#AND MATERS LIL NOD

[stickers95]

this is literally THE funniest scene in any of the Cars movies it just takes me out every single time

#what😨 #AND MATERS LIL NOD #so good #cars 2006 #cars fandom #lightning mcqueen #tow mater #mater #pixar cars

[kpopscruggles]

If enha members (hyung line) had a specific kink, what would they be? But to me, I think Jake would have a massive mommy kink.

NHbfhbewbfuiwseb JAKE WITH A MOMMY KINK!!!!!!!

Jake- I definitely have o agree that jake would have a mommy kink, somewhere along the lines of like subtle but then a complete WHORE outta nowhere but at the same time its when you assert dominance in any way. Like lets say you guys are hanging out with someone and you make everyone a drink...that simple shit! THAT'S WHAT GETS HIM!!! When you guys go out for lunch or something and you pay?? AUTOMATIC WHORE JAKE WHO NEEDS TO CALL YOU MOMMY! switch triggers easily. Jealous that you act like a mommy for the whole group because of how easy subtle shit hits "I cant take care of everyone? I don't take care of them as much as I do you.." "I don't care, your my mommy and no one else's~ you know I'm your only baby"

Sunghoon- To me its giving very messy, its giving vvvv spit imo. I think he has multiple thoughts about this that turn him on in many different ways!! Like if your alone and your catching an attitude and he just pulls you by your hair and gives you like a sloppy kiss before spitting in your mouth and you just shut your mouth because your too busy swallowing then stiffening at how he holds your face, OR OR hell even just spit on your pussy before giving it a hard slap with his cock "Covered in my spit like a useless bitch arent you? my useless bitch, all~ mine~"

Jay- (MY SWEET MANS!!!) we all know hes a gentleman, hes kind, respectful, caring. But I think he has a HUGE SIR KINK AND ACTS LIKE HE DONT!!!! following with this kink a litle side sprinkle he has is OWNERSHIP VIBES!!! hes your owner and thats not changing, even if you two take a break or fall off completley your still his and you will still call him sir no mater what. The way it falls from your lips just has him trmbling in the best way possible and it makes him get this boost of tellling yout to get on your knees and choke on his cock "Such a goold girl, my sweet little slut choking on my cock? do you like it?" pulling away and watching the spit drip from your mouth to your chest as he places his tip against your lips as you nod and give him pretty puppy eyes!!

heeseung- (This one took a bit of thought but i think..) I think he's a big big person for Pain from marks!!! now ofc he likes any kind but what gets it for him is scratches because his got a lil sprinkle for he sting it gives!!! He's just railing you, making you cock hungry with every thrust he gives and your just digging your nails into his shoulder yet begging for more, the mix of pain and pleasure just has him drooling!!!!! The way he could just take any kind of pain from you and he'd always drip his briefs in precum. It's sometimes so strong for him that if some pain was conflicted constantly he might cum

#enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #jay hard hours #jay smut #heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #jake hard hours #jake smut #sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon smut

[jawllines]

Sorry to be annoying but I asked awhile ago and I think tumblr ate my ask but did you ever do tattoo Harry blurb? I love them and I miss them:( I’ve looked through your tags and there isn’t any on there if you have posted one

I CAN POST ONE I WROTE A WHILE AGO RIGHT NOW :D I DONT THINK I POSTED HERE BUT LET ME KNOW HERE YOU GO PET 

i.

“Baby -- baby, c’mon!”

It was rare that Harry ever woke Y/N with more than kisses and cuddles. Maybe an abrupt shoulder shake if the both of them slept through their alarms (and, considering that they are the only ones with the key to open up their own respective stores, they never typically arrived late facing happy employees -- or in Y/N’s case, employee -- Niall, in particular, was always more of a grump in that situation than Riktor even), but even that still managed to be tender, and soft. He always treated her so delicately, as if she were made up of porcelain in the morning and it was imperative to speak in a low, soothing voice with careful touches or she might shatter. And she really didn’t think it was because she was an absolute terror to wake up -- Y/N did quite well, even as early as 5 AM she was still in somewhat of a pleasant mood, certainly nothing to be fearful of -- she thinks he’s just gentle in the morning. He’s gentle all the time, but for some reason or another, he’s extra soft with her then.

They had both had a bit of a busy day, so by the time that they made it back to Y/N’s flat (Harry said he liked it there best because it smelled like her, and -- well, he softens her up and calls her Darling when he wants them to go over there, so it’s hard to say no), both of them were ready for bed. Neither of them could barely keep their eyes open as they scarfed down the burgers they’d picked up on the way home, and once they’d finished and brushed their teeth, they toppled into each other on the mattress. Y/N would reckon they both fell asleep before their heads had even hit the pillow -- she doesn’t even remember crawling beneath the blankets.

Apparently she had though, because now as her brain tunes in with the world around her and she realizes that the distorted voice that had begun to prod her dreams was actually a grumpy, dry throat Harry, she’s cuddling herself closer in the covers. This only makes him grumble at her more, “You’re such a blanket hog,” he whines and Y/N finally blinks her eyes open, being greeted with Harry’s disgruntled, pouted face illuminated by the sunlight beginning to slip through the blinds, “I’ve been trying to unravel it for like ten minutes, but you’re all wrapped up! I’m cold.”

Y/N smiles sleepily at him, not understanding the gravity of the situation entirely as she begins to un-burrito herself from the covers, “G’morning, beautiful,” she murmurs as she does so, finally disentangling from the blankets and while she was a little less warm, Harry was quick to wiggle in beneath them, “Sorry.”

“Don’ be sweet when m’tryin’ to be angry with you,” she puckers her lips at him dramatically, and though he sighs, he leans in and presses their mouths together softly, “Your kisses aren’t g’na sweeten me up, m’still grumpy, blanket hog.”

She can only hum as she cuddles closer to him, “Sorry,” she repeated, this time adding, “Like to swaddle myself like a lil’ baby. Reckon you weren’t holdin’ me well enough last night.”

An offended gasp leaves through his lips soundly, enough that it startles her, but his arms worm around her waist and draw her closer to his body, “Brat,” he grumbled, dipping his nose into her throat, “I held you so well and you just wiggled right out of my arms and took all the covers with you.”

“Like a worm -- I wiggled out like a worm or somethin’,” she tried to sit up but his arms tightened around her, “This worm has to pee though and she’ll soak the bed if she isn’t allowed.”

His arm loosens around her, “This worm sounds like she’s a sleepy sort of delusional that requires about two hours more of rest.”

Y/N stumbles toward the bathroom in her room, “Noooooooo,” she whines, frowning at nobody, not bothering to swing the door shut before she plops on the cold toilet seat to relieve herself, “We’re supposed to go get hot chocolate, no more sleep.”

“Baby, it’s 6 AM and I’ve been up the last 30 minutes freezing my bits off!” He calls back to her and she giggles some, her eyes trying to accommodate to the bright white lights of the bathroom, “Sleep just a bit more and we’ll get the hot chocolate when we wake up next.”

She waits until she flushes and washes her hands to respond to him, and though she knows that she is definitely going to crawl back in bed and fall asleep, she stands at the foot of it with her hands in fists at her hips. He had let his eyes flutter closed by then but she thinks he could feel her eyeballing him, so he looks up past the mountain of blankets now covering him so she could only see his eyes and his nose, “What’re you doing?”

“You’re telling me, you don’t wanna go at 6 AM, three hours before the kiosk even opens to get hot chocolate with me? You must really hate me, don’t you?”

He huffs a sharp breath through his nose which is how he usually laughs in the morning, when he can’t muster up the strength to have a proper giggle, “Absolutely loathe you, baby doll, but could you please come back to bed so I can loathe you in the warmth?”

It takes little persuading -- as she said, she knew she was just going to crawl right back in beside him -- and instead of relying too heavily on the blankets to provide her warmth (like wrapping up half of it around her so she was cocooned entirely. . .this is what she normally does, and she would say that’s probably why Harry almost never has any of the covers in the morning), she relies on him. Picks up his arm so that she can fit herself underneath it and lies her cheek on his chest, “Your pits better not be smelly.”

“I make no promises.”

.                             .                         .

“I love your hair.”

“Stop it, Sweetheart, I’m g’na start blushing.”

They had slept for four more hours rather than the two Harry had originally suggested, but that always happens with them. Y/N would say that they are just too content cuddled up with one another that they milk it for all it’s worth. If one of them wakes up before the other, then they just settle their head back down and close their eyes again. Unless they had somewhere to be, of course, but Harry had a free Saturday (no clients schedule, even though Saturday’s could often be some of his heaviest days) and he’d elected to spend it with her -- whether they were awake or asleep didn’t much mater, they just liked to be near each other.

When they finally did wake up, they lazily got dressed into about thirty layers so they wouldn’t freeze outside. The weather had grown frigid quite quickly this November, and neither of them stood the cold very well, but there was a park lined with little pop-up kiosks with hot chocolate, sweets, little holiday goodies, and an obscene amount of knitted blankets (it was a clever marketing tactic, Y/N thought -- everyone is more willing to spend money on a blanket when they’re freezing cold - she and Harry had certainly fallen for it today). Y/N bought them shoe warmers to keep their toes at least not numb, and Harry lets her borrow a pair of his gloves because she keeps forgetting to buy some of her own. They both have hats fitted over their heads too, and since Harry’s let his hair grow out, his curls stick out from beneath the pumpkin orange print and Y/N can’t stop staring at it. She’s always loved his hair, she told him as much one of the first nights they’d sat on her bookstore’s floor and talked about just a bit of everything. Back when she barely realized she had a crush on him. . . .when she didn’t know that in just a little time, she would be over the moon.

And she’ll never forget that people used to make him feel like shit about his hair, so she maybe overcompensates by telling him every time she has thought about loving it. Which means today, in the span of a short three hours they’d been awake, Y/N had complimented his hair about twenty different times. If she was running her fingers through it, fixing his beanie, or just staring at him, she let him know just how much she adored his curls.

“I hate to tell you this, Button, but your cheeks are already red as apples,” she shifted the paper cup of hot chocolate from her hand closest to him to the other, so she could reach up and tuck them behind his ear, that had reddened from the cold, “The air has you more bashful than I ever could.”

“Not true,” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he knocks closer to her ear, “I always blush when you go down on me.”

“God,” Y/N shakes her head, “You’re too much, d’ya know that?”

He laughs, nudging her with the cold tip of his nose, “You want the peppermint bark? We’re coming up on the seller.”

“Of course, I want peppermint bark,” she reaches for her wallet, “I’m stocking us up for the next hundred years or so.”

Harry slows for a moment, sliding his gloved hand into her own and squeezing, “Hey,” he begins, his voice soft, somewhat reflective and it brings her attention to him at her side, “Y’know when -- you remember how you said you just get random flushes of love for me and s’a whole lot and you just don’t know what to do with it?”

Y/N nods, “Yeah, like every waking minute practically. Why?”

He smiles shyly, “I’m having one of those moments.”

“For the peppermint bark?” She teases, but his brows furrow and he swats her shoulder playfully, “Hey!”

“I’m trying to be sweet on you, and you’re still going on about this bloody chocolate,” he rubs the arm that he swats, even though Y/N has so many layers on plus the blanket that she bought wrapped around her, that he made no real contact with her body.

Y/N pulls him in for a hug, narrowly avoiding a child running past them as she does so, “Oh, you know m’only kidding. I love you too, Bug, more than words can describe and ten times more than the chocolate I reckon. . .well, unless it’s made really well this year.”

“I’ll leave you here, blanket hog.”

#blurbs #Anonymous

[waywardscorpio]

His Queen & Her King

Taglist: @callmekda @braunstrowmangirl @phoenixoffiretwo @luna-loo @scuzmunkie @fanfiction-san​ @superdakotawinchesterus​

Chapter 2

Warnings: Cursing, Violence, Pissed off Jeff, Readers Dad Triple H, Godfather Shawn Michaels and Uncles Kane and Undertaker, Pregnant!Reader kidnapped.

*Third Person POV*

*A month after the road trip and Jeff, putting another bundle of joy inside his mate*

Y/N was walking through the hallway of the arena while she had one hand on her belly and the other carrying her bag of food and drink. Her baby belly was a little more noticeable now. "Hey Y/N" Undertaker said. "Hey, Uncle Taker." She said looking up at him. "How are you doing?" She asked. "I'm doing fine. How are you and the little ones doing?" She looked up at him confused; because she thought she was only pregnant with one. "The doctor only said, one baby." She said softly. "You don't know do you?" He asked her. "Know what?" She asked. "You're a very rare type of human omega that can get pregnant even though you're already pregnant. It isn't dangerous to you or the babies. But it will put you in danger. Some Alpha's will do whatever it takes to have you and that includes holding you captive and breeding you to make soldiers or a small army" He said. He's older than some people actually know. "But I won't let any harm you." Taker said to her before walking down the hallway.

Y/N, let the words from Undertaker go around and around in her head as she walks to Jeff's locker room. "Hey, Babe." He replied as she walked into the room. "Hey, Darlin'," Y/N replied back to her as she was looking at him from across the room. "We need to have a talk tonight after work." She said to him as she looks at him. "Are you okay? Is the baby hurt? What is wrong?" Jeff said standing up and moving swiftly towards his love. "I am okay. The baby is okay. We just need to talk. I'm not leaving you before you even ask that question next." She said as she looks up at him rubbing his cheek. Jeff relaxed into her soft gentle touch.

"I think you should stay near Undertaker for my match. I have a feeling something is off and it gonna get ugly tonight." Jeff said getting an unsettling feeling that something isn't bad is going to happen and Jeff trusted Undertaker with Y/N's life more than anyone besides her parents. "But I'm supposed to go out there with you tonight Baby," Y/N said to him as she looked at him. "I know Babe, I want you to go out there too. But I have an uneasy feeling that something is going to happen tonight and I don't want you getting in the line of fire or our baby." Jeff said walking to her and carefully rubbing her belly. "Alright, I'll stay by Undertaker tonight." She said looking up at him.

Jeff walked Y/N to where Undertaker was at so, he knew she made it there safely and unharmed. "Hey Taker. Is it okay that she stays with you? I have an uneasy feeling that something is going to happen." He said looking at the taller male. "Yes, she is more than welcome." He said as he looks at a very reluctant Y/N. "As soon as my fight is over Baby, I will be right back here before going anywhere else." He said kissing her lips gently rubbing her cheek and her belly. "Please be careful out there tonight" She said resting her head against his chest. "I will Baby." Jeff said promising the love of his life he would be careful.

Jeff, walked out to the ring getting ready to fight tonight. "This match will be turned into 4 on 4 tag team match. It will be Jeff, Matt, Triple H and Shawn Michaels Vs Edge, Christian, Sheamus and Finn Balor." Lillian announce to the crowd and viewers at home to hear. Y/N's head shot up looking at the tv wide eyes. "No, that wasn't the match he was supposed to be in. Who changed it?" She exclaims looking up at Taker who grabs her hand and heading towards Stephanie's office. "Momma, Dad can't fight and Uncle Shawn can't either." Y/N held her belly on instinct. "I tried to stop the match before it was made. Someone changed it before consulting with us first. Nothing I can do to change it." Steph was furious that someone did this and was about to rip someone a new asshole. "Uncle Taker and Kane please take Daddy's and Uncle Shawn places. They can't fight and the person knows that. They'll be at a disadvantage." She pleads at the two males. Kane looks at Undertaker. "I'll fight tonight." Taker was having a internal battle with himself because he told Jeff, Y/N wouldn't leave his side till the match was over. "Please Uncle Taker" Y/N began to cry in desperation. "Okay Lil One. I will do it. But on the condition you stay by your mother at all times no mater what. Jeff will just have to understand." He said walking out with Kane, and heading to the ring. "I promise" She called out. She hugged her mother tightly. "I got you Baby Girl" She said hushing her Childs cries.

Lightening rang through the arena as Takers music came on and fire surrounds the ring. Jeff sees Kane and Undertaker walking down the ramp. "I have been informed that Triple H and Shawn, will be taken out the match and Undertaker and Kane will be put into the match instead." Lillian announce but silently sighs in relief. "Y/N is supposed to be with you" Jeff said to Taker quietly. "Calm Jeff. She begged us to come out because she knew you'd be at a disadvantage since her Daddy Triple H and uncle Shawn are still healing from two weeks ago. She didn't want you guys to take a chance yourselves considering you two have a tag team title match coming at WrestleMania." Kane said. "I much rather my pregnant mate be safe than myself." Jeff said. Kane and Taker understood his point but also couldn't leave their fellow wrestlers defenseless. "She is safe I promise you. She is with her mother and her momma's ready to rip someone a new Asshole." Undertaker said to him.

Jeff didn't fight with the older man. He knew Y/N, was safe either way. As the match got started Matt and Edge started it off. They didn't hold back on each other either. Lefts and rights were thrown hard and on purpose. "Come on Matt" Kane holler holding his hand out for Matt to tag him in. Matt kicked him Edge in the ribs which gave him the leverage he needed to get away from him so he can tag in Kane. Kane steps over the ropes and started hitting Edge with right, Lefts and wasn't giving him any breathing room. Edge uppercuts Kane when he gets the chance which stuns him and Edge is able to tag in Balor. He has a advantage for a few seconds before Jeff was tagged in and went to town on Balor. Jeff was letting his anger out on his opponent. "You got this Jeff come on" Matt said cheering on his brother. Jeff had twisted his arm behind him and leads him to his corner to tag in the Undertaker.

The match was drawing to a end when Undertaker was tagged back in. He hit Christian with the Tombstone Piledriver and with a count of three Jeff and the others got in the ring raising the Undertakers hand who won them the match. After the mini celebration in the ring everyone walked out. Edge stops Jeff to give him a message. "Hey look I know we aren't the best of friends but I wanna let you know that I saw someone watching your car earlier after you guys got here and someone was following Y/N. It is someone new because I don't know the persons face or scent." Edge said. "Thank you, Edge. I have an uneasy feeling tonight's not over with. whoever made this match done it on purpose but didn't expect Kane and Undertaker to step in." Jeff said to him. "Lita has been uneasy all night worried saying they're coming but didn't get to see their faces when she had a vision. Just be safe." Edge said before walking over to Lita. Jeff mouths a thank you to her. She only nodded her head in response.

Jeff walked to his mother-n-laws office and walked in. "Hey Baby. How are you and the baby?" Jeff asked his mate as he rubbed her back and belly knowing she is tired. "We are perfect. Just tired. How much longer till we can go home?" She asks her mate. "We will be staying with someone for a while. Just got a message from a friend that someone has been watching us and following." Jeff said to Y/N. She whimpered a little in fear. "What?" They heard Steph say. "Baby go get your stuff while I talk to your mom and dad okay?" She nods her head softly. Undertaker was in ear lengths and stayed near her walking her to the dressing room to get her things while Jeff talked to her parents. "Edge stopped me after the match to let me know that people have been following me and Y/N since we been here, and that the scent is unfamiliar and not known around here. He also mentioned Lita had a vision that someone is coming but she couldn't see their faces." Jeff said to Triple H and Steph. "Why are they after you or her or both of you?" Steph asked. "I don't know but I think is has something to do with her being pregnant by me." He said to her. "Whatever it takes you protect her, you here me?" Triple H said to him. "Yes Sir. I'll give my last breath to protect her if that's what it take for her to live." Jeff said unknowing that that statement was about to be put to the test.

While Jeff is taking to Steph and Triple H, Y/N is getting her stuff ready to go when the lights in the building suddenly shut off and came back on. In a blink of an eye Y/N was gone. Jeff ran down the hallway to his dressing room. "Holy hell. Taker are you good?" Jeff asked helping him up. "I was hit over the head after the lights went out. When they came back on she was gone." He said to Jeff, holding the back of his head. "It is newbies trying to rise up through the business so, their going after one of the top dogs here. Y/N's going to be their pawn to use as an advantage. They know no, one will do anything to harm her but they know you will go looking for her. If it comes down to it they'll do unspeakable things to her. Especially since they know she is able to get pregnant multiple times at once. She is a Human Omega it is rare for ones like her to be able to carry more than one baby at a time." Undertaker said to Jeff. Jeff paces thinking at what way he can approach this with out his Omega Mate getting hurt. "Jeff you aren't in this alone." Shawn said walking in the room with Kane, walking over to his brother and checking the back of his head. "We will fight with you over her" Triple H said. "Just be ready for a battle to start." Steph said.

"The battle started the minute the took her." Jeff said calm and deadly. Steph smiled to her husband knowing they picked a good man for their daughter. Jeff walked out to the ring and grabbed a mic. He was careful and tactical with his words even with how angry he was. He won't give the kidnappers the satisfaction to see his pain because once he does they have the power. "You come here" He said to a camera man. "Sir?" he said stepping in the ring with Jeff. "I want you to tape this live." He said. The male nods his head in fear sensing the anger and absolute power dripping off the man. He put the cam on his shoulder and began to tape. "I hope you sick fuckers are listening. You think it was wise for you take a mans pregnant mate. Especially a dangerous man like me who will stop at nothing to get her back. You wanted a battle? A battle you can't possibly come out standing on top. We will see who is left standing when I am done with you because you opened the gates of hell and stepped into my cage!!!" He said looking into the cam. "I won't be alone when I get my hands on you."

"Just know if she has so much as a scratch on her.. Well I show just how sadistic I am when I'm provoked or pushed." Jeff said. "Oh one more thing. Y/N Darlin' I'm coming for you." He adds. She heard her Alpha on the tv and she smiles to herself knowing the men that took her are about to know why Jeff is one of the most feared men in the Wwe besides Undertaker and Kane. "What are you smiling about whore?" One said. "You fucked up. You'll see just what he is going to do to you

#jeff hardy x reader #jeff hardy #WWE Raw #WWE #wwe smackdown #WWE NXT #wwe x reader #stephanie mcmahon #Triple H #fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #x reader #vampires

[shou-aizawa]

attention [dadmight]

pairings: toshinori yagi & daughter!reader

warnings: angst (:

summary: growing up with your dad being the symbol of peace was hard, and you were finally done trying to be enough for him.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i’ve had this idea for a while,,, and just got hit with the inspiration to finally write it. even though i love angst, i hurt myself with it, this was pAinful to write but still fun (: i’m considering writing a part 2 but who knows

Being the daughter of a pro hero was hard. 

Being the daughter of the number one hero, the symbol of peace himself, was even harder.

Y/N’s mother died not long after giving birth, leaving Toshinori with a daughter to raise on his own, whilst keeping up with the hero work that needed to be done. For a while it was good, it worked out well; Y/N’s earliest memories are of her birthday parties where her dad would show up and brighten the entire event, the day she got her quirk and how proud her dad was of her, the occasional movie night whenever her dad got some free time.

However, things changed. The fond memories were overshadowed by sour moments; her dad missing the occasional birthday, parent-teacher meetings, holidays and the like. Sometimes days would go by where Y/N didn’t see her dad save for the live footage she’d spot on TV screens. It had been fun to see at first, to watch her dad save people and beat villains down without an issue, but the novelty of it wore off eventually and left her feeling something she couldn’t describe properly.

She didn’t realise for years that the feeling was jealousy. Plain, bitter, jealousy.

She basically had to grow up without a dad, all because he was busy with his job. Of course, it was a noble job, it was an important one, it had to be done! But can anyone really blame Y/N for feeling as if the villains her dad fought got a lot more attention from him in their brief fights than she’d ever gotten in her life?

Y/N didn’t give up though. She worked hard in school, got near perfect grades, and eventually got accepted into her dad’s alma mater, more specifically into the hero course. If she was honest, her heart wasn’t really in it for the right reasons, she just thought that if she could excel.. If she could prove herself to be worth the attention, maybe her dad would finally spend some time with her again.

After getting her acceptance letter for UA, she did get that bit of validation. Her dad hugged her, holding her tight and telling her just how proud he was of his little girl and how much she’d grown. They’d had a movie night to celebrate, watching some of Y/N’s favourite movies from when she was younger.

That one night had given her hope. And the fact that her dad now had to patrol less, and was teaching at the same school Y/N now attended only fuelled that hope. Seeing each other would be unavoidable, maybe there would be more movie nights, more hugs.. Maybe she would get her dad back.

Her hopes were dashed, however, when she met Izuku Midoriya.

Y/N had a vague understanding of how her dad’s quirk worked, and despite everything, she’d occasionally entertained the possibility that he would pass the power on to her, but of course, that didn’t happen.

He gave it to Midoriya instead. And Y/N was stuck watching from the sidelines as the two of them got closer, her chest aching with bitterness and jealousy.

When she’d first been introduced to Midoriya, she had tried to be sweet, push her own emotions away in favour of not making a fool of herself, but the smile she would give the boy soon faded into a barely-concealed frown. She didn’t bother correcting it. Midoriya, being one of the only people who actually knew that Y/N was All Might’s daughter - apart from the teachers - had obviously wanted to befriend her, and would always look a little confused at her sudden closed-off expression, but at that point, Y/N was past caring.

He had what she didn’t, and it hurt.

One afternoon, a burst of optimism hit her. For a little while it all felt so simple, as if the right puzzle piece finally found its place and Y/N could look at the whole picture. She just had to talk with her dad, explain how much it hurt to not have him around, how much she wished he would notice how hard she was working, how much she just wanted to spend more time with him.

She used that newfound optimism to form a plan, a good plan, one that would fix things for sure. She baked her dad’s favourite cookies whilst he was out, packing a good few into a small box, then hiding both that and the cookies in her room in preparation for the next day. Dinner that night seemed a little less tense, and Y/N had even told her dad about training, how much progress she’d made with her quirk, and he’d smiled softly, praising her greatly which made a warm feeling sprout in her chest. 

