#Bob has a white ball for a head because I thought it was creepy

[lailannajacobs]

Circles

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Prompt: Costume Party: Stark is throwing a work Masquerade party and you’ve decided to go, hoping you’ll finally work up the courage to talk to a certain someone you’ve had a crush on for a while now

Warnings: fluff! 

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: My submission for @moonstruckbucky​ Halloween challenge! Although it’s not creepy in the slightest (I’m the world’s biggest scaredycat) I had a great time getting into the Halloween spirit! First time writing Steve Rogers so I’m curious to know what you guys think!! <3

“I look stupid,” You whined, staring at your reflection in distaste, “Why am I even going to this thing.”

Nat’s gaze slid away from her own reflection in the mirror to yours, “Because you’re hoping that Steve shows up so that you can finally make a move.”

She fiddled with the clasp of her earring, one of the final pieces to her costume. Leaning against her bathroom doorframe, you watched as she finished getting ready, trying - and failing - not to be so much of a Debby Downer. Normally, you weren’t against accompanying Nat to these events, but it had been a long day. All you wanted to do was go home. Instead, you had dressed up in a cliché, itchy cat costume you had found last minute in a thrift store downtown, and had shown up at Nat’s door, pairing your costumed with a forced smile.

Tony Stark had decided to throw a masquerade work party for Halloween this year and had stated in his e-mail that he hoped everyone would make an appearance. Although you had been tempted to spend the evening handing out candy at your mother’s house in the suburbs, Nat had convinced you that Captain Rogers - Steve as he had insisted you call him on multiple occasions - would be there as well and that it would be a perfect opportunity for you to stop pining over him and actually do something about your crush. Now that you were all dressed up and the party was already getting started a few blocks away, you weren’t so sure about any of it.

“We both know I’m never actually going to make a move,” You tugged on the hem of your costume, trying to make it longer than it actually was, “And even if I did, you know he never shows up to this kind of thing.”

Her lips curled into a wicked grin, “It’s not my fault you’re into a centenarian who’s too old to party.”

“When you say it like that, you make it sound like I’m into old men.” You laughed, staring at her elegant yet somehow distinctly peacock dress.

You wondered if she knew exactly how stunning she looked.

“You are into old men,” she extended her arm so you could tie the clasp on her bracelet even though you knew perfectly well she could have done it herself. Still, you were thankful it made you feel useful while you waited, “Or at least one old man in particular.”

You rolled your eyes, having trouble keeping the smirk off your lips, “Age is just a number.”

“I don’t see why you haven’t talked to him,” she paused, sifting through her makeup bag, “He’s not scary or anything.”

“Says the former assassin who’s been friends with him for years now. I’m not like you guys remember? I’m normal.” You scoffed.

The humour vanished from her face, “Anyone working for Stark isn’t normal.”

“Are you telling me that Janitor Bob has a special skill set I don’t know about?” You raised a brow, trying to get her to see your point that you weren’t in the same league as any of the Avengers, regardless of the fact that technically you all worked with Tony Stark in some form or another.

Every once in a while, you wondered how you had gotten to be friends with the infamous Black Widow. She was one of the Avengers - she had saved the world. You were one of Stark’s no-name employees in the IT department who, more often than not, worked regular 9-5 hours. Sure, every once in a while you were called in to help out on certain missions, but in general, you didn’t live in the same world as the Avengers.

The only reason you had met Nat at all had been because you had been the one to get her out of a particularly sticky situation, hacking into Hyrda’s security system and disabling their communications systems. She had found you when she had gotten back and had taken you out for drinks as a personal thank you. Since then, she had become your closest friend, but it still shocked you a little when you really thought about it.

“What I’m trying to say, (y/n), is that working in Stark’s IT department, after being hired for hacking through his security system for fun, doesn’t make you normal.” She insisted, an eyelash curler clamped tight around her lashes.

Even if you didn’t quite believe her, you shrugged, knowing you couldn’t change her mind, “Fine, so I’m not normal. But that still doesn’t make me special enough for a guy like Captain America to notice me, right? To him, I’m just the woman who fixes the problems on his laptop about once a week.”

“He’s really the biggest dork,” she repeated for probably the hundredth time since she had discovered your crush, “He doesn’t notice anyone much. He’s all about work. And like you said, this really isn’t his kind of thing.”

You stared at her incredulously, “Then why am I even going? You said he’d be there! I should just go back to my apartment and have a nice a cozy night in with a cup of tea, a soft blanket and my lap top.”

“Trust me, he’s going to be there. Maybe not for long, but he will be there.” Her lips pulled into an encouraging smile, “And you’re coming to keep me company. It’s good to feel normal every once in a while.”

You raised a brow.

“Just because we’re not normal doesn’t mean we don’t want to take the weight of the world off our shoulders for the night. That’s why Tony throws these things after all.”

“You know nothing Tony Stark does can be considered normal.”

“As close to normal as we can get,” she laughed, zipping up her bag, “And it’s not like we’d have it any other way.”

“Fine,” you groaned, pretending not to notice how gorgeous she looked as she titled her head from side to side, looking for imperfections in her makeup, “But I still look stupid.”

Nat turned all her attention on you, making you want to cower under that intense gaze, “That you do,” she amended, a wide cat-like grin spreading across her lips, “But I have something that’ll fit you much better.”

Steve combed his hair back, looked over at Bucky, and then sighed. It seemed that after all that had happened to the guy, Buck was still ten times better at the the whole social thing than he would ever be. He liked that he had managed to keep a hold of the part of himself that would always be that skinny kid from Brooklyn, he just wasn’t too sure how much help that part of him would be tonight. He’d take a bully and a fight over any one of Stark’s parties any day. How Bucky had convinced him to go tonight, Steve still couldn’t figure it out.

“It’s Halloween.” Bucky replied when Steve voiced his concerns, “You show up in a mask for an hour and then leave. No one notices you’re gone because everyone’s too busy getting drunk to pay attention to who’s behind the mask, but everyone is pretty sure they remember you being there.”

Steve looked down at his mask, almost afraid to pick it up. “Don’t you think it’s a little ironic that we’re all dressing up to go to a masquerade party?”

“I think that was the point,” Bucky shrugged on his tux jacket, “He did say he did say a ball cap and sunglasses didn’t count as a costume tonight, remember?”

“He did?” Steve unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, suddenly finding it hard to breath.

Bucky secured the mask around his face, white and silver framing blue eyes. “I’m pretty sure you were at that meeting”

“I might not have been paying attention.” Steve confessed, “I had a flight to catch right after and a mission to get to.”

“Of course you did,” Buck let out a sigh that was a cross between amusement and disappointment, “It wasn’t like you actually thought you’d be going to a party tonight. Now that you’re here though, you should work up the courage to talk to that girl from IT you can’t seem to keep your eyes off of.”

Steve fumbled and dropped the cuff links he was attempting to secure, “What? I do not.”

“Sure.” Buck’s lips spread into a knowing grin, “Whatever you say.”

Steve stared at his friend, a little mesmerized that he was getting back to normal so well. The bags under his eyes had lessened in the past months and over all he seemed happier and just a little more awake. It would never completely go away, but the fact that Buck was trying so hard made him sigh and say through gritted teeth, “One hour. That’s all.”

“That’s all I can ask from you buddy.” Bucky chuckled, “Anything more would probably kill you.”

Steve looked back down at the mask and tentatively picked it up as if it might transform and a attack him. He was kind of hoping it might. At least then he’d be more comfortable with it.

“It doesn’t feel like me.�� He grumbled.

Bucky shot him a daring grin over his shoulder before walking out the door. “Well that’s the point isn’t it? It’s a costume party.”

“Stop fiddling with it.” Nat scolded, swatting your hand away from your mask.

By the time Nat had found the black dress she was looking for, had coaxed you into it, and had made it up the sky rise, the party was in full swing. Colourful costumes and intricate masks hid hundreds of party goers, while upbeat music resonated through the air and through your chest. The massive ballroom, taking up the entire 50th floor, had cobwebs hanging from the chandeliers and other Halloween decorations strewn across the room. A thin layer of smoke hung just above the ground, and although it was all a bit tacky, you supposed that was the point.

The decorations might have resembled a slightly higher budget version of your high school’s Halloween dance, but the costumes were stunning and in a league of their own. When Nat had pulled out the dress for you to wear, you had been surprised by how much you liked it. It was beautiful yet subtle, though not something you’d have ever bought yourself. The material was soft and unrestrictive, the lacy cape-like wings just apparent enough to consider the dress a costume. Complete with the thin, golden bat mask and maroon lipstick, you had liked what you had seen and had found yourself smiling for the first time that night. Maybe you would go up to Captain Rogers - Steve - and talk to him about something other than work.

Now that you were among so many other incredibly gorgeous party goers, you weren’t so sure about anything anymore.

“You look really good, trust me.” Nat continued, giving you a comforting squeeze.

You forced a smile and tried to be brave about this whole thing, “We look really good.”

“That we do,” Nat scanned the room until her eyes landed on the bar in the far corner, “Now, let’s go get a drink. Something that’s toxic green or has gummy eyeballs floating in it.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, but you were genuinely amused by her excitement. Although she was usually in a teasing mood, it was nice to see her getting excited about something so inane. It almost made you suggest organizing a board game night once a month at work to get people’s minds off of some of the horrors they’d seen, but you kept your mouth shut. They all had so many other important missions to go on, the idea felt silly in comparison.

Following, you wove through the crowd on her heels, pausing as she said hi to a few people in passing. Some were completely recognizable, the mask and costume unable to completely hide their distinct size or look, but others were as recognizable to you as strangers. Honestly though, you stayed holed up in IT so often that the odds of you having actually met them were slim to none.

“What do you want to drink?” Nat shouted over the music, gesturing to to the bartender.

You shrugged, “Whatever you’re having!”

She nodded and leaned over the bar to order. You glanced around, fiddling with your dress and knowing too well that you wouldn’t be able to hang around as Nat’s shadow all night. You’d have to mingle eventually, but you couldn’t spot any of your coworkers from IT who might have made the prospect less terrifying.

Maybe all you’d have to do was hang around for an hour and then you could call a cab home. Or maybe even walk home. It was a surprisingly warm night and you didn’t live far.

A hand on your arm snapped you out of your dreams of escape, and Nat handed you a pink drink with the gummy eyeball she had promised bobbing merrily on the surface.

She leaned in close, a sly grin on her lips, “Now, let’s go see if we can find those two, hundred-year-old dorks.”

“This whole not being able to get drunk thing is a bit of a bummer, isn’t it.” Bucky said, handing Steve his third beer of the hour.

“At least you didn’t have to find that out after having watched you die.” Steve mentioned before taking a long swig of his beer.

“Woah, that’s a little dark for a party there, buddy,” Bucky clapped him on the back, “And anyways, didn’t Thor have something that ‘wasn’t meant for mere men’?”

Steve shook his head, a smile growing. It was impossible not to find Bucky’s light-hearted mood at least a little contagious.

“He’s not hard to find. The bear over there is clearly him.”

Bucky nodded, scanning the room, “Yeah, it’s pretty obvious who’s wearing what costume.”

“Yourself included?” Steve asked.

The white suit jacket with silver lining, black dress pants and intricate wolf mask might have hidden all but piercing blue eyes, but there was no mistaking who wore the costume.

“Yeah, like mine.” He answered automatically, still searching the room.

Steve peered in the general direction Bucky was looking in but couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. If he was lucky, his friend might have sensed something amiss and they could leave the party.

“What are you looking for?”

The words seemed to snap him out of his hunt and Buck dragged his attention away from the crowd, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Steve echoed, not quite sure he believed him.

“Nothing.” Buck affirmed, “Just taking in all the costumes”

Steve let out a dissatisfied humph, figuring he’d know what Bucky was really looking for by the end of the night.

“Well don’t you boys look ravishing.”

Steve smiled, Nat’s voice a comfort among the unfamiliar faces hidden behind masks.

“Natasha,” Bucky dipped his head in greeting, a funny little smirk on his lips, “You look stunning as always. How many weapons do you have stashed in those magnificent feathers of yours?”

Her lips pulled into a wicked grin, “No less than you have tucked into that dashing suit of yours.”

“It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t.” He amended.

“We both know only one of us actually needs them though.”

“And we both know very well who that is…but maybe we should test it out on the mats tomorrow just to be sure.” Bucky answered, a goofy little grin on his lips.

Nat nodded, her lips pursued as if trying to contain a genuine smile.

Steve watched the whole interaction, something tugging at the back of his mind, telling him that he was missing something, but before he could figure it out, she turned her attention to him.

“Steve, I’m surprised you actually made it. Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?”

An amused chuff escaped his lips, “It is, but sometimes you got to make an exception. Or so I was told.”

“I’m glad you did. There’s someone I want to introduce you to-“

“Nat, I told you, I’m good.” He interrupted.

Buck coughed and Steve shot him a look that only caused his smirk to widen.

“I’m not looking for anything,” he insisted, “Seriously.”

She searched the crowd for a second and sighed, “Fine. She ran off anyways.”

“I know you’re only going to let it go for tonight, but I appreciate it.”

The music slowed and people started pairing off. Steve watched them all, thankful for the change. Slow songs meant that it was beginning to be acceptable to leave.

“Steve, you’re not leaving now, are you?” Nat asked as he began to inch away from where they were standing.

“No, I’m just going for out for a breather.” She shot him a skeptical look she had every right to throw his way. “I’ll be back. Why don’t you dance with Bucky while I’m gone? By the time the song ends I’ll be back.”

Something flashed through Buck’s eyes and he tried to run his fingers through his hair but was stopped by the mask he clearly forgot he was wearing, shrugging instead.

Nat shrugged as well, an unfamiliar look crossing her face so quickly Steve thought he had imagined it. “What do you say soldier?”

Bucky nodded, looking like he was at a loss for words and extended his hand.

She took it, “Let’s see if you can dance better than you can fight.”

He chuckled, loosening up a little before leading her toward the rest of the dancers, never once taking his eyes off of her.

Steve figured he had just gotten permission to step out for a bit and beelined for the balcony.

You were glad for the fresh air. When Nat had begun weaving through the crowd, claiming to have spotted Steve and Bucky, you had made your escape. Even if you hadn’t actually gotten a glimpse of them, the prospect of seeing the two soldiers outside of a professional work environment terrified you to your core. You hated to admit it, but you had literally run away.

