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#Queen Victoria Soft Toy

the-cat-at-the-theatre-door · 8 months

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"You're so pretty."

Victoria's movements are soft, half formed, as though she'd not quite thought the action out before it started. She feels her ears heat up with embarrassment. It had been happening more often lately - moving before she can think clearly, as though dealing with two separate entities within herself, brain and heart. Perhaps Jennyanydots' amused diagnosis of "twitterpated" was not too far off the mark; there had certainly been enough reasoning to back it up.

Plato blinks, slow and confused, as though being pulled from a dream. And perhaps he was; he'd been staring at Victoria for the better part of an eternity, focused, but very clearly somewhere else. He did that sometimes - disappear somewhere she couldn't quite follow him, eyes hollow and dark. Victoria wishes she knew where he went; perhaps one day he'd tell her.

The staring, she couldn't fault, however; she'd been staring at him right back.

"What?" he asks, furrowing his brow.

"Pretty," Victoria signs again, submitting to having been caught, exaggerating the movement so he'd get it. Perhaps he'd been half paying attention, and only seen the tail end. "You're very pretty."

Plato wasn't much for laughing, Victoria had come to know - smiling, yes; Plato had developed such an easy smile over the year spent with them when they could coax it out of him. Laughing, on the other paw, not particularly, though he was never able to put quite into words why that was. Perhaps he was self conscious of the way it sounded; perhaps he hadn't much in regards to a sense of humour.

Be that as it may, for some reason, that affirmation plasters bewildered scrunches between his brows and his eyes practically disappear under his eyelashes. It even gets that odd, wheezing noise he'd make when particularly amused.

The queen could only be partially annoyed and a teeny bit embarassed - he was very handsome when he smiled, afterall, one fang hanging slightly lower than the other. An in consequential flaw that did nothing, Victoria thinks, flustered, than make him even prettier.

Victoria huffs. "What's funny?"

Plato tosses the motion back haphhazardly, as though brushing the thought aside. "You're funny."

"Not funny." Victoria frowns. "I'm serious."

Plato sobers immediately, smile gone as quickly as it came - it's like a candle being blown out; a night and day difference. The temperature in the clearing seems to cool as he continues to study her. There is an undeniable feeling creeping at the back of Victoria's neck that she may have mis-stepped somewhere, but all she'd said was...

She presses on, feeling an ache begin deep in her chest. She repeats herself, motions firm. "You're very pretty."

"I am not," he says after a long moment. There is an expression on his face that is difficult to read - he does not look embarrassed or pleased, even humbly so; he almost looks as though he is about to cry.

"Yes you ar-"

"You-" he points at her firmly, cutting her off, jaw set. The motion towards her is quick and harsh as a result, unsheathing his claws in the process. He startles as she does, horrified, staring at the space that has swelled between them; he is a breath away from scratching her.

"You," He points to her again after a moment, claw carefully pulled back this time. "Are very pretty. Not me. Look." He motions to the whole of himself, as though that were enough to dissuade her feelings. It only steels her resolve further.

"You look-" she insists, touching her paw pads to the delicate skin of his cheek to demonstrate. Plato flinches as though she'd hit him in retaliation; it looks to have been a struggle for him to resist moving away, but the desire is clearly there. There is fear burning in his eyes -anger and remorse and upset - like a bird trapped in a cage of teeth, waiting for its bones to snap in on themselves after the hunter had toyed with its prey.

Victoria pulls back, tangling her paws in her lap. The ache becomes a gnawing hurt. The fear in Plato's eyes burns hotter, guilt shining just beneath the surface.

"Please." Plato sets his jaw, and the fear fizzles slowly - forcibly - last of the flame suffocated. But he does not get near her again. He is gone to that place she cannot follow. "I cannot...do not lie to me."

"I am not lying," she manages, tears at the precipice of her eyelashes. The silence grows even heavier between them

"Then," he continues at last, breath hitching eyes wide and astonished, and Victoria feels ice settle at the base of her spine. After a moment, his expression dulls again. The smile on his face returns in a flash, a plaster over a wound, but it is bitter, cool. Empty. "You are being cruel? I did not think you had it in you."