When lunch came the next day, she set her plan into motion, fishing the box of cookies out of her bag and making her way to the teacher’s lounge with a bounce in her step, the cookies were to act as the excuse as she didn’t normally drop by the lounge just to talk with her dad and felt awkward doing so without some sort of excuse.

She knocked on the door then poked her head in for a moment before stepping in, a small smile on her face. Aizawa was in the corner, napping in his sleeping bag, Present Mic, Midnight and Cementoss were the other teachers present, and Y/N frowned very briefly at the absence of her dad.

“Y/N! What can we do for ya?” Present Mic asked brightly, and she gripped the box a little tighter, smiling politely.

“I was just looking for my dad-” she held the box up a little and nodded at it, “-I baked some cookies last night but he didn’t get a chance to eat any so I thought I would bring some along today... do you know where he is?”

Present Mic glanced at Midnight, and the two of them shrugged. “Not sure, lil’ listener, maybe if you check-”

“I think he may have mentioned something about eating lunch with Midoriya,” Cementoss interrupted, tilting his head slightly. “But I’m not sure where exactly, unfortunately.”

“Oh!” Y/N said, doing her best not to lose the smile on her face. “Well.. I still have to go eat my own lunch so I’ll just leave the cookies here for when he comes back, if that’s okay?” She asked, swallowing thickly and trying to ignore the familiar pang of jealousy in her chest, one that successfully eradicated the warm feeling she’d had for a little while. 

“More than okay!” Present Mic said with his usual grin, “Can’t promise he’ll get all of them, though..”

Y/N forced a chuckle, setting the box down on the closest desk and fidgeting with her hands. “There’s quite a few in there so I’m sure there’s enough for everyone to have some!” She said, then waved a little.

“I’ll be going now.. uhm thank you!” She added, then turned, quickly making her way out of the teacher’s lounge and down the hall, not even sure where she was heading, just letting her feet carry her away.

Her dad was eating lunch with Midoriya. Y/N couldn’t even recall the last time her dad had asked her to join him for lunch.

Did he really care for Midoriya more than he cared for her?

That’s what it felt like. And Y/N decided she wasn’t going to stick around if all she got was the bare minimum, and even less than that most of the time.

She spent the rest of lunch in the girl’s restroom, face in her hands as she cried quietly. She attended hero training, choosing to talk to basically no one. Her lack of effort was obvious, and she earned herself a short scolding from Aizawa.

Not like she cared anymore.

All she cared about now was getting away.

As soon as the day was over, she rushed home, already having decided what she was going to do now. She went to her room and locked the door, despite the fact that her dad probably wouldn’t be home for another few hours. Even if he was home, Y/N doubted he would’ve bothered to talk to her anyway. 

She pulled a duffel bag from the back of her closet and set it down on her bed, opening it then going through her clothes and choosing what she was going to bring with her.

A strange sense of calm settled over her as she did this, she pushed her emotions away and focused on the task at hand, gathering essential belongings and setting them down on her bed next to the bag.

She picked up her piggy bank, opening them bottom and pulling out any money that she’d saved over time, setting that down on the bed too.

When everything was set out, Y/N took a step back, eyes scanning over the things she’d collected. A sliver of doubt made its way into her mind. Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to run away?

She indulged the doubts for just a moment before pushing them away again with the shake of her head. This was best for her, she couldn’t stay where she wasn’t wanted any more, it hurt too much, and she deserved better!

Working carefully, she started packing her things into the duffel bag. A change of clothes, a hairbrush, toothbrush, small packet of toothpaste, couple of hair ties, a notebook and pen, and lastly her wallet. She zipped the bag up once she was done, breathing a sigh,

She got changed next, tossing her uniform over her chair without much thought, pulling on some leggings, a loose-fitting t-shirt and a hoodie on instead. She stuffed her feet into her trainers, then picked the duffel bag up and swung it over her shoulder.

She hesitated by the door for a moment, glancing back at her desk and considering leaving a note or something, but deciding not to, realising she wouldn’t even know what to write, and figuring it would just be easier to simply leave.

So that’s what she did.

Y/N left the house, not dwelling too much on where she was going, just following her instincts. Once a safe distance away from the house and anyone who might recognise her, she broke into a run, feet thumping against the pavement rhythmically.

A grin broke out on her face as she ran, realising that she could go anywhere and not give a single damn about what people thought of her, about standards she had to uphold.

She was free.

#mouse writes #bnha #boku no hero acadamia #my hero acadamia #dadmight #dad might #yagi toshinori #yagi toshinori & reader #oneshot #bnha oneshots #bnha imagines #all might #reader insert #reader #angst

[sugarbooger513]

Moving on- Chapter One

This is the beginning of my OC’s story. Hope you guys enjoy! 

Her icy eyes stare into the mirror as she tries to fix the short honey brown curls on her head. However, there isn't enough patience in the world for her to deal with it. Jasper finally gives up, tossing the comb onto her dresser before straightening the tie around her neck. "Are you decent, Jasper?" "Yeah, come in." Her roommate, Lilith, walks into her bedroom with a small smile. Like usual, she's wearing her sky colored bodysuit and white combat boots. Her hair, which reminds Jasper of virgin snow, is in a neat bun on the top of her head. "Looking like the lesbian you are, I see." "Fuck you, Lilith. My girlfriend likes how I dress." "Exactly. A les-" "Stop it." Her laughter makes Jasper smile, despite wanting to look irritated. Lilith has been her best friend for a few years now. They decided to get a small two bedroom apartment when Lilith got a full time job at the Ingenium agency. Jasper still worked as a free lance hero, until today, that is. "First day jitters?" "Huh?" "Your hands, Jas. They're shaking." Jasper frowns at how easily she can be read. In a way, it's ironic. "The All-Knowing Hero" Daedalus is the easiest person to read. "Yeah, I guess so. At least Midnight will be there." "Oh yeah, she's your old mentor, right?" Jasper nods, smiling from the thought of the kind Hero. While Jasper never bothered copying the R-rated aspects of Midnight, she certainly learned from her combat skills. At the time, Midnight was fresh out of high school, but she took Jasper's training very seriously. There were days she would come home beaten to a pulp from training, but Jasper is nothing if not headstrong. "Well, I'm going to join you at your frist day." "Wait," Jasper pauses, "why? They have the Sports Festival today. You'll just-" "I want to introduce you to my old homeroom teacher. I was a part of his first class." "I thought you couldn't stand him." "I mean," she chuckles lightly, "he really wanted to expel me. Like, REALLY wanted to." "Sometimes I sympathize with him." Lilith sends her less playful roommate a wink, which causes Jasper to roll her eyes. How do they get along so well? "Whatever, Jas. I'm going with you whether you like it or not." "Fine, but you aren't allowed to embarrass me." "Trust me, I don't think I could. Eraserhead is generally one of those guys that just doesn't give a damn about what's going on around him." 'Eraserhead,' Jasper tilts her head slightly, 'that sounds awfully familiar. Still.. I can't quite remember why'. The two of them walk outside, so Lilith pulls the mask from her body suit over her head. Jasper smiles at her friend as they start their walk to UA. The nerves seem to only get wilder in Jasper's body as they walk. Principal Nezu reccently called her about an opening at her alma mater. Not long ago, a class was attacked by a "League of Villains" at USJ. One teacher was severly hurt from protecting his class, and the number one hero, All Might, was also injured. They decided to hire a few more teachers, preferably ones with quirks that can prove useful in case this league attacks again. Jasper doesn't have a physical quirk, so she was shocked when Nezu explained the situation to her. Her quirk, Daedalus, allows her to see someone's strengths and weaknesses as long as she stares at them. However, if she blinks, her quirk is deactivated.  It also tends to give her really bad headaches if she over uses it, so she tends to only use it in short bursts. "So, what is your title now? Ms. Daedalus?" "Nah. Just Daedalus, or Jasper for the other teachers." "Are you actually teaching a subject?" "No? I'm not sure if I ever will, but as of right now I'm some sort of disciplinary officer or something." Lilith snorts. Jasper... her friend.. as a disciplinary officer. Is that some sort of sick joke that Principal Nezu has planned? If so, where's the punch line? Before they know it, the two of them make it to the now ramped up security gate at UA High. One of the police officers at the front make both of them flash their hero licenses before they are allowed to walk inside. "Man," Lilith shoves her license back into her body suit, "this seems insane. I would feel bad for the kids." Jasper waits a second, but her friend doesn't finish the thought. "Umm.. you would feel bad for them..?" "If I cared." There it is. That's the Lilith she knows. "Well, I feel bad for them. UA was always my safe place, and I had a great home life. I can't imagine if some fo these kids come here to get away from their homes." Lilith shrugs slightly, but she can't convince Jasper that she really doesn't care. She might hide her normal name from the world, but being a hero is Lilith's calling. There have been multiple times where Pro Hero Ether has put herself on the line for complete strangers. "Yo, Ether," Lilith glances at Jasper, "do you know where the otehr teachers would be?" "I do. Just follow- Tenya!" A tall, blue haired boy turn towards the sound of his name being called. As soon as Jasper meets his navy eyes, she realizes that he's Ingenium's younger brother. No wonder Lilith knows who the kid is. "Ether, it's nice seeing you here! Did Tensei give you the day off?" "Yeah, he didn't want me to join while he did his business in Hosu City. Plus, I thought I should be ehre for Daedalus's first day." The polite young man actually bows in front of Jasper. 'Man, he is a lot like his older brother'. "Uh-you don't need to do all of that. I happen to be friends with Ingenium, and I have done a few missions alongside him. It's nice to meet his little brother." "It's nice to meet you as well, Daedalus. I see that you have a UA badge on your blazer. Are you one of the new teachers?" "Oh, I'm the new disciplinary officer, so I hope I don't have to deal with you too often." The way the boy holds his arms up makes Jasper chuckle lightly. He seems a lot more.. robotic than his generally laid back older brother. "Of course not, ma'am. I believe in keeping order and-" "Yeah, yeah, all that noble bullshit. We'll catch ya later, Tenya. I'm gonna go introduce her to Eraserhead." He nods and walks back towards a group of teenagers that they can only assume are his fellow classmates. The two heroes turn and start to make their way up a flight of stairs. Lilith surprisingly pulls her mask off before knocking on the door at the top of the stairs. "Come on in." Jasper jumps a bit from the familiarity of that voice. Once the door is opened, the shocking green eyes make her smile. "Holy crap, is that Present Mic?" The enthusiastic blonde hero jumps form his seat when he sees his friend and past partner. Well, not exactly a 'partner'. If he ever needed an extra set of hands, Daedalus was one of the first numbers saved in his phone. The two of them never really went anywhere to hang out, but they considered each other good friends. "Rock oooon! If it isn't Daedalus herself! What brings you up here, baby?" Jasper chuckles before accepting a hug from the lanky hero. "I missed you too, boom boom baby. I actually got a job here as a disciplinary officer, and Lilith wanted to bring me up here to meet her old teachers that I didn't have." "Well, ya know one of 'em, baby." Jasper smiles at his sweet term of endearment. Mic has called her baby since day one, and he's the only person other than Mirko, her girlfriend, that could ever get away with it. Lilith suddenly lets out a sigh. "Eraser, you look fucked up." "Language, child." Jasper turns and winces at the man sitting in the chair behind her. The poor guy is wrapped in bandages from the waist up. She has no idea what any of his facial features look like, minus how deep grey his eyes are. Lilith sighs softly. "Jasper, this is my old homeroom teacher, Eraserhead. He's the one that always tried to expel me." "Sometimes I wonder why he really didn't Lils. It's nice to meet you Eraserhead." The man lets out a small snort, which she can only hope is a bit of laughter. "Just call me Aizawa, since we'll be working together. Without thinking, Jasper holds a hand out to him. When he glances at it, she blushes a deep red. "Shit.. sorry." "Don't apologize. I understand that it's weird. Daedalus, was it?" "Jasper, please, but yes." He nods slightly. "Sho," Mic shifts his intense gaze to his wrapped up friend, "you can't tell me you don't know her." "Oh, I remember her. I remember training her with Midnight." "Wooooah, I don't remember.. oh wait." Jasper suddenly remembers one training session when she was a teenager. Midnight had taken her to an abandoned building with two other guys. The two guys faced her and her mentor in multiple sparring matches. She always remembered Mic being one of the boys since he had taken the time to talk to her, but the other boy was more to himself. He was really cute, in a mysterious sort of way. "You seem to be realizing that you know my best buddy, Sho." "I.. Yeah, I apologize, Aizawa." "You apologize too much, seriously. I don't care. You look different than I remember, though." Jasper lets out an awkward laugh. "Yeah, I guess I do. I cut all my hair off and.. ya know, gained a bit of weight." Lilith immediately shoots her friend a glare, which isn't shocking, but Mic jumps in. "Yo yo yo, baby, you look just as gorgeous as ever. Hell, if you didn't like women, I would totally hit on you." Jasper chuckles and gives the blonde haired man a pat on his head. Aizawa groans when he laughs softly, and Jasper's first instinct is to crouch in front of him worriedly. "Is there anything I can do to help your pain a bit, Aizawa?" "Not really. It's just something I have to put up with for a while. Thank you, though." Suddenly, Mic's phone starts to ring, making the other three people in the room jump a bit. His usually bright green eyes seem to dull when he looks at the number. "Hey, Joke. What can I do ya for?" Aizawa mutters a few curses under his breath. "Joke," Mic continues with a groan, "the two women with us are not trying to hit on your boyfriend. One is a lesbian and the other is an old student of his." Jasper can't help but chuckle a bit. "Jealous girlfriend?" Aizawa's eyes hold the smallest amount of amusement when he meets Jasper's baby blue eyes. "Yeah, you have no idea." Something about the tiny giggle she breathes out makes his heart pick up its pace. He's suddenly thankful for the ridiculous bandages wrapped around his face because he's sure that she would notice the slight flush on his otherwise pale cheeks. Mic finally hangs the cell phone up, glancing over his shoulder to look at his friend. "I don't understand why she only tells me when you 'screw up'. Sho-" "Can we talk about this at home, Mic?" Mic respects his friend's wishes and stops talking about the situation. Still, Aizawa knows that he won't forget. The two girls decide to hang out with Mic and Aizawa for the rest of the sports festival. Mic and Lilith end up reminiscing about her school days at UA, while Jasper sits in the chair next to Aizawa. Most of their small talk ended in something about a shared love of cats and coffee. "Have you ever been to the cat cafe downtown?" "No, actually. My dads work as vets, so I spend time with their patients a lot." Aizawa makes a small note in his mind about her admitting to having two fathers. He would never judge her about it, but he likes to remember things he thinks other people would tend to forget. "Mic and I go there sometimes. There are two cats I enjoy the company of a lot." "Well," Jasper smiles a bit, "maybe I can go with the two of you at some point." Aizawa feels a smile creep to his face. Her company amidst the boistrous blonde he calls his best friend sounds like a nice change of atmosphere. "Would your girlfriend care?" "Mirko? Hell no. She isn't the jealous type." "I hate being the bearer of bad news," Mic sighs, "but Joke would." Jasper quickly puts her hands up. "I swear I won't jump your bones, Aizawa." "She'll jump my bones." Lilith has to add in. Mic snickers at that. "Lilith, I will break your bones." "That's hot." "Good lord." Aizawa even chuckles at Jasper's flushed cheeks. He can't help but think how cute her embarrassment is, but he keeps the thought in his head. Mic would flip his lid if Aizawa admitted that anything other than cats was cute. "Honest question, baby," Mic passes Aizawa a bottle of water, "would you jump MY bones if you liked guys?" Lilith howls out her laughter as Jasper smirks. "Nah, too loud. The whole neighborhood would hear you climax." "Damn, baby. That kinda hurts my ego." Aizawa rolls his eyes before holding the water bottle up. "You deserve it after giving me an UNOPENED water bottle. I can't open it, dip shit." Jasper giggles and reaches to unscrew the lid for poor Aizawa. "There ya go." He feels his face warm yet again. He didn't exactly mean for her to do it for him.. "Thanks, Jasper." "Anytime." "Look at that," Mic groans softly, "Bakugo wins the Sports Festival." Jasper smiles, not knowing who the kid actually is. She remembers when she won it in her third year. Her parents cried like babies seeing her on the television, and Midnight even threw her a party. 'Hopefully that kid feels good about his win. He deserves it, I'm sure'. "I'm not shocked," Aizawa comments, "he's headstrong." "He's a bit unstable, Sho." "No, he really isn't. He doesn't settle for less than what he wants, and that's how a true hero is." Lilith snorts. "Tenya has told me about that guy. He sounds like an ass, but one of the greatest heroes in Japan is a grade A bitch." She's talking about Endeavor, and the thought of that man makes Jasper tighten her fists in anger. Jasper can't stand that man. From the moment she met him, a weird feeling of absolute hatred invaded her body. Her girlfriend, Mirko, has to work with the guy from time to time, and Jasper always refuses to accompany on those missions. She just knows that she wouldn't be able to focus with that asshole barking orders like he leads something. "Jasper? What's wrong?" She jumps slightly from Aizawa's sudden question. "Oh, I just don't like Endeavor, and that's who she was mentioning. I swear, that man makes it hard to want to stay a hero." Mic tilts his head. "I mean, he's saved a lot of people." "But there's a reason All Might is number one. I'll give you a hint, All Might isn't a major douche canoe." "Being likeable isn't a necessary trait to be a hero, Jasper." Aizawa raises an eyebrow despite the fact no one can see it. "You're right, but being an ass to fans and such is just wrong. You hide all of your hero work, Aizawa, so I'm not sure if you would understand how much it means to a child when you give them a high five or sign their freaking teddy bear." Aizawa nods in agreement. No, he doesn't really know that feeling, and he doesn't care to. Lilith even snorts. "In all fairness, I don't like kids, so I never pay attention to them while they watch me work." "I love helping kids, yo. They get a kick out of my speaker." Jasper turns her attention to Aizawa when she notices him picking at the bandages on his face. "What are you doing there?" "I'm supposed to be allowed to take most of these damn things off since the festival is over." Jasper stands from her seat and walks over to where he's sitting. "May I help you out?" "Can you?" Lilith chuckles from her seat. "Trust me, she has taken care of a lot of my injuries. She should be a medical professional at this point." Jasper rolls her eyes before she reaches behind Aizawa's head to take hold of the end of his wrappings. "Anywhere that I need to be careful around?" "Oh, uhh, under my right eye is still kind of tender." She nods, thankful he's honest about his pain. Even Mic goes quiet while watching her unwrap Aizawa's face. Truth be told, it scared the hell out of him when Aizawa got the news that his quirk might not be the same. For Christ's sake, the man is only thirty. He doesn't need to retire that early. "Aaaand, that should be the last one." Jasper turns to throw away the bandages before turning her attention to his arms. "Do any of these need to be left alone?" "My right elbow. Thank you, Jasper." She smiles at his thanks and wuickly unwraps his left arm and his right forearm. Finally, she stands completely and meets the man's eyes. Despite his hair being slightly disheveled, he's a very handsome guy. He looks exhausted, but his eyes hold a sort of alertness that only the best heroes have. The deep scar under his right eye, however, makes her stomach drop. If she remembers correctly, his quirk works a lot like hers. Any injury to the eye can be detrimental to their careers. "Sho," Mic glances worriedly at his friend, "do you think erasure will work?" Aizawa closes his eyes for a second before nodding slightly. "Only one way to find out. Mic, scream." "Are you-" "Do it." The scream is enough to almost rupture all of their eardrums. Jasper quickly covers her ears and watches as Lilith does the same. Suddenly, Aizawa's eyes shoot open, and the color of them makes Jasper gasp out loud. Hopefully no one heard it. That would be a bit embarrasing. Still, the crimson color of his eyes is grogeous. Mic suddenly goes quiet, barely making a peep. Aizawa smirks, but it's quickly replaced by him closing his eyes and letting out a pain filled groan. Jasper's next movements are out of pure instinct. She quickly gets on her knees in front of his seat and her hands are immediately on his face. His eyes are squeezed shut, but he tenses at the gentle touch. Her fingers glide so easily over his now sweat glistened skin. "Open your eyes, Aizawa. Let me check on you." Usually he would push someone away for being so caring. He usually can't stand when people try and take care of him, but her voice is so fucking genuine. He can't help but open his eyes to meet hers. Her lips curl into the smallest smile hes ever seen. "Don't over use it, Aizawa. It works, and that's what matters. Let it get back to normal on its own." God, if it were Mic telling him this, he would tell him to shut up... but it's this caring girl. He finds himself nodding. Suddenly, the door is opened, and his stomach drops. "Umm... what the fuck are you doing to my boyfriend?"

@katgalle​

#eraserhead #aizawa shouta #mha shouta #bnha #aizawa x oc #present mic

[spilledkauffie]

College Boy

Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader Word Count: 2.4k T/W: Fluff / angst / lil spicy? A/N: Because my semester starts tomorrow + I just finished season 1 of SPN, again.

“Dude,” Dean huffed in a disgruntled fashion as he slid farther down in his chair, displaying the sheer boredom he was experiencing, “this is so lame. Where are the college girls?”

“The kind you’re looking for...probably don’t read,” Sam glared sarcastically at his older sibling, “so they’re probably not here, this is a library, Dean.”

Dean tossed his head back, with a groan of frustration and dissatisfaction, while Sam turned back to the research books he had scattered out across the wooden tabletop. It was a familiar setting for him, especially given the fact that it was his alma mater. If he was honest, he still found himself missing it from time to time, the quiet, late night studying, notebooks filled with ink, even sitting in classes. There was also someone he found himself exclusively missing, but he tried to quickly push that thought aside…it'd been over a year.

“Aren’t there supposed to be hot librarians?” Dean asked in the utmost sincerity, while peering around for any girl he could find. 

“Dean,” Sam dropped his shoulders and cocked his head, having had just about enough with his brother’s comments, “there are no-“

“Hey, Winchester!” Your voice came from behind Sam. 

Slightly startled, Sam and Dean quickly turned to look over their shoulders, knowing it typically wasn’t good when someone addressed them by their last name. They quietly watched you walk around the table, their heads following your movement as you came to stand across the table from them. A mildly stern look appeared on Dean’s face as he played it cool while wondered how you knew who they were. Thinking of a good first question, Dean opened his mouth to talk first; Sam beat him, though not very impressively.

“H-hey, uh, Y/n hi,” Sam half smiled, eyes sparkling at your familiar face.

You, yourself, couldn’t help but feel the pull of a smile on your own lips at Sam’s gaping mixed expression, partially shocked, somewhat happy and slightly nervous, as he got up to hug you. Dean shifted in his seat, sitting up more properly with a subtle smirk and side glance over to Sam, now very curious of your appearance and his brother’s bumbling reaction. 

“Wh-what’re you doin’ here?” Sam asked, pulling away and sitting down again, hand nearly missing the arm of the chair.

“I’m a year behind you,” you set your backpack down with a light thud in the chair across from Dean, “remember?”

When you tilted your head at the end of you sentence, Dean perked his eyebrows, now unable to hide his smile which was filled with assumptions about you and his brother. Sam ducked his head and laughed shyly before looking up to you. 

“That’s right,” he pointed his pencil towards you lazily, not even lifting his hand from the book it was resting on, “you were always so jealous of that.”

“Yeah, still am,” you blinked slowly, quirking an eyebrow, and pulling the corner of your lips up into a soft smile. 

Sam swallowed nervously, nodding as his eyes dropped from your lips to follow the silver chain of your necklace and its trail, down passed the base of your neck, to your collarbones. You had your zip up hoodie opened low enough to make Sam remember how much he wanted you, but the fabric of your tank top cut off the viewing pleasure and left the rest of your body to imagination as you always did. Sam’s lips parted subtly when you pushed your palms against the top of the back of the chair across from him, leaning in a bit closer. Dean now decided to make his presence obvious by turning to Sam, clearing his throat with a “please explain” expression. 

“I’m so sorry,” you shook your head with a slightly embarrassed smile, reaching your hand across the table, “you must be Dean?”

“Yes ma’am, lucky guess,” Dean said, giving you his best killer smile as his hand met yours. 

“No guess needed,” you sighed crossing your arms where you stood, looking between them momentarily, before settling your gaze on Sam, “you Winchesters have the most gorgeous eyes, must be a family thing.”

Dean tilted his head cockily, his way of saying thanks. While Sam was in the middle of getting completely lost in you all over again. He swore he felt his heart skip a beat when your eyes met his. He thought back to the nights you’d come over to study with him, just the two of you. You were usually the first to fall asleep on the couch with a book in your lap, sleepily snuggling yourself against Sam as he sat on the end of the couch, still hard at work. He always made sure you were comfortable, throwing a blanket over you, and staying close. There were even a few times he fell asleep, head resting on your lap and when he’d wake up  you were reading while combing your fingers through his fluffed hair. 

Neither of you had ever gone further than those little intimate moments that came at random. Sam never had the courage to ask you out, afraid of ruining the friendship. And you only wanted him to be happy, even if that meant never confessing your feelings for him because he never expressed his. There was definitely tension when Sam explained he was leaving with his brother out of the blue. You’d kept his number, often wondering...,but never acting upon your thoughts, assuming he’d long forgotten about you. 

“But anyway, I’m just here to grab a few books,” you finally broke the silence, bringing Sam back from memory lane, “mind watching my stuff?”

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Sam was quick to answer, nodding. 

“Thanks,” you almost whispered, turning away. 

Sighing to himself when you walked away, Sam couldn’t keep his eyes off you. He had missed you so much since leaving, seeing you again was a reminder of just how much he longed for a normal relationship, ideally with you. For a moment he wanted to go back to the late nights, this time with more than just accidentally falling asleep on the couch together. He suddenly wanted to tell you how he truly felt and the sway of your hips only encouraged his desire for something more intimate.

“I meant watch that stuff,” you turned around playfully, pointing at your backpack. 

