#jazz disposable cups

[biolizardboils]

sting-doogadungdadingdoodung doodungda dingdadingduhduhdung dughdugh scatman's world

#captain underpants #diddlysaurus #the epic tales of captain underpants #tetocu #jazz #jazz disposable cups #cu #cu epic tales #my draws #eye strain tw #eyestrain tw #cu show

[secondbeatsongs]

hello! not a request, but might i ask what the header on your blog is? for some reason it evokes a vivid sense of nostalgia, but i *cannot* figure out where i've seen it before

sure! this piece of art is called "Jazz", and it was used a lot on disposable cups and plates and stuff in the 90s!

originally it was from the Sweetheart Cup Company, but Solo bought them out. so sometimes, people refer to the design as "Solo Jazz", as they're the ones that own it.

you can still buy cups with this design, but they're in pretty huge packs usually, so I haven't done it yet. but, someday. someday I will create a cup hoard.

#asks #not requests #electrick-indigo #jazz #solo jazz

[hellmouth-manor]

Melted to Nothing | Vote Results

With such a small voting pool to choose from, a near-complete consensus is easy to reach. Tired faces look desolate and hopelessly at one another, determined to sway the vote the way they deem just. The final moments of the trial melt away, revealing another emptiness in the jazz lounge. The candles all burn brightly, and the wax begins to drip over portraits. Pheo waves a hand to grab everyone's attention, then whistles to demand it.

"Wooow, wow! Good job, everyone! Let's read off who you all voted for, huh?"

Numbers are revealed as wax continues to drip over your portraits. Who was chosen as Nikephoras' killer?

Ruby - 8 Micah - 2 Abstained - 2

Pheo rubs her hands together, preparing the flashback you are all forced to witness time and time again.

"I always love this part!"

Pheo snorts with a laugh as the view before you comes cleaner in focus...

The case begins in the evening. The culprit, desperate for a distraction and a way to keep busy, decides to pass the time by cooking. Thanks to their nigh-delirious state and short attention span, however, most of their efforts end in disaster- piles of burned food and pots and pans that are completely charred. Still, they persist, alternating between ruining dishes and cleaning up the aftermath. If nothing else, the cycle keeps them awake and alert.

Scouring a cookbook for something simple, the culprit decides on a basic lemon pie that required only a handful of ingredients. It’s here where they make a fatal mistake. Magnified tenfold by the sleep deprivation, their lack of care results in them mistakenly grabbing a bottle of lemon-scented cleaning fluid that they had left out prior, and adding it to the pie. 

This, too, would have burned to an unrecognizable crisp had they not dozed off at just the right moment- the painful electric shock jolting them back to attention just as the oven gave the signal that the pie was done. And, lo and behold, it looked just right! Perfect, even- at least by their standards. Not even the lack of sleep could hide their joy at cooking something worthwhile, and they set it aside to cool while they clean up some more. 

In the midst of it all, Nike enters the kitchen as well. Excited at the prospect of sharing their success, the culprit readily offers the pie to Nike, assuring him that he can eat as much as he likes. 

“It looks good, right? I can hardly believe it! Please, eat as much as you want.” 

Nike takes them up on the offer, downing much of the pie before he starts to feel ill. At first, Nike believes that they had been intentionally poisoned, but when they see the culprit about to eat some of the pie themselves… they realize that wasn’t the case. Thinking quickly, Nike stops them.

“There…might be too much salt in this— No, don’t feel too bad. Try clearing your head a little, and take a break.”

The culprit is disappointed, but heeds Nike’s suggestion, and promptly leaves the kitchen to go back to their room for the time being. Nike immediately gets to work cleaning up and disposing of any evidence they can find, at one point finding and pocketing the bottle of cleaning fluid that had poisoned them. However, they leave behind the burnt dishes and the stepping stool the culprit used in the pantry, not realizing their importance. 

With the effects of the poisoning starting to become more intense, Nike shuffles towards the Jazz Lounge. Stopping by the Food Carts, she deposits the cleaning fluid among bottles of sauces, hoping to conceal it. She also grabs a wad of napkins to cough into, bloodying them and dropping one of the bloody napkins onto the street. 

All the while, the culprit is none the wiser of any of this transpiring, nor that is all their fault. 

With little time left before they succumb entirely, Nike makes it to the Jazz Lounge. They get behind the counter and brew a cup of coffee, but thanks to their weakened state and blurred vision, they make a mess. Milk spills on the counter, bottles top over, and powdered sugar gets on Nike’s sleeve. Still, Nike is able to brew a cup of coffee, and does their best to clean the mess left behind with the rest of the napkins. 

There’s only one thing left to do. Nike relaxes into a lounge chair, and with his last bit of consciousness, raises the cup to his lips and takes a sip, leaving behind blood on the rim. The poison is taking its toll on Nike’s body. It’s slow, and it’s painful, but Nike waits until the moment comes… and he fades away. 

Elsewhere in the manor, Ruby Scott finally feels the sweet release of sleep. Maybe she dreams of friends, of escape, or of a better life- a few more hours spent blissfully unaware of the catastrophic consequences of her own mistake. 

#trial #ch5

[jazzruinedmylife-blog]

Sunday 10/8/23

Circa 10 AM -- rise. Feeling exhausted.

1:15 PM -- Drive to Ithaca, Schlem convo. Heavy rain in Lafayette. Clears near Tully.

2:40 -- Get Cookie. Help into car. Collapse walker. Back roads to Bingo. Stomach hurting. Trump talk. Dismal career outlook, start of world. Doomed, but happy.

5 -- Binghamton jazz vespers w/Cathie, Larry L bass. Rob W. Arms heavy. Unfamiliar tunes. Alfie in D. Where is Love.

Route 11 back. Hang at Cookie's, upstairs. Fun size peanut butter cups. Kit Kat. Sliced ham, Swiss cheese. Play piano downstairs. Arms better. Cookie gives stripper shoes to dispose. Khaos might like?

Midnight Schlem, excruciating hip pain, he says.

[vicmixconcrete]

Make Your Own Unique Concrete Planter for Your Lush Plants

If you are a plant enthusiast and you want to jazz up your greenery aesthetic to the next level, maybe you can change your planters (or plant stands) and place all your plants in a pot with a much more sophisticated or quirky design.

Pots can be expensive, and you don’t want to shell out hundreds of dollars for them. What if we tell you that you can have beautiful pots and only spend little money?

Yes, we’re talking about making your own DIY planter. And no, we don’t mean making your own terracotta clay pots, we’re talking about making unique pots in various shapes and sizes and what better material to use than concrete?

Not only concrete is flexible and versatile, but it is weather resistant, can withstand extreme temperatures, and is stable. Plus, you can add embellishments to it making it more customized and reflect your own style and personality.

Whether you place your planter in your office or on your patio, keeping some plants in your abode can be refreshing, healthy, and aesthetically pleasing. With this easy-to-follow tutorial on how to make DIY concrete planters with budget-friendly ingredients and supplies, you’ll definitely add colour to your home and even express a little bit of your personality.  

Portland cement: You can choose any type of cement to use to build your planter, but Portland cement is highly recommended because of its finely ground particles that mix easily with water so you can create a smooth result as you cast its shape on a mould for your DIY planter.  

Water: When making concrete, of course, water should always be available. It’s what you use to mix your cement.

Mixing Container: Your mixing container can be a plastic container or a bucket or even a tub where you mix the water and cement together. Make sure that your mixing container is the one that you will dispose right after use.

Mould container: This container is the one that you will use to form the shape of your planter. You can use paper, cardboard, or plastic containers such as milk or food containers. If you want your planter to have a unique shape, you can use other types of containers that have unusual shapes. Make sure these containers are easy to peel off or remove when your cement has dried up.

Plastic container: You need to have another container to form the insides of your planters and use it to fill with dirt and your plant. It’s up to you what size or shapes your plastic container will be as long as it can fit your plant properly.

Placeholder: When you place the plastic cups into the mixing container that is filled with the cement mix, you’ll need something to weigh the cups down and ensure that they form the space for your plant. You can use craft rocks, natural stones, pebble mix, or a shot glass if your planter is small.  

Sandpaper: You’ll use sandpaper to smooth the edges of the formed dried cement and remove any excess cement that is included.

A Step-By-Step Guide to Make a Cement Planter

-Mix cement and water. Follow a ratio of 4 parts Portland cement and 1 part water.

-To form the planter, pour the cement mix halfway through the mould container. Then place the plastic container in the cement mix and add the placeholder to weigh it down. Then cover this with a breathable wrap to allow airflow since you will be waiting for the mix to dry up.

-Let the planter dry overnight to ensure that it’s completely dry. It has to be dry because you will then remove the mould container and the plastic container to reveal the finished shape. If you remove the containers before they completely dried off, it will deform the cement mix and you have to start from the top.

-Once the planter has dried overnight, remove the outside layer, remove all the containers and the placeholder and peel them off slowly to reveal the finished shape.

-Once all the containers are removed, use a sandpaper or sanding block to smooth the edges of the planter. Remove any excess fragments of the planter if there are any.

-Clean the planter well and once that’s done, it’s time to put your plants or succulents into the planter. Make sure to put enough dirt to situate your plants well inside the planter.

-It’s totally up to you how you will design your planter. You can paste beads, stones, or broken mirrors on the exterior part to make it attractive you can paint it and even draw pictures of whatever you like. The choice is yours!

#planter #concrete #pebble mix #plants #vicmix

[alstroemeriadissonance]

Is it okay to be selfish? 🥺 I’m going to be a bit selfish… Hopefully this is inspiring!

Rosa is so stressed from work/something awful happened and she’s suffering from nightmares that are robbing her of precious sleep. How would Vyn comfort her and/or solve the problem? 🤔

(Btw you’re a god on this platform and I love and adore your work. Have some 🍰🍷 you deserve it!)

Treatment (NSFW)

"Well, this is something new."

Dr. Vyn Richter smiled at his new patient from across his executive desk, then directed his attention onto the text displayed on the tablet in front of him.

He pursed his lips upon reading the initial symptoms assessment taken by his research center assistant. "Hmm. 'Nightmares that cause mild distress, and short-term insomnia'."

"Miss Rosa," he looked up from the tablet, his piercing gold gaze looking straight into her soul. "You know that I am at your complete disposal anytime, and that you did not have to put in an appointment. And yet you did."

He let out a sigh as he briefly took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "You do know how invested I am in your well-being." Vyn once again slid his glasses up his nose.

"Yet here I am seeing that...this has been going on for a few days now? Why did I not hear mention of this earlier?"

A mild admonishment.

"I'm sorry, Vyn," Rosa stifled a yawn. "I honestly didn't want to bother you with something as minor as nightmares."

Vyn dropped his smile. "Anything innocuous that becomes disruptive, is no longer innocuous." A sigh. "You look tired, weary. You should have told me at the very least, when the nightmares started recurring."

"Mm. I did actually. Or rather I put in an appointment after the nightmare happened the second time. Today was the soonest available slot I could get." Rosa smiled wanly at him. "Anyway, I thought of taking this chance to see how it feels like, being Dr. Richter's patient."

A nervous laughter escaped her lips.

"And, how did the experience go so far?" Warmth seeped back into Vyn's face as he regarded his lover with nothing but fondness.

"Pleasant, actually," Rosa replied. "I did have an impression that your schedule was packed, but your assistant was kind enough to give me a heads up and make sure my wait was comfortable."

Vyn nodded approvingly. "I am glad. I appreciate you putting in a good word for my staff as well. So..."

The psychiatrist stood up from his executive chair, going around his table to hug his lover from behind her seat.

His silver wisps flowed and mingled with Rosa's auburn strands as he bent over to kiss the top of her head.

"Rosa, Rosa..." he murmured into her hair. "Why must you worry me so? I do not like the idea that you are languishing in something that is well within my realm of expertise to fix." His fingers gently caressed her cheek.

"I didn't want to worry you, Vyn," Rosa pressed her cheek into Vyn's palm. His fingers felt slightly cool to the touch, but she found it comforting to her warm skin. "I figured that the nightmares would go away on their own, but..." she sighed, closing her eyes and relishing the feel of his fingers as they started running through her hair.

"I love you, Rosa, you know that," Vyn said quietly. "I always worry about you. You occupy my waking thoughts. Always."

"And I didn't want to add to that, Vyn," Rosa said. "I know how you already put me first..."

"And I would not have it any other way, beloved," Vyn said, softly yet firmly. "I will take care of you. But not here. I prefer a separation between my professional and private life."

Another kiss on the top of her head. "Come. Let us go home."

===

After dinner, the psychiatrist decided that it was a good idea for them to unwind in his study, before they made preparations for bedtime.

Vyn placed a steaming cup of lavender and mint herbal infusion in front of Rosa, who was seated by his mahogany work table.

After browsing through his personal vinyl record collection, he mounted his choice record for the night on the turntable and put on the needle. Jazz standard music flowed out of the speakers, setting the mood for relaxation.

"How is it, my beloved?" Vyn asked, referring to the herbal drink, as he sat himself in the chair across her with his book in hand. "Do you wish to take it with some milk?"

"Mhm. No need. This is perfect, Vyn. Thank you." Rosa took the cup and saucer to appreciate the aromatic steam. "This smells lovely...is this one of your personal blends?"

"Yes. I take it whenever I have trouble falling asleep," Vyn murmured as he opened his book, resuming his leisurely read from a dog-eared page.

A comfortable silence fell upon the lovers: Vyn engrossed in his book, and Rosa enjoying her cup of soothing herbal blend.

Jazz standards continued to play from Vyn's favorite turntable. The music was neither soporific nor stimulating; it was just right for the purpose of letting themselves indulge in a little downtime before sleeping.

Vyn was of the mind that no matter how busy the work day, there should be some time allotted for oneself; be it to read a book, enjoy a cup of soothing beverage, listening to music or even watching a favorite TV show.

The loss of such a time would only lead to an erosion of identity; the start of the slippery slope where ultimately one would only exist solely for responsibility, and nothing left for oneself. This would inevitably lead to stress, and along with stress comes a variety of mental distress, including nightmares...

"Vyn, I thought we're spending time here in your study to talk about my nightmares...?" Rosa gently broke through the sweet silence.

Vyn looked up from his book. "No need. If we are to talk about your nightmares, it would be best to talk about it when we are in bed, about to sleep." A small smile. "You may want to take advantage of having someone knowledgeable in psychology as your...companion in bed."

He bent over, reaching out to her cheek with a light brush of his knuckle. "What is most important right now, is to let you have some time for yourself. Relax. Do you want me to get you something to go along with your drink? Or do you wish for another? Mind, I do not recommend alcohol, as tempting as it sounds."

Rosa put down her now empty cup. "Can I ask for something else, Vyn?"

"But of course. What does my love desire?"

"Can I have a kiss?" Rosa flashed him a small, shy smile. "A kiss from Dr. Richter...um. Never fails to make me feel better."

Rosa covered her face with her hands as soon as she said those words; a furious blush had crept all over her face.

Vyn shook his head, smiling. "Of course. If you only knew how much I wanted to, in the first place..."

He placed his book onto the table.

Vyn then knelt in front of Rosa, with his hands folded on her lap. He looked at her through his long silver lashes, a hint of a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

"Feel free to claim your kiss," he whispered.

In a fit of impulse he took off his eyeglasses, setting them on the table as well. His smile only grew wider when, despite his myopic vision, he could make out Rosa's face gain a deeper red flush as she beheld his face now unimpeded by spectacles.

"Come, kiss me," he beckoned to her again.

Vyn let her take the lead as they locked lips; everything not Rosa was blotted out from his senses--all he could see, touch, smell, hear, taste was all Rosa.

Their tongues entwined, and Vyn could definitely taste the lavender and mint from her tongue. The kiss melted him so much that he found himself draping upon her lap, moaning her name into her mouth as Rosa coiled her arms around him, gathering him into her embrace.

"Rosa," he breathed as she let him surface a bit for air. "Rosa, I love you..." He could feel himself grow hard with utter desire as his lover helped herself to him by sucking on his tongue.

"I know, Vyn," she smiled as he cradled him close to her. "I love you too."

His senses were awash with Rosa--all he could see and smell was her and her alone. Hair smelling of soft cotton. Base notes of roses left on her skin, along with a little salt...so damn arousing... Vyn found everything about her quite intoxicating--it was very tempting to just reach out and pull her down onto the floor with him...

"Silly woman," Vyn let out a soft laugh as his hands reached out to grab the armrests on Rosa's chair, gripping them to steady himself and also to stop himself from ravishing her on that very spot. "I was not planning on arousing you. I wanted you to sleep in a relaxed state as much as possible."

"I'm sorry," Rosa giggled. "You just looked so handsome reading right in front of me."

"Really now," Vyn's lips curved into a rakish smile. "I am flattered that you think of me so highly. But," he pushed himself up off the floor and planted a kiss on her forehead. "It is almost bedtime, so we better get ready. Come," he said as he slid his eyeglasses up his nose once again.

He chuckled inwardly as he heard Rosa sigh and mutter something about being 'cock-blocked'.

===

Finally having showered and changed into their bedclothes, the both of them went to bed with Vyn holding Rosa in his arms, as he silently listened to her recount how her nightmares usually went.

"It always starts with a feeling of being lost." Rosa murmured against the crook of his neck. "Then someone is chasing after me. I...I'm not sure how he looks like, but in my mind once he catches me I'll be killed, stabbed to death with his knife." She paused. "I always wake up when he catches me."

"And how do you feel when he does?" Vyn absent-mindedly played with Rosa's slightly damp auburn curls with his fingers, all focus directed towards listening to her.

"I scream a lot in my dream." Rosa laughed nervously. Her thoughts came in a barely-coherent jumble. "Not sure if I also scream in real life. Terrified. Because he'll kill me...everything goes black..."

Rosa moved closer to him, absorbing more of Vyn's body warmth as much as she could through his silk robe. "Then I wake up in the middle of the night, and I would have a hard time falling asleep after that."

"Ah, poor Rosa," Vyn pulled her closer to him. One of his hands slowly run over her back in an attempt to soothe and calm her. "I will be here, and I will personally oversee your progress throughout the course of the treatment, which may extend for a couple of weeks." A reassuring kiss on her forehead. "Will this be acceptable?"

"Progress?" Rosa looked at him questioningly. "What's your treatment plan, anyway?"

"Basically," Vyn began, "I will be trying a simplification of something called imagery rehearsal therapy. It is an interesting thing. It calls for rewriting the ending of your nightmare to cushion or eliminate the threat in the dream."

"Taking the fangs out of the nightmare, you mean."

"Exactly."

"I'd ask how you would do it but," Rosa yawned behind her hand. "I'm sleepy..."

