it seemed to travel up my calves and into my thighs. My brown shoes bulged and turned softer, lighting up before taking the appearance of beaten and used white sneakers. The shoes appeared slightly bigger yet both my feet seemed to fit perfectly. Next my calves and thighs cramped again. I spread them further apart helping with the pain as I noticed my legs taking a bit more space on my seat. My beige pants became looser and thicker, the texture changing from cotton to synthetic fabric. New thicker seams appeared above my knee and around the growing pockets giving them the same look as those pants Mark wore most of the time. The clean pants were rapidly becoming dirty and used, white splotches and streams of dried paint appeared on the cloth.

I looked around me worrying about what was happening to me, but none of the other passengers seemed to notice or even bother as my whole body changed. I caught my reflection on the windows, my black hair was lighting and gaining a brown hue as it shortened and thinned. More changes happened to my face, my jaw got thicker and my noise pointer and thinner. The blue of my eyes vanished behind a beautiful rich brown as memories of my life were altered. Knowledge about economics, politics and sociology faded while I could remember working for Mark. Tattoos grew on my right arm as both my upper body and biceps grew firm. My hands and finger were wriggling as they grew thick and calloused making it look like I did a lot of manual labor. That's when it hit me. Mark was actually making me one of his employees ! I scrambled for my phone as fast as I could, finding in its place a smaller and older IPhone with earpods, I swiped across the screen and opened my messages as most of my known friends had simply vanished from my contact lists, I couldn't even find the last conversation with Mark. That's when it hit me. He must be the one labelled as "Boss".

I wanted to press on the writing symbol, yet I froze. It didn't make sense for me to write my boss out of the blue, except for emergencies. I closed my phone again and spread my legs apart as I lifted my arms to put them behind my head. A tan complexion washed over my skin as I closed my eyes to listen to the music. All I had to worry about was doing a good job.

[realmennnnn]

With Connor away on his 5-mile hike, you thoroughly clean everything in sight. You start with his laundry, including each of the glorious socks he had worn over the past week. You give all of them a brief sniff before placing them in the laundry machine. While sniffing, you become terrified that you may not have a single item of clothing to sleep with that night. You pray that Connor will give you the clothes he wore on his hike or at least his destroyed Nike sneakers to sleep with. Next, you clean the entire home, scrubbing every room and organizing any out of place items, including Connor’s massive stack of dirty dishes. You also spend a particularly long amount of time in both his mudroom and bathroom, using your tongue to clean his muddy footprints off the floor as well as all of his pee off the toilet. Afterwards, you give each of his sneakers a good cleaning, yet again using your tongue with impeccable detail while savoring each blade of grass and splotch of dirt.

With the first load of laundry done, you throw all of his bedding in the washer. You iron and fold each clothing item and can’t help but stare at his XL sized shirts, shorts, underwear, and socks once they’ve been perfectly cleaned and pressed. You recognize how lucky you are to even be in the presence of these items.

By now, it’s been three hours, and you’ve heard nothing from Connor. You become nervous that something may have happened but neglect to reach out since it’s not your place to bother your potential alpha. Instead, you move outside, mowing the entire lawn and weeding Connor’s select number of plants.

With sweat running down your entire body, you head back inside to make Connor’s bed with his freshly cleaned and pressed sheets. Finally, you head out of the house on your way to grocery store, dropping the trash into the necessary bin on your way out. You hope you’ll be allowed to wash his car tomorrow since you weren’t given access today.

Halfway to the store, and nearly five hours after Connor left, you receive a message from your Lord. “Hey, faggy. The lads wanted to do some day drinking, so I’m out with them. I’ll be home in a couple hours. You better be keeping yourself busy. By the way, pick up some dog food if you make it to the grocery store.”

You have no idea why Connor would need dog food. He certainly doesn’t have a dog. However, you refuse to question your master. You’re certain that if Connor says he needs dog food, then he needs dog food. He’s an alpha after all, so he knows best! You’re just happy that you had anticipated Connor’s desire for you to grocery shop.

As you enter the store, you couldn’t help but look at every possible item. You needed to make sure that you bought every item Connor could possibly want. You pick up six varieties of fresh meat and fish, a large helping of fruits and vegetables, and several hearty grains. Finally, you make your way to the dog food. As you look into your cart, you realize that you were likely to spend more than $200 on Connor’s food alone. You hoped he’d share some of his scraps since you hadn’t bought anything for yourself. With finances in mind, you went for the cheapest dog food possible, made with purely synthetic materials. After all, Connor didn’t have a dog, so you didn’t see a point in overspending on this item - your mistake.

After checking out at a whopping $275, you walk home, carrying an obscene amount of groceries. With four bags hanging off either arm and a bag of dog food wrapped between them, your body aches by the time you reach the grocery store parking lot! You walk as fast as you can, making it back to Connor’s house in roughly 25 minutes. You breathe heavily the entire way and nearly start crying. You remind yourself that this is only true since you’re a weak, pathetic faggot.

As soon as your home, you start your final chore of the day, cooking Connor’s glorious Sunday night meal. You realize he could be home any moment, so you get to work rapidly. You carefully put together a salad and start cooking a box of pasta. Then, you cut up even more vegetables, making a batch of tomato sauce from scratch. You don’t dare prepare a subpar dinner, and you know you must have it done on time. Connor comes first after all! You race to the finish line, hearing keys jingling in the door nearly 40 minutes later. With only the food done, you realize the dishes will have to wait until later, and you pray Connor won’t be upset.

You run over to the front door and drop to your knees. You bow your head as anticipation grows within you. You hope Connor will be pleased with your housework and cooking. Even more, though, you simply cannot wait to see your 6’3” and 220 pound master as well as his glorious size 13s. Connor steps through the front door, and you stare down at his beautiful sneakers and socks. They’re caked in dirt, and their pungent smell hits your nose with gusto. You’re immediately enamored and begin showering each sneaker with kisses, taking great joy in their scent and appearance.

Connor stumbles a bit and leans back against the door. He crosses one foot over the other and flashes a devilishly sexy grin at you. With his balance back, he steps around your weak frame. You can tell that he’s wasted and, as a result, likely highly sadistic. He drops his bag on the ground and makes his way to the couch. With such a hefty bang, you know the bag is full; you’re happy to know that his shopping trip was successful.

He lays back on the couch and turns his eyes toward the football game you had turned on for him. His sneakered feet dangle beautifully off the side of the sofa. He lets out a huge belch, and you wish you were next to him, giving it a sniff. However, like a proper fag, you wait patently by the front door for further instruction. He pulls his pants down on the couch, leaving them hanging by his knees. You look at his beautiful cock, remembering that just two days ago, you were afforded the privilege of sucking and riding it. He calls you over, using his fingers to gesture as well. “I need to take a nap, but I want my dick to be well taken care of while I’m asleep. Come over here and hold my cock in your mouth until I wake up.”

You crawl over to the couch and kneel in front of his crotch. You look up and notice that his eyes are already shut. You wonder if it would be proper to remove his sneakers from his feet. You hold off since he hasn’t directed you to do so. You wonder how sweaty his feet will be by the time his sneakers finally come off.

You crank your neck into an extremely uncomfortable position and wrap your lips around his cock. Your knees already hurt from the wooden floors, and you can tell that your neck will be in immense pain within minutes. You know it’s going to be a long few hours, but you also know you won’t get access to his feet unless you do exactly what Connor tells you.

As soon as your lips wrap around Connor’s cock, he lets out an ungodly amount of piss, made up of 100% beer. You hear him snicker for a second, laughing at the fact that you had no idea that his piss would be flooding your mouth. He knows you’ll do whatever it takes to swallow every drop. And, he’s right; per usual, you diligently swallow every single drop.

When he finishes peeing, you keep his cock in your mouth, the taste of leftover piss and dick sweat rubbing against your tongue. You take his balls into your mouth, and the flavors grow exponentially. “Good boy,” you hear Connor say. With that, you try your hardest to get comfortable, knowing you’ll be kneeling here tasting his funk and piss for hours to come - just as he asked you to do.

Connor doesn’t wake up once during his three hour nap but somehow lets out several large farts. You take pride in knowing you helped coax and keep him asleep. You also take enjoyment in the flavor of his dick funk as well as the smell of his farts. You can tell that those farts were inspired by an immense amount of greasy food and beer. They smell wonderful.

As Connor finally comes back to life, your head and knees begin to wobble. You can tell that your neck will be in pain for days to come. He reaches for his phone and starts scrolling. With Connor awake, you continue to hold his dick in your mouth but now count down the moments until you’ll be allowed to move. The anticipation of potentially being allowed out of your current position makes the pain grow ten fold.

For the third time of the day, piss starts filling your mouth, and you hope this will mark the end of your time as a human dick pouch. The piss tastes even more stale than the one from a few hours ago, but you revel in every second of it. Maybe swallowing piss is not only a godly blessing but also the purest indulgence known to a faggot.

“Get your mouth off my cock, faggot,” Connor says abruptly with his piss complete. “Time for some of that sauce you got cooking. The pasta better be ready. I ain’t waiting. Go make me a plate.” You’re happy to know that you planned appropriately for this evening.

He begins to sit up from his nap and nearly kicks you in the face. “I told you to get moving. Chop chop.” You give each sneaker another kiss and crawl to the kitchen. You hope you’ll be allowed to enjoy the dirt from his shoes as well as the foot sweat from his socks as he eats. After all, you haven’t consumed a single thing all day.

You stand up and pull the pasta out of the fridge. You place a heaping serving on to a plate, adding your homemade tomato sauce and salad on top. As you get back down on to your knees, you place the plate on your back as well as a set of silverware and a glass of water in each hand. As you crawl back to his feet, you keep your back and hands as straight as possible, refusing to let any food or water end up on the floor. However, you wouldn’t have minded being forced to lick it up. Your stomach was rumbling louder and louder by the minute.

After approaching the couch, Connor takes the plate from your back and puts it on the coffee table. You hand him his water and silverware and then bow your head, so it is resting on his sneakers. You pray he’ll let you peel them off; the steam floating off of them is far too temping. Instead, Connor rises up from the couch unexpectedly, nearly kicking you in the face once again.

“Ay, faggot. Where’s the dog food? I can hear your stomach rumbling. It’s fucking annoying.”

It’s at this time that it clicks for you. The dog food is for you. You’ll be eating dog food in place of human food for the remainder of your life - should Connor allow you to serve him for that long. “Umm, Sir Connor, it’s in the pantry, my Lord,” you say with your head still bowed.

You hear the pantry door open and the big bag of dog food moved around. Connor grabs a bowl and starts filling it. “You know how much of this you’re supposed to feed a dog? I don’t want to underfeed you.” He pauses for a second, letting out a light laugh. “Eh, never mind. You’re a faggot. What would you know?” he snickers, dumping another serving into the bowl.

He makes his way back to the couch and drops the bowl of food on to the floor. “Aw shit, faggy. You just emptied my bladder. I ain’t got any liquid for your food.” Your head remains bowed, sniffing at your meal, but the only thing you can smell are his glorious feet. You hope that smell will help you get this treacherous dog food down. “Move your head, faggot,” Connor says. He works up a loogie and spits it into the bowl. “That will have to do I guess. Now give me a bark and show me how excited you are for your first faggot meal. I thought you’d enjoy this type of food given how much time you spend with the pups,” he says as he wiggles his toes within his sneakers. “Show me how serious you are about serving me. Remember, service doesn’t only include paying for my livelihood and doing all of the chores. It also includes finding ways to spend as little money on yourself as possible. By only eating dog food and drinking my recycled beverages, I estimate nearly $60 in savings each week! That money goes straight back into my pocket! Now bark, faggy.”

You immediately start barking, letting your butt wiggle back and forth too. He didn’t ask for that, but you thought it would play into the effect nicely. He lets out another laugh. “Alright, faggot, go ahead.” You’re happy to know that he enjoyed your act.

You dive your head into the bowl and enjoy your first few loogie-covered bites. By bite number four, all of the loogie is gone, and the flavor becomes progressively worse. You don’t slow down on eating, though; you’ve never felt this hungry before in your entire life. On top of that, you’d never wanted to please someone this much in your entire life. Maybe it was a good thing that Connor dropped you as your boyfriend and made you his faggot. You seemed to be far more productive that way.

Connor attacks his meal nearly as quickly as you do yours, his eyes glued to either the TV or his food the entire time. He lets out a humongous fart followed up by an even bigger burp as his last bite slides down his throat. You sniff at both as you try to finish up your last few bites, terrified that Connor may take it away if you’re not done within seconds of his own completion. As you take your final bite, you realize you’ll have to do all of this over again tomorrow. You pray you’ll get a decent piss to help the food down.

“Ayy, faggy. Good job. You ate all of your food! I am stuffed. That pasta was pretty good, maybe a seven out of ten. Two of those are pity points, though, since I’m sure you put so much of your faggotry into making it.”

Connor turns toward the TV just in time to see the game winning point. Yet again, he nearly kicks you with his sneakered feet as he stands to cheer for the Patriots. After lobbing off a few texts to the boys about the big win, he continues his monologue. “It’s almost time for the faggot ceremony. You’ve earned it. The house and yard look great, my meal was… good enough, and you’ve done a decent job supporting my various needs. I gotta take a shit, so get to cleaning. The kitchen won’t scrub itself,” he says, letting out another laugh. Connor rises from the couch, and you give his sneakered feet yet another kiss. You pray that this so-called “faggot ceremony” will include some foot worship, but you have no idea what to expect. Maybe if you scrub the kitchen at a rapid pace, it’ll earn you some time at his feet.

