#tHIS GAME IS GIVING ME A STOMACHACHE

[pygmi-cygni]

Besamé

jake lockley x reader (sort of a continuation of Clever Boy bc yall wanted jake)

read part 1 here (or don't it doesn't matter)

I'm not gonna translate the title or the pet names because if you're reading this you've read enough oscar isaac characters and jake lockley fics to understand basic romantic spanish, let's be so fr

Things had progressed smoothly in your budding relationship. Marc and Steven made up, all qualms about your affection gone. Jake, still hiding, had peeked out and you'd smothered him as well.

It was hard not to love you and Jake punched himself for doubting it. Of course you were perfect.

That morning was soft and warm, and he was up with the sun making breakfast. As much as he loved early morning cuddles, his stomach was so loud he worried you'd rouse.

Jake whistled quietly as he poured himself a mug of coffee, making sure to set yours by the coffeepot for after you ate. If you drank coffee before food you'd get a wicked stomachache.

Grinning, he nudged open the door tosee you rubbing your face sleepily, blinking in the light.

"Hi," you croaked, smiling blearily. Jake beamed, peppering your face in kisses. You smelled like sleep - still soft and comforting. Snorting, you pushed away his ticklish affection and made grabby hands towards his coffee.

"Yours is in the kitchen, my love," he said, "I made food."

Morning grogginess gone, you scampered after him, the smell of pancakes in the air. Jake watched lovingly as you ate, perusing the newspaper atop Steven's precariously balanced library.

"You've grown it out," you noted, gesturing to his upper lip. The mustache he'd been begging Marc and Steven to let him keep was blossoming. Steven was the only apprehensive one, frowning at the facial hair.

It itches, he grumbled from the headspace.

Jake waggled his eyebrows suggestively and blew you a kiss. "Sexy, ay, amor?"

You scrunched your nose and giggled. Then, realizing the time, you rushed up and tossed your napkin in the trash. "Gotta go, baby, sorry, I forgot I had an early morning!" You pressed a kiss to his cheek and hurried into the shower.

"Thanks for the food," you called over your shoulder. You grinned to yourself as you washed the suds from your body.

Marc and Steven had planned a little game on the evenings that Jake was asleep. See, both of them had officially asked you out and gone on dates, yada yada. Except for Jake. He, though arguably the most passionate, had yet to 'ask you out.' He was riding on the coattails of Steven's proposal and Marc's efforts, so to speak.

Not fair, really, Steven had mused to you, seeing as he didn't have to do anything for you to fall in love.

What are you proposing? You'd asked cheekily. He sniffed and turned away.

I don't think you should be all lovey with him until he actually works for it.

You had laughed. That's like taking candy from a baby. Poor Jake was too sweet for you to tease him like that.

Marc had chimed in. Yeah, well how come he gets a fat kiss every evening and it took you a month to give me a little peck?

That shut you up.

So, you'd schemed until a plan had been formulated. No kissing on the mouth, no touches, no nothing until Jake asked you on a proper date. Proper, Steven emphasized, not takeaway on the sofa.

Running a brush through your wet hair, you smiled at Jake and moved towards the door. Like clockwork, he leaned in for a kiss. You dodged his mouth and pressed two quick pecks to his nose. One for Marc, one for Steven. Jake awaited the third kiss bestowed to him, but you merely squeezed his hand and disappeared out the door.

Jake stood in the foyer, blinking in shock.

The dishtowel hung limply from his hands, grip loose with confusion.

"Que?" He murmured to himself, immediately raking his hand through his hair. You'd never done that...had he missed something?

Were you mad? You'd smiled at him, he'd made you breakfast, you laughed at his joke...was it the mustache? Ay, he thought you liked it!

Marc and Steven were awake but oddly silent. Steven had been with your last night, were you mad at him? No...no. Cheek kisses were for the other two, he always got the mouth. Cheek, mouth, cheek. One two three. Except now...only two?

While he fretted, Jake began to clean the kitchen. He'd never felt insecure with you. Should he? No. You were nice, you liked him, you always gave him a kiss before work. You had yesterday; he'd felt it from back in the headspace. Why not today?

Beso...he mourned quietly, absently running his fingers over his lips. Maybe it was the mustache. He'd shave it off, right now. That'd make Steven feel better, if not you. Jake tugged on his hair, eyes wide and worried.

"Ay, Marc," he hissed into the mirror, fumbling for his razor. "What's going on with her, huh? Yesterday was okay, si, then ¡Y entonce! I get nothing! Estoy confundido!"

Marc yawned lazily, smirking in the reflection. Jake's hand paused above his chin, and he narrowed his eyes. "What's that face for, eh? Why are you smirking like that?" His headmate shrugged, feigning disinterest.

Well, you know, he mentioned drolly. Jake dropped the razor and folded his arms.

"No, malo, I don't." Something was up. Steven was watching, eyebrows up to his hairline, but Jake didn't trust him either.

Marc was grinning now. You're not their boyfriend, Jake.

He gaped into the mirror, hot anger flashing in his veins. "Ay, that's not true! Maldito malo, how dare you say that! I love them just as much as any of you bastards-"

How many dates have you gone on? Steven piped up from the back, grinning cheekily. Jake opened his mouth but stopped.

Dios...he hadn't taken you on a date?

"Wait, wait," he muttered, chin in hand. That couldn't be right, you spent time with him almost every day. You'd gone on drives and to the park and the library...

"Oh my God," he breathed. "Ay, this is-" he fisted his hair in frustration, then whirled to glare at his friends.

"No, it can't be that! Yesterday I still didn't date them and they gave me a kiss, right smack on the lips! You're full of shit, Spector, that can't be it."

He wiped the shaving foam from his face and slammed the bathroom door, ignoring Steven's giggles. Bullshit. You wanted a date? He would take you on a date, he'd take you on a date every day for the rest of your life if you wanted-

Share them with us, Steven protested at the idea. Jake bared his teeth in the reflection of his phone.

"Fat chance," he seethed. He'd get that kiss back.

Work had been a hassle. You scrubbed a hand over your face before sighing and making your way to the bus stop. It was a grey evening, and would start drizzling soon. Shivering, you walked faster, imagining the comforting warmth of your shared flat.

You smiled, thinking of Jake. Hopefully the boys weren't being too mean - it was a joke, after all.

Speak of the devil, a familiar black car was parked along the curb, and you paused.

"Jake?" You stepped up to the window and peered inside. Jake's glittering eyes grinned back at you. His hat was perched cockily atop his moussed curls and he unlocked the door.

You gleefully ducked inside, grateful to be out of the rain. He sat idly, tapping his fingers on his thighs while you buckled up, fluffing your hair in the mirror and looking over. He wasn't looking at you, peering with mild interest at the traffic outside.

"What's that pout for," you teased. "Oh, you've shaved!" You leaned over to inspect his smooth chin, but he angled away.

Huh?

You sat, gingerly placing your hand on his arm. Marc had spilled the beans, it seemed. The rain beat on the windows, pattering loudly in the silence.

Game on.

You adjusted yourself in your seat, folding your legs away from him. Without any real estate to rest his hand on, Jake fidgeted near the gearshift. He so badly wanted to reach out and burrow his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs, but he couldn't. Not yours to touch, Marc taunted.

Eyes steely, Jake peeled out of the parking lot and into the main road, humming to himself. This was so wrong. His lips tingled from neglect, and he was twitching to repress his need to kiss you all over. The soft music on the radio had you bobbing your head and tapping your fingers. He wanted to grab your hand and swing along like a seated waltz.

Nope. Not yet.

When Jake pulled up in front of your favorite Thai place, you frowned.

"Wh-"

His hand was on your jaw and his breath tickled your ear. "I'll take you on a date," he growled, "but after this, you better knock it off." His tone was harsh but his grip gentle, rubbing a slow circle beneath your ear. You met his eyes innocently.

"Knock what off?"

He made a sound low in his throat and tore away, stalking around the car to throw your door open.

"What a gentleman," you cooed, pecking his jaw. He scowled, mentally urging your lips to gravitate towards his supple pout. No cigar; you grabbed his hand and led him inside.

It was warm and smelled divine, so you settled in with a smile. Jake gave a small smirk in return, foot bumping yours under the table. Your nose scrunched adorably and you bopped him right back. The two of you went back and forth, smothering giggles until the waiter took your order.

The quiet was pleasant this time, the stiffness having lifted in the spirit of warm food. As you ate and laughed, Jake's hand found his way to yours across the table.

"I'm sorry, corazon," he said, eyes wide and genuine. Your heart cracked a little bit, and you felt the tiniest bit of guilt. He looked like a kicked puppy, all begging and earnest. Caressing his palm, you squeezed back.

"Te amo," you whispered, poking him with your chopsticks. Jake sighed with relief, a crooked smile on his face. See, you bastard fools? He gloated to his headmates, 'not their boyfriend my ass.' Pendejos, both of you.

You saw the smirk on his face and cocked your head. "Don't be mean," you chastised playfully, "it's not their fault you didn't have the balls to ask me out."

Jake sputtered around his food, looking at you with bewilderment. Cackling, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss, smiling against his lips. He tasted warm and familiar, like home. Stupid game, you lamented, forcing me to miss out on this.

He pulled you to his side of the booth, trailing down your neck and back up to your soft lips. Your hair was soft against his cheek and he beamed.

His rough hands cupped your chin lovingly, eyes sparkling with joy. You're so pretty, he fawned, kissing you again. A blush spread over your cheeks and you hid in his neck. he could feel your smile against his skin, and he pulled you back up for another round.

"Besame, por favor," he murmured, licking gently into your mouth. your hands fisted gently in his shirt, and he intertwined your fingers gently. Pulling back, you nudged his nose with yours.

"Take me home, lover boy."

yay! all the boys can be happy now.

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

@silvernight-m - Jake's part, as requested! :)

@krakenkitty

@twwcs

@ominoose

comment to join the taglist

[wornouteggman]

X-Men go to Disneyland for the First Time

first post! tag along for more delusions, asks are always open -alex

Cyclops

not just the group dad or the paranoid leader but a secret, third, worse thing

this guy has a stomachache the whole day you can't convince me otherwise

has carrots in his backpack?! and trail mix?!

yeah laugh it up until you're standing in a disney line for 45 minutes and you start getting peckish- oh nowww you want to appreciate him

please do not put him on that stupid Pinocchio boat ride he will puke

gave everyone a map at the beginning of the day and is exceptionally stressed that he's the only one with one at the end of the day

Jean

half of her job is making sure Scott doesn't walk into a pole and the other half is making sure no one gets lost

SHE MAKES SURE EVERYONE HAS A "it's my first time" PIN

all the people around her is overwhelming- not just in a powers way but in a general sensory overload way

likes the classic stuff, loves the snow white ride

she's not too invested in things like disney but she likes doing the touristy stuff upfront (they're popular for a reason right?) which is why she's the first to buy a set of mickey(minnie?) ears

her favorite part of the day is watching the fireworks with Scott, letting herself get almost misty-eyed as she listens to the swell of music, Scott's arms wrapped around her securely

Storm

certified churro enjoyer

weirdly enough loves the dumbo ride?