"Just about time," Vyn said as he reached out to turn off the bedside lamp. A comfortable darkness settled within Vyn's bedroom; he gently shifted Rosa a bit so her back was flush against his chest as he spooned her, his arms coiled protectively around her shoulders and waist.

"Good night, my dearest. Let us take care of your nightmare together," he murmured against the nape of her neck. "Do not worry; I am here."

"Thanks, Vyn. I love you."

===

Vyn awoke to Rosa trembling in his arms.

His eyes glanced at the illuminated LED clock. 2:45 AM. Just about time for her REM sleep to kick in.

He shifted himself carefully so he could put his ear near her mouth. Panting. Fast, shallow breathing. His fingers gently sought out her wrist, and lightly touched the spot where the radial artery was located. Raised heart rate. He estimated her heart rate would be about 130. Average heart rate for someone running...

She is running. In her dream.

In the scant illumination from the garden lamps outside he could make out her lower lip trembling.

"...no," whispered Rosa.

She was in distress.

Vyn set out to work.

He did tell her that he was going to apply imagery rehearsal therapy, an activity that was usually carried out in his office, through conversations and exchange of ideas. However...

Since this was his Rosa, he was going to fix this problem the best that he could, which could also mean him resorting to unconventional means.

As for the therapy itself, without his complete arsenal available in his research center, all Vyn could do for now is to try and send suggestions to Rosa's subconscious through her dreams.

For it to even happen, he would have to hope for Rosa to be in that state of half sleep, half wakefulness where external stimuli gets woven into the fabric of her dreams...

Here goes.

Vyn brought his lips to her ear. "Love..."

===

Once again, that heavy feeling of dread. Once again, you are in one of the deserted back alleys of the CBD area, and there's no one to help you. Dark, only dark surrounds you and only dark lies ahead of you. You try to run as quietly as you can to try and not draw attention towards you. Run, run, run, but your footsteps echo still. Your heels click-clack loudly as you run but it's too late now to stop. You try to run as fast as you can but why are your steps bogged down, why are movements so slow, why is it that you can't reach the other end of the alley?

The palpable feeling of immense dread courses through your veins. He is here. He is here. He is here. He is here.

He is here.

He is--

"Nnghhh," you try to cry out but nothing comes out of your throat. You feel him come closer. At first he is by the entrance of the alleyway you just came from. Then you feel him get closer, closer, closer--

He is just behind you now.

"No..." your voice manages to get through, in a strangled cry. Try as hard as you might you are now frozen in place and there's nowhere to run. He is now behind you, and you recoil, gnashing your teeth as you expect the inevitable strike--

A hand takes hold of yours.

"Love," says a familiar voice. "It is only me."

Your eyes open. You feel strong arms hug you from behind, lovingly. "Why are you scared? Why are you running away from me?"

A kiss on the top of your head.

"Love. Look at me."

He gently turns you around, effortlessly moving you despite the invisible quagmire that held you in place.

It's Vyn. His beautiful moonlight hair and champagne eyes. Smiling at you. Love. Only love.

"Why are you so scared?" A soft laugh. "I was looking all over for you, only to find you running away from me."

You don't reply--you can't reply--but instead you return his hug, clinging to your savior desperately. It's Vyn. Only Vyn. Why were you so scared? You find yourself crying silently as you cling to his shoulders. It's Vyn. You're safe.

"Ssh. You are safe now, do not cry," he whispers.

Then his lips upon yours. His tongue slips past your lips and slides against your own. You feel his hands slide gently down your body, his hands palming your buttocks and then grabbing at your ass cheeks, pressing your pelvis against his thighs, all the while he sucks on your tongue. He briefly surfaces from the kiss to say, "I want you," then resumes devouring your lips and tongue as he slowly grinds his erection against your stomach...

You are in the middle on a dark alley.

But no matter, you're in too deep now.

===

"Hahh--" Vyn, now fully naked with his silk robe already discarded to the floor, braced himself on top of Rosa as he kissed her with tongue. He made sure to keep his weight distributed to both of his elbows planted by either side of her on the mattress, so he does not burden her with his full weight and run the risk of waking her.

He pressed his hard cock against her abdomen, grinding it against her but careful not to apply too much pressure. It was all too tempting to let himself go, but Vyn willed himself to delay his gratification until the very last moment after Rosa is made to orgasm...

Rosa is still asleep, and is still under REM stage. However gone now are her tremors borne of terror; they were now replaced by telltale moans of sexual arousal.

Vyn had successfully flipped her nightmare into a wet dream.

Which poses a different daytime distraction, but still...

Direct intervention was never a requirement for imagery rehearsal therapy, as it could be done by the patient alone after a bit of guidance.

However, Vyn fancied being a little extra in resolving Rosa's nightmare problem.

(This would introduce a new set of problems, but one step at a time, Vyn thought)

Rosa's hips moved against his, moaning all throughout, still in the throes of sleep.

One of Vyn's hands slipped underneath her satin camisole, sliding upwards until his palm cupped her swell of her breast. He teased her nipple to hardness by running the skin of his palm against it; and he was rewarded by a soft mewling that escaped Rosa's lips and a slight arching of her back that pressed her breast harder into his gently kneading hand.

"I want you. I want to fuck you so much," Vyn whispered directly into her ear. "You are safe with me, but I need to fuck you..."

The way Rosa writhed underneath him in her sleep--it was so tempting to just let himself go and ravish her as much and as hard as he can, to rail her so hard into the mattress like how she deserved to be fucked, but there was work to be done and his patient this time was his most cherished...

Biting his lip Vyn continued to gently tease her, his thumb and forefinger now gently rolling her nipple as he continued his kissing, relishing the feel of her tongue sliding against him, her body arching closer to his in an unconscious response to his touches.

"Nngh--Vyn..." Rosa finally moaned his name out loud.

Shit.

It may be an indication that she was starting to break through her REM. Vyn needed to work faster now, there was no time to linger and enjoy himself...

Vyn's hand slowly slid down from her breast, his cool fingertips running across the skin of her stomach, then her lower abdomen...and eventually reaching her completely drenched slit.

"You are doing good, Rosa," Vyn purred softly into her ear as his fingers slightly dipped in between her wet, throbbing flesh, lubricating his digits with her own slick. "Come. I will make you feel good."

Licking his lips Vyn started with tracing light circles around Rosa's clit. "Yess..." he whispered as he watched Rosa moan slightly louder, needier now, her hips moving and grinding against his hand. "Does it feel good, pet?" He let a soft laugh escape his lips. Rosa was putty in his hands and even in her sleep she was so pliant, so responsive, only for him...

Vyn's thumb kept on gently strumming her clit, as he let his index and forefingers slip inside her cunt. Her hot inner walls sucked in his fingers effortlessly, as if in hunger, or as if there was a void that so badly needed to be filled and it could be filled only by his fingers.

Or his cock.

But masturbation for now. Rosa would need to come with his fingers. He will indulge later when she starts to wake up. For now Vyn fucked her pussy with long, steady strokes--not too hard that it may accelerate her break to wakefulness--as he indulged in her moans, cries, her cunt grinding against his hand.

I wish I can see her dreams.

I wonder how I look like, how I am, in her dreams...

===

"Does it feel good, pet?" asks your savior as his fingers give you the relief you so waited for all your life. All your life--this is the release that you have been wishing for, the heaping of pleasure upon pleasure upon pleasure, each circle drawn by his fingertips around your clit brings such pleasure that builds and winds you up tighter and tighter...

Your hips buck against his hand, willing, pushing him to go faster--but you still cannot speak, and so you can only cry tears of frustration until Vyn finally slips two fingers inside you--manna from heaven, your brain sings--and you cry, this time of utter relief and you grind your hips closer to his hand, trying to bury his fingers deeper inside of you where they belong, yes, more, deeper, deeper, deeper...

Vyn of the moonlight hair and champagne gold eyes look upon you with that gentle cruelty on his face, thoroughly enjoying himself as he sees you rut yourself on his hand. "Hahaha, yes. Come for me. Moan for me," he whispers. "My little Rosa. I want you to come all over my hand."

Fingertip still drawing circles on your clit. Fingers fucking you, fingers slipping in and out with movements that could be an ancient code that sings of your love for him and his for you. Wet, slick noises at every movement of his fingers. In, out, in, out. Warmth is now starting to pool from your loins, the sweet coil of pleasure unravelling, unravelling and the cold ground on which he fucks you is now turning softer, warmer, yielding to your body--you are now lying on a bed--and you shout as you come violently, so strongly that everything turns white and--

===

"Nngh..." Rosa moaned, the movement of her hips against Vyn's hand going faster and stronger. "Ahhhh--!!" She came as she moaned, shouted into the solemn quiet of Vyn's bedroom. "Oh god, oh god," she cried as her hips never let up their movement as she rode her violent orgasm. "Oh god!"

Rosa finally woke up. "What...Vyn...?"

"Fuck," Vyn muttered, at this point too turned on now to hold himself back. "I am sorry, beloved," he whispered urgently as he parted her thighs, positioning himself to take her. "Gods. I need to fuck you now."

His impatient hands grabbed her by the thighs and pulled her closer to him, his hard cock glistening with pre-cum, twitching, as it made contact with her now dripping sex.

Licking his lips Vyn guided his tip to her entrance, and with a single motion plunged himself to the hilt.

"Hahaha, fuck," Vyn let out a groan, throwing his head back, finally awash with relief of being able to fuck her and chase his own pleasure. The thrusting of his hips have started and picked up both strength and speed; his queen-sized bed creaking with every thrust into her pussy; and he is rewarded with sweet, sweet moans from his Rosa begging him to fuck her more, fuck her harder, ravage her cunt more, yes, please...

"Vyn," Rosa now dug her fingers into the bedsheets. "Vyn!!" she cried out, having reached her second orgasm.

"Again, pet?" Vyn cried out in between thrusts. "I am about to--" he gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the inevitable, and the wave finally washed over him--the black of the room replaced with white as he climaxed inside her in violent bursts.

===

"Hello, Miss Rosa," Dr. Richter greeted his last patient for the day in his office. "Did the nightmare recur anytime after our...treatment?"

A few days have lapsed after she slept in Vyn's Victorian mansion. While Vyn offered to sleep together for a few more days, Rosa had declined, reasoning that both of them needed to attend to their own duties, and that she had faith that his chosen method of treatment would work.

Rosa seated herself in the patient's chair set in front of his executive desk. "Actually...no," she said.

Vyn planted his elbows on his desk, and placed his chin on steepled fingers. "I sense a 'but' there. Is anything amiss?"

A small smile played on his lips; a telltale glint of mirth illuminating his gold eyes.

"Nothing much," Rosa said after some thought. "I followed your recommendation that I ease up on my workload and to make sure I have at least one hour to spend on a hobby everyday."

She smiled, but the smile was a little bit taut. "I no longer have nightmares."

Vyn nodded. "I am glad. I was thinking that we may need to do the conventional method of imagery rehearsal therapy should it not work." He then tipped his head slightly to the side. "But...?"

Rosa took a deep breath as said, "I am getting distracted during the day," she bit her lip, keeping herself from grinning. "I can't help but. You know what I mean."

The psychiatrist chuckled. "You can put it into words, love. We do not record conversations unless with explicit consent from the patient. No need to hide behind euphemisms."

"Fine, since you so badly want to hear it, Vyn," Rosa said. "I can't help but think of how we fucked that night. Or," she exhaled. "How much I want to fuck you again."

A nigh-imperceptible movement of her thighs. Vyn took notice, despite her seated across his executive desk.

Wordlessly he got up and crossed the distance to his door, opened it to flip the outside signage to indicate Dr. Richter is OUT, then bolted the door closed.

"You want us to fuck again, you said?" Vyn said as he gave her such an inviting smile, licking his lips as he locked his predatory gaze with hers. "Then come. They have always said that the psychiatrist's chaise longue is an exceptional furniture for lovemaking..."

#tears of themis smut #tears of themis #mo yi #vyn richter #tot smut #vyn richter smut #tot vyn

[milkybonezz]

getting myself back in the writing groove as best i can with some short like headcannon stuff so…

Bowers gang reaction to spiders:

Henry:

Literally does not care whatsoever. He’s not a pussy. He just throws a shoe at it and hopes for the best. Bigger spiders we will just spray with deodorant and let them suffocate.

Patrick:

Has eaten a few live spiders in his time, the boy enjoys the crunch. He used to burn ants with a magnifying glass when he was a kid so he’s just a cruel to spiders if and when he finds them. Pulls their legs off one by one and all that jazz.

Vic:

Hates spiders so much, refuses to even look at one. They make him queasy. Vic can handle tiny spiders but any bigger than that and he’s pushing Henry or Belch towards it to dispose of it. One time when he was asleep, Henry put a daddy long legs in Vic’s hair… He did not appreciate it.

Belch:

Not too keen on spiders but deals with it just fine… Scoops it up with some paper and a cup and sets the little guy free. He only kills spiders when he’s around Vic though. Belch just kinda, smooshes them with his hand and moves on.

#reginald huggins #belch huggins #bowers gang #patrick hockstetter #victor criss #vic criss #henry bowers #it 2017

[johnsamericano]

“Corruption Pt. 4” w.y.h

Genre: College!au, angst, fluff, smut

Pairing: professor!lucas x fem!reader. Ft. Chenle

Warnings: this thing keeps getting shittier so 😗✌️

Summary: Lucas never thought of falling for a student, but from the first day you walked into de classroom you had him wrapped around your finger.

corruption m.list.

You sat down on the couch, watching your professor as he walked around your coffee table.

“You both know this goes against the rules. You could get fired.” He pointed at Lucas, who was holding your hand, rubbing circles over the back of your hand to soothe you. “And you could get expelled.” Lucas could feel your hands tremble the slightest.

“We know.”

“And then why are you doing this?”

“I guess because of love.” You smiled at your boyfriend whose eyes were sparkling as bright as ever.

“God, I love you so much.” Kun fake gagged at the sight of the sweet couple in front of him.

“I won’t tell anyone, but you need to be careful.” He grabbed his coat. “I’ll see you on Monday, y/n. Care to walk me out, Yukhei?” He nodded, abandoning his place beside you to walk him out.

“Kun, about my parents...” He said as soon as he’d closed the door behind him.

“I won’t say anything, but don’t you think it’s a little unfair for her? She’s risking everything for you, Lucas!”

“I know, just give me some time to figure things out, okay? I’ll find a way to convince them.”

“You should leave her before things get more serious.”

“I know I can fix it, Kun. I’m not leaving her.”

“I really hope you can, but please, don’t hurt y/n. I can tell you mean the world to her by the way she looks at you.” Kun patted his friend’s shoulder before walking away.

Lucas composed himself and went back in. He found you curled up on the couch, soft snores coming out from your mouth. He pulled out his phone, taking a few pictures of you. You looked so pure, so fragile. He was almost afraid to break you when he carried you to the bedroom.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” He hugged you tightly. “I love you, so much.” He kissed the top of your head.

(...)

You moved uncomfortably between your boyfriend’s arms as you slowly woke up.

“You’re crushing my ribs.” Lucas had been awake for a while now, observing every single movement you made in your sleep.

“Too bad, I’m not letting you go anytime soon.” You lifted your head, your eyes meeting with his own.

“Did you cry?” Your delicate fingers touched the reddened are around his eyes.

“Maybe I did in my sleep?” He lied. “I dreamt you left me for one of your classmates. What a nightmare.” He snuggled into your chest, his nose tickling your neck.

“Stop it!” You giggled while trying to push him away.

“Oh, I’ve got a surprise for you.” His hand reached for his phone, unlocking it and proudly showing a picture of you as his wallpaper. “You looked so cute in my shirt, I couldn’t resist.”

You didn’t say anything, instead, wrapping your limbs around his body while kissing his neck.

“I love you.” You whispered while giggling.

‘She’s risking everything for you, Lucas.’

“I love you too.” ‘And I promise to make things right’ he mentally added. “Would you like some pancakes for breakfast?”

“Sound great.” You hummed, pulling him closer to your body. The room was so quiet that for a moment, you could hear his calm heartbeat.

“Come on, you’ll be my assistant today.”

After a few burnt pancakes and giggles, you sat down on the table, enjoying the comfortable atmosphere around you. That was until Lucas received a call.

“Hold on, I have to take this one.”

“Okay.” You kept stuffing your cheeks with the fluffy pancakes while he locked himself inside the bedroom.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey. Are you busy?” She cheerfully greeted.

“No, what’s up?”

“We’ve arranged a meeting for you to meet Yuqi. You’re gonna love her, she’s such a polite girl and-”

“I don’t want to do this, mom.” Mrs. Wong heart sank at her son’s saddened voice.

“I was just like you before I met your father, but not all arranged marriages are bad. Just give her a chance. Besides, if we keep postponing this, you’ll get older and it’ll be more difficult to find a suitable partner for you.”

“But what’s so wrong about being single?”

“Sweetie, just trust us, okay? We’ll be there next Friday. Love you.” And just like that, she hung up.

He came out of the room with a small frown replacing his usual smile.

“What’s going on?” You asked worriedly, abandoning your spot at the table to cup his cheeks. “Xuxi?”

“It’s nothing, baby.” He shrugged, forcing a smile to stop you from worrying. “Eat your pancakes, they’re gonna get cold.”

(...)

You sat down on a bench, using your break to read through a textbook, preparing yourself for your upcoming tests. The weather was nice, not too windy, not too sunny. ‘It’d be great to go out on a date with Lucas.’ You thought, immediately disposing the idea. It was Friday, the day you usually met with him. But he had cancelled your plans.

You stretched your legs on the large bench, immediately feeling your knees cracking from being on the same position for more than ten minutes.

“The school is so big, honey.” You faintly heard someone’s praising, not paying much attention to it until you heard a familiar voice.

“I suppose so.” You smiled to yourself, turning your head the slightest to catch a glimpse of him. 

He was walking beside an older woman, their arms intertwined. They looked alike, so you guessed it was his mom.

“What are we looking at?” The sudden presence of your best friend made you jolt.

“You’re so nosy.” You redirected your gaze to the book between your hands.

“Wanna do something tonight? I just received my pay from the coffee shop, I can treat you something fancy tonight.”

“Sounds nice. What time?”

“8:00, don’t be late, or else I’ll leave without you.” You hummed, your eyes going through the printed words.

After Chenle left, you looked up again, searching for Lucas. But he was already gone, probably giving his mom a tour around, you thought.

Chenle took you to a fancy restaurant, one that had recently opened near your campus. He was wearing a black button up shirt along with dressing pants.

“Looking good, Mr. Zhong.” You mocked when he picked you up.

The place was located at a rooftop, fairy lights decorating the dark night sky. There was some jazz music playing in the background, setting a calm mood.

“Good evening, may I offer you something to drink?” An elegant waitress offered.

“A bottle of your finest champagne please.” The lady nodded, walking away after giving you a brief smile.