Look at you, faggot. You’re doing everything in your power to impress your ex-boyfriend, Connor. You’ll literally do anything it takes to sniff and lick those size nasty 13 sneakers, socks, and feet. Think about how pathetic you are! Doesn’t matter, though, you’re loving your new life. You can’t wait to make it official with the faggot ceremony tonight!

[novasintheroom]

A home for you and me

Combining these two asks since they both ask for the same line! Hope you don't mind <3

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.9k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: It's a new chapter in your lives.

Now part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

It’s a hot day. Most people are avoiding the worst of it by staying indoors, where some have cooling vents from the Plant, and others just have shade.

Vash feels sweat drip down his back, his knuckles lightly cramping around the cloth handles for bags laden with food stuffs. He’s happy with the haul from the market. Fresh fruit and vegetables, with synthetic meat that didn’t look too grey. This town really was a good place to settle down. He’ll have to tell you again when he gets home.

Home.

What a strange concept. Over one-hundred and fifty years on No Man’s Land, and Vash could hardly call any place truly home. Sure, there’s the ship, Home. Luida and Brad are wonderful. But he never wanted to overstay his welcome there, always leaving within a few days to hoof it once again across the deserts and try to repent for his wrongs. And always being on the run as either an outlaw or just an unwanted or unwelcome stranger made it impossible to settle down anywhere.

Until now.

Home comes into view as he rounds a corner. Sitting along a row of similar houses, it’s small, built of metal and rock and precious few beams of wood to bend in the desert winds. Three painted pots sit near the door – a craft you’d insisted on doing to help brighten the outside with more than oranges and browns. The string lights sway in the slight breeze over the doorway, waiting to turn on once the suns dip lower and the shadows come.

Someone might say it’s not much. But give them a century of travel, and it’ll become the best thing a man has seen.

His left hand turns the handle of the door – unlocked, you probably saw him coming through the window – and goes inside.

He only has a moment to hear your squeal and drop the groceries before you launch yourself at him. He catches you, feels your legs wrap around his waist to keep yourself locked in place. He is pummeled by your lips on his jaw, his neck, his cheeks. “Mayfly – !” He’s already overheated, but this is making it worse. “What are you – “

“I’m so happy we have a house!” You exclaim, planting a big kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I’m so happy you get to get groceries!”

Ah, zoomies. You’d been doing this lately, just too happy to have a house to do anything but run around or kiss him. He lets out a laugh, pulling you into a hug to stop your onslaught. “Can I at least shut the door before you decide to pounce on me the moment I come home?” He walks into the hallway, gently kicking the door closed behind.

You snort and pull back with a look. “You know you love it.”

He hums. “I’m sure the neighbors love it too,” he says. Still, he leans forward and catches your lips in a full kiss.

When you pull back, you finally put your feet back to the floor and stoop down to gather the grocery bags. “C’mon, I’ve been rearranging the furniture and I need to get your opinion. Oh, also, one of the neighbors came by and gave us a casserole! Isn’t that weird? She was super nice, though. I think she said she lives a few doors down, but I’ll have to check again. I think she has those two teenage boys that we saw walking earlier. Looked a lot like her!”

You wander down the hall, expecting him to follow at your heels, just like when you travelled. But Vash has to take a moment. You’re carrying groceries instead of supplies for camp. There’s food in the house, a place to safely lay your heads. You cut a beautiful figure, knocking into the corner as you go to the kitchen with what he brought home. Already trusting he got the right supplies, that this is going to work. You want him to look at the furniture.

You pop your head back in the hall when he doesn’t immediately show up. Your face falls, and you’re rushing to him. “Birdie, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” You reach up, and Vash is surprised to feel tears being wiped away. He hadn’t known he was crying. “Did something happen at the market?”

Vash takes a moment to rein it in. Then he pulls you into a tight hug, a watery laugh spilling out. “I’m just…really glad we have a home.”

You coo and rub his back. It still has all the scars and metal plates under the shirt. All the reminders of where he’s been, what he’s gone through. You feel your own tears prick in your eyes. What you would give to make that go away. But it’s what made him the man he is today, and you wouldn’t have him any other way. Your sweet man. You rock him side to side with your feet and whisper, “Me too, sweetheart.”

Vash sniffles into your shoulder, glasses pressed into the crook of your neck. Then he pulls away, sighing and wiping his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’m done.” He laughs. Then, looking down, he asks, “One more kiss? Please?”

With a smile, you say, “See? I knew you loved it.” You go to your tiptoes and press your lips to his.

[hamsterclaw]

Weighted

You don’t know if you needed Namjoon, but he comes to you anyway. Part of the Love AU, read the rest here.

Pairing: Namjoon x afab! reader

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mention of self-harm

Rating: 18+

Word count: 1.1k

There are weighted days, like today, when the world sweeps by outside your window and you feel inconsequential.

Your presence is irrelevant, you’re a speck of matter in the universe, and it doesn’t make a blind bit of difference whether you are here or not.

You’re curled up in the duvet you dragged from your bed, scattering the clutter on your coffee table in its synthetic wake, face pressed to the glass.

The height of your apartment makes you feel a vertiginous swoop in your insides as you take in the city below you.

You’re too numb to feel anything but the basics. Hot, cold, hard, soft. Higher emotions escape you when you’re like this.

There’s a buzzing of your intercom that you’re trying to ignore.

It’s probably some parcel with something you thought you needed before you’ve come to know better.

Nothing can fill the void.

The sound of a key in the lock makes you groan and pull the duvet over your head.

There’s only one person with a key to your apartment, and it’s not a fuckboy that you need right now.

The door opens and you don’t look, buried under the textural swirls of your duvet, a sea of ivory.

There’s a few steps, the clatter of keys in the dish in your hallway.

Now he learns to put his keys in the right place.

One divorce too late.

The footsteps stop right next to you but you keep your eyes tightly closed, so tight the firebursts behind your eyelids are blinding anyway.

Kim Namjoon sighs, the impatience he puts in the sound making you feel the first emotion you’ve felt in days.

It’s anger.

You try to push it away but it burns bright.

‘Did you slit your wrists under there?’ he asks. He pats the fluffy bulk enclosing you half-heartedly.

‘Take any pills?’ he continues.

Like the anger, Namjoon is getting difficult to ignore.

You pull the covers off, head surfacing from the softness, re-entering the world where everything is too bright, too loud and too goddamn annoying.

‘Do you need something Namjoon?’ you ask, flat.

He doesn’t answer at first, eyes scanning your face.

Finally he says, ‘Need a fuck?’

You blink up at him.

Namjoon sighs again. ‘When did you last eat?’

He doesn’t wait for an answer this time, turning and heading in the direction of your tiny kitchenette.

There’s unnecessarily aggressive clanging of pots, even the hiss of the kettle seems louder, a scream of discontent cutting through the fog of your detachment.

Your traitorous stomach rumbles, but you can’t bring yourself to get up and go to the kitchen.

You close your eyes instead.

When you dip back into the world, Namjoon’s sitting on your couch.

‘I’m not heating this up again, so you’d better eat,’ he says, not looking at you.

It feels like you can’t move, the heaviness of everything presses you down.

Eventually, Namjoon gets up and sits next to you on the window seat.

‘Open,’ he says, holding out a mouthful of noodles.

It’s too big, he always makes each forkful the size he would eat himself, like he hasn’t noticed that you eat smaller bites.

It’s delicious though.

You wipe the drip of broth off your chin on your t-shirt, and to his credit, he doesn’t even blink.

Namjoon scans channels on your TV whilst he feeds you, you can hear snippets behind your head.

Canned laughter, classical piano, tension and an explosion.

Namjoon sets the empty bowl down.

‘Want to take a shower, baby?’ he asks.

His tone is gentle, coaxing.

‘You’ll feel better.’

He places a warm hand on the small of your back, leading you to your bathroom.

You’re not wearing much but he helps you out of your clothes anyway, puts the shower on.

His clothes land heavily on the floor, the denim of his jeans solid against the tiles.

He tests the water, tugs you in next to him, shielding you from the fall of water with his own body.

There’s the squirt of soap, then his warm hands smoothing over your shoulders, brushing over the rounds of your breasts.

Your nipples harden under his palms, there’s no way he hasn’t noticed, but he carries on, hands kneading your back.

He’s semi-hard, you note distantly, his cock rising a little away from his body as he cleans you.

He reaches between your legs, thumb over your clit, fingers sliding along your folds. You arch your back a little, and his cock hardens even more.

Namjoon kneels to slide soap down your thighs, behind your knees, and you put your hand on his shoulder to steady yourself.

When he comes back up he’s fully hard, cock pressing into your belly.

You curl your hand around him instinctively, and you both watch the head of his cock appearing and disappearing in your fist as you stroke him.

Namjoon wraps his hand around yours, uses his other hand to turn the water off.

‘Let’s dry off,’ is all he says.

He wraps you in a towel, grabs one for himself.

The way he tents the terrycloth makes your mouth water.

Lust joins anger in your newly re-acquired library of emotions, and the combination of both is so acutely Namjoon in your experience that you revel in the familiarity of it.

Namjoon dries you off in front of your mirror, and you both watch as he plays with your breasts until you’re breathless.

He spreads your legs, delves his fingers in between, shows you your own arousal coating his fingers.

He’s dropped the towel, his cock nudges between your ass cheeks, the promise of filling you up tantalising.

Namjoon tugs you onto your bed, grabs a pillow, slips it under your hips.

‘Watch,’ he says, voice velvety.

His cock juts from him now, full and hard and seeking, as he lifts your hips and pushes into you.

You grasp the sheets underneath you as he fills you, his hardness thick and hot.

Namjoon snaps his hips forward, and you moan.

‘That’s it,’ he says, his voice thick, slurred. ‘Show me that you like it, baby.’

‘Come close,’ you pant, and he dips his torso so you can curl an arm around his shoulders, hold on to him whilst he fucks you so well everything else falls away from this moment.

There’s nothing but the slap of his sex against yours, his mouth on yours when he finally decides to kiss you, the hot spill of his cum inside you as your cunt contracts to take him, over and over.

There’s nothing but Namjoon, and you, and fuck what a mess you both have made.

‘Happy anniversary, baby,’ he says, face buried in your hair.

There’s the prick of tears in your eyes that you blink away before he can see.

Then, the third emotion, always inextricably linked with Kim Namjoon in your mind.

Sadness, lingering long after the anger and the lust have gone.

[onenicebugperday]

@shesus-crisp submitted: Hello, could you help me identify this little creature crawling on my wall? I've been finding these guys all around my room as well as in houses of a few friends for years every now and then, and it only just occurred to me that you may know what they are! They are really tiny, only about 2-3mm long, refuse to fly even when I hold them for relocation and I assume they are under some stress, and move pretty slowly. I have never seen them outside, only in buildings, regardless of weather or season. Location is South-Western Germany. Any clue to what they are called, and why they keep coming into houses?

It's a carpet beetle! Probably an Australian carpet beetle as far as I can tell. Obviously not native but now found in Europe. They come inside because their larvae like to eat animal fibers found in houses. They're called carpet beetles because they used to be associated with wool carpets. Less so now since carpets tend to be synthetic. They'll also eat human hair or pet fur, taxidermy, leather, dead insects, feathers, wool clothing, dried pet food, and a lot of other animal fibers. Or sometimes plant fibers if that's all that's available. Adults eat nectar but if you're seeing adults all the time, likely there are larvae around too. But they're not a health risk or anything, they can just be destructive if there are a lot of them.

[abyssruler]

CONGRATS ON 3K!!! May i ask albedo + normal au + soulmate + fluff? I don't have any other ideas so plot is up to you! I'll be happy with whatever you write 🫶🫶

of inks and six toes

albedo x gn!reader

in a world where anything you write on your skin appears on your soulmate’s skin, albedo finds that much unlike his initial expectations, he does have a soulmate, and one that he’s surprised to admit he genuinely enjoys conversing with.

soulmate au, comedy, fluff, written for my 3k event!

Albedo learns how to pen words on his skin long before he learns how to write them on paper.

His master has always encouraged this little habit. Notes, reminders, and quick calculations done on the smooth skin of his arm, hands, and on the days where he’s covered in warm clothing from head to toe, his cheeks.

He’s always been curious, always one to voice out questions—this, too, is a habit his master encourages—but he’s never thought to ask why he must write more on his skin than on paper. It was simply a way of life. You sit on a chair, you drink on a cup, you bend the laws of physics using the forbidden art of khemia, and you write inconsequential things to your skin.

Must check test tube #32 on 06:45 and observe any difference, he writes to the inside of his wrist.

With every year that passes, his master becomes more and more displeased with him, claiming his lack of progress, but Albedo doesn’t understand. He’s been doing exceptionally well, excelling in his studies and furthering his knowledge with research, he’s even acquired the small hobby of sketching. He doesn’t understand which aspect he’s lacking in.

It isn’t until years later, when his master deems him mature enough to accompany her in one of her supply trips in a nearby town, that he learns about soulmates. And only five months after that trip does he finally understand what his master meant by progress.

There, written near an absentminded reminder by the inside of his wrist, is a shaky scrawl akin to that of a child’s.

Wat deos experiment meen?

✧

Albedo learns a lot of things within the span of a few months after his soulmate finally responds to him.

The first being that his master seems to be more satisfied with him lately. After the initial shock of the revelation that a synthetic human such as himself would even possess a soulmate, he hurried to show his master the scribbles you made on his wrist. Her threats of leaving him should he fail a certain task has also lessened, almost to a nonexistent degree. Perhaps having a soulmate is the greatest proof of life an artificial person like him could have.

