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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

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Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 10

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: Nine

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Ten: Human not Humane

Huckleberry Hall was thriving with life. Lucien had apparated at the bottom of the pathway leading up to the external arches and courtyard placed before the hall – and there were people everywhere.

Elain saw all walks of life, from noblemen to peasants crowded on the lawns and paths. It was like looking directly into a memory. In another life, Elain would walk among these people with her sisters and parents. Nesta would trot directly behind their mother as she sneered down her nose at the farmers and tanners, Feyre would drift a little further behind, looking up at the clouds in the sky. Their father would walk at the back holding little Elain’s hand, pointing out the flowers and the trees and showing her how to make a trumpet from a leaf.

That was another life and what Elain had always assumed was a happier one.

Mother knows what she thought now.

Lucien and Elain were hidden from sight down the pathway, and it looked as though they were the last to arrive. Looking around, Elain saw stableboys managing a small army of horses, farmers sitting next to wagons full of seeds, grain and fruit, there were even Lords and Ladies, perched under umbrellas in fine chairs, tutting to themselves at the display.

It was so…human.

The rowdy chatter, the children playing hopscotch, the delicacy of these little lives and how they were interwoven with one another. Another way in it being so human was that Elain knew she didn’t fit.

Years ago the sight of all these people would have simply washed over Elain, now it threatened to drown her. Looking around all she could see were people, people and more people. People she didn’t know in a situation she couldn’t control. How long had it been since Elain had spoken to anyone outside the Inner Circle or the Band of Exiles? She hadn’t been taken to any of the meetings with other Courts or any trips abroad – her family hadn’t even told her. They’d just left her alone and hoped she’d be fine.

Breathing started to become a little difficult.

“Are you okay?” Lucien’s voice husked in her ear.

Elain just stared blankly up at him; she wasn’t sure. His own eyes were assessing her carefully.

“If you don’t want to do this just say the word and I’ll take us home.”

Home…

“I’m fine,” Elain said, though a little breathily, “It’s just…I haven’t been around a crowd in a long time.”

She flinched then as a carriage thundered through the woods on a path far to their left, the noise scaring the birds who began a loud chorus of squawking. All of the uproar felt as though it were washing over Elain, dragging her down, suffocating her.

“Hey, Elain, breathe,” Lucien’s hands came up to rest on her shoulders as he pulled himself in front of her, blocking her view of the Hall and all the people surrounding it. Now, her attention was on him.

“Breathe,” he commanded once more before he joined her in taking deep, long breaths. In, out. In, out.

Slowly, the roaring noise and itching anxiety began to fade away as she became encased in the sensation of Lucien. The smell of him surrounding her, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes concerned as they roved over her face.

She wondered if this is how he often felt – like his entire universe sometimes shifted so that she was at the centre.

Once Elain’s breathing had returned to a steady pace for several moments, she felt something tugging from within. Without thinking, Elain brushed up against the bond and was surprised to feel a wave of emotions – Lucien’s emotions – washing over her. She was even more surprised at what those emotions were.

“You’re angry,” Elain whispered after a moment. Lucien shook his head but, he was. His eyes were burning, his jaw set, his brows furrowed – he looked as though he were furiously trying to stop himself from talking. “You are,” Elain prodded because, well, it was a good distraction.

Lucien sighed before looking warily down at her, almost as though he were contemplating telling her whatever it was that had set him off.

“I told Feyre a long time ago that she should’ve been taking you out to see the ocean or sunlight. Instead she…” Lucien trailed off. Elain wished he didn’t, she wished he just said what he so clearly itched to get off his chest.

“I like the indoors,” Elain shrugged.

“Do you?” Lucien cocked his head, “I thought you used to spend all your time in gardens and your greatest wish was to see the continent.”

Elain paused. How did he know about the continent…

Her father. When Lucien had come for Vassa he’d met Elain’s father and he must’ve tried to inconspicuously pick up as much information about her as he could. Maybe once Elain would’ve thought the notion strange but, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling shyly.

“Okay…” Elain tilted her head, “But I needed the indoors.”

“You needed both,” Lucien said as his eyes softened, “Fresh air, new places, new people – they remind us that the world is bigger than the rooms we lock ourselves in.”

The hands on her shoulders began to rub soothingly along her upper arms, and once more Elain’s entire focus zoned in on that point of contact.

“Did you used to lock yourself away?” Lucien grinned.

“Elain, I’m a 400-year-old fae, I’ve spent my fair share moping indoors. Tamlin was the one who eventually had enough, he threw me out into the woods of Spring one day and said if I couldn’t catch anything, I wasn’t eating dinner.”

“That sounds mean,” Elain half-laughed.

“Maybe,” Lucien shrugged, “But it got me out. He was a bastard though, I spent all day in a river collecting enough bass to feed a small army only to come back to the Manor and find an entire spread waiting for me: potatoes, honeyed-ham, even Tipiati – it’s a delicacy from Dawn. It’s this little bird and you cut it open and eat the heart raw-”

“Oh, ugh!” Elain giggled as she scrunched her nose.

“What’s wrong petal? Raw bird heart not sounding good? Wait until I tell you what they do with the eyes-”

“Okay, okay! Feeling better! Ready to seize the day just please, stop talking about those poor birds!” Elain laughed, feeling for the first time in forever the weight on her shoulders disappear.

“I’m going to get you to try it one day,” Lucien grinned, looking rather smug with himself at having made her laugh.

“Oh, in your dreams,” Elain looped her arm through his as they made their way up the path and into the view of the humans.

“Just you wait, if we’re ever in Summer I’m making you try Calamari.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Elain smiled, and for a moment, she forgot where she was.

Because her arm was in Lucien’s and he was smiling down at her as though she were a forest nymph bedecked in moon-flowers and in this moment, everything felt alright.

It was only when they were halfway down the path to the Hall, that Elain began to remember where she was, and she felt the eyes of the humans – humans she once knew – boring into her. She simply kept her own stare ahead at the open doors of the Hall in which she could see the fiery glint of Vassa’s hair and golden dress.

But her fae hearing picked up on everything. She heard the whisperings of the peasants, both enchanted and disgusted by her beauty, she heard the Ladies muttering to one another about her dress and how disgustingly uncivilised it was.

She heard the Lords grinning to one another about how they knew Elain when she was a little girl. About how they had first dibs…

If she wasn’t mistaken Lucien had gone somewhat rigid next to her and he was once more pulling himself to his full height, looming over everyone in the courtyard. One glance up at him told her that he was wearing his fiercest scowl, his entire being practically thrumming with magic that she knew was hot under the surface of his skin.

Then, Lucien was leaning low, his lips coming close to her ear as he whispered three little words. And then, his voice was the only one that mattered.

“I’ve got you.”

***

Time started to move quickly after their laboured walk into the Hall. Once they were in and grouped with Vassa and Jurian, Elain found herself being introduced to a plethora of Noblemen and Ladies. They shook her hand with introductions and light discussions of who they were and the role they played in the rebuilding of the mortal world. Elain was glad she had spent so much time looking over the documents and contracts as she found herself maintaining elaborate, detailed questions with everyone she came into contact with – and as each successful conversation passed, so did her anxiety, and she truly began to believe she could do this.

She often found herself using the same techniques her mother had taught her when attending balls. Except now, instead of conversations about dowries and marital prospects, she was speaking of trade routes and contractual obligations.

On more than one occasion she came into contact with someone whom she once knew. Some people, such as older, less wealthy men were kind and joyful, telling Elain how they were glad to see she was at least healthy and alive following the Battle against Hybern. With others, Elain could read the quite plain apprehension and slight disgust in the eyes of those she’d once known – particularly of father’s whose sons she’d once been a contender for marrying.

The Hall was busy with chatter as this was also the first meeting in which Queen Vassa was in attendance, and with the two new, unusual arrivals, there were many mortal civilities that needed to pass before everyone was to take their seats in the main hall at the southern end of the building.

Lucien never left her side, but not in a way that felt claustrophobic or hovering, but merely in a way that told her that he had her back. Whenever she tuned into his conversations she found that most mortals responded somewhat well to Lucien. At least, as well as they could given the circumstances. Many mortal Lords were interested in Lucien’s weaponry and experience in battle, there appeared to be an endless amount of questions regarding his sword of choice.

There was only one time in which Elain overheard her name in his discussions.

“Are you and the Lady Elain married then?” Lord McAdams, an old man who owned the human libraries inquired over a glass of port.

“We’re acquaintances, and while she is here she is under my protection,” Lucien replied smoothly. He was the image of relaxation, an easy smile that lit up the room playing on his features.

“Ah, I see,” McAdams winked at Lucien, who merely tilted his head in response.

“Pardon?”

“I won’t tell anyone, of course, you see, it is highly unusual for an unmarried woman to…well to…though it does happen.” McAdams was old enough that he wheezed as he talked.

“I’m quite lost Lord McAdams, though I’m sure you mean well.”

“Of course, of course, my boy. Of course, I mean well,” McAdams chortled, “Besides, I can’t blame you can I? You know I knew Elain when she was a little girl, her father used to take all three of them round to my house so they could have their pick from my libraries. She was the prettiest of them all, even then, and it’s always interesting to see how they…turn out.”

Elain was nodding along as a young Lord who owned the rice fields out West continued to chat extensively about himself. Though at that moment, she felt a pair of eyes searing into her back, particularly her behind. At that moment she didn’t need to reach for the bond to feel the protective fury that was radiating from her mate.

It was strange, but for some reason, she liked it. Some guilty, deep down part of her shuddered in agreement at the idea of Lucien being protective over her in the face of these men. It was almost a nice idea, belonging to him…

“Elain!” A saccharine voice pulled Elain from her internal tribulations and Lucien and McAdams faded away as a silver blur appeared in front of her. “Oh Elain it’s so good to see you again, you look…well!”

Delilah Darlington exploded into the conversation, nudging into the side of the young Lord who grumbled in response. She was bundled in a rather ridiculous silver gown which was bedecked in frills of lace that hung off the fabric like cobwebs. Delilah was beautiful, though, and a sweet kind girl.

She did not deserve the cruelty of someone such as Graysen.

“Delilah, I’m so glad you’re well! Congratulations on your engagement,” Elain said with as much earnest kindness she could muster as she pulled Delilah into a brief embrace.

They’d been friends, once, along with a small gaggle of girls. Nesta couldn’t stand any of them, she saw them as competition at balls and discouraged Elain from forming any kind of relationship with them. Elain had anyways, of course. It was something to look forward to at those balls, something to distract her from the wandering hands and unwanted touches.

“Oh, well, yes I-I uh, I didn’t know you were coming back.” Delilah looked strangely guilty for a moment, and Elain felt something in her chest squeeze. Graysen wasn’t deserving of this girl, and he wasn’t worth coming between them.

“Well I’m only here until some political goals are accomplished, then I’ll probably be heading back over the border.”

“How exciting, you always wanted to travel.”

“Yes,” Elain grinned shyly, touched that Delilah remembered such a trivial detail. Looking around Elain realised that the young Lord had disappeared, and she felt herself relaxing from the forced courtly act she’d been playing.

“It’s wonderful Delilah it really is. Being turned fae has been difficult, more than difficult it’s been…well, it’s been hard, but it’s almost worth it for the beauty of Prythian.”

Delilah, unlike the other mortals who changed the conversation once anything beyond the wall was mentioned, grinned widely and rubbed her hands together.

“I read a book after you were taken over the wall, it was a forbidden scripture from McAdams library that I managed to steal when I was over there. It detailed all things about Prythian, is it true there are Seasonal Courts?”

“Oh yes,” Elain grinned, allowing her courtier’s exterior to crumble, “Lucien hails from the Autumn Court.”

Elain shifted so that she was now standing next to Delilah against the wall and pointed out to Lucien, though there was no need, he stood head and shoulders above everyone, currently nodding along to something a small gaggle of women were chatting about.

“Oh of course, I can see it now,” Delilah muttered with a smile, but Elain was fixated and the now growing group of women that were trying to gain her mate’s attention. Delilah, seeing Elain’s line of sight, smiled wider. “They do that every week. They’re all eligible brides, see there’s Isobel and Lottie…not that they would ever admit it, but I think some of them want him to propose.”

“Propose?” Elain couldn’t stop herself from spluttering, feeling a protective fiery anger move through her at the thought. The idea that these women had gathered week after week trying to sway Lucien into offering them his hand in marriage for two years, it made her feel feral.

Lucien was hers.

The thought was like a stone to the head and suddenly the protective rage was cleared, leaving behind her internal shock and confusion had having had such an audacious thought. But by the way Lucien was now grinning slyly at the women before him, his confidence having tripled within the minute, Elain was pretty certain she’d accidentally sent that thought down the bond.

“Is he really your mate?” Delilah asked, her eyes twinkling slightly. Elain stayed quiet for a moment, and then.

“Yes. He is. We’re bound together by fate and the Mother herself.”

“That sounds very beautiful,” Delilah said softly, but Elain could not take her eyes away from her Autumn Male. It was like the thought had just truly dawned on Elain, the reality of their situation.

Lucien was her mate. In that way, he was hers.

And she was his.

“It is…”

“The meeting shall begin in ten minutes, please, may you all take your seats!” A loud, brash voice called from the looming doors of the main hall and the crowd began to move in the direction, the babbling only increasing as wives got left behind and Lords could engage in the locker room talk before the politics – Elain didn’t miss the several glances thrown her way as the men’s rowdy chatty began to fill the building.

“I must go but, I’ll see you soon,” Delilah hopped out away from her, giving Elain a quick embrace and a kiss on the cheek before she was waving and disappearing into the crowd. The crowd where her fiancé no doubt was hidden.

She had not yet seen him.

Just as she was about to lose herself in the throng, Lucien was in front of her, pushing through the men as though they were no more than butterflies to swat at. Before she could say anything, he was holding out his arm with a slight bow.

“Lady.”

Unable to help herself, Elain grinned at her mate as she looped her arm through his and was rewarded with an equally bright grin back. Lucien led them through the crowd into the hall, people parting for them as though they were a plague to be avoided. Elain didn’t mind, especially if it meant no one would stand on her train.

“They can’t take their eyes off you.” Lucien didn’t move as he spoke, he merely muttered the words under his breath and had he been talking to any mortal, they would’ve been lost on the wind. But Elain’s fae-hearing picked them up, and she felt a shiver run the length of her spine at the secret conversation in plain sight.

“Feeling territorial?” Elain surprised herself by husking back.

“It would seem I’m not the only one.” She didn’t need to look at him to know he was smirking coyly.

“I don’t like the way they talk about me,” Elain moved on before her cheeks could start burning, “The men who watched me grow up.”

“It’s repulsive.” All humour left her mate’s tone. “If it soothes your mind know that I won’t let them lay a finger on you.”

“I don’t know if touching is the problem so much as the looking.”

“That dress isn’t doing us favours I’m afraid.”

“Oh, do you wish for me to get rid of -”

“Don’t,” Lucien said too quickly, his arm going rigid from where it was interlinked with hers. Elain smirked. “It’s…it’s a fine dress.” Lucien tried to concede.

“I think so.”

“It reminds me of home.” Elain stole a glance at him then.

“Because of the fabric?”

“Well yes,” Lucien’s brows furrowed as his eyes met hers, “But…that dress was my mothers.” Elain felt her shock roll through her. His mother’s? But this was a gift from Mor – right?

“You didn’t know,” Lucien mused, now seemingly unable to take his eyes off of her. Elain shook her head. “Ah, of course, I gave it to Nuala the other day, she wouldn’t take it until I said it was from Mor.”

“I’ll…have to ask her about it. Why do you have your mother’s dress?”

“Eris delivered it months ago, apparently she’d heard of our bond and wished to gift it to you as a mating present.”

“Oh-”

“I don’t intend to – I’m not giving it to you for that reason I just, I explained to Nuala my thinking about how the fabric and style is perfect for setting intention.” Elain just drifted next to him, turning his words over in her head.

“Is this why you are always dressed so finely, because it is a political motive?” Lucien, to her surprise, grinned wickedly.

“Nothing is coincidental, Elain, from the clothes we wear to the way we talk.”

“Whose we?” Lucien shrugged.

“I would’ve said Autumn Court Males but, I believe it is only Eris whom I share that trait with. Ah, here we are.”

The hall was set up like a Courtroom, with certain families, estates, and job sectors, sectioned off into small groups. Elain and Lucien, being the representatives for The Fae were somewhat isolated from everyone else. They were near enough to Vassa and Jurian who were bickering quietly from where they were seated to their right. The room was still squabbling and rowdy with chatter, and there were only men besides Elain and Vassa. The other mortal queens were not even present.

Elain’s eyes unwittingly began to search for Graysen. For some reason, not having seen him yet was making her nervous, it felt as though the longer she waited, the worse it was going to be. She just didn’t want to have anything sprung upon her.

Perhaps with the bond having been in more use the past few days, it seemed that Lucien was somehow easily able to gleam that Elain’s attention had returned to her ex-fiancé. Elain knew because he’d gone rigid next to her.

“What?” Elain prodded, turning to him. With the hall still full of chatter, she wasn’t worried about anyone overhearing their conversation. She’d thought she and Lucien had been good on the Graysen topic following their conversation in the kitchen doorway. Lucien didn’t look at her, instead, he appeared to be assessing the Darlington’s as they made themselves comfortable. “Lucien,” Elain stressed.

“I um, I felt you the other night, when you found out Graysen was engaged,” he began slowly, still not meeting her eye. Elain tugged on his sleeve forcing him to look down at her, she raised her brows questioningly to show she didn’t understand. Lucien breathed deeply, his eyes closing momentarily before he looked deep ahead, avoiding her pleading look. “I could feel what you were feeling.”

The way Lucien looked ahead, his jaw set and his eyes unfeeling, it was as though that little sentence had explained everything. But she was just more confused.

He’d felt her? Her emotions? What had she been feeling? She’d found out that Graysen was engaged, and she felt…She had felt tired, relieved, pitiful even. It was like some door had finally jammed shut after it had been fluttering between open and closed. It was a final sever in their bond and as she had fallen asleep that night, she’d welcomed the end of her time with Graysen. Her dream that night was a reminder that her relief was earned.

How could any of that upset Lucien?

Then Elain realised that Lucien had felt it. That longing, and by the way Lucien was now glaring at his hands, curled into fists in his lap, she’d realised that he may have misunderstood what, exactly, she was longing for.

She didn’t want Graysen. She wanted what he had. Not in terms of Delilah but, she wanted his ignorance, his ability to simply move on and find a new wife. She wanted his strength to not change, to still be who he was, to still have the world the way he wanted it with him at the centre.

She longed for the bliss Graysen had found, simply because that bliss made her agony so much more tender.

Lucien had misread her. She almost sighed with relief. She could fix this; she could simply explain to him why, and the small waves of hurt currently rocking through her would disappear.

Lucien wasn’t Graysen, he wasn’t going to leave her side in an instant just because of a misunderstanding. But even as Elain repeated this to herself as the room quietened and the meeting began, some part of her refused to believe it – some part of her refused to trust.

***

The meeting was rather boring. After all her research and all her note-taking, the first two hours involved discussions Elain had no interest in. It was about internal disputes, farmers angry with one another over borders, fisherman demanding wage rises, etcetera, etcetera. Elain was forced to watch as the Lords and Noblemen sneered down at the lower class, working men and had to bite her tongue the entire time.

It seemed that Lucien shared her disgust, as he regularly whispered quips in her ear about how mortal and fae weren’t so different after all. That the High Fae and these Noblemen had more terrible things in common, such as their treatment of working families and Lesser Fae.

Elain had tried to watch with an assessing eye, categorising the figures she needed to remember for later discussions. But by the time the lunchtime break came about, she was practically falling asleep on Lucien’s shoulder. It was after lunch that the room seemed to clear slightly, the farmers and peasants going home to their families as the topic of the Fae and Queen Vassa was brought up.

Queen Vassa made her introduction to the room, her voice full and powerful as she stood, Jurian watching with an all-knowing smile at her side. There were some small talks about property and Vassa was able to confirm her signature on several contracts.

Lucien got involved in discussions several times, and Elain was more than happy to sit quietly and watch as he worked the room. He was perfect. The way he eased into conversations, the easy-going smiles, the unconfrontational comments on trade routes and Fae resources.

Elain was surprised to notice that several Noblemen had taken a shining to Lucien and seemed to actively pursue his voice in discussions. She could tell a lot of it was fake, the way Lucien grinned at men whom he’d whispered insults about in Elain’s ear but, his courtier’s mask was perfect.

Elain was beginning to think that she might make it through the meeting without having to stand and utter a single word, until Lucien interjected a conversation about wrapping up for the week.

“We must speak of the matter that is Koschei.”

This seemed to be the first thing Lucien had said which the Noblemen did not instantly grin and nod along to. Instead, Elain saw heavy sighs and the rolling of eyes. It would seem that these Lords did not mind discussing with the Fae so long as it was about mortal matters. But talk of Death-Gods and magical firebirds, seemed to rather put them off.

“We have spoken of it. Weeks ago.” Elain heard Lord Nolan’s tired voice swim into the room. He appeared humoured by Lucien’s statement while Lucien simply remained passive. Stoic. They were sitting far to their left, and Elain had already glimpsed Graysen perched next to his father, leaning back in his chair. It was almost like he was trying, and failing, to impersonate Lucien’s image of confident boredom.

“May I remind you, Lord Nolan, that fae resources are only open to you so long as you stick to your word.”

“My word-”

“-yes,” a shimmer of anger was seen in Lucien’s eye, but beyond that his courtier's mask was flawless. “Your word that you would assist both Queen Vassa and her fae acquaintances in disposing of the Death-Lord, whose residence is not far from this very hall.”

“The agreement was to help you reverse the so-called curse placed on the Queen, and as we can all see, Queen Vassa has joined us today and therefore one might consider that vow fulfilled.”

“I am here on bought time,” Vassa now stood, her voice dripping in authority and power as she asserted herself amongst the men, “I shall not explain the means, as the explanation shall no doubt be lost on a room of mortals, but what you see before you is merely a temporary solution to the problem.”

“It would do you well, Queen Vassa, to remember that you too are mortal,” Lord Darlington now husked, his eyes predatory, “Or at least you were…once.”

“Oh don’t worry, Darlington, she’s just as mortal as I am,” Jurian grinned, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Darlington merely sneered in disgust.

“The point is Koschei is still at large-” Lucien tried again, the picture of relaxation from where he stood, looming over the room.

“And what do you expect us to do?” Elain felt her heart shudder as Graysen’s voice finally joined the others. It was only a matter of time.

Even though he was speaking to someone else - to Lucien - Elain felt her fight or flight instinct kick in. The last time she had heard that gravelly, low voice, had been when it had broken her heart.

“You fae clearly see us humans as inadequate, as proven by your Queen forgoing explaining her sudden appearance. No doubt caused by some dark magic, the same magic that threatens to infiltrate our lands and poison our people.” Graysen rose to his feet, his voice growing louder, and Elain noticed how much he had aged since she’d last seen him.

It had only been two years but the stress of rebuilding the mortal world without a wall had taken its toll: thinning hair, lines around his mouth, he’d also put on quite a bit of weight. He was no longer the young boy Elain had fallen in love with, a dreamer who wished to rid the world of evil beings. He was a man with a heart full of hate.

“Two things,” Lucien’s own voice didn’t waver as he turned to address Elain’s ex-fiancé, and she wondered how much they’d had to see of each other over the past two years. “One, Vassa is not my Queen. Two, it is somewhat hilarious to watch you whine like a pup over Queen Vassa not explaining to you her magic, when you are already so prejudiced to not comprehend the difference between the fae and Koschei. There is no magic seeking to infiltrate your lands apart from the work of the latter.”

“Koschei is fae-”

“-Koschei is a Death-God.” Lucien’s tone turned cold, and at that moment the sun dipped behind the clouds. “A survivor from the time of Old Gods. He is not fae, he is a threat to us as much as he is a threat to you.”

“The threat to humans are all fae and everything that comes with them.”

“The fae of Prythian have no interest in humans-”

“Oh please, one must only look to my ex-fiancé for proof of their machinations.”

The room went cold. The sun having now truly disappeared from sight, leaving behind a world of blue and grey shadows.

“Look at her, look at her unnatural beauty. Many of us knew Elain, the true Elain Archeron, the human one. She was beautiful but plain of the mind but set to live a normal, human life. Now look at her, she’s no better than a siren or a nymph, her beauty is of a freak nature and it’s only purpose is to lure you in, to cover the ugly truth underneath. Her and her two sisters were turned, stolen from their beds in the middle of the night and taken across the wall. I’m surprised to see you here Elain,” Graysen had been talking theatrically to the room, but that last sentence was personal, intimate. And when he caught Elain’s eye, she could only think one thing.