“Your job must pay really well.”

“Nah, I’m just rich.” You playfully kicked him under the table. “Hey, isn’t that...” his eyes went wide. “No, never mind.”

“What?” He tried to stop you from turning around with all his might, but you ended up looking behind you.

Your face went pale as your eyes followed the couple in front of you. The female hugging his arm tightly.

“What is he doing here?” Lucas sat down in front of his companion, a beautiful woman with big eyes and curly hair.

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” But even Chenle knew it probably wasn’t.

You stayed silent, pulling out your phone to text him.

‘Where are you?’

Your gaze was fixated on his figure, watching him pull out his phone and clench his jaw as he saw your text.

‘I had to meet someone.’

‘Who?’

He didn’t reply, how could he? He hated the mere idea of lying to you. Your thumb moved automatically, pressing the small phone icon beside his contact name. He grabbed his phone once again, excusing himself to answer your call a few steps away from his table.

“What’s up, baby?”

“Who is she, Yukhei?” He lifted his head, looking around for you. A few seconds later, his eyes met your own.

“I can explain-” you hung up, not wanting to hear his lame excuses.

Your eyes started tearing up.

“Y/n, look at me.” Chenle reached out for your hand, his thumb caressing the back of it reassuringly. “Do you want us to leave?” You nodded. “You can leave first, I’ll wait for the waitress.”

Your feet found their way to the exit, not sparing Lucas a glance as you walked out. But he was quick to catch up with you.

“Sweetheart, this isn’t what it looks like.” His usually confident voice was now shaky as he spoke.

“What did I do wrong?” Your voice was so tiny, it broke his heart in a million pieces. “I gave you everything I could.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, just let me explain.” Luckily, your best friend arrived, pulling your arm gently so you were closer to him.

“Lucas, I believe your date is looking for you, and things would only get worse if she found out about your relationship with y/n.” Yukhei didn’t want to leave you, nevertheless, Chenle had a point.

He kneeled down in front of you, cupping your cheeks lovingly while memorizing the texture of your skin, in case it was the last time he touched it.

“I’ll explain it to you as soon as possible, okay?”

Chenle glared at him as he walked back in, leaving his broken girlfriend behind.

“Let’s get you some ice cream.”

#nct smut #nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios #wayv #wayv smut

[aserethstorm]

Ever After's 🦢

Pieck Finger x Jean Kirstein  

Also on Ao3!

__________________

Will there be a future after the war?

Whether it brings them to the peace they've yearned for or to even more battles they need to fight. Two wayward souls decided to navigate it together, into this brand new world born from the rumbling.

——————————

It’s a beautiful afternoon, the sun’s shining not too brightly and the sky is a clear blue.

"A perfect time to tend to the garden?" Jean suggests as he lifts the large shovel over his shoulder. Pieck hums, putting on her gardening gloves, already picturing the stubborn weeds awaiting her.

Pieck’s father; Mister Finger greets them as the two exits the opening of their home. Seated on the rocking chair of their porch with a cup of hot coffee and a crisp newspaper at his disposal. Pieck kisses his cheek and Jean tells him where they're heading. The man nods his features softening.

Ever since Pieck broke off her curse: thanks to the help of a certain bespectacled commander and marrying her comrade in war. The once miserable man began to smile, to weave jokes into his conversations. He finally showed Pieck the other side of him that he thought to have died with his wife all those years ago.

He didn’t even complain! Not once when Pieck told him they were moving to the 'damned island of the devils'. Only asking that his humble abode be right next to his daughter so that he can visit often.

“Your father is in high spirits today” Jean comments holding the gate for her to enter. Pieck chuckles both at her husband's words and the sight in front of her. “He’s always in high spirits nowadays Jean...and I’m so thankful he is” she sighs before pointing to Jean where he needed to begin. She bends down, working the knots on the soil.

Duties were still chasing after them like the shadows that haunted them behind. But somehow the two manage to find light in between. Of course, being needed didn’t help as it dwindles the state of their usually empty home.

It takes them an hour and a half before they're halfway done. Their garden is a little bit better than it once before. Jean stabs his shovel on the ground, leaning on it...he wipes the sweat that gathers in his brow. Jean exhales loudly, pulling out the shovel he calls out to his wife. “Hey, we might be able to grow potatoes here too.”

He just realizes upon uttering the last word in his sentence that the memories come rushing back. Memories of a familiar food maniac and their once shared bond. It doesn’t go unnoticed to Pieck as she watches him carefully, her expression solemn at the sight. “That’s nice, the more the merrier.” Jean shakes his head, continuing the task at hand. Though from the way his movements hardened and his jaw clench. He labored the task, troubled.

Pieck grabs the watering can, dampening the now weed-less soil “I wonder how Gabi and Falco are doing...” she absentmindedly asks as she moves on to the next row. This time large plots with living vegetable plants growing in them. Jean grunts lifting the dirt “they're probably attending a school like what normal children are supposed to do.”

He doesn’t notice the long silence that follows. Too focused on the task at hand that he barely hears her utter the next words carefully. He halts, the shovel falling limply to his side, fingers barely clutching the hilt as he turns to her with surprised eyes.

“W-What did you say?”

Pieck looks up to him, smiling like it was just an afterthought. “I’m pregnant,” she spoke albeit slower this time. Purposely drawing out each syllable in the statement. the former cart titan gasps when she finds Jean running to her, lifting her body off the ground as if she didn’t way a thing. She holds on tightly to his shoulders as Jean twirls her around. They both cheer, Jean cheering for both of them since she was too busy laughing at it all.

“Tell me this is a dream!?” He asks eyes bright but slowly being blurred by tears. He remains still with Pieck raised to the air. Her gaze softens as she rubs his cheek, where a single tear rolls. “You're going to become a father Jean,” Pieck confirms, cupping his face in her tiny hands. She says the words as if it was the surest thing in the world, onyx eyes unwavering as she recites the words into his soul.

Jean grins even wider, pulling her close to his lips and into a long-lasting kiss.

________________

“Jean.”

A voice calls and Jean whips around to meet the petite figure approaching him. Wavy black hair flowing softly as she half runs to stand in front of him.

Staring at him with the loveliest abyssal. She smiles and Jean feels his heart tighten. The feeling is neither welcomed nor unwelcome.

“Thanks for having my back, Kirstein.” She nudges, grazing the side of his arm. Jean smiles, silently admiring their height difference. “It’s fine.” He answers.

Only when his gaze turns to the distance, seeing the kids converse with Annie and Reiner that he decides asks “What’s your plan now?”

Pieck pauses for a moment turning her head to her group of warriors. “We’re heading back to Liberio...recover what’s left.” Her voice is soft but it remains firm.

Strong. In an instinct, Jean squeezes her shoulder. Pieck turns to meet his gaze, surprised. “You have us, we're still the alliance after all.” She nods and Jean lets go. The two silently gaze at one another, both pondering on the little act just committed before Connie yells out Jean's name.

________________

They hold hands as they walked back to their home atop the slope. Pieck’s father quickly standing from the porch to welcome them mid-way. As he arrives at their side Pieck shares with him the big news and once again was enraptured in a loving embrace.

Her father smiles, his face now directed towards Jean. The two clasp hands Mr. Finger extending his congratulations to the younger man and they relish a short hug before laughing. They pull Pieck once again between them in that short embrace.

This is getting too much. Pieck thinks but doesn’t at all hate the words. The feeling of so much love between the two men for her was unconditional and she was eternally grateful to have them by her side.

Dinner passes swiftly with the three discussing future arrangements and the way of an announcement to the rest of their friends. Pieck suggests they don’t rush it already imagining the overbearing pampering she’ll be receiving from the lady soldiers she has grown to be acquainted with. Jean smiles at her placing his larger hand above hers, she melts at the sight.

Before they knew it the dishes were cleaned, the table was arranged and Pieck's father was waving them goodbye leaving the couple to their own devices.

After sweeping Pieck plans on finishing her book. Which she hasn’t been able to do in quite a while. The former cart holder hums at the thought, appreciating the tranquil silence that was too soon interrupted by slow jazz.

The music fills her every waking being and she sighs, chuckling at Jean's ridiculousness.

“So is this how it goes...Jean?”

She tilts her head backward meeting his soft loving gaze. Large hands tantalizingly tracing the length of her arms.

Pieck leaves her broom to the side, allowing Jean to sweep her away to the beat. The music is slow and Jean laughs softly when Pieck turns to him, surprised he lead them both back to their bedroom.

The chorus continues and they sway gently to the track that was playing downstairs on the gramophone. Jean holds her hand in his and the other squeezing around her waist. Pieck smiles, she can't help it these days. Allowing her head to rest against his chest as Jean guides her to the steps.

They resume like that for a couple more minutes before Jean gently cups her chin. Making her look up to him once again, accepting her to see the raw undying infatuation and affection the man held for her.

“I love you, Pieck...”

She examines them more and muses the way the burgundy color of his eyes glints at the candlelight before capturing his lips.

Jean was momentarily caught off guard at the action but who wasn’t when it came to Pieck? Instead, he smirks pulling them both to the bed. their lips leaving for a parting second as Pieck situates herself upon his torso. Hands placed on both sides of his head, She cages him.

For a moment they stare at each other, catching their breaths before their tongues collided once again, Pieck delights herself exploring his clothed body with nimble fingers. Making the man below her breathe heavily. The energy around them is burning and Jean makes himself useful by quickly unbuttoning her blouse.

________________

“That was reckless of you Captain Kirshtein.”

Pieck voices, though the tone is not filled with the reprimand and despise Jean was expecting. It was carefree like a trivial thought she tossed at him...just like the way her hands wrapping limply around his neck. Jean huffs pushing up her body further as he continues walking.

It’s the late afternoon and the sun has now begun to set. The two officers have now just departed a global briefing. A meeting compromising the military officials and their plans to do what’s left of humanity outside the island.

“He saw it coming. He knows to never utter those disrespectful towards you...to any of us.”

As Captain, Jean is always there. Always present as he stands side by side with the last two commanders of Paradis’s military and as the former Cart holder Pieck is needed as well. Her knowledge and insight are what are still keeping Marley together along with Reiner. Their duty never ends and Jean thinks he’ll continue fighting until he dies.

You rest when you have already left this world.

The fleeting words of that strange old man he passed by before entering the barracks this morning return and Jean releases a small sigh. Though the battle is over many things have yet to be discussed. This is the price they have to pay...for everything

She lays her head softly on his watching as the sun descends into the horizon. Jean continues looking forward holding her firmly but also careful and gentle.

“Your lucky you’re loved.”

These moments...these precious moments they have together. It began a few years back. Back when the whole world was still scraping the pieces of what’s left.

Official unions are held often and they meet in it all, growing closer. Conversing into the long hours of the night after meetings or military affairs and their bond grew larger than expected. It evolves from there on out...from reassuring words to warm touches. They don’t give meaning to this or maybe it’s just Jean who doesn’t want to give any meaning to this...

too afraid, too scared, too much of a coward. To finally accept this promise of peace and happiness he was deprived of. Who could blame him though? Being a former soldier in the Survey Corps taught this young man to accept that his happiness is fleeting, warm promises meant nothing in the end and you’ll just have to accept the fact that anyone you grow too attached to will leave your side sooner or later.

His thoughts bring him back all those years ago. On that familiar street of that wanted city. The look of emptiness on what’s left of Marco’s face...

“You know what? Let me just take a breather.” Pieck chuckles before carefully plopping off his back and into the earthy ground below. The grass is warm, a little detail Pieck notes to herself as she trails her fingers over its leaves before using them to straighten her skirt.

The two share a solemn silence as they stare at the setting sun. A giant ball fire descending steadily, painting the sky in a cacophony of bright oranges and purples. The beauty of this cruel world never fails to astound Jean. It never fails to leave him gasping for air, just Iike the way he’s holding his breath now.

Looking at her.

Wavy black hair tied in a low ponytail just like the way she tied it back when she was 12. A habit she once told him. The curve of her elegant nose, the paleness of her flawless skin, Tired black pearls that she calls her eyes, trapping the beautiful scenery inside them.

"The world is cruel but it's also very beautiful...Mikasa was the one who said that to me."

"Yeah..."

He continues to stare at her, not caring that the sun has set a decent amount of time before it. He doesn’t care that the stars have now began to appear in the dark blue heaven above and the way she’s now looking at him directly.

“What’s on your mind, Jean?” She asks bopping his nose.

A frightening warrior she is...disguised in such a lovely and beautiful woman.

“You still have to take me back y’know” Pieck jokes, stretching her arms over her head. “That sunset was delightful but I’m afraid I’m going to be late for my curfew.” Marley soldiers visiting the island for business affairs were situated in a residential building in their stay on Paradis and even warriors still need to be disciplined with its time limitations.

She ushers herself to stand only hesitating when Jeans held her hand. Pieck stares at him, watching his emotions shift from a long hesitation to a quick resolve. His burgundy eyes sparkle with hope and Pieck holds her breath.

“Will you marry me?”

He asks softly, eyes shining brighter than any of the brightest stars in the sky. If he asked this of her years back she would have exploited this to her advantage, used him, laughed at him for offering such a thing.

But she got to know him in those years and more. Learning his land, his family,  friends, and him. Understanding every shine and crack that immortalized his past, getting to know him and his flaws and perfections. Without realizing she began to enjoy even more of his presence and her heart made room for him there, etched with care and affection that only grew larger and larger...

She’s sure of her answer as she meets his gaze, lovingly.

“Yeah”.

#attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #jeanpiku #fic #canon compliant #post canon #pieck finger #jean kirschtein #surprise reveal #FLUFF

[villainousshakespeare]

Putting it Back Together Chapter 4

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Adam/OFC

Rated M (will probably change to E) - Grief, angst, eventual smut, mention of characters dead before the start of the story, blood, slow burn, touch starved

Summary: Since the death of his beloved Eve, Adam had been barely living, only alive due to a promise he made to her. Then one night he meets his new neighbor, a woman dealing with grief of her own. Will they help each other heal or drive each other crazy?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere

This had not been part of his plan, Adam thought as he switched on a lamp and cringed at the disaster that was his livingroom. Instruments and musical equipment were strewn all over the place, wires and amps just waiting to trip the unwary or uncoordinated. Which, by everything he had observed so far, definitely included his companion.

"Sorry for the mess," he mumbled, clearing a path to the sofa with his foot.

"Don't be," Lilly smiled, looking around with avid interest. "It's exactly how I envisioned it!"

"Great," Adam rolled his eyes.

"Not that I've been envisioning it," she blurted out, face turning scarlet. "I just meant... well, if I thought about it at all, which I only did because I could hear you so clearly over here... and what with all the clattering around..."

"You expected it to be a wreck," he finished for her as he swept a collection of books off of the ancient sofa and onto the floor.

"It's cozy," she said lamely.

"If you say so. Sorry I don't have anything to offer you except water to drink. I don't entertain. Ever."

"Water would be perfect," she smiled encouragingly at him, as though he were a toddler displaying acceptable manners in company.

Which, he supposed, was about right. Fuck, he wasn't even sure if the water here was potable. He had never drank any of it, of course. He only used the kitchen sink to wash the cordial glasses from which he drank his blood. Fetching a slightly larger cup that he had found in the cupboard when he moved in and giving it a quick clean, Adam let the water run for a few minutes to help clear out the pipes. It didn't look too contaminated; he hoped he was not about to poison her.

"Here," he walked back to the livingroom and thrust the glass into her hand. "No ice, freezer doesn't work."

"I'd say you should call the super, but I guess that doesn't work if you're the owner."

"It doesn't really bother me," he replied with a shrug. "I'll fix it myself eventually."

"After all, you don't have guests," she said impishly.

"Right."

"Perfectly drinkable," she judged after taking a sip from the cup.

"Good. Now, let me see if I can find that tape player."

That was what she was doing here, after all. Why his invitation had popped out he could not fathom, much less how he had ended up bringing her back here that very night. At least this way he could limit the time he spent with her, he supposed. It was already two in the morning; not long until the sun began to approach the horizon and he would be forced to show her the door whether he wanted to or not.

Glancing over to where she lounged on his sofa, he was not so sure what the decision would be on that one. Her legs, stretched out on the cushion, were quite shapely despite her petite stature, and the red top just invited one to run their hands over it to feel the silky material and the lush curves underneath. And then, of course, there was her neck, long and white and begging to be bitten.

Adam swallowed and turned away. He  could not help but think of the last time he had had a mortal in his home, though it had not been this one. Ian, his supplier of instruments and all around procurer had been almost a friend, if a zombie could ever be thought so. He was sweet and harmless, and Adam had a genuine affection for him in a distant sort of way. It had been a horrid shock to walk into the room one night after sun set and see the young man sitting lifeless on the couch, blood drained from his body and drying on the face of Ava, Eve's feral sister.

Adam had always hated Ava, and that night had been the last straw. It was also the beginning of the end to life as he knew it. Within hours he had tossed her out on her skinny ass, disposed of poor Ian's body, and was on a flight with Eve to Tangier, where she was destined to drink tainted blood and die. All because Ava had sucked Ian dry. All the more reason to hate his late wife's bitch of a sister.

Still, looking at Lilly stretching herself out, he could understand a little better how Ian had come to die. Ava had whined to them about how cute he had been, how she couldn't resist. At the time he had scorned such a thing as a pathetic lack of self control. He still did to a large extent, but at last he knew the urge. Not just the urge to feed, an impulse they all shared, but an urge to take a human in such an intimate embrace. When Eve was alive it would never have occurred to him, he had had her for such connections, he needed no one else. Now though, alone and untouched for years, he longed to feel Lilly's smooth skin against his mouth, to hear her gasp and sigh as he ran his lips over her neck.

Not that he would ever drain her, of course. He was not such a monster. He would not even drink from her. To do so would expose his true nature, and that would mean relocating again, as well as putting her life in danger.

No, he would do her this one favor, and then he would return to seclusion. He would make sure that he left through the basement when absolutely necessary so that she did not hear him, would otherwise stay inside so that their paths would cease to cross. It would be better for them both.

"Here it is," he mumbled with satisfaction. "Give me a moment to set it up."

"Take your time," she said happily.

Glancing over, Adam saw that she had given up lounging and was now coiling up all of guitar cables into neat rounds. He had to admit that she did a good job - they were neither too tight so as to damage the wires nor too loose so as to unravel as soon as she walked away. With a shrug of his shoulders he allowed her to continue. The cables could use sorting, and he was certainly not inclined to the task.

"Sorry," she said with a blush as she caught him staring. "I warned you, I fidget. I seem to always need something to do with my hands."

He could think of several things she could do to keep her hands busy, he thought. God, what was wrong with him? Was he really so touch starved?