The second is that he never knew talking to someone would be something he would find himself looking forward to everyday. To form relations such as friendship and actively put in the effort to maintain it were not things he anticipated to be this enjoyable. Or perhaps it’s because the person he’s speaking to—rather, writing to, is you, his soulmate.

And lastly, within the first few minutes of conversing with you, Albedo discovers that you are young. Incredibly so, in fact.

…Not that he’s in any position to call anyone young, being that he’s barely a decade old despite looking like a young man already. He supposes he should be thankful to have been born with fully functional limbs and motor skills, his master isn’t exactly the best caretaker for a child, much less a good parental figure (never mind that he already thinks of her as his mother).

hau old ar yu?

How old are you, he corrects, all while mentally calculating exactly how old he is. His master would know down to the very last second, but he can’t bother her with something as mundane as this. Truthfully, the first few years of his life were spent learning as much as he could about the world and alchemy, such that he never took much note of his age until he learned the concept of birthdays. He thinks his master celebrated him being a decade old about a month ago—and by celebrate he means she let him sketch as much as he liked and gave him a break on his studies.

He estimates that he is about ten. Probably.

So that’s what he answers to his soulmate, he does you the favor of writing it in numerical form to make it easier to read.

wow yur old! The words come alive on the back of his hand slowly, each letter uneven and some even written backwards.

You’re, he corrects, more out of habit than any real desire to teach you proper grammar, and 10 isn’t that old. Once you get older, you’ll find that 10 is considered quite young.

It takes you a while to respond, and within that time frame, Albedo finishes transferring a heated whooperflower extract into a test tube. It’s an exercise in patience, and thankfully he has plenty of it. He regrets not using easier words for you to understand, but erasing the ink on his hand and writing new ones will probably confuse you more than you already are.

okey! papa sed im 5 yeers old, turneeng 6 tomorow

You must be very smart to be able to read and write already at that age. I’ll make sure to wish you a happy birthday tomorrow, he replies.

It takes another few minutes for you to write back. but you’re smarter then me so wen did you read and write?

Albedo lets himself feel the slightest hint of pride at how you spelled ‘you’re’ correctly this time around. You’re a quick learner.

I learned before I turned a year old, but please don’t tell anyone. Not that anyone would believe you if you said your soulmate learned how to read and write (and transmigrate a small branch into a flower) before he was one, but better to be safe than sorry.

oohh is this wat mama cals a secret?

Yes, it is, and I would be very happy if you kept it.

okey! i wont tel enywon! :)

Thank you.

He spends the next few minutes making light conversation with you, occasionally correcting your spelling and explaining any concept you seem confused about—until his master berates him for neglecting his work, and he has to bid you a hasty goodbye and apology. You’re quick to understand his circumstances, even as young as you are, only writing a goodbye next to his with a small, misshapen heart that he strangely finds adorable.

The next day, right as the clock turned to 00:00, he writes Happy Birthday on each side of his cheek. His master raises a brow when she sees it, but the excited little drawings you write on your wrist more than makes up for the humiliation.

✧

Tomorrow is my first day of school!

Your grammar and spelling have improved drastically within the span of a year. Albedo deduces you’ll be outdoing your peers in class. Not that he’s the best judge for how a child would normally develop mentally, but from what he’s read, you’re clearly very advanced.

Good luck.

Thanks! I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow :D

I look forward to it, and he finds that he does indeed look forward to it.

✧

Hey soulmate what nation are you from?

You’ve developed the habit of calling him that due to his lack of interest in sharing his name.

Aren’t you in class right now?

Yeah but it’s boring :( tell me more about alchemy

You said yesterday that you find alchemy boring as well, he points out.

But alchemy’s the less boring subject

You should still pay attention in class.

Poopy head. Oh no the teacher is look———

✧

Who is Mondstadt’s god?

The Anemo Archon, though if we’re referring to his name, it’d be Barbatos.

What’s the name of Sneshneya’s capital?

Snezhnaya, he corrects, and it’s Zapolyarny.

And many more such questions, most of them only needing the most basics of knowledge.

Albedo answers them all dutifully, wondering whether this is a test to see how knowledgable he is regarding Teyvat. His master would not be pleased to see him idling about, doing nothing as he waits for his soulmate to write back to him instead of spending his time doing research.

Wow! I’m the only one who scored perfectly on the test!

His eyebrows rise, an idea forming in his mind at the same time as amusement.

A test? he writes back.

Yeah, for my school! You’re so smart! Thank you, soulmate ♡

Something swells in his chest. Warm and pleasant that leaves in him a sense of satisfaction he might akin to the feeling he gets after a successful experiment, or that of the heat that settles in his stomach after a hearty meal during a cold, winter day.

Fondness, he decides, it is fondness.

You’re most welcome. Although next time it would be better to consult me while you’re studying so you would not have to resort to cheating.

Hey! It’s not cheating, it’s called using the resources you have to your advantage.

He has to stifle a smile at how clever you’ve become. Though not clever enough to answer your own tests, it seems.

Using my words against me?

Of course, I learned from the best!

Learned…

To be able to impart knowledge upon others, it is something he had not thought possible until recent years, not with how isolated he is and his only human contact being his master. It is amongst many other less shallow reasons that he is glad to have met you.

To be able to influence others by teaching them what he knows. It is a wishful thought, but he thinks he’d like to do such a thing in the future.

✧

Aunt Alice just gave birth to a baby girl! Her name’s Klee and she’s so fat, are all babies this fat?

Albedo spends a long time staring at his wrist before managing to snap himself out of his haze.

He doesn’t believe in coincidences, but what are the odds that this Alice you were speaking of is the same Alice who just sent a letter to his master the other day about how she finally spawned a daughter. If they so happen to be the same person, then fate truly has a strange sense of humor, though perhaps he should have known that from the moment fate decided a homunculus should have a soulmate.

Yes, he finally responds, a little plumpness isn’t considered fat; in fact, it’s often a sign of healthiness. Also, please don’t call the baby fat right to her mother’s face.

Too late! Aunt Alice just laughed and agreed with me. Isn’t she the best?

He shakes his head in amusement and distantly notes how your Aunt Alice’s personality seems to align with his master’s friend.

✧

I’m joining the Knights of Favonius.

He blinks at the sight that greets him first thing in the morning.

Ah. Well, he supposes this finally confirms all his suspicions of you hailing from Mondstadt.

The clues were there, practically spoon-fed to him, from the innocuous mentions of a certain flower or the structure of a building you found ridiculous, but he didn’t want to form a solid conclusion until you confirmed it yourself.

Is there a particular reason for this decision?

I just feel a bit inadequate. I’m already fifteen but one of my friends has been a captain at the Knights since last year. I’m stuck here stagnating while the rest of my peers move on.

Albedo isn’t the best at comforting people. Years of isolation and limited contact have made socialization one of the fields he doesn’t excel at. He can be a bit tactless, as you once said. He’ll try though, for you.

You don’t need to conform to other people’s standards. Each person moves at their own pace. You needn’t pressure yourself by placing such high expectations on your shoulders. He ponders more on what he could say, until a thought occurs so he adds, With that said, do you want to join the Knights of Favonius or are you merely joining because you feel that you have to?

It takes you a good few minutes to write back. He patiently waits for you to compose an answer, abandoning the on-going experiment he has on the workbench in favor of investing his full attention to you.

Yeah, I think I do want to. Not just because I think I should, but I really want to join.

Then I wish you luck on your future endeavors.

He was about to turn back to his neglected experiment when he sees ink forming on his inner wrist.

And soulmate? you write, your handwriting shaky in a way he hasn’t seen since you were young.

Worried, he hastily scribbles, Yes?

I think I Thank you :)

✧

What should we say to each other if we ever meet in person?

Would you mind elaborating?

I dunno, cause I like to think I’d recognize your handwriting anywhere—and it better be the same case with you! So maybe we should have a secret phrase between us to identify each other.

I’m not very imaginative when it comes to these things. How about you think of a phrase?

Okay! How about this: Barbatos has six toes.

Pardon?

No one in Mond would ever think to say such a thing, which means no one would ever say it out of the blue and confuse us. It’s perfect!

Ah, I see. Alright, if that’s what you wish.

See this is why I lo you’re my favorite person ever :D

✧

Congratulations on being promoted to captain.

Thanks!! Only took about three years, of course, but totally worth the time and effort! I can finally boss people around :)

Please don’t.

No promises!

✧

I got a vision!

That’s a sign of acknowledgement from the gods, or so they say. Would you like me to congratulate you?

No need for that. Just try and guess which element I got!

Pyro.

How’d you guess so quickly?!

The element suits you. Passionate and driven, it was only a matter of time before you were given one.

I really heh who knew you thought so highly of me?

Who wouldn’t?

✧

I’m going to be busy for the next few days traveling.

Okay stay safe!

My master has entrusted me with a heavy task. This is the first time I

You’re going to do great. You’re the smartest and most capable person I know, soulmate!

Thank you.

✧

“So, this new guy, he’s an alchemist?”

“Yes, and apparently a very good one,” Jean answers your question, walking with you side by side as you make your way to the entrance of the Favonius Headquarters to meet this ‘Albedo’ fellow. Well, more like Jean’s on her way to meet him while you’re on your way home.

“Huh. Reminds me of someone I know,” you muse.

She looks at you with amusement. “You mean your soulmate?”

You laugh sheepishly. “I never shut up about him, do I?”

“That’s an exaggeration, I’d say you’re just very in love with him.”

“What?!” you screech, whipping your head towards her.

Jean laughs into her hand. “You’re not fooling anyone with how excited you get whenever he writes back to you.”

“I-I mean,” you deflate in defeat. “I guess it is kinda obvious…” you sigh, only to straighten when you reach the massive doors of the entrance of the Headquarters.

There’s a person with ash blond hair standing right by its awning, looking over something in a clipboard. He turns at the sound of your approaching footsteps. Your eyes meet, and within that brief moment of contact, it feels like you’ve known this stranger your entire life.

Jean greets him. He nods his head at her and introduces himself. She then turns to you, “I’m assigning you to be his guide for the next few days. Be kind, alright?”

Your jaw drops. “Wha—why me?”

“Because you’re the closest available captain in the area,” she answers with an uncharacteristically sly smile. Oh, you lament, she really needs to spend less time with Lisa.

“Fine, but I can’t do it today. I promised Klee we’d go exploring this afternoon,” you concede.

“It’s settled then!” Jean claps her hand before giving the two of you an encouraging smile and leaving briskly. What a busy lady…

You then turn to Albedo who’s been silently watching your interaction, and you find him looking at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t quite discern. Shaking off his strange behavior, you pull out a pen and offer your hand to him. He looks at it curiously before placing his hand into your palm.

“May I ask what this is for?”

You uncap the pen. “Just gonna write down the time I’m free tomorrow, y’know, so you don’t forget.”

“I see.”

Writing on the palm of his hand almost feels wrong. Somehow. A strange feeling you can’t quite place.

It’s probably the spoiled milk you drank earlier.

“And there! Now that’s done, I just need to…” you trail off, seeing a blot of ink in the palm of your hand.

Excitement fills you. Abandoning your new acquaintance in favor of putting all your attention to the new words in your palm, you don’t notice the look of realization that crosses Albedo’s face once he sees what you’ve written on his hand.

1:30PM, Tuesday on the…

Your mind blanks.

You don’t read much beyond that.

This.

This is your handwriting.

But you didn’t write this on your hand, you wrote this on—

Turning a shocked look to Albedo, who if your suspicions are correct, is your soulmate, you find him looking at you with that same wide-eyed look mirrored in your face.

After a few moments of staring, something seems to occur to him.

“Oh, right,” he suddenly speaks up.

He grabs your hand—the same one that has your free time tomorrow written on it—and looks at you with such seriousness, you couldn’t have possibly hoped to predict what he was about to say next.

“Barbatos has six toes,” Albedo says with a straight face before furrowing his brows in question. “That’s our phrase, isn’t it?”

Finding your soulmate unexpectedly, finally getting to hold his hand after fantasizing about it for so long, and him saying those damned words you’d meant as a joke all those years ago.

You can’t help it anymore.

You burst out laughing.

3k word count

[kendsleyauthor]

I also love your new characters! But I love your old ones too. If you’re still doing prompts, dealers choice for #11? You’re amazing ❤️

SNOW ANGEL

Print / Trinket Universe (Micah and Everly)

~700 words

G/t dialogue prompt list

Aww I'm so touched by your love 🥰 Here's a bit of Micah/Everly wintery cuteness! ❄

@marydublinauthor 🌸

Where the hell is she?

Everly typically woke up before him, but she never strayed far from their shared room on the bus. This morning, he couldn’t find her working on schematics on her tablet, or tinkering with the various tech she’d scavenged, or overriding the vehicle’s AI to cuss him out.

“Ev?” Micah called.

As he stepped out of the room and into the narrow hallway, a chill snaked around him. The exterior door panel was wide open, and Everly was still nowhere in sight. He ducked back into his room and snatched the first pair of shoes within reach. He wasn’t sure what could have possessed her to leave the bus on her own so early in the morning—if she left by choice.

Premature anger bristled at the back of his mind. Crew members had bullied her into working off the clock before, but no one ever dared to drag her out of bed.

As he stepped off the bus, though, he didn’t have to look hard to find her.

Everly stood a few yards away with her back to him. Snow fell lightly onto the asphalt and stuck to the ground. She wore only a t-shirt and jeans, shivering like crazy but rooted to her spot.

“There you are,” he said, all the breath leaving his lungs at once. “What are you doing? You’re gonna freeze out here!”

Everly turned and looked up at him. Her eyes were wide—and for a second, he thought he was scaring her. But a breathless grin lit up her face. Every smile he’d ever gotten from her was hard-fought. Her sheer, unprompted happiness made him wonder if she was tripping on something.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat. “Don’t get mad, but you’re freaking me out.”