She hated him.

“Surprised but I suppose that’s my own fault, you always had a small fortune of ugly secrets you liked to keep hidden - and to think I almost fell into a marriage with you. You see, this is another reason the fae wish to infiltrate our lands, they wish to take our wives. Elain was stolen and turned only to be given to the male we see before us,” Graysen held his arm out to where Lucien was standing, still as stone at Elain’s side.

“This male was able to lay a claim on Elain the second she was turned. We’ve all heard of the mating bond.” A ripple of disgusted murmurs went around the room. “At that moment Elain, my soon to be wife, belonged to a fae male. Mother knows what atrocities occurred in the time between their mating and the moment Elain finally remembered her fiancé and came back home.”

Outrage and disgust were expressed around the room, and Graysen looked almost gleeful as he assessed the crowd.

“These two, this harlot and her owner-“

Elain shot out a hand and gripped the fabric of Lucien’s trousers if only to stop him from burning the boy to a crisp from where he stood.

“-have come here to mock us! They have come as a warning, to show us what will happen to our people - our women - if we allow this alliance with the fae to continue!” There were shouts of encouragement swelling from the crowd. “If we continue on this path then our women will look like her, horrid in their beauty. And worse, our women will belong to him as Elain belongs to him, as little more than a personal prostitute!”

There was something feral in Lucien’s eye as he glared at Graysen across the room. But while her mate was focused on her ex-fiancé, Elain was drowning in the leering coming from the crowd. People she had just introduced herself to a few hours earlier and had pleasant conversations were now staring at her with revulsion and disgust. She heard shouts of people calling her a ‘witch’, people telling her that she had no shame, that she was to burn in hell.

With her hand fisted in Lucien’s trouser leg, Elain drowned it out, she drowned it all out, and reached for the bond within.

Lucien was a tempest. Brushing up against the bond, Elain herself could feel the fire in his veins, could envision the rings of his powers, burning hotter and hotter all the way down to his golden core. The mating bond was taut in his skin, demanding him to defend Elain, to rip out the throat of anyone who would insult her. But there was another anger there too, a personal one. Lucien was furious on Elain’s behalf; she could read that now. He thought so highly of her and to hear lesser men insult her was turning him livid.

Sharply, Elain tugged on the bond and in an instant, his eyes snapped to hers.

There was so much emotion in that one look. Concern, fury, bitterness, doubt. It was all there for her to see; he didn’t dilute anything. With as much delicacy and care as she could muster, she slipped her hand from his pant leg into the hand that was dangling by his side.

Slowly, she rose to her feet.

“It is true,” she began, and she felt Lucien’s hand squeeze her own. “I was stolen in the middle of the night by a group of fae. They stole me across land and ocean, all the way to Hybern. It is there where I was thrown into the Cauldron, the maker of all life, and transformed into a High Fae. This is all true.

“But my transformation was an irregularity, an unfortunate yet calculated political move whereby the King of Hybern attempted to get back at my sister for her killing of Aramantha. I expect you to all remember the King of Hybern, given that your own armies joined the fae in the Battle that catalysed these meetings two years ago.

“The King of Hybern was evil. Not the fae of Prythian. The King of Hybern was your enemy and the threat to human life. Not the fae of Prythian. Those such as Lucien here fought for your freedom. Fae died on that battlefield for you to stand here today, and you repay them by villainising them.

“There needs not be any animosity between these mortal lands and the fae realms of Prythian. I grew up like you, believing the fae were evil incarnations that existed to tempt human morality. But unlike you, I have travelled Prythian, I have seen fae from all walks of life, and the reality is the cautionary tales we all heard growing up were nothing more than fiction.

“The fae have homes, wives, children. They have towns and cities, farms, libraries and schools. They wake up each morning and go to work and each evening they have dinner with their families.

“This alliance is not about turning humans into fae, nor turning fae into humans. It’s about recognising life and seeking to protect it from those who might threaten it - and Koschei threatens all of us. We know he seeks to free himself from the confines of his lakeside Manor, we know he wishes to seek vengeance for his imprisonment. But there is much we do not know.

“We do not know how Koschei was bound to the lake, how he steals women of this land and turns them into swans, why he took Vassa, nor what it will take for him to be free. That is why this alliance is paramount.

“Koschei has a fascination with the mortals, he steals mortal women and mortal Queens. His residence is only a few miles south from here, deep in the forest. It is because of this we need mortal alliances.

“You do not need to believe the fae are good, nor must you trust us. But you must understand that all we wish to do is destroy a being who threatens everyone in this room. The alliance need not be a happy one, but it is needed.”

The room had quietened, the shouting had stopped. People were listening to her, and Elain had finally found her voice.

Lucien’s hand squeezed her own and she realised they were both standing before the room of mortals. She could only have an idea of what they must’ve looked like, side by side, glistening with the beauty of the Fae. They must’ve looked united and commanding.

They must’ve looked powerful.

Then, across the room, a man got to his feet. Looking at him for a moment, Elain realised it was the young Lord she had been speaking to with Delilah who owned the rice fields out West. He looked tentative and young as the spotlight fell on him, but when he met Elain’s eye, she saw a fierceness burning there.

“What do you need?”

***

Lucien wanted to get Elain home quickly after the meeting. Today had been unusually tiring, what with Elain’s debut in that dress this morning to the crowds turning on his mate halfway through the meeting. He just wanted to go home.

Correction, he needed to get Elain home and safe and away from these horrible men and their horrible thoughts.

A few noblemen came forth following the meeting expressing their devotion to helping Elain and Lucien in tackling the problem of Koschei. Most of them were young Lords who had come into their father’s wealth unexpectedly after the war, and their hearts had not yet had a chance to become polluted with years of hatred for the fae.

That was a success. No matter how often Lucien had tried to convince the noblemen to even speak of Koschei in the meetings, it seemed that the missing element was both Elain and Queen Vassa.

But before long Lucien had had enough. He wanted Elain home and safe now, and expressing a few half-hearted apologies he looped Elain’s arm through his and guided her out down the pathway before winnowing away without a second notice.

They made their way to the house with some small talk about how well the meeting had gone (Lucien tried his hardest not to spend all his time grovelling about how amazing she was and how fierce and strong she’d looked when addressing the crowds). The maids were there waiting for them with a pot of tea whilst they began on dinner.

It seemed that the meeting had gone on well into overtime and the sun was now distinctly plummeting towards the horizon. But when Vassa and Jurian finally made it back on horseback, there was only Jurian who entered the living room with a glass of whiskey.

“Where’s Vassa?”

“She decided to get her firebird overtime out the way,” Jurian sighed, something bitter in his eye as he flopped carelessly on the couch next to Lucien.

“Does that mean she won’t be turning back tonight?”

“We assume so, we’re not sure how the ring works but if Koschei’s little note is correct then I believe we won’t be seeing Vassa for a few days.”

Lucien cursed under his breath. Jurian just looked tired and…angry.

“There was a note?” Elain asked from where she was perched on her armchair, her legs tucked up underneath her, her dress outlining every curve of her body.

“Yes,” Jurian eyed her for a moment, “You did well out there princess, Lord Cao looked practically ready to sign you his battlements.” The Lord who had spoken at the end of the meeting.

“We talked after,” Elain mused, her finger running around the lip of her glass, “His residency is the closest to Koschei’s manor and he’s invited all of us to come visit, I think if we get close enough we may be able to get a read on the magic that’s bound to the manor.”

“Oh, fun, a day trip,” Jurian sighed bitterly, something clearly having aggravated his mood. He turned his scowl to Lucien. “Are you really going to let your mate within a mile of that place?”

Something dark flickered in Lucien’s eye.

“If Elain deems it a worthy trip then of course we must go. I thought you were interested in seeing Vassa free of the curse?”

“Of course I’m interested in seeing Vassa free, why do you think I’m here?” Jurian hissed.

“To generally give the manor a feeling of unease?”

“To make rude comments about people’s sisters in an attempt to start a fight?” Elain added.

“To make indecent comments about people’s mates in an attempt to-”

“Alright, alright. Mother, you two are no fun.” Jurian rolled his eyes, but some of the tension seemed to leave his body at the teasing. “Have you already eaten?”

Elain and Lucien nodded and Jurian got up with a stretch.

“Yum, leftovers for me then,” was all he said before he headed for the door.

“Jurian,” Elain called, “That note Koschei sent with the ring, could I see it?” Jurian glanced between her and Lucien, seeming to think before he nodded.

“I’ll send it up to your room in the morning," was all he said before he left the room. And once more, Lucien and Elain were left alone with nothing but a crackling fire.

There was a tension there that hadn’t been there before, or maybe it had, maybe they’d both just been too ignorant to see it.

The reality was there would always be that tension between them, that intrigue and possibility. Looking at her now, curled in an armchair, the dress having turned a glittering emerald in the firelight, he felt every inch of his skin respond to her.

Not for the first time, an unplanned fantasy strolled through his mind. An image of himself getting up off this couch and walking over to her, of him placing his knee on her armchair, in between her thighs, capturing her throat in his hand and lowering his lips to hers.

One blink and the image was gone. Perhaps it was the bond showing him these things, taunting him with a possibility that at this moment seemed unachievable.

“I, um, I wanted to talk to you actually,” Elain spoke into the silence, and briefly Lucien fretted if his scent had changed.

“Oh?”

“Yes…about Graysen.” Lucien’s hope dropped like lead in his gut.

“Oh.”

“I just wanted to say that I think you misread my emotions when I found out he was engaged which, I mean that’s not your fault. This whole bond kind of disrupts communication.”

Lucien just nodded. Looking at her, he saw the strands of hair that had come loose around her face, he wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

“I’m not upset about it. I don’t want him anymore,” Elain said plainly. “I just…I guess I want what he has.”

Lucien blinked. That wasn’t what he was expecting.

“What, specifically, do you want?” The words were careful, calculated.

“I’m not sure…his happiness? His ignorance?” Elain seemed to scowl slightly and then she was standing, setting her drink on a nearby table as she turned to the fire to warm her hands. Lucien pondered for a moment, definitely not using that time to worship at the way the dress followed the swell of her behind and, Mother help him, her thighs. Then he was up, moving around the table to join her at the fire.

Elain turned and watched him approach with an enigmatic stare, the fire reflecting in her glassy eyes.

“Graysen’s life is perhaps an easier one,” Lucien eventually breathed, “But whilst yours may prove more difficult, it is certainly more worthwhile.” Elain paused as she pondered his thoughts, and Lucien once more allowed himself to drink from her ever-flowing fountain of beauty.

“I just, I think it’s all so unfair.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Why?”

“Because why does he get to be happy? Why does he get to continue to live his life and just find someone else to marry? Is there no such thing as justice?”

“You are free to seek retribution Elain-”

“And give the humans further reason to hate the fae?”

Lucien blinked. The timing of Graysen’s death would be unfortunate, but Lucien wanted to see the boy dead, even if that meant tomorrow an army would be at his door.

“The humans should be grateful the fae are ridding them of such vermin,” Lucien couldn’t help himself from spitting as he glared out the window. But not before he caught Elain giving a weary look and for the first time, he realised just how tired she looked. The way her shoulders hung forward and her arms curled limply around herself. Something akin to agony washed through him at the sight of his exhausted mate, followed by the overwhelming need to fix it, to take her into his arms and protect her from all the things that worried her. Lucien had to fold his arms tightly across his chest to stop himself from reaching out.

“I don’t want to have any revenge when it comes to Graysen because it’s not going to make me feel better,” Elain looked at the fire as she spoke, and Lucien hated the wobble in her voice. He hated that he didn’t know who was making her cry – him or the boy.

“It might.”

“No. It wouldn’t,” she said with such ferocity Lucien was temporarily reminded of Nesta. “You know why?” Elain scowled, her eyes tightening and her lips turning down into a cruel frown.

“Because I would’ve still loved him if he’d been the one to come back changed. I would’ve still married him, and I would’ve told him it’d be alright, and we’d figure it out together – and killing him isn’t going to change the fact that he wouldn’t do the same for me. That he would’ve never done that for me; and that means he never loved me the way I loved him. You don’t get Lucien. Killing him means nothing because there is nothing I can do to him to make him hurt even half as much as he hurt me because he simply, doesn’t, care. He will never even comprehend what he did to me. He will spend the rest of his life, even if that life ends tomorrow, in blissful ignorance of what he did and the damage he caused. Hurting him back would just be so…so pointless, and…I’m tired.” Elain curled in on herself with an exhausted, angry sigh.

“I know you think I came here because I was ready to finally deal with this…with us,” she met his eye and hunched herself into a smaller ball, her arms winding further around herself, “But that’s not it. I came here because I’m tired and there nothing left for me and, and I’m running out of-of-I’m running out of-”

She was starting to hyperventilate. Madja had warned her of this, the panic attacks that had become a side effect of her depression. She needed to breathe, she needed to calm down, she needed-

Lucien crossed the room in three strides. Some part of Elain wanted to recoil at him approaching her with such ferocity in his step and steel in his eye, but she couldn’t be scared of him. She could be afraid of the bond and what it meant to her, what he meant to her, but Lucien would never hurt her. Ever. That she knew.

He’d stilled in front of her, looking down at her enigmatically. She’d run out of words, and she didn’t know if Lucien understood what she was attempting to say. Every part of her was ready to just break down from how exhausted she was.

The silence drew on. The tension turning palpable, and when she was just about ready to fall to her knees and let the agony take over, his arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her firmly against his chest.

Elain let out a small sob as her face was pushed into the fabric of his shirt, her head resting against his upper ribs and lower chest. She’d never been so aware of how different they were in size; he was the tallest of them all and she the shortest. But it felt…good. And maybe she was touch-deprived, or maybe she was just deluded, but she found herself burrowing into him. He was so warm, and with his arms around her she felt like…like he had her. Like it didn’t matter if she let go and just crumpled because he had her and he wasn’t going to let her hit the floor.

At this point, falling was inevitable. Elain had been falling for some time, plummeting down and down after the Cauldron had tipped her out and washed her corpse on jagged stones. But with Lucien holding her she considered, for the first time, having a soft place to land.

She didn’t want him to see her cry, so she burrowed deeper. Her arms were still curled around her torso; Lucien’s curled around her back. Both of them holding onto her and keeping her together. A few seconds, minutes, hours of silence and she realised that after this, she could never forget how he smelt. Apples, warmth, musk, fresh Earth, smoke. Familiar and foreign. A stranger but…hers.

He smelt like an evening, an Autumnal evening, with a brilliant streaking sunset. The kind where it seemed like the sun had never been so alive, where the sun took the sky and turned into its masterpiece.

He was that masterpiece. The Autumnal sky. The Autumnal Sun.

Sighing, Elain waited for him to recoil. For his arms to slacken and for him to move away, for them to nod awkwardly at each and then go to bed and try to pretend that this conversation hadn’t happened. But time ticked by, and Lucien didn’t let go. If anything, his steely grip only tightened. As though with each passing second, where Elain expected him to drift away, he set out to hold on tighter. Their words had run out tonight, but Elain heard the message he was saying as he held her closer and closer. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.

Elain breathed him in, and allowed herself to stay.

***

Right then, she wanted to tell him that she didn’t know how to do this, but she knew she didn’t want to hurt him. She wanted to say that she wasn’t sure if she could love again, that she might be a lost cause because Graysen had so thoroughly ruined her trust, and she wasn’t sure how high she’d built the walls around both her heart and mind. She wanted to say that she was lonely, and that she thought he was too, and what a funny pair they were in this world full of light and dark. Where good came in the form of people who made them both feel so alone.

She wanted to say that she was at a breaking point and had been for some time. That even though the war had ended it still raged within her. That no one else seemed to care because they’d got the happy endings whilst she just…existed.

She wanted to say that she didn’t know what she wanted. That her dream of being a wife and mother had been buried when she first tried to kill herself, three days after the Cauldron. Because how could she care for anyone else, especially a child, when she couldn’t care for herself.

She wanted to say that right now, in this moment, she just wanted to know him.

She just wanted a friend.

She wanted…

She wanted to run away and never look back. She wanted to damn the world that damned her. She wanted a brain that worked. A family she felt connected to. Someone to care.

Someone to fucking care. That was all.

But for now, this was enough. Lucien pulling her into his arms before she finally collapsed was enough. And so, tonight, she’d sleep. And that was enough too.

41 notes · View notes

varietysunsets · 3 years

Text

My Right Hand Man

Pairing: Diavolo/Kira Yoshikage Rating: T Tags: Domestic AU (with stands!), canon-typical violence, vague descriptions of murder, fluff, enemies to lovers? 👀 Word count: 7700

Description: Kira gets blackmailed into spending Christmas with his new neighbours.

A/N: happy holidays @doctorrosalia, here’s your @jjba-secret-santa ! sorry that this is so long, i havent written since last year’s secret santa so i was a little backed up lol. try to stay safe and relax in these bizarre times 🍹

Read on AO3!

August 28th, 1999

It all began when Kira spotted the moving truck next door.

It was fancy—a name brand with about three or four men in matching uniforms hauling furniture inside the house. Nice-looking furniture, at that. Mostly black leather or white suede, practically new. Modernist style.

Kira couldn’t imagine why someone would move into their Morioh subdivision if they could afford furniture like that. Either they were broke and trying to overcompensate for the fact, or they recently came into money but still weren’t sure how to handle it. Personally, Kira hoped it was the former; if this new neighbour had exorbitant amounts of money, they would probably try to remodel the house. Kira dreaded to think about listening to a construction crew for weeks at a time.

Kira watched the moving crew for a good fifteen minutes while he sipped his coffee. The crew hauled in a large, plastic-wrapped mattress, followed shortly by another, much smaller one, too.

Kira nodded his head. His new neighbour had a child. That wasn’t surprising. A lot of people in the neighbourhood had families. This was a relatively safe place, after all.

The thought made Kira smile a bit. With another sip of coffee, he checked his watch. Almost time to leave.

The movers continued to do their work, steadily unloading the huge truck. As Kira went and rinsed out his mug, he realized that he hadn’t yet seen his new neighbours. And then, it came to him that he would need to learn the schedule of these new neighbours, too. That left a sour note in Kira’s mouth—before, an old man lived there with his extremely young girlfriend. It was easy to bypass them and do what he needed, because the man was senile and the girlfriend was never home, probably partying or seeing other men.

Kira drew a steady breath, calmed himself. He turned to the table, where his girlfriend sat. Stiff, perfect, angelic, almost. All negative feelings washed away from him.

Lovingly, he scooped her up and held her to his face. He kissed the back of the corpse hand, savoring the feel of her soft, cold skin against his lips. She was fresh and delightful; really, he didn’t need to worry about the new neighbours for now, his current girlfriend would last for a good week or so. Maybe longer.

With another quick kiss, Kira wrapped his girlfriend back up and returned her to the fridge. He straightened his tie, collected his briefcase, and went for the door.

He took his time locking the door outside, if only hoping that he might catch a glimpse of his new neighbour. Unfortunately, the curtains were drawn tight and there was no sign of them outside, so Kira began his commute to work curious and unsatisfied.

—30—

September 5th

A week passed. Still, Kira hadn’t seen any sign of life from his new neighbours’ house. Kira tried to break it down rationally, to find clues to tell him anything about these new people; he assumed there was only one parent, given the fact that the furniture brought in was near-immaculate, but missing any feminine touches. Possibly a single father. The problem with that was Kira hadn’t seen a parent or even a babysitter come or go yet. Given the time of year, the child would be out of school, so someone needed to be watching it.

There was so much mystery surrounding these people that it made Kira nervous. He tried to mind himself and rationalize his anxiety, but every time he passed a window, he found himself staring out at the neighbours, desperately grasping for anything he could find.

The only thing different he could see since the neighbours moved in were the slightly open purple butterfly curtains in one of the second-floor windows. Every other set of blinds or curtains were drawn, blocking the inside off from the rest of the world. It was frustrating, so frustrating.

After waking up, Kira did as he always did; he dressed, went to the kitchen to start his coffee, and pulled his girlfriend from the fridge. A rank smell followed her; black rot began to take the edges of her wrist. Kira’s heart sank with despair and disgust.

He couldn’t focus on this right now, otherwise he would get frazzled. Kira shut the fridge door and walked through the house, all the way to the back porch.

The early-morning air was fresh and warm outside. Calm emotions ebbed through him as he breathed steadily.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Kira caught movement in the neighbours’ backyard.

Kira tensed, though he knew he wasn’t in any danger. Killer Queen materialized behind him, set and ready as it peered over Kira’s shoulder. In the neighbours’ backyard was a young child walking around, easily only a kindergarten student or younger, with bright pink hair wearing a sundress.

Kira relaxed, even laughed inwardly at himself. He waved Killer Queen away, though the Stand stayed where it was. Curious, Queen drifted to the porch railing and leaned over, as if closely observing the child. At this point, Kira could have gone back into the house, but there was a strange nagging feeling inside him that made him stay put.

A quick survey of the neighbours’ backyard told Kira that this little girl was completely alone and unsupervised; no one was on the back porch, and as always, the blinds were drawn. Kira knew that he was the most dangerous thing in Morioh, yet he felt uncomfortable leaving the girl alone. Odd, because she wasn’t his responsibility in the slightest. Perhaps only to keep his illusion of being a good person, Kira quietly observed the girl a little more.

She explored around the yard, plucking grass and dandelions. Her curly hair was cropped short around her head, bright pink. Kira had never seen anything like it. Queen beside him stared intently, unblinking, like a cat watching prey.

The girl knelt, scooped another handful of flowers, then happened to turn around. Kira jolted slightly as they made eye contact. Queen jumped to hide behind Kira; the cold feeling of its hands grasped Kira’s shoulders. Without any idea of what to do, Kira waved at her gently.

The girl didn’t smile. Her chubby cheeks perched in an almost-frown, but her yellow eyes were bright. She raised one grassy hand and waved back.

Kira thought she was cute for a child. He never caught onto the baby craze or any particularly paternal instincts, but perhaps now he could understand why women swooned over them. He waved again, smiling softly, then lowered his hand. The little girl put her hand down, too. She kept staring, then decisively started walking towards Kira.

There was no real divide between their yards, only a small grassy slope leading to a shallow valley. Kira kept his yard immaculate and mowed, the neighbours’ grass was almost to the girl’s knees.

The girl made it within three feet of the divide when a man came around the corner of the house. Killer Queen dematerialized, and Kira stood up straight again.

The man was tall and lanky, but despite that, his arms were obviously defined under the sleeves of a black rock band t-shirt. He had a wild mat of long pink hair, and a sharp face with dark circles under hard set, black eyes.

At first glance, Kira could tell the man was his age, but somehow, he seemed much younger.

“Do you have a problem?” The man asked sharply, with an obvious Italian accent. He walked past the little girl and stood partially in front of her.

Kira was taken aback, but he kept his cool. He smiled slightly and bowed his head a little.

“No problems,” He assured the man. His mouth felt dry. “I was just standing here.”

“You were watching my daughter, like a pervert.” The man accused.

Kira almost reeled. His stomach curled at the accusation. “I wasn’t watching her... That way. She looked alone; I was just making sure that she didn’t wander off. No ill-intentions, I assure you.”

Kira sweat bullets under the hard, distrustful stare of his neighbour. It felt like forever before he finally spoke.

“You mind your business next time.” There was no threat attached to the end of the man’s statement, but Kira felt it in his tone.

Shivers rushed up Kira’s spine. Nothing normally scared him, certainly not people, but this man made him feel things. A little bit of fear, maybe excitement at his audacity. It wasn’t the type of attitude people usually took in Morioh, especially not with mild-natured Kira Yoshikage.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood.” Kira offered, trying to recollect his composure. “I apologize that this is our first meeting.”

The man narrowed his eyes. He glared Kira up and down.

Kira forced a smile, even as he held his breath.

Without a word in reply, the man grabbed his daughter by the shoulder and ushered her back towards the house. “Come on, Trish,” he mumbled, so quiet Kira almost didn’t hear.

Trish went willingly, but not without casting one last glance at Kira. Expressionless, she waved.

Kira considered waving back, out of politeness, at least. But soon Trish and her father disappeared into the home again.

Killer Queen’s presence radiated behind Kira’s shoulder. Glancing back, Kira saw that Queen had its hand up, waving back at Trish. Kira rolled his eyes.

“Stop that. She can’t see you.”

Kira returned to his own house. Queen lingered a second longer, staring out unblinking at the lawn, before dissipating and following Kira.

—30—

October 12th

Summer fully ended, and with it came mild Autumn days. As always, Kira went to work, did his errands and chores, and over time he stopped thinking about his odd neighbours as much. He caught glimpses of them here and there, but hardly enough to focus on. Sometimes in the morning Kira saw Trish leave the house for school and join the other neighbourhood children for the commute. Other times, just after dusk, Kira caught glimpses of his strange neighbour creeping to the mailbox.