"Where's the tape?" he finally asked

She leapt up from where she had been sitting, breasts bouncing as she did, and almost reverently handed him the box containing her Grandmother's recordings. Adam turned back around, discreetly adjusting himself as he did. He carefully placed the spool in his machine, grateful for something to occupy him until he got himself under control.

After a short series of clicks and static while the tape began to unreel, a scratchy blare of a trumpet began to waft through the air, soon joined by a piano and soft brushes on drums. Adam was taken back to a different era. A time when he had circulated more among the general population of humans. Women wore dresses and hats, men suits and ties, and a sophisticated style permeated the music scene. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed that era, the end of the 40s and beginning of the 50s. Between his excitement at the recent technological advances and his nostalgia for the old days of the height of classical composition, Adam sometimes forgot the joy and sorrow, the feeling that jazz could evoke.

When the voice, low, smooth, and heavy with emotion, slid in like honey, he looked instinctively to Lilly. Her mouth was open, shaped with a hint of smile at the corners. Her eyes blinked quickly, struggling he was sure to hold back tears. This would be the first time, he supposed, that he had heard her Grandmother sing since she had died. Even without the connection to the woman, Adam himself was moved by the song. He was struck by how strong Lilly was being, listening and holding back her tears.

Moving one step towards her, Adam opened his arms. With a catch of indrawn breath Lilly took two steps of her own and for the second time buried her face against his chest. It was so different thought, he thought as his arms came around her. That first night on the roof, she had been some annoying zombie woman, pushing herself in where she was not wanted. Her blubbering all over him had been almost violent in the way she sobbed and clutched at him. Now, she simply melted against him, and he gently stroked her back as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

The song ended and another began, this one he remembered. It had been a huge hit, still was sung every so often, covered by lesser vocalists. Lilly's Grandmother was not one of those. She was a true artist.

"There's a somebody I'm longing to see, I hope that he turns out to be Someone to watch over me..."

As the music continued, Adam found himself swaying to it, bringing Lilly along with him. She was stiff at first in his arms when he began to dance with her, but when she realized what he was doing she relaxed and allowed herself to feel the rhythm. She would never be a natural dancer, and she was clearly still in her head, but there was something sweet about that. She tried so hard at everything. Tried to be strong, tried to keep busy, tried to learn, tried to be happy.

When was the last time he had been happy, Adam wondered. When was the last time he had even tried? Not since Eve, certainly. Before that, he was unsure. There were moments, of course, even at the end with her when he had been so. He loved her with an enduring passion. But he had been going through the motions for decades, shutting himself off from the world around him. Ian had been practically his only connection to it.

Pulling back a bit, he spun Lilly about and half smiled at her. It felt strange to smile even that much. Muscles he had not used in forever only half remembered how to work. He had always had a brooding nature, but of late it had become harsh even for him.

They kept dancing until the tape ended, adjusting to the tempo and style of each song. It felt so good to lose himself in someone else's music for a change. To hold someone, to connect with someone. She was right, what she had said earlier that night. Music required no discussion, no messy dialogue. You could just feel it, let it move through you. And where there was someone else there, someone who even if not a musician herself clearly had an ear and more to the point a soul for it, to share it with it could be a profound experience.

When at last the song ended, Adam and Lilly's eyes met and something deeper than a smile passed between them. It was sad and joyful and required no words. They both collapsed on the sofa, Adam pulling her into the crook of his arm as he sat sprawled and tired. Lilly's legs were curled under her and she rested her head against his chest. He could feel the rise and fall of breathing, fast at first from the exertion of dancing, begin to slow. It was some time later that he realized she had fallen asleep on him.

How strange, he thought, that she should be so comfortable with him that she could so easily drift off. He had perfected the art of scaring people off, and yet this tiny woman had tenaciously refused to be run off. She seemed to trust him, even, had shared something deeply personal with him.

The sun would be up soon. He should wake her, he knew. Yet, looking at how peaceful she looked he could not bring himself to do so. Gently, Adam slid out from beneath her, lowering her head down onto a convenient throw pillow. He foraged about until he found a blanket on an armchair and draped it over her, tucking her in. Lilly sighed and burrowed deeper into the sofa, a light sigh escaping her lips.

Taking one last look, he made sure the curtains were drawn, turned off the light, and headed to his bedroom. Things would go back to normal tomorrow; they had too. But let them both sleep peacefully today.

***

Lilly scrunched her eyes and stretched a bit, trying to wriggle away from a hard lump she could feel under her left side. What had she left on her bed that was poking into her with such insistency. Feeling under her blindly, she pulled out something long and wooden. A drumstick? How on earth had that ended up in her bed? And why did the mattress feel like velvet?

As she emerged from the fog of sleep, Lilly came to the sudden realization that she was not, in fact, in her own bed.

Sitting up, she felt a smile cross her face that was lit from within. Last night had been a good night. She had reconnected with some old friends, and maybe even made a new one. Twenty-four hours ago Lilly would have thought the possibility of a friendship with Adam a fantasy at best, delusion more likely. And yet he had approached her, he had accepted her invitation to the club, and he had issued an invitation of his own that led her back to his apartment.

Oh, not that Lilly was crazy enough to think that he meant anything more by it than friendship. She was not the type of woman that brooding musicians stayed up composing love songs for. She was the type who hounded them with her insistent chirping until they finally relented and occasionally allowed them inside, like the mangy cat you gave milk to once who would forever after haunted your door. She was fine with that, she told herself. He had been a friend when she needed one, lending her an arm to dance with and a shoulder to lean on when she needed it most.

He had also, it seemed from the blanket draped around her, tucked her in. Her grin widened. Despite how hard he tried to cultivate his grumpy persona, Adam had could not hide the sweet kindness in his nature from her any longer. She had felt it as he had held her last night, and later when they danced.

That had been something she would not soon forget. Lilly was too tense as a rule to be graceful, but Adam was such a strong leader that she had stopped worrying about his poor toes and let herself simply enjoy. His body had been a continuation of the music, feeling it to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his hair it seemed. All loose and yet firm where his hand lay on her back, he had guided her flawlessly, swaying to the sound.

All in all, it had been a far better send off for her grandmother than the stuffy funeral planned by her father. The old woman would have enjoyed last night, Lilly knew, and she would have enjoyed Adam. Beyond the shared love of music, his sharp tongue and kind heart would have been just to her liking.

Not wanting to send her mind down fruitless paths, Lilly stood up to get a better look at the room. It really was exactly how she had imagined it, if not more so. Every flat surface from the floor to the mismatched furniture was covered in instruments, sound equipment, mechanisms for which she had no names, and the odd notebook or staff paper. Three of the walls were covered in sound proofing foam, the third in an odd collection of portraits. Looking at them, Lilly found scientists, authors, artists, philosophers, all sorts of creative and intellectual types. She made a game of naming them all, only coming up blank on two (although three more were guesses), and trying to decipher meaning from who was present and who absent. Somewhere in there, she was sure, was the secret to his mind's inner working.

Part way through her perusal, Lilly realized that nature was calling. Assuming the layout to his home was similar to hers, she made her way as quietly as she could up the creaky staircase. Once at the top, she was greeted with a long hallway, three doors on each side.

The first door she tried opened into a room dominated by a large drum kit. Scattered about around it were a music store's worth of other percussive instruments. Some day, she thought, she would like to come back and play in here, to see if she could bang out some of her inner frustration. It must be as good as therapy in some ways!

As she opened the second door an avalanche of what she thought were rugs or tapestries of some sort threatened to come spilling out and bury her. She quickly leaned all of her weight against it to close it shut again, hoping she hadn't disturbed anything expensive and moved on to the third door.

Lilly forgot how to breath as she opened it. There, spread out on a large bed covered in pillows, lay Adam, completely naked.

Lilly knew she needed to quickly exit, closing the door behind her, but she could not seem to make her limbs obey her. If Michelangelo had wanted a model for his David, he could have used him, she thought. Adam lay on his stomach, face buried in a pillow. While this luckily or unfortunately (she could not decide) preserved some of his modesty, there was still quite a bit on display to appreciate.

Broad, well muscled shoulders and back gleamed pale, contrasting against the dark of his hair where it fell. His waist segued gorgeously into a pair of slender hips and - dear lord, there should be a law! - a perfectly firm and round ass that Lilly would have given her right hand to squeeze. Long, lean legs seemed to go on for days, and actually fell off the bed before reaching his gigantic feet. A mischievous part of Lilly felt the urge to reach out and tickle them, and she actively clasped her hands behind her back to keep from acting on this awful impulse.

Had she really tried to convince herself, just moments before, that she was perfectly happy to just be his friend? If so, she had been deluding herself. Oh, she would take what she could get, but Lilly knew in that moment that she would go to her grave ruined for anyone else.

As she stood staring unabashedly at him, Adam mumbled something incomprehensible into the pillow. Lilly started to make for the door, but his head turned towards her and she realized he was still asleep. Cautiously, she lingered a moment longer, watching as he reached out to the other side of the bed, as though searching for something not there.

"Eve," he said, clearly this time. "Baby, I miss you."

Someone had reached into Lilly's chest and crushed her heart between their fist.

She had no idea why it had never occurred to her that he might have a lover, or even a wife. He was beyond gorgeous, brilliantly talented, and obviously had money. Anyone would want him. Why should she assume that just because there was no woman here at this moment he was single?

And yet, clearly, she had. The raw emotion in his voice, the need as he called the woman's name had been all it took to destroy her heart.

Following the direction he was facing, Lilly realized that in this room of dirty laundry and bedding, one picture stood out like a beacon. Placed on the table next to the bed where it could clearly be seen was a photo of Adam and a woman of ethereal beauty. She was not "pretty" in a conventional way, but had something far beyond that. Almost as tall as he was, and perhaps even paler, she was stunning in a cream colored suite with yellow gold hair. Adam had his arms twined around her center, and looked at her with such love in his eyes that it was unmistakable.

Forgetting her need for the bathroom, Lilly bolted out of the room and down the stairs. She needed to get out of here. Away from the perfect man who she was afraid she had already fallen for and the perfect woman who was clearly everything Lilly was not. Including it now became clear, the one that Adam wanted.

#olla #olla fic #Adam OLLA #Adam/OFC #fan fic #tom hiddleston #Angst #healing #romance #eventual smut #I swear there will be #but not yet #naked Adam though! #touch starved #grief #moving on #mention of death #bad dreams #mourning #longing #mutual pining #dancing #music

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 4

From now on I’m going to try to stick to Friday as upload day... let’s see how that goes lmao

Previous

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @oceanthesarcasamfox @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld (if you would like to be added or removed just ask, thank you all!)

CW: pet whumpee, aftermath of abuse, injury detail

-

Tomas waved as Kasia headed off down the street. Seeing his friend had given him a new boost of energy. It felt so good to discuss Rowe with someone who handled Pets every day. If anyone was going to understand, it was Kasia.

He looked down at the cupholder in his hand, within it two hot drinks. A latte for himself, and a hot chocolate for Rowe, since he was probably wired enough without an extra dose of caffeine.

‘’Rowe?’’ he called, making sure Rowe wouldn’t jump when he pushed open the bedroom door. ‘’I’ve brought you a- oh my goodness, what happened to you?’’

Rowe was huddled in a corner, a bloody hand over his face, his t-shirt splattered red. He didn’t move or speak, just looked up at Tomas with frightened, tearful eyes. His chest was rising and falling erratically as he sobbed.

Tomas rushed over, setting the drinks on the floor and kneeling down.

‘’Oh Rowe, Rowe love, what’s happened here?’’

Rowe blinked and several tears ran down his cheeks, but he stayed silent. Tomas gently reached out to the hand that was covering the bottom half of Rowe’s face. Rowe didn’t resist as he gently took it and lowered it out the way. He gasped, and Rowe shrank.

‘’That… that looks painful. Can you tell me what happened? Please?’’

Rowe took a shaky breath, more tears streaming down his face. ‘’I-I tripped, Master. And I’ve ruined your shirt, and I-‘’ his breath hitched, ‘’-I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I mustn’t cry, I’m sorry-‘’

‘’It’s okay, it’s okay, you can cry,’’ Tomas soothed, still holding Rowe’s bloodstained hand. ‘’You tripped, oh Rowe, that is so unlucky. Hold on and I’ll fetch you some painkillers and we can sort your nose out.’’

‘’P-please, I don’t deserve it, please Master, don’t w-waste them on me.’’

‘’You’re in pain, Rowe. Your poor nose. Just wait two seconds and I’ll be back.’’

Tomas hurried to the kitchen, grabbing a pack of frozen peas and a teatowel. Upstairs, he rummaged around in the bathroom until he found a packet of painkillers. He made Rowe sit cross-legged as he cleaned the worst of the blood off his face and pressed two pills into his non-bloody hand.

‘’Here, wash them down with a sip of this, yeah?’’ Tomas said, offering him the hot chocolate. ‘’I nipped out while Kasia was here to get us both a drink.’’

‘’Th-thank you, Master, I’m sor-sorry for b-b-being so useless.’’

Rowe swallowed them shakily, his eyes widening as he tasted the sugary drink.

‘’Hahah, it’s tasty right?’’

Rowe didn’t reply, just drank a few more sips, choking slightly as his sobbing made it hard to swallow. Tomas wrapped the frozen peas in the teatowel and waited until Rowe had put the drink down.

‘’Okay, you need to hold this on your nose for the time being. It’ll feel funny, but it’s for your own good, I promise. It’s not a punishment.’’

Rowe nodded, and Tomas held the ice pack to his nose.

‘’You’re not useless, Rowe,’’ Tomas said, ‘’Everyone has accidents like this. If you want, I’ll give you some chores to do in a bit?’’

Rowe’s sobbing calmed down somewhat at this. ‘’Y-yes, please Master, a-anything you want, I’ll be good.’’

‘’I bet you will be. You’re taking this ice pack like a pro. Well done.’’

‘’I, I,’’ Rowe mumbled nervously, ‘’I’m sorry for ruining your shirt, Master. I wa-was so careless.’’

‘’What? We can sort that, no problem. Oh Rowe, I do feel bad now for confining you to your bedroom and then leaving the house. Kasia would have happily helped sort your nose out if you’d gone and got him.’’

Rowe went quiet, and still, and Tomas wondered what he’d said wrong. Perhaps it was a bit early to be forcing Rowe to mix with strangers, he conceded. He sipped his coffee quietly and watched as Rowe’s breathing slowly returned to normal.

. . .

‘’Rowe?’’ Master Tomas called as the door opened, and Rowe knew there was nowhere to run, nothing he could do. He would sit here obediently and take whatever his Master dealt out. ‘’I’ve brought you a- oh my goodness, what happened to you?’’

He stayed silent. His Master had asked him a question, but he had just been reminded of where speaking got Pets. Maybe it was a test. Surely Master preferred Rowe without his whining.

‘’Oh Rowe, Rowe love, what’s happened here?’’

Master Tomas sank down on his haunches, looking at Rowe head on. He had some disposable cups with him, which he placed safely out of Rowe’s reach. If his nose weren’t filled with blood, he probably would have enjoyed the smell. Slowly, deliberately, Master reached out and took Rowe’s hand, forcing him to show the damage on his face. He gasped, and Rowe just wanted to hide. Master’s one wish, his one desire for Rowe so far was for him to be pretty, and he had already fucked that up.

He had brought this beating on himself. But it seemed that his Master was totally oblivious to his friend’s actions. And now he was being asked to lie to his Master? But if he could just be good, please his Master, it would be a one-off. Rowe suddenly realised Master Tomas was speaking.

‘’That looks painful. Can you tell me what happened? Please?’’

This time it was an order. Rowe had to obey. His voice was so soothing and it only confused Rowe more because he had to be angry, he had to be, surely he was furious with the state of his Pet? All Rowe had done since his arrival was cause problems and force his Master to waste precious time on his worthless self. He had deserved that beating. Even if he did tell the truth, why would Master believe him? Rowe knew then which answer would better please Master Tomas.

‘’I-I tripped, Master,’’ his voice sounded stupid and nasal and he hated the way his breath caught as he wept.  ‘’And now I’ve ruined your shirt, and I- I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I mustn’t cry, I’m sorry-‘’

‘’It’s okay, it’s okay,’’ Master Tomas said, mercifully stopping Rowe before he babbled too much. ‘’You can cry. You tripped, oh Rowe, that is so unlucky. Hold on and I’ll fetch you some painkillers and we can sort your nose out.’’

Rowe did his best to not whine in desperation. ‘’P-please, I don’t deserve it, please Master, don’t w-waste them on me.’’ This kindness, it had to be a game. It was too much, no one would ever treat a Pet with such warmth, what point was there to it? Rowe would do whatever was asked of him whether or not he was fed or patched up. Master Tomas must enjoy knowing that Rowe owed him for this, for the food and clothes and bathwater. He would make him pay for it later, Rowe was sure. But Master Tomas was being so generous, and the thought of what he’d have to do to make up for it terrified him. Once his old master had let Rowe sleep through the night, and he’d paid for it with three days of no food. What was this building up to?

He faintly heard Master Tomas telling him to stay still, and Rowe watched helplessly as he left the room, returning shortly with a packet of medicine and what looked like a bag of ice.

‘’Here, wash them down with a sip of this, yeah?’’ Master ordered, giving Rowe two pills and passing him one of the cups. ‘’I nipped out while Kasia was here to get us both a drink.’’

‘’Th-thank you, Master, I’m sor-sorry for b-b-being so useless,’’ he choked out. More kindness. Rowe did as he was told. The drink tasted amazing, he’d never had anything like it, and his surprise made Master Tomas smile.  

‘’Hahah, it’s tasty right? Okay, you need to hold this on your nose for the time being. It’ll feel funny, but it’s for your own good, I promise. It’s not a punishment.’’

Not a punishment. That would be coming later. Maybe Master Tomas had been planning a long torture session, and wanted Rowe to be at his best for it. That would explain why he was so keen on Rowe looking pretty, and why his only ‘punishment’ so far had been incredibly mild. The only thing that confused Rowe was why Master Tomas had bought a second-hand Pet if he wanted him in such good condition? But Rowe knew that it was not his place to try to understand his owner. He held the bag, which he could now see was filled with peas, to his face. It felt odd, but not unpleasant.

‘’You’re not useless, Rowe. Everyone has accidents like this.’’ Even though Rowe was sure this was just a game, a way to trick him, Rowe couldn’t help but feel calmed by Master’s soft voice. ‘’If you want, I’ll give you some chores to do in a bit?’’

Finally, something Rowe understood. He felt himself relax, just a bit. ‘’Y-yes, please Master, a-anything you want, I’ll be good.’’

‘’I bet you will be. You’re taking this ice pack like a pro. Well done.’’

Master seemed…. he seemed happy with him, and Rowe wanted to keep being good. ‘’I, I- I’m sorry for ruining your shirt, Master. I wa-was so careless.’’