“It’s beautiful. Look at it.” Everly’s wistful sigh puffed past her lips like a cloud. She stuck her hand out and caught a few snowflakes, bringing her palm close to her face to examine them. 

Then it hit him.

She’d lived all her life in southern California. 

“You’ve never seen snow?” Micah dropped to one knee beside her, cocking his head to continue soaking in the unbridled joy on her face.

She shook her head. “Not the real stuff, anyway. A couple years ago, they dropped synthetic snow on the slums around Christmastime to boost morale or something. It was depressing as fuck. But this…” She cupped her hands, grinning as snowflakes gathered in her palms. “It’s not as cold as I thought it’d be.”

Micah laughed, reaching down with both hands to scoop her up. “That’s just the childlike-wonder talking.” His smile wilted when his skin brushed against her. “You’re so cold, Ev.” He swiftly brought her against his chest, eliciting a squeak of surprise.

“Relax, I’m fine!” She squirmed for a moment, but sure enough, she leaned into his warmth. “Okay, maybe…” She rested her forehead against his shirt. “Maybe it’s a little cold.”

He chuckled. “Let’s get you into some warmer clothes.”

“I… I don’t have any.”

Micah made a wounded noise. “I thought you said you looked through all the clothes I got you. Liar.”

“I-I mean… Looking through all of it would’ve taken me days.” She tugged at his shirt, and he peeked down at her. While she was definitely cuddling up against him for warmth, there was a certain sweetness to the way she rubbed her cheek against his chest. “But that means you can surprise me with an outfit. Won’t that be fun?”

Hugging her closer, he could already feel the chill vacate her little body as he stepped back inside. “Babe, we’re going through all your winter clothes. By the time we’re done, there’ll be enough snow on the ground to have some real fun. Wanna bet I can nail Xan with a snowball?”

“Only if I can also bet that he’ll murder you in your sleep.”

[writingsfromhome]

Red Rose II

A/N: Did some more work on this series. It’s one of the first fics I ever posted here (2020!?!) but felt writer’s block every time I tried to continue. The story is finally shaping up in my head though. It deals with fantastical elements. I’d say it’s not exactly my average fic…

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

—————————

My head is pounding like a bass drum when I wake up, the room I’m in is too dark to see but the sliver of light coming from below the curtains gives the day away. I try to make out the room around me, the night comes back to me in bits.

I must be at the handsome bloke’s-Harry it was. I remember, Harry offered to let me crash at his. I gently turn to stare at the spot next to me but it looks made. He slept somewhere else—he really was a gentleman.

My body creaks as I pivot off the bed and onto the plush carpet. With the softness of the covers and the quality of the carpet, I figured Harry was well off. Compared to my Ikea flat, and synthetic rugs, this was a castle.

I find the light switch and the brightness assaults my sensitive eyes, but I make out a bathroom off to the side. Sweet.

I looked horrible; as hard as I’d done myself up last night I had undone myself in the hours following. And looking at my puffy face and raccoon eyes, I could barely believe Harry wasn’t more afraid of me. Maybe he just pitied me.

By the time I walk back into the room, the curtains have been pushed open, the bed made, and a plain black tee and palazzo pants in my size lay on the bed. It looks exactly like something I would wear on my day off. A glass of water and two painkillers sit on the sidetable. There was no way Harry did all this, how did he find clothes in my size? And why would he make my bed?

I leave the questions for later and take the painkillers (after double checking the label), take the clothes back into the shower and wash the weird night away. It’s not hard finding the kitchen from the smell of coffee and baked goods.

I find Harry sitting in a robe on the balcony off to an open concept kitchen. Two women prepare breakfast, in uniform—so they definitely weren’t family, and another man in uniform stands outside. He definitely didn’t make my bed. I quietly head out to Harry.

“Once I can, that’s all she needs to know.” Harry sips a coffee with his back to me. The man outside only nods to me before going back in.  

“Rose,” Harry says. I jump, how did he know I was here. “I can see your reflection in the glass.”

“Do you read minds or something?” I ask as I walk into his view and settle into the chair opposite him.

“Or something,” he smiles. From what I remember from yesterday, he was big and bold and broody but this morning his face is lit from below and he doesn’t seem as intimidating—it holds a kindness that was missing yesterday. At an angle, he looks almost harmless. Almost.

“Thanks for...well for everything.” I wasn’t sure how to approach his kindness. I knew everything came with a price, Harry was being really nice, he’d kept to his word and left me to recover, but I didn’t know why. That made me uneasy. As I think it, Harry fixes me with a stare, waiting for me to continue but I don’t know what to say so I babble. “I usually don’t do this, follow strangers home. But last night was kind of really awful and-shit, Jeremy! I..”

I pat my pockets out of habit but of course my phone isn’t there. I look up and my phone is on the table. I grab it, and look up, Harry continues to stare as if he was watching a rat in a maze he’d constructed and a chill goes down my spine.

Leave it up to me to make things weird.

My train of thoughts freak me out so I just excuse myself and go inside, my screen isn’t cracked anymore. I run my finger over the screen to make sure but it’s entirely smooth. Was I hallucinating yesterday?

“Y/N, why are you calling so bloody early?” Jeremy’s sleepy voice answers the phone. I check the room and spot the time on the fridge. 8:44.

“Sorry, must be the jet lag. I just want you to know I’m okay.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you be?” I hear him shuffling.

“I...” I realise he knew absolutely nothing from yesterday. I never called him-he probably thinks I’m still at my ex’s! “I’m sorry Jer go back to bed. I’ll explain later.”

He grumbles something but he sounds half-asleep already. I tuck my phone into my pocket and go back outside. The women have disappeared and a buffet is laid out in front of Harry. He points to my seat and I take it.

“Wow,” I was at a loss for words. But I ask, “Did you fix my phone?”

“It fell out of your pocket when I was helping you to bed.” Harry says. “I cracked the screen so I fixed it. Brought it out here for when you had breakfast.”

“Oh no, I um, I actually broke it last night!” I pull it out with a nervous laugh. How did he fix it? “I got angry and sort of...yeah, anyway, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me. I really...I’m actually overwhelmed with how nice you’re being.” My laugh comes out in a rush of air, I’m trying to figure this man out. He didn’t feel threatening but there were all these red flags that made it seem so.

He finally cracks a smile back and nods. “This is how a woman like yourself should be treated. Let’s just enjoy the feast, and enjoy the morning.”

I smile as he pours me coffee. Something in the back of my head wants to analyze everything about the man in front of me, his good looks and his good manners. But also the cold way he observes me versus the short bursts of sunshine in his laugh. His hand keeps brushing mine, and he makes me blush with his compliments. But he continues to call me Rose, he doesn’t even ask for my name again. So I don’t offer it.

“So do you do this often?” I ask. “Invite a stranger from a pub and take care of her?”

“I’ve been visiting The Good Folk for decades and I’ve never met a woman like you.”

My heart skips a beat, not at the compliment. He said decades, but he had less wrinkles than I did and I wasn’t even 30. How old was he?

“I bet you say that to all the women you take home,” I say.

“Yes,” he admits and I look up from my toast. He seems unfazed by his admission but he notices my expression, “What?”

“You just admitted to saying that to all the women you take home.”

“Yes?” He stares. “This is the first time I’ve taken a woman home from there.”

It sounds like a lie or a technicality but he’s entirely honest. And I don’t know how I know that.

The uniformed man suddenly appears and says something to Harry who excuses himself and leaves. Was he like Mr. Alfred, butler to a billionaire type? Harry sure was mysterious enough to have one.

I use the time alone to look around, the view showed an expanse of green fields and in the distance the skyline of London. I’d lived here all my life yet I couldn’t figure where exactly we were.

I look back inside, the place is spotless. Harry must be richer than I thought if he could afford a place like this and hire help. He was a gentleman with a streak of odd, I conclude.

I wanted to figure the odd bit out.

“Are you done with breakfast?” I jump when one of the women from earlier appears beside me. But on a closer look, she was a lot younger than me. Maybe around 15?

“I’m done. You’re quite young. What’s your name?”

She giggles and looks back to where the other women is watering the outdoor plants. When she turns at the sound of the giggles, I realise she was just as young. Was this even legal?

“I’m called Dot, that’s Oona.”

“Nice to meet you Dot.” I watch as she picks up a stack of plates. She was stronger than she looked but still I ask, “Do you need help?”

She just giggles again as if what I asked was absurd and simply carries the large stack inside. I decide to help anyway, feeling unusual if I sat while they cleared the table. It wasn’t something I was used to.

I drop the coffee cups off on the counter when Harry appears and pulls me away.

“What are you doing?” He demands.

“I’m just helping clear...” I turn to point to the girls but they stare at us. It reminds me of the weird motorcycle guy yesterday who offered to give me a ride home. They have the same look in their eyes and when I turn to Harry I can see why. His features are set in an aggressive expression. I didn’t know what I’d done except to help out, and I didn’t want the two girls to get in trouble.

“Harry I...” I touch his arm. “They didn’t ask or nothing, I was just sitting there and thought I could help. I’m not usually waited on...especially by girls younger than me so it was just weird to just sit there.”

His eyes slide from the two behind me to me, his expression softens ever so slightly. “We all have our roles. Let them do theirs. They’ve been in my employment for many years.”

“Okay,” I agree quickly. I wanted to move away from the tense room and shift Harry’s attention away from Dot and Oona. I would have to apologise later, I didn’t mean to get them in trouble. And maybe ask what their skin care tips were—there was no way Harry hired children so they must have amazing genetics.

“Did you have any plans today? I know you people usually go to work during the day,” Harry leads me to a large room that must be an office. I’m taken aback by his bluntness saying “my people”.

“We’re not all rich unfortunately,” I say passively. I couldn’t figure out if Harry was a good guy or not. One second he was kindly hosting me and the next he looks ready to throw his help out the window because I helped them.

“What do riches have to do with your plans?” Harry looks genuinely confused. He played aloof really well.

“My people?” I remind him.

“Yes, what do you do during the day?”

I shake my head. He was so confusing. “I usually have work but I’m off for the week. I thought I would spend today with...my ex. But after yesterday-“

“You deserve better. He doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

I laugh, slightly nervous having all his attention so close. “Right. That’s nice of you to say. But I seem to have a bad history with men, I don’t think I even know what I deserve at this point.”

“I thought it was human nature to follow your hearts?” Harry stops fiddling with the book in his hands and moves towards me. “Love makes the world go round or something like that?” Harry drags his fingers up and down my arm and I feel it in the pit of my stomach. “How can you not know what you deserve.”

“I...” words leave my mind as I lean in towards him. His touch empties me of thought and I just want more of him. But as I lean into him it’s like he realises what was happening. He jumps back, letting go of me and I straighten up.

“Uh,” Harry clears his throat, “I can’t-“ he looks to the door just as it creaks open, I immediately feel the familiar burn of embarassment that came with rejection. What was wrong with me? He kept making it clear he was just being nice, he wasn’t interested like that. Why did I react to him so strongly?

“What is it?” Harry sounds annoyed at whoever’s at the door. When I finally look, it’s the man from earlier. His Alfred.

“Your presence is needed at...” he glances at me and back at Harry.

“I told you, tell her I’ll get back to her once I can-“

“It’s quite urgent,” his butler’s eyes continue flicking between the both of us.

I check the time on my phone and the movement catches Harry’s attention. I avoid looking directly at him, “I should head back home now anyway. You’re obviously busy.”

“You don’t have to,” he says in a low voice. “You can stay as long as you need.”

“I’m pretty recovered from last night,” I smile. “I think I just have some of my things in the room I stayed in.”

“Dot will get it for you,” Harry puts his hand on my back as I walk to the door. His butler continues staring at us as he moves aside and follows us out.

Dot suddenly appears with my wallet and clothes from yesterday, laundered and smelling amazing.

“Wow,” I take them from her, scanning her face to be sure she was alright. She just gives me a bright smile contrasting her icy hands. “Thank you.” I tell her and turn back to Harry, “I can’t thank you enough for last night. I was a mess and...you helped. I seriously owe you one.”

Harry’s sharp gaze settles on me and I hear a gasp from Dot. It’s like the air was sucked out of the room, I glance back at Dot and her eyes are wide. His butler also looks startled. Were they okay?

“You don’t need to,” Harry finally says. “Consider it a kindness, not a favour.”

“No no,” I walk with Harry towards the front. His house was like a maze. “Nobody is ever this kind for no reason, I’ll make it up to you.” If there was anything life taught me, strangers didn’t do things out of pure kindness. I didn’t want strings down the road. I would rather just let him know I would return the favour and have that sit between us.

His expression is unreadable as he opens the door, a woman already stands outside with a car idling on the road. Woah.

“I accept,” Harry says. I raise my eyebrow, he had an odd way of talking. That’s what made him more intriguing.

On impulse, I go to press a quick kiss to his cheek but he jerks back. I back away, my cheeks aflame, and walk out with my things in hand. The woman opens my door for me and as hard as I try, I still glance back at Harry before I get in and give him a lame wave. His gaze never leaves mine, even after I sit in. He really did just do this to help me out, I read too much into it. He obviously didn’t feel the attraction I felt.

***

“You know that sounds completely made up? I’ve never even heard of The Good Folk.”

It’s late afternoon and I’m catching Jeremy up on last night’s adventure. I didn’t think his eyes could get bigger than they already were but with each part of the story they grow wider.

“As if you know every single pub in London,” I roll my eyes at my best friend.

“If the pub was lit at 1am it must be popular enough-I would know. Where does this guy live?”