Sam, again, ducked his head to hide the slight embarrassment making its way up to tint his cheeks red, raising the pencil in his hand, “yep, got it.”

You giggled at his reaction and turned the corner to find your books. Sam shook his head, with an amused smile as he returned to the pages in front of him as if your conversation was nothing new. 

“Dude!” Dean exclaimed, causing Sam to instantly look around nervously, still afraid of the head librarian that used to yell at him for making you laugh too loud in that same place, “did I miss something?”

“What? No,” Sam avoided eye contact. 

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice was like an integrating parent with slightly different motivation to find out who you were. 

Lightly tossing his pencil into the crevice of the book’s spine, Sam turned to his brother, annoyed with his questioning and assuming tone. Giving him a “what do you want to know?” expression. 

“Who is she?” Dean asked, happy with his work. 

“She-she’s,” Sam stuttered trying to find the right words to describe you. The girl I’ve had a crush on since she started college with me? The girl I think about when I can’t sleep? The only girl I want. None of those seemed to do you enough justice. 

“She’s an old friend,” Sam settled on, leaving it vague.

“Uh-huh,” Dean clicked his tongue, leaning back, “Sammy boy did alright!”

“It wasn’t like that,” Sam quickly corrected, not wanting anyone to think of you just in that way, especially his brother, “we were honestly just friends,” his tone dropped to a sigh, “nothing more.”

The silence between the brothers was filled with anticipation for Dean and reflection for Sam. 

“But?” Dean blurted out again, causing his little brother to slump in his chair. 

“But what?” Sam snapped, surprisingly quiet, “she’s the one that got away I guess, it’s fine, we weren’t, I didn’t-“

Dean was thriving off the discovery of Sam’s number one crush and now being able to tease him relentlessly about it.

“Whatever, I’m going to find another lore book” Sam stood, brushing off his brother, “watch her stuff.”

“Sounds like that’s your job, buddy boy,” Dean relaxed back into the chair, planning on never letting it go. 

Roaming for the right book, Sam spotted you down one of the isles. Chuckling to himself, he saw you struggling to reach a book from the top shelf. That image alone brought back memories, he also couldn’t help but notice part of your lower back peeking out from under your hoodie when you reached for the shelf. Relentless, you tried over and over again. 

“Need some help there?” You could hear Sam’s smile. 

Looking over your shoulder, still standing on your tip-toes, you perked an eyebrow, “don’t you know children shouldn’t be left alone in the library?” You nodded over to Dean. 

“Hah, yeah tell me about it,” Sam agreed, coming more than comfortably close to you, to grab the book you were reaching for, “you know, I’ve uh, I’ve missed you a lot.”

You brushed your messy hair behind your ear, watching Sam take a step back, placing both of you in either sides of the isle, and against books. 

“I’ve missed you too, Sam,” you admitted, “actually a lot lately. It’s kinda spooky seeing you so suddenly.”

“Really?” Sam smirked, about to tease in his gentle tone, “you’ve been thinking about me?”

You tossed your head back with a smile, head resting against the books behind you, “you haven’t changed Winchester.”

Sam laughed, looking down, your needed book still in his hands. The silence between the two of you was calming somehow, not tense. Though Sam could feel his heart racing. The way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him under the dim library lights. 

“This- uh, this is gonna sound stupid-“

“Sam, I don’t think anything you could say is stupid,” you gave a soft tilt of your head.

“Well, I- I don’t think I got to tell you before I left, mostly because I was scared it’d ruin our friendship, uh, but,” Sam stuttered nervously, “I think I still love you.”

You crossed your arms and looked down, “and you feel you can tell me this now because tomorrow you’re just going to be gone with your brother?”

Your words knived Sam, but he knew you had a valid point. And it might not have been fair for him to tell you, just to leave you. You looked up, and quirked your lips, as if debating with yourself. 

“Sam, I was head over heels for you,” you smiled to yourself minorly embarrassed, “but I didn’t tell you because I always wanted you to be happy, and I figured I’d get in the way of that. And sure enough when Dean came along, you were free to go; because you didn’t know.”

“I could’ve been happy with you,” Sam said, voice a little broken. 

“But he needed you,” you glanced over to Dean, “I think you need each other.”

You stepped closer, taking Sam’s hand in both yours. He followed your gaze, when you looked up to meet his. There was a moment of stillness. You tilted your head endearingly, bringing a hand up to caress his jawline. Stroking his skin smoothly with your thumb as you looked him over. Knowing you were going to miss him, you placed a lingering kiss to his cheek. 

“But I’ll still love you,” you pulled back. 

Sam’s chest rose and fell with a whirlwind of emotions going through his head. He felt he had one last chance to let you know. 

Tossing the book in his hand to the nearest bookshelf, Sam mindfully pushed you against the books behind you, caressing your face in his hands with a passion you had always imagined in him. Dipping his head, allowing your lips to meet. 

Out of some natural instinct, you reached your arms up, squeezing his bicep with one hand and running the other through his hair, settling at the back of his neck. You felt small, yet safe when he wrapped an arm around you, bringing you flesh against him. 

It was a fantasy come true for the both of you, until you pulled back for a breath. His forehead pressed against yours as you both caught your breath.

“And I still love you,” Sam said, “no matter where I go.”

You nodded, feeling a tear slip passed your eyelashes. Trying to gather yourself, you sniffled. Sam pulled back to look at you, wiping the tear from your cheek with his thumb, you leaned into his touch. Not wanting to lose it, but knowing you had to. 

“Better go back before Dean gets suspicious,” you suggested, exhaling. 

“Yeah, no, yeah, you’re right,” Sam ran a hand through his hair and picked up the book you had needed, handing it to you. 

“Thanks,” you said, holding it close to your chest as you headed back. 

Dean was looking to the left when you returned. He smiled, looking between the two of you. 

“It was really good to see you Sam,” you said, looking up to him, “you have my number if you’re ever in town again.” You looked over to Dean, “or if you guys need a place to stay,” returning your gaze to Sam, “I’m still on my own these days.”

Nodding with repressed tears, Sam tried to smile, avoiding the look his brother was giving him. 

“It was nice to meet you, Dean,” you picked up your backpack from the table. 

“Hey, you too,” he winked, shamelessly. 

“Sam,” was all you could say, hugging him once more, “take care of yourself for me.”

“You too,” he responded, before you kissed his cheek.

Taking one last look, you headed for the library door, knowing if you looked back you wouldn’t leave. While Sam sat back down, combing through his hair and clearing his throat. 

Dean smiled at his little brother, as if waiting for him to say something.

“What?” Sam said, not looking over. 

“Oh nothing,” Dean raised his hands with sass, “not like I saw you making out with your sweetheart behind the book, in the isle that is almost directly in front of me.”

Dropping his head, Sam just sighed. 

“Yeah,” Dean placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “you’re never living that down College Boy.”

#spilledkauffie #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester fanfiction #spn #spn x reader #spn x you #spn x y/n #supernatural #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #Supernatural fanfic #jared padalecki #spn fluff

[neoblogcrying]

“Tea talk”

I wanted to practice trying to write Shang Qinghua, shame™ and all, so here is this. It’s a lil fic about SQQ and SQH talking over cups of tea, discussing their bent husbands. If someone reads this, I hope you enjoy! I did my best to write for our lovely transmigrators. OTL Sorry if it’s no good. |||||||

“You’re telling me the reason why he cries all the time is because you advised him to act weak in front of me?” Shen Qingqiu asked with half his face hidden behind his fan as always.

Shang Qinghua could only nod his head in response. There wasn’t much that he could do about it at the time, you know? He had the protagonist staring at him, looking for answers! He was scared for his life! “Cucumber bro, I wanted to live another day and I told him whatever I could to keep my life. In the end, isn’t it easier to tame him this way?”

Let’s conveniently ignore the fact that it may have awakened the M in him.

No, he was probably already like that due to his upbringing. Shang Qinghua had his ‘lovely Cucumber bro’ to thank for that. It was weird seeing the character that he lovingly created turn bent for the ‘villainous scum’ for that matter!

If he had to explain it, it was like sending off your daughter to marry some punk, who surprisingly ended up being an okay kind of guy. All things considered, Shang Qinghua liked the other male. They were both from Earth and so they could relate to each other about how 'sad' they were.

Certainly, Luo Binghe was easier to deal with this way, but it was still too weird! The gap was immense! Illogical!

It seemed that Shen Qingqiu was willing to let the matter go for now as he brought the tea cup to his lip to sip the tea quietly. There was a contemplative look on his face as he was thinking something over to himself. The imagery of Luo Binghe coming to him alone for advice was too ridiculous. There had to be others there at the time, right?

“Was he the only one you told this to?” Shen Qingqiu raised another good question.

Thinking it over, there were other people there at the time, including Mobei Jun and even Sha Hualing.

“As I’m sure you've guessed, we weren’t alone. I may be shameless, but I wouldn’t try to steal him from you, Cucumber bro. Relax.”

The sound of a tea cup slamming onto the table almost surprised Shang Qinghua out the door. If there were any suspicious movements on his part, he was sure that his ‘son’ would come running out to flay him.

‘I lovingly create you from my own mind and this is how you repay me!?’ He’d cry as he’d get hacked down while clinging onto Luo Binghe’s thighs, begging for life. That’s the scenario the 'Shameless theatre' played in his head.

On the other hand, Shen Qingqiu had his own thoughts running through his mind: ‘Who is worried you’ll steal Luo Binghe away! If anyone could steal him away, they’d be wearing the Protagonist’s halo! How shameless! You may be the author, but there is a limit to how much you want to play at God! If anyone is getting stolen away, it would sooner be me, and Luo Binghe would destroy the world in the end!’

Just thinking about it… how scary! The protagonist was too scary!

Stop thinking about it. Don’t bother with it. Shen Qingqiu had to fan himself to calm himself down.

Ahem.

“Was Mobei Jun there?” He asked calmly.

“Huh? Yeah… he was there, why?”

Why are you bringing him up? Could it be…?

Shock was painted across his face. That can’t be right! There’s no way! How could you thrust such an idea onto him? Show some mercy, will you?

“Cucumber bro, you’re even more shameless than me. Is Luo Binghe not enough for you? He’s got the highest Stallion potential, you know? Now you want Mobei Jun to answer to your beck and call? I won’t have it, even if I have to fight against you.”

“Cut the crap!” A fan came crashing down onto the crown of Shang Qinghua’s head. The latter whimpered in response. He was always being beaten by everyone. Mobei Jun, and now his good Cucumber bro.

Is there anyone in this world who was more pitiful than him?

“I have my hands full with that sticky Luo Binghe. I have no need for another.” He huffed, not caring to hide his annoyance with the other.

Just hearing his name, Luo Binghe peeked his head out from the kitchen. “Did Shizun call for this disciple?” It was like you could see a tail wagging from behind him, he was that happy. Did calling you by name make you that happy? Were you not busy cooking food?

With a displeased snort, he waved a hand to wordlessly tell Luo Binghe to go back to what he was doing, which was cooking food for him to eat. “This Master still hungers.” That was all he needed to say to remind his disciple on what he was doing.

“This disciple will quickly procure a feast for Shizun!” His voice was full of adoration and adulation for his Shizun.

Ha… you really don’t have to go that far…

That being said, Shen Qingqiu was already salivating at the thought, but you couldn’t tell because of his Mater-level poker face!

To think the cool and suave protagonist could turn into such… such… A WHIPPED PUPPY!

Shang Qinghua wanted to cry for his son’s honor, but even he had to admit that Luo Binghe seemed happier this way. For the sake of his son’s happiness… please continue to stick with him. May your ass rest in piece, Cucumber bro. The shameless author offered a prayer for Shen Qingqiu’s ass.

As if he could sense a disturbance in forces, a small shiver ran up Shen Qingqiu’s spine. “As I was trying to say… don’t you think the reason Mobei Jun harbors feelings for you… is because of your words?”

How could that be?

Shang Qinghua had spent many nights laboring over how Mobei Jun turned out this way. He thought that maybe it was his authority as the author that caused this. Who told him to design Mobei Jun to fit all his aesthetics, anyways? It was impossible for him NOT to feel strongly for his own creation.

He had such an attractive face. He was tall and had a nice, firm body. His voice? It sends shivers down his spine (good and bad). He was powerful and had a good lineage as well. What more could you want in a man?

Even now Shang Qinghua looks at Mobei Jun and wonders how it was possible for such a perfect demon could exist. If he had any complaint, it would be that his skin was too cool to the touch and it would make the winter time a struggle.

Mobei Jun was the best (let’s ignore Binghe for now), and he should have legions of women begging for his favor! He was weaker than Luo Binghe, but he was just as strong of a bachelor—BUT! HE! WENT! BENT!!!

Just because your superior goes bent, you do the same thing!? Where is the logic in that!? Shang Qinghua wanted to cry.

Not only that… he… HE REALLY SUCKED IN BED!

Shouldn’t you have some Godly skills or something? He is your maker! He designed you to be skilled in various fields! The author lamented to the skies, conveniently forgetting that he never designed a bent Mobei Jun, so it made sense that he was lacking skills in that area.

Still, he was a quick learner, so he was sure the pain he feels will only last for a short while! Soon enough, he’ll be able to put Luo Binghe to shame! These are the words coming from the author himself, so he can’t be wrong! Shang Qinghua seemed to puff out his chest at the thought.

Though… what did Cucumber bro mean by his words? “What do you mean?”

“In order to appeal to a man, you have to act obedient… cute… weak… lovable… and must evoke a feeling of protection…” Shen Qingqiu kept glancing at Shang Qinghua in between sips of his tea, trying to make a point.

He could only see a poker face to start, but as he spoke, it seemed like the other was finally starting to get it.

HE’D INADVERTENDLY SEDUCED MOBEI JUN WITH HIS OWN WORDS! HE ONLY HAD HIMSELF TO BLAME FOR BENDING MOBEI JUN!!!

“Ughh… no way… I… I bent him myself?” The author lamented. How could he be so blind to not have realized this when he gave advice to Luo Binghe that day? It’s true that Mobei Jun could be characterized as being his ‘ideal man,’ but wasn’t it a shame to have him be bent? He could have all the women he wanted in the world!

Ah… but… who would suit him? Nothing but the best for his Mobei Jun!

Gripping the teacup hard in his hand, he downed the entire cup, almost scalding the top of his mouth in the process. Yep.

Perfection is the only thing that suits perfection. As the author of this world, he is like a God, is he not? Who is more perfect than God? That’s right, no one. In other words, he’s perfection.

Nailed it!

He’d shamelessly tacked on the ‘perfect’ tag onto himself that made him worthy enough to be with Mobei Jun.

Only someone as shameless as this author could do such a thing or write such shameless characters. Face it, the real reason you were transmigrated into Shang Qinghua’s body had to be because you were kindred spirits.

With all seriousness, who understood Mobei Jun the best? Who would know his likes and dislikes better than the author who created him? If anyone knew how to make him happy, it should be him. 

“You blamed me for bending him, but I can throw this back at you. You bent Mobei Jun.” Eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth. If you blame him for bending Luo Binghe, he’ll blame you for bending Mobei Jun! “Have another cup of tea.”

“Thanks… but I’d rather a cup of wine. How about we toast for our bent husbands?”

#scum villain #svsss #scum villain's self-saving system #neo writes drabbles #((idk what else to tag this as)) #((i really hope i did their characterization justice. i tried otl))

[thatsouthernanthem]

[ac odyssey fic] don’t you waste me in the ground rated: m characters: melina (oc), methodios (oc), random other ocs

so these start out kinda cute and then around story 3 get darker...and then story 5 is the darkest. So uhm. Read at your own risk...I just had to get it out and then post it to share the feelings with y’all :P 

part iii-v deals with slavery in ancient greece.

some content warnings for part v: implied rape (i will never actually write it), physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse and the depression that comes with it. 

i.

Iola knows her baby’s name immediately.

Tradition dictates they wait ten days to name their daughter, and so Iola keeps the name to herself for now, and instead concentrates on making sure her tiny newborn daughter survives those first ten days. Midwives bustle around her as she carefully wraps her child in blankets and cradles her to her chest. A lot can go wrong in the first week, they gently remind her.

But she barely listens because she is lost in the ocean blue of her daughter’s eyes, in the wisps of pale hair on her head, the tiniest freckles on the tiniest nose and the curl of her small fingers around her own. Melina will be her name, for she has the disposition of honey.

Her husband cries when he sees their daughter for the first time, marveling at how his hand is bigger than half her body. She is so small, he wonders if she is alright. “Well,” Iola smiles gently, looking down at her daughter noisily feeding at her breast. “I am small too, Sebastos. I think she’ll be fine.”

ii.

Melina has the bestest best friend in the entire world. She is the blacksmith’s daughter, and she is her partner in crime. At least that’s what Auntie says when they run past her in the village. Lalaia is small, and everyone there knows everyone but that’s also a good thing because Melina is never far from a friend.

Methiadusa grabs her hand and tugs her through the worn dirt streets of their home, toward the Kephisos Springs, both of the giggling along the way. Melina is five now and she is absolutely old and brave enough to go climb the rocks on her own, no matter what mater says.

They stick to the rocks closest to the shore, laughing and yelling across the stones over the roar of the waterfalls. There are the prettiest, tiniest fishes in the water below them and Melina cannot wait to return here with pater and go swimming together. She wants to be a fish when she grows up, even if her mother laughs when she says it. Mater just doesn’t get it.

She leans forward, reaching out to brace herself along the rocks as she wiggles her way up a particularly large one. Methiadusa is whining at the bottom, telling her to get down and that it’s time for a snack. She always gets whiny when she needs a snack and it’s probably because Methiadusa is a full three months younger than Melina and so--

With a screech, Melina slips and falls, catching her hands and leg on a jagged rock. The sharp stone rips through her skin like it’s papyros and Melina feels more sick than she does pain. Biting her lip hard, she looks down at her leg and hands and only starts to sob when she sees how much blood there is. Methiadusa takes off down the dirt path, screaming for help and Meli is left alone with her tears and the fear she will fall off the rock before someone comes to get her.

It feels like hours but then pater is there suddenly, pulling her off the rock and sitting with her in the shallows of the spring to wash off the wound. He’s scared, she can tell by the way his hands shake, but she’s also scared and she is small so she keeps crying because she doesn’t know what else to do.

The doctor comes to their house while mater paces back and forth, wringing her hands with worry. He gives Meli something for the pain and it makes her so sleepy she can barely think straight. When she wakes up, her leg and hands are wrapped up in tight bandages and the pain is a little bit better.

“Melina,” mater whispers, pushing the messy curls out of Meli’s face so her mother can see her. “Do not climb those rocks again, do you understand me?”

She nods meekly, scared at how sad mater looks. Sad at how pater keeps glancing over like he’s scared she’ll disappear. “I’m sorry, mater. Pater, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“We just want to keep you safe, mélissa,” her father murmurs as he walks over to her. “We will always try to keep you safe.”

iii.

We will always try to keep you safe. The words from nearly a year ago rattle around in her brain and she isn’t sure why she’s suddenly remembering them now. Now, long after the wound on her leg has scarred over. Now, when Melina is forced to leave her dead parents’ bodies on the ground and go with the men who killed them.

They laugh and joke and are loud and crude. They taunt her and mock her when she stumbles on rocks and can’t keep up with them. She is only six and a half years old, she wants to scream at them, but she is scared they’ll stab her too. So she lets them drag her over the rocky border into Malis. They’re meeting their ship off of Thermopylae, she hears them say, and the words barely mean anything to her. She knows there was a battle there. Everyone knows there was a battle there.

But that is all she knows. One of the men gets tired of watching her fall, tired of hauling her back to her feet so he carries her. She wants to kick him, wants to scream until he drops her, but they’re along a rocky ledge and she’s scared he’ll let her fall to her death. And she’s so tired, so drained, so she lets him carry her down to the shore.

Gonna take you to Attika, lil’ one, one of them tells her that night. Her clothes are ragged scraps now, and she’s covered in dirt and grime and she prays that Zeus strike this man down and take her away but he doesn’t listen. They make it to Attika and she’s bartered and sold like the one time mater bought a goat from their neighbor.

She wonders if anyone has found her parents yet. She hopes someone holds Auntie Philea when she cries...she’s just had a baby, Melina’s little cousin who she will never know.

She’s ushered into the kitchen of her new owner--an old man who is fond of gambling, she overhears the ladies in the room say. She doesn’t know what that means, but they clean her up and set her to work delivering snacks to the lady of the house. They’re not unkind to her and she’s at least grateful for that.

“When can I go home?” She asks the housekeeper one night and the old woman just sighs and turns away, giving her an answer without meaning to.

iv.

“What do you mean he lost us?” Phylia snaps, holding the opposite end of the blanket Melina holds. She just wants to finish this room so she can move to the next, but Phylace is clutching the blanket with white-knuckled fingers. “He fucking gambled us away?!”

“More like gambled his house and savings away and can’t afford us anymore,” Lede shrugs, resting her hand on Melina’s shoulder. “We’re bein’ split up and sold off. Some of us will stay here and others, I hear are...being sold to Lakonia.”

Melina looks up sharply as Phylia quiets, both of their eyes wide with fear. Shaking her head, Melina sets the blanket down, the situation finally sinking into her brain. “Lakonia? Sparta? But the...they literally hunt slaves.”

“Usually just the male ones,” Lede winces, her fingers tightening on the younger girl’s shoulder. “And who knows...it’s probably not any of us goin’ there anyway.”

Lede is wrong and her face is sheer terror when the slavers grab Melina’s arm. She steps forward, as if she’d grab the thirteen year old back from them but she stays silent, mouthing I’m so sorry over and over again. And then they grab Phylia and as they’re taken to the ship, she can hear Lede’s sobbing.

Melina leans into her friend, only two years her elder, their fingers twisted tightly together as they sit and sway on the ship headed for Lakonia. The slavers have kept them in cages, like animals, but Melina almost doesn’t mind--it is a barrier between her and them.

They have them stand before a crowd in the harbor: Melina, Phylia and the other slaves brought from all over Attika. Men and women alike stop and study each one of them, murmuring to themselves in their accented speak. All of them are tanned with dark hair and eyes--Melina feels more out of place among them physically than anything else with her lighter skin, blue eyes and blonde hair.

“I want her,” a deep voice rumbles, and she glances up quickly to see a wide-shouldered and fit older man point directly at her. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? My wife needs a new attendant,” he laughs with the slaver at some secret she’s not privy to, “since we had to get rid of the last.”

She’s dragged off the line, her fingers slipping from Phylia’s for the last time (she hisses out a be brave, girl, before turning her head back down and staying in her place), and brought before the Spartan. He takes her by the chin, forcing her to look at him and when he smiles, it’s not entirely unkindly. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Melina, sir,” she answers, keeping her head tilted up and her eyes locked on his until he releases her chin.

He asks how old she is and she tells him she’s thirteen--fourteen in two months--and that seems to satisfy him and he shoves a pouch of drachmae in the slaver’s hands and escorts her to his home. He doesn’t seem half-bad, and he introduces himself as Methodios.

“My wife,” he says, ushering a waifish woman toward her. “Kallixiena.”

“Pleased to meet you, mistress,” Melina recites dutifully and the woman just scoffs and leaves the room. She’s not sure why the woman hates her already, but she seems pretty adamant about it. The weeks pass and Melina finds herself not hating Lakonia as much as she thought she would. She doesn’t have many friends here--the helots are encouraged not to befriend each other here on Methodios’ farm, and while she doesn’t understand, she also doesn’t want to rock the boat when she is so new here.

He brings her things, sometimes, when his wife is gone or Melina has been dismissed back to her room for the day. Jewelry, hair pieces, and after about three months of living on the estate, he brings her an honest-to-gods bed with the plushest mattress she’s ever felt.

“You’re too thin to be sleeping on the floor,” he laughs, but doesn’t up her food rations at all. Nevermind, she thinks as she sinks onto the bed, the golden bracelets on her arms jingling as they shift, she will take the small victories where she can.

v.

Suddenly, in blinding, sickening clarity, the gifts of the past two and a half years make sense and she hates herself so much for accepting them even if she knows declining them would not have stopped this from happening.

Her stupid bracelets tinkle as he pushes her down onto the bed and she sobs out a weak please stop that ends with him backhanding her across the face. She tastes the metallic tang of blood on her lip and she freezes as he presses the cold iron of a dagger against her throat, pressing in just enough to draw a thick red line that oozes down her throat.

He curses her, tells her she is the temptress, that this is her fault, that he is only obeying her wills. She’s numb inside now, when he calls her names and in the same breath whispers how beautiful she is. He’s grown fat since his injuries made him retire from active duty; slovenly and drunk on wine. He reeks of it when he presses his mouth against hers and she forces herself to kiss him back, if only to keep from being killed.

Afterward, he dresses himself as she lays on her gifted bed, clutching the ruins of her gifted dress to her chest, the annoying jingle jangle of gifted, gaudy jewelry hanging from her ears and arms. He takes her chin in between his fingers and forces her to look up at him--he tells her he will be back later and she has to bite her tongue to keep from shuddering.

She grows number every time. She stops asking the gods for help--they do not care for mortals such as she. They stood by while her parents were murdered for trying to protect her, they stood by as Methodios touched her--as he touches her every time, as he lets his thugs touch her. He’d never hurt her before that night but now it’s like a fire in him has been stroked.

The mark on her neck heals into a curved scar around her throat, so he beats slashes into her back, slides a blade down her thigh, tells her she is lucky to carry his marks and all she can do is blink at him and smile vacantly because if she doesn’t, it will be so much worse.

A new helot makes the mistake of trying to help her one day, when the lashes on her back send pain down her arms and make her drop her basket. She tries to shoo him away, to tell him no and to leave her alone but he just smiles and presses the basket into her arms.