Through vague conversations with the mailman, Kira pieced together that his neighbour went by the nickname Diavolo. That was about the extent of what Kira really cared to find out; he knew this Diavolo’s schedule and that was all he needed.

So, life went on as usual for Kira.

He met a waitress at a restaurant with exceptionally beautiful hands. He stalked her home to a bustling apartment and strangled her before she had the chance to scream. Killer Queen disposed of the evidence, and the TV playing perfectly hid the sounds of carnage. The exhilaration from killing carried Kira all the way home as though he were walking on air. Kira kept his new prize nestled in his suit pocket; the lingering warmth from the corpse hand was delicious, and her skin was so soft when Kira stroked her.

Kira’s new girlfriend was exactly what he needed in his home; she fit in perfectly, like the missing piece to a puzzle. For the first time in what felt like forever, Kira was completely at peace.

Though every day of the following week was identical, Kira savoured it. Perfect peace in his quiet life, unnoticed and left alone—he couldn’t ask for anything more.

Before work on a Thursday morning, Kira checked his mailbox. He flipped through, sorting the junk from the important letters, almost mindlessly, until he got to an unmarked manilla folder at the bottom of the stack. Curious, Kira pursed his lips. He set the rest of his mail aside and opened the folder.

His heart stopped.

Inside were photographs. Photos of himself, taken through a window, kissing his girlfriend in his kitchen. Photos of him lovingly painting his girlfriend’s nails. Even photos of his girlfriend, from all angles, sitting out on the table and in the fridge, taken from inside his home.

Violent nausea washed over Kira. His stomach twisted into a knot, his chest clenched with anger. He wanted to collapse and scream and throw up all at the same time. Not only was he being watched, but whoever took these photos was inside his home. They touched his things and invaded his space, handled his girlfriend.

As Kira slid the photos back into the folder, he noted a letter tucked inside. Despite the waves of sickness washing through him, he managed enough coordination to read it.

And then he read it over again. And again. And Again.

The letter detailed extremely specific instructions for Kira. A time and place to be, down to the minute, and a gracious description of a man Kira was to kill, “however he usually does”. Then there were threats at the end—promises that Kira’s life would be upturned with the photographs and more if the task wasn’t completed, or if he tried anything suspicious. And that there would be more tasks to come later.

Kira couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Almost in a daze, he brought his mail into the house.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Kira gnawed his nails until blood seeped down his fingers and dripped onto the table. Easily, Kira could see himself falling into a slippery slope, constantly running around killing for this blackmailer until he either got caught or got himself killed. Unless he figured out who the blackmailer was and struck first.

When Kira snapped back to consciousness, his hand was covered in blood. He licked his lips, and then went to wash up.

He called out to work that day, his first sick call in months. Kira faked a cough and apologized profusely. His boss wished him well and told him to get some rest and feel better soon.

Kira had no intention of doing either. He spent the day fretting, thinking and mulling over the letter—one part on how to kill and another on how to find his blackmailer.

—30—

October 20th

All things considered, the kill was easy; the target was passed out drunk when Kira arrived. Kira rigged the home with bombs as instructed, and quickly he discovered why his blackmailer wanted this man killed.

The target’s home was littered with photographs—ironically, Kira assumed they were to be used for blackmail, too. He took a moment to examine a few and found that both his and his neighbour’s homes were pictured. Another showed his neighbour leaving the house, in one of his mad dashes for the mailbox.

Though he had many questions unanswered, some of the mystery clicked. Kira finished his task and fled the scene. He was long gone by the time firefighters arrived to put out the blaze that was the target’s home.

—30—

October 22nd

Another letter arrived mysteriously in Kira’s mailbox. Just as Kira feared, the slippery slope had begun.

Once again, the letter listed everything down to the minute detail; Kira was to leave his home at 1:35pm that day and arrive at a nearby park by 1:48. Apparently, the sender had measured the exact time window it would take to get there. As with the last letter, this one was incredibly detailed and well-written, until the very end, that is. The final line read,

Find a young man named Doppio.

Talk soon.

Kira was given no description, no call to action, nothing. What was he to do when he found this Doppio? How was he even supposed to find him? What if he couldn’t?

Worry wrought Kira’s body. He chewed his nails the entire walk to the park, despite trying his best to remain calm. The signs of a beautiful fall day were around him; golden leaves tumbled from the trees and danced in the gentle breeze. All he could think about was whether his not-so-secret blackmailer would expose him completely.

Kira got rushed by violent thoughts of what he might do to this Doppio person when he found him. He wanted nothing more than to use Killer Queen and erase this fool completely, but he couldn’t. There was too much he didn’t know yet. And there were people walking around everywhere in this park.

Most notably, a younger guy with purple hair and a matching sweater struggled to keep a little girl, wearing a backpack and child-leash, in check. He laughed nervously to himself and chided the child gently.

At first, Kira paid them no mind, until he looked closer; the child looked strangely familiar. He paused to observe and realized that the little girl on the leash was his next-door neighbour.

Trish noticed Kira staring first. She glanced over her shoulder and stopped tugging on her leash; instead, she waved her hand at Kira, expressionless and silent. The man with her glanced back as well.

He looked Kira over, then his eyes lit up.

“Oh! Oh!” He said. “You’re mister Yoshikage? Um— Kiri— No, Kira, right?”

Kira bristled slightly. He dug his nails into his palm, in an attempt to soothe the desire to chew them. “Kira Yoshikage, yes.”

The boy sighed deeply in relief. He smiled a weary grin and dropped his shoulders. “Oh, thank god. I’m Doppio. The boss told me to come find you. He said— ha! He said I’d find some old blond guy in a suit walking around the park like a creep. But you’re not— you’re a lot younger than I was expecting.” Doppio laughed awkwardly.

Kira stared at him. His expression slipped into something intense and unimpressed.

Doppio’s laughter petered off. He cleared his throat. Trish tugged viciously on her leash, in a desperate attempt to chase a stray cat strolling by.

“Um... Should we... Walk and talk?” Doppio offered. His body jerked as Trish pulled. “The boss gave me some stuff to talk about with you.”

Kira couldn’t explain the feeling inside his chest. It was a seething anger; not only was he being blackmailed, he had to deal with someone like... This. It was almost insulting, in a very specific way.

Outwardly, Kira tried to seem calm. He bowed his head briefly to Doppio.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

For the most part, Trish led the way. She jerked Doppio every so often, in some violent pursuit of this or that, and without fail every time Doppio laughed awkwardly and gave Kira a ‘what can you do?’ sort of glance.

There were a few people in the park, strolling around and enjoying the day. Normally, Kira blended in well with the crowd, but he felt now that walking beside Doppio and the unruly child made them the centre of attention. Kira’s palms sweated; Doppio remained oblivious that people may be staring at them.

“So... You got the boss’ letters pretty easy, huh?” Doppio said, as though he were making small talk. Trish jerked his arm again, as she rushed towards a small playground in the middle of the park.

Everything about this felt surreal to Kira, like he was living in a fever-dream, or inside a carnival mirror. Maybe this was an elaborate prank, or Kira’s tailored personal hell.

“I did.”

Doppio waited a second for Kira to say more, but when it became obvious that he had finished his statement, Doppio awkwardly filled the silence.

“Well, the boss told me he respects how quickly you got the job done. And effectively! He’s really impressed by you, mister Kira. He thinks you have a lot of potential.”

“That’s... Good.” Kira approached the conversation carefully, lest he accidentally offer unknown information.

Together, they approached the edge of the playground. Doppio knelt and unclasped the leash from Trish’s bookbag.

“Stay where I can see you,” Doppio said to her, but the moment she was free, Trish took off in a sprint towards the jungle gyms.

“If I can ask... Why didn’t your ‘boss’ come out here to meet me?” Kira inquired.

Doppio rolled the leash up in his hand and stood straight. “Oh, uh— he doesn’t really like being out in public, he’s kind of a hermit. But! This is confidential, I promise you can trust in me. I know everything, I won’t rat you out.”

Doppio led them over to some benches on the outskirts of the playground. No one else was around. Despite his weariness, Kira sat beside Doppio.

“I know I don’t seem very trustworthy, and you probably think I’m kind of a dork,” Doppio continued. Kira side-glanced at him. “But I’m Diavolo’s right-hand man. The only reason he sent me out here is because he doesn’t want any more paper trails, get it? This whole ordeal is pretty hush-hush.”

“Diavolo.” Kira repeated softly to himself. That confirmed it. He crossed his legs and leaned his elbow on his knee. “What does he want from me?”

Doppio fiddled with the leash in his hand. He watched Trish run around closely, in case she made a break for it.

“More jobs. The boss has a lot of enemies, you know? But he’s lying low right now, he can’t risk dealing with it himself.”

“Then why would he pick me, a complete stranger?”

Doppio laughed a little. “It’s not like you’ve never met. You live right next door, after all. It’s easier to keep track of you and everything.”

Silence settled between them. For a long second, Doppio and Kira stared at each other. In the background, gravel crunched as Trish fell off the monkey bars, only to quickly jump up and try again.

As the silence and its implications seeped in, Doppio’s expression dropped. Horror etched across his face.

“Oh, shit. I wasn’t supposed to say that. I— I...”

“I already figured that out,” Kira offered. His methods were always perfect, he had no enemies, no reason for anyone to suspect him; it only made sense that his new neighbour, Diavolo, the only new thing in his otherwise perfect life, was the cause of it all.

Doppio seemed slightly relieved, but still there were some hints of terror in his expression. He fiddled more with his hands and glanced around nervously. Then, he started to mutter, “Ring, ring, ring...”

Kira blinked. Doppio got up and paced, all while muttering to himself.

That was one way to leave a conversation cold, Kira thought.

“Ring, ring... Where is it...?”

Almost triumphantly, Doppio picked up a crushed, empty soda can. He put it to his ear and said, “Hello? Doppio speaking.”

Despair settled in Kira’s stomach. He was supposed to trust this man? This entire interaction already felt like a slap in the face, but this was too much. Kira hoped even more now that this was an elaborate prank, or maybe even just a long dream that he would soon wake up from.

Doppio’s eyes lit up. “Boss! Oh— yeah, yeah, he’s here. One sec.”

Doppio turned to Kira and held the can out.

“He wants to talk to you,” Doppio said.

At this point, Kira didn’t know what to think. He felt a thousand eyes staring at him, even though there were only a few people walking around, ignoring them.

Despite the absurdity of this, Kira took the can. Under Doppio’s expectant gaze, he put the can to his ear and said, “...Yes?”

“Yoshikage.”

Kira jolted. Directly in his ear was the voice of his neighbour—Diavolo. Deep and calm, yet heavy and serious.

Kira jerked his eyes to Doppio; the man stood there smiling, waiting patiently. Only then did Kira notice that one of Doppio’s eyes wasn’t quite right—the pupil was darker, twitching, in an uncanny familiar way.

“Listen to me, Yoshikage.” Diavolo whispered to him. Kira watched Doppio’s face the entire time; his lips moved with the speech. “You’re going to do exactly as Doppio says. If you lay a hand on my Doppio or my daughter, I will ruin your life in such a specific way that you will wish you were dead.”

Panic and fear gripped Kira’s lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

“Doppio has more power than you realize, and he will not hesitate to use it against you. And don’t forget, I have your life in the palm of my hand. Check your mailbox when you get home.”

Kira lowered the can from his ear and stared, shocked, at Doppio.

Doppio smiled back innocently. Both his eyes matched again, the irises a bright golden colour.

Kira couldn’t find the words to speak even if he wanted to. Doppio’s smile was almost haunting.

“Let’s talk about your next task then, mister Kira.”

—30—

November 1st

A woman this time, and a pretty one, at that. She had beautiful skin and excellent, gorgeous hands. Manicured. Adorned in expensive rings and a bracelet. Kira imagined she was a pianist, or even a harpist. Something about the delicate nature of her hands led Kira to believe she played an equally regal instrument.

Even though he was there on business, Kira saw no problem with keeping her hands. It would be a waste otherwise, he thought. After some quiet contemplation, and comparing them both, Kira settled on taking the left hand; her right index finger had a broken nail, while the left was completely intact.

Kira finished the job with a quiet blast from Killer Queen. He went home satisfied, with his new girlfriend safely tucked into his blazer.

As soon as Kira stepped into his home, the phone rang.

Confused, Kira glanced at the time; it was late, far later than when he usually got calls of any kind. Wearily, Kira moved to the phone on the wall and picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Kira Yoshikage.” Diavolo greeted. “Did you have fun tonight?”

Kira felt shivers go down his spine. He considered hanging up, but something kept him standing there, waiting for Diavolo to say more.

And he did.

“I assume you did. Did you bring home a souvenir, by chance?”

Kira’s stomach wretched a bit. “What do you want? Can’t I have an evening in peace?”

Diavolo laughed. “Oh, sure. I don’t have another task for you yet, I just wanted to thank you for your work. Based on your reaction, I assume you got my gift.”

“...What do you mean?”

“I picked her out special for you, couldn’t you tell?” Diavolo stated, as though it were obvious. He laughed again, a haunting sound. “You’re a despicable man, Yoshikage, pretty perverted, but your taste is obvious.”

Suddenly, the corpse hand in Kira’s pocket felt impossibly heavy.

“No need to thank me,” Diavolo continued. “I’m sure you’re beyond grateful. I have nothing else for you right now, but we’ll be in touch. Ciao.”

Diavolo hung up, leaving Kira standing there, stunned into silence. Up until now, he assumed that everything about Diavolo was despicable. Weird and despicable. This, however, felt bittersweet; possibly the strangest gift anyone had ever gotten Kira, but also... The most thoughtful.

Kira didn’t want to dwell on it for too long. He did his best to push it out of his head, to Zen out while he went about his nightly routine.

Still, his mind wandered back to Diavolo. The strange gift. His deep voice.

It all haunted Kira, but not necessarily in a bad way.

—30—

December 10th 1:15pm

Over the course of the next month, Diavolo’s tasks shifted from murderous in nature to more... Domestic.

It was frustrating and borderline insulting at first that Kira was expected to go around collecting dry-cleaning and groceries—Kira was much more than someone’s errand-boy—but at the same time, Diavolo found intriguing ways to reward Kira for his service. Money and dropped hints to help him find new targets, always beautiful and model-worthy, in Kira’s opinion.

Though originally he despised Diavolo, now Kira couldn’t help but see some merit in the strange man, at least as far as his taste went and little else.

That being said, Kira’s next task was... Unexpected.

Kira got the call while he was at work, which jarred him, but he supposed that he shouldn’t expect any less from Diavolo at this point.

“Hello, Yoshi.” Diavolo’s voice pierced through Kira, giving him a gut-reaction shiver.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Why not? Does it make your skin crawl? You should consider it a term of endearment. I think more people should call you it.”

Kira sighed. “These calls are recorded, you know.”

Diavolo sounded amused. “I figured. I need a favour of you.”

Kira glanced casually over his shoulder. Though his expression remained calm, his palms started to sweat.

“A favour?” Kira ventured carefully.

Diavolo hummed in his ear. “I need you to pick Trish up from school today. And then take her to go get Christmas decorations for an hour or so.”

Kira furrowed his brows. As Diavolo spoke, Kira poked his pointer finger to his lips and chewed the nail.

“This is an odd favour from you,” Kira muttered, choosing his words carefully.

“I know. But you’re the only person I trust to do this.”

Kira wanted to laugh. Diavolo trusted him? Given the chance, Kira would strangle him and chop him to bits, then use Killer Queen to erase all evidence that he existed. He wouldn’t hesitate.

Yet at the same time, deeper down, Kira felt hesitation. He tried to play it off as self-sustaining worry, but he knew better.

Eventually, Kira replied, “I get off work at four.”

“Good. I’ll see you later tonight, then.” Then, Diavolo teased, “If anything happens to Trish, I’ll skin you.”

Kira chuckled at that, even though he knew that Diavolo was completely serious.

—30—

December 10th 4:25pm

Trish had no emotion and no expression when Kira came to pick her up. She left the other children playing on the playground without looking back and willingly approached Kira’s car. She was bundled up warmly in a jacket with matching splash pants and a knit hat.

“Hi Yoshi.”

Kira pursed his lips. “You ought to call me ‘mister Kira’ instead.”

Trish frowned and took an attitude to her tone. “Papa told me to call you Yoshi.”

“It’s more respectful for you to call me Kira.”

Trish paused a long moment. She pulled the knit hat off her head, revealing a tangle of short, frizzy pink hair.

“I’m gonna call you Yoshi,” she said decisively.

Kira couldn’t believe the audacity of this brat.

“At least call me ‘Yoshikage’.”

Trish wrinkled her nose. “Yoshi.”

Kira gritted his teeth. His mind was plagued by violent thoughts, and his hands twitched at his sides. Inside his chest, he felt Killer Queen itching to be released.

“Didn’t your father teach you to respect your elders?” Kira asked calmly instead.

Trish glanced up at Kira. Her expression soured further, and she stuck her tongue out.

“He told me I’m not s’pposed to go anywhere with strangers. Where’s uncle Doppio?”

“I’m not sure,” Kira said, holding in his annoyance. He opened the car door and ushered Trish inside. “We’ll have to ask your father later.”

Trish crossed her arms and pouted. After getting buckled in and settled, she stared angrily out the back window as they drove.

“...Is your ghost still following you?” Trish eventually asked.

Kira glanced back at her through the rear-view mirror. “I’m sorry? My ghost?”

“Yeah. The pink one.”

“I don’t have a ghost following me,” Kira lied.

“It waved at me,” Trish continued to say. She stared hard at the back of Kira’s head, as though it would make the ‘ghost’ in question appear. “It was big and pink and had kitty ears.”

Kira’s hands were clammy. He felt Killer Queen swell inside his chest, almost desperate to materialize after being talked about. Kira pushed it down.

“You have a wild imagination. There are strange things in this world, but I doubt ghosts are one of them.”

Trish didn’t seem satisfied with that answer fully, but seemingly she took it. To stave off further questioning, Kira turned the radio on. It worked well enough, until they reached their outlet mall destination.

Normally, Kira avoided the mall whenever possible, especially around the holiday season. It was too busy for his liking and the appeal of Christmas never really resonated with him personally; if anything, it felt like a waste of time. However, his anonymity laid on the line, so Kira put forth a forced smile.

“Your father wants you to pick out some Christmas decorations.” Kira told Trish. “Do you have any ideas of what you’d like?”

Trish shook her head. She intentionally looked away from Kira as they walked through the bustling mall.

Kira seethed quietly. He led Trish towards a specialty knick-knack store and shooed her in. “Well, think about it. Let’s look around.”

There was no shortage of Christmas decorations in the store. Everything was covered in red or green tinsel, doused with fake foam snow. Sparkly ornaments and colourful decorations flashed and sang everywhere. Kira couldn’t help being a little overwhelmed by the amount of pure, unadulterated Christmas spirit he was surrounded by.

Finally, Trish’s expression shifted slightly. Though she didn’t smile fully, she did seem mildly impressed by everything. She wandered further into the store, following singing snowmen and dancing Santa’s.

Kira tried to follow, but easily became distracted. For the most part, he wondered about how anyone could find these annoying traditions endearing. Personally, Kira preferred modest, if any, Christmas decorations and quiet nights by himself throughout the holidays.

While Kira wasn’t paying attention, Killer Queen materialized. It lingered behind Trish, glancing around and inspecting her as she admired a wall of Christmas tree ornaments. Curiously, it reached its hand out to swat her shoulder.

Kira caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could stop Queen, a separate entity appeared. All Kira saw was a flash of hot pink before it reeled back and punched Queen full force in the mouth.

At the exact same time, Kira also felt the punch being delivered on himself. The force made him reel, lose his balance, crash to the ground. Thankfully, no one else was in the aisle to stare and gape. Pain ebbed through Kira’s face, anger and confusion welled up inside his chest.

Kira stared at Trish in utter disbelief, clutching his jaw.

For the first time since Kira had met her, Trish emoted. She decisively picked a sparkly, pink disco-ball ornament off the shelf and held it close to her chest. She looked Kira over, and then said with a smile, “I have a ghost, too.”

—30—

December 10th 6:01pm

Kira wanted to drop Trish off on the doorstep and vacate. However, before he could he even ring the doorbell, Doppio threw the door open. He seemed flustered, his face slick with sweat and his smile wild and nervous. He had his sleeves rolled up his elbow. Kira noted a small, dark stain on the bottom hem of his sweater.

“Oh! Mister Kira, perfect timing. I was just cleaning up. Come inside, won’t you?” As Doppio spoke, Trish took the chance to slip inside. She brushed by Doppio, and he acknowledged her by ruffling her hair and saying, “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

Kira awkwardly held a paper bag of assorted ornaments and decorations by his side. His jaw still throbbed from the assault earlier.

“I don’t want to impose,” Kira said, though deep inside he wanted nothing more than to see the inside of Diavolo’s home; even just a glimpse would suffice.

Doppio opened the door further. He ushered Kira inside. “Not at all! Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable.”

Kira did come inside, and though normally he felt uncomfortable in barrages of social settings, he felt quite relaxed now. Maybe it was the relief of moving from a bustling mall to somewhere much, much quieter. Maybe it was that in combination with the excitement of finally seeing Diavolo’s home.

Doppio motioned Kira in and closed the door behind him. He smiled, and led the way towards the living room. The walls were crisp white and mostly clean; Kira noted a few criminal spots where crayon was smudged low on the walls.

“Did you want a coffee or a tea or anything?” Doppio asked. Obviously, he was just as excited about having guests as Kira was to be there.

“Tea would be nice. Whatever you have.”

Doppio grinned and nodded. “Okay! Sure, one sec. The boss’ll be right down, too.”

“No rush.”

Kira glanced around the living room, openly taking in everything that he could see. There was an odd dissociation between the niceness of the furniture and the children’s toys laying around on the floor. A collection of Barbie dolls lay discarded in the middle of the floor, along with an open case of pink glittery makeup, dangerously close to spilling on a lovely white carpet. In the very-most corner of the living room was a tall, fake Christmas tree; unsurpising, Kira doubted Diavolo would manage to find a real Christmas tree in Morioh. Upon closer inspection, Kira noted that there were drops of blood on one of the branches. And below, the floor was sparkling clean, but still wet; obviously recently cleaned.

Kira couldn’t help wondering what happened here. Potentially something to do with the fact Diavolo needed someone to pick up and distract Trish.

“Good to see you again.”

Kira twisted around. Diavolo stood in the doorway of the living room, and it occurred to Kira then that he hadn’t actually seen Diavolo since their first meeting. Kira’s heart skipped a nervous little beat, which he chose to ignore.

Diavolo looked much more well put-together than he did before. His hair was combed and fell neatly across his shoulders, his lipstick looked rushed but still befitting. Kira noted that along with a mesh shirt, he wore the same pants as Doppio.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Diavolo continued. He offered out a mug of tea to Kira. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable while you’re here.”

Kira took the mug cautiously. Kira couldn’t help noticing that Diavolo painted his nails black; sloppily, at that. Kira tried not to let it linger in his mind, but as he sat down on a white suede chair, he couldn’t help thinking that, given the chance, he could have painted Diavolo’s nails much nicer. That thought, Kira realized, would probably haunt him for a while.

Diavolo took the paper bag of ornaments and brought it to the tree. He rooted through it, nodding his head.

“Excellent. I appreciate your help, Yoshikage.

“You know, you’re the only person who calls me by my first name.” Kira stated over the lip of his tea. “Everyone else has enough respect to call me Kira. I don’t even know how you found my full name.”

Diavolo grinned. He procured a box of white Christmas bulbs from the bag and turned it over in his hands.

“I respect you,” Diavolo said. “People I don’t respect don’t get referred to by name at all. And it wasn’t hard; I have my ways.”

“The same way you found my work phone number?”

“Exactly. You’re quick, Yoshi. That’s why I like you.”

Diavolo opened the box of bulbs. Kira’s eyes followed his hands; they were slender, with long fingers and smooth skin. Hands that hadn’t seen a day of hard labour in a long time, Kira figured. Aesthetically, they were perfect.

Kira forced himself not to stare. Live hands seldom intrigued him, but something about Diavolo’s seemed different. Perhaps it helped that he was an attractive man, even if his personality could be annoying and almost abrasive.

“Doppio said you liked me because I’m easy to control and watch over.” Kira said, to distract himself. He looked around the room, away from Diavolo’s working hands.

“Give yourself more credit. That’s only part of the reason.” Diavolo said. He placed another bulb on the tree. “You’re self-motivating, and handsome, too. I like surrounding myself with beautiful people.”