‘’What? We can sort that, no problem. Oh Rowe, I do feel bad now for confining you to your bedroom and then leaving the house. Kasia would have happily helped sort your nose out if you’d gone and got him.’’

He froze up at the mention of Master’s friend. The memory of his nose slamming against the wooden frame played out in his mind, over and over, and through his red-raw eyes Rowe could see Master’s face fall. He had reacted poorly again. He braced himself for Master to kick him, or throw his hot drink over him, or grab the bag of ice and grind it into Rowe’s nose and make him scream. But, agonisingly, nothing came, and Rowe was left to overthink. Master seemed content to sip from his disposable cup in silence. Rowe was happy with that too. He never wanted to talk again.

 It must have been at least twenty minutes before Master broke the silence abruptly- ‘’My arse is numb from sitting on the floor. Shall we go and give you some chores?’’

‘’Yes, please, Master.’’

Downstairs, before Rowe could kneel, Master held out a slender hand, stopping him. ‘’Let’s have a look at your nose.’’

Rowe placed the bag into Master’s hand, watching his face for any indication of how bad it was. Master frowned, pressing his lips together, but his eyes weren’t angry. ‘’It’s not crooked, which means it’s not badly damaged. It should heal up on its own soon. Does it hurt?’’

‘’No, Master,’’ Rowe replied, and it didn’t. Not really, anyway.

‘’We’ll give your face a rest before we do more ice, hey?’’

Master Tomas put the bag back in the freezer and sat down in the same spot on the sofa as earlier. Rowe kneeled below him and tried to look pretty despite everything. Master gave him a strange half smile.

‘’Do you want to sit on the sofa with me?’’

‘’My place is at my Master’s feet.’’

‘’Then at least kneel on a cushion, here.’’

Rowe was handed a soft cushion and obediently slid it under his knees. It felt…nice? What was the point of this?

‘’Did your old master come and get you every morning?’’ asked Master Tomas.

‘’No, Master. I had my daily duties to carry out, and I completed them without prompting.’’

‘’Right. Well, for a start, I want you to eat breakfast every morning. And you are free to get that yourself, without waiting for me. In fact, that also goes for lunch.’’

‘’Yes, Master. Thank you.’’

Rowe’s stomach had twitched with nerves as his Master announced another indulgence, but then Rowe remembered what Master had told him that morning- he preferred his Pet well-fed. In a way, it was another order to follow, another way to please his Master, and this made him feel better.

‘’During the week, I’ll be mostly in my office working. I need you to collect any letters I get and stack them neatly on the kitchen table for me. I’ll tell you if I’m expecting someone, so if the doorbell rings unexpectedly, I’ll come down and handle it. If in doubt, come and ask me. Got that?’’

Rowe blinked, then nodded. Keep on top of the post and don’t answer the door unless told to. He could do that.

‘’Do you know how to make a cup of tea?’’

‘’Yes, Master, and I can cook. I just don’t know the layout of your kitchen, yet.’’

‘’I’ll show you, no problem. As long as you can make tea though, that’s great. I’ll need you on hand to make a pot while I’m working.’’

‘’Of course, Master.’’

‘’Oh, and keep an eye out for spiders. Ideally, don’t let them get in at all. And, uh- make your bed every morning.’’

‘’Would you like me to make yours too, Master?’’

‘’No, no thanks. I do mine myself, it makes me feel ready to face the day,’’ Master Tomas mumbled, his eyes drifting idly. ‘’Good habit to get into, so I’m told.’’

. . .

…Right, Tomas thought. What are some other bullshit ‘chores’ I can give him?

He almost cracked a smile at his own silliness. He was so bad at this! Surely Rowe could smell a rat? It was hard to tell- Rowe seemed to have two modes, terrified or blank, and right now he was the latter.

Tomas wracked his brains. He was already regretting telling Rowe to make cups of tea- what if he got boiling water on himself? But he had looked so eager at the prospect of being given tasks to do, and it was the closest he’d come to a positive emotion, and also Tomas was keen for Rowe to not go mad with boredom.

He considered asking Rowe to do the laundry, but that would mean clueing him in to just how often Tomas spilt toothpaste down himself, and he was not ready for that. And, he reminded himself quickly, Rowe is not my bloody maid. I want to help him. Jesus Christ, Tomas.

Rowe seemed to take Tomas’s prolonged silence as an indication that he had finished giving out chores, and pressed his forehead to the ground, his thick hair almost touching Tomas’s foot.

‘’Thank you, Master. I will be a good Pet, I promise. B-but please, may I know the punishments if I fail to meet your standards?’’

‘’Punishments, right…’’ Tomas hummed as he thought up some more nonsense on the fly. ‘’Well, if I notice a spider has gotten in, you’ll have to get rid of it yourself. I don’t see how anyone can make tea wrong, but if you do, you’ll have to remake it until I say it’s good enough.’’ Bed making was so juvenile he couldn’t even be bothered to make up a punishment. There was only one rule that he was actually keen to ensure Rowe stuck to. ‘’If I find that you haven’t eaten all day, I’ll have stop working to sit with you and force you to eat something. And I really, really don’t want to do that.’’

 That night, Tomas lay awake, listening to the sound of Rowe’s screams. He deserves a full night’s sleep, even if it is filled with nightmares, he decided, and rolled over.

#whump #pet whump #tomas and rowe #pet whumpee #master/pet #mine #hope you guys enjoy!

[askdjphantasmagloria]

Smooth Operator (Rewritten)

So, yeah. I decided to rewrite Smooth Operator because I didn’t like how it was written. Here’s how I think it should’ve played out. I hope you like it!

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

It was dark, cold, and frightful. A lock of red hair whooshes by as a hooded figure rushes through the bushes. They had just had an encounter with a terrifying creature and they were trying to get out of the forest as fast as they could. Little did they know that they would soon stumble upon Queen Poppy and the other TrollsTopians, who were getting ready to play a wonderful round of Glitter Ball.

“Ok, for my team, my third first pick will be... Dante!” Poppy smiled as she pointed towards the Classical ambassador. Honored to be chosen, Dante smiled and bowed to the crowd before floating over to join the queen and the rest of her teammates.

The hooded figure then heard the voices and began to creep closer, their eyes squinting as they tried to remain mysterious. Slowly lifting up their hood, a scarlet red mustache began to appear...

Val Thundershock was also on the Glitter Ball field, assembling her team for the game to come. But then she took notice of the mysterious troll in the shadows and, like always, began to be suspicious. Who was this troll? What did they want? Were they a threat to the society that she and the other ambassadors worked hard to build up? “And my fourth first pick will be... the mysterious figure in the shadows.” She concluded, motioning to the figure. Confused, everybody turned around to look at the stranger that had been eavesdropping on their conversations. Knowing they had been spotted, the troll stepped forward and slowly took off their hood to reveal... my word! It was the seductive siren, the sultry-silked, the devilishly divine god of romance himself... Chaz Deveaux!

Chaz calmly smiled at the crowd, seemingly not alarmed at all by the fact that his cover was just blown by a keenly-eyed Val. Why should he be afraid? He knew what TrollsTopia was all about due to the fliers that Poppy had sent out a few weeks ago. This was finally his chance to find a family! People who would accept him for who he was! No more running, no more hiding, no more drowning in a sea of loneliness and resentment due to his ex-boyfriend dumping him for something that he couldn’t control. It all ended today.

The crowd gasped along with Poppy, who couldn’t believe that one of the bounty hunters whom she had encountered back when Queen Barb had her famous world tour managed to find their way into her beloved city! “Chaz? The Smooth Jazz troll?” She asked, in complete disbelief.

“That’s my name, darling.” Chaz calmly responded, raising an eyebrow in a curious manner. “Why are you so surprised? Was it not you who summoned me with this flier?” He asked, pulling out the piece of paper. Poppy gently took it from his hands, giving it a thorough read before her face lit up with glee. “Oh, you found it! I was worried that we’d have to use one of our scouts to track you down ourselves, but this is way easier! Yes, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Our city is expanding but I’ve noticed a lack in diversity of music. I was wondering if maybe... you would like to join our entourage? Come live with us in TrollsTopia, Chaz!” Poppy smiled, her eyes sparkling.

Val, extremely confused by Poppy’s optimism, got in between the two of them and looked the pink cupcake-lover in the eye. “Whoa, whoa, WHOA! Poppy, aren’t you going to tell us who this is? Where did he come from, what’s with his hair, and why does he have two tigers following him around?” She asked, motioning to the two tigers that were sitting besides Chaz.

“I am Chaz Deveaux. I’m half-Classical and half-Pop. My hair is naturally like this, but I do make my own conditioners, shampoos, and lotions out of natural ingredients such as Gigglefruit juice and Sparkle Berries. Also, when you say tigers, you mean Saturn and Jupiter? These are my pet tigers. They’re the only thing I have left of my tribe after... the war. Everybody I knew and loved was stolen from me. Everybody who was still alive, died shortly after. I’m the only survivor...” Chaz explained, tears coming to his eyes as he talked about his life story.

“Aww, you poor thing! What an ordeal...” Poppy frowned. She couldn’t believe that any troll would have to go through such a thing. Let alone a guy who was seemingly so sweet and charming on the outside.

“I’m sorry... talking about it gets me all emotional. Yes, I would love to join TrollsTopia. Wherever shall I stay? You didn’t exactly mention a Smooth Jazz section in your poster the last time I checked and while I would love to reside in Classical Crest or just stay with you Pop trolls, none of those areas properly reflect... me. I need something genuine.” Chaz mentioned, brushing a lock of his hair to the side.

“Ah, yes. We don’t really have a place like that at the moment... but thankfully, my ambassadors and I are known for acting on a whim. Give us about an hour, and we’ll surprise you!” Poppy smiled, gathering the ambassadors and leading them away.

One hour later...

Poppy led Chaz along the grassy path as carefully as she could. The former bounty Hunter was blindfolded and as shown from her experience with the Trolls’ piñata festivities, being blindfolded could pose a bit of a threat to everyday life due to the one who’s eyes are being covered losing their sense of sight and therefore not being able to see what they’re doing or where they’re stepping. “A little farther. A little farther! Listen, Chaz, it breaks our hearts that you don’t feel like you belong. So, we’ve been working on a solution! I called up Barb and asked her if we could use that tiny little beach that she was going to give you back when you were hunting us down, and she said yes! If you would just stand right here...” she said, before stretching out her arms to reveal Chaz’s new home. “TADA!”

Chaz opened his eyes and gasped, his face lighting up with nothing but pure joy at the sight of his house. It was gorgeous. A beach condo made entirely out of what seemed to be marble was waiting for him along the beautiful sands of TrollsTopia’s beach. He could see everything, including the ocean stretching over the horizon. Tears began to well up in his eyes. “Poppy... it’s- it’s beautiful. Thank you...” he whispered, smiling softly.

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet! Come on, let’s go inside!” Poppy giggled, opening the door. Once they were inside, Chaz could immediately see the luxury. A grand fireplace with a picture of him mounted over it, a soft and cuddly fur rug that was just perfect for him to swoon somebody over, comfortable plush chairs that came with built-in cup holders for the jazz troll to hold his many cups of grape wine, a grand kitchen for him to prepare his meals with only the finest ingredients (courtesy of Classical Crest), a deluxe bathroom with everything a troll needs to keep themselves tidy, and a bedroom that was all romantic-themed.

“Wow... thank you, Poppy. I know I haven’t exactly been the best to you during Queen Barb’s world tour, but I was only doing what she said because I didn’t want my music to die out! If she didn’t offer that tiny little island, I would have never even helped her in the first place!” Chaz sighed, facepalming.

“Aww, it’s ok, Chaz! You’ll always have a family here. Your days of being alone are over. Bygones are bygones. After all, my people aren’t exactly squeaky clean either. We all have our flaws. Nobody’s perfect.” Poppy comforted Chaz, giving him a hug. As he hugged back though, Poppy began to internally cringe. She didn’t REALLY believe that Chaz had changed from World Tour! How could somebody who used to EAT other trolls change in the blink of an eye?! Surely he had to be faking it!

The next day...

Chaz was a little crushed, but then he shook his head and smiled. “That’s alright... I suppose I could get used to the new paint job. It does look kind of pretty...” he laughed, trying to remain positive about the situation like he always has. He then gasped as he saw his beautiful beach littered with spray cans and other garbage. “AH! My beach...” he frowned, his heart dropping another few feet.

“Sorry, Mr. Chaz. Queen Poppy never implemented a trash disposal system, so we had no choice but to dump all of our things here. I hope you don’t mind.” Priscilla piped up, the children leaving back to their pods. After that whole mess was dealt with, Chaz decided that maybe a trip into town would make him feel better. He waved hello to any trolls that would walk by, but they all seemed... scared of him. Some would nervously wave back while others would scream and run away. He then overheard a few Classical trolls speaking to each other about Chaz’s music. “Have you ever heard anything so repulsive? Smooth jazz... what a disgrace to our genre. It’s barely a step above lounge music!” One of them said.

“Pip pip to that!” Another one agreed. “The way he obsesses over his appearance is... nasty, to put it the nicest.” A techno troll whispered. Chaz couldn’t believe it. Nobody really liked him. They were only pretending to be nice to him because Poppy said so! Now Chaz didn’t feel positive anymore. Why should he? He was in a world where it didn’t matter what he did. Everyone would always see him as a savage.

“Hey, Chaz! Are you enjoying your stay in TrollsTopia?” Poppy asked, completely oblivious to the situation. A new feeling began to bubble up in Chaz’s chest. All he could see was red. He was tired of being mistreated. It was time to fight back. “That’s it... I have had enough... enough of the stupid pranks! Enough of the mockery! AND MOST OF ALL ENOUGH OF YOU, POPPY!” Chaz growled, letting his frustration and anger merge together as his hair began flowing like a siren’s hair would when she was angry. His hair began to move like tentacles, grabbing the trolls that were around him and holding them up against a nearby rock.

“Chaz! What are you doing?!” Poppy asked, squirming in an attempt to get free. “You think I’m an idiot? I know how you guys REALLY feel about me. All I ever wanted was to be accepted. I just wanted to be loved! But you guys keep treating me like garbage... all because of something I can’t control. If you want a monster so badly, then by all that’s Trolly, I’ll be that monster!” He growled, using his hair to thrash the trolls around.

“Yo, yo, yo! I finally found the red velvet blanket, guys! Would you believe this was the last one on the shelf? What a lucky break!” Synth cheered as he walked in. He gasped, dropping his gift as he saw what was going on. “WHAT THE BARNACLES IS GOING ON HERE?!” He yelled, feeling scared and confused. Chaz turned around, smiling evilly. “Another one? No problem. I can take another.” He laughed, before he began to play his saxophone again.

Surprisingly, Synth was not affected whatsoever! “Uh... what?” He asked, tilting his head before leaning in closer to hear Chaz’s music better. But no matter how much Chaz played, Synth was simply too oblivious to be hypnotized! He smiled at him, placing his hands at his hips. “Cool music, bro! Lemme show you how I play now!” He said, a techno beat beginning to play as water shot up from the ground. Synth formed it into a gigantic water orb and shot it at Chaz, trapping the smooth jazz troll in a ball of sick beats. The ball then collapsed, sending Chaz flying into the distance. The smooth jazz troll tried to launch himself back to Synth to land a punch, but the water had made his hair unable to stretch. Saturn and Jupiter, seeing their master rocket into the sky, emerged from their hiding spots to chase after him. Synth had just saved all of TrollsTopia from Chaz’s rage.

As she caught her breath, Poppy engulfed Synth in a huge hug. “SYNTH! Thank goodness! That was amazing, how did you do that?” She asked. Her eyes lighting up with joy. “You mean that giant orb thing? Oh, I was born with those sorts of powers. I wonder why the music had no effect on me...” Synth thought, before Meadow’s shiny new flower caught his attention. “GIRL! You shine like a glowstick! I could stare at you for hours!” He laughed, swimming towards her as Poppy shook her head and smiled.

“Classic Synth...”

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of TrollsTopia, Chaz fell into an area that was surrounded by marshmallow potatoes... Marshtatoes? He groaned, dusting himself off as he looked upwards. A sinister grin illuminated in the dark, an adorably high-pitched voice ringing out in the silence. “Well hello there... what brings a handsome guy like you to a place like this?” It asked.

“Ugh, I’m glad you asked. I just got kicked out by a walking fish stick. Who are you, anyway?” Chaz asked, raising an eyebrow. From the shadows emerged the mistress of mischief herself, Marshtato Mary. “Me? Call me Mary. And you, my devilishly handsome disciple, may just be the key to helping me get my revenge on those filthy little elves.” She smiled.

“Revenge, you say? Well then...” Chaz smirked, walking closer to her.

“I’d love to join your cause.”

The End

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

#out of character #trolls world tour #trolls #trollstopia #trolls chaz #val thundershock #synth #trolls poppy #meadow spriggs #meadynth #my writing #rewrite #smooth jazz chaz #chaz trolls

[joonkorre]

its crazy late but

@drarrymicrofic prompt: blanket fort

(there’s no plot. none. just dudes being guys, guys being pals)

(caution: not very micro, more like a one shot. a whole lot of anecdotes. i’m writing this under a blanket with snow beating at my window, so of course this has to be very soft and warm. you have been warned)

“Hello?” Harry says into the dark. He’s just gotten home and instead of seeing the familiar orange hue of their beetle-shaped lamp (a gift from Luna, of course), there’s a single sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Nothing else seems to exist in the living room but the echo of Harry’s greeting. Tangerine and sage drift into his nose, followed by the bitter tang of smoke. The scent of Draco’s favorite candle, newly extinguished.

Draco just left. Discovered a breakthrough in his research and fled to the Ministry lab, maybe.

Harry sighs. Unlaces his boots and hangs up his coat absentmindedly only for it to crumple onto the floor. Another sigh. He bends and retrieves it, deciding instead to throw it in the laundry bin. Might as well; he’s been trudging around in Dayhound mucus for hours and neither his dragonhide boots nor coat were spared. 

Walking into the kitchen, Harry grabs a glass from the drying rack and pours himself water from the pitcher in the fridge. It’s ridiculous how a simple act like this can drain his energy so, but it does. Curse breaking isn’t a walk in the park; even walking hurts, considering the amount of magic he expends on shite like a 500-year-old wailing locket on a day to day basis. Exposure to different kinds of magic - dark, Old Magick, elemental, countlessly and endlessly more- for 8 hours straight more often than not result in a fierce ringing in his temples and pinpricks on his skin.

After years of doing it, he can scarcely tolerate one Portkey trip from wherever he’s assigned to back to the main headquarter before getting uncontrollable shivers. Another 30 minutes on the metro, then a 10-minute walk home. In addition, Harry has to sleep for at least 8 hours every night to replenish his energy. Morning comes, he wakes up, Apparates to the headquarter, and the cycle continues.