That night, she’s forced to watch as he’s beaten nearly to death by Methodios and his ‘friends’, who then decide to teach her another lesson as well. Eventually, she walls off all feelings and relishes in the numbness that overtakes her. She never knows what happens to that boy, just knows that she never sees him again and wishes, not for the first time, that Methodios would die.

That she would die. She may not pray to the gods anymore, for they do not listen, but she does hope for the end.

#homestead au #melina (oc) #she really has a shitty backstory #and i'm sorry #melina ily #writing #my stuff #tw: abuse #tw: r*pe #tw: physical violence

[brattywriters-anonymous]

A Rose in Harlem

Chapter two.

Oc x Erik story

Based on Teyana Taylor’s VII & KTSE

Warnings: Cursing, physical contact, feels!

Winter, 2013.

Syd cursed out as she felt the stinging pain of her broken and bloodied nail. Erik tried to grab her right arm, not even phased by the dark red bruise forming on his left cheek. Syd pulled her arm back and yelled, “Get off of me!” Erik pressed backward, throwing his hands up. Myles saw the disaster on Syd’s right index finger. “Oh, baby, That nail gotta come off!” He grabbed a fresh bottle of Dasani, poured the water on top of her finger. Diluted blood streamed down the concrete. “It hurts so bad! MM MM.” Syd shook her head over and over.

Erik approached her again, with napkins and a first aid kit. Before she could protest his presence, he grabbed her right hand, placing her index finger into the napkin. “Hey, Syeda. I am so sorry.” At first glance, she paid attention to his chest and the necklaces that were on display. He had a linked chain with a silver ring attached to it, and another smaller chain with the letter “N” on it. Then a sudden stinging sensation hit her injured finger. He put peroxide on it, to sterilize it. “That’s what you wanted to apologize for?” She yelped out in pain. She looked back up at his lips as they formed a wide smile. “Well, for that too. And for being too forward. I’m from Oakland baby, we state what we want. Closed mouths don’t get fed.” He wrapped her finger in the Band Aid, and kissed the uncovered part as he winked at her. She couldn’t deny what her body was doing in reaction to the care that he took for her in those few moments. In the December brisky yet-sunny weather, Syeda was feeling rather--hot. She briefly exhaled as he surrendered her hand.

--

After a successful meeting went completely south at the end, Syd retreated to her favorite local Coffee Shop. Harlem Coffee Co. She gotten Chai tea and a croissant. She needed to calm her nerves so after her 30 second encounter with “Erik” or whoever he is, “N!” She scoffed aloud before opening her macbook. She began to shuffle through photos that she took on her own, with a few models that were current students at her Alma mater, Columbia University, out to Highbridge for the official first shoot for UPTXWN. She wanted to represent not only Harlem, but all of uptown. Where it’s been, where it is, and where it’s going.So she did the first shoot on the High Bridge. She grabbed her Canon Rebel T5i that she bought herself for her birthday, and took some sunrise shots at 6 am on an early July morning. She really took the photos, and uploaded them to her laptop. She was too preoccupied with her showrunning position for fall fashion week that she didn’t even take the time out to edit them. They sat in her Macbook for over 5 months and it was about time that she started editing. Simultaneously, she was texting Myles informing him that the next shoots would be in Sugar Hill and Marcus Garvey Park and to blast the text and email out of a 10:00 am call time for the Following Wednesday and Thursday.

--

MYles🧡💁🏾‍♂️✨

Are you okay? I know you broke that nail pretty bad.

Yeah. 😩It hurts, but I’m good.

Alright. I’m sending the texts out now, emails will be out by tonight, l8r.✌🏾

Syd took a sip of her tea she saw a name pop up on her laptop, coming from a contact, “Sin”

--

Sin

Syd, it’s Yasin. The plumber. I know you said you’ll let me know if you’re free for a late lunch. You free now?

Syd read over each word then she saw three dots pop up at the bottom of the screen.

Sin

…

Turn around👀

Syd’s face turned into one of confusion. She made a 180 to see Yasin sitting on a table in the corner of the shop. She smiled as he motioned her over to him. She retrieved her belongings and walked over to the booth. “I was just about to ask you to meet me at my favorite coffee shop, and here you are. Girl, you must be an angel or somethin’.” Yasin drew across the table to her direction, he motioned out to her right hand and saw the Band Aid. “What happened Syd? You okay?” She brushed it off. “Yeah it’s fine, this guy was being a complete asshole so I socked his ass.” Yasin’s eyes fanned completely opened when she told him what happened. “Oh, so you fight guys out here?” He sat back in his chair. She reached out for his hand and honestly stated, “Only if I have to.” and smiled. Yasin side eyed Syeda, trying to get a read on her. She came off so mysterious. As old vinyl records of 90s and early 2000s music sprawled out on the living room area floor of her apartment ran across his mind, he grabbed her hand and asked, “So what you about, Syd?”

--

Yasin and Syd spent the next 3 hours discussing education, Islam, politics, and polyamory. Sin let Syd know that just because his mother allowed it and his father participated, doesn’t means that it was what he wanted out of life. “I’m 27 years old, it’s time that I find the right woman to build a family with. To live the life that Allah gifted to us.” Syd was about to be 25 her next birthday in two months. She let Sin know that even though she understood the overall benefit of having a 3 or more person income household, she wanted something that was exclusively hers. “I share my creativity with the world. I share my image to the world. I don’t want to share my love to the world too. I want something sacred.” Yasin nodded as he paused and took a look at his watch. “Oh shit. Ma, you lucky I got finished with all of my clients before I got here, I would’ve been late to all of em by now. It’s 6 pm.” Syd scanned over to the top right corner of her Macbook 6:30 pm. She’d only gotten half of the pictures done, so it looked like she was going to be pulling another all nighter. “Oh, I’m Sorry.” She started packing up her things and getting up. “I have to finish this anyway. So I’m gonna go back home.” Yasin stood with her and assisted her out of the booth. They walked out to a beautiful orange sunset, almost complete. Syd’s hair blew along with the wind again. As she swept the hair out of her face, Yasin reached his arms out and pulled her in slowly. “I had fun today Syd. To think, we met earlier this morning to you cussing me out.” Syd playfully nudge his shoulder. “Yeah, you were late. Which in turn, made me late for my business meeting.” “Let me make it up to you.” She tried to back away but his grip trumped her attempts. “How?” She raised an eyebrow. “Let me take you out tomorrow night. My homie is having a block party up Washington Heights. You wanna slide through?” Sin looked her in her eyes, she couldn’t evade his staring. Syd responded by slightly pecking him on the lips. “Sure.”

--

Syeda wrestled with her keys, finding the door key to let her into the building of 63 Morningside Avenue. She finally unlocked the hallway door, she sat at the bottom of the stairs to take off her extended high heels. She overheard Ziggy talking to Erik, “Yo I don’t know what you were thinking earlier, man. Syd don’t play.” She smiled when Zig made the infamous statement. She scurried up the steps and tried to silently unlock her door. CLINK! Her keys fell to the ground and all chatting stopped across the hall. The door opened. “Syd.” Her name sounded like honey coming from Erik’s lips. She slightly closed her eyes to it. She turned to face Apartment 2B. “N.” “N?” Erik was puzzled. She pointed at her own neck. “Your necklace.” He looked down and jumped. “Oh. Yeah. My father’s side of the family is from Africa. My African name is N’Jadaka. Zig is my cousin on my mom’s side.” he pointed over to 2B.

Syd looked stunned, shocked. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just figured you were lying about--” “About what? My name?” he chuckled. “Nah lil mama. Besides, I don’t think I could lie to you even if I wanted to.” She exhaled. It was light but still heavy enough for Erik to hear. She took a step backward into her apartment but as soon as she hit the closed door, she yelped. “OUCH!” She held her right hand with her left, dropping her heels. Erik immediately stepped in and grabbed her shoes. “Here, let me help you out.” He turned the key and opened the door. Syd turned the light on in the foyer area. “Thank you, N’Jadaka.” She repeated his name in a smooth manner that was pleasing to his ears. “You’re welcome, mooie bloem.” Syd perked up when she heard the familiar dutch nickname that Mr. V gave her. “Yeah, when you bumped into me, I stood by the stairwell..in shock I guess.” He laughed and continued, “I heard him call you beautiful flower in his language. I’m intrigued. Why?” Syd closed the door behind her and locked it, figuring that he was staying for a while, because he walked further into the studio, by her couch.

She placed her keys on the hanger beside the door, shimmied her bubble coat off, placing it on a misplaced dining room chair. “My middle name. It’s Mariposa. The cuban national flower. My mom was Cuban and African American. Afro latina. She was born in Cuba. Her and her family moved to Philadelphia when she was 8. Her father converted to Islam, her and the rest of the family soon followed. She met my dad, He’s also Afro Latino. They had me, Syeda Mariposa Diaz.”

Erik marveled at her story, appreciated that she knew her ancestry. “You have a beautiful name. So your mom honored her Cuban background and gave you an Islamic name?” He finally took a seat, awaiting her response. She nodded and sat next to him, “Yup. That was the idea.” He reached for her right hand, “May I?” She hesitated, then gave in, “Don’t break any of my other nails! They charge for fixing broken nails!” Syd looked Erik in his eyes, smiling. He grasped her hand and kissed it with the same tenderness as he did earlier and finally spoke, “Never.” She blinked a couple times to get herself out of the trance she found herself in after his lips left her hand, she actually had to look away from him as he removed the Band Aid from her finger.

“I heard your right hand man, he said you have to remove the nail. You haven’t done that yet.” He held her finger closer to her overhead lamp so he could further investigate. “Hell no! It hurts. I was going to go to the nail shop to get it removed.” “For what? So they can charge you for something you could’ve done? Nah. I gotchu.” He quickly stepped out of her studio. She shot up and began to panic a bit.

Oh my gosh! Syd, what are you doing?! You just letting this man take care of you like some damsel… Even though he is the reason why you’re hurt.---He Looks so damn GOOD though. Damn. He can’t be in here for too long!

Syd attempted to press the power button on her phone but it didn’t turn on. Signaling that it died. “Shit.” She mumbled. She shuffled around the back end of the studio where her bed and nightstand were. She reached over the opposite side of her bed, closest to her window, for her charger. She heard a laugh and turned over in fear. “Damn. My apologies Syd. It’s just me. I needed my first aid kit. You got tweezers right?” She pulled herself off of her queen sized mattress and retrieved her manicure kit from her bathroom. “In here.”

--

“AHHHH!” Syd exclaimed as Erik used the tweezers to pull the remaining acrylic off of Syd’s bleeding finger. “There. The bleeding should definitely stop after this.” He sprayed the alcohol on a cotton swab and patted on her nail bed. She squealed in shock as he wrapped a new Band Aid on her patched up digit. She took her hand back, relieved that the pain is subsiding. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” “You’re welcome. No sweat. I was in the Navy. I helped out injured people all the time. I’m used to it.” Erik spat out as he returned the manicure kit back in the bathroom, washing his hands. Once he dried them he clapped them together, and cut the light off. “Okay beautiful. Don’t go slapping other niggas upside the head. I gotta bounce.” Syd followed his trail to her front door, “Bye Erik. Thank you again.”

🌹

#erik killmonger x oc #erik killmonger imagine #erik kilmonger imagines #erik killmonger #black panther fanfiction #erik stevens #n'jadaka #black panther imagine #black panther imagines #fanfic #arih #black panther au

[odderancyart]

Always on my mind, forever in my soul (Classicberry)

Blue smiled as he rolled around where he was resting in Sans’ arms. Looking at his husband’s – his husband, how amazing was that, he was married and soul-bonded to Sans – peaceful face. Sans never looked quite as peaceful as he did when he slept next to Blue, and he adored it. He knew that Sans still had awful nightmares sometimes, about dust and blood and RESETs, despite them having ended a long time ago but Sans had told him he never slept as well as he did when he either held Blue or was being held by Blue.

Blue believed him. Both because he trusted that Sans told him nothing but the truth and because Sans’ Papyrus – his brother-in-law now – had commented on it as well.

Sans began to stir, and Blue smiled as his husband slowly opened his eyeholes and the white orbs in them began to shine. His own were mirrors; simple white orbs instead of his usual blue stars, because he was too relaxed, too serene and too quietly happy to show that kind of excitement.

”Hey.” He whispered. ”You know what?”

Sans yawned and held him closer, a wonderful, wonderful smile on his face.

”what?”

”I love you.”

Sans’ smile grew wider and he nuzzled into Blue’s skull, pressing a kiss there.

”you know what?” He imitated, and Blue giggled quietly as he nodded slightly. He knew.

”i love you too.” Sans told him anyway, and Blue’s souls soared with happiness.

He had never dreamed about being this happy. He hadn’t even know one could. But stars, he was more grateful than he ever could express that he had been given the possibility to learn, and taken it.

-

It was raining. No, it was pouring. The ground was covered with at least a centimeter water, and it showed no signs of stopping anytime soon, with how dark the sky was. Anyone with any sense stayed inside a day like this, when the gods seemed intent on drowning the Earth.

”COME ON, SANS. PLAY WITH ME!” Blueberry was quickly putting on his raincoat and rainboots, and looking so excited that his husband couldn’t help but smile and nod, doing the same. As soon as the coat was in place the shorter skeleton grabbed his hand, dragging him out in the rain. They were drenched within seconds, but neither could bother to care.

Blue did a spin, looking up at the clouds and letting the rain fall into his face and eyesockets, before he jumped as high as he could. The water splashed everywhere when he landed, and Sans spluttered as it got into his face.

”hey!” He complained, but wasn’t able to act annoyed for more than two seconds before his wide grin came back as his husband laughed. His husband. He still couldn’t understand how someone like Blue had wanted to marry and get a soul-bond with someone like him, but Blue had made it his mission to show him, so perhaps he could understand in the future. But still. The fact that Blueberry, loving, caring, simply-a-good-person Blue, had wanted to marry him… Stars, he was so lucky. There could not be anyone happier than him on or in this planet.

Blue pressed a kiss to his cheek before getting that devious look in his eyeholes that Sans loved so much, and bowed down and threw water on Sans’ face.

Sans let out a little shriek as it went into his eyesocket.

”blue!”

Blue just laughed, grinning widely.

”ADMIT I AM THE MOST MAGNIFICENT EVER, BUT THAT YOU ARE ALMOST AS BRILLIANT!” He shouted, proud of himself.

”i’ll gladly admit the first, but the second part is simply not true, love. i can never come even close to your awesomeness.”

”THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT YOU WOULD SAY. BUT THE MAGNIFICENT BLUE HAS A PLAN!”

He threw himself on Sans, throwing him to the ground, although he made sure they hit it gently. Sans’ health was still fragile even though it had gotten better. Then he simply produced a cup made of bone and scoped up water, pouring it over Sans’ face while holding him in a steady grip.

”ahhh!” Sans yelled, but couldn’t help but laugh. ”i’m being attacked! tell my brother i love him!”

”ADMIT IT!”

”okay okay!” Blue stopped for a moment, but still held the water-filled cup menancingly above Sans’ head. ”you’re the most magnificent ever, but i am almost as brilliant!”

”HA!” Blue exclaimed as he stood up before helping Sans back to his feet. ”I WON! AS ALWAYS!”

Still laughing, Sans threw his arm around his husband and pressed a kiss to his teeth.

-

”blue?”

Blue turned to where his significant other was standing, holding a hand above his stomach. He smiled, but felt a little concerned. Sans looked happy, but worried. What did the other have to be worried for? He put his physics book down and stood up, walking up to the other.

”YES?”

Sans seemed to take a deep breath, and then he spoke.

”i’m pregnant.”

Blue’s mouth fell open, and he stared at the other in complete disbelief. Sans opened his hoodie, and sure thing, his blue ecto stomach was materalized and in there a tiny, white souling rested. He looked a little worried, even though the happiness never left his eyeholes. Blue felt tears fill his own sockets, and just as Sans seemed like he was about to say something he broke out into a great smile, throwing himself around his husband’s neck.

”THAT’S WONDERFUL!” Blue cried out, hardly believeing what he was hearing. ”SANS, I’M GOING TO BE A FATHER! I’M GOING TO BE A PARENT WITH YOU! OH MY STARS, I’M SO HAPPY.”

Sans began to smile, and kissed Blue’s skull. Gently he took one of Blue’s hands, discarded the glove on it and guided it to his ecto-stomach. Blue gasped when he felt the pulsing. The souling was far too young to be noticed by anyone except the mother – and only because of the stomach, so for a monster who normally had a stomach it wouldn’t be noticed at all – but he could feel Sans’ magic. And the tiny souling was beautiful.

”WHEN CAN WE GO BABYSHOPPING?”

-

Stars. Sans was so filled with love for this little babybones that was resting in his arms. He had never been happier in his life; his Blue sitting next to him, Papyrus and Stretch there as well to meet their nibling, and his and Blue’s own child in his arms. Outside the delivery room Sans’ Frisk and her parents – Sans’ Tori and Agore – and Blue’s Chara and her parents were waiting, as well as both Alphynes, and all their other friends as well as Papyrus’ and Stretch’s significant others.

The baby was so beautiful. As expected they looked more or less exactly like their parents, as he and Blue were almost identical, but somehow they appeared even prettier than Blue.

”Do you know their font yet, brothers?” Papyrus’ voice was hushed so he wouldn’t wake up the newborn, but filled with such love and pride.

Blue nodded, smiling bigger than he ever had done before.

”Yeah. They screamed enough during their birth, so it was easy to identify. Their name is Monotype Corsiva. I’m thinking Mono for short, if that’s okay for Sans, until they’re old enough to give their opinion.”

Sans smiled. He hadn’t had enough presence of mind during the delivery to recognize any fonts, so it was lucky Blue had. Their child. Their Mono. He kissed their still soft skull.

”welcome to the family, mono.”

-

Sans was exhausted. He had been at work the entire day – he was getting closer to a breakthrough and therefore worked harder than ever – and then picked up Mono at school and the twins at daycare before coming home to cook supper. Blue had a meeting with one of his oldest clients who had needed a few hours extra, and therefore Sans was alone at home with both household chores and three children – an eight year old and two five year olds upon that. He wasn’t even used to cooking, it was normally Blue who did that.

”please, mistral,” he pleaded to the little girl clinging onto his apron. ”go play with fleurie. i need to cook. i’m sure your brother is doing something fun.”

The oldest twin did not seem to be inclined to listen, only twisting her legs around his, to keep him from moving. Sans sighed.

”okay, that’s enough.” Picking her up with blue magic she stopped struggling. It was real lucky all skeleton children seemed to find the presence of blue magic on their souls calming. But Sans was so tired even using blue magic was effortful. ”i love you, lil’ rascal, but you must let me cook. your father will need food when he gets home.”

”Mama!” Mono came running into the kitchen just as Sans had managed to get Mistral to play with her twin brother in the corner. ”I need help with my homework!”

Mono was extremely bright. She had inherited the combined intellects of her parents, and was already doing school work four years above her age group.

”later, darling.” Her mother replied while shaking around the contents of a pan. ”i’m really busy. which subject is it?”

”Religion.”

”call tori. i think she’s got the day off, and she’s the best at the humanitarian subjects, y’know.”

”’Kay.”

Then he was alone with the toddlers again. Luckily Fleurie seemed to have distracted his sister, so for the moment Sans could focus on his cooking. Then Fleurie began to cry, because his tower had toppled over.

”stars.” Shortcutting to the other side of the kitchen he picked up their youngest, rocking him. ”shh. it’s okay, sweetheart. we’ll build your tower again, ok?”

Then suddendly the door in the next room got throw up, just as Fleurie was rubbing his tear-stained face into his mother’s apron.

”I’M HOME.” Blue announced, and soon enough he walked into the kitchen. ”OH DEAR.”

Sans could only laugh at the picture Blue had to be seeing. The kitchen was a mess since Mono had decided to play with the spices earlier while he was distracted with the twins and he hadn’t had time to clean, his cooking was everywhere, Mistral was once again clinging to his legs and he had a crying babybones in his arms.

”EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?”

Sans chuckled as he walked up to his husband, kissing him lightly, while he petted the skull of the child in his arms.

”everything’s perfect.”

And it really was. He might be exhausted and the kitchen may be a mess, but he had a job he loved, his brother had an amazing life, he had a wonderful husband, his kids were the most wondrous and extraordinary kids in the whole world despite being tiny demons sometimes, and Sans couldn’t be happier.

#classicberry #sans/sans #sans/blueberry #undertale #underswap #blueberry #sans #my writing #babybones #marriage #papyrus #stretch

[thelastspeecher]

Big sis au: Molly's intro to Ford and Angie?

I looked up how long salamanders live for this ficlet.  They can live up to 20 years.  Tubbs hangs around with Angie for a while lol.

               Ford knocked hesitantly on thedoor.  No one responded.  He dug a scrap of paper out of his pocket andscanned it.

               This is the address…  Heknocked again.  There was a clatter nearthe door, and he took an instinct step backward, almost treading on his niece’sfeet.  The door opened.  A short, somewhat disheveled woman stood inthe doorway.  She beamed at Ford.

               “Howdy!”

               “Um, hello,” Ford began.  The woman looked at Molly, standing behindFord.

               “Oh, yer Fiddleford’s researchpartner, then?  The one with the lilniece?”

               “Yes,” Ford said, relieved.  “I’m Stanford Pines, this is Molly.”  The woman beamed at him and stuck out ahand.  

               “The name’s Angie.  Fidds is my big brother.”

               “I recall him telling me that.”  Angie chuckled.

               “I s’pose he would tell ya my name and relation tohim.”  She crouched down to Molly’seye-height.  “Hey there, lilmunchkin.”  Molly didn’t say anything.  

               “Don’t be offended,” Fordsaid.  “Molly’s been a bit quiet.”  Angie nodded and stood up.  

               “Understandable.  Now, how’s about the both of ya comeinside?  I’ve got some cookies bakin’ inthe oven.”  Molly’s stomach rumbled.  Angie smiled kindly.  She stood to the side and let Ford and Mollyfile inside.  “I apologize fer the mess,”Angie said, picking up a framed picture that had fallen to the ground.

               That must have been what I heard earlier.  

               “It’sfine,” he assured her.  “You’reeffectively letting us stay here free of charge.”  Angie raised an eyebrow.

               “I thought ya were goin’ to paymy rent fer the month.”

               “Uh, what?” Ford asked,blindsided.  Angie laughed.

               “I’m just pullin’ yer leg,Stanford.  Follow me, I’ll show ya thekitchen.”  Ford did as he was told,looking around the apartment as he walked. It was somewhat cluttered, much like Fiddleford’s childhood home, whichhe had visited about a month ago.  Despitewhat she had said, her apartment was clean, even with the clutter.  He paused a moment to scan a bookshelf,filled with catalogs of amphibians and reptiles.

               “You’re a herpetologist,correct?” Ford asked.  Angie shrugged.

               “I mean, it’s what my degree isin.  But I have experience in zoology asa whole and tacked on a handful of minors in environmental sciences incollege.  Ah, here’s the kitchen!”  She gestured at the table and chairs.  “Go ahead and take a seat, the both ofya.  I’ll check on the cookies.”  Ford sat down at one of the chairs.  Still completely silent, Molly took a seatacross from him, her eyes darting around wildly as she took in theapartment.  

               “So you have some interest inthe environmental sciences?” Ford asked. Angie scoffed as she opened the oven.

               “I don’t think takin’ as manycourses as I did, and basin’ my master’s thesis on ecology, counts as ‘someinterest’.”

               “Right.”

               “In an ideal world, I’d beworkin’ as a naturalist,” Angie said, taking the cookies out.  “Right now, though, I’m one of theherpetologists workin’ at the zoo here in San Diego.”  She sighed. “It’s good work, and it pays well. I just don’t feel like I’m makin’ a difference, y’know?  I ain’t discoverin’ anything.  Just rehashin’ old knowledge.”  Ford frowned thoughtfully.

               “Where did you go to college?”

               “West Coast Tech.”  Angie slid a couple of cookies off the sheetand onto a plate, then set the plate down in front of Molly.  “There ya go, sweetling.  I’ll get ya some milk, too, okay?”  Molly nodded mutely.

               West Coast Tech?  That’s a veryimpressive alma mater…  And Fiddleford has been harassing me about hiring a biologistfor our research team…  Angie put aglass of milk next to Molly’s plate of cookies and took a seat next to her.

               “Stanford, I assume ya can serveyourself?” she said.  “I took a plate outof the cupboard fer ya.”

               “Oh, thank you, but I’m nothungry,” Ford said.  

               “That’s fine.”  Angie turned her attention to Molly.  “Molly, ya don’t need to worry,” she said ina kind voice.  “I’ve been to thathospital plenty of times.  Been in myfair share of those uncomfortable beds. They’ve got excellent doctors there. Yer dad’s goin’ to be fine.”  

               “…Thanks,” Molly mumbled,clearly not being sincere.  Angie pursedher lips, concerned.

               “Is there anythin’ I can do ferya, darlin’?”  Molly didn’t reply.

               “She’s been like this since Ipicked her up,” Ford said.  

               “Well, of course she has!” Angiesaid.  “She needs some time to digest allof this.  Molly, after yer done with yercookies, feel free to explore the apartment. My roommate moved out a lil while back, so there’s no place off limits.”

               “…‘Kay.”  Molly hopped off her chair and walked intothe living room, taking a seat on the floor. She pulled the hood of her dad’s coat over her head and didn’tmove.  

               “Is that normal behavior for achild?” Ford asked.  

               “She’s dealin’ with a roughsituation, Stanford,” Angie said.  “I’dsay she’s doin’ ‘bout as well as can be expected.  If she don’t move or talk in an hour, I’llsee if I can get her to open up.”