"Ororo. You can literally fly why do we have to go on th-" "Party of six please"

get her ass away from star tours, she will have a panic attack

the one who pulls up games to play during wait times. she is comically bad at charades

likes the parade!! makes sure to have nice seats on the sidewalk to watch it happen!

a part of her inner child is healed going around disney enjoying the day with her weird mutant family

Rogue

she does a little dance in her seat at the end of the haunted mansion ride with all the partying ghosts (she gets excited to see which ghost is hitchhiking with her) (she loudly whispers the entire intro to the haunted mansion word for word to gambit every time they go on it

her and jean are the only ones to get mickey ears, Rogue going for one of the dessert-related ones (I'm going to project a little bit and say she gets the churro ears)

takes photos with every single character she sees

silly photos with gambit in front of the disney castle

incredibly cranky when it comes to long lines!! her and scott teaming up and eating trail mix from his bag from boredom (Scott picks out the m&ms and gives them to her while he eats all the nuts and granola)

Gambit

HIS FAVORITE RIDE IS INDIANA JONES IDCIDC

okay him and Rogue would have way more fun in california adventure but I fucked myself over and wrote Disneyland so now I have to suffer the consequences of my actions

he's sooo pretentious about the quality of the beignets

competitive teacup ride, him and rogue are teacup spinners

he really likes Batuu and the star wars stuff in general, I can see him liking the ronto wraps

HATES the millennium falcon ride if he's not the pilot. will skulk.

#stealfromcorporations

a little sizeable pang of homesickness in the chest as he walks through the New Orleans Square, which is specifically modelled after the french quarter

Logan

free him from this hell

"oh but he secretly enjoys-" no he doesn't.

barely made it past security, as the... you know... adamantium fused to his bones make the sensors go off

jean steps in and says he's got several joint replacements. it's humiliating (for him)

I get the vibe that he's scared of the peter pan ride when you're in the ship "flying"

bristles like a cat tbh

once he's sat at the hungry bear restaurant chowing down on a burger he calms down a little

complains about the california heat incessantly

would rather die than admit that a part of him looks at the families on the carousel and gets deeply sad❗️

[dear-mrs-otome]

Silvio Ricci - Engagement Event - Another Terrible Summary

(Silvio: "W-what the?")

Standard Disclaimer: I do this for fun. I don’t, and never would, claim to be proficient at JP. There will be mistakes herein. There will be dialogue I choose to smooth out or change, because it feels choppy just straight translating. There will be the occasional snarky aside and irreverence and just plain summarizing. If you’re looking for 100% pure accuracy, without commentary or localizing, this is not for you. If you don’t mind that…then proceed, and I hope you enjoy! And please, support your local localizer (they make this stuff look easy) and Cybird by playing the games and routes when they come to English.

Things to know before this (THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SILVIO’S MAIN STORY):

It follows the romantic (or ‘canon’) ending to Silvio’s route, which means that he and Emma are already engaged seeing as how they were at the end of his route. It also references the circumstances surrounding that - how Emma posed as a disgraced noblewoman and rescued Silvio from his father and prison by demanding Silvio take responsibility for ‘debauching’ and rescue her honor via marriage. Silvio has also been officially named the king’s successor, and will be the next king of Benitoite when his fathers steps down. It also references the epilogue where Emma works herself ill, and how horrible of a person Silvio's mother was.

~~~~~~~~

The Jewel of the Ocean has been passed to Silvio - recently the news of this has begun to make the rounds through Benitoite, and the topic seems to be on everyone’s lips. The merchants especially are thrilled with this…but that’s not the only tea everyone’s spilling.

We open on a couple of merchants chattering away down by the docks about the approaching engagement ceremony for Prince Silvio where everything is made Official, and the two men are talking about the lucky lady in question. They say how rumors have it she’s a beautiful woman, on par with any national treasure - gifted too, and having had studied at Rhodolite’s court. She’s kind and dang near a saint.

One of them mentions too how he heard how crazy in love with her Silvio was, and how anytime the prince opens his mouth it’s to say something about her, and the other seems impressed and says how much he’s looking forward to the ceremony.

As they pass by and on their way, a figure darts into a nearby alley as if to make an escape…and we find Emma crouching down there, groaning about a stomachache and freaking out in her thoughts over why the heck everyone seems to think she’s some sort of PARAGON.

Silvio’s there, hand on her back and asking if she’s alright, and she confesses she might not be alright. Didn’t he hear all that?? Whose girlfriend are they talking about, this PARAGON OF BEAUTY AND GRACE AND TALENTS, this SAINTLY WOMAN.

Silvio says they’re talking about her, obviously, and Emma says is that really how I seem?!

She’s freaking out, clearly. She’d been super excited to come out on the town with Silvio when he’d asked, their first actual date in awhile, but she’d been totally unprepared for the rumors that are apparently going around about them. 

“Doesn’t seem off to me,” Silvio says, matter of factly, and Emma’s over there like PRESS X TO DOUBT. Asking him how that’s so.

He kind of hems and haws a bit, awkward silence and he can’t look her in the eyes as he says she’s beautiful, and plenty capable, and other than being the whole being a bit sassy thing she’s got a pretty decent personality.

Emma’ stunned at actual legit compliments from Silvio, still processing as he points out that it’s better than them gossiping about things that aren’t true or are nasty isn’t it?

“But what about when I’m presented at the engagement ceremony and everyone’s got this sky-high expectations…” she frets. “Everyone will be disappointed when I don’t measure up, and they might say ‘She’s not good enough for Prince Silvio.’”

Of course she’s been giving it her all, ever since they decided to formally announce the engagement alongside the formal declaration of Silvio as the king’s successor. She’s been working her ass off from morning to night studying etiquette and everything else she might need to know as a princess, alongside getting her wardrobe ready and planning the details of the ceremony and the reception party…she’s exhausted, mentally and physically. But even so she wants to be woman worthy of Silvio, the next king.

She tackles him practically with a hug, setting Silvio spluttering and redfaced and reminding her for the umpteenth time she’s supposed to warn him before she does something like that - to which Emma rebuts that if she warns him he still sometimes tries to escape, so it’s best to surprise him. 

Burying her face in those hella nice-smelling man tiddies, Emma takes a deep breath of Silvio-scent and is reenergized. 

“Where’s your usual sass?” he asks. “Don’t let something like this intimidate you.” He tells her that if everyone’s saying good things about her, all she’s gotta do is be confident and stand tall. But he also chastizes her for being too stubborn and reminds her she doesn’t have to go so dang hard on all this.

“No, no,” Emma argues, saying that if she doesn’t work hard now when will she work hard?

“Not your whole life long,” Silvio counters. “I didn’t bring you here from Rhodolite to make you work yourself like a madwoman. I already told you what the gist of your most important job was, didn’t I?”

His words are a reminder of that day on the beach (at the end of his Romantic route) where he had told her what her most important duty was, as the woman of the next king: to dedicate all that she was to him, and in return he’d love her till she couldn’t stand it. 

She's fluent enough in Silvio-ese to see those imperious words for what they really meant - he wants the kind of relationship where he can love and be loved in equal measure. And she realizes she must seem pretty exhausted if Silvio is worrying about her this much. He's bossy as all getup…but he's hella overprotective.

She lifts her head and there's those sea-blue eyes right in front of her - along with a suspicious Silvio. Who has right to be because she surprise kisses him. He's left wide eyed and surprised as she tells him she was thinking how she loves him.

He points out that came from left field and she’s just shrug - and then Silvio has his revenge by taking her chin in hand and laying a passionate kiss on her that has her scandalized. They’re still in public technically and all! He laughs at her hnnng face and she’s silently fuming over how only a few seconds ago it was him all embarrassed and now he’s Mr. Cocky, pouting as she looks away and he tousles her hair.

“Anyway, you get what I’m sayin’?” he asks. 

She asks if he’s referring to her trying too hard, and he confirms - only to get angry again when she says she’ll accept his sentiment at least but she’s gotta be able to stand proudly beside him if he’s going to love her, and although he might worry about her she asks him to please let her do her best for now. 

He’s glowering silently, and she tells him he’s got his scary face on.

He says it’s probably because she’s totally missing the point of what he’s trying to say, and she fires back that he’s too overprotective. 

“Shaddup,” he scowls. 

“But I love that about you too!” she declares, and he turns red and tells her not to get carried away. Clearly not disliking her claim - he’s just obviously embarrassed by it.

The whole situation might be literally making her feel ill, but she’s not about to back down from this challenge. If she’s gonna share a life with Silvio, she’s got to be able to handle something like this.

~~~~~~~~

The next day, Rio stops her in the hallway and asks if she’s doing alright. He’s gotten his memory back now and works as Silvio’s aide, but still never hesitates to show concern for her as well just as he always has. 

He asks if she has a fever, and she’s dklsjfds HOW DID HE KNOW?? She had woken up that morning lethargic and unwell, but it’s nothing major - more like the bit of fever she’d come down with when she’d overworked herself when first coming to Benitoite. 

She assures Rio she’s fine it’s nbd, but he’s not happy with that answer,worried it might get worse and urging her to take a day off or so - before he cuts himself off and realizes she can’t.

A fact she confirms, because she’s supposed to be hosting a party today to meet and greet many of the young noblewomen of the country before the engagement ceremony. It’s hella important for her to lay the groundwork of future relationships here, and to help her make friends and ease into Benitoite society better. So even if she has to push herself, she’s gotta make it through today at least. 

“Rio, pleeeeaaase. Don’t say a word to Silvio,” she begs him.

“...If he finds out, he’ll lock you up for sure,” Rio agrees with chagrin. He’s clearly not thrilled with her request, but she knows he can’t deny her, and reluctantly he agrees to keep mum on this - but he tells her he’ll have medicine ready, and reminds her if she gets any worse to cancel things, consequences be damned. He and Silvio can more than handle the fallout, and it won’t reflect badly on her. 