Kira sputtered on his tea. That wasn’t the response he was expecting. It left a mixed-feeling in Kira’s chest, wherein he felt pleased by the acknowledgement but also startled.

Diavolo looked back over his shoulder. “And look, you’re good with children, too. I took a chance on you with that, but I didn’t have many options today.” He smiled. “Work related business, you see.”

“I see,” Kira muttered, still processing this all. Deep down, Kira felt... Giddy. Excited, almost. He shouldn’t have, but he did. He couldn’t help it.

Little footsteps came running down the hall. Trish appeared in the living room door, having ditched her school uniform and winter clothes in favour of a princess play-dress.

“I wanna decorate the tree.” She said, intensely.

As if nothing had happened up until then, Diavolo nodded. “Go ahead. It’s all yours, sweetheart.”

Kira then sat there, quietly processing the entire interaction, while Diavolo helped Trish decorate the tree with sparkling, mis-matched ornaments.

—30—

December 24th

The phone rang. Thinking nothing of it, Kira pulled himself up from his seat and went to answer. He kept his eyes on his TV program the entire time.

“Hello, Kira residence.”

“Ah, so you are alone tonight.”

Kira pursed his lips. “Can I help you, Diavolo?”

“I want you to come over.”

“Right now? I’m in the middle of something.”

“You’re watching TV by yourself. Christmas is a time to spend with friends and family.”

Kira quirked a small smile. “Are we friends and family? Also, it’s considered rude here to spy on your neighbours.”

“Close your curtains next time. Are you coming?”

The TV shifted into a commercial. Kira turned towards the window instead; through a crack in Diavolo’s curtains, Kira spotted a sliver of pink hair peeking back at him.

“Why not come over here and ask me in person?” Kira inquired. He picked up the remote and flicked his TV off. “Or leave a letter under my door.”

“This does just as well, doesn’t it?” Diavolo shot back. His smirk could be heard through his tone. “I’ll see you shortly?”

Kira hummed. “I suppose.”

“Good.”

Life was certainly strange for Kira right now. He hung up the phone and slipped his shoes on instead. Over his shoulder, he casted a glance towards his girlfriend, sitting still on the table in front of the TV. Kira blew her a little kiss; he didn’t want her to become jealous, after all.

Snow blanketed the ground outside; it crunched under Kira’s shoes as he crossed the lawn to his neighbour’s home.

With Kira’s help earlier that week, Doppio had outfitted the porch and doorway with sparkling Christmas lights. They glittered and glowed as Kira knocked on the door.

Diavolo appeared almost instantly. He was dressed nicely in a dark button-up and matching pants.

“You could have just come in,” Diavolo said, stepping aside.

“It feels more professional to knock, I think.” Kira replied.

Diavolo smiled. “This is a professional visit?”

Kira quickly looked Diavolo up and down. “You’re dressed like it is.”

“I enjoy looking nice. And you look...” Diavolo stepped close, more into Kira’s space than Kira would allow from anyone else. He plucked the shoulder of Kira’s purple sweatshirt. “...Comfortable.”

Diavolo’s fingers only barely brushed Kira’s shoulder. A small shiver ran through him, unnoticed.

They stood close to each other for only a moment, before Diavolo took a half step back.

“Glass of wine?” He offered.

“I don’t drink, really.”

“It’s wine, Yoshi, not hard liquor. Children drink wine.” Diavolo said that as he slipped into the kitchen.

Kira followed him with his eyes and said, puzzled, “No, I don’t think they should.”

Diavolo laughed at that. Kira smiled to himself, pleased, as he went for the living room. He sat on the couch, facing towards the TV and the twinkling Christmas tree.

“Trish is asleep, I take it.” Kira said.

“Long asleep.” Diavolo replied, as he came into the room. He sat down beside Kira and stretched his arm across the back of the couch. His hand laid close to Kira’s shoulder; close enough that Kira almost felt its presence. “Waiting for Santa now.”

Kira nodded towards the plate sitting on the coffee table. “That explains the milk and cookies.”

“Trish insisted. I can’t stand sweets, so help yourself.” Diavolo sipped his wine, then said, “Maybe next year we can leave Santa a bottle of ‘92 vintage.”

Kira chuckled. Diavolo’s hand was in the very corner of his vision, close enough to touching him that it made Kira’s heart race. He tried to play it cool, though he had no doubt Diavolo knew exactly what he was doing.

Diavolo lifted his glass to his lips again. Kira glanced, then shifted his gaze between Diavolo’s perfectly painted black lips and how delicately he held the glass stem. Effortlessly. Kira wanted to stroke and hold Diavolo’s fingers the same way he held the glass.

“It’s not... Easy for me to make genuine connections with people,” Diavolo admitted. Kira quirked his brow with interest. “But meeting you... It’s been nice.”

“Meeting is a bit of a stretch,” Kira commented. Despite this, he still clung to every word Diavolo said. “Blackmail is more accurate.”

Diavolo waved his hand dismissively, dangerously close to Kira’s face.

“It still stands. I’m glad I met you, Kira Yoshikage. I feel like we’ve helped each other in a lot of different ways.”

Kira nodded his head. “You aren’t wrong, I suppose...”

Diavolo grinned. He raised his glass of wine and shifted ever-so closer to Kira.

“Here’s to another year of violent success for us,” Diavolo said.

Kira leaned forward and took the glass of milk left out. He raised that and clinked it against Diavolo’s.

“No pun intended, I hope.”

Amused, Diavolo drank. His lipstick left a black mark around the rim of the glass. Then, with a sigh, Diavolo leaned forward and set his glass down. When he came back, he gave Kira a cocky look.

“...Would you believe me if I said that there was a mistletoe above you?”

Kira scoffed with a smile. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Diavolo smirked. “Would asking for a kiss be out of place?”

Kira, amused, lowered his glass. Diavolo did the same. With a carefully practiced elegance, Kira swept up Diavolo’s hand in his own. He wrapped his fingers beneath the wrist, his thumb stroked the soft flesh there. Likewise, he felt Diavolo’s pulse pump.

“Not... Per se.” Kira sighed, his heart racing to hold such a warm hand. It was unusual, but in a new, exciting way. He brought Diavolo’s hand up to his lips and adorned it with a kiss.

Diavolo smiled. Kira smiled back.

#jjba secret santa 2020 #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #kiraboss #kiravolo #kira yoshikage #jjba diavolo #jjba doppio #trish una #this fic was brought to you by my butt buddy johnathan who wrote the ending while i got ready for work #and my partner who harassed me until i let them read it < 3

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mishinashen · 3 years

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The Tale by James Jacques Joseph Tissot, ca. 1878-1880

Henry James commented that his two favorite words in the English language were ‘summer afternoon.’ This delightful picture of Tissot’s partner and muse, Kathleen Newton, reading in the garden of their house in Grove End Road, St. John’s Wood, exemplifies the quiet happiness he found with her there, and celebrates the joy of childhood and family life. It exudes the contentment and ease found on a summer afternoon in the garden, surrounded by loved ones. A noted anglophile, Tissot had come to London from his native France in 1871 following the fall of the Paris Commune after the Franco Prussian war. An astute businessman, he had established a reputation on both sides of the Channel prior to the calamity, and was encouraged in his move by Thomas Gibson Bowles, founder of Vanity Fair magazine, for whom he supplied political cartoons. London offered Tissot a safe haven from the horrors of Paris at the time and better immediate prospects for art sales. He soon found a ready market for historical dress and modern-life pictures and earned enough in a year to buy a villa in the north-London suburb popular with artists, St. John’s Wood, at 17 (now 44) Grove End Road. According to the diarist de Goncourt, Tissot’s home was both elegant and welcoming – champagne was always on ice for visitors, and he joked that a footman was employed to polish leaves in the shrubbery. The villa had large gardens, with trees and ponds at front and back. Tissot had the pond in the back garden extended and formalized. Its stone coving can be glimpsed in the distance of The Tale, with surrounding plants including ‘giant rhubarb’ (gunnera) on the left. The pool’s colonnade, familiar from many other of Tissot’s London paintings, is hidden here by the chestnut leaves framing his sitters. Over the course of his time in London, Tissot’s art changed direction from the genre scenes with which he had gained fame, both as a result of having his work rejected from the Royal Academy in 1875 and through his meeting the beguiling Kathleen Newton, one of the two subjects of the present work, in 1876. Born Kathleen Kelly in Agra, where her father was a clerk in the Honourable East India Company’s Civil Service, Kathleen would lead a remarkable life notable for its brevity, modernity and defiance of convention. After the Indian Rebellion she was sent to England for safety and schooling. At the age of 16 she travelled back to India for an arranged marriage to Dr. Isaac Newton, a distinguished army surgeon. On the voyage she met and fell in love with a Captain Palliser, whom Dr. Newton cited in divorce proceedings after Kathleen ran away to join Palliser and became pregnant. She returned to England for the birth of her daughter, and a son, probably also fathered by Palliser, was born before Kathleen met Tissot. The artist’s first certain portrayal of her is the etched Portrait of Mrs. N., made in autumn/winter 1876. Though his Catholicism prevented him from marrying a divorcée, sometime in 1877 she came to live with Tissot, the pair cohabiting as man and wife until her death from tuberculosis in November 1882.

Captured sitting beneath the chestnut tree, in an intimate ‘snapshot’ image, Kathleen reads to her sister’s daughter Lilian Hervey, known as Lily, who lived only a few minutes’ walk from Tissot’s home. Kathleen is reading a story aloud, her lips slightly parted and fingers about to turn a page, and Lily is listening intently. Kathleen’s two children lived with the Herveys, sharing a nanny, and all the children visited Tissot’s house from time to time for walks, musical interludes, play, and picnics in the garden. Tissot made sketches and photographs of Kathleen and the children, which served as source material for paintings and etchings from 1878 to 1882. Lily was especially attached to her aunt and seems to have been a willing sitter too, as she appears on the same fur-covered bench in two pictures both entitled Quiet (c. 1881), the larger of which was exhibited by Tissot at the Royal Academy in 1882. The other is an upright version of the present composition measuring 12 ½ x 8 ½ in., sold at Christie’s on 5 November 1993, lot 159 (now in The Lloyd Webber Collection), but it instead depicts Lily cheekily turned towards the artist, distracted from her story, and peering over the garden bench. The present picture is a more tranquil and satisfying composition, with the sun-filled lawn, distant pond and dappled light filtering through the leaves of the chestnut tree.

Since the rejection of some of Tissot’s submissions to the Royal Academy in 1875, he had changed marketing tactics and showed more paintings outside London, where there was considerable demand from provincial dealers and new municipal galleries. Small paintings and prints were more easily accommodated and sold, as well as being more transportable. Such was the case with The Tale, exhibited in Birmingham and Liverpool in 1880 and 1882 respectively. When it was exhibited in Birmingham, The Tale was described by the Birmingham Daily Post’s art critic as ‘a work of very high merit. It is a tiny canvas, but there is breadth of treatment in it.’ In fact, the painting is on a thin mahogany panel, a support that Tissot favored for his small London-made pictures. Onto a lead-white ground that gave luminosity (and was used for this reason by both Impressionist and Pre-Raphaelite painters), Tissot laid broad diagonal brushstrokes of warm brown to create mid-tones and to animate the surface. This under-layer can be seen in places, especially beneath the lawn. Tissot’s use of vivid colors for the grass and leaves is radically modern: he mixed brilliant Emerald and Viridian Green with dazzling Barium Chromate and Strontium Yellow, poisonous paints that Vincent van Gogh also liked for their striking freshness. They certainly helped Tissot’s pictures stand out from the dense crowd of other works on gallery walls. Alongside this modernism, Tissot’s technique was grounded in tradition. His stunning fluency with the brush enabled him to capture glints of sunlight on hair and clothes, details of ribbons and folds, Kathleen Newton’s earring, and the delicate profiles of young woman and child. It is such eloquent and beautiful detail that made, and continues to make, Tissot’s work so attractive to viewers and collectors.

#french art

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lilteamushroom · 4 years

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Karasuno Team x reader pt 2

(I never expected so many people to like and want a part 2! It’s so long but it’s a good one!)

Part one:

Warnings: swearing??

The RV started up and began to move, you snickered as Ukai yelled at Tanaka and Hinata to sit their asses down. You sat on a small couch near a window next to kiyoko (Pfft let me get my gay ass outta here) Kiyoko, Suga and you talked about how long your family has had the beach house. “My family used to go to this beach house every summer when I was younger. But as I got older we stopped going as a family and now it sits with no one living in it.” You explained to them. “Though don’t worry about bugs and dust being in the house, my mom said she sent out some cleaners to make sure the house was clean and was stocked with food for us.” You told them. “I wish we could do something for your parents, for doing all of this for us.” Suga sighed. You smiled “Oh don’t worry, I think someone actually using the beach house makes her very happy.” you reassured Suga. “(Y/N), I heard you work at Ukai’s store.” Asahi chimed in. That caught you off guard. You knew they would find out and to be honest you were surprised they didn’t figure it out sooner. “Oh yeah! Its a lot of fun working there. And since the coach is my boss, it makes scheduling around practice and games much easier.” You stutter a bit. “Thats so cool! Do you get free stuff?” Nighinoya asked from across the table. “No- I wish I did. That would be so nice.” You say as you think of how awesome it would be to get free soda pop and sweets.

The rest of the ride there, wasn’t too bad. You put on a movie, which the guys voted on fucking The Spongebob movie. what. the. fuck. Not only that but they cheered and were so invested in the movie.

Crackheads. They are all crackheads.

The RV finally came to a stop, you looked out the window to see the old beach house from your childhood.

They all gasped, maybe a bit dramatically. “Are you sure we are at the right place?” Daichi asked. You nodded. “This is it my friends.” you say to them as you grab your bags from under the seat. Everyone nearly jumped off the bus, you swore you watched Tanaka jump out of the window of the RV. They all followed you to the front door. “Wow! Is that a boat?!” Hinata asked. You nodded your head. “We can take it out sometime this week, if you want.” you offered him, he nodded happily. You pulled out the small key that had a flower key chain on it. You unlocked the door and let them inside. They all looked around in amazement. “The main room is big enough for everyone to sleep in, besides the other rooms aren’t guest rooms, the last I checked they were remodeled into a gaming room, a movie room, and a lounge/hangout area.” “ (Y/N)!!! WHAT THE HELL.” Tanaka nearly screamed. “WHAT?!” You yelled at him, trying your best to match his vocal range to mock him. “THis is so CoOL!” he shouted. Ukai clapped his hands, “Set your bags down, and go get your swimsuits on.” Ukai instructed everyone. “Yes Sir!” Everyone yelled as their excitement filled the room. You went to the bathroom and changed into green plaid trunks and a yellow swim shirt. You went out to find you were one of the first people changed, which never happened. You were confused. Where was everyone else? You found them wandering the vacation house. Well you found them in pairs, first you found Hinata and Kageyama in the kitchen, then you found Tsukishima, Tadashi in the game room, Daichi, Suga and Asahi were in the lounge room, Kiyoko, Ukai an Takeda were on the back porch all sitting in on the lawn chairs put out there, Tanaka and Nishinoya were examining the boat under the deck.

Once they were all done exploring the house, everyone met up on the beach at the volleyball net. They underestimated how hard it actually is to play volleyball in sand. They kept slipping and falling, soon they caught on that you weren’t falling?? “ (Y/N)! How do you stay on your feet?” Hinata asked you. You smirked. “You gotta kinda, dig your feet in the sand, instead of being ontop of the sand-” You dug your foot into the sand, “-You’ll be more grounded.” You showed them. They caught on, not many falling anymore, though many still fell on their asses which was super funny to you. Nishinoya being the libero, kept face planting and getting a mouth full of sand. “Man! It sucks trying to catch the ball without getting sand in my mouth!” Noya complained. “Maybe its because you suck.” Tanaka snickered. “Shut up! You keep on not even hitting the ball!” Noya defended. “All right lets take a break!” Ukai yelled out. “Coach, can we go swimming?!” Hinata begged with Noya and Tanaka giving Ukai puppy eyes. Ukai sighed then smiled at them. “Yeah sure. We are here to take a break.” Ukai laughed. Hinata, Noya, Tanaka cheered as they sprinted to the shore. Asahi came up to you “Are you gonna get in the water?” He asked. You shrug “Maybe. I’m not a huge swimmer, though I love to collect sea shells.” You say to him. “That sounds fun! I’ll come with you to look for sea shells!” Suga offered “Me too.” Kiyoko chimed in. Many of the boys splashed each other and played chicken fight. You sat high above the others on Daichi’s shoulders while Hinata was sitting on Asahi’s shoulder. You held Hinata’s hands, trying to push the other off. In the end Hinata got the upper and and Y E E T E D you into the ocean. Everyone laughed and took turns playing chicken. Hinata and Asahi were the ones champions against everyone else.

- - - - - - -

Soon the sun was setting and everyone was getting settled in for the night. The sea shells you got were set nicely on the window seal above the sink. The who team was sleeping in one big dog pile in the living room, in the kick ass fort they had built. You went to brush your teeth when Nishinoya caught up with you in the bathroom. “When do you plan on telling the others about... Your secret?” He asked. “I am tomorrow night when we sit around the fire for smores. I am nervous you know? Can you try to understand how I feel?” You asked him as you took his hand in yours. Noya felt his cheeks heat up from the contact of your hand in his. He nodded. “I’ll try my best (y/n)!” He smiled. You gave him a grin back as you let go of his hand and opened the door to the bathroom and locked it behind you.

Your reflection looked back at you. You took off your binder that had been on for 10+ hours. You read online that you should only have it on for 6-8 hours and you shouldn’t bind when working out... You were breaking many rules when it comes to binding but it was your only way to be on the team without anyone raising any eyebrows. You stretched your hands above your head letting your chest and ribs stretch and be free. You threw on a tank top, sweatpants and a big hoodie to hide your breast size. After getting ready for bed you went back to the living room to find the team chatting and nearly laying on top of each other. You smirked and jumped onto the pile of boys in front of you. “Woah! (y/n)!” Tadashi laughed. “You guys make a good pillow.” You chuckled as you laid your head on Suga’s leg. It was uncomfortable so you leaned up and wiggled your way to a small spot between Tanaka and Hinata. They all were shoulder to shoulder. Even though they are dorks, they are family. They make your life so much better. Were you ready to tell them about everything? Or at least your gender. Everyone kept talking til Ukai came in the room and inhaled. “GO TO BED.” He yelled then shuffled back to the room nearby. You couldn’t help but snicker before laying your head on Tanaka’s shoulder as a pillow. You starred at the ceiling before finally dozing off to sleep.

- - - - - - - -

In the morning, you woke up 2 hours before everyone else. You wanted to make bread from scratch for them. You remembered as a child you would wake up in the morning to the smell of freshly baked bread filling the house. You wanted to do the same for the boys who took you in and made you part of their family.

Noya shook Hinata.

“Bro bro. Do you smell that?” Noya asked. It took Hinata a minute to get himself out of his sleepy state. He sniffed the air.

“It smells like a Kneaders cafe. Like on Monday when all of the bread was just barely baked.” Hinata noted. Tanaka woke up and instantly smelled baked goods. He sprung out of bed and dashed to the kitchen.

You smiled at him when he came into the room.

“Good morning Tanaka. How are you doing?” You ask him.

“Good! What is the smell??” He asked quickly. The oven went off as you grabbed the oven mitts.

“Well everyone has been working hard so I decided to bake you guys fresh bread.” You smiled lightly as blush marks spread across your cheeks.

Tanaka grinned. “That sounds awesome!”

“I’m going to go get the rest of the team up.” You say to him “I’ll come with you!” He said as he grabbed your hand. You stood there in shook from the contact of his hand in yours. The blush on your face reddened.

“That looks pretty gay” tsukishima said from behind you coming into the room. You pulled away from Tanaka.

“Your gay four eyes!” You huff at him as you walk past him. Tanaka boomed in laughter behind you. “Dumbass. Shit like that can hive me away.” You mutter to him.

“What?! Your gonna tell the team tonight anyway.” He scoffs. You dart a glare at him as you both enter the main room where everyone was. You opened the blinds, and turned on the light.

“I made a surprise for you guys. I’m gonna make breakfast.” You inform them. Asashi groaned as he sat up. He raised his hand

“I’ll help you with breakfast (y/n).” He said as he yawned. You grinned at him. “That would be great! Thank you!” You beam at him. “The rest of you better be up in 15 minutes!” You almost hell at them. But you held back from yelling at them because you choose not to be a dick.

For now.

It had been 20 minutes and Daichi, Suga and Tadashi were still not awake. You smirked at Noya. “Wanna help me get the others up?” You asked him. “Always!” He grinned. “What you plan on doing?” Ukai asked. You looked at your cup on the counter. “I have an idea.”

You, nishinoya, and Hinata all held a cup of water as you and the rest of the team walked down the hall to the main room where you guys slept. You held your cup over Daichi’s head. You looked down on him like he was your victim. Nishinoya stood over Tadashi and Hinata over Suga. You counted down in a whisper.

Splash

The 3 of them yelled out from the sudden contact of water. The rest of you were laughing so hard that tears were forming in your eyes.

“Oi! What was that for?!” Daichi yelled.

“You weren’t up for breakfast.” You say to him almost coldly.

They apologized and got up for the day. They all changed into their swim suits when you said that it was time to take the boat out.

Noya was nearly bouncing off the walls when you got the keys out for the boat. Luckily you knew how to drive the boat. Everyone piled in as you started it up making sure it had enough gas. You drove it out fairly far the turned the key to turn it off.

“Alright guys! You can jump in and swim!” You say happily. Many of them jump in when a few stayed behind because they didn’t want to swim.

“Yo! (Y/N)!! Get in here!” Tanaka yelled waving at you from the water.

“Yeah (y/n)! Join us!” Hinata begged. You shrugged and got up from the drivers seat. You ran then jumped off the side of the boat your arms lifted in the air, your legs kicking off the deck to boost you into the air. It felt like time slowed down. Like when you go to hit the ball during a game. How you always were inspired by your teammates to do your best during a game.

You came back to reality when you hit the cold but refreshing water. The guys laughed as you reached the surface of the water. These guys were your best friends. You would do anything for them. Going through so many practice days and games. You get close to them after going through so much.

Once it got later into the day you drove the boat back and parked it. Though most of the team stayed at the beach and swam.

Soon they are going to find out your secret. Your stomach turned and did flips as you thought about tonight. When you would have to tell them who you really are. You were scared. What if they don’t accept you? What if they kick you off of the team. The only reason you go to karasuno high is for volleyball. If you got kicked off you would most likely move back into your parents house. Would they feel betrayed that you cheated the system and lied to them so you could be on a team? All these questions came to your head in waves. You forgot where you were for a while until Noya swam over to you then dunked you under water.

“(Y/n)!” He whined.

“Pay attention to me” he huffed. You stared to splash the salty water at him. “Is this the attention you wanted?” You laughed as you continued to pretend water bend at him. You swam away from him to get to shore so you could think more, of course Nishinoya followed you like a lost puppy would. You eyed Tanaka then he came over.

“Come with me for a walk.” You say to them. They nodded and followed you, walking along the shore, where the water would come up and tickle your feet every so often.

“What’s wrong (y/n)?” Nishinoya asked you. Your lip trembled. You tried to find the words.

“Well, I’m scared. I get this same feeling before a game.” You confess, your hands twiddling each other. “Scared? Of what?” Tanaka asked.

“Of tonight. I’m scared I’ll get kicked off the team. Or everyone will treat me different. I’m still the same (y/n). Or I dont know if they’ll be angry with me for lying to them for so long. Maybe they won’t want to be my friend. If that happens I will have to go back to having no friends and-“ you got cut off by Nishinoya putting a hand on your shoulder. He smiled.

“It’s okay (y/n)” he said gently. Which was weird to you because he was usually so loud. Your hand touched your cheek which was wet from tears you didn’t even know you were crying. They both brought you into a small group hug. “It’s all good (y/n)!” Tanaka laughed. “We still want you on the team. And if idiots like us still want you then I’m sure the rest of the team will too!” Tanaka encouraged. You nodded, whipping your tears away. “Thanks guys. I’m not as nervous for tonight. Still nervous but not as anxious.” You laughed. They nodded in excitement. “You got this (y/n)!” Noya cheered. You smiled from their enthusiasm.

“Thank you guys. I think I’m ready.” You say to them. They walk back to the beach house and saw the other boys some how managed to start a fire in the fire pit without setting everything on fire. “There are s’more things in the house and hot dogs of you guys are hungry.” You offer to them. They nodded and yelled at the same time as they rushed inside to grab the stuff. Ukai helped you move large logs around the fire for them to sit at.

“You ready for tonight kid?” He asked you. You didnt answer right away.