Why does he even stick with curse breaking at this point? Right, a wry grin graces Harry’s lips, Draco thinks the uniform is hot. Oh, and can’t forget the job benefits, insurance, whole nine yards.

With the glass now rinsed and settled once more on the drying rack, Harry drags his feet to the bedroom. The clock - an antique Draco stole from his cheating ex - hits 7:18 PM, but getting ready to go to sleep sure sounds like a decent idea. Harry palms the back of his aching neck and winces. He’d go shower, scrub the dirt and tension off his limbs, and maybe heat up the leftovers from two days-

“There you are. I was wondering how much longer drinking water could take.”

Harry looks up from his slippered feet to see Draco. Or, more specifically, Draco’s silhouette. Behind some kind of white cloth. A white cloth that’s conveniently placed where the focus of the bedroom should’ve been. 

The relief at seeing his husband evaporates.

“What,” Harry says, “where’s our bed.”

Draco’s silhouette crawls to the opening of the cloth… tent-shaped thing. Pewter grey eyes peer at him behind strands of near-platinum blonde, its icy color soothed by the orange tint of… ah, so he’s brought the bug lamp in here. Neat.

“I,” Draco answers. Pauses. “Might have brought it somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else.”

“Yes.”

Harry shakes his head. An exasperated chuckle escapes his lips.

“Is ‘somewhere else’ the recycling center?”

“Why,” Draco flops down on the floor, appearing tired of holding himself up on his elbows for more than 10 seconds. It’s peculiar to see, the gesture a bit ungraceful for someone like him. Harry is helplessly in love amused. “Do my ears deceive me? Am I being confronted, cornered, accosted for being a good husband? Were the 5 minutes it took to Shrink and Levitate the wretched old thing away from our safe haven worth your condescension, dear lover?”

“I guess I did say I hate-”

“Correct!”

“-the headboard. Nothing but the headboard. Yesterday. While I’m half asleep. Baby.”

“Oh, pish posh, I hate it too! In fact, I’m doing us both a favor disposing of the entire thing altogether.”

“God, however can I thank you? I mean, you did rid us of our bed where we sleep on.”

“You can thank me by taking off those horrid gears faster and come here,” with that, Draco crawls back to where he was sitting before.

“You love these gears,” Harry says, hanging his harnesses and tool belt in the closet and walking into the bathroom for a quick shower, “you love them against your ba-”

“Put a lock on that filthy mouth, Potter, what will the Daily Prophet think?” Draco’s yell almost drowns out the shower spray. Harry laughs, his stomach hurting for the right reason at last.

When he re-enters the bedroom, Draco is leaning out from the tent thing.

“Come, get in, get in,” he beckons with a hasty wave.

Harry points to his wet hair with the hand holding his towel. Draco clicks his tongue and waves his hand more aggressively.

His husband’s level of theatrics is directly proportional to how slow Harry is at doing what he says, so he nods, fondness overflowing, and obeys.

“What’s all this?” He crouches and crawls in, eyeing the collection of pillows and quilts surrounding Draco and what would be Harry’s seat. It seems that he had also lugged in the chairs from their dining room to provide some structural support for the tent.

“A blanket fort, lover,” Draco says, his gaze tender. Harry’s finger tips tingle with every touch of cotton, linen, silk, as he gets situated. It’s been years and years and years and years, and Harry can never get used to, can never take for granted, the weight of his husband’s undivided attention.

“Huh,” he says, sitting down with an ‘oof’, “isn’t this for kids?”

“A blanket fort is a blanket fort,” Draco takes the towel from Harry’s arm and puts the throw pillow Ron knitted in his lap. He hits a button on the laptop in front of them, and Harry’s favorite jazz collection plays. He blinks. He thought Draco would play his questionable atmospheric-white-noise-POV-you’re-having-tea-in-a-gothic-vampire-library playlist, the weirdo.

Velvety smooth sax flows through the air. Harry exhales, easy and content, and lets Draco tilt his head. He towels Harry’s hair, massaging unhurried circles on his scalp and varying the degree of pressure. In no time, his head lolls forward, eyes closed, chin a breath away from his well-worn shirt. A slender, pale hand cups his cheek and holds his head up and steady. Meanwhile, the hand’s owner leans out of the blanket fort to get something.

“Ow.” A grunt. Harry smiles; most likely a cramp from all the leaning.

Then, his husband reseats himself, this time with a smell. A mouth-watering, delicious smell, tickling the back of Harry’s nose. He opens his eyes to see Draco lifting off the lid of a ceramic bowl perched on a tray, steam floating out and fogging Harry’s glasses. It’s purple yam soup, topped with chopped up shrimp and ground beef.

“Your usual order from the Viet place nearby whenever Pepper-up isn’t sufficient,” Draco murmurs, placing a spoon in Harry’s hand, his words warm against Harry’s temple. Huh, he didn’t think Draco would notice. “You said today you’d deal with those disgusting booby traps you showed me, thus I reckoned I should put the yams on our counter into good use.”

Harry stares at the soup, stunned. Draco must have taken his expression as something else.

“Oh, right,” he says, “I heated it up on the stove, but you were taking atrociously long so I casted a Heating charm. Let me take it off, okay?”

Draco flicks his hawthorn wand, a hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder as if he could see the prickling running up Harry’s nape.

He turns to look at his husband. When Harry’s career was starting to take its toll on his magical core, Draco didn’t hesitate to dive headfirst into Muggle living. Easier said than done, and it took months for him to stop frowning at the “absolutely bizarre, Potter, bizarre” appliances, but he got there in the end. Despite his constant bitching about everything, Draco not once raised a word about the drastic switch, effortlessly guiding Narcissa to gossip about the Albescu clan’s abhorrent matriarch when she asks about how he’s faring.

“Gosh, I,” Harry says. Mumbles, really, into Draco’s collarbone, filling his brain with the woodsy aroma of potion making that no amount of expensive body products can mask, “that’s lovely, baby, thank you.”

“Eat,” Draco says, rubbing his chin on the top of Harry still-damp hair and messaging his tense neck. Harry knows he’s breathing him in too. “Or I’ll have to heat it up in the kitchen again, and forgive me but I’d rather stay here for the next 12 hours, at least.”

“Lazy arse.”

Draco laughs, a momentary rumble of his chest, then moves forward to click something on the laptop. Harry’s on his fifth spoonful of pure comfort when the jazz music stops, and on the blank wall opposite from their blanket fort is the title card of a movie. Strange, Harry didn’t even notice the mini projector. He squints.

“Why is there Korean subtitles?”

“Lover,” Draco tosses a napkin at Harry’s crossed legs, “what is watching movies online without the occasional bout of piracy?”

“Pira- piracy,” Harry chokes, the hot soup stinging his palate, “we have a Netflix subscription.”

“You can’t find shite like this on Netflix.”

“Of course we can. Baby, we don’t know anyone who’s good at computer stuff and can deal with the viruses.”

“There’s no virus here, I checked.”

“How,” Harry stresses, “and again, piracy.”

“Sometimes,” Draco says, lowering the speaker volume, “not doing crimes… is worse.”

“What the fuck,” the main character, a square-faced woman with a python around her neck, has a monologue in a completely different language. “What the fuck? Is that Italian?”

“Yes, but I’m French.”

“And?”

“And they’re both Romance languages. I can understand certain words and translate it for you.”

No, he can’t.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Keep eating,” Draco settles amid the pillows, long hair settled on his satin-clad chest, white against emerald. Harry sneers at him - an unfortunate habit he’s gotten from Draco - and turns to watch the movie.

True to his words, Draco translates every dialogue and mimics the characters’ voices with zeal, contradicting his stoic expression and somber, interlaced hands, looking like a cranky judge having to deal with reckless teenagers on their anti-authority phase. Harry can tell that he doesn’t understand a thing, and soon enough he’s woven a story about how the thriller-mystery they’re watching is actually a vicious custody battle over a duck. For each of Harry’s occasional snicker at the absurdity Draco has thought up is a playful kick at his ribs.

Minutes pass. With Harry’s bowl now emptied, he puts it on a chair and goes to wash up. 

The moment he sits back down, Draco’s big toe pokes at his spine. Getting the memo, Harry grins and reclines on the pillows. His left side is flushed against Draco’s right, the kinks in his neck eased off from the angle. They, as per usual, gradually get closer to one another, and at some point, Draco lays his head on Harry’s chest and ear on his beating heart. It’s calming to him, Draco had said when Harry asked, on the third night of their honeymoon. With the war long behind them, there was nothing to fear. Only the constellations existed as their witnesses.

“You died, Harry,” he had whispered, full and tipsy. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, despite all the shite I made you go through.

“You were so far away in Hagrid’s arms, I couldn’t see your face,” the night had been blinding, but his eyes had found Draco’s anyway. “It felt like my heart died with you.”

Harry had kissed his forehead and hugged him close. His heart had always been there for Draco to take.

“What’s up with the blanket fort?”

He has a lapful of Draco, a lungful of peach and cedar scented shampoo, and the sleepy timbre of his husband’s voice against his chest. The Italian movie is the last thing on Harry’s mind. 

“I wasn’t aware of its existence growing up,” Draco says. “Having anything other than an immaculate bed when one wasn’t sleeping was uncouth, see, so you could imagine my surprise when Teddy demanded to play in something as messy as a fort so often.”

Harry doesn’t need to imagine it; he had witnessed it himself. Draco, freshly released from a two-year sentence in Azkaban, mellowed and tentative, yet determined to reconnect with his mother’s sister and his nephew. Harry had been wary too, standing in the corner of Teddy’s bedroom, staring at the fuzz of blonde on Draco’s shorn head and his weak gait. Teddy, the darling boy with his clumsy hold on Draco’s thigh, afraid that the haggard man would trip without help, had led him to his play area.

“Fort, fort,” the boy had screamed in Draco’s ear, but he hadn’t flinched. He had nodded and gone along with Teddy’s babbled directions, then sat back on his heels and fixed a wide-eyed stare at the monstrosity Teddy had called a fort (his designing skills were, unsurprisingly, underdeveloped at the mere age of two). 

Swiveling his head, he had gawked at Harry, who had still been standing in the corner with his arms crossed, confusion and hysteria in the arch of his aristocratic brows.

It had been the first time he had looked at Harry in the eye for years. In seconds, it was 6th Year all over again, with him watching Draco pushing his food around with a fork from across the room, unable to look away. Obsession, a voice unlike Hermione’s helpfully defined, had slithered up and under his skin. It had remained there for years, stubborn and ardent, an emotion he had tried to leave behind time and time again. He’d never succeeded.

It’s Draco, after all.

“He never let anyone but him enter the fort, remember? Back when he’s still making us build it for him?” Draco’s fingers tap a random rhythm on Harry’s stomach. Harry tightens his arm around him, shifts a bit. “So many forts and I still didn’t know what it’s like to be in one.”

Somebody downs a shot in the movie. Harry doesn’t quite register it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a proper one either until now. Didn’t have enough space in the cupboard. Plus, the hanging around the beds at Hogwarts felt pretty cozy by themselves.”

Draco hums. “Mhmm, I say. Another ‘first’ for us.”

Harry glances at the crown of his head. The man doesn’t sound surprised; Harry wagers that he already knows and decided to make one for the both of them today.

They continue to watch the movie in silence, whites and blues and purples flooding his sight, until Draco yawns and Harry blinks his eyes shut for far too long.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Where, then? We have no bed.”

“I still maintain that I made the right choice”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so rash for an academic.”

“Well, in my professional opinion, sleeping in a blanket fort every blue moon does wonders for one’s quality of sleep,” Draco gets up on his elbow to smirk at Harry, “we can look at other beds tomorrow, can’t we? Now hush. Rest.”

“Ha,” Harry says, at least 5 more words to follow up on that just on the tip of his tongue. But then Draco runs a gentle hand through Harry’s hair, taking his time with it, the remaining hints of Harry’s migraine from work fading with every curl of hair carefully unknotted. He mumbles this and that, silly, insignificant things, engrossed in his task, and Harry listens carefully as his eyelids lower.

Draco takes off his gold-rimmed glasses (so sweet and soft Harry can barely feel it), cleans them and puts them on a chair. Through half-lidded eyes, Harry watches him cover them both with a quilt and return to Harry’s chest, curling up like a cat. Draco’s arm is around his midriff, peach and cedar pervading his senses anew, and Harry forgets whatever he was going to say.

Cold ankles pressed against bare calves, Harry is already deep asleep when the credits roll.

#drarry #drarrymicrofic #drarry fic #fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #blanket fort #oneshot #3k words #draco would be the type to get mushy mushy in private and call harry shit like lover darling my love #harry would say draco baby and babe everywhere #thats it hes uncreative like that #and draco wouldnt even care #both of their love languages are acts of service so draco doesnt need reassuring when he knows harry would burn cities for him #they love each other very ardently that simple gestures communicate entire sonnets #and theyre cool with that #good for them #joonkorre writes

[cherryplasmids]

☆ opportunities ☆

pairing: nick jakoby x reader fandom: bright—after movie sequence anon request: You could write anything about Nick Jakoby , especially something sexy , and I would be super happy!! 😈😈 notes: NSFW (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)  (this is my second smut piece, my first with a male character so please don’t roast me for this)

—check out my other works; masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

           After another tiring day filled with paperwork, one arrest, and nasty insults, Nick just about had it. Even after he saved the world (along with Ward), the working conditions within the Los Angeles Police Department remained the same. Day in and day out, he's being overlooked for serious cases to do intern filing. The harassment has dwindled a tad bit since Pollard had been disposed of, but Nick still feels the suppression by his peers and superiors. No matter what he does, it'll never be enough.

The only good thing about being the only Orc is the fact that he can do nightly patrols alone. He can listen to smooth jazz or orcish metal without Ward bugging him about it. The thoughts swirling in his head can be sifted through in quiet. There's plenty of endless opportunities he can grasp onto during night patrols.

One of those opportunities is the chance to speak to you without Ward pestering him to hurry up. No, the nighttime allowed Nick to savor a few, undisturbed moments with you before he clocks out.

By the time Nick pulls up to the bodega you work in, it's a downpour with thunder in the background. Surprisingly, the usual shining yellow lights are completely out and the front of the store is closed up. Nick looks down at the dashboard where the red digital clock shines: 11:37 pm. His forehead furrows. The bodega's closing time is 1 am, not 11 pm. It's odd and a bit saddening. Nick deflates at the missed opportunity to see your gorgeous smile. Even more so when he realizes he has tomorrow off.

He'll wait for the next chance.

Putting on the windshield on the fastest mode, Nick peels out of the sidewalk and continues his patrol. He has less than half an hour left on his shift. He'll make the best of it by driving slow since the usual bodies walking the streets were gone to avoid being drenched. The thunder calmed his sadness as he drove. However, he noticed someone walking the streets. Ward's voice automatically rang through his brain, ‘don't be too nice, it only causes problems.’

But when did Nick ever truly listen to Ward's negativity? No, he wasn't going to let someone potentially get pneumonia. So he pulls over to the shaking figure whose umbrella is practically broken. It doesn't shield the person from the rain at all.

Nick rolls down the window. "Excuse me!" The person halts and turns to him. He can't see who they are through the blankets of rain. "Would you like a ride? Can't have you getting sick."

Their head frantically nods before bolting inside his vehicle. Instead of sitting in the backseat, they slide into the front with him. "Nick, you are my guardian angel."

At the voice, Nick freezes. He knows it better than he knows most protocols for his job. Like a bee flocking to fresh flowers after a rainy day, he constantly attempts to be around that voice for rejuvenation. But that only happens when he's prepared to see you. He needs to hype himself up before speaking to you. After he saw the bodega closed, the energy simmered down to calmness. Now, he's anxious because the pep talk motivation is all gone. He knows he'll just make a right fool of himself in front of you.

You begin to shed your soaked jacket and the cardigan underneath before throwing them on the car floor along with your side purse. After squeezing out the excess water from your hair, you turn to greet Nick with a smile. It takes a lot of willpower for Nick not to stare at your hardened nipples.

"Hey," His voice cracks and he wants to die. "What were you doing walking in this storm?"

You dramatically threw yourself on the backrest before huffing. "Fernando told me to head home early because of the rain, but he fucking forgot to pick me up. Talking about being busy and shit. We all know he's too busy fucking Maria. I wanted to call Daryl but it's practically midnight and I know he would drag me through the wringer if I dared to bother him. Then, I was like," You gasp, "I can always count on his really cute but shy partner." You give Nick a sly look and he looks away bashfully. To keep himself occupied, he begins driving away. "But I realized that he never gave me his number so I just decided to walk instead."

Nick never knows how to respond to your teasing or flirting. The suave style his inner self tries to hype him with never sees the light of day. Instead, it's replaced with stuttering. "I drove by the store." Again his voice cracks, so he says it again. "To look for you. I mean to get a red-Redbull."

The expression on your face lets him know that you definitely heard what he said. "You do that often, you know?" He looks at you expectantly while making a right turn. "I thought in the beginning when I would flirt with you, that it was one-sided. You always look so damn uncomfortable. But then, Daryl tells me sometimes when you don't have the night shift, that you still pull up to the Fernando's at midnight. I thought to myself, why would Nick do that if he obviously doesn't like me?" You snap your fingers. "But then I started noticing the little glances you threw at me, the little compliments, and the adorable flush of dark blue on your skin. I knew right then and there that the feelings are definitely mutual.

"And yet, you never make a move." You sigh and mumble an "I don't get it."

This is the most conversation Nick has ever had with you and of course, he's fucking nervous. Inner Nick never prepared him for such a conversation. At this point, he just wants to jump out of the car and jog to the police station. He'll make an elaborate story about how he got hijacked by a gang. Yeah, he'll get more ridicule for it, but he doesn't care. As if sensing his dilemma, you reach over, grab his arm and tell him to drive a different way to your house. He doesn't question it but he's confused by the time he drives into deserted dirt-covered land. He turns to ask you about it, but the smolder you give shuts him up. Your hand returns to his bicep and it flexes underneath your fingers. After feeling his muscles for a bit, your hand travels to hold his chin. He watches you carefully, lips parted and eyes wide.

"Tell me what you want."

Nick stutters for a moment, unable to comprehend the situation. Is this a dream? It has to be. In this reality or any other alternate realities, you would not be sending out such delicious pheromones directed at him. Pants tightening and hands sweaty, Nick whispers his desires. He needs you now before he explodes.

You smile sweetly before leaning over and pressing a searing kiss on his lips. As soon as it connects, Nick is moaning as if you'd already sucked him off. A little pride swells in your chest. While your working on his lips, your other hand moves down to rub his bulge, eliciting even more moans. It's making you extremely hot. So, you move away from him and take your shirt off, leaving your bra-less chest hanging out. Eyes wide, Nick looks around frantically.