               “How would you do that?  I’ve tried just about everything to get herto speak.”

               “Kidslike creepy-crawlies.  An’ I study ‘emfer a livin’.  Creepy-crawlies, that is,not kids.  My salamander, Tubbs, shouldget her out of her shell a bit.  He’spretty good at that.”

#this was fun to write! I LOVE writing things for the Big Sis AU #it's such a fun AU #Big Sis AU #Molly Pines #Angie McGucket #Stanford Pines #my writing #ficlet #ask #agent-jaselin #AU of Mystery Dads AU #Stangie Family

[bulganikus]

The Mark

Ao3: 1 2

Summary:

Even though you can't read your soulmates name you still treasure it. But what happened when you carelessly go outside with your soulmark exposed for the whole world to see it?

Or

At a recent fansign ARMY saw your soulmark and thought you were Jungkook's soulmate.

Chapter 2

F/N and I were supposed to meet at this coffee shop that was around 40 minute walk from my home. I don't know how but surprisingly I arrived there in 10 or so minutes. I was impressed with myself.

When I entered the shop I spotted F/N and saw two cups already on the table. As I got closer I saw that one was full and the other one already half empty.

"Decided to finally show up huh, goblin?" they said sipping their hot chocolate.

"Sorry for being late F/N. I didn't hear my alarm I guess" I yawned putting my bag on the chair as I sat. I was still catching my breath since I basically sprinted here. After a moment I got my wallet out and asked:

"How much do I owe you?"

"What? Ow, no it's on me don't worry. Besides it's weird when you owe me something. Especially money" they laughed responding to me. "Besides it's always on me"

It has been a long time since we met up like this. This idiot who I called my best friend transferred schools suddenly at the end of the 1st term. It was a sudden decision but there wasn't much that we could do.

As we were catching up with each other's life we suddenly stumbled upon the soulmark topic.

"I'm still surprised that you haven't looked up the name yet. It has been a year. A lil more actually" they said "To be fair I thought your patience would have been out of the window in mater of a week or so. But I guess I was wrong"

"I'm surprised with myself as well. I thought I would have googled the name in matter of weeks at least. Look at me now, still standing by my word. Anyways enough about my mark when are you going to show your's, huh? Your's appeared when you were 11, right? So why don't you show me? I thought you loved me?" I whined at them, showing a puppy eye

"Of course I love you babe" they said sarcasticly "But we've been over this topic before. I just don't feel comfortable yet"

"Not comfortable yet?!" I gasped dramatically as I put my hand on my chest pretending to be offended "What do you MEAN you don't feel comfortable? Ugh, fine I give up" I sighed putting my hands in the air as a sign of defeat.

At the exact moment my phone vibrated, notifying that BTS has just applouded a new video. We both looked at each other, grinning stupidly and started the video.

Fangirling/fanboying wasn't something new to us, after all we've been in many fandoms. The problem was how hard we fangirled/fanboyed over something. Sure, it was something new but it was addicting.

"Look how CUTE Jimin looks! He's sooo adorable. I could just squish him with these" F/N squealed, showing pinching motions with their finger.

"We all know that he is cute BUT the golden eggroll wins this time. I mean look at him!" I said, pointing at Jungkook.

"Yeah, yeah whatever"

And like that we spent several hours at the shop without noticing how the time has passed. We just sat there talking, catching up, goofing out and just being together.

Finally deciding to leave we gathered our stuff. But suddenly my friend grabbed my arm and stopped me from standing up.

"I just remembered something really important. You know that I go to taekwondo and all, well guess what. You remember that I won gold at this big competition, right?" they asked grinning suspiciously. The only thing I could do was nod. "Well they gave me 2 tickets to go to Korea"

I was shocked. First of all how could someone forget something this important. Second of all how big was this competition. Third of all what?

"Well guess what. I'm bringing YOU to Korea with me! Yeeeeeeeeey!" they excitedly said while throwing their arm into the air.

What?

<previous/next>

Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Look forward to the next one

#bts #bangtan #bangtan boys #방튼소년단 #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeon jungguk #jungkook x you #jeong jungkook x reader #soulmate #soulmate au #soulmark #male/female reader #fluff #angst #eventual angst

[unsettlingshortstories]

Hungry Daughters of Starving Mothers

Alyssa Wong (2015)

As my date—Harvey? Harvard?—brags about his alma mater and Manhattan penthouse, I take a bite of overpriced kale and watch his ugly thoughts swirl overhead. It’s hard to pay attention to him with my stomach growling and my body ajitter, for all he’s easy on the eyes. Harvey doesn’t look much older than I am, but his thoughts, covered in spines and centipede feet, glisten with ancient grudges and carry an entitled, Ivy League stink.

“My apartment has the most amazing view of the city,” he’s saying, his thoughts sliding long over each other like dark, bristling snakes. Each one is as thick around as his Rolex-draped wrist. “I just installed a Jacuzzi along the west wall so that I can watch the sun set while I relax after getting back from the gym.”

I nod, half-listening to the words coming out of his mouth. I’m much more interested in the ones hissing through the teeth of the thoughts above him.

She’s got perfect tits, lil’ handfuls just waiting to be squeezed. I love me some perky tits.

I’m gonna fuck this bitch so hard she’ll never walk straight again.

Gross. “That sounds wonderful,” I say as I sip champagne and gaze at him through my false eyelashes, hoping the dimmed screen of my iPhone isn’t visible through the tablecloth below. This dude is boring as hell, and I’m already back on Tindr, thumbing through next week’s prospective dinner dates.

She’s so into me, she’ll be begging for it by the end of the night.

I can’t wait to cut her up.

My eyes flick up sharply. “I’m sorry?” I say.

Harvey blinks. “I said, Argentina is a beautiful country.”

Pretty little thing. She’ll look so good spread out all over the floor.

“Right,” I say. “Of course.” Blood’s pulsing through my head so hard it probably looks like I’ve got a wicked blush.

I’m so excited, I’m half hard already.

You and me both, I think, turning my iPhone off and smiling my prettiest smile.

The waiter swings by with another bottle of champagne and a dessert menu burned into a wooden card, but I wave him off. “Dinner’s been lovely,” I whisper to Harvey, leaning in and kissing his cheek, “but I’ve got a different kind of dessert in mind.”

Ahhh, go the ugly thoughts, settling into a gentle, rippling wave across his shoulders. I’m going to take her home and split her all the way from top to bottom. Like a fucking fruit tart.

That is not the way I normally eat fruit tarts, but who am I to judge? I passed on dessert, after all.

When he pays the bill, he can’t stop grinning at me. Neither can the ugly thoughts hissing and cackling behind his ear.

“What’s got you so happy?” I ask coyly.

“I’m just excited to spend the rest of the evening with you,” he replies.

• • • •

The fucker has his own parking spot! No taxis for us; he’s even brought the Tesla. The leather seats smell buttery and sweet, and as I slide in and make myself comfortable, the rankness of his thoughts leaves a stain in the air. It’s enough to leave me light-headed, almost purring. As we cruise uptown toward his fancy-ass penthouse, I ask him to pull over near the Queensboro Bridge for a second.

Annoyance flashes across his face, but he parks the Tesla in a side street. I lurch into an alley, tottering over empty cans and discarded cigarettes in my four-inch heels, and puke a trail of champagne and kale over to the dumpster shoved up against the apartment building.

“Are you all right?” Harvey calls.

“I’m fine,” I slur. Not a single curious window opens overhead.

His steps echo down the alley. He’s gotten out of the car, and he’s walking toward me like I’m an animal that he needs to approach carefully.

Maybe I should do it now.

Yes! Now, now, while the bitch is occupied.

But what about the method? I won’t get to see her insides all pretty everywhere—

I launch myself at him, fingers digging sharp into his body, and bite down hard on his mouth. He tries to shout, but I swallow the sound and shove my tongue inside. There, just behind his teeth, is what I’m looking for: ugly thoughts, viscous as boiled tendon. I suck them howling and fighting into my throat as Harvey’s body shudders, little mewling noises escaping from his nose.

I feel decadent and filthy, swollen with the cruelest dreams I’ve ever tasted. I can barely feel Harvey’s feeble struggles; in this state, with the darkest parts of himself drained from his mouth into mine, he’s no match for me.

They’re never as strong as they think they are.

By the time he finally goes limp, the last of the thoughts disappearing down my throat, my body’s already changing. My limbs elongate, growing thicker, and my dress feels too tight as my ribs expand. I’ll have to work quickly. I strip off my clothes with practiced ease, struggling a little to work the bodice free of the gym-toned musculature swelling under my skin.

It doesn’t take much time to wrestle Harvey out of his clothes, either. My hands are shaking but strong, and as I button up his shirt around me and shrug on his jacket, my jaw has creaked into an approximation of his and the ridges of my fingerprints have reshaped themselves completely. Harvey is so much bigger than me, and the expansion of space eases the pressure on my boiling belly, stuffed with ugly thoughts as it is. I stuff my discarded outfit into my purse, my high heels clicking against the empty glass jar at its bottom, and sling the strap over my now-broad shoulder.

I kneel to check Harvey’s pulse—slow but steady—before rolling his unconscious body up against the dumpster, covering him with trash bags. Maybe he’ll wake up, maybe he won’t. Not my problem, as long as he doesn’t wake in the next ten seconds to see his doppelganger strolling out of the alley, wearing his clothes and fingering his wallet and the keys to his Tesla.

There’s a cluster of drunk college kids gawking at Harvey’s car. I level an arrogant stare at them—oh, but do I wear this body so much better than he did!—and they scatter.

I might not have a license, but Harvey’s body remembers how to drive.

• • • •

The Tesla revs sweetly under me, but I ditch it in a parking garage in Bedford, stripping in the relative privacy of the second-to-highest level, edged behind a pillar. After laying the keys on the driver’s seat over Harvey’s neatly folded clothes and shutting the car door, I pull the glass jar from my purse and vomit into it as quietly as I can. Black liquid, thick and viscous, hits the bottom of the jar, hissing and snarling Harvey’s words. My body shudders, limbs retracting, spine reshaping itself, as I empty myself of him.

It takes a few more minutes to ease back into an approximation of myself, at least enough to slip my dress and heels back on, pocket the jar, and comb my tangled hair out with my fingers. The parking attendant nods at me as I walk out of the garage, his eyes sliding disinterested over me, his thoughts a gray, indistinct murmur.

The L train takes me back home to Bushwick, and when I push open the apartment door, Aiko is in the kitchen, rolling mochi paste out on the counter.

“You’re here,” I say stupidly. I’m still a little foggy from shaking off Harvey’s form, and strains of his thoughts linger in me, setting my blood humming uncomfortably hot.

“I’d hope so. You invited me over.” She hasn’t changed out of her catering company clothes, and her short, sleek hair frames her face, aglow in the kitchen light. Not a single ugly thought casts its shadow across the stove behind her. “Did you forget again?”

“No,” I lie, kicking my shoes off at the door. “I totally would never do something like that. Have you been here long?”

“About an hour, nothing unusual. The doorman let me in, and I kept your spare key.” She smiles briefly, soft compared to the brusque movements of her hands. She’s got flour on her rolled-up sleeves, and my heart flutters the way it never does when I’m out hunting. “I’m guessing your date was pretty shit. You probably wouldn’t have come home at all if it had gone well.”

“You could say that.” I reach into my purse and stash the snarling jar in the fridge, where it clatters against the others, nearly a dozen bottles of malignant leftovers labeled as health drinks.

Aiko nods to her right. “I brought you some pastries from the event tonight. They’re in the paper bag on the counter.”

“You’re an angel.” I edge past her so I don’t make bodily contact. Aiko thinks I have touch issues, but the truth is, she smells like everything good in the world, solid and familiar, both light and heavy at the same time, and it’s enough to drive a person mad.

“He should have bought you a cab back, at least,” says Aiko, reaching for a bowl of red bean paste. I fiddle with the bag of pastries, pretending to select something from its contents. “I swear, it’s like you’re a magnet for terrible dates.”

She’s not wrong; I’m very careful about who I court. After all, that’s how I stay fed. But no one in the past has been as delicious, as hideously depraved as Harvey. No one else has been a killer.

I’m going to take her home and split her all the way from top to bottom.

“Maybe I’m too weird,” I say.

“You’re probably too normal. Only socially maladjusted creeps use Tindr.”

“Gee, thanks,” I complain.

She grins, flicking a bit of red bean paste at me. I lick it off of my arm. “You know what I mean. Come visit my church with me sometime, yeah? There are plenty of nice boys there.”

“The dating scene in this city depresses me,” I mutter, flicking open my Tindr app with my thumb. “I’ll pass.”

“Come on, Jen, put that away.” Aiko hesitates. “Your mom called while you were out. She wants you to move back to Flushing.”

I bark out a short, sharp laugh, my good mood evaporating. “What else is new?”

“She’s getting old,” Aiko says. “And she’s lonely.”

“I bet. All her mahjong partners are dead, pretty much.” I can imagine her in her little apartment in Flushing, huddled over her laptop, floral curtains pulled tight over the windows to shut out the rest of the world. My ma, whose apartment walls are alive with hissing, covered in the ugly, bottled remains of her paramours.

Aiko sighs, joining me at the counter and leaning back against me. For once, I don’t move away. Every muscle in my body is tense, straining. I’m afraid I might catch fire, but I don’t want her to leave. “Would it kill you to be kind to her?”

I think about my baba evaporating into thin air when I was five years old, what was left of him coiled in my ma’s stomach. “Are you telling me to go back?”

She doesn’t say anything for a bit. “No,” she says at last. “That place isn’t good for you. That house isn’t good for anyone.”

Just a few inches away, an army of jars full of black, viscous liquid wait in the fridge, their contents muttering to themselves. Aiko can’t hear them, but each slosh against the glass is a low, nasty hiss:

who does she think she is, the fucking cunt

should’ve got her when I had the chance

I can still feel Harvey, his malice and ugly joy, on my tongue. I’m already full of things my ma gave me. “I’m glad we agree.”

• • • •

Over the next few weeks, I gorge myself on the pickup artists and grad students populating the St. Marks hipster bars, but nothing tastes good after Harvey. Their watery essences, squeezed from their owners with barely a whimper of protest, barely coat my stomach. Sometimes I take too much. I scrape them dry and leave them empty, shaking their forms off like rainwater when I’m done.

I tell Aiko I’ve been partying when she says I look haggard. She tells me to quit drinking so much, her face impassive, her thoughts clouded with concern. She starts coming over more often, even cooking dinner for me, and her presence both grounds me and drives me mad.

“I’m worried about you,” she says as I lie on the floor, flipping listlessly through pages of online dating profiles, looking for the emptiness, the rot, that made Harvey so appealing. She’s cooking my mom’s lo mien recipe, the oily smell making my skin itch. “You’ve lost so much weight and there’s nothing in your fridge, just a bunch of empty jam jars.”

I don’t tell her that Harvey’s lies under my bed, that I lick its remnants every night to send my nerves back into euphoria. I don’t tell her how often I dream about my ma’s place, the shelves of jars she never let me touch. “Is it really okay for you to spend so much time away from your catering business?” I say instead. “Time is money, and Jimmy gets pissy when he has to make all the desserts without you.”

Aiko sets a bowl of lo mein in front of me and joins me on the ground. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here,” she says, and a dangerous, luminous sweetness blooms in my chest.

But the hunger grows worse every day, and soon I can’t trust myself around her. I deadbolt the door, and when she stops by my apartment to check on me, I refuse to let her in. Texts light up my phone like a fleet of fireworks as I huddle under a blanket on the other side, my face pressed against the wood, my fingers twitching.

“Please, Jen, I don’t understand,” she says from behind the door. “Did I do something wrong?”

I can’t wait to cut her up, I think, and hate myself even more.

By the time Aiko leaves, her footsteps echoing down the hallway, I’ve dug deep gouges in the door’s paint with my nails and teeth, my mouth full of her intoxicating scent.

• • • •

My ma’s apartment in Flushing still smells the same. She’s never been a clean person, and the sheer amount of junk stacked up everywhere has increased since I left home for good. Piles of newspapers, old food containers, and stuffed toys make it hard to push the door open, and the stench makes me cough. Her hoard is up to my shoulders, even higher in some places, and as I pick my way through it, the sounds that colored my childhood grow louder: the constant whine of a Taiwanese soap opera bleeding past mountains of trash, and the cruel cacophony of many familiar voices:

Touch me again and I swear I’ll kill you—

How many times have I told you not to wash the clothes like that, open your mouth—

Hope her ugly chink daughter isn’t home tonight—

Under the refuse she’s hoarded the walls are honeycombed with shelves, lined with what’s left of my ma’s lovers. She keeps them like disgusting, mouthwatering trophies, desires pickling in stomach acid and bile. I could probably call them by name if I wanted to; when I was a kid, I used to lie on the couch and watch my baba’s ghost flicker across their surfaces.

My ma’s huddled in the kitchen, the screen of her laptop casting a sickly blue glow on her face. Her thoughts cover her quietly like a blanket. “I made some niu ro mien,” she says. “It’s on the stove. Your baba’s in there.”

My stomach curls, but whether it’s from revulsion or hunger I can’t tell. “Thanks, ma,” I say. I find a bowl that’s almost clean and wash it out, ladling a generous portion of thick noodles for myself. The broth smells faintly of hongtashan tobacco, and as I force it down almost faster than I can swallow, someone else’s memories of my childhood flash before my eyes: pushing a small girl on a swing set at the park; laughing as she chases pigeons down the street; raising a hand for a second blow as her mother launches herself toward us, between us, teeth bared—

“How is it?” she says.

Foul. “Great,” I say. It settles my stomach, at least for a little while. But my baba was no Harvey, and I can already feel the hunger creeping back, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“You ate something you shouldn’t have, didn’t you, Meimei.” My ma looks up at me for the first time since I walked in, and she looks almost as tired as I feel. “Why didn’t you learn from me? I taught you to stick to petty criminals. I taught you to stay invisible.”

She’d tried to teach me to disappear into myself, the way she’d disappeared into this apartment. “I know I messed up,” I tell her. “Nothing tastes good any more, and I’m always hungry. But I don’t know what to do.”

My ma sighs. “Once you’ve tasted a killer, there’s no turning back. You’ll crave that intensity until you die. And it can take a long time for someone like us to die, Meimei.”

It occurs to me that I don’t actually know how old my ma is. Her thoughts are old and covered in knots, stitched together from the remnants of other people’s experiences. How long has she been fighting this condition, these overwhelming, gnawing desires?

“Move back in,” she’s saying. “There’s so much tong activity here, the streets leak with food. You barely even have to go outside, just crack open a window and you can smell it brewing. The malice, the knives and bullets . . .”

The picture she paints makes me shudder, my mouth itching. “I can’t just leave everything, Ma,” I say. “I have my own life now.” And I can’t live in this apartment, with its lack of sunlight and fresh air, its thick stench of regret and malice.

“So what happens if you go back? You lose control, you take a bite out of Aiko?” She sees me stiffen. “That girl cares about you so much. The best thing you can do for her is keep away. Don’t let what happened to your father happen to Aiko.” She reaches for my hand, and I pull away. “Stay here, Meimei. We only have each other.”

“This isn’t what I want.” I’m backing up, and my shoulder bumps into the trash, threatening to bury us both in rotting stuffed animals. “This isn’t safe, Ma. You shouldn’t even stay here.”

My ma coughs, her eyes glinting in the dark. The cackling from her jar collection swells in a vicious tide, former lovers rocking back and forth on their shelves. “Someday you’ll learn that there’s more to life than being selfish, Meimei.”

That’s when I turn my back on her, pushing past the debris and bullshit her apartment’s stuffed with. I don’t want to die, but as far as I’m concerned, living like my ma, sequestered away from the rest of the world, her doors barricaded with heaps of useless trinkets and soured memories, is worse than being dead.

The jars leer and cackle as I go, and she doesn’t try to follow me.

The scent of Flushing clings to my skin, and I can’t wait to shake it off. I get on the train as soon as I can, and I’m back on Tindr as soon as the M passes above ground. Tears blur my eyes, rattling free with the movement of the train. I scrub them away angrily, and when my vision clears, I glance back at the screen. A woman with sleek, dark hair, slim tortoiseshell glasses, and a smile that seems a little shy, but strangely handsome, glows up at me. In the picture, she’s framed by the downtown cityscape. She has rounded cheeks, but there’s a strange flat quality to her face. And then, of course, there are the dreams shadowing her, so strong they leak from the screen in a thick, heady miasma. Every one of those myriad eyes is staring straight at me, and my skin prickles.

I scan the information on her profile page, my blood beating so hard I can feel my fingertips pulsing: relatively young-looking, but old enough to be my mother’s cousin. Likes: exploring good food, spending rainy days at the Cloisters, browsing used book stores. Location: Manhattan.

She looks a little like Aiko.

She’s quick to message me back. As we flirt, cold sweat and adrenaline send uncomfortable shivers through my body. Everything is sharper, and I can almost hear Harvey’s jar laughing. Finally, the words I’m waiting for pop up:

I’d love to meet you. Are you free tonight?

I make a quick stop-off back home, and my heart hammers as I get on the train bound for the Lower East Side, red lipstick immaculate and arms shaking beneath my crisp designer coat, a pair of Mom’s glass jars tucked in my purse.

• • • •

Her name is Seo-yun, and as she watches me eat, her eyes flickering from my mouth to my throat, her smile is so sharp I could cut myself on it. “I love places like this,” she says. “Little authentic spots with only twelve seats. Have you been to Haru before?”

“I haven’t,” I murmur. My fingers are clumsy with my chopsticks, tremors clicking them together, making it hard to pick up my food. God, she smells delectable. I’ve never met someone whose mind is so twisted, so rich; a malignancy as well developed and finely crafted as the most elegant dessert.

I’m going to take her home and split her open like a—

I can already taste her on my tongue, the best meal I’ve never had.

“You’re in for a treat,” Seo-yun says as the waiter—the only other staff beside the chef behind the counter—brings us another pot of tea. “This restaurant started as a stall in a subway station back in Japan.”

“Oh wow,” I say. “That’s . . . amazing.”

“I think so, too. I’m glad they expanded into Manhattan.”

Behind her kind eyes, a gnarled mess of ancient, ugly thoughts writhes like the tails of a rat king. I’ve never seen so many in one place. They crawl from her mouth and ears, creeping through the air on deep-scaled legs, their voices like the drone of descending locusts.

I’m not her first. I can tell that already. But then, she isn’t mine, either.

I spend the evening sweating through my dress, nearly dropping my chopsticks. I can’t stop staring at the ugly thoughts, dropping from her lips like swollen beetles. They skitter over the tablecloth toward me, whispering obscenities at odds with Seo-yun’s gentle voice, hissing what they’d like to do to me. It takes everything in me not to pluck them from the table and crunch them deep between my teeth right then and there, to pour into her lap and rip her mind clean.

Seo-yun is too much for me, but I’m in too far, too hard; I need to have her.

She smiles at me. “Not hungry?”

I glance down at my plate. I’ve barely managed a couple of nigiri. “I’m on a diet,” I mutter.

“I understand,” she says earnestly. The ugly thoughts crawl over the tops of her hands, iridescent drops spilling into her soy sauce dish.

When the waiter finally disappears into the kitchen, I move in to kiss her across the table. She makes a startled noise, gentle pink spreading across her face, but she doesn’t pull away. My elbow sinks into the exoskeleton of one of the thought-beetles, crushing it into black, moist paste against my skin.

I open my mouth to take the first bite.

“So, I’m curious,” murmurs Seo-yun, her breath brushing my lips. “Who’s Aiko?”

My eyes snap open. Seo-yun smiles, her voice warm and tender, all her edges dark. “She seems sweet, that’s all. I’m surprised you haven’t had a taste of her yet.”

I back up so fast that I knock over my teacup, spilling scalding tea over everything. But Seo-yun doesn’t move, just keeps smiling that kind, gentle smile as her monstrous thoughts lap delicately at the tablecloth.

“She smells so ripe,” she whispers. “But you’re afraid you’ll ruin her, aren’t you? Eat her up, and for what? Just like your mum did your dad.”

No, no, no. I’ve miscalculated so badly. But I’m so hungry, and I’m too young, and she smells like ancient power. There’s no way I’ll be able to outrun her. “Get out of my head,” I manage to say.

“I’m not in your head, love. Your thoughts are spilling out everywhere around you, for everyone to see.” She leans in, propping her chin on her hand. The thoughts twisted around her head like a living crown let out a dry, rattling laugh. “I like you, Jenny. You’re ambitious. A little careless, but we can fix that.” Seo-yun taps on the table, and the waiter reappears, folding up the tablecloth deftly and sliding a single dish onto the now-bare table. An array of thin, translucent slices fan out across the plate, pale and glistening with malice. Bisected eyes glint, mouths caught mid-snarl, from every piece. “All it takes is a little practice and discipline, and no one will know what you’re really thinking.”

“On the house, of course, Ma’am,” the waiter murmurs. Before he disappears again, I catch a glimpse of dark, many-legged thoughts braided like a bracelet around his wrist.

Seo-yun takes the first bite, glancing up at me from behind her glasses. “Your mum was wrong,” she says. “She thought you were alone, just the two of you. So she taught you to only eat when you needed to, so you didn’t get caught, biding your time between meals like a snake.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” I say. The heady, rotten perfume from the dish in front of me makes my head spin with hunger.

“My mum was much the same. Eat for survival, not for pleasure.” She gestures at the plate with her chopsticks. “Please, have some.”

As the food disappears, I can only hold out for a few more slices before my chopsticks dart out, catching a piece for myself. It’s so acidic it makes my tongue burn and eyes itch, the aftertaste strangely sweet.

“Do you like it?”