“If I’m being honest, I’m nervous. Beyond nervous. I’m scared the team won’t like me anymore.” You confess to him. He walked over to you and ruffled your hair.

“Know thing these crazies, they will accept you. Your an amazing player, and a valued member of this team. For the past 7 months you have earned a special place on this team. No matter if you were a boy, girl, black white, tall, short, this team will love you for who you are.” He tapped your forehead when he said the last part. You held in tears, wanted to hug Ukai. He truely was the best coach. You nodded to him. “Thank you coach.” You say softly. The stamped of boys came back with the s’more things and hot dog stuff. You all ate food over the fire as the sun went down. Soon it was dark. Everyone was chatting then their conversations went quiet. You made eye contact with Noya and Tanaka. They nodded to you. You were ready. You stood up. “There is something I haven’t been totally honest with you guys.” You started out. “I love this team and everyone on it. But this might change how you see me and how you play volleyball with me.” They looked at you with curiosity and a bit of confusion. “I’m... I’m a girl. Biologically I was born a female.” You confessed to them. Some were confused, some were shocked, some didn’t change there expression. “I was planning on not saying anything, but two morons walked in on me changing.” You glared at Nishinoya and Tanaka. They gave you a dorky smile. You took a breath and continued.

“I’m worried that me being a female will change how you view me and how you play with me. Or treat me for that matter. I’m still the same (y/n). The same one who cried with you, played with you, won games with you. I’m sorry I never told you guys.” You said to them. You wanted to run and hide under the covers of your bed, expecting them to yell or be disappointed. But there was silence. The silence was almost as bad as yelling.

“It’s fine if your a girl (y/n). It’s not a bad thing but why didn’t you join the girls volleyball team with michimiya?” Daichi asked. You tugged at your shirt then let it go.

“That has a bit of a story behind it. Before I came to Karasuno I went to an academy for weathly kids. They had a volleyball team but all the girls on the team joined to show off the skin tight booty shorts and the small tank tops. I joined a team to play, to gain friends, to win and to learn. All I got there was girls in skimpy outfits. I could have tried the girls team here but I didn’t want to take the chance so a little arrangement with my mom, a haircut and a binder I was a different person at a new school where no one knew who I was.” You say to them. Asahi nodded. Some still looked confused.

“The only ones who knew were the coach, and until 2 weeks ago Nishinoya and Tanaka found out.” You say to them.

Tadashi raised his hand. “What’s a binder? Sorry I feel kinda dumb for asking.” He admitted. You put your hands up “it’s okay!” You say to him Tanaka jumped up.

“It’s a wrap that goes around her boobs!” He explained loudly. You karate chopped his head

“Sit down dummy.” You say almost harshly to him. “That’s the basics of it. I wrap it around my chest so then I am flatter. Then I wear a bigger jersey so then my chest doesn’t show.” You take a breath.

“I hid this because I was scared.” Tears were filling your eyes but you didn’t let them fall.

“I was scared you were going to see me different and kick me off the team.”

Don’t let the tears fall. Do not let the tears fall.

“I didn’t have many friends before coming to Karasuno. You all are my best friends. The best people I have ever met.”

Dammit. The tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Please still let me be part of the team.” You cried bending over and bowing to them. Daichi approached you. He put a hand on your shoulder and waited for you to look up at him. You looked up and met his eyes, who had tears swelling in them too.

“You will always be accepted on this team, (y/n).” He said to you pulling you into a hug. Tadashi came up and hugged the both of you. Then Tanaka and Nishinoya. Then Hinata and Kageyama. The others followed through.

“We don’t want you to leave the team (y/n)!” Hinata cried. “Yeah don’t leave us!” Kageyama snapped. “We want you to stay.” Suga softly said. They all chimed in on how they wanted you still on the team. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You sobbed. Simple as that. All that emotion that you had been holding in? It was coming out right now. It was a good night. It ended well with your teammates accepting who you are. You were so happy.

Now the question is, who falls in love with you, or gets blushy when ever your around?

#karasuno x reader #hinata #tanaka #tadashi #nishinoya #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu ukai #tsukishima #asahi #sugawara

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megbox · 3 years

Text

2020 Year in Review

Previous Posts: (2019) (2018) (2017) (2016) (2015) (2014) (2013) (2012) (2011)

2020 is a weird year because as the world goes through something collectively extremely traumatic and that is radically changing the structure of our lives, our workplaces, the way we connect socially, our mental health… our response to disease…. SO MUCH ABOUT THE WORLD…. And yet the day-to-day of living in a pandemic is so… mundane. I am privileged enough to have that opinion. I have stayed securely employed and it is privilege for my main reaction to something as intense as this pandemic to be boredom. But really, 2020 was a year of absences. It was a year spent largely alone, in my own company. It was a year that forced me to rest. It was a year that made me feel so terribly lonely but also forced me to get acquainted with myself and enjoy my own company in a new way. And it was a year of running.

I would also like to thank Connor for making this post happen by reminding me to do it and not to break tradition.

January & February

I am combining these months because they were not altogether all that memorable. My resolutions, as I noted on Twitter on January 2, were to 1) Keep running and 2) Learn how to make fresh pasta dough. I can safely say – mission accomplished on both fronts.

On January 14, I had the privilege of presenting a suicide intervention lecture to students at the medical school where my brother goes. By that time, I’d done a million of these presentations so nerves aren’t really a factor (imagine that! Me, no longer remotely afraid of public speaking…), but this one meant a little extra to me. My brother is so highly accomplished, and I am so proud of him, and I enjoyed having an opportunity to show him what I do and make him proud of me. I wore my favourite dress and did my hair all nice and he described it later as “exceptional.” It was a really, really good feeling. The first weekend of February, Ali and I had planned to go to Jasper. We wanted to go for a hike or two, and get super stoned and go to the planetarium. A huge blizzard hit Alberta just before we were supposed to leave, so we ended up having a staycation here in Calgary. We rented a hotel room, went swimming, drank wine, went to Japanese Village, had drinks in the lounge and then later to a punk rock band roulette night at the Palomino and finally crawled into our giant hotel bed and fell asleep to Remember the Titans… of all movies. It was the kind of night where you simultaneously feel 18 and 35 years old.

March

March was when the pandemic really started to become real. I don’t know exactly why, but I did not take the threat of coronavirus very seriously until the last minute. My coworkers would whisper about it in the hallways and I just rolled my eyes. But then, people started deciding they would work from home, the number of us in the office dwindled. The vibe was bad. Nobody could really focus. They held meetings at 8am and 4pm every day just for COVID-19 updates and we all waited with bated breath for them to finally tell us to go home and not come back. I really feel like I didn’t acknowledge the true implications of this virus until we got the official work from home order, and I had to tell my boss, my laptop at home is too old to run this software, I need a work tablet. My first official work from home day was March 23, 2020. I don’t remember much about that time except that the general sense of panic and anxiety made my job a lot busier, and it is hard to do a job like mine from home because it is hard to counsel or reassure clients through anxieties that are hitting you just as hard. I coped with wine, a lot of running, and listening to Ben Gibbard’s afternoon live streams where he would play acoustic versions of Death Cab songs and other covers. He played New Slang by the Shins one night and I burst into tears. I also coped with teaching myself how to make fresh pasta dough, and enjoying what was, at that point in the pandemic, the novelty and fun of Zoom.

April

In the absence of being able to have a party for my birthday, I decided to be obnoxious and do a “challenge” on my Instagram story. I asked my friends to record a distance run and/or walked and send it to me as a birthday present. My actual birthday ended up being a cold and windy and pretty miserable day. I ran 12km myself, came back home and watched both Magic Mike and Magic Mike XXL, and then went to my parents’ to celebrate both Scott and I’s birthdays with our family. My friends dropped off presents to my door and drove past my house and honked and I felt very loved and appreciated. I drank a lot of Prosecco with my brother and we listened to Kacey Musgraves.

It was also in April that I become “acquainted” with my neighborhood running nemesis. I put acquainted in apostrophes because I have never actually spoken to him. On one fateful run in April, I happened to catch up to him on my regular route. This was at the height of the COVID fear and so, while I would usually just pass someone on the sidewalk, I went out into the street. He saw me out of the corner of his eye and SPED UP. WHICH IS SUCH BAD RUNNER ETIQUETTE LIKE DUDE I’M IN THE ROAD LET ME PASS YOU. And then we ended up in this like, all-out 100m-finals-at-the-motherfucking-Olympics sprint challenge when all I was trying to do was go for a leisurely training run. And then I finally passed him, turned a corner and had to like collapse on to my hands and knees to catch my breath. Since then, I see this man running all the time. Sometimes while I am also running, sometimes from my car when I am driving through my neighborhood. He’s like… 16. And we are very competitive with one another. I hope to one day actually say hello to him. I both hate that guy and have to thank him for the motivation.

I ran my first half marathon on April 13, 2020. I was very hungover because I had stayed up quite late with someone on Zoom the night before on a virtual “first date” that had gone much better than anticipated. I don’t know why but I woke up the next morning in such a good mood that I decided I would go for a long, slow run. I got to 18km and figured, what’s 3.1 more? And so, I did it. The first thing I did upon finishing was call my mom. The second thing I did was contemplate calling an Uber to drive me the 2km left to my house. The other notable thing in April is that Maddy moved back from Australia, begrudgingly and a LOT earlier than planned, because of COVID.

May

May was kind of a blur. It was the first month of the Great Virtual Race Across Tennessee, which I signed up for while coming off of the high of actually running a half marathon all by myself. The GVRAT was fucking awesome. It was created by Lazarus Lake, of Barkley Marathons fame. The ask is to run 1022.68km between May 1 and August 31, an average of about 8.3km per day. Well, you could run, walk, or hike. This is the actual distance it would take you to cover the state of Tennessee. Myself and about 20,000 other weirdos from around the world signed up for this challenge. I figured I would never get a chance to run in a Lazarus Lake race for real, and being home all the time opened up a lot more opportunity for training. It was one of the very best things I did for myself in 2020. So May involved a lot of running, because I was fresh and naïve and fully intended to be ahead of the curve. I was running about 10-12 per day, sometimes more, and not taking any rest days.

In between these runs, I spent a lot of time going on long, ambling quarantine walks with Maddy. We would either go for a long walk or she would come over and we would get absolutely hammered in my backyard playing beer pong just to pass the time. We would send snapchats to our exes and make TikToks like 18 year olds. I know we never really said it out loud but having eachother during this time made these months bearable. We were lamenting the loss of a summer, and Maddy’s time in Australia, and all of the expectations we had for ourselves. We were watching our friends in relationships move in together or get closer due to the quarantine. We needed companionship, and stupid things to laugh about, and love, and distraction. And I can genuinely say I would not have gotten through this quarantine period if it weren’t for the nights I spent shooting Pink Whitney and dancing to Party in the USA in my living room with her.

May 13th was my one year anniversary of working at the university. It felt good to have accomplished so many things in that time, and have moved up already in my job, and to have a full-time, permanent contract.

And May 16th was when I ran my second half-marathon as part of a virtual challenge put on by a friend of a friend. My parents came and sat in lawn chairs in the park while I did loops. They cheered me on and filled my water bottle for me when I ran out. They’re my number one supporters and I love having a family that does that kind of shit for me in the face of something arbitrary like a virtual half marathon challenge. I knocked 7 minutes (!) off my original time. Amazing what not being hungover can do for your fitness levels.

June

I don’t remember many important things about June, other than Maddy moving to Banff. It was depressing but I was also happy for her and happy to have an excuse to go out there and visit. I went the very first weekend after she moved. Halfway through June I seriously contemplated quitting the GVRAT. My shins were bruised, I was dreading every single run, and I could not fathom doing it for 2.5 more months. I was dragging behind in the standings and losing my motivation.

I spent a lot of time with friends reading in parks. Sometimes, often, with wine. I met a stranger in Canmore Park and ended up kissing him. He was lovely.

Ali and I had one really good day in June where we went to the Farmer’s Market and then came back to her place and watched Ru Paul’s drag race for like eight straight hours. It was one of those days where we hadn’t seen each other in so long and you just feel totally high off of friendship and absolutely everything is funny and you just can’t stop laughing. I vividly remember it as one of the best days of the year.

July

Again, July kind of passed in a blur. I did a lot of hiking, and a lot of running… keeping up with the GVRAT. I hiked Picklejar Lakes, Castle Mountain, Little Beehive Lookout.

I went to Banff for a weekend to hang out with Maddy. We had a predictably wild weekend with her roommates and friends. We had dinner at Chili’s (hell yeah) and then went to High Rollers for beers and bowling. The “thing to do” at that point for all of these Banff people was to meet at the “rec grounds” aka public firepits and drink. The police would generally leave you alone so long as you weren’t being rowdy. I sat next to an Australian named Josh at a picnic table and later took him back to my hotel room and he gave me the world’s most unbelievable obvious hickey. Maddy and I sweat out the tequila shots the next day with a long ass hike, and then had a nap before her brother came and took us climbing at the Sunshine slabs – an activity I was not very good at but I wanted to be good at. It was the kind of weekend where you feel like, okay, I definitely indulged my wild side. And you drive home just like totally exhausted but smiling. I sent Maddy’s brother a voice note on my way into town thanking him for taking us climbing and saying it was nice to see him.

August

Okay – August was actually really eventful. Like most of the year’s events happened in August, honestly. A lot of running and hiking. I did Ha Ling Peak for the first time, and we did a 30km hike to Aylmer Pass one day that was a fricken GRIND. I spent the long weekend in Saskatchewan. We went to a cidery, and I ran laps around my Dodo’s acreage, and then we got to visit Wakaw Lake and reunite with our old next-door neighbours. We took the boat out and went tubing and lit fireworks and had an amazing dinner and honestly it was like reliving my childhood in the best, best, best way. I fell asleep on the car ride home.

I went camping with Ali in Sylvan Lake. We got ice cream and cooked fish tacos over the campfire. She told me that Cody had a date planned for the day they took possession of their house, that she wondered if he might ask her to marry him but didn’t want to get her hopes up in case it didn’t happen and ruin what otherwise was supposed to be a celebratory day. Spoiler – he did ask her to marry him  I was running when she called me. I was listening to Epsilon by Kygo, and now when I hear that song I always think of them. I stopped my watch and just openly bawled on the street out of happiness for them.

Steven successfully defended his master’s thesis. We went camping in Waterton to celebrate with Matt, Kennedy, Regan, Scott, and Rie. They brought cake. We did a sunrise hike. I slept in the back of my Ford Escape.

On August 27, Ollie passed away. It was both expected and unexpected. He had been having some issues with seizures. The vet didn’t think it was anything to be too concerned about, he was old and it wasn’t uncommon for them to happen. It happened suddenly. I had a terrible sleep that night, and woke up in a cold sweat somewhere between 3 and 4 am. In the morning, my mom called me and told me the news. He had a giant seizure in the night and was crying and yelping. They woke up and took him to the emergency vet, they made the executive call to put him down to prevent any further suffering. He died right around the time I woke up in the middle of the night. I like to think that was his way of saying goodbye, maybe. I cried all day. Well, let’s be honest, I cried all week. I burst into tears at the mere thought of him. He was such a good and lovely dog. He was so loved by us. He had a good life. It is always sad when we lose pets so early. They bring so much joy to our lives, and still when I go to my parents’ place the first thing I want to do is call for him or pet him. I hope he is running around in whatever the pet afterlife is. I miss him.

And on August 31, I ran my last kilometre of the GVRAT. I finished with 733.78 run, 83.18 hiked, and 205.09 walked.

September

September was a nice break from running. I got to start coming to campus one day a week, on Thursdays, which was good for my mental health and work productivity. I got to spend September long in Vernon with Maeghan and Madison at Michael’s family’s cabin. They took us boating and made us meals and didn’t judge us for drinking margaritas with Michael’s sister literally all day. It was the best. It was the epitome of every summer weekend you dream about. I was so happy I got to go.

I met a boy in September. It’s always September, isn’t it? It feels weird to write about him. Like, that makes him significant. But. He is significant. And I met him in September. And it was unexpected. Last minute. And essentially not a day has gone by since that day in September that I have not thought about him.

I also joined a Calgary Sport and Social Club team with my friends for softball and it started in September. We played two games and then I tore my hamstring running from second to third base. I tore… my hamstring…. Running like 30 metres…. After a summer of literally running 10+ km every day. I… it was the worst day ever. Softball itself was amazing and so fun even though I really do suck at the sport but highly recommend Rec League C-level beer league softball with all of your best friends. There’s just no way that isn’t fun.

October

A lot of pouting about my hamstring, I went to two physio sessions and then decided to just start running again. I’m bad. I’m a bad example. Don’t do what I do… but also…. It worked.

I went to Victoria to visit Sydney over the Thanksgiving weekend. We went to a Thanskgiving potluck party at my old coworker’s place. It was a nice experience to be the new people at a party, to have a room full of new people to meet and who ask you questions about your life. We got really drunk and they tried setting Sydney up with one of their roommate’s brothers, and gave us lipstick to try, and poured us tequila shots. We had such an amazing meal. It was honestly so fun. We laughed in the cab the whole way back about how we were going to need to debrief that evening HARD the next morning. We watched a lot of All Gas No Brakes, and went for dinner and brunch and I limped up Mount Doug with my hamstring. It was a very very chill weekend, like we spent a lot of time just lounging at Sydney’s apartment and doing nothing. Because that is the kind of friends we are. It was so relaxing and lovely. I was sad to leave.

Karla, my roommate, left for New York at the end of October. Her aunt was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, and she and her mom made the executive move to go there to basically be with her for the end of her life. She wasn’t going to be back until December. I was happy, because it’s nice to have a place to myself, but also sad because Karla is lovely and I knew it was going to be a stressful situation for her.

November / December

I am combining these two months because they have also been largely uneventful. In fact… I don’t know if I could really tell you anything significant that happened. We’ve been in a lockdown. I’ve spent my time playing piano, watching Netflix, listening to podcasts, basically doing all of the things I usually do when I’m bored. Lots of Among Us. Lots of outdoor things… skating… more running. We’ve been in a lockdown since early December. Time has dragged on since then. I spent Christmas with my parents. Scott and Rie stayed isolated, because Scott is in and out of the hospital for school. My mom and I watched shitty Christmas Hallmark movies and made fun of the guys who star in them. We drank a LOT on Christmas Eve and both spent Christmas with a wicked hangover. My dad and I ate edibles and I was launched into the stratosphere. I spent New Year’s Eve with Boy from September. We played beer pong, and card games, and he tried to use a coat hangover to pick the lock on the mysterious room that my landlord keeps locked. We spent most of the night kissing, honestly. I was happy to spend the last moments of the year with him.

2021:

Honestly... at this point... who really knows?

#year in review #text #personal #2020

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promptmaker · 4 years

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Cloti Smut Prompts Part 2!

This is the second half of my Cloti smut prompt list. The first part of the list can be found HERE. All Prompts came from my Fantasy Cafe Prompt list found HERE. If you are interested in any of the below prompts let me know and I will put pending by them if you wish. Crossed off prompts have been written.

29. Please, I need the distraction. (Modern AU) Cloud comes to visit Tifa at her college. She was supposed to meet him at the front but she is not there. After no replies from texting her he decides to go straight to her dorm room. Using his own key for the room he enters and finds her studying intently with her headphones on. Tifa doesn't notice he is there. Sometimes she gets so focused that she loses all track of her surroundings. Rolling his eyes but smiling at her intense focus, he notices her tense shoulders and tight grip on her pencil. Knowing she has been overworking herself again, Cloud comes over and puts his hands on her shoulders. She jumps at first but relaxes once she sees it’s him. He continues to rub her shoulders as she tells him what she’s been working on. He tells her she needs a break and urges her away from the school work. She reluctantly agrees and gets up to stretch. Cloud takes in her casual wear, taking note she is wearing one of his shirts. Noticing him staring she teases him and he teases her back, offering her another way to decompress from studying. She likes the sound of that and pushes him onto her bed for some fun. (optional: Her roommate gets an eyeful when she barges in)

3. I can't believe we haven’t tried that before! (I can’t believe that worked!) - Full DISCLAIMER: I have never been to New Orleans or Mardi Gras and am aware that this is a sensationalized version of it. (Modern AU) Fresh off of a bad break up, Tifa’s friends, Jessie and Aerith, decide she needs to get out and cut loose. New Orleans is a short drive away and it just happens to be time for Mardi Gras. Tifa has never been so her friends are excited to show her the sights. Tifa is reluctant to get into the festivities at first, but booze and good friends really help her to cut loose so she decides to enjoy herself and have fun. A couple days in Tifa and Co. are bar hopping. They are a bit tipsy and her friends decide they want to collect the beaded necklaces that are thrown to tourists. For souvenirs of their trip. The easiest way to get them is by flashing (according to her friends anyway), but Tifa has been reluctant to try that. That is until they come across a local named Cloud who is handing out the necklaces they are looking for. Tifa is instantly attracted to him and in a drunken sper of the moment impulse, flashes him. Cloud is taken aback but is bemused by her but gives her the beads. Seeing her starting to get embarrassed at what she did, Cloud decides she is cute and offers to show her around. Tifa’s friends practically shove her at him and tell her to have fun (but to check in from time to time). Tifa sobers up a bit and the two have a good time exploring the city. When it gets late, they head to Clouds place where he offers to sleep on the couch. Remembering the purpose of this trip, Tifa tells him that that’s not necessary and the sexual tension building between them all night explodes as she leads him to bed with her. (PENDING)

4. What if they hear us? (Modern AU) Sick of neither of them making a move on each other, Cloud and Tifa’s friends conspire to get them together. The friends get the two to take time off and a pay to send them to a spa, not telling them that they signed them up for a couples massage. Since it's already been paid for, Tifa and Cloud decide to go along with it. They spend the day there together getting massages together before ending up in a sauna, where they finally decide to make a move.

5. Where did you have that hidden? (Game or Modern AU) Tifa and Cloud are really into role play. Lately a game they like to play involves “interrogation”. For this game, Tifa is an AVALANCHE soldier restrained to a chair and being interrogated by Cloud playing a turk and dressed like Rude. Cloud will “integrate” her until she gives the safe word. (Logarithmic Base 2 Ch.1)

Tifa is the Turk interrogator and she is dressed as Reno. With an open shirt and goggles. Cloud is the AVALANCHE soldier but on a leash instead of restrained. Tifa leads him around the house and uses toys pulled from her cleavage to get the info she needs.

9. Looks bigger up close. (Modern AU) Tifa and Cloud first met in a chat room online where they became friends. After months of chatting online, they decide to give online dating a chance. Once a week they have a date through video chat and sometimes those chats lead to webcam sex. But now one of them is moving closer to the other so now real dates can happen. When the time comes to actually be physically intimate, they find that the real deal is WAY better.

10. Describe it to me. (Post-Game) While out on a delivery, Cloud is blind sided by bandits. One of them manages to hit him with a Blinding spell. Cloud of course manages to fight them off but his vision is fading due to the spell and he has no more Recovery items on him. He manages to walk his bike the rest of the way to Edge and someone escorts him home. There Tifa gives him Elixir but it will take time to take effect. So Tifa takes care of him until then. Runs him a bath and hops in with him to help him wash. Afterward Tifa gets him to bed and they attempt to go to sleep but Cloud is restless after the day’s events. So Tifa gets the idea to help him wear himself out. She will help him masturbate by describing things they have done and could do together. (She gives him JOI basically)

12. I missed your taste (Modern AU) Tifa is a Succubus (decked out in leather) and replenishes her life force through sexual activity. Lately she has found someone that she greatly enjoys replenishing it with, a man named Cloud. Unlike most men, Cloud is able to handle her and gives as good as he gets. One night, when she is in need of an energy boost, searches for Cloud and finds him relaxing on his rooftop apartment. When she greets him and asks if he is up for some fun he teasingly plays hard to get. Tifa takes it as a challenge and goes into full seductive mode and he quickly gives in.

23. I didn’t think that would get such a reaction out of you (Modern or game AU) Tifa works at a bunny club (a honey bee inn type place) as a bartender, server, and manager. The standard attire is a sexy bunny outfit (or whatever animal the writer prefers) and Cloud also works there as a bouncer. Due to her attire, she gets hit on a lot but it goes with the job and the tips are worth it. It also helps that Cloud keeps a watchful eye on her throughout her shift. Whenever a customer gets too bold with her Tifa usually likes to think of a time when her and Cloud have fucked right where the rude customer is sitting. Since Tifa is the one that closes, her and Cloud have the run of the place when its empty. Tifa also finds that although he is a professional, Cloud has a jealous streak. The more Tifa flirts or gets hit on, the more he gives it to her after hours. Tifa’s favorite time to rile him up is on Fridays when they switch out the bunny outfits for lingerie. The more daring the outfit the better because all the extra attention is worth it just to see Cloud’s reaction when he sees her and for what he does with her after hours.