She thank him, glad that it was Rio who noticed she was sick. If it had been Silvio, she’s positive things wouldn’t have gone this smoothly…and she vows to herself to be sure to avoid him at all costs today. 

~~~~~~~~

…Only for us to open the next scene aboard a ship, with a silently staring Silvio, and an oh shit Emma.

Given that she’s to be royalty, and given the traditions of Benitoite amongst the elite to throw parties not at mansions but on board ships, she’d asked Silvio to arrange one to host her party on. This particular vessel is one of Silvio’s own, and it wouldn’t be strange to see the owner aboard - if it had been a day without business meetings or other things on his agenda.

Why is he here?!?!

She’d been making the rounds, greeting all the ladies aboard before the ship was set to depart, when the tyrant himself had appeared all of a sudden and grabbed her by the hand. “Let’s go.”

She vehemently protests this idea, and he scowls over the fact that she can put up such an argument when she’s feverish - which has her now wondering how the eff does he know about her being sick?! No wait, more importantly, she KNOWS he’s got a packed schedule today!

She’s digging in her heels just as hard as he’s trying to drag her off, insisting all the while that he’s just imagining things.

“If you think I’m gonna buy that, you must have a flower garden for a brain,” he fires back. (Hello Motonari?)

“Flower garden or whatever, read the room!” she scolds him, At first, most people didn’t seem to know what to make of her as the next king’s fiancée…and now they’re all just looking on this scene in shock. The whole party is ruined!

He scoffs at the need to do anything of the sort, and as she keeps trying to resist he finally just picks her up and goes to make off with her.

“Knock it off,” Rio sighs. “Can’t you see she’s not having any of this?”

Now Emma’s stunned, realizing Rio is there too and blocking Silvio’s path, shaking his head. Silvio says he doesn’t give a shit if she doesn’t like it, and Rio reminds him he should and urges him to put Emma down. 

“If I put her down, she’ll run away,” Silvio counters. 

“If you know she’s gonna run away, then you clearly know you shouldn’t be forcing her,” Rio frowns.

“Shut up. I don’t need you telling me what to do,” Silvio argues. 

Emma realizes it’s no use when Silvio’s gotten himself worked up like this, and if she throws a fit and ends up getting herself hurt it’ll just make him all depressed. She tries to shoot Rio a wink to say it’s alright, and seeing this Rio immediately goes into crisis-containment mode - apologizing to all the guests for the fuss his ‘idiot brother’ has made with his usual charm and charisma.

In moments he has all the ladies gathered there eating out of his hand, showing off his now-practiced socialite face, the one he’s been honing more now that he’s in the public eye as Silvio’s aide.

While a grateful Emma watches him charm them all, she suggests to Silvio they take this somewhere else to talk and he seems to agree. Still pissy though as he kicks in the door to a nearby room on the ship and carries her inside the space as luxurious as any fine room on land. 

The silence though is so absolute you could hear a pin drop, only the sound of the wind and the waves, before Silvio finally speaks.

“Did you take any medicine?” he asks, taking a seat on a chair. Still holding Emma in his arms. 

She tells him she did, before she came aboard, but realizes that if he doesn’t know whether she did or not he clearly must not have talked to Rio. Not to mention she highly doubts Rio would break his promise to her.  “How did you know I was sick?”

He says she just doesn’t seem to have her usual vim and vigor, and that has her taken aback slightly to realize that Silvio’s been paying close enough attention to her to take note of such a minor change. 

“When would you have noticed that?” she asks, baffled. There shouldn’t have been any occasion for him to see her that morning. 

“When you were talking with everyone back at the port,” he explains. 

“You’ve been watching me for awhile then, I take it?” she asks, but he refuses to answer that. “What about your work?”

“...It’s all finished,” he finally replies. 

She’s still in disbelief at that, because the day is hardly even close to over, but Silvio waves it off as merely being damn good at his job. Emma’s not buying this though, and she points out that even if he IS hella capable it seems impossible he’d have the time to come by the port after his work was done. 

Scowling he tells her to knock the line of questioning off - he’s clearly not interested in spending any more time on the topic, and he tells her once again they should leave. 

There’s still a million things she wants to say, but she settles on this. “Do you really not trust me?” He wants to know why that’s even a question, and she goes on to elaborate. “Even if I say I’m fine, you seem to refuse to believe me at all.”

He lapses into a shocked silence at that.

It’s the same thing as yesterday, Emma thinks. Silvio worries about her more than anyone else in the world, and he’s trying to shelter and protect her as his fiancée…but that’s not what she wants. If she back down here, if she lets him have his way, he’ll spoil her for the rest of her life. 

Meeting his displeased gaze, she cradles his cheeks in her hands. “Is your fiancée such a frail woman? Did I not once rescue a prince locked in prison?” His expression sobers as she goes on. “I love ‘Overprotective Silvio’ too, but…trust me now. And when it’s all over, you can tell me ‘good job’ all you want. I’m not marrying you to be cosseted - I want to be your betrothed so that we can stay by each other’s side and be there for each other in the hard times and the good.”

Silvio remains silent, and she can’t read his expression well enough to tell if he’s convinced or not. So, feeling as if she has no other choice…she takes him off guard with a swift kiss to the deep frown carved in his forehead and slips off his lap as he’s still stunned, racing out the door and back to freedom outside.

“Ah, damn it, she ran away.” Silvio curses aloud in the empty room…before he quietly states that she hasn’t said anything he doesn’t already know.

~~~~~~~~

PREMIUM END: HIS POV

Ever since I fell in love with that woman, I’ve been saying strange things. Even though I know it’s all just a burden on her…

From the shadows of the back alley, Silvio sneaks a peek at Emma chatting with the women at the port. The dress she’s wearing today is supposed to be a simple, refined design - but when Emma wears it she’s stunning, like a rose in bloom that charms everyone with its beauty. It’s a sight he could stare at forever….but he sighs when he feels the presence of someone else in the empty alley.

“Hey, don’t follow me, damn dog,” he grumbles at Rio.

Rio scoffs at that. “It’s my job to bring back the idiot prince who left his job.”

Silvio’s annoyed by that, as Rio comes to stand beside him and look over at him incredulously. Silvio defends his leaving by saying he’s done the essentials at least, but Rio points out there’s still a bunch of paperwork left to tackle.

“It’s fine if it waits until tomorrow. I’ve got more important things to do,” Silvio argues. 

“You’re too overprotective, no two ways about it,” Rio sighs. 

“Shut up,” Silvio retorts. “ She doesn’t exactly take very good care of herself, so better overprotective than not.”

Rio doesn’t say anything in reply to that, and Silvio lapses into musing to himself how Emma just casually does reckless things - she’d already worked herself into collapsing from fever once before. And when he’d taken her out on the town the other day, it was obvious the pressure and exhaustion were getting to her. Trying to reassure her about the rumors the merchants were spreading due to his own infatuation had only seemed to make things worse, and made him worry more. Hence his clandestine party watching.

He was right to come, though, he reasons as he clicks his tongue with irritation at the distant Emma and observes she’s def not feeling well.

“You noticed?” Rio asks, and Silvio points out to him how Emma’s lacking her usual spark. Rio seems surprised that Silvio can tell that from even this far away…but to himself, Silvio thinks how it’s not any wonder he could see that, given how much time he spends watching Emma.

But…can he really let her go to that party in such a state??

He takes a step forward as if to follow her onto the boat, only for Rio to stop him. “Hey! Don’t interrupt! You know Emma doesn’t want your help.”

That just pisses Silvio off, that Rio thinks he knows what Emma’s thinking. But most of all, he hates this - he can’t stand seeing Emma in pain or suffering.

~~~~~~~~

After the party, in the carriage he’s stuffed Emma into the moment it was over, the world’s longest and most awkward silence reigns until Emma’s finally fed up.

“Ahhhhrgh! What’s with the silence?!” she cries.

Silvio can’t think of what to say though, wracked with guilt as Emma’s words keep coming back to him. 

“Do you really not trust me?”

It’s not that he doesn’t have faith in her, things just sort of ended up this way, and he’s frustrated trying to think of what else he should have done. Is she really trying to tell him that leaving her to her fever was the right thing to do?? He’s got things he wants to say to her, but he can’t seem to get his thoughts together well enough to articulate it no matter how desperately he wants to…and he only grows more frustrated with himself for not being able to put his feelings into words. 

“If you have something to say, just say it!” she tells him.

“Sick people shouldn’t be shouting,” he scowls.

“I am not sick,” Emma argues. 

He tells her not to lie, even as he concedes that her complexion’s improved at least. Putting a hand to her forehead to test her temperature, which seems normal now.

She suggests it might be due to her stress finally having ended, but to himself Silvio still vows to have a doctor take a look at her when they get home. 

“You had a stomach ache the other day, and a fever today,” Silvio frowns. 

“It’s fine to be a bit under the weather, as long as you get through it,” Emma counters. To himself he thinks that he’d do something about it long before it got to that point, but his train of thought is cut off when she prompts him again. “So, back to the subject -”

He’s still silent, unable to find the words, and feigns ignorance as he pointedly stares out the window to avoid her. The sea outside the carriage is calm, but his heart is in turmoil, as if struck by some great storm. 

“The ocean is beautiful today, isn’t it?” Emma asks, seemingly having given up on the conversation as she looks out at the scenery as well. 

“You wanna stop and see?” he offers, and she asks if that’s okay.

He tells her he’s got nothing else going on today…but he’s thinking how much he knows going to the beach makes her happy. And he’ll get this all straightened out, he’s determined.

With the sunset for a backdrop, he and Emma stroll along the beach - but he can’t stop the frown from creeping back onto his face, and Emma is too sharp to miss the expressions he makes.

“Are you angry?” she asks finally.

“Not with you,” he replies.

“Then, who are you angry with?” she presses.

“Myself of course, I guess,” he admits, and falls into his own thoughts again.

He knows the sort of woman Emma is, and yet he dared try and stomp all over her will. And worst of all, even though he was aware of it, all he could seem to do was annoy her.

Truth be told he, he’s really pissed at himself.

Emma comes to a stop, and he does as well a few steps later. The sound of the crashing waves seeming to chide the silence.

“I know it’s a selfish worry,” Silvio begins. He says that he knows being exhausted or anxious isn’t any sort of reason to shirk your role, and that he knows she wants to fulfill her duty as the king’s consort perfectly. Even though it’s not easy, he shouldn’t have thought trying to escape it was the right thing.

“You realize all that, and yet you still tried to take me away today?” Emma presses. 

He admits that he does, he gets all of this and he knows all of it, but he still can’t help what he thinks. “I don’t want you to have to suffer because of me…” Silvio says, resigned. “I honestly don’t know how to make the woman I love happy.”

In the past, he was always surrounded by nothing but money. Never truly wishing to make someone else happy, so he’s clueless in this regard. But…Emma’s happiness is the only thing he ever wants. If money could buy it for her, he’d gladly spend every last penny he had…but that would never work. 

He’s at a complete loss, fumbling like some kind of child. And that feeling has only grown stronger as the preparations for their engagement ceremony began and the burden fell harder on Emma. Working herself half to death like this, is she really happy?? True happiness should be her having the freedom to laugh, foolishly carefree, all the time.

He’s well aware that he’s hopelessly lost here, because he doesn’t understand the happiness of others.

“Sometimes, it occurs to me…” Emma begins, and he looks at her quizzically. “That you’re pretty adorable, aren’t you, Silvio!”

Scowling and redfaced, he asks if she’s trying to pick a fight - here he is, tying himself up into knots over this and she’s over there grinning?!

He grabs her head and musses it a bit, and she laughs out apologies.

“Quit grinning,” he grouses.

“People tend to do that when they’re happy,” she tells him, and he wonders aloud what exactly about what he just said made her feel happy. “All of it.”

He’s baffled, but Emma goes on to tell him she’s happy every day, actually. 

“That’s coming from the woman who was on the ground with a stomachache yesterday?” he argues.

Emma says she was mostly joking around, and he was egging it on kind of too even, wasn't he? He’s still confused how that would make her happy, and she tells him it DOES, because it’s obvious how Silvio loves her with every bit of himself…a revelation that only leaves him stunned.

“I can do my very best every day because of you, and I want to work through it,” she explains. “You are my happiness.”

He’s unable to process this, reeling as he tries to puzzle it out. Emma is adored by so many people, unlike him - he never considered that something as simple as being loved would bring her happiness. 

Aloud, he wonders if his worries seem stupid, and if something that simple is really enough to make her happy.

“It’s not that simple,” she assures him. “You’re the first person who makes me happy just by being there.”

He’d thought…that it was just him that felt like that. That surely Emma, who is used to being loved by everyone, would feel differently. 

Or so he’d thought.

Without even realizing it, a smile comes to his face.

“Silvio…are you happy?” Emma asks.

He gives her crap about her eyes being blind, before admitting that he wouldn’t be smiling if he wasn’t happy right? She joyfully agrees, and offers him a smile brighter and more dazzling than the setting sun. The look of someone truly happy.

He does have something he wants to say to her - it’s finally hit him. Even with his worry for her, the overprotectiveness and being a burden on her, there’s just one feeling he wants to be sure she’s aware of. 

“I’ll say this just one time,” he tells her, schooling his expression to seriousness. The midsummer sun shining on him, so hot he’s practically sweltering…but he wants to be sure he shares this with her before the ceremony. He takes a deep bracing breath of the sea breeze, and blows it out. “You’re the only one I’d ever be such a fool in love for.”

I can’t remember who I was before I met you, he thinks. That’s how crazy he is about her. 

“I’m only going to say that once in my life,” he prompts her again, as she remains utterly silent. Vaguely affronted as her face remains turned down at the words he’d thrown away all his shame and pride to utter. “How can you not say anything?”

Now it’s just getting embarrassing, and he’s silently pleading with her to say something, anything at all. Grasping her chin and tilting her head up  - only to find Emma’s face bright red, the deep blush covering even her ears and neck. Not a trace of her usual sass to be found.

“D-don’t look at me!” she sputters.

He’s blown away by her face, before he grins and tells her she’s 100% adorable, which only has her gasping that it’s a low blow to say something like that now.

He’ll take the cheater accusation though, gladly, he says…and to himself he’s thinking how gd frigging much he loves her as he steals those warm lips. Kissing her to keep her from realizing how head over heels he is too.

This moment, mesmerized and lost in her, with the sound of the waves crashing distantly - this is the most priceless of treasures. Something he could never ever buy, not with all the riches in the world.