I respond by wolfing down another two slices, and Seo-yun chuckles. Harvey is bland compared to this, this strangely distilled pairing of emotions—

I gasp as my body starts to warp, hands withering, burn scars twisting their way around my arms. Gasoline, malice, childish joy rush through me, a heady mix of memory and sensory overstimulation. And then Seo-yun’s lips are on mine, teeth tugging gently, swallowing, drawing it out of me. The burns fade, but the tingle of cruel euphoria lingers.

She wipes her mouth delicately. “Ate a little too fast, I think, dear,” she says. “My point, Jenny, is that I believe in eating for pleasure, not just survival. And communally, of course. There are a number of us who get together for dinner or drinks at my place, every so often, and I would love it if you would join us tonight. An eating club, of sorts.”

My gaze flickers up at her thoughts, but they’re sitting still as stones, just watching me with unblinking eyes. My mouth stings with the imprint of hers.

“Let me introduce you soon. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” As the waiter clears the plate and nods at her—no check, no receipt, nothing—Seo-yun adds, “And tonight doesn’t have to be over until we want it to be.” She offers me her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, I take it. It’s smaller than mine, and warm.

“Yes, please,” I say, watching her thoughts instead of her face.

As we leave the restaurant, she presses her lips to my forehead. Her lips sear into my skin, nerves singing white-hot with ecstasy. “They’re going to love you,” she says.

We’ll have so much fun, say the thoughts curling through her dark hair.

She hails a cab from the fleet circling the street like wolves, and we get inside.

• • • •

I run into Aiko two months later in front of my apartment, as I’m carrying the last box of my stuff out. She’s got a startled look on her face, and she’s carrying a bag stuffed with ramps, kaffir lime, heart of palm—all ingredients I wouldn’t have known two months ago, before meeting Seo-yun. “You’re moving?”

I shrug, staring over her head, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah, uh. I’m seeing someone now, and she’s got a really nice place.”

“Oh.” She swallows, shifts the bag of groceries higher on her hip. “That’s great. I didn’t know you were dating anybody.” I can hear her shaky smile. “She must be feeding you well. You look healthier.”

“Thanks,” I say, though I wonder. It’s true, I’m sleeker, more confident now. I’m barely home any more, spending most of my time in Seo-yun’s Chelsea apartment, learning to cook with the array of salts and spices infused with ugly dreams, drinking wine distilled from deathbed confessions. My time stalking the streets for small-time criminals is done. But why has my confidence evaporated the moment I see Aiko? And if that ravenous hunger from Harvey is gone, why am I holding my breath to keep from breathing in her scent?

“So what’s she like?”

“Older, kind of—” kind of looks like you “—short. Likes to cook, right.” I start to edge past her. “Listen, this box is heavy and the van’s waiting for me downstairs. I should go.”

“Wait,” Aiko says, grabbing my arm. “Your mom keeps calling me. She still has my number from . . . before. She’s worried about you. Plus I haven’t seen you in ages, and you’re just gonna take off?”

Aiko, small and humble. Her hands smell like home, like rice flour and bad memories. How could I ever have found that appealing?

“We don’t need to say goodbye. I’m sure I’ll see you later,” I lie, shrugging her off.

“Let’s get dinner sometime,” says Aiko, but I’m already walking away.

• • • •

Caterers flit like blackbirds through the apartment, dark uniforms neatly pressed, their own ugly thoughts braided and pinned out of the way. It’s a two-story affair, and well-dressed people flock together everywhere there’s space, Seo-yun’s library upstairs to the living room on ground floor. She’s even asked the caterers to prepare some of my recipes, which makes my heart glow. “You’re the best,” I say, kneeling on the bed beside her and pecking her on the cheek.

Seo-yun smiles, fixing my hair. She wears a sleek, deep blue dress, and today, her murderous thoughts are draped over her shoulders like a stole, a living, writhing cape. Their teeth glitter like tiny diamonds. I’ve never seen her so beautiful. “They’re good recipes. My friends will be so excited to taste them.”

I’ve already met many of them, all much older than I am. They make me nervous. “I’ll go check on the food,” I say.

She brushes her thumb over my cheek. “Whatever you’d like, love.”

I escape into the kitchen, murmuring brief greetings to the guests I encounter on the way. Their hideous dreams adorn them like jewels, glimmering and snatching at me as I slip past. As I walk past some of the cooks, I notice a man who looks vaguely familiar. “Hey,” I say.

“Yes, ma’am?” The caterer turns around, and I realize where I’ve seen him; there’s a picture of him and Aiko on her cellphone, the pair of them posing in front of a display at a big event they’d cooked for. My heartbeat slows.

“Aren’t you Aiko’s coworker?”

He grins and nods. “Yes, I’m Jimmy. Aiko’s my business partner. Are you looking for her?”

“Wait, she’s here?”

He frowns. “She should be. She never misses one of Ms. Sun’s parties.” He smiles. “Ms. Sun lets us take home whatever’s left when the party winds down. She’s so generous.”

I turn abruptly and head for the staircase to the bedroom, shouldering my way through the crowd. Thoughts pelt me as I go: Has Aiko known about me, my ma, what we can do? How long has she known? And worse—Seo-yun’s known all along about Aiko, and played me for a fool.

I bang the bedroom door open to find Aiko sprawled out across the carpet, her jacket torn open. Seo-yun crouches on the floor above her in her glorious dress, her mouth dark and glittering. She doesn’t look at all surprised to see me.

“Jenny, love. I hope you don’t mind we started without you.” Seo-yun smiles. Her lipstick is smeared over her chin, over Aiko’s blank face. I can’t tell if Aiko’s still breathing.

“Get away from her,” I say in a low voice.

“As you wish.” She rises gracefully, crossing the room in fluid strides. “I was done with that particular morsel, anyway.” The sounds of the party leak into the room behind me, and I know I can’t run and grab Aiko at the same time.

So I shut the door, locking it, and mellow my voice to a sweet purr. “Why didn’t you tell me about Aiko? We could have shared her together.”

But Seo-yun just laughs at me. “You can’t fool me, Jenny. I can smell your rage from across the room.” She reaches out, catches my face, and I recoil into the door. “It makes you so beautiful. The last seasoning in a dish almost ready.”

“You’re insane, and I’m going to kill you,” I say. She kisses my neck, her teeth scraping my throat, and the scent of her is so heady my knees almost bend.

“I saw you in her head, delicious as anything,” she whispers. Her ugly thoughts hiss up my arms, twining around my waist. There’s a sharp sting at my wrist, and I look down to discover that one of them is already gnawing at my skin. “And I knew I just had to have you.”

There’s a crash, and Seo-yun screams as a porcelain lamp shatters against the back of her head. Aiko’s on her feet, swaying unsteadily, face grim. “Back the fuck away from her,” she growls, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You little bitch—” snarls Seo-yun.

But I seize my chance and pounce, fastening my teeth into the hollow of Seo-yun’s throat, right where her mantle of thoughts gathers and folds inward. I chew and swallow, chew and swallow, gorging myself on this woman. Her thoughts are mine now, thrashing as I seize them from her, and I catch glimpses of myself, of Aiko, and of many others just like us, in various states of disarray, of preparation.

Ma once told me that this was how Baba went; she’d accidentally drained him until he’d faded completely out of existence. For the first time in my life, I understand her completely.

Seo-yun’s bracelets clatter to the floor, her empty gown fluttering soundlessly after. Aiko collapses too, folding like paper.

It hurts to take in that much. My stomach hurts so bad, my entire body swollen with hideous thoughts. At the same time, I’ve never felt so alive, abuzz with possibility and untamable rage.

I lurch over to Aiko on the floor, malice leaking from her mouth, staining the carpet. “Aiko, wake up!” But she feels hollow, lighter, empty. She doesn’t even smell like herself any more.

A knock at the door jolts me. “Ma’am,” says a voice I recognize as the head caterer. “The first of the main courses is ready. Mr. Goldberg wants to know if you’ll come down and give a toast.”

Fuck. “I—” I start to say, but the voice isn’t mine. I glance over at the mirror; sure enough, it’s Seo-yun staring back at me, her dark, terrible dreams tangled around her body in a knotted mess. “I’ll be right there,” I say, and lay Aiko gently on the bed. Then I dress and leave, my heart pounding in my mouth.

I walk Seo-yun’s shape down the stairs to the dining room, where guests are milling about, plates in hand, and smile Seo-yun’s smile. And if I look a little too much like myself, well—according to what I’d seen while swallowing Seo-yun’s thoughts, I wouldn’t be the first would-be inductee to disappear at a party like this. Someone hands me a glass of wine, and when I take it, my hand doesn’t tremble, even though I’m screaming inside.

Fifty pairs of eyes on me, the caterers’ glittering cold in the shadows. Do any of them know? Can any of them tell?

“To your continued health, and to a fabulous dinner,” I say, raising my glass. As one, they drink.

• • • •

Seo-yun’s apartment is dark, cleared of guests and wait staff alike. Every door is locked, every curtain yanked closed.

I’ve pulled every jar, every container, every pot and pan out of the kitchen, and now they cover the floor of the bedroom, trailing into the hallway, down the stairs. Many are full, their malignant contents hissing and whispering hideous promises at me as I stuff my hand in my mouth, retching into the pot in my lap.

Aiko lies on the bed, pale and still. There’s flour and bile on the front of her jacket. “Hang in there,” I whisper, but she doesn’t respond. I swirl the pot, searching its contents for any hint of Aiko, but Seo-yun’s face grins out at me from the patterns of light glimmering across the liquid’s surface. I shove it away from me, spilling some on the carpet.

I grab another one of the myriad crawling thoughts tangled about me, sinking my teeth into its body, tearing it into pieces as it screams and howls terrible promises, promises it won’t be able to keep. I eat it raw, its scales scraping the roof of my mouth, chewing it thoroughly. The more broken down it is, the easier it will be to sort through the pieces that are left when it comes back up.

How long did you know? Did you always know?

I’ll find her, I think as viscous black liquid pours from my mouth, over my hands, burning my throat. The field of containers pools around me like a storm of malicious stars, all whispering my name. She’s in here somewhere, I can see her reflection darting across their surfaces. If I have to rip through every piece of Seo-yun I have, from her dreams to the soft, freckled skin wrapped around my body, I will. I’ll wring every vile drop of Seo-yun out of me until I find Aiko, and then I’ll fill her back up, pour her mouth full of herself.

How could I ever forget her? How could I forget her taste, her scent, something as awful and beautiful as home?

[andya-j]