16. I see you found my message (Modern AU). Cloud is smitten with a cute “Coffee Shop” worker named Tifa he meets in Amsterdam. To shy to talk to her, he writes down everything thinks about her in his notebook. (Logarithmic Base Ch.2)

19. You want to do what! (Modern or post game AU) Cloud and Tifa are on their honeymoon to Costa de Sol. They are staying at the resort there and are enjoying all it has to offer. One evening, while walking along the beach, they come to a blocked off section of it that was not advertised. That section is a nude beach. They give it a curious glance but don’t see anybody there. So they turn and continue their walk. But Tifa keeps thinking about it. She thinks of her friends who tease her for not being too shy to try anything daring and she thinks about how its just her and Cloud there so know one home would know. So that night in their room she suggested to Cloud that they should visit the nude beach at some point in their trip. He is not a fan of the idea at first but she tells him it could be a fun experience to reminisce about in the future and that it would be their little secret. Cloud relents and they go the next day. They get to the nude beach, still in their swimsuits but they gradually ease into it. Once they get used to the fact that no one cares, Tifa takes the plunge and strips down first before jumping into the ocean. Cloud as always, follows after her. They enjoy the rest of their day there. Cloud notices some glances their way but doesn't care. They only have eyes for each other. Tifa decides she should reward Cloud for being a good sport (a cause she wants to) by sneaking off with him to a nearby alcove or empty lifeguard shack for some intimate fun.

21. Quick, while the kids are asleep! (Game AU) It has been a month since the last time Tifa and Cloud have had sex, though not for lack of trying. Between moving into a bigger place and with school done for the summer, the kids are around a lot more now, and are constantly interrupting any intimate moments. But now is their chance. After a long day of moving furniture and setting up rooms in their new place, the kids are now tuckered out and in bed while Tifa and Cloud are enjoying the peace and quiet in their new backyard. They relax in lawn chairs by the fire pit until they make the startling discovery that there are now kids in sight and they are suddenly now full of energy. Tifa jumps Cloud in his lawn chair and a month’s worth of repressed sexual energy comes out at once. They do it with most of their clothes still on and the chair is destroyed but in the end, it is worth it. (The gravity of falling stars)

22. Are those my boxers? (Post Game) After the bar closes for the night, Tifa and Cloud have drinks and play cards together as they do every night. Getting tipsy, Tifa ponders whatever happened to Cloud’s dress that he wore to Corneo’s years ago. Cloud (lies) tells her it has long been destroyed. Tifa calls him on his bullshit and asks him what it would take for him to wear it again. Cloud drunkenly suggests she wear some of his clothes (A secret kink of his) and he’ll wear whatever she wants. They laugh it off and to bed. The next night, they continue their ritual of drinks but Tifa tells Cloud she is going to get some of the good stuff from storage and disappears. When she returns, she is dressed in Cloud’s clothes (the ones from remake or whatever the writer wants). She asks him if he likes her outfit and he decides he loves the sight of her in his clothes and tells her as such. She pulls out the drinks and a deck of cards and asks him if he wants to see her out of them, So a game of strip poker commences. Who wins and how far they go is up to the writer but in the end they toss the cards aside and go at it in what little clothes they have left. When they finish Tifa once again asks Cloud where his dress is. He smirks at her and tells her he’ll get it out of storage.

24. I am loving this new piercing (Modern AU) Cloud works in the video store or comic shop at the local mall. For the past few months he has been pining for the Tattoo artist, Tifa, in the shop across from his. He loves to watch her work when days are slow but hasn’t had the courage to talk to her. Between her clients, the heavy metal always playing, and having several tattoos herself, Cloud thinks he would be too overwhelmed to say anything if he did visit. His coworker Zack reminds him that they are both getting tattoos there soon, so he will have to talk to her eventually. Days later, Cloud and Zack are now at the tattoo parlor to get their new tattoos. This will be Cloud's first one. He finally meets Tifa and she is way sweeter than he expected, while he gets his tattoo, he is still too nervous to talk much but he wants to say something so he blurts the first thing he can think of, that he likes her new navel piercing. Tifa ponders out loud how he knows it was new when they have just met, Cloud about has a meltdown but Tifa just laughs it off and tells him she was teasing and that she knows he works just across the way from her. This wins him over and they become fast friends. Now he stops by her shop whenever he can to visit or to get a new tattoo or piercing. Tifa loves to tease him when she can too, whether it's giving him a look down her top as she gives him a new tattoo or lifting her skirt just enough to show him her thigh tattoo, his reactions are always worth it. One night, as the mall closes, Cloud heads over to Tifa’s shop and helps her close up since her co-worker left early. As he helps out, Cloud makes note of Tifa’s back tattoo and asks her what it is (since the shirt covers most of it). As a reward for helping her out she tells him she’ll show him and takes him to the back room of her shop. She faces away from him and takes her top off, expecting him to be shy about it but when she looks back she sees a heated look on his face. This gets her going too as she asks if he wants a closer look and the two go at it (possibly on a spare tattoo chair). She is pleasantly surprised to learn he is not nearly as shy during sex and is happy to let him take the reins as he blows her mind. (Optional: She shows of her new tongue piercing too) (PENDING)

26. You know me to well (Modern AU) Tifa needs repairs done on her motorcycle, so she takes it into her favorite auto shop to be looked at by her favorite mechanic, Cloud. The two of them have been seeing each other in secret and have been trying to keep their relationship hidden from their group of friends. Cloud lets her go back into the garage with him as he works on the bike since he is the only one there at the moment. Tifa chats with him and checks out all the other bike/cars in the shop. Cloud takes a break from fixing her bike to show her a new model that has come in. Cloud shows it off and the sight of him with that motorcycle is a huge turn on for Tifa. To the point where she can’t take it anymore, Tifa makes sure his co worker Zack will be out on his lunch break for a while longer (they’ll never hear the end of it if he finds them). Cloud, noticing the state she is in, asks if she wants a “ride” on the new bike. Tifa is hesitant to defile such a nice bike so early so Cloud suggests Zack’s car that is in the shop at well. Tifa thinks thats acceptable and takes him over to go at it right on the hood. (Perhaps leaving grease/oil stains for Zack to find later)

27. I wanna try something from this book (Game or modern AU) Cloud has discovered Tifa’s hidden horde of trashy romance novels. He teases her about them at first but oddly finds some of them informative after looking through them. Never being that adventurous in the bedroom before, Cloud asks Tifa if they can try some of the things they do in the books. Tifa is more than willing to try anything with him. The books inspire them to try new positions and role-play. Their first attempts at role-play are cheesy and awkward but they get the hang of it and have fun. But now they are much better at it. Now they are trying out a scene from one of her books that they have been practicing for a while and even have props for it. What kind of scene is up to the writer but here is an example: Tifa and Cloud role play from a fantasy romance novel where a monster huntress falls for a werewolf and they have a secret rendezvous. Tifa is decked out in a corset “hunting” garb while Cloud has fake teeth and ears of a wolf. It's the first time he sees her in that get-up so he doesn’t even need to pretend to be ravenous for her. Tifa thinks the ears are cute and the teeth are hot. They play out the scene of a forbidden rendezvous where they both like it rough. When the scene is finished, they have a good laugh about their performance and head for the showers.

#Cloti #cloti smut #cloud #tifa #smut #prompts #smut prompts #au

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jcmorrigan · 4 years

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🍯💒🎄

🍯- describe your favorite smell

I mean, I know what my three favorite scents are, but the ask says DESCRIBE so I’m going to shift into REALLY PRETENTIOUS WRITER MODE

Coffee: The bitter taste is masked by a sweet invitation. Full, rich. Surrounds you with heat, like you’re home before the fire on a winter night. They tell you it’s used to cleanse the nose between smelling perfume samples and you know why. It smells the same color as coffee looks.

Fresh-cut grass: Adventure calls in the midst of summer. Why not come play outside? Light, airy, natural. You’re a child again. No one’s saying you can’t roll around on the lawn, especially now that it’s so short. Thankfully, the aggressive buzzing of the mower has just subsided.

Freshly-cooked soup or pasta: Your stomach stirs. Now that you know your favorite food is ready, you’ve realized how hungry you are. Ravenous, in fact. The kitchen invites you to take a seat and forget about everything else for a while. The world can wait. Warm, like the coffee, but not as rich or dark.

💒- which show would you want to live in?

Not “show” - I’m gonna say a game and a book, because I have two top places. The classic is that I’ve always wanted to live in Twilight Town from KH. It’s everything I want in a city. And there’s even an NPC already there who looks like me! (The lowest level of Sunset Terrace, yellow floral-print dress.) Also, sunsets are my JAM, and living in a permanent one would be the dream. But then...I’ve just finished reading Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern, and it’s one of the best books I’ve read in my life. The Harbor is pretty much made for me: a labyrinth of beautiful and random rooms whose purpose is to house stories. It’s a weird place to visualize because it’s ephemeral by nature and meant to be knocked down and rebuilt. Maybe the new incarnation looks like Twilight Town, even. But while I like to fantasize about journeying to wonderful places, travel actually gives me anxiety; I’d rather travel through reading and creating. The Harbor fixes exactly that. It’s a place I could just stay to experience the story collection and add my own to it as long as I wanted. Get to know all the beautiful fictional locales it can offer me without ever leaving my comfy room. Plus the Kitchen’s food is to die for. I wanna say I’d be a Keeper, but I’m not sure if the Keeper is banned from writing fanfic because they have to Keep. I might just be a resident.

🎄- what is your favorite holiday?

HALLOWEEN! A time to talk about creepy things, celebrate being different, either binge candy or give candy to kids to make them happy, discuss supernatural matters, indulge in superstitions, let out our inner Goth, and, most importantly, have license to dress as whatever obscure fictional or folkloric character you please! Putting together the Halloween cosplay is the highlight of every year. The thing is, though, that as of recent events...sorry to be a downer, but sometimes I gotta vent. Can’t always pretend I’m okay. I’m worried that this year, if isolation lasts, trick-or-treating will be flat-out cancelled, meaning I have no role in handing out candy and therefore no place to dress up. Furthermore, the longer non-essential businesses remain closed, the less time I have to actually shop for my costume materials, and given the economic situation, I might not be able to spare money for them anyway. I was actually kinda hoping to be Emet-Selch this year, but that might have to go down the drain. I’ve decided to make up for it by reading (and maybe writing) more CreepyPastas and looking for other spoopy media to consume and love. The thing is, I love horror, but I dislike jumpscares and gratuitous visual gore, so I haven’t seen most of the popular horror films but can tell you the list of niche ‘Pastas, indie horror games, and animations that tickle my fancy.

#coronavirus cw

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ferryboatpeak · 5 years

Text

tom/harry/ben/meri ch. 4

massive thanks to @lunarrua for sticking with this beta and catching all my continuity errors, and to @1000-directions for providing the necessary marvel background.

previous installments of this WIP are collected here.

***

The angle of the light is all wrong when Tom wakes up. He's used to it coming at him straight on, glowing through the blinds on the windows across from the foot of his bed. The carriage house is a confusing product of modernity, either a new addition to the property or a complete reconstruction of some ancient structure. Whatever the mechanism, the modern era has brought Tom’s room a broad swath of eastern-facing windows. But in Harry’s room, the morning light filters in from one side, through a narrow set of paned windows that were probably framed in the stone wall centuries ago. The windows are so dimmed by the ivy clustering around the edges that it takes Tom a few minutes to realize it’s properly daylight, not the muted dawn he wakes to in the master suite when Ben’s the first out of bed. With a pang, he realizes he must have missed Ben leaving for the day.

He tilts his head cautiously to the side. Harry’s still on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow he’s clutching beneath him. The flashes of red on his skeleton tattoo are the brightest thing in the room. Tom watches the gentle rise and fall of his unmarked back until he’s satisfied that Harry’s sleeping. Then he parses the tattoos visible on the back of his arm, puzzling over the Hebrew lettering and trying to decipher the fuzzy script. On Harry’s shoulder, just above the hem of the duvet, there’s something that looks like a pear, or a peanut. None of it makes any sense, individually or collectively.

Looking away from the untranslatable scrawl of Harry’s skin, Tom stretches his legs out as imperceptibly as possible. The sheets are cooler at the foot of the bed, further from Harry’s radiating warmth. It feels like he’s slept for a long time. Like he’s a plant that’s stretched tentative overnight roots down into whatever very expensive fibers this mattress is made of.

There’s no clock in view. No way to tell how long he’s got until he’s supposed to be at work. He holds his breath, straining to catch any sounds that might be coming from the rest of the house. Meredith and Ruby are probably awake. What if it’s late enough that Ruby’s already back down for her morning nap? Meredith could be waiting to hand the baby monitor off to him. He’s got to get up.

He wonders if it’s possible to slip out of bed without disturbing Harry. He could grab his clothes, dress in the hallway. That might work, if only Harry hadn’t closed the door last night. Surely he’s going to wake up at the sound of his bedroom door opening. What’s Tom supposed to say if he does? Staring at the ceiling, he tries to think of something that’s casual or witty or cool enough. He can’t get out of bed unprepared.

Next to him, Harry stirs.

Tom’s eyes snap shut reflexively. It’s hard to keep his breathing sleep-steady when his heart’s pounding. But pretending to wake up seems harder than pretending to be asleep. The sheets tug against him as Harry turns, or stretches. Then, a long silence. Maybe Harry’s fallen back asleep. Or else he’s awake, silently watching Tom. Tom resists the impulse to squirm down under the covers and hide.

A minute ticks by. Maybe two, maybe more, each second interminable. Tom breathes in and out, slow and even, modeling it after what he just observed of Harry sleeping. What if Harry tries to wake him? Maybe Harry knows he’s faking and he’s waiting to catch him. Harry’s in no hurry. He doesn’t have to go to work. He can stake Tom out until he cracks. He listens for Harry’s breathing, trying to determine whether it’s unconscious.

Finally, the mattress shifts and Tom understands that he’s alone in bed, sensing Harry’s absence even before the floorboards creak under the rug as Harry’s feet hit the ground. Tom holds himself carefully still, listening to a muted popping of joints that makes him think of bony knees, knobbly vertebrae, Harry linking his hands above his head and stretching his body into a long naked line. It would be a nice view to wake up to.

He rolls onto his side and blinks with what he hopes is convincing bleariness. But Harry’s muffled footsteps recede across the rug, outpacing Tom’s convincingly slow awakening. He focuses just in time to see Harry’s arse disappearing into the en suite.

Tom exhales with relief and slumps momentarily back into his pillow. Then he scrambles out of bed, dressing quickly and quietly and slipping out the door before the recognizable echo of a morning piss fades from the bathroom.

As he shuts the bedroom door gently behind him, he can hear Ruby’s chatter in the main room below. He looks back at the window at the opposite end of the hall. The ivy might be sturdy enough to climb down. He could reemerge at ten o’clock, strolling back into the house to start his workday, like he used to. Skulking through the kitchen and up to his room at dawn while Meredith slept and Ben worked out was so much better than this. Waking up late, with Harry, and having to exchange morning chit chat with Meredith is painfully visible. Messier.

But probably not as messy as detaching a clump of ivy and landing on the lawn with a broken leg. Tom squares his shoulders and heads downstairs. It’s not a walk of shame if he didn’t have sex. Except he did. Just not with Harry. Or not only with Harry. Maybe it’s not a walk of shame if the only witness is somebody else you sort of had sex with.

Meredith’s kneeling at the coffee table in the main room. The freckles on her shoulders are visible through the criss-crossed straps of her yoga top. An assortment of doll-sized furniture is arranged on the tabletop between her and Ruby. Ruby, concentrating on tipping a small teacup toward a doll’s immobile mouth, doesn’t look up when Tom reaches the bottom of the stairs. For a moment, he thinks he might be able to pass through the room before Meredith turns around.

But Colin scrambles up from his dog bed and bounds past the coffee table toward Tom. As he darts around Meredith and Ruby, his plumy tail knocks over a doll’s chair and sweeps several pieces of the tea set onto the floor. Ruby howls in despair.

“Goddaaaa....” Meredith extinguishes the curse halfway and shoves Colin’s hindquarters away from the table. “Dog!” She kisses Ruby on the temple and perches the toppled doll back on its chair. “It’s all right, sweetie, we can put it all back, see? Colin didn’t hurt her.”

“Hey, doggo.” Tom bends down to encourage Colin in his direction. “Want me to take him out for a bit?”

“Please, yes.” Meredith looks up from the scattered toys and crying toddler. “If you don’t mind,” she adds, an afterthought.

“Happy to.” Colin props his paws on Tom’s thighs, and Tom scratches his ears. “Who’s a good boy?” He generally restrains himself from offering to walk the dog because it’s such a transparent act of self-interest. Dogs make him happy -- their uncomplicated adoration, their ready enthusiasm, their pure delight with nothing but food and affection and a cushion to claim -- and it’s been a treat to have a dog in his life this summer. It’s obvious that Colin’s one true love is Ben, but in Ben’s absence he’s been more than willing to curl up on the sofa with Tom instead. As Colin pants happily up at him, tags jingling with the vigor of Tom’s ear-scratching, Tom’s heart rate calms.

Meredith balances a upside-down teacup on Ruby’s head, and Ruby’s tears end with a hiccup. “Ben walked him this morning, but he’s been going crazy.” She catches the teacup as it slides off. “Thanks for taking him out.”

“My pleasure,” Tom says, with sincerity, clipping the lead from the table by the door onto Colin’s collar. Upon the joyful realization that a bonus walk is in the offing, the dog jumps around Tom in circles of delight.

Outside, Tom passes the lead from hand to hand, keeping it untangled as Colin does his best to trip them both. “Quick stop upstairs, all right lad?” He unclips the lead once they’re inside the door, and Colin bounds up the stairs, needing no further invitation. The stairway runs along the back of the carriage house, under the eastern windows, straight into Tom’s room. When Tom rounds the end of the stairwell wall at the top of the stairs, Colin’s already established himself on Tom’s unmade bed. He looks at Tom with an expression of entitlement, which Tom does nothing to disabuse him of. There’s a proprietary pleasure in seeing the dog make himself at home in his room.

Colin’s the only visitor he’s had this summer. Ben and Meredith don’t come to his room, and he’s never brought Ruby up here. The cleaners - never seen, their presence every Tuesday marked only by the faint scent of lemon and bleach, the neatly made bed, and the even pile of the hoovered carpet - hardly count.

He kicks off his sandals. “Make yourself at home, then.” Colin rolls onto his side, tongue lolling. Tom scratches the dog’s belly. “Can you hang out while I have a shower?” Colin shows no inclination to move. Tom strips off last night’s clothes and leaves the bathroom door open so he can see Colin on the bed if he wipes a portal through the steam on the shower door. But as soon as he steps under the hot water, Colin jumps down from the bed and trots into the bathroom, sitting at attention on the bathmat, watching Tom. “What a good boy,” Tom tells him through the shower door, closing his eyes and sudsing his hair. “The best guard dog.” His voice echos off the glass. It’s strangely comforting that Colin wants to keep an eye on him.

He hurries through rinsing himself off, not wanting to keep the dog waiting. The shower doesn’t feel like the fresh start it usually does, as if he’s carrying something today that won’t rinse down the drain. It drives him across the field behind the house and up the gradual rise of vineyards on the other side, calves burning. Trying to walk it out, whatever it is. The morning sun dries his hair and then dampens it with sweat. Following a cowpath up a rocky hill, he pushes his pace faster. Colin gamely trots along beside him.

At the wind-scrubbed top of the hill, he sinks down to sit on the lone patch of weedy grass. The valley spreads out below him. The house is tiny in the distance, the pool a blue shard glinting between the poplars. He puts an arm around Colin and lets the dog lick his face. The strange settled ache of waking up next to Harry feels as distant as the house, and he’s glad to have walked it out, sweated it clean from his pores, baked it off in the sun. It wasn’t something meant to take root. He tries not to think about the kind of space it could take up, the other things it could choke out.

The pool is calm and unoccupied when Tom and Colin return through the gate at the bottom of the garden. The too-smooth surface of the water seems as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for something. Tom veers away from the edge as he leads Colin to the kitchen door, shying from the possibility that one of them might disturb the surface with a stray pebble.

He unclips Colin’s lead and nudges him into the empty kitchen before retreating to his room. The second shower is lonelier without Colin happily hanging out on the bathmat, but it’s longer and colder and reorients him more effectively than the first one did. By ten o’clock, he’s ready to go to work. Another day at his summer job, that’s all. Easy. Downstairs, across the terrace, and into the house to find Meredith in the office and take custody of the baby monitor. Just like every other day.

In the kitchen, he flicks on the kettle and measures beans into the coffee grinder. He leans his elbows on the countertop, looking out the window at the undisturbed surface of the pool. As he crossed the terrace, he could see Harry’s car still sitting in the drive like a preening cat. The knowledge that Harry’s likely in the house makes Tom conscious of every move. He tucks a stray plate from breakfast into the dishwasher, wipes toast crumbs off the countertop into the sink, his hands skimming over surfaces looking for something to do. Despite his heightened awareness, a yelp of laughter coming from the direction of the office makes him jump as he’s pouring the kettle, splashing water out of the filter and onto the granite.

He wipes down the counter again and bins his coffee grounds. It’s almost ten, time to find Meredith. He walks toward the office with both hands wrapped around his mug, as if it’s a talisman protecting him against the unexpected. Meredith’s at her computer with Colin sprawled next to her desk as usual. Harry’s set up at the table behind her, facing the opposite wall, his phone pressed to his ear. A pink MacBook is open in front of him. He’s leaning back in the office chair at an angle Tom didn’t know office chairs could extend to, one ankle propped on his other knee.

“It’s only a couple of weeks,” Harry says as Tom hovers in the doorway, uncertain whether checking in with Meredith would interrupt Harry’s phone call. “Change my ticket and I can meet you in Italy. Wait...” Harry cranes his neck around, rotating his chair halfway to look at Meredith, and angles the base of his phone away from his mouth. “Is Ben going straight to the Google thing from here?” He tilts the phone back to his mouth. “I could go with Ben,” he says into the phone.

“That’s the plan…” Meredith starts, turning around in her chair. She catches sight of Tom in the doorway and waves a silent greeting.

Harry’s attention is back on his phone. “Ah, forgot about that fucker,” he says, and then, to Meredith, “Never mind, won’t work...”

Tom points at the monitor sitting on Meredith’s desk and raises his eyebrows. Can I take it? Meredith holds up a finger: just a sec. Tom crouches down next to Colin to wait for the handoff, scratching gently between the dog’s ears. Colin gets to his feet, shakes himself, and rests his chin on Tom’s knee. “Good boy,” Tom mouths at him, as if Colin can read his lips. He sinks to the floor and lets Colin climb halfway into his lap.

Above his head, Harry’s conversation is still going on. “Right here, want to say hello?” Without waiting for a response, Harry taps at the phone and holds it out toward Meredith. “You’re on speaker.” He focuses on Tom for the first time, waving a cheery good morning at him.

“Hello, Jeff,” Meredith calls over her shoulder, a smile in her voice. “We’d love for Harry to stay if he can.” She grins conspiratorially at Harry. Harry flashes her a thumbs up.

“Hi, Mer.” The voice on the other end of the line has the unmistakable tone of one who has suffered long. “Don’t encourage him.”

Jeff. Tom files the name away. He smooths his hand along Colin’s side.

“But it’s so nice here.” Meredith stands up to take the phone from Harry, turning off the speaker and putting it to her ear, and leans back against her desk to talk. Tom focuses on her feet, bare and tanned. “You should come for a couple of days before Harry leaves.” Her toenail polish is chipless and glossy. It matches the red poppies in the pattern of the rug. “Is Glenne going to Italy?” She listens, and makes a disappointed noise. “Have to see you when we’re back in LA, then.” She points and flexes one foot, stretching her calf. “Tell Glenne I said hi.”

Meredith hands the phone back to Harry and returns to her seat. She passes the baby monitor down to Tom, the ritual changing of the guard. “Thanks,” she mouths. She pauses open-mouthed while Harry says something into his phone, waiting for an opportunity to say something else to Tom, but closes it as Harry works his way through a sentence that doesn’t seem to be going anywhere fast.

The monitor hisses evenly. Ruby’s still napping. Tom ought to head out to the kitchen, start fixing a snack for when she wakes up. He can come back later to find out whatever it is that Meredith needs to tell him. There’s no good reason for him to wait here, listening to Harry’s conversation.

“It’s just two weeks,” Harry repeats into the phone, turning back toward his laptop. The cursor skates aimlessly around the screen as Harry runs a fingertip over the touchpad. Going by the colored blocks unevenly checkerboarding the image, it looks like his calendar.