~~~~~~~~

A few days later, the ceremony takes place to name Silvio heir and Emma his fiancee properly. Thanks to her efforts, the party goes off splendidly…

For some reason, the soon-to-abdicate king stops Silvio in an out of the way corner. He’s frustrated at being kept from Emma, but he bites back the urge to lash out over the waste of time. 

“Hey, old geezer. If you don’t have shit to say, I’m gonna leave,” Silvio warns. 

“Still talking like that? If you’re going to be king, you should at least clean up that filthy mouth,” the king warns. 

Silvio says he only talks like that to the king, and he dismisses him, ready to leave, when the king stops him. He tells Silvio they’re not finished talking yet, and he offers the prince a drink. Practically shoving it into Silvio’s hand and filling it to the brim - a tradition for greeting and for blessing happy occasions in Benitoite.

Unhappy but unable to refuse, Silvio drains the glass in one go…and the old man does the same. 

“You…” the old king begins. “Aren’t really like ‘her’ after all, I guess.”

The ‘her’ in question is his mother, Silvio knows. And just thinking of the woman who laughed as she tried to murder the current queen countless times makes him feel sick to his stomach. “Who’d wanna be like that bitch? I have no interest in being some kind of beast. Course, I’ve got no interest in being a nasty old codger like you either.”

The old king angrily says Silvio’s got a real gift for distracting him. “I thought I’d congratulate you even if it’s just a formality, but I guess that’s not necessary.”

“Ha, just now figuring that out?” Silvio scoffs.

The only one the king’s ever given a shit about was that fucking dog - it seems too late to try and be putting on an air of fatherly concern now, Silvio thinks. He slams the glass down on a nearby table and turns away.

“Do a good job, Silvio,” the king says to his back. “...It’s hard work making a woman happy in this position.”

He doesn’t need to be told something like that, he thinks. He already knows. The current queen has had her life threatened many times because of her position, and the king can’t keep her safe from everything. “Don’t worry, old man,” he tells the king as a parting shot. “Unlike you, I’m plenty capable.”

I’ll never make you unhappy, is his silent vow to Emma.

~~~~~~~~

Back in Silvio’s room, he’s got a new trial to deal with - the fact that by the time he escaped the old man and made it back to Emma, it was clearly too late. His fiancee is utterly obliterated after being toasted by so many well-wishers, and is uncharacteristically rather tipsy. Giggling at him and generally acting drunk now that they’re safely in private, although she’d managed to keep it together at the party and present a sober front. 

She pleads with Silvio to acknowledge how well she did after drinking so much, and he grudgingly does - scowling though as he says how everyone in Benitoite is used to this sort of thing as a celebration but she’s from Rhodolite and not yet, so she shouldn’t overdo it. 

“Okaaaaay,” she draws out.

“Can you drink some water?” he asks, and she proudly agrees she can manage that, downing a glass…but she’s getting as much of it on herself as she is in her mouth, spilling out around the edges.

“No, clearly you can’t. Are you doing that on purpose?” he asks suspiciously - it wouldn’t be the first time Emma has pretended to be drunk around him. (She does this in his route and forces him to carry her back to the carriage) But he’s pretty sure she’s not faking it this time…and he’s trying real hard not to be a perv and ogle the way she’s gotten the whole front of her dress wet.

He pushes the naughty thoughts aside and takes a nearby cloth to dry her off, which leads to her smiling up at him all dazedly and hugging him tightly. 

“W-what the?” he asks, flustered. 

“Silvio…tonight…is the first night since we got engaged,” she points out.

He’s still redfaced and silent as he notices the Benitoite gem winking on her ring finger, the one he’d given her as an engagement ring. An unmistakable reminder of the way their relationship had officially changed that leaves him reeling. 

“I—I want to tell you that I love you a lot,” Emma goes on. “I love you so much Silvio!!”

And he’s left at an utter loss as to what he should do now…

TBC in epilogue!

~~~~~~~~

taglist: @violettduchess @just-simping-over-genshin @sakura-samsara

Want to be added to the taglist for summaries? Comment on this post!

[the-duchess-of-domination]

The Way To My Heart Is Through Your Stomach

i was a lurker for most of my life, and only started posting here as of a month ago because i figured i had nothing to lose. i also figured i needed an outlet for my little obsession. after all, i’ve been this way since i was a little girl.

im always thinking about where it all started.

for me, it was Dr. Seuss’s ABCs. i want to see if that resonates with anybody or if im truly alone on this awakening. im okay being a woman that had a VERY unique experience (lmaooo), but it gives me comfort knowing i might not be alone.

anyway, i was about four years old and was starting to learn the alphabet (who knew years later i’d be an English major!) and i remember paging through the book and becoming absolutely infatuated with the letter S. i bet you might be able to guess why, and i can recite the poem verbatim:

Silly Sammy Slick

sipped six sodas

and got sick, sick, sick

the pages featured a huge round table and six empty root beer mugs. at the center of it all was Sammy, my first boyfriend, a boy in a pink and purple striped sweater with a gooseberry-green face, looking queasy. i used to stare at the pages for minutes at a time and hid the book privately, even as a little girl innocently excited by the idea that boys could get sick (and from overconsumption to boot).

as i got a little older, i started playing computer games (this was around 2006-2007), and i was given a CD-ROM edition of Dr. Seuss’s ABCs. the letter S never left my mind, and for the first time i got to hear my first crush SPEAK to me, and things only got more intense from there. to hear a boy audibly groan about his stomachache and get shamed by other characters for drinking too much soda, it just absolutely drove me crazy, and it stuck with me for the rest of my life.

now, tell me, where did it start for you? feel free to share!!

—the duchess 🦢💋🍯🏹🎀

[bloggingboutburgers]

Hey sorry, you're probably getting recs on a bunch of aro-ace characters. If heavy games aren't your thing, this isn't for you, but In Stars and Time has some pretty explicit representation for aro-ace as well as just ace. It's all but named, and it's only not named because in-universe they genuinely don't have the words for it (as far as I can tell). It's handled really well, I think.

Huge spoilers, but if you don't want to play it, here's a link to the clip of the quest where it's all discussed. It's lighthearted-ish. Sorry for adding to your inbox again.

https://youtu.be/lOBMC9WL94Y?si=GYOb9uaRS8ynnw1B

You're all good, don't apologize!

Actually I started playing the game with my partner over our calls and they're very adamant on finishing it together soon, so respectfully I won't watch it yet... But yeah I hope I do see that moment and I hope I don't end up being disappointed, it's been kinda giving me those "is that legit" nervous stomachaches because that game gets recommended to me a lot so... I'll know soon enough I guess

PS: That said I appreciate you being very descriptive and honest on the whole thing it genuinely helps a lot

[ceebit]

okay,, just imagine you & vernon having a battle abt who’s more awkward/had more awkward moments. you’re both spitting out your embarrassing moments like a roast battle & eventually one of you just says the most excruciatingly cringe, humbling, felt it through the screen humiliating, should’ve kept it to yourself moment. i feel like this is just such an oddly comforting & wholesome friendship/relationship moment.

laughed so loud at this pls. why is it always vernon.

“remember the time i had salad in my teeth and i had to give a speech at a school in front of a bunch of middle schoolers?”

your head shifts on his lap to look up at him in a amusement, brow furrowed as you try and garner what prompted him to bring up such an embarrassing moment. the movie you’d put on had long since been tuned out, volume lowered, and the silence had been enjoyable. it’s one of the many things you liked about your friendship with vernon—you didn’t feel the need to fill the space between you with mindless chatter.

“mhm. i remember your face pleasantly paling and having to coax you out of a hallway corner for over thirty minutes.”

he laughs, nose scrunching up at the memory, and rolls his eyes. “they were all giggling and i really could not figure out why for the life of me. i even looked down to see if anyone had pantsed me without me knowing.”

“small children are ruthless,” you agree sympathetically, and he shoves your shoulder gently.

well if you were sharing embarrassing moments…

“remember the time i wore our school uniform inside out and backwards?” you grin, eyes narrowed at the minute way he purses his lips to keep from laughing, and poke his stomach. “and i didn’t notice until the teacher cleared her throat and said—”

“‘y/n, sweetheart, run to the bathroom for a bit?’,” you finish in unison, and vernon snorts a laugh into the palm of his hand. you squint at him all the while, arm moving up to shove him the way way he’d done before.

“think having to walk out of the classroom and into the hallways—past several open classroom doors, mind you—with my uniform on backwards and inside out beats salad teeth in front of small kids any day.” your eyes closed, you sigh and lay a hand on over your heart before adding on, “i think that change my entire psyche. was a changed person after that day.”

“yeah? and my pants ripping open in the soccer field on game night and showing my good luck briefs to the entire high school isn’t worse?”

you peek an eye open to see vernon inquiring you with a brow raised, and ultimately realize where this was going. so be it, then. good luck underwear be damned.

“definitely child’s play compared to my mom chaperoning the halloween party and making me show up in matching hot dog costumes.” you remember the cellphone lights and quiet snickering all to well, even faking a stomachache from all the candy to miss out on school for the next three days.

“you have your voice crack when it’s your turn to read morning announcements and come back to me when your childhood spirit hasn’t been destroyed,” he scoffs dramatically, and you sit up in incredulous disbelief. that wasn’t even bad, considering you know he’s gone through worse. not as bad as you, though, which reminds you of—

“learning most of your outfit was see through after getting drenched in the rain and having to root through ‘work handouts’ only to come out wearing the worst combination of clothes humanly has ever seen in broad daylight on the day of a really important meeting definitely beats ‘broken childhood spirit’,” you roll your eyes playfully, “especially since everything looked… wrong. i looked like an overgrown gap kids model.”

you shake your head at the burst of laughter you get in return, grinning despite yourself. “i think that’s the worst thing i’ve ever gone through, personally. i’ve never wanted to sink into the floor and living amongst the earth and worms more than i did that day.”

“yeah? tell that to the journals i filled with how much i liked your stupid face.”

his eyes widen suddenly, a hand quickly slapping to cover his mouth, and avoids looking at you entirely. you blink, dazed by the sudden admission, and laugh nervously.

“the journals you filled with how much you…?”

“i don’t like this game anymore,” he mumbles through his hand, and you can’t help the quiet laugh that slips past your lips. he glares at you without any heat, and with enough prodding, he eventually relaxes enough to face you again.

“remember when chan broke into my room and got ahold of one of my notebooks?”

you do. you also clearly remember him almost tearing him a new one in arguably the worst panic you’ve ever seen him in, eyes wide and ears tipped red for whatever reason before the younger boy could utter a single word written between the pages. you remember being curious about chan’s loud gasp and vernon’s visceral reaction—granted it was an invasion of privacy—but everyone wrote in journals. you’d chalked it up to embarrassing recounts of childhood days or stress written retellings of losing his favorite pair of socks in the wash.

not… you.

“is that why you didn’t speak to him for three days?” vernon looks up at the sound of your voice, surprised at the calm timbre and complete lack of the clearly expected teasing that usually followed revealing you’d written about your best friend in secret, and lifts a hand to rake through brown strands with a sigh.

“partly. it was really embarrassing, you know? also i was like twelve, and a little stupid, so a dramatic three-day long grudge was a nightmare to him. his mom even made him write an apology letter.”

you laugh again and he cracks a smile. “do you still have the journals?”

“oh, god, no. i burned them all along with my childhood dreams and aspirations to be a pilot.”

you look at him. he looks at you. and you look at him. and he looks back at you. silence hangs between the two of you again, prolonged for a moment too long, and you see the way he relaxes into the couch. his mistake, honestly.

you take that moment to bolt from your seated position, socked feet sliding against the floor as you make a break for him room. you hear his alarmed sound of protest, quickly discarding the remote to run after you, and unfortunately makes it to his bedroom door before you.