"We can't—" You cut him off with another kiss to his lips.

"Do you trust me?" He nods eagerly. "Then trust me when I say no one comes here. Now let's take this to the back, shall we?"

After quickly going from the front seat to the back while trying to stay as dry as possible, you pounce on Nick, hands roaming his broad chest while he tentatively moves his hands to cup your ass. A low moan comes from you and in turn, Nick grabs them harder. His lips begin to trail down your neck as you're grinding on his restricted cock.

You're chanting for Nick to fuck you already. Words like 'please', 'fuck me', and 'oh god' fill the air alongside low growls from Nick. Eventually, he's had enough with heavy petting and decides to let himself go. You barely get a chance to see his cock before he's ripping a hole in your leggings, moving your panties, and inserting himself within you. A loud gasp emits from your lips as you try to grind yourself down some more. But you can't.

No, Nick is in charge.

His powerful thighs give him the leverage to pound into you at unknown speeds. You once even said faster, and your boy complied swiftly. His hands grab your hips hard, using you as a rag-doll as his rhythm picks up and you're getting fucked to the point your seeing stars. There's drool seeping out of your opened mouth and Nick takes it as a chance to lick it up before digging his dull tusks into your neck. As soon as he does, the Big Bang happens behind your vision, the built orgasm just exploding.

Despite this, Nick continues. Your pussy is oversensitive but you don't tell him to stop because he hasn't gotten his fill yet. But you know you're going to orgasm again before he does. Not even a minute later, you do. At this point your begging Nick to finish. You begin to kiss his neck, searching for his sensitive spot. When you do, you suck on it as if your life depends on it. That does it for him.

A deep, loud orc growl emits from him as he says "Fuck!" Within seconds later, he's spilling his cum into you. It takes a moment for him to fully finish, but even after he's done, he still holds you.

"Oh, Nick." You breathily moan as you peel yourself off of him. Looking down, you find his uniform pants completely ruined—your juices mixed with his cum smearing his entire right pant leg. "We made such a mess."

Nick shyly smiles, his chest still moving at a rapid pace. "Sorry,"

Shaking your head, you lean forward into him and press a kiss on his sweaty collarbone. "You know how you can make it up to me?" He hums and closes his eyes, savoring your gentle touches. "By taking me to dinner and maybe, just maybe, making me your girlfriend."

His eyes snap open to watch your expression for a moment. A soft smile adorns your swollen lips, eyes on the verge of closing, and face devoid of any worries. His heart feels full of adoration, knowing that he wants to have you in his arms for as long as he can.

Without replying, Nick presses a kiss on your forehead, hoping that action alone can convey everything he wants to say.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 1,823 published: april 7, 2020 edited: n/a

#nick jakoby #nick jakoby x reader #nick jakoby imagine #bright #bright movie #bright imagines #bright fanfiction #bright x reader #orc boyfriend #Orc x Human #orc x reader #exophilia #exophilia x reader #monster boyfriend #x reader #imagines #fanfiction #nick jakoby fanficiton #dragonglassx

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter two: you’re all i’ve got tonight

“i don't care if you hurt me some more, i don't care if you even the score. you can knock me and i don't care, and you can mock me and i don't care, and you can rock me just about anywhere, it's alright.” -”you’re all i’ve got tonight”, the cars

Bill wasn't necessarily cruel to her, albeit not from how Sam saw her parents and the way in which they communicated with one another during the mornings when she was growing up, and given she hardly saw him during the week except in the mornings and in the evening; however he seemed on the verge of cruel to Matilda and Cassandra. The first morning Sam spent the night there at the house, following Marla's departure and her realization that she was alone there in Lake Elsinore, she sauntered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a bite of breakfast prior to their leaving for school and Bill about to head off somewhere outside of the house—and he never said where he was headed either—no sooner had she sat down in the chair when Mattie stopped her.

“We eat in the dining room,” she told her in a flat tone of voice.

“Really? When I was growing up here in Elsinore and then up in Reno, my parents and I always had breakfast in the kitchen before school.” Mattie shook her head at that. Sam frowned but she figured it was for the best regardless of what she dealt with as a kid. She picked up her coffee and her bowl of cereal and took her spot there near the end of the table in the next room over.

“I sit there,” Mattie told her, still in a flat voice. She moved over one. “Cassie sits there.”

Careful not to let her see her rolling her eyes, Sam took her spot right across the table from her. Soon Cassie came in the room, already completely dressed for the day. Indeed, Mattie was fully dressed herself. They merely sat there as well with their hands in their laps, while Sam had one hand on her spoon and another hand on her cup of coffee, still in her pajamas and with her hair unbrushed. They sat there and watched her.

Within time, Bill stepped in the room with two bowls of what Sam initially believed to be cereal and he set them down before them. She looked over at the tops of their bowls, at the plain oatmeal inside. It wasn't even oatmeal, just porridge.

The times in which she had oatmeal at her parents' house, Ruben always sprinkled some brown sugar or fresh blueberries on the top. But that was plain porridge as far as she could tell. Moreover, all three of them moved in robotic fashion, especially those two girls. They moved like clockwork to the dining room table there downstairs and they even ate their porridge in unison, to the point it made Sam squirm in her seat.

Even with her parents' marriage about to crumble apart four hundred miles away, all of her memories of the mornings before school consisted of having breakfast and watching cartoons, especially when she was their age. They were tiny adults as far as she could tell, but even as an adult herself, she knew they were lodged in a whole other world different from her. She drank down the rest of her soy milk.

“Don't you want to like—put some sugar on those oats, or something?” Sam wondered aloud.

“Why?” he asked.

“Plain oats in a bowl of water can't be very appetizing. When I was a kid, and on the mornings I had oatmeal, my dad always jazzed it up with brown sugar or fruit because he knew that there's no way it can be good for a kid.”

“But they are. These oats are inexpensive, but sugar is—forget it with brown sugar. I had to bust out a whole five dollars for a bag of that stuff just to satisfy your request for a cup of coffee. Same with the soy milk. I always look out for good deals, even with indulgences such as that. No way I'm wasting fruit on that, either. Cutting it up into pieces and then disposing of the rinds and the cores like that when they could be put to good use? Forget it.” She frowned at that. It seemed so strange to her; she remembered that Joey was rather thrifty himself, but he always managed to find a way to make things enjoyable with her. They had a strong bond to boot as well.

“How's the coffee?” Bill curtly asked her.

“Delicious. Nice and warm.” But then again, it missed something. The kiss of cream was perfect for her, but it lacked something within. She took another sip to wash down the soy milk and the rest of the cereal, and she stopped right in her tracks when Mattie and Cassie took another bite of porridge in unison. It made her shudder right in her seat, and she picked up her cup so she could go into the other room.

“Where are you going?” Bill asked her, still in a brusque tone of voice.

“I'm just—I'm just—” She could hardly speak.

“No, you sit at the table and finish your coffee. First off, it was expensive, as was that bottle of cream in there. The bag of coffee was five bucks, and the cream was two.” Sam almost burst out laughing at that; there was her answer to that. “Second, there's that nice carpet in the living room—you're not spilling coffee on that.”

“I won't?” she said with a raise of her eyebrow. He folded his arms across his chest at that and she stayed still there. All the times she had stood up for herself, and when Lars told her to do so that one time given the nature of her very name. She climbed off of the chair and she walked towards the kitchen doorway, when he stepped right before her, still with his arms folded across his chest.

“You're a rebellious little thing, aren't you?”

“Bill, this isn't school,” she scoffed as she adjusted one of the straps of her camisole. He shook his head at that.

“Not in front of the girls, please,” he told her without moving a muscle.

“They're just tiny adults!” she pointed out with a gesture back to the two little girls at the table, both of whom still moved in robotic fashion. “Look at them!”

“They're children,” he insisted and he never raised his voice for a second.

“They don't act like children,” she argued.

“Sit down,” he commanded, and he never flinched for a moment when he said that.

“Why?”

“Sit down.”

“No.”

“Sit down or I take your coffee.”

“Take it then,” she scoffed and she handed him the cup, and she stormed past him into the kitchen. She needn't drink down that cheap coffee, anyways. She needed to get away from those creepy children.

“You splurge on those type of crackers again, I'm locking you in your room,” he called after her, to which she whirled around and gaped at him.

“What?” She couldn't resist chuckling at that.

“Yes. I am locking in your room if you splurge on cheese crackers like that again.”

“I got those for them!” she insisted, “and what do you—” She laughed at that. “What the hell do you even mean by 'splurge'? They were like a buck fifty! Not even that! They were like seventy five cents each.” And he shook his head.

“By the way, you owe me a new glass.”

“By the way, how 'bout you buy your own damn glass,” she retorted, and he lunged for her right then. He never grabbed her but he did stop her right in her tracks by his mere presence.

“Don't you dare curse at me again, young lady, or I'm really locking you in your room. You're never leaving this house if you curse at me again.”

“Like you would,” she persisted. “Like you would do such a thing to your precious star student.”

“I would,” he persisted himself, and with a cold look on his face. She trembled a bit, much like when she scolded at Aurora back on New Year's Eve. The sole exception was that she didn't have the safety net of the telephone and a restaurant in Ithaca around her.

“I most certainly would,” he repeated her. She sighed through her nose, and then she realized where she had moved to: they may as well have been in arm's reach.

“By the way, I should tell you that I have friends nearby who might to want to come over at some point,” she said in a single breath.

“In fact I might as well just do it now,” he replied to that.

“Why?” she demanded, but he never replied to her. “Why, Bill? Why?”

Instead, he almost bumped her with his chest from his standing so close right before her. She staggered back. He kept on moving closer to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted all manner of recyclables stashed away in the corner of the laundry room. The man did not throw anything away.

“Why!” she yelped.

“Get upstairs now. Or I'm tying you up while I'm at it.” Sam fixed her straps once more.

“Do you want to see your precious friends again? Get upstairs.” He downed the rest of her coffee right then and there. He held the cup right before his chest even though Sam could clearly see on his face that he hated it. Fuming, she stalked back upstairs to the loft.

“Fucking sack of shit,” she said aloud as she closed the door right behind her; the joke would be on him, anyways, because the door opened into the room. She returned to the dresser on the other side of the room, right next to her bed, and she picked up her hair brush. The way in which her hair moved through the bristles made her think of Rapunzel.

If her hair grew long enough, to well past her waist, she could in fact hone her in at any given moment in the future. She need not dye her hair blonde, however, but she could in fact behave like Rapunzel. She pictured Testament outside, down on the lawn, and with Joey right before them as well, complete with the guitar before his body. He sang to her to let down her hair: given the very nature of his voice, she knew she could hear him from afar, from thirty feet off of the ground.

She stood there before the dresser when the warm summer breeze blew in through the window next to her.

The very start of August, almost time for the Santa Ana winds, or the Diablo winds as they were referred to up in the northern half of the state, when things were dry as a set of bones and easily set on fire despite the cold piercing feeling of it all. She returned to the thought of Joey, her prince who had come to save her from the tower, from the house upon the windy moors.

She turned her head again and she wondered if Bill would in fact seal her door shut at any given moment. It felt beyond reason, especially given he fretted about buying a bag of crackers for one of his own children: there was no way he would do such a thing, not with her being his supposed star student, unless he was genuinely cruel at heart.

She brushed her hair once more before she turned to the door once again and propped it open.

No way he could do it now: she was alone up there anyway. She left it open as she took her spot at the desk and began on a brand new drawing for herself.

That very thought of Joey down on the grass, with Testament right behind him. Or rather, she figured she would draw Joey solo.

She was near the Los Angeles area again. Somehow, she had to make her way there, and it wasn't until she and Chuck ran into each other at the supermarket when she made a mental note to ask him and Tiffany to take her to an art shop when they swung by the house in the next week. She also made a note to call up Marla again when things became quiet again at the house.

But things remained rather quiet downstairs all the while, such that she had no clue as to whether the girls left for school already and Bill had left the house as well. She waited until the winds picked up some more before she headed on back downstairs to the kitchen for some more cheap coffee.

Regardless of it being cheap, she brewed herself a new cup with a little kiss of cream. She yearned to have coffee with Joey again, and she yearned to have coffee with Alex at some point. So much more to that boy than she had originally assumed before, and she was about to see more of him when the time came. Something behind that cool demeanor and she wished to see it as she stood at the kitchen sink and she sipped on her cup.

Every day since Sam saw Chuck at the supermarket, and given school had already started despite the very heart of summer, for the whole five days a week, she always took to the desk in her room. Whenever she opened her drawer for one of her pencils, she always saw that piece of rice paper at the very bottom. Every so often, and careful not to damage the delicate nature of the paper, she slipped it out of the bottom for a better look at Alex's signature and his handwriting.

Almost three years she had had this piece of paper with her and it felt like a whole eternity ago back to the time Cliff was alive.

When she could make her way up to the San Francisco Bay Area to visit that field again, just to get a sense of his presence, to feel the mere memory of it all again even with his body incinerated and cast about that grass, was a whole other question. Metallica themselves were still up there, as far as she knew anyway. Meanwhile, she had no real means of driving up there, and she held out the hope that something would crop up and serve as her ticket out of there.

At one point, on Friday afternoon, she had considered calling up Marla again to find out if she had landed something at the school. But then again, if she did, then Bill would have said something to her about money. But then again, he kept the whole thing to himself. In the meantime, she wondered what she could wear that night when they came to pick her up the next week. Indeed, she wondered how they would even come to the house as well, given Bill dismissed the whole thing on that first morning.

She hoped to see Chuck again at some point between that day and the next Friday as she made her way down the block to the supermarket again for another sandwich and some better coffee. She had her own money to herself but she could see how Bill fretted about that sort of thing.

Every time she broke even with a dollar, she pocketed the change. There had to be something more to the house, however: if there were all manner of old books there, there had to be something more, like an empty jar given how much he worried about money and ridding of things. Or so she figured if that first morning was anything to go by.

When she returned to the house and she made her way back upstairs, she thought about that night in the following week. She recalled that Bill never replied to her suggestion that friends could come over when they so felt like it, and thus she could only assume that he disallowed it.

Or perhaps he did allow it, however he never said anything, much like how he never said anything about what carried importance such as money. She set down her things and then doubled back down the stairs for the cordless phone, and she returned once more up the stairs for Chuck's number. She sat down at her desk and she dialed it; at the same time, she had no idea if he was even home back up in the Bay Area.

And yet, it didn't even ring once.

“Hello, hello?”

“Hey, Chuck, it's Sam.”

“Oh, hey! I was just thinking 'bout you, um—hang on a second—”

“Sure, sure.”

He disappeared and in his wake, a hissing noise emerged on his end, such that it made her move the phone back from her ear.

“Yeah, just like that,” he said in the background, and someone behind him chuckled. He returned to the phone right then. “Sorry—I'm making chorizo for Alex, Greg, and Louie right now. Complete with homemade tortillas, too.”

“Oh, my god, that sounds so delicious.”

Someone behind him said something.

“It's Miss Samantha,” he told them.

“Hi, Sam!” Greg shouted in the background.

“Hey, Sam!” Louie chimed in.

“Hi, Samantha!” Alex followed suit in that big voice.

“They all say 'hi'.”

“Hi, fellas!” she said, and she couldn't resist the smile on her face.

“Hi, fellas,” he echoed her, and they both laughed out loud. There was a metallic clink and then he returned to her again. “Anyways, how's it going?”

“Um—listen about the Death Angel show next week—you guys might hell of a time getting here.”

“Why's that?”

“Um—are they right behind you?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you guys keep a secret?”

“I can.” He turned his attention to the three of them again. “Can you guys keep a secret between all of you?”

“I can,” said Alex.

“Yeah, I can, too.” The sound of Louie's voice made her think of what he told her about Zelda in the hotel room. The secret was out of the bag as well, and she wondered if Louie even could keep a secret as dire as that from someone, anyone, especially if that someone was Joey.

“I'll try to,” Greg confessed.

“D'you get all that?” Chuck asked her.

“Yeah.”

“Wish we had like a speaker or something to hook the phone up to,” she heard Greg say, and Louie laughed out loud at that.

“Okay, so. It's not complicated, but my counselor—whom I came out here with for my senior project—apparently—kinda—sorta—married me.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. When Marla and I came out here earlier this week, he made me sign some things, and they were like concealed so I couldn't see what they were, and apparently they were nuptial papers.”

“Oh, my god—is he even allowed to do that?”

“What is it?” Greg inquired from the background.

“When she and Marla came out here the other day, her counselor made her sign some papers and they were apparently for marriage. Like he duped her into it.”

“Is that even legal?” she heard Alex ask him.

“I dunno,” Chuck confessed, “doesn't sound legal.” And then he returned to her. “So what does have to do with the show?”

“He is so—cheap and controlling.”

“The dude's a control freak,” he told them.

“Total control freak,” she corrected him.

“Total control freak,” he echoed her.

“He actually threatened to bar me in my room!” she exclaimed.

“He actually threatened—wait, what?”

“Yeah! He threatened to seal me in my room if I spend money on certain things.”

“The guy actually threatened to lock her in her room if she even so much as spends money,” he relayed back to them.

“What the actual fuck,” Louie blurted out.

“Yeah, I don't get it, either,” she confessed. “I tried to stand up to him—”

“She tried to stand up to him,” he relayed it back to them.

“—and he like bullied me into submission. Like—literally backed me into a corner.”

“Just totally backed her into a corner.”

“God,” one of them muttered in the background.

“I kind of worry about you guys coming over here, to be perfectly honest.” She sighed through her nose and bowed her head a little bit. It was the truth: she didn't know if they could in fact break through to him, that is if they could. There was another metallic clink, followed by another loud hiss of the chorizo in the frying pan, and then it went away.

“Off the heat, boys,” Chuck told them, and then he returned to the phone again. “You said he's cheap, too?”

“Like, really cheap,” she replied. “I spent a dollar fifty on a couple of little bags of crackers for his two daughters and he yelled at me for that.”

Silence on their end.

“Chuck?” she asked him. “Are you there?”

“Sam, I will swim in that lake and burrow under the house if I have to,” he vowed.

“No, don't do that,” she told him. “Don't, Chuck. Please don't.”

“No, he's gonna be dealing with a guy who rides big bikes in his spare time,” he continued.

“Most badass—” Alex cleared his throat and then he leaned in closer to the phone. “Chuck is the most badass Native American since Sitting Bull. Mark my words, Samantha.”

“Uh, yeah, what he said,” Chuck quipped. “That sick bastard's not going to want to mess with me. I'm sure he wouldn't mess with Joey, either. Mr. Hockey Player. Hockey player who knows how to fight dirty.”

The mention of Joey's name made her close her eyes. She had only been away from New York for less than a week and yet she missed him so much, as if he had slipped through her fingers like grains of sand.