Your breathing had finally slowed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the cool comfort of the night’s silence. You hoped Nat would stay inside and have a good time. She deserved to and you had a feeling there had been someone there she had been hoping to see, though you weren’t skilled enough to have figured out who.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was out here,” A deep voice broke the silence as if you had conjured him from your daydreams, “I’ll go back inside.”

Your whole body had gone rigid at the sound, but you blurted out, “Not that’s okay. It’s a little crowded in there but I think there’s enough room for the two of us out here.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind…” He trailed off.

You forced yourself to turn around, knowing it was impolite and more than a little strange if you kept talking out at the skyline.

Of all the masks you had been expecting on Captain Rogers tonight, the only one you hadn’t was the one he was actually wearing. The costume he wore could only be described as one thing; the prince of darkness. He looked like a fallen angel, his inky suit blending in with the darkness around him, the intricate black mask painstaking beautiful against blue eyes. The top buttons on his shirt were undone and his pale hair a mess on the top of his head as if he had been running his hand through it all night.

You didn’t know if he had been the one to choose the costume or if someone else had, but whoever had chosen had apparently wanted to kill you by stopping your heart.

Long, confident strides led him to the balcony not far to your right and he shot you a polite smile before staring out at the city. It took everything in you to tear your gaze away from him and look out at the skyline that now paled in comparison to the sight beside you. The silence grew and you knew that the longer neither of you said anything, the less likely you’d think of something relevant to say - not that you had any more of a clue what to say now. You were about to turn away and leave him in peace, but it was as if Natasha was in your head, ordering you to stay.

You let out an annoyed sigh and glanced over at him. He seemed content with the silence and probably didn’t want to be bothered. Nat’s voice in your head told you that you were making up excuses.

“Long night?” You finally asked.

He let out an amused little huff, “You could say that…this kind of thing is not something I really do often.”

“So I’ve heard,” You shrugged a small smile on your lips, “If it makes you feel any better, it’s not really my thing either.”

He cocked his head, as if trying to figure something out, “That why you’re hiding out here?”

“You could say that,” You parroted his words, hoping he would never figure out it was him you were trying to avoid, “I seem to be much better at dealing with computers than real people.”

“If you don’t mind me saying” He cut himself off and looked back out at the skyline.

You took a step forward, more than a little curious, “What?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “If you don’t mind me saying, you definitely look the part. You don’t look like you belong anywhere else than a stunning Halloween party.”

You weren’t too sure if it was a compliment or not, but the words caused the butterflies in your stomach to take off. “Then I guess we’re both pretty good at blending in. That costume is a long way from the red, white and blue spandex.”

He chuckled, “Was it naive of me to think I could go unnoticed tonight?”

“Honestly?”

He nodded.

“Yes,” You kept your eyes locked on the horizon, “You’re a hard person to miss Captain Rogers.”

“Call me Steve.”

“Sure.” You answered, the same way you did every time he asked you to call him Steve.

The silence stretched until felt his eyes on you, and you realized he was staring.

You slowly turned your head to face him and raised a brow.

“umm, yes?” You weren’t too sure what else to say, all you knew was that you wanted to know why he was staring. You suddenly wished the mask wasn’t stopping you from reading his expression.

“(y/n)?”

You breathed out a “yes?” surprised he remembered your name.

He let out a laugh of disbelief.

“What?”

“I can’t believe it took me this long to recognize you.” Even in the dark you could feel his eyes travel from your feet to your head, actually taking you in.

You shrugged and wrapped your arms around your chest in a loose hug, “In your defence, I’m not very noticeable.”

“That’s not true.” He shook his head, taking a step closer.

You scoffed, “If it wasn’t for your reputation, I’d say you were lying Captain Rogers.”

“Steve,” His voice was a deep command that sent shivers down your spine.

“Steve” You echoed.

“Good,” The corner of his mouth curled slightly, “Can I let you in on a little secret, I.T.?”

You nodded, only able to watch as he took another small step closer, the gap between your two bodies only a couple feet.

“I figured out that computer ages ago.”

“What? Wait. What? I…” You couldn’t say anything coherent, his answer not making any sense.

“Yeah…I liked having you come up once a week.” He was so close now you could smell the spicy scent of his body wash.

“Why?” You whispered.

He shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Oh…yeah…of course,” Your heart fell, knowing there was no way he could have the same thing in mind that you did, “you don’t know…”

“Well…maybe I do,” He paused, plucking one of Nat’s loose feathers from your shoulder, “I just don’t know if it’s a good thing to say aloud.”

You tilted your head up to get a better look at him, to try and see past the mask. The whole conversation was confusing you, but you couldn’t step away, as if you were magnetically drawn to him, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

His lips spread a little further into something almost dangerous, “Because I don’t know what it would mean if I did.”

You sucked in a deep breath, trying to slow your pounding heart. This was it. If there was ever a time to be bold, it was now.

“Who says you have to say anything at all?”

His hand snaked its way to the back of your neck, and before closing the distance, whispered, “That’s a very good point.”

The kiss was firm but gentle, his lips moving and guiding yours. You slid your hands up his strong chest, your fingers wrapping around the lapels of his jacket and tugging him even closer. He took that as a sign to deepen the kiss, his other hand traveling to your hip, fingers pressing firmly into the material. It only made you try to get even closer, but you had to know what was going on.  

Breathless, you broke the kiss and leaned back to look into his bright eyes, “umm, right…wow, okay, umm, what? Should we go back to the party?

“How about we not.” He all but growled, pulling you back in.

#halloweenhauntsauchallenge #steve rogers fic #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #captain america #fan fiction #fanfic

[animemangasoul]

I Want It That Way

Summery: Akutagawa is singing the backstreet boys and Atsushi is having a mental breakdown because of it

Characters: Atsushi & Akutagawa

Gen: Drabble

Akutagawa was humming. Atsushi wasn’t sure what exactly he was humming, but he definitely was and Atsushi has never felt as creeped out as he did right then at that very moment. Well-

That was a lie. The creepiness he was feeling at that moment had nothing on the shivers that ran up his spine like tiny little creepy crawlers when he stumbled next to the other man during their joint fight and actually heard what exactly he was singing.

“Rock your body~” he was muttering under his breath as he shielded them both. “Everybody~ Rock your body right~ Backstreets back alright~!”

Atsushi could have died right then and there and he wasn’t sure if even that could stop the nightmare vision he was having right now.  

‘What the fuck!’ his mind screamed. ‘What the actual fuck!’

He wanted to cry, he wanted to curl up into a ball and just hide from this cruel and twisted world. Since when did the Akutagawa, rabid dog of the Port Mafia fucking sing Backstreet boys? Why? How? Why?

When Akutagawa snapped at him to focus after almost getting hit, all the weretiger could do was rub a furious hand over his watery eyes and nod with hidden terror. “Sorry,” he shouted, jumping from the targeted spot. “Sorry, was just distracted for a sec.”

“Fucking weretiger,” Akutagawa tsked and that was the end of it. Well- at least that’s what he’d thought.

---

The second time he heard that blasted song coming from his archrival’s lips was during a mundane meeting between the Agency and the Port Mafia. They had been stationed next to each other; close to the giant double doors, and while Atsushi had been bored out of his skull shifting this way and that, the taller dark-haired man hadn’t moved an inch, and Atsushi honestly thought he was asleep until he started that cursed humming again.  

He had almost managed to convince himself that the incident had all been a fever dream, that it hadn’t actually happened and that he was just imagining things due to an untimely concussion or something, but nop, it really had happened, because-

“Oh.my.God we’re back again~”

Atsushi whimpered.  

“Brothers, sisters, everybody sing~”

Atsushi softly cried,

But when the older male very subtly started to move in his position as if-as if, he was dancing?

Atsushi fainted.

----

“You have to believe me Dazai-san please!”

Dazai as expected was smiling at him with condescending amusement, and if Atsushi had been a lesser man, he might have clawed his eyes out at the blatant disrespect, but alas-  

“Come on Dazai-san!”

“I’m sorry Atsushi-kun,” he sing-songed. “I just have a hard time believing little Akutagawa-kun is capable of singing anything let alone a song so out of his comfort zone he genuinely might croak if it was played in his vicinity.”

“But it’s true!”

He got a condescending pat on the head for his concern.

Atsushi had never hated Dazai-san more.

----

Atsushi blinked up at the ceiling of the infirmary. Things hadn’t gone as well as usual this time around. Every part of his body ached like never before, and he would have honestly started pitying himself if the screams next door hadn’t made him send it all over to his poor partner that unfortunately didn’t have the ability to selfheal.

Yosano was really making a meal out of it. Probably revenge, he thought. Yawning loudly he closed his eyes and didn’t open them till the other male was wheeled in next to him. “Now don’t move till you’re told so,” Yosano-san said, backing away from the bed after giving the Port Mafia member a quick once over.  

He coughed. “Thank you.”

Atsushi smiled. Akutagawa had gotten much better at that type of thing. He briefly contemplated if he was the reason for the change, before brushing it aside just as quickly.  

“You’re welcome,” was Yosano-san's reply; voice a lot more gentle this time.“Something I can get you before I take my leave?”

“My phone if it isn’t too much trouble.”

She fished it out from her pocket before turning around and leaving with a passing goodbye.