“let me see them!”

“i would literally rather bungee jump off of mount everest than let you read my pubescent diary entries.”

[5mind]

🌻

new ask game send me a 🌻 and ill just tell you whatever the fuck i want

I used to put hot sauce in my coffee because i liked the 'warm fuzzy feelings' that i get afterwards.

turns out that was acid reflux. i was just SHIT at recognising that and had been deliberately giving myself acid reflux for funsies. also that would explain why one of my friends straight up had a stomachache when I talked them into doing the same thing........

[drunktuesdays]

For the week 2 prompt, have you considered: Matt Jackson/Orange

For @wrestleprompts: "It was you the whole time" this is Matt & Orange, not Matt/Orange because I'm a disgusting and repulsive little otper.

There was another vampire backstage. 

“You don’t know that,” Nick said disinterestedly, slouched in a folding chair. 

“I do know that, Nicholas,” Matt said. “I know because I’m a very good vampire, and I can sense our kind when they walk among us.”

Nick made a fart noise which Matt didn’t bother dignifying with a response. 

He did know there was another vampire backstage, because his extremely well developed vampire senses told him there was. He just couldn’t figure out who it was. 

“Ask Brandon to replace the cold spray with holy water, and see who howls,” Nick said.

“If you’re not going to help, then shut it,” Matt snapped, but he eyed Brandon speculatively for a minute—he could if they only—no, it wouldn’t work. It wasn’t technically speaking considered cool to reveal another vampire in front of their coworkers, unless you were simply such a good vampire that you figured it out with your vampirically enhanced super senses. No one could get mad at him for that. 

So he’d have to sleuth it out. Fine. 

It was tricky, obviously. For one thing, most of the stereotypes about vampires were like, huge exaggerations. Sure, garlic gave him a stomachache, but ever since he turned thirty, basically everything gave him a stomachache. He could see himself in mirrors, thank god, and he wore multiple kinds of cross jewelry on the regular. He liked Jesus. He liked to think Jesus would be a friend to vampires—the cool ones anyway.  

The one about sunshine though—that one was kind of true.  Not to the extent that people thought. He didn’t glitter or crumble into ash. But he did—uh—-start to smoke a little. At the edges. After like a half hour or so. 

No problem. That’s what they made spray tan for. 

At the next AEW Big Kid Leadership Club Meeting, Matt said loudly, “I think we should do an event on the beach.” 

Tony, who had been saying something boring about quarter hours, said, “What kind of event?” “Any event,” Matt said. “But it should be mandatory. All hands meeting. But the fun kind this time!”

After, Nick said, “You know that means we have to go too. What’s your plan for that?”

Matt scoffed. “I’ll tell you—just—later,” he said haughtily and stalked off. He ate a couple of Cornette fans in the parking lot until he stopped feeling so annoyed and started feeling crafty again. 

“I really like the new merch umbrellas,” Kenny said, twirling his. “They look good, and they’re really well made.”

“I agree,” Matt said. He was perched on a beach chair, watching the roster playing what looked like a viciously competitive game of volleyball. Eddie was shoving Daniel Garcia’s face into the sand and holding him there while he flailed. “Really keeps the sun off your neck.”

“Being smug gives you forehead wrinkles,” Nick said.

Matt flipped him off. and said, “Help me figure out who’s not here. Kenny—can you see, hmm—should we start with the belt holders, or alphabetical?”

Abruptly, a dark ominous shadow fell over them, blocking out the sun momentarily. 

“Hi Julia,” Kenny said cheerfully. 

“Hi Kenny,” Julia said. “We’re gonna make a sandcastle using sand Malakai brought back from Hell. Wanna help?”

“Not right now,” Kenny said. “Thanks though.”

“No problem,” Julia said, and started off towards the shore.  As they passed, Buddy said, “Can you believe Hangman got out of going to this?”

Matt went very very still. Kenny stiffened. “It’s not Adam,” he said. “Adam’s not a vampire.”

“He could be a vampire,” Matt said. “What do we know about Adam right now?”

“He’s not,” Kenny said, standing and turning on Matt. “He’s not a friggin vampire.”

Matt jumped to his feet, bristling. “Like there’s something wrong with vampires?” he hissed. “You think there’s something wrong with us?”

“No,” Kenny said, deflating. “No—of course not. Of course I love you and Nick. I think you guys are so special. I wouldn’t—I don’t think—” and he huffed, scrubbed his face. He said, “It’s not Adam.”

“We don’t even know if there is another vampire at AEW,” Nick said mildly. He hadn’t moved from his chair, and instead was concentrating on trying to balance the end of his umbrella handle on the palm of his hand. “All we’ve got to go on is Matt’s special senses.”

“Which never fails,” Matt said. When Kenny, Brandon and Nick all opened their mouths, he said quickly, “Shut up.”

He didn’t assume it was Adam. He didn’t. That would be foolish, and anyway—Adam knew Matt and Nick were vampires.  He knew, because he’d been friends with them for a very very long time, and just because they weren’t friends now, didn’t mean anything. Matt felt very sure that Adam would have come to them if he’d been turned. Probably he would. Maybe. 

Anyway, there were other people who’d missed the Mandatory Locker Room Harmony Beach Event, and he’d start there. 

But before he could, someone messed up. Big time. 

“Yeah,” Darby said, as enthusiastic as Matt had ever seen him. “Someone left a dead deer near the dumpster, and it had all the blood sucked out.”

“Oh my God,” Matt said. “That’s disgusting! Who would bother with a deer?”

“Huh?” Darby said. 

“Nevermind,” Matt said, and started speedwalking back to their locker room. 

Nick jogged up next to him, and said, “Okay, fine, so you were right.”

“Hold that thought, say it again when Brandon has his camera,” Matt said. “Also, help me figure out how I’m going to break it to Kenny that his ex-lover is a vampire!”

“Don’t say lover like that,” Nick said, “and you don’t know that it’s Adam.”

“Who else is self-loathing enough to feed from a deer,” Matt snapped, and they rounded a hallway, and Matt, startled, went rigid and hissed. 

Little Orange Cassidy Jim, in full denim and the sunglasses, sprang back a step, and then hissed back.  

“Oh my God,” Matt said, recovering himself. “It was you! The whole time!” 

“What do you mean it was him,” Dustin said. “Also—to be clear—what just happened was very weird.”

“Yeah,” Greg said. “Didn’t like the hissing.”

Nick said to Jim, “Do they know?”

“Know what?” Jim drawled in a blank, toneless voice. His eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses, but Matt could see his fists balled in his jacket pocket.

“Okay,” he said brightly. “We’re stealing your little boyfriend for important EVP business. Bye!” and he and Nick both used just a little bit of vamp strength to muscle Jim away from his stupid protesting friends, and back towards their locker room. 

“When did you get turned?” Matt demanded, the moment he was alone. “And you ate a deer? Buddy.”

“Turned into what,” Jim said. “I don’t know anything about that deer.”

Matt rolled his eyes. With barely a glance sideways at Nick, they both dropped their fangs in the same instant.  

Jim threw himself backwards into the wall, the sunglasses falling off his face and hitting the ground. He said in a yelp, “What the hell?” 

“Okay, even I can sense you,” Nick said, his voice lispy around the fangs. “You are a vampire.”

“I’m not,” Jim said, but now that his face was bare, Matt could see the nervous darting of his eyes around the room. 

“Uh-huh,” Matt said. “Unexplained blackouts in your memory? Not interested in catering? Deer fur in your mouth this morning?” 

Nick said, “Someone turned you. Who was it?”

Jim said bitchily, “If I knew, would I be learning I was a fucking vampire from you two freaks?” 

“Okay, rude,” Matt said. “You must have a guess.”

Jim sighed. Stared at the ceiling. Scrubbed his face. Then: “I was at GCW this weekend.”

“Hah!” Nick crowed. “I friggin told you Janela was turning people. I told you.” 

“Being smug gives you forehead wrinkles,” Matt shot back. 

Someone pounded on the door. Nick called, “Busy, come back later!”

“No,” Dustin called back. “Give me Jim back!” 

Matt surveyed Jim. “We should explain it to him too, since he’s clearly not going away.”

“What?” Jim said. “No. We’re not telling anyone.”

“Don’t you live with him?” Nick said. “You’ve gotta tell him.”

“Plus you should probably just feed on him,” Matt said. “It’s not like you’re gonna find deer in Philly.”

“Okay,” Jim said, outraged. “I’m not going to feed on Dustin!” 

Just as Jim said it, Dustin got the door open and barged in. He froze in the doorway and said, in a too high voice, “You’re not gonna do what now?”

Jim, as red as the side of a barn, said, nothing. Nick was collapsed in the corner, shaking with laughter. Matt rubbed at the headache forming in his temple and sighed. 

Honestly, he thought, it probably would have been easier if it had been Hangman. 

[dirtwatchman]

PARTIES: @dirtwatchman and @disinfernus TIMING: Current SUMMARY: Two people are up to nefarious business. One chickens out and runs into the other who, as always, keeps their cool. A deal is struck but deals don't mean exemptions from a fae's natural impulses. CONTENT WARNINGS: Unsanitary tw, allusion to domestic abuse tw

“A simple address and I will be gone. You won’t see me again. A simple address and I can make all of this… stop.” That wasn’t a lie. While the shadow nymph could lie, there was always some sort of repercussion that fit the size of the lie. There was no wince to be found, no headache that throbbed or stomachache that threatened their dinner. But without that address, the knife that had buried itself so deeply into the man’s gut would only go further and twist tighter. There was a refusal and a curse through the pain; they were brothers, after all. There was no way any of them could give up family to a stranger. 

The middle-aged man, peppered at the temples and in beard, groaned when Dīs gave another twist. With that address, he could live, but a too big heart got in the way. All they wanted were some answers — that was it. “You’re the one who put that knife there when you tried to attack me with it. This isn’t my fault,” their hand went to their chest, offense in fabrication only. Without that address, things would end with more bloodshed and a corpse on the ground. And that lead would be severed. Unfortunately, they couldn’t get much further when they suddenly felt someone else’s eyes on them.

Business like this was conducted under the guise of darkness and usually in nondescript locations, usually when everyone else was already tucked away in their beds. There was an unusual amount of nocturnal in Wicked’s Rest, but truthfully, they thought they did a good job at choosing somewhere with less foot traffic. Apparently they were wrong.

Dīs turned away from their suspect in a way that concealed most of the damage done to his abdomen, but still used their power to strengthen the shadow between them. They did hope that this was just some lowly and boring human, otherwise the smell of blood could be a monkey wrench in the illusion. They nodded politely to the stranger as they passed, hoping dearly that nothing seemed amiss to them — aside from the blanching of the man’s skin and blood upon the ground.

In all the time that Caleb had been thinking of doing the unthinkable he found it so fascinating that his mind had not yet gone to the one person that deserved death more than any other. That day with Gael, the day he had rushed away from the man who seemed so concerned, the zombie had spotted someone from his past and knew in his heart that the man needed to be a life that he snuffed out, a life that was owed to Caleb and Caleb alone. But with that realization came another. He didn’t have the nerve. After following Gary that day and reliving the past trauma the man had put him through, it was discovered that he couldn’t even show the older man his face. It was the most disappointing, soul crushing event that had happened to him recently. 

So, instead Caleb followed. For days now he’d been following his foster dad through the street’s of Wicked’s Rest, getting quite good at ducking behind walls or lowering his head behind a newspaper to keep from being detected. It was satisfying, watching Gary getting more and more paranoid as the days went on, and so Caleb kept aggravating that paranoia even further. A small noise near an alley, a chuckle that reverberated off the walls of the close buildings, all small tricks he had picked up from movies. It was so nice to watch the slow mental decline in his foster father that Caleb was slightly worried about his own mental state and how much he was…enjoying this game of cat and mouse. 