“Sam?” he asked her.

“I'm still here.”

“By the way, why does she wanna swear us to secrecy?” Greg called from the background.

“Yeah, why are we sworn to secrecy about it?” Chuck asked her.

“I don't want Joey to worry about it,” she told him.

“She doesn't want Joey to worry about her.”

“He should probably know about that sort of thing, though,” Louie pointed out from behind him. “You know, her being his girl and everything.”

“I don't know, to be honest,” Sam confessed, and she had to stop herself from laughing at that sentiment. “I'd rather he'd just miss me.”

“D'you hear that absolute statement, Lou?” Chuck asked with a bit of a snicker.

“I did, yeah.” Sam thought about Louie, and she knew that she had to call up Zelda at some point as well. Marla did advise her to call either of them in any instance whatsoever.

“Besides, Joey has enough to worry about, I would think,” she pointed out.

“Oh, yeah, he definitely does,” Chuck answered to that, “Anthrax are in the studio right now. Or—no. They went on tour—just yesterday, actually. Brand new tour, too! But—it would make sense, though. But—you want us to keep it all under wraps, though. So we gotta honor that wish.”

“Yeah, I won't tell a soul,” Alex promised from the background, and she remembered that he didn't really have anyone to talk to about that sort of thing anyway.

“I still want to come along to the show, though,” she insisted. “You know, I wanna see Death Angel, and I wanna see you guys, though.”

“She still wants to come along with me and Tiff to the show,” Chuck echoed her. “By the way, you coming with us, Alex?”

“Yeah, I might as well. Don't really have anything better to do at the moment except sit on my butt and read.”

“Don't blame her,” Greg said, “I don't blame her one bit. I'm coming along, too.”

“I don't, either!” Chuck proclaimed. “She wants to get away from that mother fucker and out of that damn house.” He then returned to her. “We'll figure out how to get you out of there,” he promised her.

“I can always do a Rapunzel sort of thing,” she suggested, “like let down a rope of sorts and climb out the window.”

He laughed out loud at that. A big hearty laugh that made her smile in response.

“I dunno if push will come to shove in that instance, but we'll figure something out, though.”

“Enjoy that chorizo, by the way!” she declared; ever so faintly, she heard the front door open.

“Oh, they are,” Chuck assured her, “especially Alex. A little too well, might I add.”

“This is damn good, though,” Alex insisted in a muffled voice.

“Before I go,” Sam started again, “you mentioned Anthrax are doing a brand new tour and a new album soon?”

“Yeah! Uh—State of Euphoria, I think it's called.”

“I like that,” she told him, and she smiled again, that time out of a time gone by her. “When's it coming out?”

“September, I think? I'll have to ask Charlie the next time I see him.”

“Anyways, I gotta go,” she told him.

“Okay—we'll come and get you Friday night. Don't know how but we're gonna do it, though.”

“Gonna get you away from that pig,” Alex called from the background.

“What he said!” Chuck said again. “You be careful until then, little Sammich.”

“Yeah, you guys have a good weekend.”

They hung up at the same time, and it was right then, she had no clue what was about to go down that weekend. She sighed through her nose as the silence fell over the bottom floor. The door propped open and she couldn't hear anything what was going on down there. She stood to her feet but she lingered there by the chair. She listened closely to the silence from downstairs.

It was tempting. It was tempting to walk out of her room and listen to what was being said down there, in the softest of voices.

And she bought into the temptation to an extent.

She stood within the doorway and she turned her head to the side to better hear them. All the shows she had gone to in the past never damaged her ears as much as the silence from downstairs, silence penetrated only by the intermittent soft voices of two small girls. The noise never damaged her ears, anyway, given she always wore ear plugs.

Careful not to make any more noise, she crept over to the top of the stairs and she stood there with her back to the wall. Mattie and Cassie's voices echoed up the first stairwell from downstairs. She wished to see what they were doing there at the very bottom floor. But she had no idea as to how to do such a thing without jarring them for even one second.

She closed her eyes and she pictured Chuck, Alex, Greg, and Louie in a small warm kitchen up in the Bay Area somewhere, all congregated around a small table and with plates of fresh spicy chorizo and homemade flour tortillas rested upon their laps. So simple, and yet she wondered how those little girls down below would react to it.

She thought about Alex and his cold stone face, the way he was so mature despite his youthful age and the gray streak on his head only added to it. She was able to crack through to him a bit, but these two girls felt like a challenge, especially with Bill never too far away from there as well.

Sam thought about her first weekend there, given they had started school so early.

Then she heard one of the two girls mutter, “Amen.”

She opened her eyes at the sound of that. They had come home and whispered a lengthy prayer. She never saw a cross anywhere in that house.

Alex's parents may have been non traditional Jewish but he wore a yarmulke and a Star of David once in a while: they probably celebrated Hanukkah and Rosh Hashanah to boot, too. But to hear that word only brought up more questions about this little family here before her.

The front door opened again.

“Hello, father,” one of them said in a flat voice. If it was Sam and Ruben, she would've been overjoyed to see him at the front door.

“Hello, girls,” Bill greeted them; his voice floated up such that if Sam moved a little closer to the railing down below, he probably would have seen her. But she moved forward a little bit, and she made out the sight of his blond hair near the front door. “Did you say your prayers?”

“Yes.”

“Did you read your scripture?”

There was that one instance during Anthrax's tour of New York City the year before, that morning where those women who walked by her and Zelda and they called their music Satanic as they kept on walking. Indeed, come the next Friday, she was about to see a band called Death Angel with three guys from a band called Testament; the only thing to make it even more potent was to have Exodus there with them as well. She squirmed in her spot there on the stairs and her stomach turned at that thought.

“Have you done your homework yet?”

Sam frowned at that.

“They're elementary school age,” she muttered. “Why would they have homework?”

One of the girls said something that she couldn't hear.

“Well, remember, the Lord is always on your side, especially on the bus rides to the school.”

And then it dawned on her. They started school so early because they went to a religious private one rather than a public, and ultimately free, one. No wonder he was so stingy with money!

She began to wonder if Marla had said anything to the people at the school about his still being on the payroll. If she did, then he would be removed from it.

And then he would lose his money and his sole income as far as she knew. Therein lay his reason for why he was so cheap. It worried him so that he was willing to become cruel to Sam herself. The whole thought made her heart hammer inside of her chest, and yet she couldn't speak to him about that sort of thing. He forbade her from speaking about it.

Instead, she ducked back into her room and she clasped her hands to her head. She didn't know what to say right then, either, and Chuck, Alex, Greg, and Louie already had it out for the guy, too, after his threat to seal her away in her room. Add to this, she knew that there was no way she could feel okay with his being cruel to her, either.

All she could do was wait out the weekend and maintain an appearance to herself. If something happened at the school, surely it would remain a secret as well.

“Miss Shelley?” he called from the second floor, such that it jarred her, and she dropped the cordless phone. She scooped it up and she stuck it under her mattress.

“Are you home?”

“Yes!” she called back.

“Okay, good. I need you to make dinner tonight.”

She surfaced from the room right then, and he stood there at the landing beneath her.

“What would you like?” she asked him.

“I found some really good deals on pasta—there's a couple of boxes awaiting you in the kitchen. And then just some sauce.”

“Okay! Sounds easy enough.”

He nodded but he never smiled at her.

The whole entire time she made dinner, she thought of Chuck in that kitchen up north. She considered tossing in a little bit of spices into the vodka sauce to liven it up a bit, but the one spice she found in the cupboard above the stove was cinnamon. Indeed, as she made up that pan of sauce, she took the jar down from the rack and she unscrewed the lid.

Not true ground cinnamon, but the very aroma of it reminded her of Cliff. How she yearned to have a cup of Mexican hot chocolate again, and how she wished to see him again.

Soon, dinner was ready and she served the plates to Mattie and Cassie, both of whom awaited her with their hands in their laps. After her realization, she felt a little more sympathetic towards them as she set the plates before them both.

They never thanked her but they picked up their forks and ate in unison once she and Bill took their seats in silence. He glanced up at her with a thoughtful look on his face.

“This is quite good,” he told her with his hand up by his mouth. “Excellent, actually. It needs a little salt, but it's good, though.”

Neither of the girls said anything but they did help her clear the table afterwards. Later, she turned in for the night with a new perspective on it all.

But at the same time, she needed to get away from that house. Away from the tightness of it all, especially since they were probably of the crowd that saw Testament and Anthrax as the music of Lucifer herself.

On Sunday morning, the three of them left for church, and even though Bill offered her to attend along with them, she turned it down given she didn't believe in the same things they did, either. Instead, she took her seat there at her desk with the cordless in hand and she dialed Marla's number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Marla.”

“Oh, hey, Sam! How's it going?”

“Alright, I guess. I ran into Chuck the other day—he, Tiff, Alex, and Greg are all gonna take me to see Death Angel down in L.A. this Friday.”

“Cool! Um, listen—I wasn't able to get a job at the school, as of yet. I got put on a waiting list for something, though, and Bel got me an interview at the glass studio she works at. Commutes to Albany are tough but I think I can do it, though. But I was able to tell Mrs. Robinson, mine and Bel's old counselor, about Bill still being listed on the payroll. She told me that's going to be rectified at the end of the month, like they have to send out the final check in two weeks and then he gets a notice on the fourth week.”

“Listen, about that—”

“Oh?”

“Apparently Bill's daughters go to a private religious school. He literally doesn't say shit about this sort of thing with me, but my guess is it's a bit pricey. Those payroll checks were the only way he's able to send them off there.”

“Oh, shit,” Marla blurted out.

“Yeah.”

“Well, he's gonna have to do something else, though. After the way he treated you and me both, and after he legitimately threatened to lock you in your room!”

“How'd you find out about—” Sam stopped. And she closed her eyes. “Louie,” she muttered with her head tilted back away from the phone, and she returned it to her ear.

“Sam, you can't let him get under your skin like that!”

“I feel kinda bad about it, though.”

“He'll figure something out, though. If he was able to maintain a spot on payroll this whole entire time after he got fired, he can figure something out for him and his girls.”

“They're creepy, by the way,” Sam confessed.

“They are? How so?”

“First off, they don't behave like little girls. They sit quietly at the dining room table before breakfast and dinner, like they don't even talk to each other. And they eat simultaneously, too, like completely in sync with each other. It's really weird, like unsettling, I want to say. Everything is really strict here—like really strict. Alex grew up in a bit of a sheltered household, but I doubt it was anything like this. It's all because of the whole faith thing and also because of the whole money issue, too. I imagine that getting worse when he gets kicked off of the payroll for good, too.”

“Ew.” Marla shuddered on her end. “Besides, how're the boys even gonna come and get you on Friday night? Because I remember how that place is laid out. There's no way around it.”

“I have no clue. Chuck even told me he has no idea. But—you know.” Sam rolled her eyes at what she was about to tell her. “I have faith in those guys, though.”

Marla giggled at that.

“Yeah, I have faith that they're gonna have faith in themselves.”

Marla laughed some more at that. It was good to hear her laugh again, even if it was for a few moments.

Over the course of that week, Sam made more art for herself, until Friday night came about. She had set aside her nice black blouse, the same top she wore when she saw Testament and Stormtroopers of Death both the first time around, and her black jeans, which had gotten rather low slung with the passage of time so they accentuated the curvature of her hips and ultimately her body. Testament themselves were going to be all that she had that night as well: the best she could do was sneak out of the house and meet up with Chuck and Tiffany at the property past the house.

The sun began to hang low over the tree line and the haze from the Los Angeles area not too far away from there.

Bill and the girls were downstairs doing some kind of study with their Bibles, which meant she had to use the back door to get out of there. But even if she used the back door, she still had to go past the living room and within their line of sight. No makeup on her face lest he question her for a second, but she had to time it right.

She reached the second landing of the stairs and Bill said something to the girls. A rustling noise and she knew that he had stood up.

“Shit,” she muttered. They were waiting for her outside—she didn't even have to look out the window in order to know that they awaited her—and yet she had no way out of there without a bit of inquiry. Sam returned to the loft on the third floor so as to gather her bearings and rethink things.

The front door then opened. Bill said something.

“Is Sam here?”

Greg!

Sam gasped and she hurried down the first flight of stairs at that moment.

“I'm—here to see her?” he replied; she reached that top landing where she spotted Bill before the doorway with his hands pressed to his hips. Greg looked so funny there in the doorway with him, that long beautiful dark hair down over his chest and the little stubble of a mustache over his upper lip, and his slender body wrapped in a black T shirt and low slung black jeans.

Like a dark version of Jesus himself.

“Well, she has a lot of work to do, son,” Bill sneered at him.

“No, no, it's okay, Bill!” Sam called out to him from the landing. He turned his attention to her with a finger pointed up to her.

“You have a lot of work to do, young lady—get back up there.” Greg widened his eyes at that.

“Well, I can take a break, can't I?” Sam pointed out. Bill shut the door right on Greg's face, to which followed a loud “ow! That was right on my nose!”

“Get back in your room,” he ordered.

“Don't slam the door on his face!” she yelled as she stormed back upstairs to the loft. She shook her head as she made her way to the window. Out there, on the block right behind the house as it ran along the lake's edge, she spotted Greg as he walked on back to the low two door hatch back royal blue car over there. Chuck awaited him on the outside of the car. From a distance, she watched Greg shake his head.

“Damn,” he declared as he rubbed his nose. “Got me good, too!”

“Well, fuck,” Chuck said.

“Well, we've got to get her out of there somehow,” she heard Alex tell them from the back seat; even from upstairs and a distance, she could hear his big loud voice. “Show's about to start in like an hour.”

“What!” Chuck was stunned at that.

“Yeah, dude! It's seven fifteen!”

“Shit!”

“Hey, there she is!” Tiffany called from the passenger seat. Chuck and Greg turned to the window and Sam waved both arms at them.

“Gotta get her out of there,” she heard Chuck tell them. There was a pause as she looked on at him, just like Rapunzel. If only there was a way in which she could tell him that the way out was through the back door, and she was close to it as well. Greg said something, which was then followed by another pause.

“Hang on, I got an idea,” she heard Chuck tell them. “Greg, come with me—this is gonna get us killed but it's gonna get her out of there, though.” He got off of the side of the car and the two of them walked along the road, along the lake's edge. Sam knitted her eyebrows together as she watched Chuck and Greg all the way to the back of the house.

“Wait here,” Chuck said to Greg, and he turned his attention to her. “Meet him here at the back door.”

She nodded her head at that, and she doubled back to the door with her purse over her shoulder.

Another knock on the front door.

“Who is that now?” Bill grumbled as Sam reached the second stairwell again. When his back was turned to her, she hurried down the next flight of stairs to the very bottom. He opened the door only to see Chuck right there, dressed in heavy black leather and with a red and white feather attached to one side of his head.

“Peek a boo!” Chuck lunged for him.

“JEEZ!”

Sam made a run for it right there to the back door. Right in her line of sight. Greg awaited her out there.

She jiggled the door handle. Locked!

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered, but then she turned her attention back to the front door right as Bill shut it. She ducked into the kitchen and the window there over there sink. Greg nodded at her from outside. She opened the window and, with one foot on the sink basin and her other foot right out the window, she climbed through. She poked her head out, followed by her arm.

“Greg!” she called out to him and he hurried over to help her out.

“You got me?” she asked him as he took her hand and set a hand on her knee.

“Yeah. You got it?”

“I think so—” It was a struggle given she almost slipped on the sink basin but she managed to take her other foot through the window. She climbed out through the kitchen window and she landed onto Greg's slender little body. They fell on the grass in unison, and he groaned at the feeling.

“You okay?” she asked him as she lifted herself up into a push up position.

“Yeah.” He gasped for air and he gazed up at her with a goofy grin on his face.

“Hey, Sam hill,” he greeted her, and that brought a laugh out of her.

“Sam hill, is that what you called her?” Chuck laughed along from the side of the house.

“What in the sam hill is going on 'round here?” she laughed as well. She helped Greg to his feet and then she led him out of the back yard and into the street. The three of them ran back to the car right as the setting sun touched the tree line on the far side of the lake.

“Let's get you the hell out of here,” Chuck advised her as he took the keys out of his pocket. Sam reached the passenger door behind Tiffany and she poked her head into the back window where Alex awaited them.

“Alex?” He leaned forward and greeted her with a big toothy grin.

“Hey—” He froze right in his tracks with those deep eyes wide with fear despite the sun.

“What's the matter?”

“What's wrong, Alex?” Tiffany wondered aloud.

He pursed his lips together and held still, and then he bowed his head a bit.

“Very slowly—look—over—there,” he said through gritted teeth and without moving a muscle. Sam turned her attention to across the edge of the lake to the back door of the house, where Bill stood there with his hands pressed to his hips.

“Get in the car!” Greg shouted. “Get in! Get in!”

Alex scooted over and Tiffany leaned the seat forward for Sam and Greg.

“We gotta go,” Chuck declared as he climbed into the driver's seat, “—we gotta go—we gotta go—we gotta go!”

He fired up the car and they lunged forward down the street, only to find it was a cul de sac.

“What the hell!” Alex declared, but they were quick to make the turn around in there, all past the small houses there at the end.

“Hang on, everyone—” Chuck called back as Alex, Sam, and Greg leaned to the side with the turning. But then they doubled back down the street as fast as they could to the next block over. They kept on going until they past the supermarket. Out of breath, Sam leaned back in her seat.

“We out of sight?” Tiffany asked him.

“I think so,” Chuck assured her as they proceeded on to the heart of town. “Didn't look like he can get very far, either.”

“No, there's no way he's getting very far,” Sam added from the safety of the back seat and from in between Alex and Greg.

“That was intense,” Greg admitted.

“Very much so,” Sam added. “I wanna thank you guys, though. I couldn't be happier to be here right now. You guys are all I've got right now tonight.”

“Yeah, we get to hang out for real now!” Alex said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, yes, it's all fun and games now from here on out!” Chuck declared as he reached for something in the center console. “Little pre show ritual, ladies—and gentlemen. Some Motorhead to set the mood!”

She pictured Marla running down the street in Manhattan to those fast drums on that first song “Overkill”. They drove along fast to it, especially once they reached the freeway and began towards the heart of Los Angeles against the sunset. She nestled down in between Alex and Greg all the while: add to this, not only did her parents not know about it, but Joey didn't, either. And it was right at that moment, as the wind fluttered through their hair and Lemmy's growl sliced through the noise of the road underneath them, that she realized she had become a true bad girl.

#fanfic #fanfiction #testament fanfic #testament band #testament #chapter 2 #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #book four #souls of black #chuck billy #alex skolnick #greg christian #louie clemente #oc tag #long reads #REALLY long post #also on ao3 #also on wattpad #writing #text