Atsushi opened his mouth to say something in the dawning silence that fell over them, but before he could-

~~~I’ve got a question for you, better answer now~~~

...It was the phone...

...The song was coming out of Akutagawa’s phone...

Atsushi choked. Vision darkening once again, and only a soft concerned whisper of Jinko? Following him into the abyss.  

----

He was done, it was over, he needed this to end, to stop. Any longer and Atsushi couldn’t promise his own sanity any longer.

The orphanage might not have broken him, but fuck-

Akutagawa singing that-that song might legitimately do him in.  

They were both on another mission again. This time accompanied by Chuuya and Dazai respectively.  

“Why can’t I work with Chuuya-san?” Akutagawa questioned after Dazai had briefed them on the upcoming plan. If Atsushi hadn’t gotten to know him as well as he did over the year, he might have actually missed that slight tilt in his voice that suggested of begrudging disappointment.

Huh

Who would have thought? Just a year after their last huge team up and Akutagawa was already moving on from Dazai-san's acceptance.  

Dazai most have noticed the tone as well, because his smile widened even further. “Awww, doesn’t little Akutagawa-kun wanna team up with me anymore? I’m hurt~”.

Chuuya scoffed, slapping the taller male on the back of the head. “Shut up bandaged freak,” he snapped, but the little smile dancing at the corner of his lips was evince of how pleased he was of the fact that Akutagawa chose him over the other man.

Well, it didn’t really matter to Atsushi, in fact, this was perfect. Chuuya-san seemed to know Akutagawa pretty well, so maybe he could shed light on this new fixation he had on that ridiculous song.  

----

“Chuuya-san?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure kid, go ahead.”

Their mission had gotten off without a hitch and Atsushi had finally built up the courage to ask the burning question in his chest.

“It’s about Akutagawa.”

“Oh,” Chuuya momentarily turned around to look back at him with a curious face. “What about him?”

Atsushi gnawed at his bottom lip in thought. How could he phrase this question exactly? How did you tell the superior officer of your partner that said partner’s singing habit was disturbing you and you wanted it to stop?

He opened his mouth, but before any profound sound could escape past his lips, their two other companions rounded the corner. “All done,” Dazai called out to them.

Chuuya-san bellowed back in the affirmative, before doing something that made the white-haired teen next to him pale in horror.  

“You are my fire~” he sang loudly, actually making Dazai-san stop and blink in confusion. Good, Atsushi thought, serves him right. “The one desire~ Believe when I say I want it that way~” he continued, and Atsushi just wanted to die. This couldn’t be happening.

It was like a switch turned inside Akutagawa’s head, because he started to bob his head to some unknown music before echoing back the familiar lines while adding the next once “But We Are Two Worlds Apart~ Can't Reach To Your Heart~”  

With those words he cranked up the volume on his phone before finishing with as much of a flair as the rabid dog of the Port Mafia could have. “When You Say That I Want It That WAAAY~”.

Dazai-san looked so disturbed; Atsushi would have genuinely found it funny if he himself wasn’t currently experiencing unrecoverable trauma.

He fainted when they reached the chores.  

----

He was later told by a highly amused Dazai-san that apparently that song had become Chuuya-san's and Akutagawa’s inside joke/bonding song when the former’s phone accidentally played the song while trying to discreetly sneak into an enemy base.  

They had somehow miraculously gotten out of the sticky situation but ever since then it had become some sort of a running joke between them, and they had taken to singing that whenever in a tough spot or after a mission.  

Dazai-san found it hilarious.

Atsushi thought it was horrifying,

Ok, maybe slightly cute and funny too, but definitely horrifying.

And if he’d started humming the dumb thing himself from time to time, well-

Who could blame him? And it made Akutagawa smile and yeah, that was ok. It was fine. Akutagawa needed to smile more anyways.

#Don't know why I wrote this #it was just something stupid and silly that came to mind #atsushi nakajima #Ryunosuke Akutagawa #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #shin soukoku #soukoku #chuaku #couldn't help myself #humor #fanfic #fic #drabble #short fiction #bungou stray dogs dazai #bsd #atsushi being traumatized #dumb boys #atsuaku

[imagine-food-souls]

College AU but with the Pizza trio please :3

“Heck yeah! No school!”

Running ahead of Cassata and Cheese, Pizza dove onto his knees and scooped up a huge mound of snow. Springing to his feet, he launched it all into the air. Instead of creating a gentle shower of flakes, both Cheese and Cassata cringed as wet chunks fell on their head and shoulders. Cheese even yelped as a piece found a way through her collar and onto her neck.

“Pizza, you’re dead!” She yanked his braid down, growling menacingly.

“No!! Cassata, save me!” Pizza’s head bobbed up and down as Cheese jerked him around.

“Come on, Cheese,” Cassata sighed, putting a gloved hand on her shoulder. “You can get revenge on him later. No need to rip out his hair follicles.”

Cheese gave one last look to Pizza before she let go of the braid, leaving the blond man to rub at his aching neck.

Cassata dusted the snowflakes off Pizza’s hair. “Pizza, maybe don’t eject snow at Cheese? You know she hates getting wet.”

“I just wanted to celebrate the snow day!” Pizza pouted, lightly batting at Cassata’s hand. “No school! No classes and no homework, just running in the snow!”

“We have online assignments, you know.”

“Don’t remind me…”

Cheese punched Pizza’s shoulder. “You probably haven’t started even the first calc web assignment, have you?”

“Neither have you!” Pizza whined.

“Nuh uh! I was responsible and started early!”

“I bet you haven’t even finished the first set of problems then, you— AAAAAAA MY ARM!!”

“Stop twisting his arm Cheese, we can’t afford healthcare.”

Cheese looked away from trying to break Pizza in half to remark, “It’s fine Cassata, the school clinic can probably fix it~”

She pushed Pizza’s arm down further, eliciting a pained whimper from him. “Besides, we can always ask one of the med students, like that creepy Harry Potter looking dude.”

Cassata stiffened at the mention of the med student, but Cheese didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t like that Wispy guy…” Pizza mumbled as Cheese let go of his arm (but not before giving him one last pinch) “He’s weird, and always talking about dreams for some reason…”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You know I was joking about Whiskey, right? I wouldn’t want him within ten feet of me or any of my body parts. And he talks about dreams all the time because it’s part of his study, duh.”

“Hey Cheese!” A voice floated over to the trio.

Cheese turned to the voice and excitedly grinned and waved. “Hi Gingerbread!”

Gingerbread returned the gesture, walking up to them with her typical poker face.  

Cassata politely waved too, while Pizza was preoccupied with nursing his arm.

“Watchu doing Gingy?”

“Nothing much. On my way to grab some hot chocolate.” Gingerbread sighed, causing white clouds to form. “Got tired of third wheeling Steak and Red Wine, so thought I would treat myself.”

“Ooo! Sounds nice…” Cheese quickly rubbed her small hands together. “Ginger, lemme join you! I need food and shelter!!”

“Only if you promise not to ‘lose’ your wallet again. I’m not paying for your hot coco and then seventy million snacks.” Ginger turned and walked away, Cheese following behind.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it~” Cheese threw a look back to the two. “See ya two in bit!”

“She’s so quick to pick food over us….” Pizza whined as they watched the two shrink in the distance.

Cassata shrugged. “Maybe.” He saw the way Cheese’s hand twitched towards Ginger’s. He wasn’t dumb- he knew all too well that nerve wracking feeling of excitement and anxiety.

“Hey Cassata?”

“Yeah?” He turned to Pizza, forgetting his thoughts of Cheese and Gingerbread.

“Let’s make a snowman!” Pizza flopped back on the snowbank, rolling around.

The redhead laughed, shielding himself from the spray of snow with an arm. “Maybe you shouldn’t destroy all of your building materials. And besides,”

He knelt down to the sitting Pizza, who eyed him curiously. Cassata pursed his lips at he poked Pizza’s cheek, causing the other man to cry out in surprise. “You’re almost as red as my hair. Frostbite only takes minutes to set in, you know?”

“I’m fine!!” Pizza pouted as he got back up. “We can always go back in if we want to, Cas, and it only takes a little bit to make a teeny snowman!”

Cassata folded his arms. And then unfolded them and sighed. “Fine, but just for ten more minutes, okay?”

“Yay!”

Pizza immediately set Cassata to work on the lowest and biggest snowball for the body. Rolling behind him, Pizza hummed happily as he pushed a smaller snowball.

“Hey Cassata?~”

“Mm?” The ball was stuck. He grunted as he gave it a good shove, displacing it.

“What do you think you’re gonna major in?”

“No clue.” He replied. “All I really ever wanted was to get away from my hometown.”

He exhaled, and nothing appeared. His body temperature must be lowering.

“Maybe forensics? Sounds kinda cool. But I really don’t know what I want to do at the end of the day...”

He couldn’t see Pizza, but it sounded like he was shrugging.

“Same~” The blond responded. “Cheese has been determined since high school to go into the restaurant business, being such a big foodie and all.”

“Me though, I just wanna have fun, that’s all.” Cassata heard Pizza quickly roll up beside him.

“Don’t we all.”

“Duh~ If I’m completely honest, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go to college.” Pizza patted his snowball.

“It was more like I happened to get into the same university as Cheese and decided to follow her here and see what happened, haha,”

“Is she mad?”

“Definitely.” Pizza’s grinning face popped up. “This was supposed to be her moment of ‘freedom’, after all. But between you and me, I think she’s grateful to have a piece of home with her.”

“I bet.” Cassata wryly smiled. For as tough and mischevious Cheese acted, she was a bit of a softy deep down.

“But anyways,” Suddenly, Pizza reached out and grabbed Cassata’s freezing hand in his own. “We don’t need to figure out what we wanna do for monthes now, so don’t stress yourself.”

The smile that Pizza had on was so bright and warm that it was a miracle that all the nearby snow didn’t evaporate. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be there for you, degree or no degree~”

Cassata just stared. God, he would die for that smile.

“Cas?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he shook himself out of it. “Just… that means a lot to me. Thanks, Pizza.” He squeezed Pizza’s hand back.

“You’re welcome!”

Cassata stood up. The ball was about up to his thigh now. “Is this good now, Pizza?”

“Yeah!!” The look on Pizza’s face was absurdly happy considering the fact that it was only over frozen water. But it didn’t stop Cassata from smiling a little himself.

“Cas, help me lift mine onto it!!”

“...Pizza how is your snowball already bigger than mine.”

Pizza took a look at his snowball. Despite remaining behind Cassata the entire time, the ball was larger by a significant degree.

Cassata looked behind him. Ah.

While Cassata had taken a straight and direct line, Pizza’s twisted and turned, winding and whirling. Judging by the snow trail, he also… looped around a tree?

He sighed and turned to Pizza. “Never mind. C’mon, help me lift mine onto yours.”

Lifting the snowball was actually much easier said than done. It took a few tries, but finally, the two of them managed to hoist the ball a bit off the ground.

“Okay Cassata… on the count of three, let’s put it on!” Pizza’s huge blue eyes blinked rapidly. “One…”

“You sure it won’t crumble…?”

“Completely! Two…”

Cassata sighed, and braced himself.

“Three!”

Pizza was correct that the snow wouldn’t crumble as soon as they hoisted it off the ground. However, they had overshot a little, and now their snowman resembled the Tower of Pisa more than anything.

“No issue!” Pizza slapped a comically small head on top, anchored to the right. “He’ll just be… dancing?”

The dancing snowman topic was interrupted by a voice calling out. “I’m back~!”

Turning around, the duo were greeted by the sight of a cheery looking Cheese walking towards them, cup of cocoa in each hand.

“Hey Cheese— where did Ginger go?” Cassata gratefully took the warm cup of cocoa and wrapped his frozen fingers around it.

“Ah, Gingy had to go and deal with Eggnog,” Cheese responded, tail drooping. “Something about Turkey, I think.”

Cassata nodded knowingly, while Pizza kept on staring at the remaining cup in Cheese’s hand.

She looked him straight in the eye, then popped the lid open and took a big sip. “What? You think I was gonna get you one after accusing me of being lazy?”

A pained cry came from Pizza. “Cheese, you meanie head!”

“It’s what you deserve, poopy face!”

“Stop fighting you two— You can share mine, Pizza.”

“I love you so much Cassata.” Pizza sighed dreamily as the redhead handed him the steaming cup. Cassata ignored how his heart skipped a beat there.

It was at this moment that Cheese finally noticed their snowman. “Geez, what happened here?”

“It’s Mister Pepperoni!” Pizza defensively wrapped an arm around the snowman. “I won’t have you talking bad on him!”

“Gosh, Mr. Pepperoni, I’m so sorry my idiot brother brought you into this cold, harsh world.” Cheese knelt down to pick up a few pebbles, and pressed them into the tiny head.

Cassata tilted his head. “His eyes look like a fly’s.”

“Well, which one of you gave him such a tiny head?!”

Pizza immediately looked away, causing Cheese to glare at him.

“Of course,” she lightly punched his shoulder. “Should’ve known- it matches your own.”

“I was gonna add more…” Pizza muttered, rubbing his shoulder.

Suddenly, he then plucked Cheese’s empty plastic cup out of her hands, provoking a “Hey!” from her. Dumping out the last droplets of hot chocolate, he then placed the cup on top. The cup almost entirely engulfed the head, but it remained above the eyes.

Cheese took a step back and giggled. “He looks absolutely ridiculous.”

“We haven’t added on the arms yet!”

“Yeah, like that’ll make a difference.” Cheese glanced back at Cassata and Pizza. “You two need to go inside- seriously, Cassata, you’re looking blue.”

It was at this point that Cassata realized that he had lost feeling in his cheeks. He raised a hand to touch his face and realized that he had lost feeling in his fingers too.

“Let’s just take a photo first!” Pizza took out his phone. “Who knows how much longer until global warming eats us all~”

“Cassata, you’re the tallest so you should take it.” Pizza placed the blocky iPhone 5 in Cassata’s numb fingers. Then, they all huddled around in front of Mr. Pepperoni and jostled each other, trying pose.

“Cheese, stop fixing your hair, just stay still!”

“Well stop squeezing me! You’re gonna knock me over!”

“I’m trying to hug everyone! Who doesn’t like hugs?”

Cassata shuffled around, his torso wrapped in Pizza’s right arm. “Hey, I’m gonna just take the photo now. Quit it.”

Cheese and Pizza opened their mouths to protest, but upon seeing Cassata’s extended arm holding the phone, they both shut it and grinned.

The camera flash went off.

Back home, Cassata didn’t have many photos- of himself or really anything at all. What was there to capture? He blinked, and saw darkness, flashes of panic and fear and self hatred.

His mind already captured those moments, he didn’t need more reminders from photography.

But for the first time, looking at the grainy photo on Pizza’s tiny phone, there was something else. Something worth capturing, worth remembering.

#ff pizza #ff cassata #ff cheese #cazzia #food fantasy #ff fanfiction #college au #ask #request #ff gingerbread #ff eggnog #ff turkey #pizza trio #mod chewy #Anonymous

[littlecrookedheart]

Happy Holidays @virgofairy🎄😊☃

I was assigned the lovely Naju for secret santa this year! As soon as I knew she liked Driam, I had the feeling that I'd end up doing something related to those two star crossed lovers. I really did enjoyed writing this! Thank you @beckettharrington for putting this together!

I hope you enjoy extra cheesy things with a teeny bit of angst and a lil creepy Santa in the corner. 💕

Pairing : Liam x Drake

Rating : PG-13 for brief language and very brief suggestive behavior

Word Count: 2,920

The muffled jingle of holiday music carried over the palace lawn, security stationed at their posts bobbing their heads to the beat as they scanned over the camera footage.

Outside was peaceful, the palace lights shining on the snow like a soft haze. Inside, a lively jazz band and two hundred of Cordonia’s finest dancing in extravagant gowns and fitted tuxedos. The Yule Ball, a time for warmth and comfort, and as some would have it, deception and glamour.

Drake Walker made his rounds, settling against the bannister of the grand stairway, whiskey in hand as per usual.

“What's eating you, Walker?”

Olivia Nevrakis folded her arms, shimmering obsidian rings accenting her Stello Rain gown.

“What's it to you?”

“I did not just waste forty five seconds of my life coming over here to be shrugged off. Don't want to tell me? I couldn't care even an ounce less. But don't mope around and expect nobody to say anything. You're at a ball, for God's sake.”