Until the tables turned. It wasn’t as fun after losing the man in a crowd that had come out of a closing bar and the paranoia decided to transfer from fake father to fake son. Had Gary spotted him? Was Caleb about to be hunted down and thrown right back to his twelve year old state where he couldn’t fight back? That man had an iron grip in the form of fear locked around Caleb like a snake coiling around its prey and the panic sent him fleeing.

He was in a seemingly deserted alley leaning against a brick wall, his head slamming back into it as the force of his body connected. It took several minutes for Caleb to calm his nerves only for him to notice a couple of people who seemed…not in great spirits a ways down the alley. A deserted alley that wasn’t so deserted was never a good sign. All he had to do was pass though, his lips pursing into what he hoped was a smile though it was so tight that he knew it couldn’t possibly resemble one. The zombie placed his hands in his pockets and started to move to get past them.

Even with his poor eyesight, Caleb could clearly see that the ground was wet beneath one of the men and nowhere else. Either the man had messed himself after drinking too much or…well, he didn’t want to think of any other alternatives. He had every intention to keep walking but his dead heart still seemed to beat in some metaphorical way. Two steps away from them, he slowly turned to face the one who had nodded as he passed. “Um, are you both okay? Because…it doesn’t seem like it...” His eyes went to the one on the ground as the words trailed off, the sallow skin a dead giveaway that something was amiss. ‘All you had to do was keep walking…’ “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Why them? Why did it feel like every time they had someone on the ropes, someone had to come in and ruin it? Where were all of these good samaritans even coming from anyway? The tall fae mentally cursed the stranger and hoped that their position was enough to keep anything too incriminating from view. Naturally, the wetness of the blood that had pooled between them was noticeable by the toe of Dīs’ shoe.

They tried not to show their irritation with being interrupted on their face, they really did. It was probably inevitable, at this point, considering how close they were with, hopefully, getting an answer. There wasn’t much hope, with how reluctant their victim seemed to be, but maybe with a bit more prodding and twisting, something would come to light. Now with this audience member, however, they weren’t sure if they’d get the chance.

“Yes,” “N-no..” “We’re fine, we appreciate it.” Their voices overlapped a tick and Dīs drifted their gaze to the man who currently sheathed their knife in order for him to get the hint that he really needed to keep his mouth. “Ple..” “We’re just.. Having a bit of fun.”

This didn’t look like fun. The man on his knees was almost whimpering, not able to get out his answers as the other person spoke over him. The wetness on the ground, the fear Caleb could now see…no this wasn’t fun for at least one of them. Why he felt the need to continue interfering was beyond him and yet the zombie took another step towards the two. “He doesn’t seem okay though.” Blue eyes went to the ground and Caleb took in that wet spot again, dark but with the little bit of light that was coming into the alley he could see a red hue this time. Shit.

“Maybe we should call for an ambulance?” His eyes lifted to the person that was standing, an urgency now appearing in them. Giving the person an opportunity to come back from this, it was more than most people got in this town. Then again, Caleb had no clue who or what this person was and he was most likely making a grave mistake of his own. His only advantage was they didn’t know what he was either. 

He looked at the man on the ground again, they’re eyes meeting, and he wondered if he’d done anything for this to happen or if he’d just been an unlucky victim. Then it occurred to him that it shouldn’t have mattered, right? Caleb’s thoughts were starting to mold themselves around his reasonings for his own chosen victims…or victim at this point, and it was a little scary. “I think he’s hurt.”

Dīs tensed their jaw. They felt a tingling just at the edges of their eyes, the burn from their light that wanted nothing more than to escape the magic of the glamour and bare itself into the man before them. But there were still too many passersby, too many opportunities for someone or something to see their most successful disappearing act.

They had to do something.

“He is hurt,” they admitted. The truthful angle could work, if they used the right cards and pulled on the right heartstrings. If this young man was eager to help someone out, maybe the shadow nymph could turn that compassion towards themself. “But he deserves it. He killed my family.” Their previous facade of playfulness melted away into a tone of vengeance laced with grief. 

“N-n.. No.”

“No. I’m not too keen on calling an ambulance for him.”

The story was compelling, that was for sure, but was it true? Trust was hard to come by and when you come into a situation where someone has one leg up over another already it was hard to believe anyone who said it was at the fault of the person on the ground. But then something in Caleb told him that he could be in this situation someday himself, that someone could come across him stalking the man who had tormented him his whole life or even trying to get rid of him, and if they didn’t believe the zombie when he told the tale then he would be screwed. Or maybe he just wanted a reason to believe this person. He wanted a reason to tell himself that hurting someone else could be justified. 

After all, it’s what he’d been trying to work up the nerve for himself. It was most likely the wrong move though he found himself not backing down, but not without another question.

“Are you going to kill him?” The nerves that had been coursing through him were only getting worse but he needed to know for multiple reasons. Caleb didn’t want to help with the murder if that was what was coming but the clean up? Yea, he could be a part of that purely for selfish reasons. If this was inevitable, which it seemed like it was, there was no reason to waste the meal that could come out of it. “I might…have a deal for you if you do.”

“A deal?” The man suddenly started squirming, objecting to being killed. Dīs had no idea who this inquisitive stranger was or why he would want to make a deal after the deed had been done (usually people liked to make a deal in favor of the other person’s life, not against it), but they would be lying if they weren’t interested. 

One of their hands went up to cover their victim’s face, muffling him, but not silencing him completely. “No. Shut up,” the lampade commanded, though they didn’t take their eyes off of the brunette before them. “What kind of deal?” Death left the limp body - its bones, organs and tendons and blood. Is that what he wanted? The corpse afterward?

Truthfully, it mattered not to Dīs what became of the body, as long as they were able to get the information before his last breath. That’s the only thing they cared about.

The protest of the man whose fate seemed sealed had his stomach sinking so low. Why was he doing this? The man was bleeding but not dead yet and it seemed Caleb had been the last factor to his impending doom. It didn’t feel good. He was already starting to regret the words he’d previously spoken but he had to push forward or he could meet the same fate…not that a stab to the gut would do much to him. It could certainly send him after another though and cause more pain to unsuspecting victims. 

Looking up from the victim’s covered mouth to the person standing over him, Caleb stood his ground. The underlying anxiety would have been so much worse had his heart been able to beat as fast as it probably wanted to. It became one of those rare moments where he was glad he was dead or else his body would betray him. “My silence and my services for his body. I’ll take it off your hands, clean up your mess. Just don’t touch the brain.” 

There it was. If this person had any inkling of what went on in this town, knew anything about the undead, Caleb had just revealed exactly what he was to them. Why was it so much easier to tell a complete stranger what he was and not the people who cared for him? Probably because this stranger was in a predicament of their own. He briefly glanced to the man on the ground, seeing the fear in his eyes grow, and looked back at the other before the zombie could change his mind. “What do you say?”

“My silence and my services for his body. I’ll take it off your hands, clean up your mess. Just don’t touch the brain.” 

There were probably a plethora of uses for a human brain, more than any that Dīs could procure, but their most immediate thought led them down the undead route. More specifically, the zombie kind. Now, they weren’t about to play a rousing game of Twenty Questions with someone who was so willing to take the body off of their hands once they were done with it. Why ruin a good thing with questions? But this seemed to be in line with their assumption and what limited knowledge they were going on.

The nymph regarded the other man for a quiet moment — as quiet as it could be with the human man’s muffled sounds of pain and disagreement. He started to fade, quickly, which left them with little time to get the answers they needed. They needed to get better at where they stick the knife or how long they hold their stare for. They needed to fine tune their interrogation skills as it seemed they’d just ruined another one.

Dīs then looked to their captive with a rather listless expression. “I think that’s up to him,” they started and raised a brow. “What do you think? Address or would you rather go with our new friend?” A spat of blood was their only answer, despite the obvious fear that reeked off of him. What a waste. Was all of this as dead of an end as it seemed? With a sudden and twisted thrust of the knife that was already embedded in the man’s body, he was dead. A few sputteres escaped his open and bloodied mouth, but that was it.

The knife was pulled and held gingerly while the now corpse dropped to the ground and uttered its last remaining heartbeats. A disgruntled sort of sound escaped the nymph; they were disappointed, to say the least, and it showed on their face. “There, take it. I’m sure you will find more use for it than I could.” The blade was then wiped on a black handkerchief and stowed back into an inner pocket in their long robes. They then gave pause and turned their gold eyes to the young man who so graciously offered their… help. Or hunger — it mattered not to them.

“How might I find you, if I have more?”

‘Just give them what they want.’ It was like Caleb was trying to put the thought into the other man’s mind, the phrase repeating over and over while he stared down at him. But the efforts were lost, the man only spitting out the contents of his mouth in their direction, and he knew right then what was about to happen.

Knowing didn’t stop the flinch of his body as the stranger sunk the knife deeper, his eyes closing but the unmistakable gurgle of someone’s last breath thick with blood still filled the air. His heart sunk so low that time that it felt like it had left his body altogether, the void of not feeling only there for a split second before it all came rushing back again. He wished it had stayed gone, wished he had stayed numb to it all. Instead, when his eyes opened at the sound of the thud on the ground, Caleb’s chest started to ache at the sight in front of him. 

Something told him that the callous way the person spoke of him afterwards meant he wasn’t getting much more of this story. It would have made him feel better to know if the tale of this man killing the other’s family was true. He assumed it wasn’t since an address was the object of their desire before. That didn’t seem like something a person full of grief needed unless they were going after others.

Others. Caleb swiftly looked up at the word ‘more’ with shock that probably should not have made an appearance. What made him think this would be the last of this person’s transgressions? It was said so nonchalantly, like they were making a business deal, which the zombie surmised was exactly what they were doing. “How many others are you planning on killing?” It was the wrong question and he knew it as soon as he’d said it. Did it matter? Not really, not when they were already implicated together. What was another body? Besides, wasn’t he doing this same thing with Anita? 

Maybe…maybe this was the business venture he needed.

“You know what? I don’t need to know that.” He shook his head, looking back at the body on the ground while knowing he didn’t have too much time before rigor mortis started to set in and it would be even harder to move. He didn’t want to give them the funeral home’s business card, that would unnecessarily put people he loved in danger, so instead Caleb pulled out a random rewards card to an insignificant shop from his wallet. The pen was in the dead man’s front shirt pocket but he only hesitated for a moment before he was pulling it out and writing his cell number for the other. “You can reach me here if you have more.” When. He should have said when. He knew how this went. “I’m available…most of the time. What was your name?”

They were glad that he quashed his own curiosity, though they weren’t abashed enough to tell him to mind his own business if the question still stood. Dīs wasn’t ashamed of what they did, not in the slightest, but they weren’t going to have a full blown discussion about their plans with someone they’d just met, even if they both seemed to share similarly questionable morals. This wasn’t the place for it, anyway — it was much too public despite their shroud darkening the area. Maybe one day, if their nefarious no good deed were to ever cross paths with four walls and no wandering eyes. But until then, a made deal was enough to trust him with their leftovers.

It wasn’t like they were going to do anything with the bodies, anyway — these corpses weren’t special, they weren’t sought after. They were all killers, in their eyes, and they didn’t deserve a place among the decaying remains or jewels that littered their old, decrepit home. At least the nymph’s scraps would go to use elsewhere.

Dīs turned the piece of thin cardstock between their fingers and read over the phone number once before sliding it into a pocket. The rewards card was inconsequential, a throwaway, like the corpse before them. The nymph would save the number and the card would find its way to the bottom of a garbage bin. “Most of the time? I will leave my voice messages vague, then, if need be.” They stepped around the body to give the young man room to do whatever it was he was going to do. It would make sense to take the bounty home and then to take care of it, but they couldn’t exactly blame him if any… urges… became overwhelming.