“I...” I try to remember the route we took back to my flat but it’s foggy. Maybe I was too preoccupied with getting over being rejected multiple times. But I do remember we arrived at my flat within half hour. “Right outside London but I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Doesn’t sound like you,” Jeremy nudges me. “Does somebody have a new special somebody in their life already?”

“I wish!” I really did. “He was mostly distant, nothing happened! He didn’t even let me kiss him goodbye. Plus, I just broke up with you know who.”

“We all knew that chapter was coming to a close,” Jer huffs. “You weren’t even in love with him.”

“Well,” I don’t have much to say to that. Jeremy was right, the relationship was getting colder. And after a warm bath and a meal, I could see clear enough. I was angry yesterday for letting it get to the point I was cheated on. I never had the balls to end it myself. As strong as I made myself on the outside, I hadn’t been strong enough inside to admit it and just end it.

Mostly I was scared to be alone again.

“Well,” Jeremy pulls me into a hug and kisses my forehead. “I’m going to start some dinner for us. You can go through the mail that’s been piling up for you.”

I reach for the stack he drops down beside me. Most of the bills I paid online, I put those aside. Junk, pamphlets, which just left two to actually look at. The first is a postcard from my foster sister, she was doing her gap year and made sure to send me a postcard from each country even though I’d seen her while I was away. The other is unmarked, thin. I open it and inside is just a note.

The Good Folk, tonight. 10:30pm.

Did Harry send this? I flip the paper over but it’s blank, until it catches the light and I realize the faint shimmer of a logo. It’s a spiral in the palest silver but there’s nothing else written anywhere. Maybe Harry did send it, he didn’t have my number but he did know where I lived. Maybe I was seeing him again tonight, maybe Jer was right. Butterflies take over my nervous system but I tell them not to get their hopes up. They don’t listen.

“What are you grinning at?” Jeremy calls from the kitchen—the open concept allowed him to see me.

“I might have a date tonight, half past ten,” I hold up the paper. “Harry.”

“Ooh,” he grins before it morphs into concern. “That’s late...you don’t think?”

“We’ll see,” I skim my fingers over the writing. Maybe he just wanted to talk, but if a guy wanted to see you twice in a day that usually meant something right? Even though he looked afraid everytime I went in for a kiss. I sigh. We’ll see.

***

I look back at the shops around me. I swear this was where I was last night. But the place where The Good Folk should have stood was just a Gregg’s. A Google search didn’t turn up anything so all I had to rely on was memory and even that was shoddy.

I ask a couple passing by but nobody knows what I’m talking about. Great, Harry would probably think I stood him up.

I decide to wander, maybe I’ll stumble on it again. I don’t even try to think, hoping my memory will lead me. The dark streets remind me of my near meltdown last night. It was late, if I didn’t find it in the next five minutes I was driving back.

Just as I think it, I see a familiar sign. The Good Folk. But it’s on a street corner and it was most definitely not on a corner last night. Definitely weird.

When I walk in, it’s past 10:30 and I hope Harry wouldn’t mind. I walk to the bar, even more people staring tonight than last. I definitely didn’t look how I did last night, was it just because I wasn’t a regular?

“Surprised you’re back,” the barkeep actually acknowledges me today. He has a petite woman working the counter too.

“Just meeting someone,” I say. Harry was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was late too.

“A woman like you should be careful,” he sets a drink in front of me.

“I didn’t order th-“

“I did,” a soft voice says to my left. I look at the source, and am surprised to see a blonde guy who definitely was not Harry. He did look familiar. Then I remember, I saw him last night.

“I know you. You were here yesterday-or rather this morning right?” He has kind eyes when he smiles at my question.

“Yes, I saw you come and go. I never got the chance to speak with you.”

I take a seat, may as well while I waited. As I do I remember more; he was glaring at Harry when we left. “Now’s your chance!” I smile at him and take a sip. “Woah, this is amazing.”

“I thought you might like it,” he watches me drink more. I wasn’t even halfway through and I already wanted a second. “Wild elderberry cocktail.”

“I have to remember that,” I say and make a mental note as I gulp down more.

“I never caught your name...”

“Oh, I didn’t even introduce myself how rude of-“

“Rose,” my back straightens as Harry’s familiar voice rings across the bar. What was up with him interrupting my conversations here?

“Rose,” the blonde nods, ignoring the fact that Harry had answered his question. I open my mouth to correct him, to give my real name but he gives me his. “Elliot.”

I can’t even respond because Harry suddenly crowds me. There’s a fiery heat emanating from him towards Elliot. Maybe there was something between them, and the way they glare at each other, I don’t want to find out.

“Took you long enough,” I tell Harry. But the pub is so silent you can hear a pin drop. I look around and everyone is staring at us, this must be one of those places where everyone knew everyone else. And the vibes were telling me these two must have a history.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks. “Why are you here?”

“Um, you invited me? The letter?”

“What letter,” he finally tears his eyes from Elliot and he looks fierce. My stomach drops and my eyes sting. I was such an idiot, of course he didn’t send it. Why was I so obsessed with the idea that I could mean something to this man I just met. Why was I acting like a hormonal teenager about this!?

“I got a letter to be here at 10:30...I just thought it was you I-“

“It was me,” Elliot interrupts. I look to him, his face is a breath of fresh air compared to Harry’s fiery storm.

“How did you know where I lived?” I ask but it doesn’t matter because Harry’s put his body between Elliot and I.

“You stay out of this. Leave her alone.” Harry’s words are threatening.

“She’s not yours,” Elliot says lazily. “She came of her own free will.”

“Free will? She came on an invite. By you.”

“An invite is just that. Her choice.”

“Stay away toadstool, if you touch a single-“

“Hey!” I use my hands to pry them apart. “I’m sitting right here! And I don’t need a knight in shining bloody armour. You,” I turn to Harry. “Don’t need to worry about me. It’s not like you want me. Elliot invited me out, I’m here for him. Not you.”

If I thought it was silent before, it was void of even a breath now. Harry looks like steam could be coming out of him and just like a switch, he backs away and straightens out. His face falls into neutral as he nods.

“As you wish.” He turns, with a last cold look at Elliot, he walks out. Everyone watches him go and as soon as he does there’s a burst of excited chatter.

“What was that about,” I turn to Elliot.

“The past.” He says vaguely before ordering me a second drink. I didn’t even realise I stress drank the first one.

The bartender eyes me as he hands me over the drink.

“Thanks,” I slide it closer to me.

“Remember what I said,” he mumbles as he glances at Elliot and walks away. Did everyone have something against Elliot? But when I look at him he looks too sweet to have ever done something bad enough to hold a grudge. Everything but his eyes, there’s an icy glint to them that wasn’t there before Harry interrupted. The past must be something formidable.

“Let’s go to my table,” Elliot gestures to where he was sitting yesterday. I follow with mixed feelings. Eventually, I decide I was just here for fun. It wasn’t that serious.

***

Dawn creeps on the horizon, and I’m surprised to see it as Elliot helps me into my coat.

“How has it been hours?” I ask as I slip my hands in. “We’ve been talking for so long!”

“I guess so,” Elliot lets go of the jacket and I untuck my hair from underneath. Tonight was...so different than any I’ve ever had. Elliot and I had just talked all night, I barely remember about what. He was funny too. And The Good Folk stayed open with people in and out all night. “It was nice to get to know you.”

“This place is busy as ever, does it ever close?” I glance at the patrons. Some of them don’t even hide their open stare. I was starting to get used to it.

“Closes at sunrise.” Elliot stares.

“Sunrise? It must open late then. That’s an odd schedule.” I think about what Jer said. A place like this would be infamous in London, why had nobody heard of it?

“It’s open sunset to sunrise.”

“Interesting.” I follow Elliot out into the street. The sky is brightening, the midnight black turning into a deep sea blue.

“This is where we part ways Rose.” He says Rose like an enchantment, and my body wants to move closer but I stay where I am. He continues studying me the way he had been all night. I had been studying him too.

“It was really nice. Tonight.”

“I enjoyed myself. Despite the nuisance from early on.”

“Nuisance?” I ask. “Oh. Harry?”

“Harry,” his lip curls. The boyish sweetness bitters before washing away again. “Don’t mind him.”

“Oh I don’t. He helped me out in a pinch yesterday but otherwise I barely know him.”

“In a…pinch?”

“Yeah. It was pretty bad but,” I shrug. “Anyway. I should get home. My friend might start to worry.”

“Of course Rose,” Elliot says. He eyes me for a moment. His brow tightens and he continues, “Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“Maybe,” my heart picks up its pace. “We’ll see.”

His smile stretches his lips, he seemed amused.

With a nod he walks away and turns the corner. I stand there even after I’m unable to see him, and smile into my scarf. I just had an all nighter date with a cute guy who seemed interested in me.

When I tell Jer this he just scoffs.

“Be careful,” he reminds me. “Firstly I’ve never heard of this bar. Secondly how the fuck did this Elliot guy get your address? And thirdly, you don’t get involved with two guys with history. Trust me.”

“Jer,” I roll my eyes. “Okay. The address thing is weird, maybe I said it out loud when I was trying to get a ride home?”

“Still creepy! Hold on-“ he picks up his ringing phone and I wait.

Aside from the address thing, sure. It was a big weird. But Elliot did not give off creepy vibes. I just had to do some more digging if I was interested.

Was I interested? I think of Elliot’s amused blue eyes and blonde hair, his laugh, and the way he made most of the night about me. He didn’t try to kiss me or take me home. We just talked. It was nice.

My mind wanders to Harry. He had taken me home, taken care of everything. Was respectful. But he was kind of overprotective, and aloof. I didn’t care for that.

Elliot was open whereas Harry was hard to read-

“Are you even listening,” Jeremy snaps his fingers in front of my face.

“Huh?” I look up and in the time I had gotten lost in my thoughts, Jeremy had changed into his parka and his boyfriend stands beside him ready to leave.

“Y/N get some rest. I’m worried about you. You can’t just go from one relationship—even if it was a dying one, and hop into a love triangle.”

“Love triangles are messy,” Bryce comments.

“I know! Promise me you’ll take a break. Process your last relationship before you jump into anything new?”

He was right. Of course he was. It had just been such a long time since I felt wanted that I was letting it fuck me up like I was a teen madly in love. I barely knew them. And I’d forgotten all about my cheating ex. On one hand it was good, but I couldn’t slide into anything new.

“Okay. Promise.”

“Good.” Jer sighs. “We’ll be out of your hair by tonight so don’t make me worry about you.”

“What? Why? You two stay the week like I promised!”

“No we need to head back north. He misses the countryside,” Jer points back to his partner.

“The cow shite can wait Bryce, please? Keep me company longer?!”

Jer hugs me against him. “We’ll do lunch today before we’re off okay? Get some sleep though.”

I’ve known Jeremy since I was 11 and he was 10. I had just been placed in a new foster home, the third one I’d been in since I was 6. Jeremy had arrived a month before me, he’d been in the system since he was 9. He had given me the downlow on who to avoid and who was nice, in return I’d stuck up for him when he was picked on. He was a tiny thing then, scrawny and wide-eyed. I had been weathered by the system and didn’t care who was nice and who you had to avoid. I learned after my first home you had to become the person to avoid, and then leave everyone else alone.

We were separated a few years later and found each other on the streets when I was 17 and he was 16. When I turned 18, saved enough money to rent a shitty flat with another girl, I let him crash with me until he could afford his own rent.

We always looked out for each other. He was one of 3 people I considered family. So when he gives me advice, I take it.

***

“No I’m telling you she works at Boots and she complimented my eyeliner.” Jer bangs the table. We’re sat at lunch, a couple day drinks in. “I was like bitch you spat on me when we were 12 and called me ten different kind of slurs!”

“Shut up!” I cover my mouth. “I need to see it for myself.”

“Tomorrow. Visit her. I wonder if she’ll recognize you.”

“Probably not. I look pretty different.” These days I dyed my hair a triage of browns and blondes and grew out of my baby face.

“True. She might compliment your hair.”

“She better not. She used to make fun of how frizzy it got-“

“Until you woke her up with scissors over her hair one night.”

“Shh,” I laugh. “Don’t say my crazy so publicly.”

“It’s not your crazy,” Jer grabs my hand. “It’s what kept you alive. Us.”

We grow quiet as the heavier bits of the memories sink in.

“It was tiring,” I slip my hand away. “Always being switched on. Even now, I can’t help it.”

“Until it comes to men. Then my good friend y/n goes poof and this stranger appears.”

I sigh, I had issues. “I can’t help being fucked up. It’s just like, when I sense they want me something inside me lights up. And I tell myself to calm down but all rational thought disappears!”

“Girl trust me I get it. Until I met Bryce, I was sharing beds with so many people.”

“I remember.” Back then it was me picking him up from random parts of town after being kicked out by a spouse home too early, or a partner back from out of town.

“What’s that bloke’s name? Harry was it? He didn’t want you-“

“Ouch! I know!”

“No not like that!” Jer says. “You seemed into him the first night you came back. Even though he wasn’t into you.”

“Yeah. Maybe just cuz he was nice. Why is finding love so hard? I feel like I’m not cut out for it!”

“You want a love that transcends everything because you read too much romance.”

“Stop being dramatic,” I roll my eyes. But it was true, romance novels were my vice. I couldn’t help but believe in true love.

The one thing I knew about my parents is that my mum died in childbirth and my dad died when I was 3 from heartbreak. He loved her more than he could love the sum of the two of them. He left me behind for her. That was true love.

I had a whole of 2 pictures from my life. One of my mum pregnant with me. Another of my mum and dad before they got pregnant I think. The way they looked at each other—I just want a slice of that. I always believed true love existed simply because I knew the story of my parents.