“You're right. Sorry, I'm just dealing with internal shit.”

Olivia nodded, knowingly. “Internal shit meaning...him?”

She pointed with her pinky finger to a platform where Liam stood, shaking hands and laughing with dignitaries.

“Is it that-”

“Obvious? Yes. But probably only because I've been in your exact shoes. The only difference is...he loves the hell out of you.”

“Liv-”

“No, I didn't say that to be patronized. Believe me, I'm more than fine with how things have turned out. In fact, I'd say I'm happy.” She winked across the room at her fiancée, who blushed slightly in return.

“You're lucky to have found her.”

“I'm not taking credit for finding her. Last I checked, it was four weird men in a New York bar.” Olivia lit up, a rare, stunning flash of her perfect smile before she continued, “Nevertheless, I'm happy. But you...could use a pick me up. It's the holidays, smile a little.”

“You know how I feel about the holidays in this place.”

“So take him somewhere else, idiot. The world isn't confined to this castle. You need to get out for a bit, and Liam does too, regardless of whether or not he's aware.”

“I could take him to the cabin.”

“So go. Decorate. Take him, woo him, spend the holidays feeling warm and fuzzy. Come back on the twenty sixth, swallow your hatred for society, and get back in the groove.” She turned and left him with a pat on the back and a fairly decent plan.

--

“Hello?”

“Drake?”

“...Yes?” Drake stood atop a step stool, winding a strand of white lights around a freshly harvested tree. Phone tucked in his pocket and on speaker, his voice strained as he tried to toss the lights to the other side.

“Where are you? I've been looking for you all morning. I had that meeting with the ambassador-”

“Liam?”

“Who else goes to meetings with ambassadors?”

“Sorry, I just...I have a surprise. Can you come to the cabin at all over the next few days? Maybe after the Yuletide events on Christmas Day?”

“You're at the cabin? Drake, darling, please come home.”

“It's a Christmas surprise, Li. I've been working on this since last night for us.”

Liam’s end of the line went quiet apart from the sound of papers and clicking of a mouse.

He sighed, “I don't think I can make it up there. Maybe the day after Christmas? I'm so, so sorry, my love. You know I'd-”

“I know,” Drake stepped down, tucking the end of the light strand behind a section of branches. “It's alright.”

“I'm sorry. Drake, I actually have to go, I've got a meeting in twenty minutes. But hey, come home? Please?”

“I'm...I'm actually going to stay here for Christmas. I feel clarity here, like this is where I'm supposed to be right now.”

“Then you should stay. You deserve to have a good holiday as everyone else. I'll call you after my meeting, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I love you,” Liam said, ending the call.

“So much for that,” Drake mumbled, plugging the light strand into a surge protector.

The cabin lit up beautifully, fuzzy throws thrown onto the couch as he'd seen in catalogs, ornaments chosen with a mercury glass theme in mind.

He went to the kitchen, pouring nearly an entire bottle of bourbon into a glass pitcher of eggnog he'd made, finishing the rest of the bottle in one drink.

Drake collapsed back onto the couch, closing his eyes. Maybe this Christmas wouldn't be as perfect as he'd planned, but he was determined to spend it as relaxed and happy as he could be.

--

He awoke to a loud knock at the cabins door, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. Hours had passed, no more daylight passing through the windows. The glimmering fairy lights illuminated the entire interior, their reflection shining on the floor like stars.

Pulling open the door, he felt a rush of emotion well in his chest.

“Hey,” Drake said, almost as if an exhale, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“Hey, you.”

Liam’s hand gently brushed the side of his face, the cool of his fingers sending a small chill down his neck.

“What are you doing here? I thought you couldn't make it.”

“Can we talk inside?” He asked, the wool of his coat sleeves accumulating a dusting of snow.

Drake stepped aside gesturing for Liam to head in before craning his neck, checking for company that might be stationed around the perimeter.

“It's just me,” Liam said, hanging his coat on the rack, finding Drake's thrown on the couch and hanging it, too.

The door closed, Drake's footsteps heavy on the wood floor.

“I'm not sure I understand what's going on.”

“I wasn't lying, I really can't make it for Christmas. There's no way I can even sneak out tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, I don't think I expected you to, Li.”

“I was hoping I could find a way. You already know how I feel about being so sneaky, Drake. It makes everything harder. But I had to see you.”

“Thanks for coming by, but I would have understood. I know you can't be in two places at once. Besides, you shouldn't have to spend Christmas away from home.”

Liam’s brow furrowed as he shook his head, reaching his arms around Drake. Their embrace was warm, transcendental, the kind of touch you can't just walk away from.

“It isn't home if you're not there with me.” His lips warmed on Drake's skin, nuzzling in the crook of his neck. “Say you'll have me tonight? I can't spend another holiday without you.”

Drake sighed, catching Liam’s lips with his own, their foreheads resting together.

Drake kissed the top of Liam’s hand, his stubble scraping pleasantly across his wrist. Liam watched him in awe as he kissed playfully up his arm, looking up once he reached his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he started backing up, caught in Liam’s grasp before he could move too far away.

“Now you're the fool. Don't be sorry, love. I'm just focused on your beauty.”

Drake chuckled, bass rolling through his chest. “You're saying I'm beautiful?”

“I am,” Liam kissed each of his cheeks, holding the sides of his face softly in his hands, “I'm saying you're gorgeous. I'm saying you're handsome and dashing and all of those things.”

“Oh. Thanks, so are you. Is everything okay?”

“Of course, I'm just drinking all of this in. So, tell me about what's going on,” Liam moved to the floor, filling his hands with clutter, "with all of this."

“I was...trying to wrap gifts.”

“Would you like help?”

“Sure,” Drake nodded, sitting next to him. “Thanks.”

Liam took a box of large puzzle pieces that fit together to reveal a puppy wearing a Christmas hat and placed it in the center of a square Drake had already cut and left on the floor.

“The trick is these simple folds. At least, for me. Everyone has a different method.” He folded each edge of paper, taping down the first edge at the middle of the box.

“That makes it look much neater,” Drake laughed, showing Liam one of the gifts he'd wrapped, adorned with jagged edges and way too much tape.

“Exactly. This way, you don't even have to cut it properly.” Liam folded over the last corner and reached for a bag of small adhesive ribbons.

“I actually know a trick for these,” Drake said, quickly fashioning a bow from the ribbon and handing it to Liam.

“This is really nice. It's for Bartie?”

“Yeah, I know he's little, but there are only like six pieces so I figure it won't be too hard.”

“No, that sounds like it'll be perfect.”

He handed Drake the gift, meeting his eyes with a wide smile.

“You know what we should do? Order pizza.”

“Liam, I don't think anyone will come out here. Even if they normally would, it's snowing a lot more than it was earlier.” Drake smirked, “If I'm lucky, we'll get snowed in together.”

“That may be fun, but it certainly would not be lucky. Anyway...I hate to pull this card, but-”

“You are the king.”

“I am, aren't I?”

“You know my usual.”

--

An hour later, Liam dismissed the guard who delivered their pizza, setting it down on the floor by the fireplace. Drake grabbed two glass bottles from the fridge, setting one in front of Liam and the other next to him.

“This is better than candle light,” Drake smiled, meeting Liam midway for a kiss. His hand wrapped around the back of his neck, gently toying with the hairs at the base of his head.

“As much as I want to lay here and kiss you, I’m starving.”

“We have time for both,” Drake said, taking a bite of his slice.

They ate in the quiet, the slow crackle of the fire and flicker of the twinkling tree lights making the room feel like the epitome of Yuletide.

-

Drake pushed the box away, taking their empty bottles and returning to the kitchen. Liam gathered the trash and followed him, filling a glass of water while Drake changed the bag in the recycle bin.

“I wanted to have the perfect holiday with you,” Liam said, a solemn look on his face, “I seem to have forgotten all of what I figured we’d do. Cookies, mistletoe. I didn’t even think of bringing it with me.”

“We don’t need those things to have the perfect holiday.” Drake slinked his arms around Liam’s waist, their lips brushing softly together.

“I know you hate dancing,” Liam sighed, guiding Drake into a slow, simple movement, “But I’d love to dance with you tonight.”

“Only because you look like that,” Drake smiled, swaying with him.

“Like what?”

“What did you say earlier? ‘Beautiful, gorgeous, handsome…dashing.’”

Liam chuckled, kissing him sweetly, and began to hum a gentle rendition, taking a long moment to meet Drake’s eyes before kissing him, deep and adoring, filled with more love than either of them could contain.

“I’d give up breathing if it meant you could kiss me that way forever,” Drake whispered, scattering smaller kisses along Liam’s neck.

Liam said hands found the small of his back, guiding him into a small dip. They both laughed, locking hands as their dance ended.

“Present time?” Drake chuckled and looked away, selecting a small cylinder shaped box from the pile near the tree.

“This one’s yours,” he said, handing Liam the box, “You’re already here and I don’t know how to wrap this.”

“Yours is here,” Liam patted over his chest, laughing at Drake’s not so subtle glare.

“Very romantic, Li. Your heart?”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Always, but not quite. It’s in my pocket.” He handed Drake an envelope scrawled with calligraphy, ‘My Love.’

“Corny,” Drake smiled, “I love it already.”

“I know you do. You’ll never fool me with that gruff exterior.”

“Oh, I’m gruff? That sounds very promising.”

“Open it, dear.”

Drake’s eyes rolled a little at the pet name, but he opened it nevertheless, blinking several times in shock at the card.

My Love,

I find it’s easier to show you how I feel when I do it in writing. You know how much you mean to me, how much you always have meant to me. I can’t think of a single reality in which I wouldn’t love you the way I do right now, and each day, I love you more.

My gift to you is one you have had for years, but a bit more so now, if you’ll have me.

Liam

Drake looked up, the butterflies in his stomach filling the entirety of his heart. Liam gazed at him lovingly, a coy smile on his lips.

“What is this about, Li?”

“I wish I knew how to tell you how much I love you. How much I’m in love with you.”

“I…thought we agreed to cut that word out of our vocabulary for now.”

“I never agreed to that.” Liam stood to his feet, walking to the window and moving the curtain to gaze into the snow.

“Why can’t we be in love, Drake? Why can’t we be happy?“

“Liam…”

“No, don’t give me that.” Liam turned to face him, arms crossed. His forehead creased in the center, eyes brimming with tears. “There is no reason. America has its first female president. Things are evolving. The world is progressing. Cordonia, too.”

“What does that have to do with you and me?”

“You know how my heart feels about you. There has never been a single day in which I don’t want you to be mine.”

“Things aren’t so simple-”

“Things are more than simple. I love you, and I know you love me. You can’t stand there and tell me that you don’t.”

Drake’s emotion sounded like anger, fear and love mixed into a concoction that sounded like yelling. “Liam, of course I love you! I love you more than I know how to love a person.”

Liam wiped his eyes and squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath. “Cordonia is more than ready to have two kings.”

Drake’s eyes widened, his heart feeling as if it had fallen through his chest. Despite everything they’d been through, Liam was the only person he’d ever trusted so completely. He was, even more than all else, the only person he’d ever been in love with and the only person he’d ever dreamed of loving.

Yet, somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too good to be true, as if it were some sort of mirage that would fade eventually. And he wanted him, all of him, the drowsy giggles and the morning breath, the sweet drabbles and late night talks, he’d even take the crown and the glitz if it meant being with him. But fear is one hell of a thing to feel, and Drake was well versed in every corridor of fear’s dungeon.

“What are you saying?” He asked before even realizing his mouth was moving, the words spilling before the both of them like an overflowing sink.

“I’m saying…be with me. Openly.” Liam took a silver band from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers. “I thought…but I was wrong to think this would be necessary.” He pocketed the ring, smiling up at him before continuing,“We don’t have to wear rings or even get married,” Liam took both of Drake’s hands, pulling him to eye level. “Just be with me. Please.”

An instant, a crash, the outpour of two intertwined hearts, all of these things colliding into the canvas of their forever.

Fuck fear, Drake thought. This is the beginning of everything to ever truly matter in my life.

“Okay.”

Liam froze, his breath shuddering as if he were laden in the snow. “You mean that? Don’t say that to me if you don’t mean it.”

Drake grabbed him, holding him tighter than he’d ever remembered holding him, only breaking the embrace to gift him the most passionate of kisses. He reached into Liam’s pocket and choked back a sob, turning it instead into a laugh as he slipped the ring onto his finger.

“I love you so, so much. I mean it.”

#this is extremely extremely corny #extra cheese at the end #choices secret santa #liam x drake #driam #christmas things #write things

[officialjkhogan]

STRAY: Chapter Four

by J.K. Hogan

Noah let himself inside the house, and turned to look through the peephole to see if he’d been followed. He couldn’t believe he’d let his guard down like that. Beltrane was a harsh city, and he was a young, pretty seventeen year old with parents who barely gave enough of a shit to make sure he was still breathing. He was constantly being targeted by criminals, degenerates, and pedophiles who thought he was younger than he really was, so he knew better than to stop paying attention to his surroundings even for a second.

But there was no sign of the creepy stalker, or the peculiar man with the long blond hair who’d run him off. In fact, the only thing out of place was the very large, white cat that sat on its haunches on the sidewalk across the street, staring straight ahead as if it were watching Noah’s house. It was big for a domesticated cat—he thought it was probably one of those big-boned breeds like a Maine Coon or something—not that Noah new much of anything about cats.

It was odd to see a stray cat out and about. Decades before Noah was born, a disease called hypertoxicosis had ravaged the world’s population, much like the bubonic plague had centuries before. And like the black death had spread by fleas on rats, hypertoxicosis—or the leeching, as it had been called due to the rapid exsanguination from every pore—had been traced back to a certain few breeds of domestic cat. Since cross-breeding was rampant and uncontrolled among strays, there’d been no way to tell which cats carried the leeching gene, so there had been mass extermination of non-purebred and stray cats. The disease had been almost completely eradicated, but most people still wouldn’t touch a cat with a ten foot pole, and many people would still kill them on site. Not Noah though. He liked them. And he knew exactly what it felt like to be stuck in a world that didn’t want him.

Even from such a distance, Noah could see the feline’s big blue eyes blinking at him, as if it somehow knew he was watching. Satisfied that there was no movement out on the street apart from the cat, Noah turned away from the door. The foyer was dark, but then again, his parents had never bothered leaving a light on for him before, so he had no idea why he’d thought they’d start now.

That wasn’t exactly right. When he was little, they’d doted on him like something precious. They’d been good parents, saying and doing all the right things. His mom had been a stay-at-home caregiver for a while, and she’d been great at it, thinking up fun projects for them to work on and taking him places. But slowly, little by little, they had changed. Their eyes faded, and the love in them dissolved until they treated him like nothing but a roommate, or a pet they’d brought home and realized they were stuck with.

When Noah really thought hard about it, he always believed that the tipping point had been when they joined that church. Not that it was like any church Noah had ever seen. They had a building a few streets over, but the real action happened at a facility on fifty acres of former farmland outside the Beltrane city limits. Noah had no idea what happened out there—he wouldn’t attend, which drove an even deeper wedge between himself and his parents—but it sounded just like every description of a cult he’d ever heard of. Like, textbook.