“It is Dīs. That is what you may call me,” they answered coolly and smoothed out a wrinkle in one of their sleeves. There was always the opportunity, especially with people they’d never met before — gratitudes and greetings were plenty and easy to procure. The nymph could practically feel the inkling and goading of magic; a want, almost like an obsession, that tempted them to take and take and take. “And you? May I have your name?” 

Deals did not mean exemptions. But that’s only if the fineprint went unread.

“Yea, I do have actual jobs too.” He hadn’t meant for the words to sound harsh but for some reason that was how they came out. As many dead bodies as he’d seen, as well as the few murders he’d already committed, it was completely different to watch someone else do it intentionally, to see them take that light from a person. He’d always thought the worst part of seeing someone die was watching that life drain from them. It wasn’t the before or the after that bothered him but the moment when the before became the after, that one second where everything went dark. He’d closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see it this time but Caleb’s mind was still replaying its own version back to him over and over which was unnerving to say the least. “Maybe just, say a location, I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll forget your voice.”

Dīs. A name for the face of his newest client, the face of someone he hoped he didn’t have to see kill another again. The after was where Caleb belonged, where he hoped to stay, and if this were to become his new business venture he really hoped that the after could become his new home.  “Of course, yea…” Hopefully this time his voice didn’t portray how shaken he was, his hand reaching out to shake that of the killer’s before him. “It’s Caleb.” Not realizing what it was that he had just done, the zombie turned back to the body and tried to think of the best way to start this clean up. His truck was a couple of blocks away, he’d have to move it closer to the alley, possibly back it in if he could. All the possibilities were whirring inside his brain while oblivious to the fact that he’d just given Dīs more than a new business agreement.

[thus-spoke-lo]

Getting old and also having the gut problems that seem to be comorbid with being autistic is just waking up every day to play a series of increasingly maddening games that include, but are not limited to:

This food didn’t bother me yesterday, will it bother me today?

This food bothered me last week, why can I eat it today?

Hey why do I have a stomachache, I didn’t eat anything abnormal?

When did this start giving me heartburn?

Please don’t let this be an ongoing issue, you can’t take this food/beverage away from me, it’s all the joy I have

[boasamishipper]

Night Court anon here again - oh wow, all your Dan/Harry WIPs sound amazing, and I especially can't wait for Code of Conduct, I was *hoping* for Harry's POV of Judicial Impropriety and I'm very excited!! 💜

hello again! i'm so glad you're excited for Code of Conduct - i'm about 3200 words in right now, with the expected word count to be a little under 10k (just because of who i am as a person lmao).

snippet below the cut:

“Answer this for me, Harry. True or false.”

Harry takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, half-hoping that Dan’s sudden appearance is a stress-and-slight-stomachache-induced hallucination. No dice. “Okay.”

“True or false. If you decide to get back together with your boyfriend, it’s polite to inform the handsome attorney from whom you accepted an offer of a night on the town,” even Dan’s eyebrow waggle looks put out, “not six hours prior that your situation has changed, so said handsome attorney can avoid driving all the way to Queens and looking like an idiot in front of you, your three insipid roommates, and your stupid doctor boyfriend.”

“I’m sensing this isn’t a hypothetical.”

“True or false, Harry.”

“True,” Harry says, and Dan throws his arms into the air triumphantly.

“Thank you. My God, Harry, I bought Veuve Clicquot for this woman! Okay, I paid Phil to do the buying, but it was still my money! What the hell am I supposed to do with eighty-eight dollars worth of champagne now?”

“Return it to the store?” Harry suggests.

“Non-refundable.”

“Donate it to charity?”

“The whole point of the less fortunate is that they remain less fortunate, Harry. I’m not upending that hierarchy by giving them luxury champagne.”

“Keep talking like that and you’ll get a Cabinet position,” Harry says, and Dan’s eyes light up.

“You think so?”

“Sure. You’d be the most human of the bunch.”

“Gosh, sir, you say the sweetest things,” Dan deadpans, somehow simultaneously rolling his eyes and batting his eyelashes. “Got any more ideas?”

“You could save the champagne for my next New Year’s Eve luau.”

Dan’s whole face scrunches up. “I’d rather donate it to charity. None of your usual guests have the class to fully appreciate such a gift. Well, you do, I suppose,” he says thoughtfully. “But Bull? Absolutely not.”

“Thanks,” Harry says. For the sake of his fluttering heart, he wishes Dan flirting and Dan trying to suck up didn’t look and sound so similar. “I think.”

“Don’t mention it. What’re you doing here so late, anyhow?”

“Said the kettle to the pot.”

“The kettle forgot his keys and saw the light under your door. And the Honorable Judge Pot?”

“Bail reports,” Harry says, gesturing at the files. The stack on the floor is midway to his knees. The five remaining stacks on the desk are approximately the length of his arm. 

Dan sucks a sympathetic breath through his teeth. He stands up, and Harry figures that he’s going to go home. He’s surprised when Dan says instead, “Well, such an occasion ought to be celebrated.” A smirk tugs at his mouth. “If only we had a bottle of champagne lying around.”

“Dan, we’re off the clock,” Harry says. “You don’t have to suck up.”

Dan looks a little hurt. “Who’s sucking up?”

“You—well, I-I thought you were offering me your bottle of champagne—”

“I was offering to split my champagne with you,” Dan says archly. “No ulterior motive, nothing up my sleeve—unless you count wanting some champagne for myself.” He winks. “So, you game or what?”

Harry bites his lip. He has to get these bail reports signed, sealed, and delivered, otherwise they’ll just be waiting for him on Monday. On the other hand, being alone with Dan and a bottle of good champagne is the basis of at least three of his favorite fantasies. Which is exactly why he should say no. But naturally, his traitorous mouth says, “I’m game.”

Dan grins. “Back in five.”

[finitajarjarana]

Why - poem by bob flanagan

Because it feels good;

because it gives me an erection;

because it makes me come;

because I'm sick;

because there was so much sickness;

because I say FUCK THE SICKNESS;

because I like the attention;

because I was alone a lot;

because I was different;

because kids beat me up on the way to school;

because I was humiliated by nuns;

because of Christ and the Crucifixion;

because of Porky Pig in bondage, force-fed by some sinister creep in a black cape;

because of stories of children hung by their wrists,

burned on the stove, scalded in tubs;

because of Mutiny on the Bounty;

because of cowboys and Indians;

because of Houdini;

because of my cousin Cliff;

because of the forts we built and the things we did inside them;

because of what's inside me;

because of my genes;

because of my parents;

because of doctors and nurses;

because they tied me to the crib so I wouldn't hurt myself;

because I had time to think;

because I had time to hold my penis;

because I had awful stomachaches and holding my penis made it feel better;

because I felt like I was going to die;

because it makes me feel invincible;

because it makes me feel triumphant;

because I'm a Catholic;

because I still love Lent, and I still love my penis, and in spite of it all I have no guilt;

because my parents said BE WHAT YOU WANT TO BE, and this is what I want to be;

because I'm nothing but a big baby and I want to stay that way, and I want a mommy forever, even a mean one, especially a mean one;

because of all the fairy tale witches, and the wicked stepmother, and the stepsisters, and how sexy Cinderella was, smudged with soot, doomed to a life of servitude;

because of Hansel, locked in the witch's cage until he was fat enough to eat;

because of "O" and how desperately I wanted to be her;

because of my dreams;

because of the games we played;

because I've got an active imagination;

because my mother bought me Tinker Toys;

because hardware stores give me hard-ons;

because of hammers, nails, clothespins, wood, padlocks, pullies, eyebolts, thumbtacks, staple-guns, sewing needles, wooden spoons, fishing tackle, chains, metal rulers, rubber tubing, spatulas, rope, twine, C-clamps, S-hooks, razor blades, scissors, tweezers, knives, pushpins, two-by-fours, Ping-Pong paddles, alligator clips, duct tape, broomsticks, barbecue skewers, bungie cords, sawhorses, soldering irons;

because of tool sheds;

because of garages;

because of basements;

because of dungeons;

because of The Pit and the Pendulum;

because of the Tower of London;

because of the Inquisition;

because of the rack;

because of the cross;

because of the Addams Family playroom;

because of Morticia Addams and her black dress with its octopus legs;

because of motherhood;

because of Amazons;

because of the Goddess;

because of the moon;

because it's in my nature;

because it's against nature;

because it's nasty;

because it's fun;

because it flies in the face of all that's normal (whatever that is); because I'm not normal;

because I used to think that I was part of some vast experiment and that there was this implant in my penis that made me do these things and that allowed THEM (whoever THEY were) to monitor my activities;

because I had to take my clothes off and lie inside this plastic bag so the doctors could collect my sweat;

because once upon a time I had such a high fever that my parents had to strip me naked and wrap me in wet sheets to stop the convulsions;

because my parents loved me even more when I was suffering;

because surrender is sweet;

because I was born into a world of suffering;

because I'm attracted to it;

because I'm addicted to it;

because endorphins in the brain are like a natural kind of heroin;

because I learned to take my medicine;

because I was a big boy for taking it;

because I can take it like a man;

because, as somebody once said, HE'S GOT MORE BALLS THAN I DO;

because it is an act of courage;

because it does take guts;

because I'm proud of it;

because I can't climb mountains;

because I'm terrible at sports;

because NO PAIN, NO GAIN;

because SPARE THE ROD AND SPOIL THE CHILD;

because YOU ALWAYS HURT THE ONE YOU LOVE.

----

Por qué? Poema por Bob Flanagan

Porque se siente rico;

Porque me da una erección;

Porque me hace eyacular;

Porque yo digo A LA MIERDA CON LA ENFERMEDAD;

Porque me gusta la atención;

Porque estaba solo mucho;

Porque era diferente;

Porque los niños me pegaban cuando iba a la escuela;

Porque fue humillado por monjas;

Por(que) Cristo y la crucifixión;

Por(que) Porky atado, alimentado a fuerza por un tipo siniestro en una capa negra;

Por(que) los cuentos de niños colgados por sus muñecas;

Por(que) Motín a bordo;

Por(que) vaqueros e indios;

Por(que) Houdini;

Por(que) mi primo Cliff;

Por(que) los fuertes que hicimos y las cosas que hicimos adentro;

Por(que) lo que hay adentro de mí;

Por(que) mis genes;

Por(que) doctores y enfermeras;

Porque me ataron a la cuna para que no me hiciera daño a mi mismo;

Porque tenía tiempo para pensar;

Porque tenía tiempo para sostener mi pene;

Porque tenía dolores de estomago horribles y sostener mi pene me hacía sentir mejor;

Porque sentí que estaba por morir;

Porque me hace sentir invencible;

Porque me hace sentir triunfante;

Porque soy católico;

Porque aún me encanta la cuaresma, y aún me encanta mi pene, y a pesar de todo no me siento culpable;

Porque mis padres dijeron HAZ LO QUE QUIERES HACER, y esto es lo que quiero hacer;

Porque sólo soy un llorón, y quiero quedarme así, y quiero una mami para siempre, incluso una pesada, especialmente una pesada;

Por(que) todas las brujas de cuentos de hadas, y la madrastra malvada, y las hermanastras, y cuan guapa era Cenicienta, sucia de hollín, destinada a una vida de esclava;

Por(que) Hansel, encerrado en la jaula de la bruja, hasta que era lo suficiente gordo para comérselo;

Por(que) "O" y por cuan desesperadamente quería ser ella;

Por(que) mis sueños;

Por(que) los juegos que jugábamos;

Porque tengo una imaginación activa;

Porque mi madre me compraba Tinker Toys;

Porque las ferreterías me paran la polla;