“Okay. Bryce is texting me nonstop let me see what he wants.” Jer leaves me at the table. I sigh and sip my wine, wishing I wasn’t such a hopeless romantic.

It was the part of me that always got hurt. Every other part I had learned to grow armour on but the part of me that yearned never learned how to.

My chest aches as I think about the love I don’t have. I feel it in the air around me as it quivers with something that feels akin to mourning.

“What are you doing?” I hear from the table next to me. There was a couple seated after us, Jer and I guessed they were colleagues. It was a game we liked to play—guessing the lives of people around us. We’d done it as long as we could remember.

The woman slides her hand up the man’s arm. He’s the one that asked the question. He doesn’t seem into it.

“Sorry,” Jer says, sitting back down just as the woman jerks back.

“I uh-“ she pushes her chair back. “Sorry I don’t know what-“

“Uh oh,” I look at Jer. “They just blurred some coworker lines.”

“No it’s okay. Mags wait-“ the guy manages to her back in her seat and they talk too low to hear.

“Juicy,” we eye them for a few seconds.

“Bryce is picking me up in 15, we need to start heading back otherwise we’ll be driving in traffic.”

“I wish you stayed the week.” I pout.

“Your 1.5 bedroom flat isn’t big enough for all of us. Call me when you finally get that promotion and buy a bigger flat.”

“You’ll be the first person I call. You know that.”

“I know that.” He smiles.

“When will you be in town next?”

“Not for a while unless my best friend decides to do something stupid.”

“I won’t,” I promise him. “Maybe I’ll come up to you in November.”

“Open invitation.” Jer reminds me.

I go home to an emptier flat, it makes me feel more lonely than I should. I never had a lot of people in my life, I’d grown accustomed to being alone. To loneliness.

But as an adult, the pangs dug in just as deep.

I soothe it by falling asleep early.

All I remember of my dreams are intense colours and emotions, vibrant landscapes and a looming sense of dread. I wake up drenched in sweat, the second time that week that my dreams were that intense. Maybe I should be visiting a doctor.

***

I feel like I’m wasting potential as I sit in my flat on a Friday night. I had been laying on my couch for the last two hours, first scrolling through my phone, then being jumpscared by a post from my ex, then zoning out to a movie, before going back on my phone.

The cycle is vicious. And all I can think of is Elliot. No. I couldn’t think of Elliot.

Maybe I should join one of those dating apps. Hopeless romantic looking for true love, but also dtf to fill the time.

God. I was miserable.

Something inside me is drawn to go back to the pub. To the patrons that loved to stare. To the pair of eyes I didn’t mind stared.

“Jer said no.” I say out loud. Well, he didn’t say no. Just not to do anything rash. To process my emotions. “Fine.”

I continue laying on my couch. Let my ex flit through my mind. I thought I loved him. I think I just liked the idea of him. After the initial lover phase, we were really in two different places all the time.

I sink deeper into the couch. Who have I loved? Have I ever lover anyone romantically?

I remember a guy I dated when I was 24. It lasted 8 months and 14 days. Jer had had to sleep on the couch for a week because the day I was broken up with I’d found my way to his flat, crashed on his bed, and stayed glued onto his mattress.

Until he had to physically carry me into a shower and spray me with water. But that’s another story.

He was the closes thing I felt to love. To loved. He moved to Mexico. I remember he told me it was wrong timing. I remember thinking I was cursed.

I sink further and further into the couch.

I was 28 and never really loved anyone. How pathetic was that?

Suddenly I can’t breathe. It feels like the couch was drowning me whole like quicksand.

Even pulling myself out feels like quicksand, I use all my strength to sit up and only then do my lungs inflate with a deep breath.

“Holy fuck.” I gasp.

What the fuck was that!?

I look back at my couch but it looks back the exact same. It felt like it was swallowing me moment earlier. What the fuck!

I had to get out of here.

That’s how I find myself at the local corner store buying junk, and browsing the crisps.

“Sweet tooth?”

“Huh?” I nearly jump at the sight of Elliot. “Wha-Elliot?”

“Rose.”

“What are you…are you stalking me?”

“Stalking?”

“What are you doing here?”

He tucks his hands in his pockets, that’s when I note how casual he was dressed. Slacks and a half-zip.

“I was at a party nearby,” his eyes flicker over the items in my hand.

“Weird coincidence.” He knew my address, I knew that.

“It might appear that way. What are you doing now?”

“Um…” I glance down at my hands. “Buying…stuff.”

“Want to join us? The party’s by the water.”

If it was a fake party he wouldn’t be inviting me. Unless he was going to take me to a second location to do something worse.

“I’m busy so…”

“Oh. My apologies.” He gets formal very quickly but his eyes crinkle with a smile, the blueish grey drawing me in. “I’ll let you get on.”

“Well,” he wasn’t pushy. Maybe I should see this party. See the people he hung out with. “Maybe I can drop by for a little bit? It’s nearby?”

“10 minute by walking.”

“I don’t need this then,” I pool my items onto a random shelf. “We can go when you want.”

He goes to the front with his items and at the last second I buy a pack of cigarettes. I tried to drop the habit many times but ever since I got back from my vacation I’d picked it up again. I tried not to blame my ex.

“Those aren’t very good for you.” Elliot eyes the pack as I slip them into my pocket.

“You’re telling me you’ve never smoked a cigarette in your life?”

“I have. It doesn’t taste very good.”

“I don’t think they’re supposed to taste good,” I can’t help but laugh.

“So what are they good for?” He asks and it’s so bizarre because he seemed genuinely curious about it.

“Um? Stress relief? Comfort?”

“Sounds like something a lover should offer.”

I nearly walk into traffic when he says it. So bluntly. Kind of like how Harry spoke. I wonder if they just grew up so rich they were from another world.

“Sure if you have one. Lovers are fleeting and temporary. Cigarettes—they’re permanent. Until I guess…you fuck your lungs up so much you become fleeting and temporary. Shit sorry.”

Elliot looks at me with confusion, like I was speaking an alien language. Maybe he didn’t get the joke. I dunno. I grow quiet instead.

“So what exactly is it you do?” I ask after a bout of silence. I can’t remember if he’s told me this in our conversation the other night.

“What do you mean I do?”

“Like in life? To earn money and all that?”

“In life? I lead.”

I glance up at him after the douchey answer. Oh he was serious.

“Cool so you’re like, upper management at your company or like you own the business?”

He cocks his head, “I manage my company yes. But I don’t own anything yet. I report to someone above me.”

“Right.” He was being very literal. And it sounded like nepotism. I didn’t want the headache of knowing what his company did so I don’t bother with more questions.

He leads me down a set of steps and to the canal. People sit along the grassy bank and I’m a bit surprised to see them.

“Elliot my man!” Someone shouts. “Did you bring the beer?”

Elliot holds up a hand holding two cases. I think back, I don’t remember him buying two. But I could have been too busy checking out his backside. I needed help.

“So Rose,” Elliot says after handing the drinks over. “I would like to see you again. Talk some more. Maybe come clean about all this.”

“All what?” I ask.

“The truth of your parents, how you came to The Good Folk-“

“My parents?” What did he know about my parents?

“Yes. You spoke about them the other night.”

“I did?” I blink to clear the cobwebs but I have a hard time recalling exactly what Elliot and I discussed. Mostly just that it was a nice time.

“Rose,” Elliot gets out in front of me and places a hand on my shoulder. His eyes are intense as they bore into me. “I’m not a threat. I was only curious.”

What a weird fucking thing to say.

I pull my cigarettes out. “I need a smoke.”

“Need?” He lets go of my shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Is it all consuming?”

“Sure?” I just needed to step away. There were too many people around for this not to be safe but I wanted space from Elliot. He was being weird.

“Understood.” He backs away. “I’ll wait until the need is satisfied.”

“Thanks?” I mutter. I step away and as soon as I do at least 3 women replace me and tug at him to join their group. His eyes linger on mine as he walks away with them and I look away.

I move further away from the group, closer to the underpass of a small bridge.

I take out a cigarette and place it in my mouth before I pat my pockets, and realize I had no lighter.

Shite.

I note a few people sitting around, a bright dot hovering around their faces. People had lighters. I could ask one of them.

But the more I look at everyone, the more I want to stay in the shadows. What was I doing here? Jer would kill me if he found out. Maybe I should text him. No, he’d freak out. Fuck!

I lean against the stone wall, pressing my lips against the cigarette still dangling in my mouth. The paper glides smoothly between my lips, the familiar smell of tobacco drifting up to my nose.

The air around me grows cooler and I close my eyes, tilting my head back. Trying to ground myself. The stone is uneven behind my head but it doesn’t matter. I feel cloaked in the dark, embraced by it. I feel safe.

I take a few deep breaths, the joint between my lips a prop for the time being.

As my body relaxes and my mind wanders, Harry’s face materializes before me; if I wasn’t so relaxed it might have scared me.

His green eyes search mine like they’d done before. He leans in closer, the darkness surrounding him. The only light comes from a smoke between his own lips. It throws shadows on his cheekbones, making him look like he was carved from marble.

We’re locked in a staring contest but it doesn’t feel weird. He’s part of the darkness, staring into his eyes keeps me grounded.

He leans down, closer to me. The orange tip of his cigarette touches mine and I can even feel the heat of it, smell the smoky air around us.

I inhale slowly, its an intimate gesture—him giving me light. My smoke catches fire and he leans away with a small smirk, away until the darkness swallows him and I’m alone again.

I take in a deep breath to sigh but smoke shoots down my throat.

I throw my eyes wide open as I cough. The cigarette goes flying out of my mouth and my eyes water.

“What the fuck?” I cough out uncontrollably.

My cigarette lies on the ground in front of me, dying embers on its tip.

What. I crouch down and it really is mine. How could that be?

I hold it to my lips and inhale. Exhale.

It was lit.

I whip my head around, was Harry here? Did I not imagine that?

But the closest person is making out with someone else on the other side of the bridge. No one had been here. Unless they’d lit it while I had my eyes closed and walked away.

A chill goes up my spine.

I had to go home. This was getting weird.

When I tell Elliot I was going to go home he’s flanked by half a dozen girls. They look at me with disdain but I ignore it. I was used to looks like that.

“You had your cigarette?” Elliot asks.

“Yeah. Oh. Sorry I didn’t offer one. Did you want-“

“That’s not my smoking preference,” he smiles and he’s the man in the pub again. Kind eyes and an infectious smile. “Meet me at the pub one of these nights Rose?”

“I can’t promise anything,” I play with the pack in my pocket, eager to leave.

“I don’t expect you to,” Elliot says seriously.

“Okay. Well. I’ll try to make it.”

“Great.”

I leave behind a weary smile and hitch it back home.

***

I wake up again drenched in sweat. This whole week I’d been having intense dreams, but all I remember when I wake up is how chaotic it was. The rest slips away like sand in the breeze. It’s frustrating because they feel similar, like I should be remembering what they’re saying.

“Have you been smoking pot?” Lydia asks. I’m back at work that Monday and I’m detailing to my friend who’s serving me my coffee.

Lydia and I met in uni when we were 19. Like all people, I’d been wary and guarded with her back then. But she’d been persistent and earned my trust somehow. We’d been best friends since. I’d watched her come up with and execute this idea of owning her own cafe all on her own. It was London’s top 5 book cafes. And even though it was out of my way I tried to come here most days for coffee.

“No, but it’s making me sleep so shitty.” I complain. “I wish I could just pop a nyquil and call it quits for the night.”

“I can hook you up with magnesium? It’s supposed to be superb.”

I grab my cup from her, “I’ll get super drunk tonight. Blackout for free.”

“Not alone,” she comes around the counter and hugs me. “You were mia this last week. I’m coming over with wine tonight and you catch me up on it.”

I sigh and agree. It would be a lot to cover.

The work day is lost in the bustle of catching up and meetings. By the time I see Lydia again I feel like someone could tip me over and I’d crash. But after putting on some face masks and pouring a generous helping of wine I settle in and tell her all about it.

“So mysterious,” she says when I’m done. Obviously I leave out the weird parts, like the pub moving physically and having my cig light up on its own because I’m not even entirely sure it happened. “The Harry guy seems like a gentleman. The other bloke seems a bit too coincidental to not be creepy.”

“But Harry was being so possessive.”

“Pink flag?” Lydia asks.

“Maybe. Jer said to stay away from it all. Honestly I need a man break? I think after my last relationship I just need to be alone again. I’ve been trying to fill the hole of loneliness with who I can date next. It’s gross.”

“It’s not gross,” she nudges me. “It’s human. Wanting connection.”

“Yeah,” I think on it. “I guess it is. Lord knows I didn’t get enough of it as a child.”

“There you go. We can’t help it. But maybe I agree with Jer? Lay off the relationships. Doesn’t mean you can’t do the horizontal mambo with whoever you want.”

“Dee!” I laugh. “Why do you have the worst names.”

She smirks behind her wine glass, probably considering it a win for making me laugh.

She stops herself early since she had to get back home and I carry the remains of the bottle to bed. Wine made me sleepy and just the same I knock out shortly after. And I don’t wake with a fright the next morning but as my dreams drift away I know they were crazy. This time I remember something about sticks. Random but I remember.

As I ride the tube to work I try to keep a reign on my hangover. I’d had plenty of water last night and popped some painkillers this morning yet my vision is blurry and everyone looks hazy around the edges.

I look to the woman sitting in front of me. She looked pleasant enough but there’s a ring of gray around her that bleeds into the pink of a little boy sitting next to her. His feet don’t quite hit the ground and they swish back and forth. It’s mesmerizing actually and I nearly miss my stop.