Church of the New Hope was what they called themselves. The “worship leaders” had been trying to get his parents to move out to the main facility for a while now, but they’d held out this long because Noah refused, and he was their responsibility. But he wondered how long that would last. He was already an adult under the laws of the land, age being a mere formality these days, and in a few months, he would be an adult in the eyes of the almost-nonexistent official law.

Shaking his head, Noah shrugged off his backpack and dragged it by the strap as he walked into the living room. In there, only a single lamp was lit. He dropped his bag with a gasp when he realized his parents were sitting in the dim room, rigid and silent.

“Fuck! You guys scared the shit outta me.”

“Language, boy,” Bob Cowan said in a voice so devoid of emotion, it sucked all the air out of the room.

Anxiety sparking nerves all over his body, Noah’s gaze flickered to their feet, where sat two matching suitcases. He licked his lips and made eye contact with his mother. “What’s going on? Mom…” he prompted when she didn’t answer immediately.

When she looked at him, eyes wide and unblinking, she looked through him.

“Dad?”

Noah’s father turned dark eyes on him, the color so like his own. “We’re leaving.”

It was like a bullet to the heart, the way those words punched through Noah, all the more devastating for their dispassion. “You’re going to that commune, aren’t you? The one with the church?”

“Yes,” Emmy Cowan answered, finally making true eye contact. “We are. It’s time.”

“I won’t go with you,” Noah blurted, his voice raising an octave when he had a sudden image of them forcing him into a car and driving him out to some cult.

“We know. You don’t believe the way we do,” Emmy replied with a wealth of censure in her voice.

“We’ve signed the house over to the New Hope,” Bob said. “You can continue living here until they come to claim it for whatever they plan to do with it, but there’s no telling how long that will be so you might want to start thinking about going out on your own—sooner rather than later.”

“Wait, what?”

“They might let you take your proficiencies early, so you can start working.”

“Wait, what? You’d do this? Just leave me, abandon your…child?”

“You’re not our child,” Emmy whispered.

Noah stared at their impassive faces, hoping he’d see something that would make their words make sense. “I don’t understand what that means.”

Bob narrowed his eyes. “It has become obvious that you do not belong with us. We’ve realized the truth—with the help of the church. It became painfully obvious with the way you resisted the Light.”

“T-The truth? Which is w-what?”

“You’re a monster,” Emmy hissed.

Noah gasped and reeled away from the two strangers, parents who were not his parents. He took a step back, then another. His mind whirled with a hundred different thoughts that wouldn’t quite coalesce, because those blank, shadowy faces were etching themselves into his grey matter. He’d remember them for the rest of his life.

When spots swam in his vision, Noah realized he’d stopped breathing. He tried to take a deep breath, but only managed a strangled wheeze. He took one step back, then another, and another, until he felt the doorframe with his fingertips. All but falling through the door, once he was back in the foyer, he turned and scrambled up the creaky staircase to the second floor. Skidding around two corners at top speed, he burst into his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Backing up against the decrepit wood, Noah slid down until his bottom hit the floor, where he curled up in a ball, wrapped his arms around his head, and bawled until he couldn’t speak and could barely breathe.

The musty smell of the mildewing carpet invaded his senses, choking the breath from his lungs. He couldn’t move.

You’re not our child.

What did that mean? Maybe they were disowning him. Maybe he was adopted.

Noah guessed it didn’t really matter because they were leaving him. He heard footsteps downstairs. Doors opening and closing. Sounds of objects being moved around, dragged. The final sound of the heavy front door slamming shut. And then he knew.

He was alone.

Noah needed to breathe. He tried to stand up, to open the window, but he couldn't force his extremities to cooperate. He’d heard of this, sometime while studying for his proficiencies, this thing that happened to a person who was traumatized. Hysterical paralysis, they’d called it.

He couldn't move his legs, but he had partial control over his arms, so he crawled. Gasping for air, he dragged himself across the room, over the moldering carpet, until he reached his workbench that was situated in front of the window. Noah’s muscles trembled as he hauled himself onto it, sending tools and mechanical parts raining to the floor. With a gasp and a groan, he forced up the sash, dragged his body over the sill, and tumbled out onto the rusted fire escape.

Crisp night air filled his lungs. The mist of light rain settled on his skin like dew on a spider web. Finally, Noah could breathe. And move. But he didn’t. He lay there on the fire escape, staring up at the swirling gray nimbus above him. Breathe. Just breathe.

Noah heard a noise to his left. Barely a whisper. Weary, like moving through molasses, he turned his head and saw the cat. The big white cat that had been staring at his house was padding along the metal railing, impossibly balanced on a surface no more than two inches in width. It blinked at him, waiting.

“You’re a big fella, aren’t you? Surely you belong to somebody or you probably wouldn’t have survived this long, so why are you following me around?” Noah rolled to his side, the cold from the corrugated metal fire escape seeping through his clothes to his skin, and faced the cat. “Don’t you have a home? A family? I don’t. Not anymore.” His voice broke on the last syllable, and dissolved into a sob.

The cat leapt off the railing, landing on silent feet beside Noah. It crouched into a sphinx position and watched him. Unblinking. Still.

Noah sniffled, then rubbed his face with the sleeve of his pullover. “I can stay in this house at least. Until they come and take it.”

The cat remained, so Noah kept talking, saying everything and nothing. “My parents left to join some religious commune. Church of the New Hope. I think it’s a cult, but they don’t much care what I think. They said I wasn’t their child. They said I’m a monster…” His breath hitched. His lips trembled.

“I’m almost a man now. I take my proficiencies in a few weeks. In the eyes of practically everyone, I’m adult enough to survive, except I have nothing. No money, no job, only a temporary roof over my head. The only income I have is from the electronics I build. I can sometimes sell them to people who can’t afford the store-bought kind. Sometimes being the operative word. And you know what else? I’m lying in the rain, pouring out my life story at the feet of a stray cat. Gods, what a mess I am.”

The cat inched closer, crawling with its belly to the floor, approaching cautiously. It obviously decided that Noah posed no threat, because it curled up in the hollow of his stomach, its tail wrapping around its body and face until it was nothing but a furry white ball. Grateful for the warmth of life that penetrated his numbness, Noah drifted off to sleep. It wouldn’t be the last time he slept outside in the rain.

**** 

Weeks later, Noah had abandoned his room upstairs, for the heat of the fireplace on the main level. The central heating had cut off shortly after his parents left, since nobody paid the bill, and the electricity soon followed. It was still a roof, he often told himself when the weather was particularly foul. He was occasionally able to get firewood that people dropped off at the agri-dump, but mostly he burned pieces of furniture or his parents’ books, things that would never get used again.

Noah’s mother had been a gardener and a canner, so he’d had quite a bit of preserved food. That was something that had probably saved his life. He treated himself to a real meal whenever he was able to sell some of his electronics, but he mostly existed on canned vegetables, fruit preserves, and dried meats. It would have to do, because until he passed his proficiencies, he wasn’t legally employable.

He was soldering a circuit chip when the pounding started—heavy fist-falls on the door—and he knew what it meant. The church had come to claim the house. Whether they had plans to rent it out for profit, or to tear it down, he had no clue, but he knew they wouldn’t let him squat there. And something told Noah he shouldn’t be there when they came in.

Turning off his portable torch, he let it cool while he stuffed his tools, safety gear, loose parts, and a few unfinished projects into a wide leather duffel. The torch went in last, and he prayed it was cool enough to not burn a hole in the bag.

The knock came again, louder this time, more insistent.

Noah looped the shoulder strap over his head, across his body, and hefted the bag. He dashed up the stairs as fast as his load allowed. He’d taken to keeping his backpack stuffed full of clothes and the few trinkets he couldn’t live without, in case he needed to make a quick exit. His instinct proved correct. After setting the duffel down long enough to shoulder the backpack, he picked it up again, grunting at the weight of it. He’d have to find somewhere safe to stash his gear, and then find somewhere safe to stay the night.

The loud crash from downstairs echoed through the house just as Noah was stuffing his bags through his bedroom window. They’d kicked the door in—they’d had to, because Noah had scraped together enough money to change the lock. He couldn’t say why he felt it was so important that the church people didn’t find him in the house—maybe they’d try to have him arrested for squatting, or worse, try to force him to come with him to their creepy commune. Noah wasn’t sticking around to find out.

His dirty sneakers thudded on the fire escape as he jumped down from his window. He could hear the faceless intruders rummaging around inside the house as he hoisted his bags on his shoulders and descended the rusty stairs. It was dark, as dark as it had been the night that terrifying man had stalked him. Noah vowed to be more aware of his surroundings as he plunged into the emptiness, intent on finding a place to spend the night.

****

Sometimes when I’m in a dream, I know I’m in a dream. From the moment I fall asleep, I dream, straight through until I wake up again. Every night I die a thousand deaths.

Tonight I am me, but someone else. A boy of about ten, with a halo of golden curls. I only know because I catch a glimpse of myself in a store window as I walk down the sidewalk. My pale skin is flushed pink from the whipping wind. It is day, but the streets are shadowy. I sense a presence nearby but I see no one else on the block.

I turn a corner, head down an alley, and stop short. A girl appears before me. Older than me, but not by much. Her hair is dark as midnight, her skin, pale as the moon. I’m intrigued by her, so when she turns to leave, I follow. She leads me around another corner, on another darkened city block. I follow her until I lose my bearings and my surroundings no longer look familiar.

Suddenly she stops, then turns to face me. She smiles, the moonlight glinting off her teeth. She crowds me against the crumbling brick of the side of a building. I think she’s going to kiss me and I am paralyzed. But instead, she sinks her teeth into my neck, and my mind goes blank, my thoughts like quicksand as she sucks the life out of me.

#stray #chapter #m/m romance #m/m paranormal #m/m fantasy #gay #gay fiction #paranormal romance #dystopian fantasy #gay romance

[extraplanetarystory]

Part 4

We were about to fall into a round of awkward silence before Mickey—Micje suggested food. He said he was starving, since he was still settling into his living quarters as of that morning. His shuttle from Glau arrived so late the night before, he just passed out on the cheap bed as soon as he found the room.

I agreed because it got us moving on to something else...and I wanted to see what a public cafeteria was like on Zi'inra. And I assume Riche'e agreed just because it got us moving on to something else. I'd seen the parties he goes to; food that wasn't served on fancy plates smaller than my hand didn't seem like something that would excite him.

The mess hall—or floor, rather—was a massive buffet style area with various sized tables spread out. Flimsy partitions and half-walls lined blocks of three tables by three around the perimeter of the hall, with most of the larger tables in the center. Some two person tables lined the walls. Brown and white made up the bulk of everything, with orange, yellow, and green accents everywhere. The white noise of people talking and eating was muted, like a quietly noisy library. I wondered if it was the combination of carpet and walls or if galactic society just had a collective respect for food time and eating areas. The second option amused me more, so that's what I stuck with.

And it seemed I was right about Riche'e. Micje lead us into the hall, Riche'e went straight for a small table, sat down, and rubbed the edge of the red mark that had developed on the corner of his forehead.

I kept following Micje as he made his way to a buffet counter. He stopped at the end of it and slowly ran a hand through his shaggy hair. He was trying to look nonchalant when he turned and peeked over his arm at the tables, at Riche'e.

"I think I just lost my chance at Zega," he said quietly when he noticed me beside him. "I'm going to be dismissed." He nodded to himself.

I shook my head.

He nodded again with more force and dropped his hand. "I'm reckless! No self-control. Imagine if that was a real situation? Could've been deadly!" He cursed under his breath. "I turned down a gaming contract for this. I was so... And what happens before the day has started? I injure someone for not paying attention."

I pursed my lips; my eyebrows pulled together.

"He is not injured, just bruised," I said. "The fact you say those things shows you are not actually..." I searched for the Copan word for stupid. "You're not kuma." That wasn't it, but I was pretty sure kuma was close. It meant something like moron. "If that ball was something bad and deadly like some real situation, would you think that tossing it around would be something you would do? I do not think you would be throwing it at your people. I would not."

"True, I guess." He smiled and turned back to the counter, grabbing a metal bowl. His head swung right and left as he got a good look at everything.

"And have we started the actual test yet? I think you are safe still." That's what I was hoping for myself, at least.

"Either way, I hope they see it how you said." He settled on a pot of what looked like runny, gray oatmeal and started ladling to himself. Out of all the foods—most of which were colorful, if strangely shaped—he went for...that.

"No one saw, maybe. Do not worry."

"Someone always sees," he shook his head. He looked up and quickly looked around, then pointed a space in the air before he went back to ladling. I didn't see it at first, trying to find whatever it was on the wall he showed me, but then there was a slight wave in the air. The wave bobbed and drifted and I was able to make out a sphere.

"What is that?" It seemed like it was an invisible camera, which I hoped it wasn't.

"What do you mean what is that?" His eyebrows furrowed at me.

"Is that how they watch us?"

"Obviously."

And I had to get this question out of the way: "Those are not everywhere, are they?"

"Yes."

"No, I am saying...everywhere. Everywhere?"

"Eh..." He watched me for a moment. "Yes." He chuckled and shook his head. "Public safety. Yes, they are everywhere."

Okay, great, so the galaxy's version of CCTV was invisible floating balls that could follow you around? And people back home thought cameras on street corners were creepy.

I couldn't watch Micje prepare the bowl anymore as he moved on to sprinkling some powder from a tiny jar into it. (A dried version of the Essence of Pure Flavor, I hope.) I grabbed a purple fruit and spun on a heel, making for the table Riche'e went to.

It was a little disappointing there were no cookies stacked somewhere on the counter, as all good free buffets have, but the fruit would do. I assumed it was a fruit. It looked like a kiwano melon, just not orange, and had a sweet smell that made it a perfect candidate for a dollar store shampoo. I hoped the taste test was as interesting once I figured out how to open and eat it.

"Someone always sees," Micje mumbled. Some utensils jangled and his feet scraped on the floor in a seeming hurry to not get left alone.

Maybe we should have started a bet. Who would get kicked out for their fault first? Me for my lack of basic skills or him for his oopsie? Only time would tell.

"How is your head?" I asked Riche'e when I sat across from him. The event may have been satisfying but I felt bad for laughing.

Riche'e glanced up, but hardly, giving a vague shrug, a shake of his head, and a barely intelligible mumble. So I guessed that meant it was fine—or he was acting like a cat that didn't want to draw any more attention to the fact it got hurt. He was holding stiff and reading a wall of text on a clear, flexible sheet, a series of images scrolling up on the side it. They looked like ships. Or maybe shuttles. Jets?

"Where did that come from?" I looked around to the other tables to see if they had some laying around like leaflets left at a café, but I only saw a few other folks with them in hand. Riche'e hadn't been holding that before.

Both Micje and him moved at the same time. Micje, who'd only just sat and picked up his spoon, put his spoon down and shoved up his sleeve to reveal a cuff bracelet with that same type of sheet wrapped around it and his forearm. As the light hit it, a few symbols blinked on the sheet.