As my date—Harvey? Harvard?—brags about his alma mater and Manhattan penthouse, I take a bite of overpriced kale and watch his ugly thoughts swirl overhead. It’s hard to pay attention to him with my stomach growling and my body ajitter, for all he’s easy on the eyes. Harvey doesn’t look much older than I am, but his thoughts, covered in spines and centipede feet, glisten with ancient grudges and carry an entitled, Ivy League stink. “My apartment has the most amazing view of the city,” he’s saying, his thoughts sliding long over each other like dark, bristling snakes. Each one is as thick around as his Rolex-draped wrist. “I just installed a Jacuzzi along the west wall so that I can watch the sun set while I relax after getting back from the gym.” I nod, half-listening to the words coming out of his mouth. I’m much more interested in the ones hissing through the teeth of the thoughts above him. She’s got perfect tits, lil’ handfuls just waiting to be squeezed. I love me some perky tits. I’m gonna fuck this bitch so hard she’ll never walk straight again. Gross. “That sounds wonderful,” I say as I sip champagne and gaze at him through my false eyelashes, hoping the dimmed screen of my iPhone isn’t visible through the tablecloth below. This dude is boring as hell, and I’m already back on Tindr, thumbing through next week’s prospective dinner dates. She’s so into me, she’ll be begging for it by the end of the night. I can’t wait to cut her up. My eyes flick up sharply. “I’m sorry?” I say. Harvey blinks. “I said, Argentina is a beautiful country.” Pretty little thing. She’ll look so good spread out all over the floor. “Right,” I say. “Of course.” Blood’s pulsing through my head so hard it probably looks like I’ve got a wicked blush. I’m so excited, I’m half hard already. You and me both, I think, turning my iPhone off and smiling my prettiest smile. The waiter swings by with another bottle of champagne and a dessert menu burned into a wooden card, but I wave him off. “Dinner’s been lovely,” I whisper to Harvey, leaning in and kissing his cheek, “but I’ve got a different kind of dessert in mind.” Ahhh, go the ugly thoughts, settling into a gentle, rippling wave across his shoulders. I’m going to take her home and split her all the way from top to bottom. Like a fucking fruit tart. That is not the way I normally eat fruit tarts, but who am I to judge? I passed on dessert, after all. When he pays the bill, he can’t stop grinning at me. Neither can the ugly thoughts hissing and cackling behind his ear. “What’s got you so happy?” I ask coyly. “I’m just excited to spend the rest of the evening with you,” he replies. • • • • The fucker has his own parking spot! No taxis for us; he’s even brought the Tesla. The leather seats smell buttery and sweet, and as I slide in and make myself comfortable, the rankness of his thoughts leaves a stain in the air. It’s enough to leave me light-headed, almost purring. As we cruise uptown toward his fancy-ass penthouse, I ask him to pull over near the Queensboro Bridge for a second. Annoyance flashes across his face, but he parks the Tesla in a side street. I lurch into an alley, tottering over empty cans and discarded cigarettes in my four-inch heels, and puke a trail of champagne and kale over to the dumpster shoved up against the apartment building. “Are you all right?” Harvey calls. “I’m fine,” I slur. Not a single curious window opens overhead. His steps echo down the alley. He’s gotten out of the car, and he’s walking toward me like I’m an animal that he needs to approach carefully. Maybe I should do it now. Yes! Now, now, while the bitch is occupied. But what about the method? I won’t get to see her insides all pretty everywhere— I launch myself at him, fingers digging sharp into his body, and bite down hard on his mouth. He tries to shout, but I swallow the sound and shove my tongue inside. There, just behind his teeth, is what I’m looking for: ugly thoughts, viscous as boiled tendon. I suck them howling and fighting into my throat as Harvey’s body shudders, little mewling noises escaping from his nose. I feel decadent and filthy, swollen with the cruelest dreams I’ve ever tasted. I can barely feel Harvey’s feeble struggles; in this state, with the darkest parts of himself drained from his mouth into mine, he’s no match for me. They’re never as strong as they think they are. By the time he finally goes limp, the last of the thoughts disappearing down my throat, my body’s already changing. My limbs elongate, growing thicker, and my dress feels too tight as my ribs expand. I’ll have to work quickly. I strip off my clothes with practiced ease, struggling a little to work the bodice free of the gym-toned musculature swelling under my skin. It doesn’t take much time to wrestle Harvey out of his clothes, either. My hands are shaking but strong, and as I button up his shirt around me and shrug on his jacket, my jaw has creaked into an approximation of his and the ridges of my fingerprints have reshaped themselves completely. Harvey is so much bigger than me, and the expansion of space eases the pressure on my boiling belly, stuffed with ugly thoughts as it is. I stuff my discarded outfit into my purse, my high heels clicking against the empty glass jar at its bottom, and sling the strap over my now-broad shoulder. I kneel to check Harvey’s pulse—slow but steady—before rolling his unconscious body up against the dumpster, covering him with trash bags. Maybe he’ll wake up, maybe he won’t. Not my problem, as long as he doesn’t wake in the next ten seconds to see his doppelganger strolling out of the alley, wearing his clothes and fingering his wallet and the keys to his Tesla. There’s a cluster of drunk college kids gawking at Harvey’s car. I level an arrogant stare at them—oh, but do I wear this body so much better than he did!—and they scatter. I might not have a license, but Harvey’s body remembers how to drive. • • • • The Tesla revs sweetly under me, but I ditch it in a parking garage in Bedford, stripping in the relative privacy of the second-to-highest level, edged behind a pillar. After laying the keys on the driver’s seat over Harvey’s neatly folded clothes and shutting the car door, I pull the glass jar from my purse and vomit into it as quietly as I can. Black liquid, thick and viscous, hits the bottom of the jar, hissing and snarling Harvey’s words. My body shudders, limbs retracting, spine reshaping itself, as I empty myself of him. It takes a few more minutes to ease back into an approximation of myself, at least enough to slip my dress and heels back on, pocket the jar, and comb my tangled hair out with my fingers. The parking attendant nods at me as I walk out of the garage, his eyes sliding disinterested over me, his thoughts a gray, indistinct murmur. The L train takes me back home to Bushwick, and when I push open the apartment door, Aiko is in the kitchen, rolling mochi paste out on the counter. “You’re here,” I say stupidly. I’m still a little foggy from shaking off Harvey’s form, and strains of his thoughts linger in me, setting my blood humming uncomfortably hot. “I’d hope so. You invited me over.” She hasn’t changed out of her catering company clothes, and her short, sleek hair frames her face, aglow in the kitchen light. Not a single ugly thought casts its shadow across the stove behind her. “Did you forget again?” “No,” I lie, kicking my shoes off at the door. “I totally would never do something like that. Have you been here long?” “About an hour, nothing unusual. The doorman let me in, and I kept your spare key.” She smiles briefly, soft compared to the brusque movements of her hands. She’s got flour on her rolled-up sleeves, and my heart flutters the way it never does when I’m out hunting. “I’m guessing your date was pretty shit. You probably wouldn’t have come home at all if it had gone well.” “You could say that.” I reach into my purse and stash the snarling jar in the fridge, where it clatters against the others, nearly a dozen bottles of malignant leftovers labeled as health drinks. Aiko nods to her right. “I brought you some pastries from the event tonight. They’re in the paper bag on the counter.” “You’re an angel.” I edge past her so I don’t make bodily contact. Aiko thinks I have touch issues, but the truth is, she smells like everything good in the world, solid and familiar, both light and heavy at the same time, and it’s enough to drive a person mad. “He should have bought you a cab back, at least,” says Aiko, reaching for a bowl of red bean paste. I fiddle with the bag of pastries, pretending to select something from its contents. “I swear, it’s like you’re a magnet for terrible dates.” She’s not wrong; I’m very careful about who I court. After all, that’s how I stay fed. But no one in the past has been as delicious, as hideously depraved as Harvey. No one else has been a killer. I’m going to take her home and split her all the way from top to bottom. “Maybe I’m too weird,” I say. “You’re probably too normal. Only socially maladjusted creeps use Tindr.” “Gee, thanks,” I complain. She grins, flicking a bit of red bean paste at me. I lick it off of my arm. “You know what I mean. Come visit my church with me sometime, yeah? There are plenty of nice boys there.” “The dating scene in this city depresses me,” I mutter, flicking open my Tindr app with my thumb. “I’ll pass.” “Come on, Jen, put that away.” Aiko hesitates. “Your mom called while you were out. She wants you to move back to Flushing.” I bark out a short, sharp laugh, my good mood evaporating. “What else is new?” “She’s getting old,” Aiko says. “And she’s lonely.” “I bet. All her mahjong partners are dead, pretty much.” I can imagine her in her little apartment in Flushing, huddled over her laptop, floral curtains pulled tight over the windows to shut out the rest of the world. My ma, whose apartment walls are alive with hissing, covered in the ugly, bottled remains of her paramours. Aiko sighs, joining me at the counter and leaning back against me. For once, I don’t move away. Every muscle in my body is tense, straining. I’m afraid I might catch fire, but I don’t want her to leave. “Would it kill you to be kind to her?” I think about my baba evaporating into thin air when I was five years old, what was left of him coiled in my ma’s stomach. “Are you telling me to go back?” She doesn’t say anything for a bit. “No,” she says at last. “That place isn’t good for you. That house isn’t good for anyone.” Just a few inches away, an army of jars full of black, viscous liquid wait in the fridge, their contents muttering to themselves. Aiko can’t hear them, but each slosh against the glass is a low, nasty hiss: who does she think she is, the fucking cunt should’ve got her when I had the chance I can still feel Harvey, his malice and ugly joy, on my tongue. I’m already full of things my ma gave me. “I’m glad we agree.” • • • • Over the next few weeks, I gorge myself on the pickup artists and grad students populating the St. Marks hipster bars, but nothing tastes good after Harvey. Their watery essences, squeezed from their owners with barely a whimper of protest, barely coat my stomach. Sometimes I take too much. I scrape them dry and leave them empty, shaking their forms off like rainwater when I’m done. I tell Aiko I’ve been partying when she says I look haggard. She tells me to quit drinking so much, her face impassive, her thoughts clouded with concern. She starts coming over more often, even cooking dinner for me, and her presence both grounds me and drives me mad. “I’m worried about you,” she says as I lie on the floor, flipping listlessly through pages of online dating profiles, looking for the emptiness, the rot, that made Harvey so appealing. She’s cooking my mom’s lo mien recipe, the oily smell making my skin itch. “You’ve lost so much weight and there’s nothing in your fridge, just a bunch of empty jam jars.” I don’t tell her that Harvey’s lies under my bed, that I lick its remnants every night to send my nerves back into euphoria. I don’t tell her how often I dream about my ma’s place, the shelves of jars she never let me touch. “Is it really okay for you to spend so much time away from your catering business?” I say instead. “Time is money, and Jimmy gets pissy when he has to make all the desserts without you.” Aiko sets a bowl of lo mein in front of me and joins me on the ground. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here,” she says, and a dangerous, luminous sweetness blooms in my chest. But the hunger grows worse every day, and soon I can’t trust myself around her. I deadbolt the door, and when she stops by my apartment to check on me, I refuse to let her in. Texts light up my phone like a fleet of fireworks as I huddle under a blanket on the other side, my face pressed against the wood, my fingers twitching. “Please, Jen, I don’t understand,” she says from behind the door. “Did I do something wrong?” I can’t wait to cut her up, I think, and hate myself even more. By the time Aiko leaves, her footsteps echoing down the hallway, I’ve dug deep gouges in the door’s paint with my nails and teeth, my mouth full of her intoxicating scent. • • • • My ma’s apartment in Flushing still smells the same. She’s never been a clean person, and the sheer amount of junk stacked up everywhere has increased since I left home for good. Piles of newspapers, old food containers, and stuffed toys make it hard to push the door open, and the stench makes me cough. Her hoard is up to my shoulders, even higher in some places, and as I pick my way through it, the sounds that colored my childhood grow louder: the constant whine of a Taiwanese soap opera bleeding past mountains of trash, and the cruel cacophony of many familiar voices: Touch me again and I swear I’ll kill you— How many times have I told you not to wash the clothes like that, open your mouth— Hope her ugly chink daughter isn’t home tonight— Under the refuse she’s hoarded the walls are honeycombed with shelves, lined with what’s left of my ma’s lovers. She keeps them like disgusting, mouthwatering trophies, desires pickling in stomach acid and bile. I could probably call them by name if I wanted to; when I was a kid, I used to lie on the couch and watch my baba’s ghost flicker across their surfaces. My ma’s huddled in the kitchen, the screen of her laptop casting a sickly blue glow on her face. Her thoughts cover her quietly like a blanket. “I made some niu ro mien,” she says. “It’s on the stove. Your baba’s in there.” My stomach curls, but whether it’s from revulsion or hunger I can’t tell. “Thanks, ma,” I say. I find a bowl that’s almost clean and wash it out, ladling a generous portion of thick noodles for myself. The broth smells faintly of hongtashan tobacco, and as I force it down almost faster than I can swallow, someone else’s memories of my childhood flash before my eyes: pushing a small girl on a swing set at the park; laughing as she chases pigeons down the street; raising a hand for a second blow as her mother launches herself toward us, between us, teeth bared— “How is it?” she says. Foul. “Great,” I say. It settles my stomach, at least for a little while. But my baba was no Harvey, and I can already feel the hunger creeping back, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “You ate something you shouldn’t have, didn’t you, Meimei.” My ma looks up at me for the first time since I walked in, and she looks almost as tired as I feel. “Why didn’t you learn from me? I taught you to stick to petty criminals. I taught you to stay invisible.” She’d tried to teach me to disappear into myself, the way she’d disappeared into this apartment. “I know I messed up,” I tell her. “Nothing tastes good any more, and I’m always hungry. But I don’t know what to do.” My ma sighs. “Once you’ve tasted a killer, there’s no turning back. You’ll crave that intensity until you die. And it can take a long time for someone like us to die, Meimei.” It occurs to me that I don’t actually know how old my ma is. Her thoughts are old and covered in knots, stitched together from the remnants of other people’s experiences. How long has she been fighting this condition, these overwhelming, gnawing desires? “Move back in,” she’s saying. “There’s so much tong activity here, the streets leak with food. You barely even have to go outside, just crack open a window and you can smell it brewing. The malice, the knives and bullets . . .” The picture she paints makes me shudder, my mouth itching. “I can’t just leave everything, Ma,” I say. “I have my own life now.” And I can’t live in this apartment, with its lack of sunlight and fresh air, its thick stench of regret and malice. “So what happens if you go back? You lose control, you take a bite out of Aiko?” She sees me stiffen. “That girl cares about you so much. The best thing you can do for her is keep away. Don’t let what happened to your father happen to Aiko.” She reaches for my hand, and I pull away. “Stay here, Meimei. We only have each other.” “This isn’t what I want.” I’m backing up, and my shoulder bumps into the trash, threatening to bury us both in rotting stuffed animals. “This isn’t safe, Ma. You shouldn’t even stay here.” My ma coughs, her eyes glinting in the dark. The cackling from her jar collection swells in a vicious tide, former lovers rocking back and forth on their shelves. “Someday you’ll learn that there’s more to life than being selfish, Meimei.” That’s when I turn my back on her, pushing past the debris and bullshit her apartment’s stuffed with. I don’t want to die, but as far as I’m concerned, living like my ma, sequestered away from the rest of the world, her doors barricaded with heaps of useless trinkets and soured memories, is worse than being dead. The jars leer and cackle as I go, and she doesn’t try to follow me. The scent of Flushing clings to my skin, and I can’t wait to shake it off. I get on the train as soon as I can, and I’m back on Tindr as soon as the M passes above ground. Tears blur my eyes, rattling free with the movement of the train. I scrub them away angrily, and when my vision clears, I glance back at the screen. A woman with sleek, dark hair, slim tortoiseshell glasses, and a smile that seems a little shy, but strangely handsome, glows up at me. In the picture, she’s framed by the downtown cityscape. She has rounded cheeks, but there’s a strange flat quality to her face. And then, of course, there are the dreams shadowing her, so strong they leak from the screen in a thick, heady miasma. Every one of those myriad eyes is staring straight at me, and my skin prickles. I scan the information on her profile page, my blood beating so hard I can feel my fingertips pulsing: relatively young-looking, but old enough to be my mother’s cousin. Likes: exploring good food, spending rainy days at the Cloisters, browsing used book stores. Location: Manhattan. She looks a little like Aiko. She’s quick to message me back. As we flirt, cold sweat and adrenaline send uncomfortable shivers through my body. Everything is sharper, and I can almost hear Harvey’s jar laughing. Finally, the words I’m waiting for pop up: I’d love to meet you. Are you free tonight? I make a quick stop-off back home, and my heart hammers as I get on the train bound for the Lower East Side, red lipstick immaculate and arms shaking beneath my crisp designer coat, a pair of Mom’s glass jars tucked in my purse. • • • • Her name is Seo-yun, and as she watches me eat, her eyes flickering from my mouth to my throat, her smile is so sharp I could cut myself on it. “I love places like this,” she says. “Little authentic spots with only twelve seats. Have you been to Haru before?” “I haven’t,” I murmur. My fingers are clumsy with my chopsticks, tremors clicking them together, making it hard to pick up my food. God, she smells delectable. I’ve never met someone whose mind is so twisted, so rich; a malignancy as well developed and finely crafted as the most elegant dessert. I’m going to take her home and split her open like a— I can already taste her on my tongue, the best meal I’ve never had. “You’re in for a treat,” Seo-yun says as the waiter—the only other staff beside the chef behind the counter—brings us another pot of tea. “This restaurant started as a stall in a subway station back in Japan.” “Oh wow,” I say. “That’s . . . amazing.” “I think so, too. I’m glad they expanded into Manhattan.” Behind her kind eyes, a gnarled mess of ancient, ugly thoughts writhes like the tails of a rat king. I’ve never seen so many in one place. They crawl from her mouth and ears, creeping through the air on deep-scaled legs, their voices like the drone of descending locusts. I’m not her first. I can tell that already. But then, she isn’t mine, either. I spend the evening sweating through my dress, nearly dropping my chopsticks. I can’t stop staring at the ugly thoughts, dropping from her lips like swollen beetles. They skitter over the tablecloth toward me, whispering obscenities at odds with Seo-yun’s gentle voice, hissing what they’d like to do to me. It takes everything in me not to pluck them from the table and crunch them deep between my teeth right then and there, to pour into her lap and rip her mind clean. Seo-yun is too much for me, but I’m in too far, too hard; I need to have her. She smiles at me. “Not hungry?” I glance down at my plate. I’ve barely managed a couple of nigiri. “I’m on a diet,” I mutter. “I understand,” she says earnestly. The ugly thoughts crawl over the tops of her hands, iridescent drops spilling into her soy sauce dish. When the waiter finally disappears into the kitchen, I move in to kiss her across the table. She makes a startled noise, gentle pink spreading across her face, but she doesn’t pull away. My elbow sinks into the exoskeleton of one of the thought-beetles, crushing it into black, moist paste against my skin. I open my mouth to take the first bite. “So, I’m curious,” murmurs Seo-yun, her breath brushing my lips. “Who’s Aiko?” My eyes snap open. Seo-yun smiles, her voice warm and tender, all her edges dark. “She seems sweet, that’s all. I’m surprised you haven’t had a taste of her yet.” I back up so fast that I knock over my teacup, spilling scalding tea over everything. But Seo-yun doesn’t move, just keeps smiling that kind, gentle smile as her monstrous thoughts lap delicately at the tablecloth. “She smells so ripe,” she whispers. “But you’re afraid you’ll ruin her, aren’t you? Eat her up, and for what? Just like your mum did your dad.” No, no, no. I’ve miscalculated so badly. But I’m so hungry, and I’m too young, and she smells like ancient power. There’s no way I’ll be able to outrun her. “Get out of my head,” I manage to say. “I’m not in your head, love. Your thoughts are spilling out everywhere around you, for everyone to see.” She leans in, propping her chin on her hand. The thoughts twisted around her head like a living crown let out a dry, rattling laugh. “I like you, Jenny. You’re ambitious. A little careless, but we can fix that.” Seo-yun taps on the table, and the waiter reappears, folding up the tablecloth deftly and sliding a single dish onto the now-bare table. An array of thin, translucent slices fan out across the plate, pale and glistening with malice. Bisected eyes glint, mouths caught mid-snarl, from every piece. “All it takes is a little practice and discipline, and no one will know what you’re really thinking.” “On the house, of course, Ma’am,” the waiter murmurs. Before he disappears again, I catch a glimpse of dark, many-legged thoughts braided like a bracelet around his wrist. Seo-yun takes the first bite, glancing up at me from behind her glasses. “Your mum was wrong,” she says. “She thought you were alone, just the two of you. So she taught you to only eat when you needed to, so you didn’t get caught, biding your time between meals like a snake.” “You don’t know anything about me,” I say. The heady, rotten perfume from the dish in front of me makes my head spin with hunger. “My mum was much the same. Eat for survival, not for pleasure.” She gestures at the plate with her chopsticks. “Please, have some.” As the food disappears, I can only hold out for a few more slices before my chopsticks dart out, catching a piece for myself. It’s so acidic it makes my tongue burn and eyes itch, the aftertaste strangely sweet. “Do you like it?” I respond by wolfing down another two slices, and Seo-yun chuckles. Harvey is bland compared to this, this strangely distilled pairing of emotions— I gasp as my body starts to warp, hands withering, burn scars twisting their way around my arms. Gasoline, malice, childish joy rush through me, a heady mix of memory and sensory overstimulation. And then Seo-yun’s lips are on mine, teeth tugging gently, swallowing, drawing it out of me. The burns fade, but the tingle of cruel euphoria lingers. She wipes her mouth delicately. “Ate a little too fast, I think, dear,” she says. “My point, Jenny, is that I believe in eating for pleasure, not just survival. And communally, of course. There are a number of us who get together for dinner or drinks at my place, every so often, and I would love it if you would join us tonight. An eating club, of sorts.” My gaze flickers up at her thoughts, but they’re sitting still as stones, just watching me with unblinking eyes. My mouth stings with the imprint of hers. “Let me introduce you soon. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” As the waiter clears the plate and nods at her—no check, no receipt, nothing—Seo-yun adds, “And tonight doesn’t have to be over until we want it to be.” She offers me her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, I take it. It’s smaller than mine, and warm. “Yes, please,” I say, watching her thoughts instead of her face. As we leave the restaurant, she presses her lips to my forehead. Her lips sear into my skin, nerves singing white-hot with ecstasy. “They’re going to love you,” she says. We’ll have so much fun, say the thoughts curling through her dark hair. She hails a cab from the fleet circling the street like wolves, and we get inside. • • • • I run into Aiko two months later in front of my apartment, as I’m carrying the last box of my stuff out. She’s got a startled look on her face, and she’s carrying a bag stuffed with ramps, kaffir lime, heart of palm—all ingredients I wouldn’t have known two months ago, before meeting Seo-yun. “You’re moving?” I shrug, staring over her head, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah, uh. I’m seeing someone now, and she’s got a really nice place.” “Oh.” She swallows, shifts the bag of groceries higher on her hip. “That’s great. I didn’t know you were dating anybody.” I can hear her shaky smile. “She must be feeding you well. You look healthier.” “Thanks,” I say, though I wonder. It’s true, I’m sleeker, more confident now. I’m barely home any more, spending most of my time in Seo-yun’s Chelsea apartment, learning to cook with the array of salts and spices infused with ugly dreams, drinking wine distilled from deathbed confessions. My time stalking the streets for small-time criminals is done. But why has my confidence evaporated the moment I see Aiko? And if that ravenous hunger from Harvey is gone, why am I holding my breath to keep from breathing in her scent? “So what’s she like?” “Older, kind of—” kind of looks like you “—short. Likes to cook, right.” I start to edge past her. “Listen, this box is heavy and the van’s waiting for me downstairs. I should go.” “Wait,” Aiko says, grabbing my arm. “Your mom keeps calling me. She still has my number from . . . before. She’s worried about you. Plus I haven’t seen you in ages, and you’re just gonna take off?” Aiko, small and humble. Her hands smell like home, like rice flour and bad memories. How could I ever have found that appealing? “We don’t need to say goodbye. I’m sure I’ll see you later,” I lie, shrugging her off. “Let’s get dinner sometime,” says Aiko, but I’m already walking away. • • • • Caterers flit like blackbirds through the apartment, dark uniforms neatly pressed, their own ugly thoughts braided and pinned out of the way. It’s a two-story affair, and well-dressed people flock together everywhere there’s space, Seo-yun’s library upstairs to the living room on ground floor. She’s even asked the caterers to prepare some of my recipes, which makes my heart glow. “You’re the best,” I say, kneeling on the bed beside her and pecking her on the cheek. Seo-yun smiles, fixing my hair. She wears a sleek, deep blue dress, and today, her murderous thoughts are draped over her shoulders like a stole, a living, writhing cape. Their teeth glitter like tiny diamonds. I’ve never seen her so beautiful. “They’re good recipes. My friends will be so excited to taste them.” I’ve already met many of them, all much older than I am. They make me nervous. “I’ll go check on the food,” I say. She brushes her thumb over my cheek. “Whatever you’d like, love.” I escape into the kitchen, murmuring brief greetings to the guests I encounter on the way. Their hideous dreams adorn them like jewels, glimmering and snatching at me as I slip past. As I walk past some of the cooks, I notice a man who looks vaguely familiar. “Hey,” I say. “Yes, ma’am?” The caterer turns around, and I realize where I’ve seen him; there’s a picture of him and Aiko on her cellphone, the pair of them posing in front of a display at a big event they’d cooked for. My heartbeat slows. “Aren’t you Aiko’s coworker?” He grins and nods. “Yes, I’m Jimmy. Aiko’s my business partner. Are you looking for her?” “Wait, she’s here?” He frowns. “She should be. She never misses one of Ms. Sun’s parties.” He smiles. “Ms. Sun lets us take home whatever’s left when the party winds down. She’s so generous.” I turn abruptly and head for the staircase to the bedroom, shouldering my way through the crowd. Thoughts pelt me as I go: Has Aiko known about me, my ma, what we can do? How long has she known? And worse—Seo-yun’s known all along about Aiko, and played me for a fool. I bang the bedroom door open to find Aiko sprawled out across the carpet, her jacket torn open. Seo-yun crouches on the floor above her in her glorious dress, her mouth dark and glittering. She doesn’t look at all surprised to see me. “Jenny, love. I hope you don’t mind we started without you.” Seo-yun smiles. Her lipstick is smeared over her chin, over Aiko’s blank face. I can’t tell if Aiko’s still breathing. “Get away from her,” I say in a low voice. “As you wish.” She rises gracefully, crossing the room in fluid strides. “I was done with that particular morsel, anyway.” The sounds of the party leak into the room behind me, and I know I can’t run and grab Aiko at the same time. So I shut the door, locking it, and mellow my voice to a sweet purr. “Why didn’t you tell me about Aiko? We could have shared her together.” But Seo-yun just laughs at me. “You can’t fool me, Jenny. I can smell your rage from across the room.” She reaches out, catches my face, and I recoil into the door. “It makes you so beautiful. The last seasoning in a dish almost ready.” “You’re insane, and I’m going to kill you,” I say. She kisses my neck, her teeth scraping my throat, and the scent of her is so heady my knees almost bend. “I saw you in her head, delicious as anything,” she whispers. Her ugly thoughts hiss up my arms, twining around my waist. There’s a sharp sting at my wrist, and I look down to discover that one of them is already gnawing at my skin. “And I knew I just had to have you.” There’s a crash, and Seo-yun screams as a porcelain lamp shatters against the back of her head. Aiko’s on her feet, swaying unsteadily, face grim. “Back the fuck away from her,” she growls, her voice barely above a whisper. “You little bitch—” snarls Seo-yun. But I seize my chance and pounce, fastening my teeth into the hollow of Seo-yun’s throat, right where her mantle of thoughts gathers and folds inward. I chew and swallow, chew and swallow, gorging myself on this woman. Her thoughts are mine now, thrashing as I seize them from her, and I catch glimpses of myself, of Aiko, and of many others just like us, in various states of disarray, of preparation. Ma once told me that this was how Baba went; she’d accidentally drained him until he’d faded completely out of existence. For the first time in my life, I understand her completely. Seo-yun’s bracelets clatter to the floor, her empty gown fluttering soundlessly after. Aiko collapses too, folding like paper. It hurts to take in that much. My stomach hurts so bad, my entire body swollen with hideous thoughts. At the same time, I’ve never felt so alive, abuzz with possibility and untamable rage. I lurch over to Aiko on the floor, malice leaking from her mouth, staining the carpet. “Aiko, wake up!” But she feels hollow, lighter, empty. She doesn’t even smell like herself any more. A knock at the door jolts me. “Ma’am,” says a voice I recognize as the head caterer. “The first of the main courses is ready. Mr. Goldberg wants to know if you’ll come down and give a toast.” Fuck. “I—” I start to say, but the voice isn’t mine. I glance over at the mirror; sure enough, it’s Seo-yun staring back at me, her dark, terrible dreams tangled around her body in a knotted mess. “I’ll be right there,” I say, and lay Aiko gently on the bed. Then I dress and leave, my heart pounding in my mouth. I walk Seo-yun’s shape down the stairs to the dining room, where guests are milling about, plates in hand, and smile Seo-yun’s smile. And if I look a little too much like myself, well—according to what I’d seen while swallowing Seo-yun’s thoughts, I wouldn’t be the first would-be inductee to disappear at a party like this. Someone hands me a glass of wine, and when I take it, my hand doesn’t tremble, even though I’m screaming inside. Fifty pairs of eyes on me, the caterers’ glittering cold in the shadows. Do any of them know? Can any of them tell? “To your continued health, and to a fabulous dinner,” I say, raising my glass. As one, they drink. • • • • Seo-yun’s apartment is dark, cleared of guests and wait staff alike. Every door is locked, every curtain yanked closed. I’ve pulled every jar, every container, every pot and pan out of the kitchen, and now they cover the floor of the bedroom, trailing into the hallway, down the stairs. Many are full, their malignant contents hissing and whispering hideous promises at me as I stuff my hand in my mouth, retching into the pot in my lap. Aiko lies on the bed, pale and still. There’s flour and bile on the front of her jacket. “Hang in there,” I whisper, but she doesn’t respond. I swirl the pot, searching its contents for any hint of Aiko, but Seo-yun’s face grins out at me from the patterns of light glimmering across the liquid’s surface. I shove it away from me, spilling some on the carpet. I grab another one of the myriad crawling thoughts tangled about me, sinking my teeth into its body, tearing it into pieces as it screams and howls terrible promises, promises it won’t be able to keep. I eat it raw, its scales scraping the roof of my mouth, chewing it thoroughly. The more broken down it is, the easier it will be to sort through the pieces that are left when it comes back up. How long did you know? Did you always know? I’ll find her, I think as viscous black liquid pours from my mouth, over my hands, burning my throat. The field of containers pools around me like a storm of malicious stars, all whispering my name. She’s in here somewhere, I can see her reflection darting across their surfaces. If I have to rip through every piece of Seo-yun I have, from her dreams to the soft, freckled skin wrapped around my body, I will. I’ll wring every vile drop of Seo-yun out of me until I find Aiko, and then I’ll fill her back up, pour her mouth full of herself. How could I ever forget her? How could I forget her taste, her scent, something as awful and beautiful as home?