You’d think it gets better but the haziness stays the whole day. I should book an eye doctor too, I think somewhere in my brain. Whatever Lydia brought over last night was strong.

On Friday night Lydia invites me over to her place. She had a few friends over that was part of her couple group—her and partner Damon. And I hung out with them occasionally. With not much else to do I join them.

The week had been taxing and I’d had random bursts of feeling off throughout but I never got sick. Googling anything just told me I should rest, that I should expect a migraine after seeing these bursts of colours, that maybe I had a tumour. But nothing pans out.

“Ouch,” Damon says when he opens the door to me.

“That’s rude.” I shove the bottle I brought in his chest and move past him. I hear Lydia humming in her room and head straight to it.

“Something fucked up happened in the flat nex-“ She gasps when she sees me. “Y/N! Love are you alright!?”

“I’m fine—no I’m not. I think I’m going mad. Like proper mad.”

“No sit. Sit!” She pats her bed and kneels in front of me. “Damo can you get Y/N some water!?”

“Sorry. I wasn’t going to show. But I thought sitting in my flat would be worse-“

“Are you sick?” She lays a hand on my forehead. “Your temp’s alright.”

“I’m not sick! The doctor’s won’t prescribe me anything because I’m not anything! I’ve just had the shittiest sleep of my life the last week, I keep getting these weird migraine symptoms without the migraines, and I keep thinking I see something in the corner of my eye and I don’t! Nothing’s there!”

That was something that was new yesterday. Shapes moving around me but when I look everything is normal and still.

“Fuck!” Damon walks into the room just as the glass he’s holding breaks. “What the-“

“Nobody move!” Lydia screeches and I am so on edge I nearly scream at her to quiet down. “Damon what the actual fuck!?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t drop it it literally combusted in my hand.”

“You were probably squeezing it!” Dee accuses him.

“It was probably after getting one look at her,” Damon points to me. I flip him off and lay back onto the bed. I couldn’t even offer any help to pick up the glass.

I take a deep breath in, and out. In. And out.

I drift off, I imagine myself in the clouds, drifting through the air. I imagine a clean gust of air flowing into my lungs. And then out.

When I finally come back to reality Damo is emptying the glass into the bin and Lydia is dragging a wet rag across the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I sit up. “I should help.”

“No.” Damon holds his hand up at the same time Lydia does. “Just go to sleep if you need it. Just don’t worry about this. Or the party. Seriously y/n.”

“Yeah,” Dee puts her hands on her hips. “We’re worried about you. Just take it easy.”

“I feel a bit better. I just needed a moment. Riding the tube had been sensory overload lately.”

“Stay in our guest bed tonight,” Dee offers, glancing at Damon who nods. “Change of scenery.”

As Lydia’s friends arrive I take my spot amongst them. I engage in light catching up, I wasn’t against socializing but tonight I mostly listen.

I try to ignore the way the room changes around the people who talk. Sometimes it feels comforting and orange and other times the temperature drops and it feels like everything is metallic. It sounded mental but that’s how it felt.

The more I drink the more the colours come back.

Lydia’s is like a sunset and as the night goes on it deepens. Damon’s is like Christmas lights, red bleeding into a deep green.

A few friends have similar colours, others complement each other’s. I wonder for a brief moment if anything I ate had pot but nobody says anything.

As the company loosens, I step outside for a smoke.

Halfway through one, I hear the door open behind me and close.

“Doing that again?”

I turn to the familiar face. Sean, I’d known him since final year at uni. We’d been casual friends but with him being Damon’s brother we interacted frequently enough it was more than casual with how much we knew about each other but we weren’t friends enough to ever hang out alone. He’s actually how Damon and Dee met.

“I’m gonna stop.”

“Like always.”

“If you followed me out here to judge me I’m good.”

“I didn’t. I just got here and I saw you alone outside.” He walks up next to me. He brings with him warmth and even though it’s not too cold outside I can’t help but savour it.

“You got here late.” I comment. “You want one?”

“I quit last year y/n.” He reminds me.

“So did I,” I say wryly. He cracks a smile, it’s toothy. The same smile he’s always had.

“One of my friends had a kid a few weeks ago. I was dropping some food off, ended up staying too long.”

“Wow. A kid huh?” I knew people my age—hell, people younger than me, were settled with children. I just couldn’t imagine it.

“Yeah.” He blows air out of his cheeks. “When he first told me he was pregnant I actually said What are you gonna do?!”

“Oh shit,” I look at him. “Was he upset?”

“He thought it was funny,” he glances back to me. “I forget we’re closer to 30 than 20 these days.”

“Tell me about it.”

Sean brushes his hair back, he tended to grow it out and then surprise everyone and shave it every so often. I wondered when the next surprise would be.

The longer I look at him the more his edges light up. It’s a deep blue, it blends into the night but when he steps back against the balcony doors it’s easier to see. It spreads outwards into a purple.

Sean glances back into the house and back to me.

“Are you thinking it’ll be those two next?”

“Huh?” I realize it looks like I was looking inside rather than around him. “Oh. Those two? Maybe not next but soon.”

“She keeps pushing the wedding date. Settling on one I mean.” Sean says. I raise my brow and he explains. “My brother told me. What’s up with that?”

A ripple of something flows through me. It aches a little. I step back to a chair and sit down.

I think about everything I knew about Lydia. I knew why. We all had childhood problems—her mum was trapped in her relationship with Dee’s dad and the Lydia I knew told me she would never sign a contract to keep a relationship. It had surprised the hell out of me when she said yes a couple years ago. But I guess she was now coming around to realizing she would have to give up the one thing she swore she’d never do.

“Damon probably knows about Dee’s parents,” I say. “Maybe tell him to jog his brain a little. Put the pieces together.”

Sean chokes out a laugh. “Okay. Whatever that means. Hey what about you? What happened to office guy?”

“That’s over,” I say.

“Shit. I’m gonna grab a drink first. Then I want to hear about it.”

“There’s nothing to…” Sean’s gone before he can hear me out. I sigh. I came out here to be alone.

I look out to the view, I would never get tired of this city. Its streets ran through me like my veins. I loved it here.

I can see the train going past and I think of the people on it. People with so many different colours.

I hear sniffling and look to the door but Sean’s still not back.

I turn to the divider behind me. It sounded like it was coming from there. I inch back and it’s distinct. Someone on the other side of this balcony was crying.

“Hello?” I call out. But they don’t respond. Oh god, what was neighbourly etiquette? Do i acknowledge it or ignore it?

Wait. I wasn’t even a neighbour here.

I walk to the edge and lean over so I can get a look into the balcony. I was right. A woman with cropped hair and a pantsuit on cries into her hand.

“Hey, sorry I don’t mean to intrude but-“

I gasp when she looks up at me. So does she. Her eyes are pools of black. Or it looks that way in the light. She swivels her head behind her but there’s nobody there. She looks back to me and points to herself.

“Yeah! You!” I laugh. “What’s wrong? Are you alright? Are you safe?”

“I-“ she takes a step back. “Who-“

“I don’t live here. Sorry i know I’m being nosey,” I let her know. “I just heard you crying and-“

“I’m not okay,” the woman has a thick accent. It sound Baltic. “How do you see me?”

“Uhh,” I try to make sense of her question and answer, hoping I didn’t lose it in her translation. “You look sad. You’re crying obviously you’re sad I just-“

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“I stay here or I move on. I’m scared.”

“Oh. Move on like move out? Where are you moving?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know

“Well where are the people you love? Who love you?” I always imagined leaving this city, this country. Build a life far away. But every time it came back to being close to the few I loved or not. And every time I chose them.

“Here.” She sniffles. “In the end I wanted to stay.”

“If it matters to you, I’d vote stay. But I also don’t know your life so-“

“Y/n?”

“Huh?” I whip my head to the sound of my name. Sean closes the door behind him, two beers in hand, concern etched into his face.

“Are you…talking to someone?”

“Oh yeah,” I whisper. “The woman there seemed upset.”

I lean over again to apologize but she’s gone. Damnit.

“Nevermind. She left.”

“Are you fucking with me? There was a woman there?” Sean asks.

“Yeah! I just wanted to make sure she was alright.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear? About next door?”

“What?”

“The woman next door attempted…yknow. To end her life. But since we’re on the second floor it…she’s like, in the hospital now. On life support.”

“What?” My heart sinks. Lydia was saying something fucked up when I walked in. Is that what it was? “Maybe that was her sister crying? Or her lover?”

“No it’s empty. It’s got tape all over it until police clear it.”

My heart sinks even lower. I feel it like a lead weight. Who was the woman I was talking to?

“Anyway tell me about your tragedy,” Sean hands me a beer and I take it, my mind still reeling from the news.

“Um. It’s not really one. The relationship fizzled out.”

“Really? That’s it?”

“Well what about you? Last Christmas I heard you were dating a hot goth?”

“Who said that? Damo?”

“Maybe? So?”

“No! I brought her to a party but it wasn’t serious. And she wasn’t a goth. Just wore all black jeez.”

I laugh and the colours on the edge of Sean melt into pink. It’s a pretty sight even if it’s just in my head.

“I haven’t been all that lucky in love,” Sean sighs. He glances back inside. “But I look at my brother and think if he can find it I can too.”

It makes me laugh. Sean and I have always teamed up to shit on Damo for no other reason than it was fun. I never had siblings growing up and the dynamic, I imagine, felt like one.

“Do you see kids in the future?” He asks out of nowhere.

“Woah. Um. I don’t know. I can’t imagine it honestly, with the childhood I had…”

Sean nods. “I think you’d actually understand exactly what a child would need. I think you’d be good raising a child.”

“Maybe,” I shrug. “I think I’m also going insane so right now it’s a no.”

He chuckles. “Was that part of your insane bit? Talking to a ghost next door?”

When he says the G word a shiver travels down my spine. I remember the stranger seemed surprised I was talking to her.

No. It couldn’t be. I didn’t even believe in ghosts. The police must have lifted the tape. It was her relative or something.

“I think I’m a little drunk.” I change the subject.

“How are you getting home?” Sean asks.

“Might crash here. I…I think I’m actually going inside now.”

“Oh-oh yeah okay,” Sean steps aside so I can walk past him. He was like a human furnace with how warm he was. I leave him outside and head straight to the guest room. I couldn’t stay here. I didn’t want to worry my friends or do something crazy. The woman next door freaked me out too much.

I grab my jacket and purse and sneak out, texting Lydia an apology once I start walking home.

I thought about taking the train but I couldn’t handle the people. If I walked for a half hour there was a bus that was 10 minutes to my flat.

So I walk in the quiet night, interrupted by the occasional car or group of friends. I spot a fox as I walk and keep to my side of the street. I watch the silhouettes of the trees move gently in the light breeze, I watch as squares of light flick on or off as its inhabitants live their lives. I feel apart of it and outside of it.

I’ve always viewed the world this. I always feel I was this way—apart of something bigger but also on the periphery. Maybe it was growing up in the foster system, or simply always wearing my armour in order to survive. All I ever wanted was people. People to call all my own. Where I was so deep into something bigger that I never questioned where I stood.

Nearly to the bus stop I hear a familiar tune in the air. My palms go clammy as I follow it. I know where I was going to end up. But I was in a completely different part of town. So it was actually impossible.

And there it is. The Good Folk.

What the fuck was this sorcery.

The cherry on top: standing outside arguing with a woman was Harry.

My feet lead me without a single thought in my head.

[nightmaremonarch]

circus baby redesign! i redesigned every canon sister location animatronic except ennard and the little freaks (biddybabs n minirinas) so go check out my previous redesigns! feel free to use this with credit :)

if you want to see more fnaf redesigns let me know! now onto the explanationnn

Ok. So of all the redesigns. circus baby's deffo took the longest. the others each took around ~5 hours and circus baby's took. ten. mostly because of the excessive amount of detail i gave her. she's the main character! she needed way more detail!

so. anyways! i made her much more clowny! her name is circus baby, and her original design was barely a clown besides the face and the shoes!! so i upped it by a thousand, and now she's much more circus-y! she also needed a fun hat because i think the clown hat is very important and essential. for everything.

along with that she's covered in glitter! how r u gonna have a voice line of hers be "i was covered in glitter" and NOT cover her in glitter! so now? all her clothes sparkle!

out of all the funtimes i think her and funtime freddy are the largest because they both have to be proportional to their large internal systems, funtime freddy having the storage tank and circus baby having her "ice cream" machine. so for funzies and be she's so large her eyes r up really high!! cause.. nobody's gonna be viewing her from head on. so if she looks down at some kid or smthn, she looks more normal!!

like the other funtimes she still has all her original features!! i didn't know how to show an emergency stop thing though so she still has that, but it's probably. like. a button or something somewhere. also the tips of her fingers are the balloon makers !!

she also has a lot details that are really hard to see but like.. i thought they'd be fun to add!! one of those is sliver of blue in her eyes as a reference to her original eye color :)

her hair, like ballora's, is synthetic cause it adds more movement! and her most of her clothes are real. her hands, legs, and feet are rubber though.. so the gloves and socks are not real :( the ruffles on every part of her outfit were also very important and very necessary to the fnaf lore and not just be i like drawing ruffles!!

so inside her internal compartment are a supply of balloons, cake perfume (“i smelled like birthday cake”), ice cream, ice cream cones, an ice cream holder, and the scooper. to stay inside the scoopers all folded up in there like a really painful jack-in-the-box, so the internal compartment is really cramped and does not leave much room for anything else. it's kinda more a "murk on sight" thing rather than a "kill and contain" like funtime freddy because there simply isn't enough room for storing anything else.

also while i was making this i was thinking of a scrap baby design to maybe create in the future, but im probably not going to 😭😭 but. Scrap babies hair would be yarn and her face would be paper plates or something cause she raided a craft store. Idk where she got the roller skates but in this au scrap baby robbed a craft store.