Riche'e rolled up his sleeve, but took his time doing so so the fabric would stay folded. He took his sheet and wrapped it, the edge guiding itself around as if it were magnetized. Once the edge of the sheet was touching most of the cuff, the text shrunk to a small box on his inner forearm. He held it up to model a moment before pulling the sheet off to go back to reading.

"You don't have one?" Micje asked, finally getting to dig into his mush.

"No... I am a little out of the circle." I had no sleeves to hide my arms, so I just held up my bare wrists. I felt 'out of the loop' was a good vague way to explain it.

"You should. With these, I don't know why anyone sticks to the big blocks."

I snorted. "Where I come from, those big blocks are state of the art."

Riche'e sighed as I said that. (I said it in English. I didn't know the Copan phrase for cutting edge!) His cheeks rippled as he clenched his jaw. His drifted up from the text. He laid the sheet on the table.

"Listen, as I was saying before..."

I bit my top lip as hard as I could bear and pushed myself against the back of my chair.

"Earth isn't an real planet. The Orphanage also searched for planets called Terra, Erde, and Diqiu—several others—and they don't exist either." He started twisting his cuff around his wrist. "They're just stories that are passed around among the groups of rudkjurt as they are discovered until they believe them because it's easier to believe than your past. It's a replacement for what you don't know." He stopped playing with his cuff. "And you shouldn't be here try to start a career based on it. You will be disappointed, and you won't make it far."

Micje looked up at soon as Riche'e said the magic word, but waited until he was finished. "You're a rudkjurt?" So much for that vague explanation and no one else finding out.

I stayed quiet, glaring at Riche'e. I didn't like the way he said to try. I didn't like anything he said. Where did he get off? He thought he was an expert because he read a couple of articles on the space internet?

"Screw you." I leaned forward, squeezing my not-kiwano. "You have only read things. I have true experience with the Orphanage. I am not going to try to start a career based on it. I will. I am going to pass our test for Zega. And he"—I pointed at Micje—"is going to pass our test for Zega. And I am going to prove that Earth exists. And if—if you pass the test, you will be right next to me when I do so I can see your face."

That was strong. I didn't know what I was supposed to be reading on Riche'e's face, but he didn't say anything. His eyebrows simply raised and twisted and lowered. I swallowed. I knew how stupid everything I just said was, but I held his gaze. Hopefully the panic wasn't written all over my face.

This was going to be an embarrassing week. I saw it right away. Tomorrow, the day after, the day after that, I was going to be tapped on the shoulder, discreetly asked to leave the premises, and Riche'e was going to give me the classic told-you-so.

So, great, I had to learn how to read, function, speak big Copan words, and not get kicked out in less than seven days. I should get a head start on space maps and real astronomy in the case I actually lived up to my word. The very unlikely case.

I wondered what whoever was watching on the invisible cameras was thinking.

I couldn't hold the stare-off any longer. He won this round. I dropped my head and lifted the fruit. "How do I eat this?"

#science fiction #writing #original writing #extraplanetary

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian fic - “A Dalton Boy Dying to Be Used” (Rated NC17)

It's Easter Sunday, and Kurt has chosen to observe the holiday at home with his sub instead of at his club, by eating chocolate and decorating ... eggs. (1577 words)

This is another little scene to break up the tension from the last chapter to the next chapter (coming up soon). I wrote it in honor of Easter, but I felt a little sacrilege posting it yesterday, all things considered xD Dedicated to @freakingpotter, to whom my paint brush reference belongs (because she's an amazing, wonderful artist, so when I put artist specific things in a story, it's usually for her :D) because I miss her :(

Read on AO3.

“Are we staying here tonight, Master?” Sebastian asks, watching Kurt walk back in to the bedroom after being left for close to an hour unattended. Sebastian didn’t misbehave. He wouldn’t dream of it, and not just because he couldn’t move, bound on his back on the bed. Obedience is the road to reward in Kurt’s house, and reward is usually Kurt. Besides, Sebastian can’t assume that just because Kurt’s not in the room with him that he doesn’t know what Sebastian is up to.

Kurt has an uncanny sixth sense when it comes to Sebastian, which leads Sebastian to believe that Kurt has a nanny cam or two set up where Sebastian has yet to find them.

Kurt had left Sebastian tied to his bed comfortably, the way he does whenever they’re about to partake in a more sensual session – silk scarves wrapped around his wrists and threaded underneath the mattress, pulling his arms out to his sides; ankles cuffed in fur-lined leather on the opposite end, keeping his legs spread. Kurt eliminates discomfort and forgoes the use of pain so that Sebastian can concentrate on absorbing pure, rapturous pleasure … and not respond to it.

Scenes like this are some of the hardest for Sebastian to handle because they skirt the boundaries of emotion. They’re psychologically taxing, straddling a border between Sebastian acting as an object, a mere receptacle, and being a lover. Kurt lavishes Sebastian with attention that shadows lovemaking – gentle caresses, tender kisses, and selfless body worship. Sebastian isn’t required to wear a blindfold or a gag. He is encouraged to watch Kurt work. He has permission to talk and moan, unless those privileges are specifically taken away, but the trade-off is that he doesn’t get to touch or kiss.

And he isn’t allowed to cum.

“We are, preppy,” Kurt answers, kicking the door shut behind him. Sebastian finds it odd and unnecessary that Kurt would do that, seeing as they’re in his house alone, but it’s a ritual for Kurt – a way to lock them inside their own little world, a space where ex-boyfriends and ex-lovers, work stress and school strife, have no place. It’s symbolic, the way almost everything with Kurt is steeped in symbolism, from his clothes to his décor to his intricate tattoos.

“But … don’t you need to be at the club? Don’t you have something special planned for Easter, Master?” Sebastian knows that Kurt usually spends his holidays at his club, and that he plans special theme events for his customers. Kurt’s club is more his home than his actual house is, and his regulars are like his family. Kurt is never alone when he’s at his club. There’s always someone available to fill his voids when he needs them filled. But since Kurt met Sebastian, they’ve spent the holidays together. Sebastian likes that. He likes the intimacy of having his Dom all to himself. Here in Kurt’s house, Sebastian doesn’t feel the pressure of having to act like the perfect submissive in front of anyone. He’s just Kurt’s sub here, in the most comfortable, erotic, and personal atmosphere imaginable … and he doesn’t have to fight for Kurt’s attention.

Though he has to less and less now. Kurt has developed a singular focus when Sebastian’s around, and that’s Sebastian.

That may mean that Sebastian undergoes more vigorous sessions, more inventive methods of fulfilling Kurt’s sadistic needs, but Sebastian’s not complaining.

Kurt extinguishes his clove in the purple ashtray on his bedside table before he climbs up onto the bed. With both hands occupied, his legs and abs do all of the work balancing his weight. Watching Kurt’s toned stomach clench above the waistband of his black lounge pants, the effort accentuating his six-pack, makes Sebastian, bound and immobile, salivate. It would be the greatest reward in the world to lick Kurt’s abs, nose his waistband down over his hips and work his mouth over his Dom’s cock.

But Sebastian knows that if he wants Kurt’s cock, he’s going to have to earn it.

“Yeah, we do, but it’s not my turn to wear the bunny costume this year.”

Sebastian has to bite his tongue hard not to snicker at the image his brain produces of Kurt dressed like a rough trade Easter Bunny, with a carrot-shaped dildo clutched in his furry-gloved hand, and a clove cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. But then, Kurt dressed in silky white panties, and wearing leather chaps along with fluffy ears and a tail, black kohl eyeliner, dark red lipstick, and a spiked collar around his neck … that would be something to see.

“Besides, handing out candy and hiding eggs are the kinds of things that littles like to do, and I’m not really down for that. Elliott’s much better at coordinating that crap than I am. I’d much rather celebrate at home.”

“Celebrate? But I thought you were an atheist, Master.”

“You don’t have to be religious to eat chocolate and paint eggs, preppy. You just have to be creative …” Kurt pauses, chills zipping down Sebastian’s spine with a flash of Kurt’s signature Grinch-like grin - the corners of his mouth curling up his cheeks while his brows draw together in the middle “… and inspired.”

Sebastian watches Kurt crawl between his legs carrying a palette of paints in his right hand, a paint brush and a towel in his left, but not a single egg in sight.

“Wh-what eggs, Master?” Sebastian asks, afraid that “eggs” might be a code they haven’t discussed yet.

Kurt’s face darkens, the kiss he blows signifying that something deliciously devious is about to begin.

“Yours, preppy,” he says, nudging Sebastian’s balls with his knee. Kurt puts his palette down carefully between Sebastian’s thighs and lays his towel over his sub’s left knee. The brush, he keeps. He holds it between his thumb and his fingertips, holding it up for Sebastian to see. “Today we’ll be using a Da Vinci Maestro Round Brush, size 16, with bristles of Siberian Kolinsky Red Sable fur.”

Sebastian nods as if any of that meant anything to him. He’s never taken an art class. The last time he tried his hand at painting a picture, he was using a Crayola watercolor set, and he was maybe ten years old. But Sebastian goes completely speechless at the mention of sable. One of his mother’s favorite coats while Sebastian was growing up was made of sable. Sebastian had a kind of creepy love affair with petting the damned thing behind his mother’s back (which means, ironically, that Sebastian spent a great deal of his formative years in a literal closet). Sable is one of the softest materials Sebastian can imagine touching his skin, aside from Kurt’s own magnificent tongue.

And if Kurt is implying what Sebastian knows he’s implying, he’s going to be painting Sebastian’s junk with it.

Kurt scoops up a dollop of bright pink paint onto his bristles and lowers the brush slowly to Sebastian’s crotch, while Sebastian’s eyes, wide and unblinking, follow his every move. With the lightest touch, Kurt swirls the bristles over the head of Sebastian’s cock, covering it completely in pink paint, then outlines the ridge. Sebastian swallows hard as Kurt strokes, fighting not to close his eyes at the delectable tickle of his delicate swipes.

“We’ll get you all decorated from abs to anus, then we’ll take some photographs,” Kurt mutters. He wipes excess paint off on the towel, then switches to green, and paints a stem and leaves down Sebastian’s shaft to go with his now pink tulip head. Sebastian imagines the tip of that brush circling his entrance the second Kurt suggests it, wet like Kurt’s tongue but cold, the stiff but soft point of the bristles dancing inside. His cock bobs without permission, blurring the line Kurt was creating, but Kurt doesn’t look upset by it. He looks pleased. Every bob, every pearl of pre-cum leaking from the tip, is a strike against Sebastian – another golden opportunity for punishment. Kurt licks his lips as he changes colors, and starts a line of smaller, red flowers down Sebastian’s shaft over the drying green paint. “Mmm, I absolutely adore this body paint, preppy. It’s one of my favorites. You have no idea.”

“A-and why’s that, Master?” Sebastian asks, stuttering when Kurt’s brush dips down and around, glancing ever so gently behind his balls. Sebastian is thankful he has permission to talk. He needs the conversation to keep his attention away from what Kurt’s doing. If he wants to last, he needs to start thinking of something other than this implement that feels too much like a tongue stroking his skin.

But Kurt knows. He knows what Sebastian’s small talk means. He can appreciate coping mechanisms. Everyone has them, even the great Kurt Hummel.

But Kurt doesn’t like easy ways out. That he considers cheating.

Kurt winks at Sebastian while making another blind stroke along the base of his sub’s cock, one that finally drags the moan that’s been building in Sebastian’s throat past his lips.

“Because it’s made of chocolate,” Kurt says, “which means it’s edible.” Kurt chuckles when Sebastian swallows again, and an actual, “Oh God,” takes the place of the second moan in his throat. If Sebastian can’t stand strong against a paint brush, what will he do against Kurt’s talented tongue, especially when he’s not allowed to cum? “And I do love me some chocolate.”

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #frankie writes #Dom!Kurt #sub!Sebastian

[shirtshoping]

tshirt shoping 21

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[pavspatch]

Thinking Inside the Box

GOOD cricket scorers need many qualities. They must possess an intense level of concentration as well as being patient, observant, numerate, neat and organised. In pre-laptop days, the best ones always had the ability to write clearly. In modern parlance, they have to be able to multi-task because there are always a dozen things that have to be done at once.

It’s immediately obvious that I lack such skills, but that didn’t stop me being called upon to score for Hyde Cricket Club over a number of years in the 1980s and 1990s in the Central Lancashire and Cheshire County leagues.

Given that I spent so much time in scoreboxes, I can say with some authority that the best scorers also need social skills. When you’re cooped up with someone for five or six hours in what amounts to little more than a rickety shed, it’s not too different to being stuck in a lift with them. If you can’t get on with them, or if they have a habit that annoys you, it can drive you mad. Fortunately, I encountered few scorers that I didn’t like. On the other hand, I met many who were, well, a little strange.

At a minor cup game in Stockport I suddenly found myself choking on a smell that was so bad I wondered if I was the victim of a poison-gas attack. As I struggled to breathe, or indeed see (I’ll swear there was a green mist), my opposite number asked: “Can you smell that?” without even lifting his eyes from the book but with a clear note of pride in his voice. “Yes,” I coughed. “Thought so,” he replied nodding slowly. “I’ve just farted.” And with a look of achievement on his face he continued to record the dots. I’m sure he believed he’d shared something special with me.

On a visit to Radcliffe, the fair was in town. The home scorer and his friends on the tins were all aged around 11 and at one point my weak powers of concentration were tested to the limit as a fight began. The owner of a goldfish won at one of the sideshows was not too happy when one of the others snatched the little plastic bag it came in, hung it out of a window and threatened to drop it 15ft or so.

I even found the Hyde wicketkeeper accused of causing a death at one club. I always found former skipper Andy Swain to be a very affable man but my co-scorer — who reminded me of an old-school corporation alderman — informed me very definitely that Andy’s “false” claims to have taken a catch the previous season had so upset the batsman’s father that he had suffered a heart attack and died. Later, when Andy was hopping about, the home man harrumphed away my explanations that the ball had hit him on the toes and accused him of having brown underpants disease.

As a scorer, I was from what might be termed the Tippex-school. I made so many mistakes, and had to apply the stuff so liberally to cover them up, that by the end of the season the book was twice as thick as it should have been, and there were lots of little white bits falling off. No matter what the game or where it was played, there was always something that I missed. After one game at Hyde, as the two of us desperately tried to work out a minor discrepancy in our totals, the Werneth Low equivalent of Coronation Street’s Norris Cole — every ground has one — scampered about the outfield, frantically announcing to anyone who passed that “the scorers have messed everything up. They can’t get anything to balance”.

This was the same man who was genuinely surprised by the reaction he received when he loudly criticised a returning Hyde opener for falling victim to a slow bowler, cheerfully ignoring the fact said batsman had previously weathered five fiery overs from Ezra Moseley.

The best scorer I ever met was a man at Milnrow. While I struggled to do the most basic job he completed two books, cartwheel charts of every stroke and even managed to conduct a conversation. What’s more, he could instantly pull career averages and records from a battered briefcase by his side. I could only look on in awesome appreciation.