Tom squints at the far-away text on the screen. He places the monitor on the floor next to his coffee mug and takes hold of one of Colin’s hind paws, stroking his thumb along the narrow bones. Colin lets him, just like Neesha always does at home. There’s something comforting about a dog trusting him.

“I can skype in for that,’ Harry says. Tom can’t hear the words on the other end of the line, but the tone doesn’t sound like Jeff’s agreeing. Harry highlights one appointment on his calendar, then another. It’s not the calendar of someone who’s on vacation.

Tom’s been wondering about this since the day Harry arrived and cracked open his summer like a geological event, shifting the plates of the earth underneath his feet. But there’s been no good way to ask. He can’t trust the tone of his voice. A matter-of-fact “How long’s Harry here for?” might come out petulant; a casual “How long are you in town?” might reveal that he cares about the answer.

“That doesn’t have to happen this month,” Harry says, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “Reschedule it.” He leans further back in his chair, tipping his head over the top of the seat. The voice on the other end of the line is insistent. Harry lets his chair spring back to an upright position. “Have them send the samples here.”

Tom waits silently on the floor. Why’s Harry’s going to Italy, and what does Ben has to do with it? Maybe it’s about their television show. Italy doesn’t sound like the kind of place you go to make a television show, but what does Tom know. Harry stands up and paces toward the office door. As he passes Tom and Colin, he pokes Tom with his foot and grins at him. Tom nods, not knowing what else to do that won’t interrupt Harry’s conversation.

“I know.” Harry stops by his chair and scrapes a hand through his hair, sighing. After a pause, he adds, “I want to write a little.”

The tone on the other end of the line shifts. It sounds like Harry’s played some kind of trump card. Harry’s posture relaxes. “Thank you,” he says. “I appreciate it.” He leans back against the table and thumbs the phone to speaker again. “Mer, do you know the address here?”

Meredith pulls a sticky note off the wall behind her computer and turns to read aloud from it. The voice on the other end of Harry’s phone repeats it back to her, spelling out the name of the village. Tom immediately feels dumb for never having considered that the country house must have an address, a physical location in the real world. He arrived in the backseat of the Range Rover, passing a rotating series of toys toward Ruby’s car seat next to him. There was never any need to know the address. But of course there is one. It’s not just some summer kingdom that exists only in his head, a fairy tale he’ll emerge from in September to learn that centuries have gone by.

Harry settles back in his office chair as the conversation turns to logistics. Tom gleans what he can from Harry’s end of the conversation. The car is getting taken care of. Someone named Luis is packing up something in London. A guitar is being messengered. Plane tickets are being changed. He catches the flight date, and realizes it’s two days before he and Meredith and Ruby travel back to London. Barely two weeks until the end of the summer, until the drawbridge is lowered and Tom trudges back to a reality where there’s no freshly ground coffee, no wine he can’t pronounce, no pool out back, no Ben and Meredith. No dog. No Harry Styles.

He’s got to leave the room before the call ends. But as he’s shifting Colin off his lap, Harry hangs up. “Done,” he announces, standing up. He links his fingers together and stretches his arms above his head, as if he’s cooling down from a run. The hem of his t-shirt exposes the leafy tattoos slashing across his tanned stomach above the waistband of his track bottoms. Tom looks down at the dog and shifts his legs experimentally, trying to determine how firmly Colin’s entrenched. He can’t get up and leave now, or it’ll be obvious he was only lingering to eavesdrop of Harry’s phone call.

“All sorted?” Meredith asks. She holds a hand up toward Harry for a high five. Harry links his fingers through hers instead and waves their clasped hands back and forth in something like a victory celebration.

Meredith smiles up at him. “I thought I was going to have a boring summer, just me and Ruby knocking around this place.”

“I’m pretty boring.” Harry drops Meredith’s hand and returns to his chair, leaning back at an exaggerated angle and using his feet to rotate himself back to his laptop. He pauses just before Meredith’s out of his view, his head lolling back on the chair so he’s looking at her sideways. “I can bore you later if you’d like.”

Tom grabs his coffee mug and stands up too fast, displacing Colin and almost sloshing coffee onto his hand. This feels too much like nighttime seeping into the sunshiny morning of his workday. He can’t tell if Harry’s voice is lower and slower than usual, or if Harry’s voice just naturally makes everything sound like sex.

“I’m sure you will,” Meredith says, laughing. She turns back to her own desk.

“Anything I need to know?” Tom curls his fingers tightly around the baby monitor.

Meredith looks up. “Oh…” Her brow furrows. “There was something…” She brushes it off, shrugging. “I’ll let you know if I remember. She went down at the usual time. No diaper yet today, watch out.”

“Got it.” Tom retreats to the kitchen, trying not to draw any comparisons between Harry’s job and his own.

***

Harry delivers that night, or so Tom would assume, if he was paying any attention. Meredith’s at the far edges of his consciousness, nothing but soft noises pressed into Harry’s neck and the shadow of the leg she’s canted upward for Harry’s fingers. They’re wrapped up in each other, and he’s got Ben underneath him, Ben all to himself, his legs spread apart over Ben’s hips and his body carefully stretching around Ben’s cock. He breathes in Ben’s attention like it’s a drug twining smoky tendrils through his nervous system, turning his skin raw and receptive. The purest form of a substance he hasn’t tasted undiluted since Harry arrived.

“Good boy,” Ben murmurs as Tom settles against him, sinking downward until the backs of his thighs press against the ridges of Ben’s hipbones.

He exhales slowly and thoroughly, pressing all the air out of his body. As he inhales, he reorients himself around Ben inside him, better than oxygen. Ben’s eyes gleam in the candlelight as he flexes his hips up once, slowly, against Tom’s weight pinning him down. Tom’s body opens, tightens, molding itself to Ben. Tom shifts his weight to his knees so Ben can move inside him. His body hums with the satisfaction of Ben’s gaze.

He straightens so he can brace his hands on Ben’s chest, spreading his fingers and digging the heels of his palms into his ribcage. “More,” Tom breathes. For a moment he thinks Ben hasn’t heard, but then Ben thrusts up hard and tightens his hands on Tom’s hips, and this time his breath comes out as a moan. “Yeah, more.” He leans closer and follows Ben’s rhythm, bearing down to meet each thrust as Ben fucks him harder.

The scant friction of his cock against Ben’s stomach isn’t going to get him off, but that’s a distant concern. Right now it’s enough to have all of Ben, all of his attention pouring warm and liquid over his charged skin. Tom wants to bathe in it, drown in it, be good enough and pretty enough and wanton enough to keep it.

He doesn’t register the mattress shifting underneath them, or realize that the redistribution of weight is what’s knocked them out of sync. Tom whines, squirming on his knees to find the place where Ben was meeting him just right. Ben overcorrects, almost slipping out. Tom tenses and leans back to drive his hips down against Ben’s, greedy and frantic.

He doesn’t clock Harry behind him until the shock of Harry’s mouth at the curve of his neck. Tom arches into the sensation instinctively, shuddering at the light trace of Harry’s tongue and then the sting of his teeth.

His reaction -- lips parted in a gasp, head lolling to the side to open his neck to Harry -- must tell Ben something. “Good, H,” Ben says, his voice rough, and Tom’s eyes fly open. For a moment, an elemental rage flickers at the edges of his pleasure. He should have known nothing is safe, nothing is sacred. There’s no power stronger than Harry’s need to be the center of attention.

Ben tightens his hands on Tom’s hips and holds him in place, shifting under him to make space as Harry knees his way into the array of their legs. Ben realigns himself with Tom before Harry’s finished making himself comfortable, and Tom’s lost to anything except the blistering buzz of Ben deep inside him, over and over.

It takes a moment for him to realize that Harry’s fitted himself against his back, moving so seamlessly with him and Ben that Tom might not have noticed if not for the unmistakable drag of Harry’s cock across the base of his spine. Harry spreads a hand flat over Tom’s breastbone to press their bodies together, and Tom’s skin lights up with the intensity of it, a conflagration that dwarfs the small flame of anger he’d felt at Harry imposing himself. A campfire rendered irrelevant by a wildfire taking down the forest.

Ben’s hands slide up from his hips, supporting him, keeping Harry’s weight from pushing him forward. Tom’s caught between them, Harry leaning heavy on his back and Ben’s hands on his chest, Ben inside him and finally a hand -- Harry’s hand? -- on his cock in the close space between Tom and Ben. Everything is skin against his and hands on his body. Every bit of him is made to be touched.

Tom thinks of surfing, of aligning his body with a force he can’t control. The tension between the full-body engagement required to keep pace with the wave, and the complete submission required to let the wave take him where it’s going. It never seems possible, until the moment when suddenly, euphorically, it does. The swell propels him impossibly forward and forward until it overcomes him, throws him into the water breathless and exhilarated.

Tom slumps forward, panting. His hands are still braced against Ben’s chest, but they’re useless to support him. He lets Ben and Harry hold him up, melting in between them, until Ben comes with a noise that’s almost a growl. Harry stills behind him as Ben thrusts upward for the last time, deep inside Tom as he finishes. The line of Harry’s cock presses thickly along his spine. Tom wonders what Harry’s going to do about that, and then wonders if Harry’s going to push him forward onto his hands and knees, fuck him right there on top of Ben. The idea is potent and a little bit frightening. He’s still hovering his hand over the thought, like an electric wire he can’t quite bring himself to touch, when Harry scrambles away. His knee digs into the back of Tom’s calf, and the sweat starts to cool on Tom’s back without Harry weight pressed against him.

Ben draws his hands down Tom’s body. He moves Tom upward with a light touch at his hips, and slips out of him. With nothing else to keep him upright, Tom wilts into the space Ben leaves behind when he goes to bin the condom.

Meredith turns onto her side and cranes her neck to kiss the edge of Tom’s mouth. She lingers nose to nose with him, their faces sliding toward each other in the valley between the pillows. “God, that was hot,” she murmurs.

It feels like praise just for him. “Mmmm,” Tom manages, affirmatively. God, but it was.

Meredith settles onto her back. “Harry?” Her tone makes it more of a directive than a question.

Harry’s pawing through the duvet mounded at the end of the bed, looking for something. Tom watches the angles of his legs as he kneels, the hurried motions of his hands. He doesn’t get tired of watching Harry, now that he can. Now that he’s supposed to, even. He’s stopped mourning the balance he felt with Ben and Meri, as if he was a missing piece sliding into place in their bed, in their life. Harry doesn’t balance. He’s a source of gravity all his own, pulling everyone and everything into orbit. Harry’s need to be the center of attention has become more a source of fascination, less a source of resentment. There’s no point in resenting a law of nature.

Harry pulls a misplaced foil packet from a fold of the duvet and brandishes it triumphantly. Tom’s sated, his body gone pleasantly syrupy from overstimulation, but his tongue still flexes in his mouth as he watches Harry rolls on the condom. He imagines Harry kneeling on top of him, feeding his cock into Tom’s mouth instead of tracing two fingers over Meredith’s cunt to line himself up before he slides inside her in one smooth sudden motion.

“Oh,” Meredith breathes out, and Harry pauses, the curve of his arse tight, holding himself at the apex. Meredith’s toes dig under Tom’s shin as she spreads her legs and rolls her hips upward to let Harry in deeper. She wraps one leg around his waist. “Come on.”

Harry glances over his shoulder to confirm Ben’s whereabouts. Tom can’t see Ben’s side of their wordless exchange, but he returns to bed as Harry starts to fuck Meredith in earnest. The mattress dips as Ben stretches out behind Tom, propping himself on one elbow and draping his other arm over Tom. Tom presses his shoulderblades into the comforting backstop of Ben’s chest. He can feel Ben’s spent cock against him, where the tops of his legs are still smeared slick.

The motion next to them jostles him closer to Harry and Meredith, close enough to breathe in the tang of sweat and sex between their bodies. Close enough to feel more like a participant than a spectator. Ben inches forward with him, not letting any space open up. He reaches over Tom to take Meredith’s hand. Tom’s tucked between them like a handkerchief in a drawer, feeling just the right size.

He rests his cheek against the edge of Meredith’s shoulder and looks up at Harry. His eyes are closed and his head is tilted away from Tom, neck craning toward the place where Meredith’s other hand is twisted in his hair. The line of his jaw sharpens in the candlelight. He holds himself above Meredith on both arms, muscles working as he thrusts into her, hard enough to hear the smack of their skin.

As if he intuits Tom’s attention, Harry opens his eyes and locks them on Tom. A queasy thrill heats Tom’s stomach. He fights the instinct to duck his head against the intensity. Harry doesn’t look away, even as his pace increases with clumsy urgency, even as Meredith’s pitch keens upward. Tom holds Harry’s gaze as his body tenses and releases with each of Harry’s thrusts, responding without Harry even touching him, responding as if he’s the one Harry’s fucking.

***

At first, Tom doesn’t recognize the two-toned chime that sounds as he’s coming downstairs. His first instinct is to find the source and make sure it doesn’t wake Ruby from her nap. A second later, he realizes: doorbell. Nobody’s come to the door all summer. Tom hadn’t even realized the house had a doorbell. He leaves the hissing baby monitor on the entryway table and goes to answer.

There’s a DHL van in the driveway, bright and blocky behind Harry’s black-windowed car. The uniformed driver waits on the doorstep with a rectangular box tucked under his arm. Tom opens the door with a smile, hoping he won’t have to say bonjour and reveal his unpracticed accent. His strategy backfires when the driver says something in French and holds out a tablet toward Tom.

“Oui,” Tom says, exhausting at least a quarter of his French vocabulary. Fortunately, it doesn’t require any fluency to take the stylus and sign in the empty box on the screen. The driver says something else in French and hands over the package.

“Merci,” Tom mumbles, and waves awkwardly as the driver jogs back toward his truck.

Tom glances at the shipping label, expecting to see Ben or Meredith’s name. When nothing pops out, he searches the French-labeled form, wondering what term identifies the addressee. The only printing he can see that looks anything like a name says “Hershel Azoff.”

He swears under his breath and looks up, just as the delivery van disappears around the end of the hedge. He’s got somebody else’s package, and he has no idea what to do with it. He searches the label again, as if the French fine print is going to help. The address of the country house is correct, though. He could just leave the box in the office and hope that Ben or Meredith will find it and take care of the problem. But if they don’t, somebody’s going to miss their package. He walks through the house and out to the pool.

Meredith and Harry are in the shade under the trellis. She’s reading on a lounge chair, legs stretched out and ankles crossed. Harry’s next to her on another lounge, shirtless, with sunglasses tucked up in his hair. His laptop’s open on his lap.

He looks up as Tom crosses the terrace toward them. “Is that mine?” Harry asks, spotting the box in Tom’s hand.

Tom stops at the end of Harry’s lounge and looks at the label again. “Only if you’re Hershel Azoff.”

Harry and Meredith laugh, to Tom’s bemusement. Harry gestures for Tom to hand the box over. “That’s me.”

“Really?” Tom hesitates, an odd instinct to protect the mystery recipient’s package.

“Yup.” Harry claps his laptop closed and slides it onto the side table next to him. “Give it here.”

Tom hands over the package. “Why Hershel Azoff?”

“My manager’s family.” Harry rips the tab off the end of the box. “Easier not to ship stuff under my name.”

Tom suddenly remembers the conversation in July when Meredith had told him a friend of theirs was coming to stay. “It’s Harry Styles,” she’d said, and paused, waiting for Tom’s response. The name hadn’t meant anything to him, but he hadn’t let on, just asked if she needed him to do anything differently while their guest was in town. Just don’t post anything on social media, she’d said, nothing that might indicate he’s here. Tom agreed without thinking anything of it. It didn’t seem much different from her instructions when he’d started babysitting for them last spring: no photos of Ruby on the internet, ever. But this time, Meredith had emphasized: “Not even in the background, or a hand or a shoe or anything like that.”

The instructions turned out to be unnecessary. Tom hasn’t posted anything this summer anyway. He supposes he could have posted pictures of the house or the pool or the sunset light over the rolling hills in the distance, but what would be the point? This summer is something so separate, so special, not to be cheapened by reducing it to a couple of rows of incongruous sun-soaked photos on his Instagram

Harry upends the yellow box and slides out a stack of bound documents.

“Scripts?” Meredith asks, watching him.

Harry nods. “A little light vacation reading,” he says, wryly.

“You’ll find a good one,” Meredith says. “Is that Elvis one in there?”

Harry grimaces. “Nah, I read that one already.”

Her eyebrows rise above her sunglasses. “Not interested?”

“Absolutely not.” He stands the bundle of scripts in his lap and flips them down onto his stomach one by one, looking at the cover pages.

“You’re not an Elvis fan?” Tom asks, his curiosity piqued.

“Love him.” Harry looks up. “It’s just not the right time.”

“Why not?”

Harry taps his fingers on the back of the stack of scripts. “He’s just so…” He stares into the middle distance over Tom’s shoulder, searching for the right word. “He’s Elvis.” He refocuses on Tom. “It just feels kind of like, if I’m going to play Elvis, in a biopic, he deserves something good, and I don’t think I can do it right, at least not right now, and if I do it wrong…” Harry winces.

“So what if you do? At least you’re in a film.” It must pay a lot, starring in a film. Being Elvis Presley. It’s hard to see how anyone could turn that down.

“I can’t afford to mess up a film.” Harry holds up the scripts. “There’s plenty of other options, anyway.”

“Like what?” Tom can’t help but ask. What could be better than being Elvis?

“Come and see.” Harry swings his legs over the side of the lounge chair, making room for Tom to sit at the end. He fans out the scripts like a hand of cards and grins at Meredith. “Jeff says one’s a psychosexual thriller.” Harry says it with relish, rolling the word “psychosexual” around in his mouth.

Tom laughs. “Basic Instinct style? Are you going to be Sharon Stone?”

“Think I could?” Harry sets the scripts to the side and shifts to face Tom. He flips his hand over his shoulder, tossing back an imaginary mane of hair. He leans slightly toward Tom and fixes him with an unnerving stare. Tom wants desperately to break Harry’s intense eye contact, but he can’t look away. Slowly and ostentatiously, Harry crosses and uncrosses his legs, spreading them open.

“Shut up.” Tom kicks at Harry’s ankles. His face feels hot. Harry might actually be a good actor.

Harry cackles and suddenly he’s just some lazy guy by the pool again. “I haven’t read it yet. I’m probably not Sharon Stone.”

“What else, then?”

Harry hands him the stack. “Pick me a winner.” He tucks his feet up and settles back against the lounge, watching Tom page through the scripts.

One with a red cover catches his eye at the back of the stack. A square of notepaper with a black circle logo is paper-clipped to it. In spiky handwriting, the note says, “H- This is the Marvel one. Read for Wiccan.” Tom looks down at the typewritten cover. UNTITLED PROJECT. “Hey, you could be a superhero?”

“Is that the Marvel one? Does it say which character?”

Tom tips the cover with the note toward him. “Wiccan.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry looks smug. “Jeff said something about that. He can manipulate reality. And he has a shapeshifting alien boyfriend.”

“Alien boyfriend?” Meredith looks up from her book. “That sounds more like the role for you, love.”

‘Heyyyyy.” Harry leans his head against the lounge, looking dolefully at Meredith. “Don’t I deserve an alien boyfriend?”

“Pity the poor alien,” Meredith says. “How’s he going to adjust to Earth if you’re his role model?”

“I’d be a great boyfriend,” Harry says. “He could wear my spaceboy sweater. Maybe he’d come on tour, in his spaceship.”

Tom pages idly through the script, ignoring the dialogue on the page as he listens to Harry riff on the possibilities presented by an alien boyfriend. Maybe Harry doesn’t only date French girls. Which is interesting, in a useless trivia kind of way. Like knowing duckbilled platypuses exist. Not very relevant to Tom, but all the same, it’s nice to know the world contains such things.

#french countryside tomrry #definitely going to hell #sorry the emotional arc is totally a wreck but the only way out of this one is to write it straight through #and then fix it later

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theherondaels · 5 years

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Mamma Mia

Mamma Mia Au for @ac-ars. Or how many song references can I make. Hint: Too many. I regret nothing.

1. Does Your Mother Know?

The reunion of Stella and Lola was probably heard by all of Sicily. “Lola, I can’t believe you’re finally here, there’s so much I have to tell you.” Stella gushed as she ran over the small beach pier. “I missed you too, chiquitita.” Lola grinned down at her. While Stella was excited seeing her best friend since their last summer in Argentina, she didn’t let that hated nickname mention slide, slapping her upper arm lightly as they hugged.

Lola looked at the reddening spot. “I used almost a full bottle of sun screen and you do this? I can’t look like a lobster on your wedding day!” Maybe a beach dress in a lighter colour would have done the trick too.

“And now the real reason I came here,” Lola had taken a hold of her hand, inspecting Stella’s engagement ring on her left finger. “It’s even prettier up close. And a ruby, no less. Andrés sure did his homework.” Lola said impressed. She still hadn’t let go of her hand, going on and on about the stone and cut of the ring.

“It looks so expensive. Really, I look at it and think money, money, money.” Stella laughed at that. “I would be appalled otherwise.” She had actually had yelled a chorus of several yes’ at Andrés before he even had the chance to show her the ring, or finish his speech, for that matter.

“How’s Argentina?” Stella asked, as she and Lola walked up to the house she was living with her mom. “Same old, same old,” Lola told her. “That’s why I’m here. It’s so boring back home since Ofelia and Luis moved out. I need someone I can annoy.”

“I’m the bride. I’m off limits.” Stella said immediately. “Yeah, yeah,” Lola waved her hand dismissively.

“What about you? Any other life changing events?”

Stella couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I’m inviting my dad to the wedding.” The words just had bursted out of her. “You what?” Lola asked shocked, “also, your mother told you? I always thought she didn’t know herself.”

To be fair, Luna Valente was all over the place, far away from organized, so it could be possible.

Stella’s excitement wavered, guilt slowly making it to the surface. “Well,” she began, finding the palm tree on their right way more interesting now. “Oh my god, what did you do?” Lola already asked.

“I found her diary while cleaning out the attic and there are actually three candidates,” Stella admitted. “Three?” Lola’s eyes were this close to falling out.

She quickly recovered though. “Better be a wide isle,” she said with a diabolical smile, earning herself another arm slap from Stella

2. I Have a Dream

"You're crazy," Lola announced, as Stella put a post stamp on the third, and last, sealed envelope.

“I know this is your dream, but it’s insane, and coming from me, that’s saying something.” Lola still wasn’t sold on the whole invite your potential dads to your wedding.

"As if randomly showing up in their front lawn would be a better idea," Stella muttered. This was her last resort. She wanted the fairytale wedding, so her father had to walk her down the isle. No ifs, ands, or buts!

"You thought about that, didn't you?" Lola realised, leaning back in the chair. "Maybe," Stella said with a little shrug, putting the envelopes into her bag.

Lola sighing heavily. "What if they don't show up?" she asked, truly concerned. The Argentinian doubted her friend would ever recover from that. "They will. I made it look like Mom wrote the letters," Stella said, having no doubt all three men would show up. It had been actually too easy, she and her mother shared the same messy handwriting, it had driven her school teachers crazy.

"Okay, what if they all show up?" Lola came up with another scenario, "do you think you'll just know when you see him? This can end really bad!”

"I'm going to send these letters," Stella hissed quite aggressively. Lola sighed in defeat, knowing it would be useless trying to change her mind.

“Google them before at least. One could be serial killer.”

Despite rolling her eyes, Stella did exactly that. “I knew that name seemed familiar,” Lola yelled when candidate number one turned out to be 1/3 of the Argentinian pop sensation Rollerband.

Simón had clearly been the most interesting one. Her mother had described him as her best friend during the first pages, then mused if she had feelings for him about 200 pages in, only to degrade him as a friend at the end again.

"Didn't you take singing lessons until you were like twelve?" Lola questioned. Stella was at loss for words. She had indeed taken a few lessons at her primary school, the teacher impressed with her voice.

It couldn’t be that easy, right? That the truth would had been right before her nose all these years.

“Hm, and he was already married with a kid when you were born. Would explain why your Mom fled to Sicily with you.” Lola had opened Wikipedia on her own phone.

Stella grimaced. She didn’t like the thought of having siblings.

“Okay, next,” Lola picked up another letter, eyes narrowing at the long name. “Didn’t google just suggest him too?”

“Go back,” Stella urged. “It did. Ah, he directed a music video for Rollerband. Maybe your mom was there on set,” Lola was at it with the theories again. “What is Villalobos for a surname though?” her friend wondered. “Says you, Perida!” Stella’s tone might have been a bit too venomous. “You’ll be Mrs Arias soon anyway,” Lola shrugged.