Anywho! that's all for the sister location redesigns!! if anyone has any questions or wants to see other characters in this au Imk!! i love requests and i will answer the questions to the best of my ability!!

[rikeijo]

Today's translation #605

Go Yuri go!!! Official fanbook, Making of programs

Welcome to the Madness

Original costume design by Sagiri Yuuko (Chacott)

I thought that Yurio probably doesn't really like the costumes that they made him wear for his competitions, that's why for his EX, I designed a glam rock-like costume that he himself could like to wear. The gloves and knee-high boots are made from a stretchy fabric that imitates synthetic leather. The fabric the jacket is made of is chambray - on the outside it's in animal print, while inside, it has a different color. The sleeves and the collar are turned over. There is a slit on the back with studs and stones attached along the line of the spine. Stud and stones are also attached on the back of the gloves. Underneath the jacket, we have a wide mesh fabric that looks transparent. I thought that the rhinestones around the neck etc. should be the kind that sparkles in different colors, like green, pink and orange, depending on the angle.

Anime costume design by Ishikawa Kayoko

The order was "Yurio's self-indulgence to the max", so I thought that it would be nice to have a design that looks much different when the jacket is taken off. The tank-top has widely open back, and the hem has many cuts, like clothes that goths wore in the past - it's a fine line between 'sexy' and 'tacky' (laugh).

[nerdraging4point0]

Blood of Eden // Part Four // Noah Sebastian Urban Fantasy AU Fic

Tropes and Tags: MM, MF, MFM, MFM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed men, polyverse, shapeshifters.

CW: 18+ only minors DNI. Urban Fantasy romance, Smut. Angst. Fluff (ish), Story includes D/S themes, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of drug use and distribution, mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, male receiving oral sex, female receiving oral sex, cuckolding, P/A sex, P/V sex.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Active taglist: @ladyveronikawrites @tearfallpixie @beaker1636 @circle-with-me @synthetic-wasp-570 @itsjustemily @thesazzb @vinyardmauro @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @dominuslunae @mountains-to-move @sundamariis @caitcoreeeee @crimson-calligraphyx @letmeadoreyoux @starsomens @artificialbreezy @lma1986 @iknownothingpeople @lilrubles @shilohrosechicken @missduffsblog @jessicafg03 @thatchickwiththecamera @mysticdoodlez @chels3a-smile @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @deathblacksmoke @roley-poley-foley @ravieisunhinged @dethronetheveil @to-be-written @somewhere-diamond @somebodyels3 @sacredthefran @th0ughts-pr4yers @skulliecadaver-blog @hayleylatour @littlefoxkota @anameunmusical @talialovesmiw @sacredthefran @jilliemiw86 @darkmxgician

"You've helped enough."

She snapped, getting up from the floor. 

Noah turned the key in the lock, slowly pushing open her apartment door; she walked under his arm like a bridge, not even bothering to look at him. Watching her cradle her wounded limb to her chest as she walked by, he hung his head shamefully.

"Sorry about that." 

He wasn't sure she had heard him as she disappeared into her tiny space to a room down the hall, muttering something to herself the entire way. Noah took notice of the mixed-matched furniture, the dark blue loveseat, the cream couch with burnt orange and dark green pillows, and a glass coffee table sitting in the center of the room on top of a worn argyle green area rug.

Scattered along her walls were pieces of eclectic art, large frames filled with a collage of smiling faces of what he presumed were friends and family; it seemed her life had been busy between trips to the beach, theme parks, nights in the clubs, at the bar, graduations and birthdays. The guilt in his chest made him incapable of looking at the pictures anymore; if she'd died on that roof, he would have been responsible for all those people missing her.

He could hear her cursing under her breath, tape ripping, and then the whimpering. He would have offered more help, but she didn't seem thrilled the first time, so he shut his mouth. Propping himself against the wall next to her kitchen, he had a perfect view down the hall and was in the ideal position to defend her front door. 

She came out of the room in a new set of clothes, struggling to put her arm through the sleeve of her khaki hoodie. 

"Oh," she sounded disappointed. Her face was pale, barely capable of keeping her eyelids open as she shuffled her way down the hall. "You're still here." 

He stood by as she entered her kitchen, searching her counters before opening the fridge. It was practically empty, but she didn't seem bothered. Jolly always kept their fridge stocked with Noah's favorite things; he was always curious when Jolly found the time.

"I need a shot," she mumbled. 

"You shouldn't drink. Your blood tastes terrible." Noah offered.

She paused. The fridge door hung open before closing it, slowly shaking her head. She opened a cabinet above her sink and pulled down a large teal plastic box. Noah stepped closer, watching her pull supplies from the old container: a few gauze pads, a wipe, some type of blue elastic, and a syringe full of a neon purple liquid.  

"What's that?" he asked.

"Something that's going to make you go away." He could hear the tears in her voice. The beast inside him whimpered. She turned around and jumped back, nearly dropping the syringe on the floor. 

"What?" he stepped back, startled by her reaction. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"It's PTSD. PTSD and hallucinations. It's not real. Go sit down." Noah got the sense she wasn't talking to him. Grabbing the syringe and her supplies, she stepped past, avoiding him, to sit on her couch. Rolling up her sleeve, she expertly secured the elastic around her arm without even opening her eyes. Noah took a seat on the couch next to her, watching as she felt around in the crook of her arm, grabbing the syringe and lining the needle with her pulsing vein. 

"Why do you do this?" he asked.

"To survive." she sighed, letting the needle pierce her skin and drain the fluid in her veins. He felt the urge to put his head in her lap, have her stroke his hair, and find ways to comfort her. 

 Removing the needle and setting it on the table, she teetered a bit before slowly lying on her left side, pulling one of the pillows under her head.

He watched as she fell asleep with little effort, the soft snores evidently meaning she was exhausted. Noah picked up the syringe, unscrewed the needle, and brought the contraption to his nose. 

He recoiled instantly at the smell, a toxic earthy scent; this is what is making her blood taste so bad. What could she possibly need it for? 

Picking himself off the couch, he wasn't sure what to do, his feet drawn to the box still sitting on the kitchen counter; looking into her box, he saw two other syringes with that purple concoction at the bottom. A small stack of bills was folded in half in the side pocket. Was she dealing or just buying?

Turning to the sleeping beauty on the couch, she looked nothing like the photos on her walls. Sure, her hair was longer, but it was dull; she was obviously curvy, maybe voluptuous; now, as she lay on her couch, she looked like a shell of her former self. Looking at her face, he could tell it had been a while since she smiled. Deep grooves under her eyes from lack of sleep and stress make the lids heavy over her brilliant-colored eyes. As the hours passed and he watched her sleep, the drive and urge to be near her faded; he missed Jolly and wanted to go home. 

He dropped her keys on the table, locking her door on his way out. He took a leisurely stroll on his way back home. He wanted to go home, but something was driving him to go back; passing a corner vendor selling tacos, he stopped to pick up a few. Sitting at the makeshift bench, the taco truck had set out, he enjoyed his lunch, taking down the eight tacos without a breath. He was famished between the morning's distractions and a frustrated state of mind; he'd skipped breakfast.

His phone buzzed, and he pulled out the black device; its thin body barely fit in his hand as he slid open the screen to reveal his texts.

Where'd you run off to?

Jolly's text was declamatory. Noah slipped a finger through the ring of his collar. Jolly knew where he was, and he always would. Collars were equipped with the finest tracking system in the city; not even underground trams interfered with their transmission. 

Needed a walk. And food.

West 42nd seems like a long walk for food.

Noah hadn't realized how far her apartment was from home; as he turned around, he discovered he couldn't even see the skyscraper through the surrounding buildings. Shocker. 

Had to clear my head.

Oh, pet. Was I harsh?

Harsh? No, it was well deserved; Noah disobeyed the rules. Seemed fair he would be punished for it. 

No, not at all

Have you been following Rule #3?

Noah could feel the twitch in his pants, the blood rushing between his thighs, reminded of the way he'd been left this morning. Again, Jolly would know if Noah had tried. The collar tracked his vitals, offering a full report to his master every six hours.

Yes, master.

Good boy. Come home. I work late tonight, but I will take care of you.

Noah never got up and tossed away his trash so fast. 

Jolly straightened up in his office chair, resting his elbows on the clutter surrounding his desk. It was late. Noah had left on duty hours ago, and their home was quiet. Noah was constantly pacing the house, blasting his music, and maybe even watching TV in two rooms simultaneously. Jolly would often sleep when he was out on duty, but he'd been hard at work tonight. His vision blurred; when he closed his eyes and rubbed the corners, he could still see the spreadsheets of costs, budget, inventory, and plans for the lab experiments all over his desktop screen. 

He was sick of working the numbers for the fourth time today. Something wasn't adding up; it hadn't been for two months now; it was minuscule at best, a few hundred here, a few hundred there. But without getting to the root of the problem, it continued to grow, and soon, they would be overrun in debt if it didn't get managed. Against his better judgment, he'd used money from his own account to balance out the difference, hoping it wouldn't bite him in the ass later. 

A new window popped up on his screen, a red dot pulsing on a grid he recognized as the city. 

Noah.

He opened the new screen, seeing the subtle alert that Noah had left his post. He'd crossed over to the next block and was still going; Jolly clicked open the tab holding the city's main alerts, observing the bank security; no breach. Jolly clicked into Noah's tracker, reviewing his vitals in real-time. He could see his heart rate increasing and his oxygen steady, with no log of wounds. 

"Where are you going?" he whispered to himself. 

When the red dot stopped at the corner, Jolly pulled up his phone, dialing Jethro's number. Two rings and the security man answered. 

"Get me all the angles for 24th and Woodman." Jolly barked, and a few loud tappings on the other end of the line came through the receiver as Jethro worked his magic. 

"Sharing." 

One large image cut into a grid of four different angles popped up on Jolly's screen. He threw his phone on the desk, lacing his fingers together to rest under his chin as he watched. 

She was climbing into a horticulture shop, disappearing behind their chain link fence. And there was Noah at the corner. Patiently sitting on his haunches, his head tilted as he watched her. Jolly punched in a few codes, just a few things that Jethro had taught him. He wasn't a tech man but a quick learner when he needed something and didn't want to bother anyone. 

The codes rewound the security footage, zooming in on the girl climbing the fence. Long dark red waves tied back into a ponytail, dark jeans, and a hoodie with a backpack hanging off her shoulders. He watched as she winced each time she used her right arm to scale the fence, rubbing her shoulder as she jumped to the ground again. 

"Well, aren't you a pretty one?" Jolly hummed to himself. 

He let the footage play out, maybe twenty-five minutes before she was back, scaling the fence again to leap down onto the sidewalk as before. 

She lost her footing, falling back onto her ass. Off his haunches in an instant, Noah closed the distance between them; she panicked, scotting herself back till she was caged in by the fence she'd just climbed. Jolly watched as Noah approached her, his head hung low, ears up; when she scrambled again, he lowered onto his front paws, bowing in front of her as he scooted closer. 

She remained still, watching Noah with intense eyes. He was close enough that if he lashed out a paw, he'd scratch her face. Instead, he dropped his head into her lap. They stayed still for several minutes, Noah's tail slowly swishing from side to side. Jolly watched as her hand reached up, hesitating over his head. 

"That's it, pretty one. He likes his ears scratched."

She obviously didn't hear him, her hand slowly lowering onto his pet's head anyway, touching Noah's ears, giving them a tentative scratch. Jolly watched Noah's vitals, his heart rate lowering and his breathing steady. His tail wagged as he leaned into her touch. 

Suddenly, Noah was on his feet, turning to look behind him. Another hunter had come around the corner; Jolly's monitors showed Noah's heart rate skyrocket and his adrenaline surge. 

Noah followed his fellow hunter as they scurried back to their posts, turning once to look over his shoulder before darting off. Jolly's eyes remained fixed on the girl still sitting on the ground, zooming in on her face. 

"What a mystery you are, sunshine." 

[frikatilhi]

I think one thing that always makes me die a little inside is the fact that Jere just gave up a very valuable piece of clothing to Bojan when they had just talked for a few weeks!

Like what was the discussion? Were they talking about hockey before and Jere was like the night before flying to Liverpool thinking “I wonder what Bojan would look like in my jersey?” Like where I come from giving a person your jersey/ hoodie is a sign of your relationship status like oh that person has his last name on their back, they must be dating.

Just look at that Jere smile he has! He looks so young in it too! Like everyone talks about how much youthful Bojan looked during Eurovision and this really is the proof!

I honestly think this might be my Roman Empire, I can’t help but think of bubbline when princess bubblegum goes “no silly I wear these all the time, as pajamas” like ahhhh you’ve got to be kidding me.

(Angst note: it wouldn’t smell like Jere anymore 😭)

Yes, we keep coming back to this, don't we? It IS usually a sign of "we are dating", so it's no wonder it drives us insane.

Re: your angst note: maybe Bojan has tried to wash it the same way Jere tried to was Bojan's synthetic plastic shirt, so maybe it does smell like him still, i.e. like shit.

[scrittarts]

If you're a Slipfin, you can also glue clothes directly onto your body with bioadhesive of the same type as you secrete! Flaunt your colorful fins unrestricted with a style that fits both formal and casual attire! strategically placed patches inside the clothing (marked in blue on this sketch) are entirely hidden from the outside, but compatible either with your own bioadhesive - or you can use synthetic sheets sold in bulk for a little more precision and less cleanup. Simply neutralize the bioadhesive at will to remove the clothing.