By this point you’re possibly wondering why someone with as little ability as myself was ever asked to be scorer for Hyde’s first XI. The sad fact is, there was no one else and, as a reporter for the now defunct North Cheshire Herald, it was known that I would be at every game. My error was to let it be known in the bar one night that I had briefly been scorer for the under-15s team at Hyde Grammar School. My fate was sealed and I was led to my domain opposite the pavilion.

Nowadays, Werneth Lowe Road boasts a large electronic scorebox. Back in the 1980s it had a small, brick-built structure. It was the sort of place where it was much easier to stand than sit and whenever you moved the tins above your head — rotating drums bearing the numbers — you and the book would be showered with dead insects and flecks of rust. You’d be removing he stuff from your hair for days.

When I was asked to score, it was one of those offers that you can’t refuse. It’s true that I loved Werneth Low Road, a hilltop ground which commands stunning views.  However, the club also has several characters with whom one does not argue. They are part of its charm.

Take Peter Hardman, who has served in the club in just about every capacity including captain, manager, chairman and groundsman. He is known as hard by name and hard by nature, although I occasionally suspect there is a heart beating somewhere deep beneath his rhino-like exterior. Ten or so years ago, when the microphone wasn’t working before a quiz night, he disappeared into near-by Gee Cross to buy some batteries. And he returned with them. Trouble was he lost the mic en-route. We all thought it hilarious but no one dared say so.

Alongside Peter were others such as Merv Riley, a Desperate Dan lookalike, and Tony Ghilks. Ghilksy is the man who once missed a game because the dog had eaten his false teeth. A fast bowler himself, he had no fear of Ezra Moseley, and would happily face the scourge of the Central Lancashire League without a helmet and using a packet of 20 Park Drive in his hip pocket as a thigh pad.

Bad as I was, I enjoyed my days as club scorer although I wouldn’t have admitted the fact until fairly recently. There were, however, one or two frightening occasions when players were held up by traffic and the skipper would talk about dragooning me in as a reserve, or better still a forlorn hope.

These scenarios always began with that most ridiculous of questions “have you got your kit with you?” Well of course I didn’t — I didn’t own any. The reason I wrote about cricket and bumbled about as a scorer was that I wasn’t good enough to play it, although I did once clip the off-handle of a dustbin being defended by Jeff Hammond’s son Ashley on an Adelaide lawn in 1991 (after he had hit me for 28 off the previous five deliveries). The thought of me facing a Central Lancashire League professional was farcical in the extreme. Fortunately, the missing players always turned up.

My most memorable day occurred at Crompton in 1992, in what I think was Hyde’s last game in the CLL. I found myself sharing the box with a very talkative lady who worked as a nurse in the heart transplant unit at Wythenshawe Hospital in south Manchester. She was very keen to share her experiences.

I learned that the ward staff enjoyed Chinese food and often displayed what appeared to be a rather chilling calmness and detachment in response to emergencies. Looking back, I suppose they were taking refuge in their own brand of macabre humour. What made the conversation even more bizarre, however, was that it took place against the backdrop of a cricket match.  Talk of haemorrhages, blood transfusions and stents was interspersed with questions about whether the ball had crossed the boundary rope or been stopped by a fielder, or whether the umpire had signalled byes or leg byes. Our heads were bobbing up an down continually.

After completing her do-it-yourself crash course in cardiovascular surgery, my colleague finally drew breath and confided in me that despite all her life-saving work, she would have struggled to undergo a heart transplant herself, no matter how ill she was. As I raised my eyebrows in response — there was no time to get a word in edgeways or otherwise — she added: “Oh it would be so creepy, waking up in the middle of the night to hear someone else’s heart beating.”

I hardly had time to ponder this opinion before she went on: “But I certainly could never, ever have a heart-lung transplant.” “Why’s that?” I interjected, recording a four and waving to the umpires to acknowledge their signal. “Would that be because it’s a very dangerous operation with little chance of success?”

“No, no,” she chirped back. “Survival rates are getting better all the time. What I couldn’t bear would be bringing up somebody else’s greb.”

Howzat?

[coutelier]

About a third of the way through the current draft of The Little Queen. Below is the current version of part of the prologue. When I did the first version of this a few years ago I made the chapters quite long - just chopped the story into thirteen parts, because it’s a lucky number in some cultures. And with the new drafts some of those chapters are even so I should mayb consider reorganising a little. But first this:

Time passed. Minutes ran into hours, hours to days, summer became autumn, and then ten more summers passed. We’re far now from Jennifer and her father, in a different house on a different night and a very different little girl.

Tenley Tych was eleven years old, with a bob of jet black hair and eyes almost as dark in which light reflected like mirrors to the universe. She sat cross legged surrounded by dinosaurs and dragons, aliens and ghouls, lions, vampires, robots, monsters - none of these things frightened her. The only one she found even slightly creepy was Wendy, with her stringy red hair and loose button eyes. Tenley had a bit of what she believed was called a love-hate relationship with Wendy - they’d been best friends for years, but they were also rivals.

Tenley had gathered all her friends for the show, although she was having difficulty getting them all seated. There weren’t enough little wooden, plastic and cardboard chairs for one thing - many had to sit on top of another animal. But one tyrannosaur in particular kept flopping on his side no matter how she positioned him.

“Don’t slouch, Timothy!” Tenley angrily admonished. She considered the problem for a moment then decided to stick a pencil up his bum to act as a makeshift spine. Then with everyone paying attention the show could finally begin. She stood up on the coffee table, or rather the stage, and cleared her throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, beasts and ghosts, dinosaurs from all ages! Tenley Theater presents, in association with Wendy’s Wrestling - in which I am undisputed and unbeaten champion,” Tenley mentioned as an aside, never missing an opportunity to rub it in the face of her rival, “The Dance of the Fairy!”

The Fairy performing the dance was still warming up inside her box, so Tenley bought her some time by turning the key over many times before opening the lid. The Fairy wore a short blue dress, had sparkling wings and pirouetted beautifully as the chimes echoed around her. Tenley danced as well, a long scarf twirling around her as she spun faster and faster like a carousel. She imagined herself beneath the ocean, cool soothing currents gently brushing through her hair.

The music box was Tenley’s favorite thing. She didn’t know where it had come from - she used to tell herself that it was left for her by her father, but she knew that probably wasn’t true. But she was certain it was old. It had to be as it was made of wood and delicate porcelain. It was her favorite thing and she wanted to share it with everyone, allow the chimes to gently carry them to the land of dreams as they did for her.

But then, like a rock smashing through the surface of her perfect pool, she heard the front door slam. Tenley froze. If mother came up here and saw the room untidy she’d be furious. She might take away some of Tenley’s friends. Her best hope was to get downstairs first and pray mother wasn’t curious enough to want to see what she was up to. She bolted, making it down the stairs to the front door as mother was still hanging up her coat. Mother had slammed the door when she’d entered and was still swearing under her breath. Tenley knew better than to further approach. She said nothing and stood at ease until mother chose to address her. After a moment mother did deign to glance at her, wrinkling her nose as if Tenley were some bad smell.

“I hope you’ve not been slacking,” mother said.

“No mother,” Tenley assured her.

“You mowed the grass? Weeded everywhere?”

“Yes mother,” that and much more besides, yet mother regarded her with suspicion.

“You seem remarkably clean for having been in the garden all day.”

“I showered when I was done,” Tenley explained. And in truth, she had gotten very good at all these chores and got them done much faster than mother expected.

“And you mopped the floors?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Did all the laundry?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Made a rope I can hang you with?”

“Yes…” Tenley stopped as her brain caught up with what she’d heard. It was a joke, just not a very good one. Mother’s never were. On another day she might have said so, but mother was still in a sour mood so she held her tongue.

Mother snorted to herself and moved to the kitchen where her dinner was being kept warm. She didn’t thank Tenley for that. She never even acknowledged that Tenley did it, or perhaps she just imagined that the food appeared there every night by itself. If she just forgot to do it one she was sure she would hear about it then.

Mother then went to the dining table where the mail was also waiting. She opened it as she ate, spitting when she laughed, “Ha! Persistent fools, aren’t they?” She screwed up the letter, saying as she threw it away, “or perhaps just fools. What do you think, little one?” Tenley didn’t think anything - she didn’t know what her mother was talking as she was rarely told anything. On this occasion mother did go on explaining. “You know they want us to move away. They’ve offered a substantial amount of money to do so. But it would mean leaving our home, where we’ve suffered labored for so long. For what reason they won’t say. Probably a golf course - that’s what rich morons in this world do all the time. Hit tiny white balls with sticks. So what do you think I should with their tiny balls? Perhaps get a stick of my own?”

Mother undoubtedly thought she was being very amusing, even though the only audience she had was Tenley and she never laughed. Tenley never had a real audience for her jokes either, as mother chased away anyone who came to the house. But maybe if it was a different place, a different town surrounded by different people, maybe things could change. “It might not be so bad,” she said at last, “to go somewhere new…”

Tenley knew almost immediately from her mother’s look that had been the wrong answer. She lowered her head, not daring to look mother in the eye as she rubbed her calf with the other foot. But it was too late - mother slowly rose from the table.

“Oh?” Mother said, her lips curling like those of an angry animal. “Are you dissatisfied, little one? Perhaps you think I owe you gratitude for all the little jobs you do? I who gave up everything for the sake of your wretched existence? You think I should thank you?”

“No,” Tenley answered meekly. “I’m sorry…”

“Yes you are. I’d blame the parents, but… perhaps I have allowed to become too soft. Too complacent. Come.”

Tenley knew what that meant, but she followed regardless as to do otherwise would only make things worse. There was a door under the stairs that led to more stairs and a cellar. The first room contained some exercise equipment and boxing bags, all of which Tenley was very familiar with. Thankfully mother didn’t unlock the other door that led to the room with all the weapons and instead waited behind the punch bag.

“I am the storm,” mother said, “lightning is my blade and fire my blood. My enemies will speak not their sins, but they will feel my thunder and hear the winds howl with my fury…” Mother seemed lost for a moment, but then returned with a shrug. “Something like that anyway. Those were the words they made us say. Overly dramatic nonsense really, but I suppose it got everyone fired up. Now, come.”

Tenley had many questions. Mother never talked much about where she came from or what she did before, or about Tenley’s father. But now was not the time to ask. She instead assumed a fighting stance and threw some jabs at the bag. Mother kept demanding that she do it again, faster, harder. Very soon her wrists were sore, but although she winced each time Tenley kept going, it taking more and more effort. Her arms became heavier until each swing was like lifting a great lead weight. Her will pushed her body far beyond it’s limit, but could only go so far.

“Pathetic,” mother sneered as Tenley stood dead on her feet. “How could I have raised something so weak? You take too much after your father.”

Tenley’s eyes flashed with rage. She didn’t know who she was more angry at - her for the insult, or father for just not existing, at least not for her. Probably both, but it was mother who was here and who noticed, swaggering toward her then kneeling. “Go ahead,” she taunted. And so Tenley. She summoned everything left she could muster and launched her fist straight at her nose. Mother deflected the blow easily and almost instantly Tenley felt her own lungs burst before she fell limply to the floor.

Mother stood, watching Tenley and for a moment her features softened as if in regret. But it was only a moment before her hard face returned. “You will need to be strong for what’s to come,” she said. “I don’t know when, but it will, and you’ll have to face pain far worse than this and not flinch. You might hate me now, but one day you’ll see.”

Mother left her then. Tenley didn’t know how long it was before she got up, but when she did she found mother asleep in an armchair in the living room, a bottle in her hand and stinking of drink. Vulnerable. But mother was wrong - Tenley didn’t hate her, at least not that much. She just didn’t understand. What had happened? Why were things like this? Mother wanted her to be strong but wouldn’t say why. But perhaps if Tenley became as strong as mother wanted, things would be different and they could talk then, like a real family would. For now all they had was each other. The night was cold, so Tenley warmed the fire and went to bed, the chimes of the music box soothing her and guiding her to sleep.

It was hours later when light broke through her window waking her, but still hours before dawn. The light was accompanied by blaring horns, so Tenley rubbed her eyes, crawled out of bed and edged carefully to the window from where she could see the drive leading to the cottage. There was a truck out there, it’s lights on full, and six or seven people stood in a semicircle. One of them had a dog. One she was sure was a woman and the rest were men. One of the men, the bulkiest, seemed to be the leader, but from here she couldn’t clearly make out any faces.

Mother had awoke as well. She must have been still asleep downstairs, maybe drinking more as she staggered out, sneering and demanding they keep they noise down. The leader of the group stepped forward, and Tenley could now see one side of his face was scarred. Not a straight scar - she judged he’d probably been bitten by an animal. It didn’t intimidate mother who engaged in a conversation with him.

Tenley couldn’t make out exactly what was being said - something about an offer which mother said she wasn’t interested in. Mother turned her back to head back inside, infuriating the scarred man who reached for her arm. She had obviously been expecting it, reversing the grip as she turned and flattened his nose. The dog began to bark and snarl, but the man behind held onto it’s chain, not willing to let it go in all the confusion. With their leader sprawled on his back the others all rushed forward to try and restrain mother, but she was untouchable - even inebriated she was fast and strong, graceful and glorious, the invaders all going down one by one, surprise and pain written over their faces. Mother mocked them for thinking they could scare her, told them to crawl back to their master, but Tenley thought she was being too arrogant - they weren’t beaten yet.

The scarred man was slowly rising to his feet as mother had her back to him once. Tenley saw a glint in his hand and tried to shout a warning but the words stuck in her throat. Before she could take a breath to try again, it was too late. The man jumped up and then stepped back, mother slowly turning as she reached around her back then regarded the blood dripping from her fingers. For a moment her face contorted in hate and rage, then she fell. The man fell on top of her, the knife rising and falling again and again.

Tenley stepped back from the window, unsure she was awake. It was as if a thick fog descended all around, obscuring all vision and muffling all sounds. The invaders entered the cottage and began searching. She could have hidden, but instead they found her standing in the middle of her room having not moved at all, then dragged her downstairs to the others. They were all in a panic, and this was the first time Tenley got to see all their faces. The man with the dog had a narrow, pointed face. The woman had dark red hair and rough skin. There was a young black man with a small nick on his lip who kept pacing, clutching his temples and muttering that this was wrong. The others yelled at him to be quiet, but none of them knew what to do until the scarred man told them - they had to ransack the place, make it look like a burglary that had gone wrong, and there couldn’t be any witnesses. The black man cried and a couple others protested, but in the end they all agreed. One of the men volunteered to take care of it so the others wouldn’t have to see.