As my date—Harvey? Harvard?—brags about his alma mater and Manhattan penthouse, I take a bite of overpriced kale and watch his ugly thoughts swirl overhead. It’s hard to pay attention to him with my stomach growling and my body ajitter, for all he’s easy on the eyes. Harvey doesn’t look much older than I am, but his thoughts, covered in spines and centipede feet, glisten with ancient grudges and carry an entitled, Ivy League stink. “My apartment has the most amazing view of the city,” he’s saying, his thoughts sliding long over each other like dark, bristling snakes. Each one is as thick around as his Rolex-draped wrist. “I just installed a Jacuzzi along the west wall so that I can watch the sun set while I relax after getting back from the gym.” I nod, half-listening to the words coming out of his mouth. I’m much more interested in the ones hissing through the teeth of the thoughts above him. She’s got perfect tits, lil’ handfuls just waiting to be squeezed. I love me some perky tits. I’m gonna fuck this bitch so hard she’ll never walk straight again. Gross. “That sounds wonderful,” I say as I sip champagne and gaze at him through my false eyelashes, hoping the dimmed screen of my iPhone isn’t visible through the tablecloth below. This dude is boring as hell, and I’m already back on Tindr, thumbing through next week’s prospective dinner dates. She’s so into me, she’ll be begging for it by the end of the night. I can’t wait to cut her up. My eyes flick up sharply. “I’m sorry?” I say. Harvey blinks. “I said, Argentina is a beautiful country.” Pretty little thing. She’ll look so good spread out all over the floor. “Right,” I say. “Of course.” Blood’s pulsing through my head so hard it probably looks like I’ve got a wicked blush. I’m so excited, I’m half hard already. You and me both, I think, turning my iPhone off and smiling my prettiest smile. The waiter swings by with another bottle of champagne and a dessert menu burned into a wooden card, but I wave him off. “Dinner’s been lovely,” I whisper to Harvey, leaning in and kissing his cheek, “but I’ve got a different kind of dessert in mind.” Ahhh, go the ugly thoughts, settling into a gentle, rippling wave across his shoulders. I’m going to take her home and split her all the way from top to bottom. Like a fucking fruit tart. That is not the way I normally eat fruit tarts, but who am I to judge? I passed on dessert, after all. When he pays the bill, he can’t stop grinning at me. Neither can the ugly thoughts hissing and cackling behind his ear. “What’s got you so happy?” I ask coyly. “I’m just excited to spend the rest of the evening with you,” he replies. • • • • The fucker has his own parking spot! No taxis for us; he’s even brought the Tesla. The leather seats smell buttery and sweet, and as I slide in and make myself comfortable, the rankness of his thoughts leaves a stain in the air. It’s enough to leave me light-headed, almost purring. As we cruise uptown toward his fancy-ass penthouse, I ask him to pull over near the Queensboro Bridge for a second. Annoyance flashes across his face, but he parks the Tesla in a side street. I lurch into an alley, tottering over empty cans and discarded cigarettes in my four-inch heels, and puke a trail of champagne and kale over to the dumpster shoved up against the apartment building. “Are you all right?” Harvey calls. “I’m fine,” I slur. Not a single curious window opens overhead. His steps echo down the alley. He’s gotten out of the car, and he’s walking toward me like I’m an animal that he needs to approach carefully. Maybe I should do it now. Yes! Now, now, while the bitch is occupied. But what about the method? I won’t get to see her insides all pretty everywhere— I launch myself at him, fingers digging sharp into his body, and bite down hard on his mouth. He tries to shout, but I swallow the sound and shove my tongue inside. There, just behind his teeth, is what I’m looking for: ugly thoughts, viscous as boiled tendon. I suck them howling and fighting into my throat as Harvey’s body shudders, little mewling noises escaping from his nose. I feel decadent and filthy, swollen with the cruelest dreams I’ve ever tasted. I can barely feel Harvey’s feeble struggles; in this state, with the darkest parts of himself drained from his mouth into mine, he’s no match for me. They’re never as strong as they think they are. By the time he finally goes limp, the last of the thoughts disappearing down my throat, my body’s already changing. My limbs elongate, growing thicker, and my dress feels too tight as my ribs expand. I’ll have to work quickly. I strip off my clothes with practiced ease, struggling a little to work the bodice free of the gym-toned musculature swelling under my skin. It doesn’t take much time to wrestle Harvey out of his clothes, either. My hands are shaking but strong, and as I button up his shirt around me and shrug on his jacket, my jaw has creaked into an approximation of his and the ridges of my fingerprints have reshaped themselves completely. Harvey is so much bigger than me, and the expansion of space eases the pressure on my boiling belly, stuffed with ugly thoughts as it is. I stuff my discarded outfit into my purse, my high heels clicking against the empty glass jar at its bottom, and sling the strap over my now-broad shoulder. I kneel to check Harvey’s pulse—slow but steady—before rolling his unconscious body up against the dumpster, covering him with trash bags. Maybe he’ll wake up, maybe he won’t. Not my problem, as long as he doesn’t wake in the next ten seconds to see his doppelganger strolling out of the alley, wearing his clothes and fingering his wallet and the keys to his Tesla. There’s a cluster of drunk college kids gawking at Harvey’s car. I level an arrogant stare at them—oh, but do I wear this body so much better than he did!—and they scatter. I might not have a license, but Harvey’s body remembers how to drive. • • • • The Tesla revs sweetly under me, but I ditch it in a parking garage in Bedford, stripping in the relative privacy of the second-to-highest level, edged behind a pillar. After laying the keys on the driver’s seat over Harvey’s neatly folded clothes and shutting the car door, I pull the glass jar from my purse and vomit into it as quietly as I can. Black liquid, thick and viscous, hits the bottom of the jar, hissing and snarling Harvey’s words. My body shudders, limbs retracting, spine reshaping itself, as I empty myself of him. It takes a few more minutes to ease back into an approximation of myself, at least enough to slip my dress and heels back on, pocket the jar, and comb my tangled hair out with my fingers. The parking attendant nods at me as I walk out of the garage, his eyes sliding disinterested over me, his thoughts a gray, indistinct murmur. The L train takes me back home to Bushwick, and when I push open the apartment door, Aiko is in the kitchen, rolling mochi paste out on the counter. “You’re here,” I say stupidly. I’m still a little foggy from shaking off Harvey’s form, and strains of his thoughts linger in me, setting my blood humming uncomfortably hot. “I’d hope so. You invited me over.” She hasn’t changed out of her catering company clothes, and her short, sleek hair frames her face, aglow in the kitchen light. Not a single ugly thought casts its shadow across the stove behind her. “Did you forget again?” “No,” I lie, kicking my shoes off at the door. “I totally would never do something like that. Have you been here long?” “About an hour, nothing unusual. The doorman let me in, and I kept your spare key.” She smiles briefly, soft compared to the brusque movements of her hands. She’s got flour on her rolled-up sleeves, and my heart flutters the way it never does when I’m out hunting. “I’m guessing your date was pretty shit. You probably wouldn’t have come home at all if it had gone well.” “You could say that.” I reach into my purse and stash the snarling jar in the fridge, where it clatters against the others, nearly a dozen bottles of malignant leftovers labeled as health drinks. Aiko nods to her right. “I brought you some pastries from the event tonight. They’re in the paper bag on the counter.” “You’re an angel.” I edge past her so I don’t make bodily contact. Aiko thinks I have touch issues, but the truth is, she smells like everything good in the world, solid and familiar, both light and heavy at the same time, and it’s enough to drive a person mad. “He should have bought you a cab back, at least,” says Aiko, reaching for a bowl of red bean paste. I fiddle with the bag of pastries, pretending to select something from its contents. “I swear, it’s like you’re a magnet for terrible dates.” She’s not wrong; I’m very careful about who I court. After all, that’s how I stay fed. But no one in the past has been as delicious, as hideously depraved as Harvey. No one else has been a killer. I’m going to take her home and split her all the way from top to bottom. “Maybe I’m too weird,” I say. “You’re probably too normal. Only socially maladjusted creeps use Tindr.” “Gee, thanks,” I complain. She grins, flicking a bit of red bean paste at me. I lick it off of my arm. “You know what I mean. Come visit my church with me sometime, yeah? There are plenty of nice boys there.” “The dating scene in this city depresses me,” I mutter, flicking open my Tindr app with my thumb. “I’ll pass.” “Come on, Jen, put that away.” Aiko hesitates. “Your mom called while you were out. She wants you to move back to Flushing.” I bark out a short, sharp laugh, my good mood evaporating. “What else is new?” “She’s getting old,” Aiko says. “And she’s lonely.” “I bet. All her mahjong partners are dead, pretty much.” I can imagine her in her little apartment in Flushing, huddled over her laptop, floral curtains pulled tight over the windows to shut out the rest of the world. My ma, whose apartment walls are alive with hissing, covered in the ugly, bottled remains of her paramours. Aiko sighs, joining me at the counter and leaning back against me. For once, I don’t move away. Every muscle in my body is tense, straining. I’m afraid I might catch fire, but I don’t want her to leave. “Would it kill you to be kind to her?” I think about my baba evaporating into thin air when I was five years old, what was left of him coiled in my ma’s stomach. “Are you telling me to go back?” She doesn’t say anything for a bit. “No,” she says at last. “That place isn’t good for you. That house isn’t good for anyone.” Just a few inches away, an army of jars full of black, viscous liquid wait in the fridge, their contents muttering to themselves. Aiko can’t hear them, but each slosh against the glass is a low, nasty hiss: who does she think she is, the fucking cunt should’ve got her when I had the chance I can still feel Harvey, his malice and ugly joy, on my tongue. I’m already full of things my ma gave me. “I’m glad we agree.” • • • • Over the next few weeks, I gorge myself on the pickup artists and grad students populating the St. Marks hipster bars, but nothing tastes good after Harvey. Their watery essences, squeezed from their owners with barely a whimper of protest, barely coat my stomach. Sometimes I take too much. I scrape them dry and leave them empty, shaking their forms off like rainwater when I’m done. I tell Aiko I’ve been partying when she says I look haggard. She tells me to quit drinking so much, her face impassive, her thoughts clouded with concern. She starts coming over more often, even cooking dinner for me, and her presence both grounds me and drives me mad. “I’m worried about you,” she says as I lie on the floor, flipping listlessly through pages of online dating profiles, looking for the emptiness, the rot, that made Harvey so appealing. She’s cooking my mom’s lo mien recipe, the oily smell making my skin itch. “You’ve lost so much weight and there’s nothing in your fridge, just a bunch of empty jam jars.” I don’t tell her that Harvey’s lies under my bed, that I lick its remnants every night to send my nerves back into euphoria. I don’t tell her how often I dream about my ma’s place, the shelves of jars she never let me touch. “Is it really okay for you to spend so much time away from your catering business?” I say instead. “Time is money, and Jimmy gets pissy when he has to make all the desserts without you.” Aiko sets a bowl of lo mein in front of me and joins me on the ground. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here,” she says, and a dangerous, luminous sweetness blooms in my chest. But the hunger grows worse every day, and soon I can’t trust myself around her. I deadbolt the door, and when she stops by my apartment to check on me, I refuse to let her in. Texts light up my phone like a fleet of fireworks as I huddle under a blanket on the other side, my face pressed against the wood, my fingers twitching. “Please, Jen, I don’t understand,” she says from behind the door. “Did I do something wrong?” I can’t wait to cut her up, I think, and hate myself even more. By the time Aiko leaves, her footsteps echoing down the hallway, I’ve dug deep gouges in the door’s paint with my nails and teeth, my mouth full of her intoxicating scent. • • • • My ma’s apartment in Flushing still smells the same. She’s never been a clean person, and the sheer amount of junk stacked up everywhere has increased since I left home for good. Piles of newspapers, old food containers, and stuffed toys make it hard to push the door open, and the stench makes me cough. Her hoard is up to my shoulders, even higher in some places, and as I pick my way through it, the sounds that colored my childhood grow louder: the constant whine of a Taiwanese soap opera bleeding past mountains of trash, and the cruel cacophony of many familiar voices: Touch me again and I swear I’ll kill you— How many times have I told you not to wash the clothes like that, open your mouth— Hope her ugly chink daughter isn’t home tonight— Under the refuse she’s hoarded the walls are honeycombed with shelves, lined with what’s left of my ma’s lovers. She keeps them like disgusting, mouthwatering trophies, desires pickling in stomach acid and bile. I could probably call them by name if I wanted to; when I was a kid, I used to lie on the couch and watch my baba’s ghost flicker across their surfaces. My ma’s huddled in the kitchen, the screen of her laptop casting a sickly blue glow on her face. Her thoughts cover her quietly like a blanket. “I made some niu ro mien,” she says. “It’s on the stove. Your baba’s in there.” My stomach curls, but whether it’s from revulsion or hunger I can’t tell. “Thanks, ma,” I say. I find a bowl that’s almost clean and wash it out, ladling a generous portion of thick noodles for myself. The broth smells faintly of hongtashan tobacco, and as I force it down almost faster than I can swallow, someone else’s memories of my childhood flash before my eyes: pushing a small girl on a swing set at the park; laughing as she chases pigeons down the street; raising a hand for a second blow as her mother launches herself toward us, between us, teeth bared— “How is it?” she says. Foul. “Great,” I say. It settles my stomach, at least for a little while. But my baba was no Harvey, and I can already feel the hunger creeping back, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “You ate something you shouldn’t have, didn’t you, Meimei.” My ma looks up at me for the first time since I walked in, and she looks almost as tired as I feel. “Why didn’t you learn from me? I taught you to stick to petty criminals. I taught you to stay invisible.” She’d tried to teach me to disappear into myself, the way she’d disappeared into this apartment. “I know I messed up,” I tell her. “Nothing tastes good any more, and I’m always hungry. But I don’t know what to do.” My ma sighs. “Once you’ve tasted a killer, there’s no turning back. You’ll crave that intensity until you die. And it can take a long time for someone like us to die, Meimei.” It occurs to me that I don’t actually know how old my ma is. Her thoughts are old and covered in knots, stitched together from the remnants of other people’s experiences. How long has she been fighting this condition, these overwhelming, gnawing desires? “Move back in,” she’s saying. “There’s so much tong activity here, the streets leak with food. You barely even have to go outside, just crack open a window and you can smell it brewing. The malice, the knives and bullets . . .” The picture she paints makes me shudder, my mouth itching. “I can’t just leave everything, Ma,” I say. “I have my own life now.” And I can’t live in this apartment, with its lack of sunlight and fresh air, its thick stench of regret and malice. “So what happens if you go back? You lose control, you take a bite out of Aiko?” She sees me stiffen. “That girl cares about you so much. The best thing you can do for her is keep away. Don’t let what happened to your father happen to Aiko.” She reaches for my hand, and I pull away. “Stay here, Meimei. We only have each other.” “This isn’t what I want.” I’m backing up, and my shoulder bumps into the trash, threatening to bury us both in rotting stuffed animals. “This isn’t safe, Ma. You shouldn’t even stay here.” My ma coughs, her eyes glinting in the dark. The cackling from her jar collection swells in a vicious tide, former lovers rocking back and forth on their shelves. “Someday you’ll learn that there’s more to life than being selfish, Meimei.” That’s when I turn my back on her, pushing past the debris and bullshit her apartment’s stuffed with. I don’t want to die, but as far as I’m concerned, living like my ma, sequestered away from the rest of the world, her doors barricaded with heaps of useless trinkets and soured memories, is worse than being dead. The jars leer and cackle as I go, and she doesn’t try to follow me. The scent of Flushing clings to my skin, and I can’t wait to shake it off. I get on the train as soon as I can, and I’m back on Tindr as soon as the M passes above ground. Tears blur my eyes, rattling free with the movement of the train. I scrub them away angrily, and when my vision clears, I glance back at the screen. A woman with sleek, dark hair, slim tortoiseshell glasses, and a smile that seems a little shy, but strangely handsome, glows up at me. In the picture, she’s framed by the downtown cityscape. She has rounded cheeks, but there’s a strange flat quality to her face. And then, of course, there are the dreams shadowing her, so strong they leak from the screen in a thick, heady miasma. Every one of those myriad eyes is staring straight at me, and my skin prickles. I scan the information on her profile page, my blood beating so hard I can feel my fingertips pulsing: relatively young-looking, but old enough to be my mother’s cousin. Likes: exploring good food, spending rainy days at the Cloisters, browsing used book stores. Location: Manhattan. She looks a little like Aiko. She’s quick to message me back. As we flirt, cold sweat and adrenaline send uncomfortable shivers through my body. Everything is sharper, and I can almost hear Harvey’s jar laughing. Finally, the words I’m waiting for pop up: I’d love to meet you. Are you free tonight? I make a quick stop-off back home, and my heart hammers as I get on the train bound for the Lower East Side, red lipstick immaculate and arms shaking beneath my crisp designer coat, a pair of Mom’s glass jars tucked in my purse. • • • • Her name is Seo-yun, and as she watches me eat, her eyes flickering from my mouth to my throat, her smile is so sharp I could cut myself on it. “I love places like this,” she says. “Little authentic spots with only twelve seats. Have you been to Haru before?” “I haven’t,” I murmur. My fingers are clumsy with my chopsticks, tremors clicking them together, making it hard to pick up my food. God, she smells delectable. I’ve never met someone whose mind is so twisted, so rich; a malignancy as well developed and finely crafted as the most elegant dessert. I’m going to take her home and split her open like a— I can already taste her on my tongue, the best meal I’ve never had. “You’re in for a treat,” Seo-yun says as the waiter—the only other staff beside the chef behind the counter—brings us another pot of tea. “This restaurant started as a stall in a subway station back in Japan.” “Oh wow,” I say. “That’s . . . amazing.” “I think so, too. I’m glad they expanded into Manhattan.” Behind her kind eyes, a gnarled mess of ancient, ugly thoughts writhes like the tails of a rat king. I’ve never seen so many in one place. They crawl from her mouth and ears, creeping through the air on deep-scaled legs, their voices like the drone of descending locusts. I’m not her first. I can tell that already. But then, she isn’t mine, either. I spend the evening sweating through my dress, nearly dropping my chopsticks. I can’t stop staring at the ugly thoughts, dropping from her lips like swollen beetles. They skitter over the tablecloth toward me, whispering obscenities at odds with Seo-yun’s gentle voice, hissing what they’d like to do to me. It takes everything in me not to pluck them from the table and crunch them deep between my teeth right then and there, to pour into her lap and rip her mind clean. Seo-yun is too much for me, but I’m in too far, too hard; I need to have her. She smiles at me. “Not hungry?” I glance down at my plate. I’ve barely managed a couple of nigiri. “I’m on a diet,” I mutter. “I understand,” she says earnestly. The ugly thoughts crawl over the tops of her hands, iridescent drops spilling into her soy sauce dish. When the waiter finally disappears into the kitchen, I move in to kiss her across the table. She makes a startled noise, gentle pink spreading across her face, but she doesn’t pull away. My elbow sinks into the exoskeleton of one of the thought-beetles, crushing it into black, moist paste against my skin. I open my mouth to take the first bite. “So, I’m curious,” murmurs Seo-yun, her breath brushing my lips. “Who’s Aiko?” My eyes snap open. Seo-yun smiles, her voice warm and tender, all her edges dark. “She seems sweet, that’s all. I’m surprised you haven’t had a taste of her yet.” I back up so fast that I knock over my teacup, spilling scalding tea over everything. But Seo-yun doesn’t move, just keeps smiling that kind, gentle smile as her monstrous thoughts lap delicately at the tablecloth. “She smells so ripe,” she whispers. “But you’re afraid you’ll ruin her, aren’t you? Eat her up, and for what? Just like your mum did your dad.” No, no, no. I’ve miscalculated so badly. But I’m so hungry, and I’m too young, and she smells like ancient power. There’s no way I’ll be able to outrun her. “Get out of my head,” I manage to say. “I’m not in your head, love. Your thoughts are spilling out everywhere around you, for everyone to see.” She leans in, propping her chin on her hand. The thoughts twisted around her head like a living crown let out a dry, rattling laugh. “I like you, Jenny. You’re ambitious. A little careless, but we can fix that.” Seo-yun taps on the table, and the waiter reappears, folding up the tablecloth deftly and sliding a single dish onto the now-bare table. An array of thin, translucent slices fan out across the plate, pale and glistening with malice. Bisected eyes glint, mouths caught mid-snarl, from every piece. “All it takes is a little practice and discipline, and no one will know what you’re really thinking.” “On the house, of course, Ma’am,” the waiter murmurs. Before he disappears again, I catch a glimpse of dark, many-legged thoughts braided like a bracelet around his wrist. Seo-yun takes the first bite, glancing up at me from behind her glasses. “Your mum was wrong,” she says. “She thought you were alone, just the two of you. So she taught you to only eat when you needed to, so you didn’t get caught, biding your time between meals like a snake.” “You don’t know anything about me,” I say. The heady, rotten perfume from the dish in front of me makes my head spin with hunger. “My mum was much the same. Eat for survival, not for pleasure.” She gestures at the plate with her chopsticks. “Please, have some.” As the food disappears, I can only hold out for a few more slices before my chopsticks dart out, catching a piece for myself. It’s so acidic it makes my tongue burn and eyes itch, the aftertaste strangely sweet. “Do you like it?” I respond by wolfing down another two slices, and Seo-yun chuckles. Harvey is bland compared to this, this strangely distilled pairing of emotions— I gasp as my body starts to warp, hands withering, burn scars twisting their way around my arms. Gasoline, malice, childish joy rush through me, a heady mix of memory and sensory overstimulation. And then Seo-yun’s lips are on mine, teeth tugging gently, swallowing, drawing it out of me. The burns fade, but the tingle of cruel euphoria lingers. She wipes her mouth delicately. “Ate a little too fast, I think, dear,” she says. “My point, Jenny, is that I believe in eating for pleasure, not just survival. And communally, of course. There are a number of us who get together for dinner or drinks at my place, every so often, and I would love it if you would join us tonight. An eating club, of sorts.” My gaze flickers up at her thoughts, but they’re sitting still as stones, just watching me with unblinking eyes. My mouth stings with the imprint of hers. “Let me introduce you soon. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” As the waiter clears the plate and nods at her—no check, no receipt, nothing—Seo-yun adds, “And tonight doesn’t have to be over until we want it to be.” She offers me her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, I take it. It’s smaller than mine, and warm. “Yes, please,” I say, watching her thoughts instead of her face. As we leave the restaurant, she presses her lips to my forehead. Her lips sear into my skin, nerves singing white-hot with ecstasy. “They’re going to love you,” she says. We’ll have so much fun, say the thoughts curling through her dark hair. She hails a cab from the fleet circling the street like wolves, and we get inside. • • • • I run into Aiko two months later in front of my apartment, as I’m carrying the last box of my stuff out. She’s got a startled look on her face, and she’s carrying a bag stuffed with ramps, kaffir lime, heart of palm—all ingredients I wouldn’t have known two months ago, before meeting Seo-yun. “You’re moving?” I shrug, staring over her head, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah, uh. I’m seeing someone now, and she’s got a really nice place.” “Oh.” She swallows, shifts the bag of groceries higher on her hip. “That’s great. I didn’t know you were dating anybody.” I can hear her shaky smile. “She must be feeding you well. You look healthier.” “Thanks,” I say, though I wonder. It’s true, I’m sleeker, more confident now. I’m barely home any more, spending most of my time in Seo-yun’s Chelsea apartment, learning to cook with the array of salts and spices infused with ugly dreams, drinking wine distilled from deathbed confessions. My time stalking the streets for small-time criminals is done. But why has my confidence evaporated the moment I see Aiko? And if that ravenous hunger from Harvey is gone, why am I holding my breath to keep from breathing in her scent? “So what’s she like?” “Older, kind of—” kind of looks like you “—short. Likes to cook, right.” I start to edge past her. “Listen, this box is heavy and the van’s waiting for me downstairs. I should go.” “Wait,” Aiko says, grabbing my arm. “Your mom keeps calling me. She still has my number from . . . before. She’s worried about you. Plus I haven’t seen you in ages, and you’re just gonna take off?” Aiko, small and humble. Her hands smell like home, like rice flour and bad memories. How could I ever have found that appealing? “We don’t need to say goodbye. I’m sure I’ll see you later,” I lie, shrugging her off. “Let’s get dinner sometime,” says Aiko, but I’m already walking away. • • • • Caterers flit like blackbirds through the apartment, dark uniforms neatly pressed, their own ugly thoughts braided and pinned out of the way. It’s a two-story affair, and well-dressed people flock together everywhere there’s space, Seo-yun’s library upstairs to the living room on ground floor. She’s even asked the caterers to prepare some of my recipes, which makes my heart glow. “You’re the best,” I say, kneeling on the bed beside her and pecking her on the cheek. Seo-yun smiles, fixing my hair. She wears a sleek, deep blue dress, and today, her murderous thoughts are draped over her shoulders like a stole, a living, writhing cape. Their teeth glitter like tiny diamonds. I’ve never seen her so beautiful. “They’re good recipes. My friends will be so excited to taste them.” I’ve already met many of them, all much older than I am. They make me nervous. “I’ll go check on the food,” I say. She brushes her thumb over my cheek. “Whatever you’d like, love.” I escape into the kitchen, murmuring brief greetings to the guests I encounter on the way. Their hideous dreams adorn them like jewels, glimmering and snatching at me as I slip past. As I walk past some of the cooks, I notice a man who looks vaguely familiar. “Hey,” I say. “Yes, ma’am?” The caterer turns around, and I realize where I’ve seen him; there’s a picture of him and Aiko on her cellphone, the pair of them posing in front of a display at a big event they’d cooked for. My heartbeat slows. “Aren’t you Aiko’s coworker?” He grins and nods. “Yes, I’m Jimmy. Aiko’s my business partner. Are you looking for her?” “Wait, she’s here?” He frowns. “She should be. She never misses one of Ms. Sun’s parties.” He smiles. “Ms. Sun lets us take home whatever’s left when the party winds down. She’s so generous.” I turn abruptly and head for the staircase to the bedroom, shouldering my way through the crowd. Thoughts pelt me as I go: Has Aiko known about me, my ma, what we can do? How long has she known? And worse—Seo-yun’s known all along about Aiko, and played me for a fool. I bang the bedroom door open to find Aiko sprawled out across the carpet, her jacket torn open. Seo-yun crouches on the floor above her in her glorious dress, her mouth dark and glittering. She doesn’t look at all surprised to see me. “Jenny, love. I hope you don’t mind we started without you.” Seo-yun smiles. Her lipstick is smeared over her chin, over Aiko’s blank face. I can’t tell if Aiko’s still breathing. “Get away from her,” I say in a low voice. “As you wish.” She rises gracefully, crossing the room in fluid strides. “I was done with that particular morsel, anyway.” The sounds of the party leak into the room behind me, and I know I can’t run and grab Aiko at the same time. So I shut the door, locking it, and mellow my voice to a sweet purr. “Why didn’t you tell me about Aiko? We could have shared her together.” But Seo-yun just laughs at me. “You can’t fool me, Jenny. I can smell your rage from across the room.” She reaches out, catches my face, and I recoil into the door. “It makes you so beautiful. The last seasoning in a dish almost ready.” “You’re insane, and I’m going to kill you,” I say. She kisses my neck, her teeth scraping my throat, and the scent of her is so heady my knees almost bend. “I saw you in her head, delicious as anything,” she whispers. Her ugly thoughts hiss up my arms, twining around my waist. There’s a sharp sting at my wrist, and I look down to discover that one of them is already gnawing at my skin. “And I knew I just had to have you.” There’s a crash, and Seo-yun screams as a porcelain lamp shatters against the back of her head. Aiko’s on her feet, swaying unsteadily, face grim. “Back the fuck away from her,” she growls, her voice barely above a whisper. “You little bitch—” snarls Seo-yun. But I seize my chance and pounce, fastening my teeth into the hollow of Seo-yun’s throat, right where her mantle of thoughts gathers and folds inward. I chew and swallow, chew and swallow, gorging myself on this woman. Her thoughts are mine now, thrashing as I seize them from her, and I catch glimpses of myself, of Aiko, and of many others just like us, in various states of disarray, of preparation. Ma once told me that this was how Baba went; she’d accidentally drained him until he’d faded completely out of existence. For the first time in my life, I understand her completely. Seo-yun’s bracelets clatter to the floor, her empty gown fluttering soundlessly after. Aiko collapses too, folding like paper. It hurts to take in that much. My stomach hurts so bad, my entire body swollen with hideous thoughts. At the same time, I’ve never felt so alive, abuzz with possibility and untamable rage. I lurch over to Aiko on the floor, malice leaking from her mouth, staining the carpet. “Aiko, wake up!” But she feels hollow, lighter, empty. She doesn’t even smell like herself any more. A knock at the door jolts me. “Ma’am,” says a voice I recognize as the head caterer. “The first of the main courses is ready. Mr. Goldberg wants to know if you’ll come down and give a toast.” Fuck. “I—” I start to say, but the voice isn’t mine. I glance over at the mirror; sure enough, it’s Seo-yun staring back at me, her dark, terrible dreams tangled around her body in a knotted mess. “I’ll be right there,” I say, and lay Aiko gently on the bed. Then I dress and leave, my heart pounding in my mouth. I walk Seo-yun’s shape down the stairs to the dining room, where guests are milling about, plates in hand, and smile Seo-yun’s smile. And if I look a little too much like myself, well—according to what I’d seen while swallowing Seo-yun’s thoughts, I wouldn’t be the first would-be inductee to disappear at a party like this. Someone hands me a glass of wine, and when I take it, my hand doesn’t tremble, even though I’m screaming inside. Fifty pairs of eyes on me, the caterers’ glittering cold in the shadows. Do any of them know? Can any of them tell? “To your continued health, and to a fabulous dinner,” I say, raising my glass. As one, they drink. • • • • Seo-yun’s apartment is dark, cleared of guests and wait staff alike. Every door is locked, every curtain yanked closed. I’ve pulled every jar, every container, every pot and pan out of the kitchen, and now they cover the floor of the bedroom, trailing into the hallway, down the stairs. Many are full, their malignant contents hissing and whispering hideous promises at me as I stuff my hand in my mouth, retching into the pot in my lap. Aiko lies on the bed, pale and still. There’s flour and bile on the front of her jacket. “Hang in there,” I whisper, but she doesn’t respond. I swirl the pot, searching its contents for any hint of Aiko, but Seo-yun’s face grins out at me from the patterns of light glimmering across the liquid’s surface. I shove it away from me, spilling some on the carpet. I grab another one of the myriad crawling thoughts tangled about me, sinking my teeth into its body, tearing it into pieces as it screams and howls terrible promises, promises it won’t be able to keep. I eat it raw, its scales scraping the roof of my mouth, chewing it thoroughly. The more broken down it is, the easier it will be to sort through the pieces that are left when it comes back up. How long did you know? Did you always know? I’ll find her, I think as viscous black liquid pours from my mouth, over my hands, burning my throat. The field of containers pools around me like a storm of malicious stars, all whispering my name. She’s in here somewhere, I can see her reflection darting across their surfaces. If I have to rip through every piece of Seo-yun I have, from her dreams to the soft, freckled skin wrapped around my body, I will. I’ll wring every vile drop of Seo-yun out of me until I find Aiko, and then I’ll fill her back up, pour her mouth full of herself. How could I ever forget her? How could I forget her taste, her scent, something as awful and beautiful as home?

From Horror photos & videos July 15, 2018 at 08:00PM

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#Horror Ghost Paranormal

[memoriesofyccjungrk]

✧･ﾟ: * freestylin’

sitting under the awning of a quiet café, yoojung hadn't really expected to be approached; not only was she very clearly working on classwork, but she had her headphones in ― if that wasn't the universal sign of ' leave me alone ', yoojung wasn't sure what was. so, when a vaguely familiar filmography student approached her, beaming, she felt a twing of anger before she plastered on her own smile, pulling her headphones out. he quickly introduced himself as ' park junse ', seemingly bouncing in place as he spoke ― once the words left the boy's lips, yoojung's eyebrows shot up. “ i, uh … ” she murmured, glancing around frantically to try and find something to get her out of this. “ i'm, uh, not great on camera. ” yoojung murmured.

however, junse seemed determined ― “ but you're good at rapping, right ? ”

she opened and closed her mouth at the question, giving a slight shrug and pursing her lips finally. “ i'm … okay … i guess ? ” she sighed out. “ but freestyling ? i've never really … ? ”

“ well, there's a first time for everything, right ? ”

yoojung blinked. “ i … i guess … ”

junse smiled, holding the camera out in yoojung's face expectantly ― she drew in a breath, glancing down at her work. it took a few frantic seconds before the first embaressing words dripped from her lips ― yoojung scrunched her nose as she started ― she figured she was just going to have to swallow her pride … and, well, maybe ask junse not to publish this.

“ chillin' like a villian ― tryin'a get my fill-in ain't it funny, just sittin', getting' somethin' akin ― to what? i ask myself ― question my existence; ain't if funny how we ain't lookin' for resistance ― distance ― assistance ― a moment of consistence, for absistence ―

the question comes to mind, lit it really maters, don't you see? it ain't findin' time to shell out a dime; ain't a crime, ain't a rhyme, ain't a semblance of time where we find, in our lives, any time ― ain't it fine?

not a care in the world ― never has been, never will, ‘cause we ain’t see how anyone could be the flea, on the pup’s back ― three-d ―  never askin’ the questions as questions should be

'cause we relying on what they plant in our head; all these manufactured thoughts gonna make us wind up dead ― see the red out our head ― makes me wanna head to bed, 'stead i’m dealin’ with this weight to be better ― perfect ― to be set ― ain’t it funny … ? ain’t it funny …

ain’t it funny, 'lil honey, spittin’ this rhyme, it’s a dime ― a dozen; the midst of frozen time can make 'em wonder ― what’s the meanin’ of our time ― 

here on earth; how we be taken advantage of ― ain’t it funny how ― no beat because ― i’m spittin here on streets ― wonderin’ … wond'rin, plunderin’, up underin’ asunderin’ what started as a thought …”

it took some time before the other realized yoojung was done ― despite he staring blankly up at junse's awestruck expression. he closed his mouth slowly, eyebrows furrowing ― “ woah, woah, wait ― that is how you're ending it ? ”

“ well, i've stopped, haven't i ? ” yoojung pointed out, propping her head on her hand.

junse nodded slowly before a smile broke out on his face ― “ touché ... that was still pretty damn good !! ” he chuckled, bowing to yoojung. “ and absolutely perfect for my project !! thank you so much, yoojung-ssi !! if you'd just, uh, give me your email or something i can send you the clips once they're done ? ”

yoojung chuckled at the other, nodding as she quickly wrote out her email address and handed it over. they exchanged thanks again ― and once the boy had disappeared, yoojung's face was plastered in her book. she couldn't believe she'd just done that. she really could not believe she just did that in front of a camera where other people definitely would see. letting out a long breath, yoojung slowly picked up her head, propping it up on her hand, before flipping the pages of her book and staring blankly at the words in front of her face. she was going to regret this later ― but later would be fine, she supposed, because she really needed to start working on her classwork for the next semester.

and, apparently, her freestyling skills.

#( event. ) #( solo. ) #( rap points. ) #( q'd. ) #rkfreestyle #[ this is bad ] #[ let's just ... pretend it was somewhat good ]