Por(que) martillos, clavos, perritos para ropa, madera, candados, poleas, armellas, chinchetas, grapadoras eléctricas, agujas, cucharas de madera, anzuelos, cadenas, reglas de metal, tubos de goma, espátulas, cuerda, cordel, prensas, ganchos, navajos, tijeras, pinzas, cuchillos, chinches, palos, paletas de Ping Pong, pinzas de cocodrilo, cinta americana, escobabas, pinchos, elásticos, caballetes, sopletes;

Por(que) los cobertizos;

Por(que) los garajes;

Por(que) los sótanos;

Por(que) los mazmorras;

Por(que) la Torre de Londres;

Por(que) la Inquisición;

Por(que) el potro;

Por(que) la cruz;

Por(que) la sala de niños de la familia Addams;

Por(que) Morticia Addams y su vestido negro con piernas de pulpo;

Por(que) la maternidad;

Por(que) las Amazonas;

Por(que) la Diosa;

Por(que) la luna;

Porque para mí es natural;

Porque va en contra de lo que es natural;

Porque es indecente;

Porque es divertido;

Porque viola todo lo que es normal (lo que sea eso) porque yo no soy normal;

Porque en el pasado pensé que era parte de un gran experimento y que había un implante en mi pene que me hacía hacer estas cosas y que dejaba a ellos (sean cuales sean) controlar lo que hacían;

Porque necesitaba sacar toda mi ropa y yacer dentro de una bolsa plástica para que los doctores pudieran recolectar mi sudor;

Porque había una vez un incidente en que tenía una fiebre tan alta que mis padres sacaron toda mi ropa y me envolvieron en sábanas mojadas para parar mis convulsiones;

Porque mis padres me querían aún mas cuando estaba sufriendo;

Porque la sumisión es rica;

Porque nací en un mundo de sufrimiento;

Porque es atractivo;

Porque es adictivo;

Porque las endorfinas en el cerebro son como heroína natural;

Porque aprendí a tomar mi remedio;

Porque me portaba muy bien al tomarlo;

Porque lo aguanto como hombre;

Porque alguien una vez digo, TIENE MAS COJONES QUE YO;

Porque es un acto de coraje;

Porque hay que ser valiente;

Porque me hace orgulloso;

Porque no puedo subir montañas;

Porque soy pésimo para los deportes;

Porque el que quiere pescado que se moje;

Porque la letra con sangre entra;

Porque uno siempre daña al que ama.

[emetogirl]

hi this is volley girl anon back again after literally forever!!

still in my college days, i went for a competition in a place far away from the college itself. it wasn't like an 'away' game, it was a big ground we went to and multiple other colleges' teams participated. so, when we were going there, we were told to snack lightly before our games to avoid sickness. that's why we all stuck to granola bars and energy drinks.

we'd won three consecutive matches, putting us in first place! to celebrate, we ditched the bus and went out to eat. after all that physical exertion, we were tired and famished, and i reasoned that it would be good to fill myself up to counteract that. important to note at this point, i get carsick when i have a stomachache. and boy, did i.

i packed away a pizza, a milkshake, a slice of cake, and the remaining granola bars. on the way back to the bus, which was to drop us directly home/to our apartments, i bought a starbucks drink and a packet of chips. munching on the chips and sipping the drink, i idly looked out of the window and watched the bus zip past the view. it slowly lulled me to sleep. about an hour later, pretty close to my house, i shot awake.

my stomach was cramping and gurgling beneath my palm, and bile coated my tongue. i was hyperaware of each shake and rattle of the bus, feeling the contents of my stuffed-to-the-brim stomach sloshing around. to calm it, i tried sipping my friend's soda, but it had the opposite effect. the bus lurched, as did my tummy, and i let loose a sick-sounding wet belch, bringing up with it some of the food i ate before. urgently, i got my friend to give me a bag to puke in, which i did immediately.

it wasn't instant relief, but some of the food expelled itself in thick puke. i was sweating, my stomach was cramping and aching, and i was bloated as fuck. thankfully, the bus reached my house soon enough, and i stumbled off of it to get in, where my girlfriend was waiting. i was super nauseous and still stuffed, so on seeing the celebratory dinner she had planned out, i hunched over and puked right over the threshold of the door. she slowly guided me in, laying me down on the sofa and giving me a bucket. sitting next to me, she gently rubbed my tummy and coaxed up the last remnants of my food. she bathed and washed me carefully.

after my day's exertions, i was cautious of food, but still foolhardy enough to devour a plate of noodles and a soup. thankfully, i was fine, but that bout of carsickness was one to remember. since then, i've made it a point to not enter a car after eating food, and to wait a while.

also, in case you're wondering - i'm planning to propose to that very girlfriend this weekend!! <3

love, volley girl anon

MY FUCKING HEART🥹🥹🥹 I love that so much! I hope a lifetime of happiness for the both of you💛

[the-duchess-of-domination]

Lurker anon here, and I've got some brainrot that I'd like to share :)

So one of my friends is a culinary student and he works at a bakery on the side. From school, he's always bringing back the food everyone makes in his baking class since for some reason nobody ever wants theirs (one time he got like 10 cakes), and he's also always bringing home stuff from the bakery since they need to keep everything fresh and a lot of their stuff can't be left out for too long, plus the place is closed on Mondays and Tuesdays (he tried to give me a giant bag full of bread just last week). That's gotten me thinking.

Let's say your boyfriend owns a bakery. It's a pretty small one, so apart from the two of you there's no need to hire anyone else to help out. It's a Monday evening, so the bakery is closed to the public. You've taken the day off to just relax and get some household chores done, but your boyfriend has been there since the crack of dawn, making and testing new recipes that he's been wanting to add to the menu. The bakery has good equipment that he doesn't have at home, but said equipment is large and so he always ends up making a *lot* more than he needs for sampling, or even for giving away.

Not one to let perfectly good food go to waste (and of course he has a sweet tooth), on top of all the sampling he's doing he's also spent the day snacking on the extras. When you head to the bakery in search of him, you find him leaning back against the counter, one arm braced against the marble surface while the other cradles his swollen, gurgling belly. His stomach is bulging outwards because it's so stuffed with baked goods, outlined by his apron and straining against the ribbons that tie it against him. He's stuffed to the gills, and on top of that all that sugar has made him rather queasy and he raises his hand to his mouth, stifling a low, sickly burp. Looking around, you can see that there are still plenty of pastries dotting the kitchen counter.

The question is, what do you do now - rub your poor boyfriend's overstuffed tum, or see if he can fit anything more into it?

THE RETURN OF LURKER ANON!!! omg this is incredible.

im not usually a mean feeder, but i can see it going one of two ways ;)

you hate to see your boyfriend so sick, so you usher him home to rest. you help him untie the tight apron, and when he lies down in bed his belly rises up like a hill under the covers. initially he doesn’t want to take any medicine, so terribly embarrassed of what he’s done to himself, but after the strained digestive gurgles get especially loud he gives in, and you sit at his bedside and spoon medicine into his mouth.

he’s got such a bad stomachache that he has to keep the bakery closed into the next day, which he feels guilty about. i imagine him upstairs with his eyes closed, stomach hurting too bad to actually sleep. he thinks about heavy creams and tart jams and wildflower honeys, chocolate chips and powdered sugar. all the red velvet and cinnamon bread and eclairs. as you come in with a chamomile tea you see him wincing, so you start playing with his hair and caressing his sore belly.

or maybe you feel mean. you and him sometimes play punishment games, and nowadays it seems his masochistic self wants to be punished, and although a terrible stomach ache seems like the ultimate punishment to you, you decide that your boyfriend needs to be disciplined and taught a lesson. you collect the scraps of pastries left behind and drag him home. out of the closet you pull ropes, and once his arms are restrained behind his back you force him to keep eating, giving brief intermissions from a gallon of milk:

[redfayce]

making me fall in love to leave

your memories are what rattles my eyes.

giving me headaches and making me cry.

how our lips felt so good on each other, even though i hated every second of it.

when id get a stomachache because you want to do something risky in a public place.

this is just all part of the chase because now, you dont talk to me and wont even look at my face.

was i just a girl to text when you were bored, because when you're playing a game, you ignore me.

admit it, you only want to talk when you're horny.

real love doesn't make you forget to text someone you care about.

real love doesn't make you hug the person you love for less seconds than i can count.

real love is telling me you didn't feel the same beforehand

this is just lust.

[scoops-aboy86]

✨WIPS PLS!!!✨ 3! (i lov halloween), 4! (bc first was yUM), 8 (👀)

and some of my tru love baby girl ravening pls pls pls

(no pressure - like it said just ideas is fun!! or snippets if ur feeling generous ;3c )

(WIP ask game)

You got it! Heh, all of these are chubby Steve.

The Halloween one is fun. It's an anon ask that I'm working on a half conversational response, half fic for because I know it'd get away from me in a big way if I tried to write it now, but basically the Party pranks Steve with fake food (my addition) so Steve and Eddie prank them back by Eddie distracting them while Steve is going to pretend to eat all their candy (although there's backup candy to give them instead, because he could never do that for real… to El, anyway). Except this plan was both conceived and executed while a little stoned, so Steve gets the munchies and ACTUALLY eats all six bags of trick or treating haul. 😜 … Okay I might write some of the candy eating and the aftermath once I'm done spitballing a backstory, we shall see.

For all about that bounce, here's an excerpt:

Steve hasn’t seen Eddie Munson in seventeen days. Not since the quarry, where Eddie fed him and got him off in his car, then stayed to rub his belly through the ensuing stomachache and listened to Steve’s worries about his parents.  “Well, speaking as someone who lives with his uncle,” Eddie had said with a wry but understanding smile, “they’re gonna react however they’re gonna react, man. Not a lot you can do about that other than brace for impact and figure out what you want to do next once all the cards are on the table.” “I’m planning on—hic—moving out to live with my best friend,” Steve had mumbled, too sated to be embarrassed about his case of the hiccups or the occasional burp. “Got—urp. Gotta save up a little more to keep eating like this, though.” That had earned him a grin and a gentle wobble of his tight belly. “No ‘if’ in that statement, I like it. You’re a man of action, Steve Harrington, seeing what you want and going for it. Don’t ever let them pressure that out of you.” It had been the most seen and listened to Steve had ever felt in his life—apart from with Robin of course, but that was different.

That's kind of just a recap, the next lil bit is Steve procrastinating on calling Eddie with an entire package of Oreos because he got it out of the phone book and what if Eddie doesn't WANT him to call. (Spoiler alert: he does.)

Ravening is kicking my ass!! I pick at it in little bits and starts, idk. I've gotten as far as, Steve is getting used to the vivid violence of the dreams, and if sometimes he thinks he caught a glimpse of Eddie's tattoos he Does Not Think About It. I gotta get him back to his government provided shrink at some point so he can pointedly quit going again when the guy starts harping on his weight gain, because even on the nights Steve doesn't have one of those nightmares and wakes up so hungry he raids the fridge, he doesn't sleep well. The only way to guarantee a restful night is to eat up and the shrink, Steve tells himself, just doesn't GET that. Maybe driving home from that appointment (and neglecting to schedule another one) is the first time it happens during the day, it's around lunch time so Steve stops for food, maybe he gets it all to go or he eats there and gets takeout for dinner because he doesn't feel like cooking, maybe he also stops by the store for some basic staples, but then autopilots home and… without really knowing when or why it happened, he realizes he's pulled over to the side of the road not all that far from his house surrounded by empty containers and wrappers, his face and hands messy and his stomach packed so tight that all he wants to do is lie back and groan. Or… almost all he wants to do, but he licks his hands clean and drives the rest of the way home and pulls into the garage before getting his pants open and desperately jerking off, the hint of a growl on just the edge of his consciousness and feeling watched the whole time. But not in a creepy or unsettling way, somehow—he wants more.

Another random ravening thought: maybe Eddie can't break through from the Upside Down until Steve bleeds for some reason. Maybe something as simple as nicking himself while shaving, or should I go for something more dramatic? Idk.