Tenley was pushed outside, still foggy and seemingly oblivious to everything. Then she saw mother lying there in the drive, eyes wide open but strangely still like one of her dolls. It was only when a strange smell stung her nostrils that Tenley started to feel this wasn’t a dream. Mother was lying there in the drive, but she was gone - her mind struggled with the paradox as the man behind her kept shoving, forcing her to march into the woods.

Dead. Mother was dead. The realization struck her like a bucket of cold water. Mother had thrown both buckets and water at her, but not anymore. Beyond that it still took some time to process what it really meant as she was made to walk, leaves and small sticks crunching under her feet. It meant that Tenley was finally, definitely alone, darkness engulfing her as the forest canopy thickened. It meant that everything she had done, everything she had worked for, all the chores, punishment and training, none of it mattered now. She could never prove herself. She could never have a family. They had taken her future and now it was so dark she could barely see.

The man pushing her turned on a flashlight. Tenley saw something glint, slipped and rolled over some of the leaves before the man pulled her back up and made her continue even deeper into woods. There was only one task left mother would have her do - she had to become the storm.

She knew the man had a gun as she heard him load a clip just before he stopped but demanded that she keep walking. It struck her as very odd demand as if she kept walking she knew she was going to be shot, so what could the punishment be if she refused? She decided to find out so turned around instead, staring hard at him with the universe reflected in her eyes. He recoiled, unable to look into it.

“Turn around!” He demanded angrily.

Tenley stepped forward, so the barrel was almost touching her head and her black eyes kept staring straight at him.

“Shit…” he said rolling his jaw, tilting his head, and closing his eyes for a second. In that second, Tenley sidestepped and slashed at his hand with the sharp stone she’d found. He dropped the gun, pulling his hand back as she stepped up on his chest and kicked him in the jaw before they fell away from each other.

He was stunned, but Tenley doubted he was actually that hurt so looked around for where the gun had fallen. He furiously tackled her before she could reach it, and with ease lifted the small girl and threw her across the little clearing they were in before retrieving the gun himself. Tenley had landed on her side, not badly hurt either, not that she would admit it if she was. Still he wasn’t going to let his guard down so easily again.

“You’re a little animal,” The man laughed as she bared her teeth at him. “Just like your mom. Guess now I won’t feel so bad about putting you down.”

It was then they felt a cold gust of wind and first heard the whispers. Both Tenley and the man were unwilling to look away from the other, but they were both confused, unable to discern where the sound was coming from. Tenley really didn’t care so much, but he couldn’t tolerate the thought of another witness.

“Who’s there?!” He snarled. And the wind answered:

T u r n a r o u n d

“Show yourself!”

The response was mocking, childish laughter. But from where and whether near or far Tenley couldn’t say, but it did seem to her that it was focused on him, emboldening her to stand. The man looked accusingly at her, as if somehow she could be responsible. She wasn’t, but she welcomed the fear, panic and confusion in his eyes.

There was whoosh and whoomph! The man doubled over as if punched hard in the belly, then his body lifted and spun through before landing on his back with a sickening thud. Tenley rubbed her eyes and watched, unable to see an assailant. But nothing tonight made any sense, so… whatever.

Blood poured from the man’s nose and mouth and several teeth were spread about the ground. He tried to rolled over and push himself up but whatever was there lifted his leg and he clawed desperately at the earth, unable to find a grip as he was dragged through it then spun and his body launched like a stone from a catapult. His back bent the wrong way when he collided with a tree and slid down.

Then she appeared, a woman in red. Her eyes were black but her skin shifted like sand as patterns of color rippled over it. “You poor thing,” she said as she bent over the stricken man, “seems you’re all bent out of shape.”

Two other women appeared, one blonde and one red, wearing short white tunics, one of them handing the first woman an umbrella. They looked normal, except that their dress didn’t reflect the temperature, although Tenley was still in her PJ’s and only now really beginning to feel the cold.

“But, my children, we must be kind,” the first woman said. “Ease his discomfort and make it quick.”

The woman swept away, opening her umbrella, which Tenley now saw was not an umbrella but a large red flower which she spun over her shoulder. The blonde wore a wide grin as she knelt down, poising her thumbs over the man’s eyes… Tenley looked away before hearing the squelch.

The flower-umbrella-woman meanwhile found a rock nearby that she could sit in like throne, relaxing and making herself comfortable there when she heard the click. She turned her head to regard Tenley who was now pointing the gun at her.

“That won’t help you, child,” the woman said.

“Do I need help with you?” Tenley answered.

“Perhaps you can get help from me. You are an intruder in my domain, but I have been known to be merciful, even generous. Or neither. Which I will be depends on you.”

“Your domain?” Tenley lowered the gun. She was too exhausted and now she just wanted someone to start explaining things to her. “Who are you?”

“Who are any of us, really? We can all be different people at different times in different places.”

“I’m too tired for philosophy…”

“Very well. The name I was given is Titania. Have you heard it before?”

“No,” Tenley shrugged, “have you heard my name before?”

Titania seemed amused by the response. “As a matter of fact I have, Tenley Tych.”

Tenley peered at her, fairly certain that she’d have remembered if she’d encountered a flower wielding woman whose skin kept changing before. “How do you know?” She asked.

“I have eyes everywhere in this forest, and beyond. And my children, they whisper to me. I prefer not to dirty myself by getting involved in the affairs of men, but I saw what happened to you, to your mother. I know where those men came from, and who sent them. I imagine those are things you would very much like to know as well, yes?”

Yes. Yes she would. Tenley clenched one fist and remembered she still had the gun in the other. But she believed Titania when she said it wouldn’t help. Her eyes drifted to the dead man at the base of the tree. “The others will come looking for him,” she said.

“Not for some time,” Titania said. “Maybe not at all. If they do come hunting for their friend and you, would you rather be the mouse or the cat? No, I can see there’s nothing mousy about you. I can help turn the odds even more in your favor. I can make you stronger than you can imagine, faster, powerful.”

“And what would you want in return?”

“I am a Queen,” Titania insisted, “but a Queen needs subjects, and possibly heirs, should the worst happen. But most of all I just want the same thing you do - justice.”

“You’re Queen of what? The forest?”

“Yes,” Titania literally beamed and glowed, “for now, child, yes.”

#writing #writblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #sci-fi and fantasy

[frabexit-blog]

Ella, Tangalle and Mirissa

We caught a train from Kandy to Ella, with no snacks, thinking it would only be a couple of hours.. 7 hours later we arrived pretty hangry. Totally worth it though because it is actually the most beautiful train journey in the world. We sat on the floor by the open door and dangled our legs out the whole way.

We walked 5 mins to our hostel which was the worst place we had ever seen. Literally a shack on stilts, on the busiest main road in the town and full of lots of little pets in the bathroom. It was called 'SpiceHut' which is never a good start. Frankie had a cockroach crawl up her leg when she was brushing her teeth, never screamed so loud. We found food at a restaurant next door and had 8 Sri Lankan curries and rice each for £2 each, one of which was a jack fruit curry OMG so bloody marvellous.

The next morning we packed up and ran as fast as we could out the door in search of a new home. After maps taking us the wrong way and walking up a mountain in 30 degree heat with all our stuff, we arrived at a guesthouse in the middle of nowhere, bunned off their wifi and found somewhere else. Third time lucky we found a lovely little guesthouse WITH A BALCONY.

After some lunch we decided to walk to Ravana Falls, we were told it was a 45 minute walk so we set off full of promise and excitement. Took us 3 hours actually. It was such a fun journey we got caught in a huge storm and had to walk bare foot down massive windy roads, people kept stopping to give us a lift but we were like NAAAH WE’RE ENGLISH WE LOVE ABIT OF RAIN (ironic as we both came down with deadly colds the next day). After about 3km we found a beautiful hotel and walked in looking like two wet, feral children, everyone inside was dressed amazingly for their buffet lunch. The kind man let us in for a coffee even at the risk of upsetting customers and ruining their rep. We met a lot of dogs on the way down and even a few monkeys, our Frankie has a bit of a monkey complex but she was v brave (and dogs and cows).

At the end of the 7km walk the waterfall was beautiful and we felt well ard for walking when we saw everyone getting off their tourist coaches, we tried to swim but a policeman came and fished us out because it was too dangerous apparently (eejit).

We woke up the next day feeling rank but we soldiered on. Thinking it was just down the road we went to visit the 9 arch bridge, but actually it was another 5km climb. WE LOVE CLIMBING! In the evening we went for dinner at a little shack called ‘Matey Hut’ recommended to us and it was bloody bootiful. There’s only 4 tables and it’s a tiny place but the food!! The world needs to embrace pumpkin curry it is incredible.

The next day we had to move hostels AGAIN, but moved about 3 mins down the road to another super cute guesthouse. We both felt rank from walking in the rain so we laid in bed all day and watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s and ate crisps. The guy who owned it made us an absolutely cracking breakfast the next morning. His wife was away for Sri Lankan New Year, poor sod, so he was holding the fort and kept bringing us more food to try and please us as much as possible. Bex wrapped some of it up to take ‘for lunch’ but actually saved it and fed it to the wee dogs up the mountain. We climbed little Adam’s Peak which was beautiful and not that difficult now we’re professional climbers. The views over Ella were amazing and there were puppies at the top which were so adorable. I love that all mountains seem to have pups at the top it’s such a reward (Bex obviously, Franks don’t like dogs much) (alien).

We went for a coffee on the way down at a cute cafe over looking the valley , we stayed there for aaaaages it was such a little sun trap. Then headed back to the hostel before going for dinner which was absolutely rubbish. The waiter brought out wobbly popadoms so I asked him to bring some legit ones and he was like ‘nooo they’re meant to be moist’ I mean I haven’t dedicated my life to researching the texture of popadoms but I know a stale one when I see it. Me and Franks weren’t appy!

ELLA - TANGALLE.

Got the old 31 bus to Tangalle, now I look back on it I can laugh but at the time I thought I was going to blow chunks all over the Sri Lankan locals, finally I got a seat but I saw a little girl standing up so I let her sit on my lap and my god what a regret, the wee nugget fell asleep and not only was she 100degrees but she was dead weight, frankie was sat at the back like the queen while I was baby sitting a heavy ball of fire, cute though!!! We arrived at our hostel where the staff were all getting blotto for late New Year celebrations, we had the most beeeautiful sea view room. We met a dog called Freddy who slept on our balcony but Bex woke up covered in flea bites from all the cuddling - rank.

The next day we played in the sea but it was mucho aggresso, we both lost our sunnies when we were piggybacking and got taken out by a wave BUT the most remarkable thing happened when 3 hours later we were sunbathing and Bex’s glasses washed up on to the shore sitting perfectly on the beach. Frankie’s are still in the sea, we like to believe they’re being worn by a wonderful dolphin who’s feeling super sassy.

The hostel owner had the cutest son who was like 7. We played bat and ball with him which was cute (***BEX played with him, bloody Frankie went and hid, I sacrificed myself for you) but when he kept turning up at 7am at our bedroom window, and we woke up to him staring at us with a bat in his hand it all got a bit creepy. After our bad experience with sea the day before we found a calmer bit of ocean and we didn’t get out for 4 hours and splashed around being beached whales when other girls tried to look all sexy. We did competitions and we sung songs really loud and just looked generally really cool.

After a week of bumming around on the beach we hopped on a bus to another beach.

MIRISSA

When we arrived in Mirissa we immediately dumped our stuff and went back to our beloved sea. Bex instantly got blown miles to the shore by a wave leaving Franks just a little dot in the ocean, the waves were NOT OKAY.

The next day we looked for a swimming pool, we asked a TukTuk driver to take us a few beaches down the road but he went half hour to Weligama beach instead, found the cutest pool which they let us use for free at ‘Good Story’ spent the rest of the day splashing about like morons, I feel like people are always confused when we’re in water like 'how long can they stay in there? Did they get out when we weren’t watching? Why aren’t they shrivelled up like raisins? Why is that girl tormenting her poor friend?’ That evening we played cards with our lovely pal Samuel who was a bit of a buzz.

A couple of days later I had savage chest pains, I think it was from being taken out by the waves but I was convinced I was having a heart attack, I plopped down outside a shop and couldn’t get back up so me and Franks hopped in a tuk tuk to the docs. The waiting room was a free for all and all eyes were on me being the weird white girl holding a freezer block on her chest, me and Franks gave the best A* drama performance of all time and they all said I could be seen first (if they’re all going to stare we may aswell make it worth while AMARIGHT). Doc was nice until he recommended going to the hospital for an ECG and in that second I had a miraculous recovery, thanked him for his time and ran away at speed. After a lot of debate we went to the hospital where it was like there had been a zombie apocalypse, the tellies were on but there was no one home.

We walked through and found the whole hospital having a late New Year party (there was even a DJ) in the garden, all the nurses and doctors were having races and apple bobbing and I was having a suspected heart attack. One matey finally came over to help me, I wasn’t convinced he was a doctor he looked like he was doing it for a laugh but he sent me for an ecg and asked me adult questions so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Got in a right strop because the nurses tried to make me get my wee nips out in front of the ward of staring Sri Lankan’s and they kept telling me to calm down cos I was shouting like a hooligan about the lack of curtain drawing. Luckily my gal Frankie was on full nipple patrol. ANYWAY was just a pulled muscle but was a really fun morning in the end!

Naturally after this we went for cocktails to celebrate and then went to find Turtle Beach

It was so jeffin beautiful, a super quiet corner of the beach where we hired a snorkel and dived straight in. Within 5 mins we were swimming with metre long green turtles and it was incredible. Bex probably shouldn’t have been doing it with severe chest pains but it was the last day so had just get over it. At least we knew she wasn’t dying..

The next part of the journey was probably the worst experience we’ve had in the time we’ve been away and to be honest we don’t wanna relive it but here we go. We had made a decision to move closer to the airport a day before our flight so we didn’t have such a long journey, what a bloody stupid idea that was. The train was fine to Colombo, the bus to Negombo was full so we had to get a tuk-tuk (cost a bloody fortune), there was a petrol strike so the tuk-tuk driver couldn’t get petrol and was freaking out, we got super stressed, the cash point kept rejecting my card so I couldn’t pay for the tuk-tuk, the tuk-tuk broke down, we had to change to another one, it was pissing down with rain, the hostel we wanted to go to wasn’t in Negombo (was another 10km’s so an extra £10 to get there) so we ended up at a random guesthouse down a dark road by the airport miles away from anywhere chosen by a sign on a main road that had pretty writing on it. It had A/C and the owner made us tea. After a bit of dinner at the only restaurant in a 3 mile radius, it was bed and then on to JAPAAAAANNNN