The older girl eyed the third letter then. “That’s not a Spanish name,” was the first thing Lola noticed.

Her mother had described Matteo Balsano as the epitome of a summer fling, but as soon as she had been in Buenos Aires again the calls and texts became less and less. The way she had written it, Luna had put an end to their very fresh relationship.

They didn’t find much about him, just that he was diplomat, who lived in Rome.

“Rome?” Stella’s felt her anger rise. “I can’t believe this. If this is the reason Mom didn’t let me go on the Rome trip in my last year of school…” She was too angry to finish her sentence. "I can't believe she lied to me," Stella suddenly continued. "Well, I can," Lola said unhelpfully. “Wouldn’t have been fun if you ran into him on accident.”

“Maybe he went on holiday or visited extended family in Sicily.” Lola then thought aloud, “and that’s why you life here. Mom never understood why your mother settled on this Italian island.” Growing up, Stella hadn’t really paid any mind it. Sure, it was sometimes annoying when she mixed up the languages, or worse, couldn’t remember a word in the language she currently spoke.

After a bit of digging, Stella had managed to find a photo on his Facebook page, showing it to Lola. “Okay, maybe, I’m hallucinating, but you do look alike. Like really, really alike.”

Her friend was right. Honestly, the other two letters were pretty much useless now.

3. I do

Stella removed her earbuds, turning around once again, making sure she wasn't being followed. She'd taken the ferry all to Naples, as mail on mainland was distributed much faster.

The matter was urgent.

She wanted her father to be present when she said ‘I do’, wanted to have the father daughter dance everyone would sob at.

Her big day was less than a month away, she needed the envelope to reach its addressee as soon as possible.

After Stella had handed the letter over at the postal office, she still had 2 hours until the ferry would sail back to Palermo. A grin appeared on her face as she grabbed a brochure about Naples.

It's been years since she had been on mainland.

4. SOS

It had been a normal morning for Matteo until he had collected his post. A letter from Sicily had caught his attention. He inspected the letter. The sender was nowhere to be found. Matteo reluctantly opened the letter.

His heart had already jumped at the messy handwriting. Luna had written him a letter. An invitation to be precise. To her daughter’s wedding.

Before he knew it, Matteo had booked a flight to Palermo.

#soy luna #one-shots #lutteo #stella balsano

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thevelvetlotus · 5 years

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🕯🎃I’m sitting outside watching the full moon climb the trees with a black cat laying by my feet and autumn in the breeze.🍂I love all the seasons, by late summer/early autumn is my favorite time of year. I love the cool New England nights and the hypnotizing songs of the beetles and crickets. The fireflies are putting on a light show and you can smell apples and pumpkins in the air. I’ve been all over the country and it’s beautiful, but there’s no place like New England in the fall and I wanted to create a candle that could transform you there, even if just for your senses. And with that I would like to introduce you to two of my newest candles in my “Harvest Moon” collection! Both made with soy wax and dressed with Autumnal elements, including an Acorn from my own front lawn. Acorns are rich with magical symbolism and are well known for being a powerful talisman among the Druids~for they symbolize life, fertility and immortality.✨These enchanting candles are also dressed with polished Amber, a Pinecone and a Faerie Pumpkin and Crystal Ball! What do they smell like, you ask? They smell just like a warm apple and pumpkin spiced pie fresh out of the oven! And I’ve made them available to you with or without biodegradable glitter, just let me know which you prefer. More info on these beauties along with a very special surprise coming soon!Message me to purchase, limited supply. $18.88 without Amber or $24.44 with Amber.)🎃🕯 #autumn #autumndecor #autumncandles #fall #falldecor #fallcandles #pumpkin #pumpkinspice #newengland #newenglandlife #candles #candle #nature #amber #crystals #gift #warm #magic #witch #craft #handmade #crystals #thevelvetlotus https://www.instagram.com/p/B1Nad1fnLkO/?igshid=13839osg0jmak

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onthemeander · 5 years

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A thousand thanks to Psionicsnow for the prompt. It was fun to write such a soft and subtle story. Very sweet and innocent.

Interested in getting your prompt written? Check me out!

Fresh Cut Grass

Everything hurt. Every organ, muscle, bones, joints, cell, and atom felt like it was smothered in gasoline and set ablaze in a tire fire. Her soul was cracked and broken and shattered and she couldn’t scavenge a single iota of energy to try and collect the shards. Instead, her tears carried them away on a wave of sadness rolling down her cheeks. All of it was let loose, laying across the floors and couch of her apartment as she cried.

Moose laid on her legs, pinning them with his warm wrinkly body while watching her with his watery eyes. She clutched the couch cushion to her chest, curling up as tight as possible without kicking her poor basset hound from his perch. Her eyes were burning and swollen as the tears pooled into a large stain across the cushion. Her sobbing was raw, a baser aching sound from her vocal cords that rang in her ears. The silence of her apartment making every sound amplified.

Suddenly, there was a solid knock at her front door. The sound was paired with a taut but gentle voice calling out her name. Moose sat up, ears perked towards the door, tail wagging and starting to pant in excitement. She heard her neighbor insert his copy of her apartment key into the lock. Tentatively the door opened, just enough for her blonde headed attractive neighbor to pop in. His light blue eyes widened as he slipped in through the threshold. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Steve. I’m… sorry. Please-“ She gasped out, trying to wave him away while rolling to her side, Pressing her face into the back for her couch. She pressed in as close as possible to he back cushions to quiet her sobs. Her door lock clicked into place, his sneakers squeaked as he quickly crossed her wood floors in only four steps. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell the light was dimming around her as his shadow came over her.

The scent of fresh cut grass, leather and musk wafted off of him. It changed the air altogether, making the stale stagnant sadness that clung all of them be washed into a soothing balm. The combination was so comforting that she started to breathe deeply for the first time since she started crying. The iron grip around her lungs slightly loosen, the sudden freedom set its muscles on fire requiring more cooling air to ease the ache.

A large calloused hand was soothing placed atop the crown of her head. A large warm wight that grounded her racing mind. Her head was manipulated, picked up just long enough for the sound of shuffling to happen. After several seconds, he had placed a rather warm and firm pillow under her head. The smell of grass was stronger now but the pillow felt weird. It was just a bit too stiff like there was a firm structure deep within its batting. Confused, she opens one of her eyes just long enough to realize that her pillow was his lap.

Even with the surprise, she couldn’t stop the tears, forced to close them again as another fit of hiccups broke out. Steve just sat there, still and calm, silently running his broad fingers through her tresses. Her hands, which had been cushioning her head, now gripped large chunks of his old t-shirt between her fingers. Time was suspended as they sat there.

Slowly she felt just enough energy come back to here where she could actually form words. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just…” her voice made a disgustingly wet gurgling noise, cut off by a full body sob. She was sure there were large tear stains cross his right pant leg. Steve said nothing, just rubbed circles into her scalp and random shapes into her back. Moose wined either upset by everything or simply hungry.

She was slowly coming down from the terrifying height of her crying. It felt like it took an eternity and all it shoved into a single second. Everything that was wavy and faded began to come back into focus as the tears slowed. her breathing haltingly leveled out allowing her own lungs to reach her nose, no longer having to be shoved through her mouth.

His sweatpants-clad thighs were burningly sturdy under her temple, as a set of rolled electric blankets, soothing the pulsing ache that had made its home there. Though he was dressed from the gym he was freshly washed, smelling of citrus, herbs and earthy woods. Like he took his run through a springtime forest, dashing through citrus trees, sage bushes and the fresh waters of some nirvanic stream. “Do you want to talk about it?” She could feel his stomach expands against the back of her head as he spoke. A sturdy constant rhythm she could align her own erratic sobbing gasps too.

She couldn’t, not right now, maybe when things were not as raw. “No. I’m sorry but not really.” Moose whined at their feet, his stubby wrinkly front feet prompting him up against the cushion seat. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, refusing to look anywhere other than the pattern of the sun streaming through the window panes.

Steve remained quiet, supporting her in so many ways, simply breathing and being there. Stroking random shapes into her scalp with his broad callous fingers, his short nails feeling hypnotically heavenly against her pulsing headache.

Her sleeve was already covered in snot, which made her stomach cramp in embarrassment. Steve either didn’t notice or care as I magically materialized a tissue for her to use. “You must think I am ridiculous.”

“No,” His voice sounding so strong and clear, “we all have our times when we need to let everything go.” He kept handing her tissues not one complaining as her nose loudly honked as she blew it. Finally, the last tears rolled down her check.

Giving one last bone achingly deep sigh she rolled onto her back looking up at his handsome face. His hair was wet, starting to curl in the summer humidity. The light bounced softly off his jawline, freshly shaved and washed. Every bid the perfect all-American man that he was partially famous for. She probably looked a mess next to this Adonis yet the look in his eyes was one of pure reverence.

“Okay, I’m good. I’m sorry but I’m fine,” She said, proud of herself for only sniffing once. He had a soft closed mouth smile for her. “So why did you come over Steve? Did you need something?” Finally getting the energy she sat up, head slightly throbbing at the movement. Moose hopped down, woofing slightly in discontent at being forced to leave his perch. Steve let her sit up but kept close by, constantly keeping contact between them.

“Uhhh… No,” His face became a little ruddy, “actually I heard you from my apartment and was concerned.” She flinched at that, pulling into a tight ball, embarrassed and unable to keep touching him. “Oh god, I am so sorry. I’m sorry you had to come over like that.” He, however, seemed to have other ideas. With a gentle insistence, having her lean against his chest, tucking her head under his jaw. Moose was wagging his tail excitedly looking up at them as she had her head protectively tucked into the neck of the super soldier.

“No, No, it’s okay.” He comforted, voice rumbling so close to her ears. Everything was so close and homey. “I want to make sure you are okay. I want to be there for you when you need someone.” His cologne was centralized right above his collar bone, a buttery warm spiced musk that she could stop from greedily inhaling.

They sat there, simply breathing within each other’s space. The air was heated and electric, sparking all of her nerve endings just being in that place. Closing her eyes, she snuggled into the warmth, which was better than any blanket. She was content, ready to milk the moment and etch the memory into her mind permanently. Just below her palm, she could feel the bold beating of Steve’s heart.

Gently he urged her to turn to look directly at him. His eyes were positively sparkling, the color of a pair of Blue Morpho Butterfly wings with the sun streaming through. Every edge around him was softened, a far cry from the hardened edges sculpted into every soldier and hero’s being. “I care about you, you are special to me.”

“I… I umm… I… same?” Oh god, her heart was shoved so tight in throat she wasn’t able to even phrase a response. I’m sorry just started to pour out of her mouth, her skin burning surely as hot and red as a chili pepper. Steve’s eyebrows rose in an almost comically high pose as he held in a soft laugh. His teeth were white and perfectly aligned, putting Arlington to shame, as he lost out to the urge not to chuckle. His cheeks were red as well, flushed and glowing with so much life.

“May I kiss you?” He asked, his voice husky in it’s whispered tone. Her words were caged like a wild pacing tiger in her throat. She just leaned in, hoping that was yes enough. His hands were enormous, cupping her cheek, and tickling the sensitive skin behind her ear. His aftershave clinging to his freshly shaved face, deep smoky burning that warmed her like the comforting feeling of the first summer campfire with family.

His lips were as bold and gentlemanly as the rest of him. Every touch of their chaste lips was treated like a soft and sacred act. A sentiment left from a bygone era, something to be cherished. He took no advances, treating kissing, not like a lead up to the main event but the main event itself.

The fresh cut grass smell filled every one of her inhales. Sparking memories of rolling down hills as a kid and jumping through sprinklers as they watered lawns. It mixed with the minty taste in her mouth leaving her energized and joyous. She ran her fingers up his arm, tucking them just under the cuff of his t-shirt, feeling the curve of his bulging biceps. He wrapped his large arms around her waist, resting them comfortably just above her hips.

The kisses became shorter, less afraid of them ending all together they simply basked at the moment. They shared soft giggles and gasps between kisses, all the joy, and excitement had to come out in any way possible. There were little moments of teeth clashing together, noses smooshing into each other and complete misses that resulted in lips on chins that made everything even more perfect and real. Movies kisses were so sterile, they didn’t prepare you for the true joy of the little mess ups that made it even more exciting.

Pulling away slowly they relaxed in each other’s space. They were breathing each other’s air and enjoying the look of each other’s flushed face. Steve’s hands stroked along her flanks, tickling ever so slightly. His lips were swollen and pink, becoming even redder as he chewed on it. He seemed almost nervous. All she could do was watch as those perfectly white straight teeth peeked out from his lush lips. Looking up she noticed his cornflower colored eyes pinning her with a determined stare.

“Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?” His voice, usually so bold was reduced to a tender whisper. Her breath caught in her throat, the thudding in her chest increased. He cupped her hands between his own, they almost disappear beneath the wide expanse of his palms. Her cheeks ached with the sudden strain of how wide her smile was. Tears threaten to fall again, but the pain was thankfully not accompanying it this time.

“Yes.”

#marvel #fic commission #captain america #steve rodgers x reader #fanfiction community

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eatbreathewrite · 6 years

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The Adventures of Todd and Granny

(Alternatively: “I Saw Granny Ethel with the Devil”)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Yard Work

Of the many lessons instilled in him by Granny Ethel, the one that Todd knows best, is that good, hard, honest work keeps the devil at bay.

It’s only a saying. But he takes it to heart, if only to reassure himself that his brethren don’t know or care where he’s disappeared to for the past few months.

Really, they shouldn’t care. They’re often called away and sent on wayward tasks by superiors and skilled summoners alike. Sometimes for years.

Todd wouldn’t mind living like this for a decade, or two.

The Human Todd—Theodore—though, doesn’t seem to hold the same morals.

“Ugh—why won’t the damn thing just start?” he gripes at the old push lawn mower, rusted and peeling with age, as he yanks the motor’s rip cord for the third time in a row—unsuccessful. Not even a stutter. The heel of his shoe bounces off of its faded red deck with a dull, metallic thump as he tries to kick it into submission, but hitting machinery never inspires it to suddenly, magically work.

It isn’t that it doesn’t have gas—Todd has made sure it’s well taken care of in its old age and properly filled. It isn’t that it’s missing its grass-catcher bag, either. That’s another issue to be met further down the road.

Ultimately, it’s just Theodore’s poor luck and impatience. And a dirty carburetor, perhaps.

He’ll let him struggle obliviously for a few moments more—but only a few. Granny Ethel’s lawn is overgrown with a wily mass of green-yellow grass up to his shins, in desperate need of taming. But for now, he just shakes his head and minds his business at the stone-bordered garden on the other end of the lawn, getting his claws dirty pulling stray weeds from between herbs and taking notes on which ones need pruning.

More importantly, he only allows Theodore to swear so loudly because Granny Ethel is currently absent.

Their friend Sam from the grocery store kindly drove her to her routine check-up at the local clinic earlier that afternoon, though they probably would have walked if it wasn’t in the next town over.

Being who she is, he’s still a bit surprised they didn’t.

Another kick echoes off the metal body of the lawn mower—followed quickly by a strangled yell and the sound of something heavy—someone—hitting the grass with a sharp rustle. A soft landing.

Maybe he’s lucky after all.

Todd still ignores him, and pauses briefly to admire the ruby red glare of a ladybug landing on the back of his dark hand. Even as the swishing of disturbed grass only grows closer, until a distorted human shadow blocks the bright patch of sun reflecting off of the ladybug’s fragile shell.

Theodore clears his throat.

The ladybug’s wings unfurl in a flutter and it flits away, following the wind.

Again, he clears his throat to garner attention—and Todd ignores him. But he does keep him in the fringe of his peripheral vision.

“No help at all.” He huffs out an insulted breath as he stomps away, unkempt, sweaty blond hair flouncing with each step. It must be the hardest he’s worked out in ages, to get so worked up.

But Theodore doesn’t return to the lawn mower—this time he heads toward the far corner, to the small brown shed topped with a patchy, bright yellow roof. Unpainted, unfinished. It’s something Todd will take care of at an appropriate time. Granny Ethel’s birthday, perhaps…though she hasn’t mentioned it just yet.

The doors rattle as he gives them a shake—locked, naturally. He sets his hands on his hips and hangs his head in defeat. Bends down and almost collapses in the grass, ready to give up, but stops. Frozen, as if struck by inspiration. His head tilts dramatically as he peers toward something in the corner, resting in the shadows between the shed wall and the fence.

Todd has to admit, this interests him greatly—he turns his head to watch, but doesn’t move from his spot beside the herb garden.

Theodore straightens up and slinks toward the shadowed nook, reaching a hand out into the blackness. And when he draws it back, a scythe handle is gripped in his palm.

It’s dusty. Rusted and bent at the edges, probably dull—and complete with another hand grip protruding from the main rod like a functional tool. Made of old wood; reliable wood. Hand-carved. Theodore wheezes out a laugh of disbelief and quickly turns. Todd can’t turn around fast enough and catches the brunt of the victorious grin wrinkling his face. Knowing, and so triumphant. The absolute epitome of foolish Pride.

He doesn’t even know what he’s holding, certainly. Not with those pristine, clean hands that have only been pricked by a splinter today.

Todd rises to his feet, to his full height. There’s no need to heed ceilings—not outdoors. When he takes the first step, Theodore’s smile crumbles. He clutches the scythe to his chest and takes a step back, shoulders tense. He holds the eye contact just to spook him. Just a bit.

But he doesn’t walk to him. He reaches the lawn mower and kneels to pass a hand over its motor, clearing it of whatever issue remains.

Ah. Like he thought. It’s the carburetor.

He takes the rip cord in one hand and gives it a brisk yank—the motor stutters. Again, he pulls it, and the machine roars to life. Obedient, like a well-tamed beast.

Theodore’s strangled yelp of outrage satisfies the primal human vengeance he’s come to know as “pettiness.”

As the lawn mower idles, Theodore sets the scythe carelessly aside, dropped against the shed, and trudges through the tall grass toward it. He seizes it by the handle bar without sparing Todd a second glance even as he towers over him, still kneeling, thanks to the height of his spiraling horns.

Still, he doesn’t seem to know just how to operate the machine he snatched away. He pushes it forward, too rough—and jumps back with a start, cursing as the fresh-cut grass clippings pepper his navy-blue slacks in a rush of green.

But the beast has already been released, and as his fingers slip from the handlebar, it creeps its way forward without prompt and with surprising speed.

Straight into Granny Ethel’s beloved and flourishing lantanas.

Then right over them.

Both, speechless and stock still, stare at the vermillion whirl of shredded petals spit out in the lawn mower’s wake. Even as it bumps into the fence and tries to continue on, unaware—until it topples over and chokes itself out, blades whirring to a halt beneath its casing.

Just in time, too. In the distance, but not too far away, a car door slams shut. Swift and familiar, shuffling footsteps fast approach. The wooden side gate creaks open.

“We’re back at last, dears! I’m sure you’ve been working hard. Why don’t we take a break? I saw the most charming bakery on the way home and couldn’t help but—”

Something crashes against the cobblestone walkway. Soft—covered in a plastic bag. Bread. No, cinnamon buns. Todd can smell the sugary vanilla sweetness through the package. But he can’t quite turn to face Granny Ethel as a red hot glare fills his eyes, aimed only at Theodore.

But—no. It isn’t entirely the man’s fault.

It’s his, too, for playing a jealous, petty little game. Because he could have stopped the lawn mower and didn’t.

Sometimes, standing idly by is the worst sin of all.

Todd’s heart caves in as Granny Ethel breathes in and exhales, speechless, and presses her hands to her mouth when he turns to face her.

“Oh, my… The lantanas.”

Her eyes dart to the ruined mess of flowers and she takes a tiny step forward, over the fallen bag of sweet bread. Drops her hands from her mouth and holds them out in front of her as she ambles forward—and stops, a safe distance away from the destruction.

“Oh, my dudes, yikes,” Sam breathes, hissing in through his teeth and rubbing a brown hand across his frowning, pursed lips. “I, uh—I’ll go in and mix up some juice or something. You’ll need it.” He picks up the fallen bag of buns on the way.

Todd’s shoulders hunch as he very nearly curls in on himself in shame, wrapping his shawl tight around himself—because the heat never bothered him and it’s his it’s special and it was a gift from her and, somewhere deep down, he vows to never disappoint her, to hurt her, in such a way again. Ever.

Theodore, flushed deep red from neck to ears ever since his grandmother walked in, shuffles half-heartedly in front of the straight line of shredded lantanas, at least self-aware enough to realize he’d made a grave error. His hands knead roughly together, pale skin turning whiter from the pressure. Sweating, still, but not only from the summer heat.

“Gran, I…”

“Charles grew that patch for me.” Her soft poofs of cloud-white hair twist in the breeze as she closes her eyes and dips her head toward her chest, eyes closed. “Oh, they’ve been there ever since he planted them. Every single one.” She folds her hands in front of her loose, sunflower-yellow dress and shakes her head, saying no more on the subject.

“Oh my God. I’m so—Gran, I don’t… I didn’t mean to, it just… It wasn’t my fault!”

His frantic cry goes unheard by Granny Ethel as she stands with her head bowed in silence.

“There’s a silver lining, here, my dear.” When she looks up, her eyes shine behind her glasses, unshed tears catching sunlight, but her stare is hardened. And harsh.

Even with that small, tired smile, her fury is a cold-burning flame.

“You see, these particular flowers can live again. We will collect the undamaged stalks that are left and root them. Replant them. Then…” Her voice trails off into the silence of an unspoken thought. “For now, I’ll leave you two in peace to finish the yard work.”

Neither speaks a word, stuck in mortified silence, even as Granny Ethel disappears into the house.

The silence is only broken moments later when Sam makes his way back outside holding a tray filled with a glass pitched and three glasses, as well as a small pile of cookies. Peanut butter, of course.

But no sweet cinnamon buns.

“Here’s that drink! Lavender lemonade with honey—and Granny’s special peanut cookies,” he smiles, trying his best to keep up a positive atmosphere as he sits cross-legged on the lawn with the fine silver tray in his lap. “She helped put it together, dudes, so don’t forget to thank her later.”

Theodore scoffs and grumbles out, “I’m allergic to peanuts,” but Todd knows that isn’t true. He’s seen entire containers of peanut butter disappear overnight, at times. And Granny Ethel simply wouldn’t do something that selfish, so he’s the only suspect.

But if the man is going to be that way about it, then all the more treats for him and Sam. He drains one of the glasses in a single gulp and devours two of the delicious, crispy cookies, nodding in appreciation. Because it’s what Granny Ethel would want—and he’d rather die than let her hospitality go to waste. Her happiness always comes first.

He hopes she’s not crying.

“She’s busy crocheting something in the den, by the way. Humming, and everything. Boy, am I glad she’s not mad.” Sam also eats a cookie and speaks around the crunchy bits in his mouth, providing him with just the answer he sought. “But, man, that’s some gnarly garden carnage, there.” He nods his head toward the lantanas and whistles low. “Did you apologize?”

“Why would I?” Theodore snaps, arms crossed tight as he refuses to look at the flowers and their faces, still evident in his guilt by the way he answers so quickly. When no one gives him an immediate response, he breathes a theatrical sigh and clomps toward the fallen path of ruined flowers. Hands on his hips, now, he observes the mess. “Is any of this even salvageable? None of the stems look un-shredded!”

“You should apologize,” Sam insists lightly, taking another cookie when he finishes the first. He meets Todd’s eyes and they share a knowing glance. Then, his brown eyes light up. “Oh—and by the way, Granny’s appointment went great! She’s fit as a fiddle.”

By now, Theodore is squatting amongst the flower shreds, combing through the mess for anything that looks particularly helpful and root-able. “Of course she is. Her energy knows no bounds.”

Todd can only nod. Granny Ethel’s health is nigh infallible. But—that aside, it’s time to return to work. He finishes his cookies, brushes the crumbs off his palms and carefully makes his way to the flower patch to pick out the lantana stems they can still save.

There are few—but a few is better than none. And for the rest, they can grow from the seeds.

It will take some time to return Granny’s beloved lantana garden to its former glory, but not forever. And before they know it, this day will be nothing more than a mistake of the past.

So, they continue their yard work until the day’s chore is done.

The remaining lantanas: neat. The lawn: trimmed. The herb garden: weeded and pruned.

When the tools have been returned to their proper place, they leave the yard behind, and Todd gives one final, sweeping glance around the space as he slides the back door shut.

Something is out of place. He can’t quite pin down what, but later, when he curls up in his small twin bed and drifts to sleep in the room he shares with Theodore, he dreams of a rusted scythe that he can’t quite remember putting away—one that he promptly forgets when he wakes.

#Todd and granny #original #original writing #writing #fresh off the press! get it while it's hot!#also thank you for a thousand followers #i am so glad you're all here

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