#have this half finished nonsense too idk #Plato #Victoria #platoria #my fanfic #fanfiction #plato has body and self worth issues due to years and years of abuse #You walk in another world #Everything that touches you is moonlight and stardust; turns to gold in your grasp #I could only hope that being in your presence should do the same to me #I am stupid to think so #hahaha i'm sad #about this universe i mean #idk if this requires a tw but like plato has a very poor opinion of himself #and he's not mad at victoria - not at all - he is devastated that even she (in his twisted minds eye) would be cruel #and play with his feelings because he can't tell genuineness from a hole in the wall #but thing is victoria is 200% serious and besotted #not meant to imply any abuse or anything like that - macavity is just very close to plato's surface #in more ways than one and it terrifies him that he'll hurt her like macavity hurt everyone else #and the fact that victoria could be cruel in his mind? breaks his heart

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dragoneyes618 · 2 years

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Bet They Wish They Hadn’t Said That...

“Computers in the future may weigh no more than 1.5 tons.”

- Popular Mechanics, forecasting the relentless march of science, 1949.

“I have traveled the length and breadth of this country and talked with the best people, and I can assure you that data processing is a fad that won’t last out the year.”

- The editor in charge of business books for Prentice Hall, 1957.

“But what...is it good for?”

- Engineer at the Advanced Computing Systems Division of IBM, 1968, commenting on the microchip.

“This ‘telephone’ has too many shortcomings to be seriously considered as a means of communication. The device in inherently of no value to us.”

- Western Union internal memo, 1876.

“The wireless music box has no imaginable commercial value. Who would pay for a message sent to nobody in particular?”

- David Sarnoff’s associates in response to his urgings for investment in the radio in the 1920s.

“The concept is interesting and well-formed, but in order to earn better than a ‘C,’ the idea must be feasible.”

- A Yale University management professor in response to Fred Smith’s paper proposing reliable overnight delivery service (which became FedEx).

“I don’t know what use anyone could find for a machine that would make copies of documents. It certainly couldn’t be a feasible business by itself.”

- The head of IBM, refusing to back the idea, forcing the inventor to found Xerox.

“Heavier-than-air flying machines are impossible.”

-Lord Kelvin, president, Royal Society, 1895

“If I had thought about it, I wouldn’t have done the experiment. The literature was full of examples that said you can’t do this.”

- Spencer Silver on the work that led to the unique adhesives for 3M Post-It notepads.

“So, we went to Atari and said, ‘Hey, we’ve got this amazing thing, even built with some of your parts, and what do you think about funding us? Or we’ll give it to you. We just want to do it. Pay our salary, we’ll come work for you.’ And they said, “No.’ So then we went to Hewlett-Packard, and they said, ‘Hey, we don’t need you. You haven’t got through college yet.’“

- Apple Computer Inc. founder Steve Jobs on attempts to get Atari and HP interested in his and Steve Wozniak’s personal computer.

“Professor Goddard does not know the relation between action and reaction and the need to have something better than a vacuum against which to react. He seems to lack the basic knowledge ladled out daily in high schools.”

- 1921 New York Times editorial about Robert Goddard’s revolutionary rocket work.

“Stocks have reached what looks like a permanently high plateau.”

- Irving Fisher, Professor of Economics, Yale University, 1929.

“Airplanes are interesting toys but of no military value.”

- Marechal Ferdinand Foch, Professor of Strategy, Ecole Superieure de Guerre.

“Everything that can be invented has been invented.”

- Charles H. Duell, Commissioner, U.S. Office of Patents, 1899.

“Louis Pasteur’s theory of germs is ridiculous fiction.”

- Pierre Pachet, Professor of Physiology at Toulouse, 1872.

“The abdomen, the chest, and the brain will forever be shut from the intrusion of the wise and humane surgeon.”

- Sir John Eric Ericksen, British surgeon, appointed Surgeon-Extraordinaire to Queen Victoria 1873.

“640K ought to be enough for anybody.”

- Bill Gates, 1981.

“Man will never reach the moon regardless of all future scientific advances.”

- Dr. Lee DeForest, father of radio and grandfather of television.

“The bomb will never go off. I speak as an expert in explosives.”

- Admiral William Leahy, US Atomic Bomb Project.

“There is no likelihood man can ever tap the power of the atom.”

- Robert Millikan, Nobel Prize in Physics, 1923.

“A cookie store is a bad idea. Besides, the market research reports say America likes crispy cookies, not soft and chewy cookies like you make.”

- Response to Debbi Fields’ idea of starting Mrs. Fields’ Cookies.

“The supercomputer is technologically impossible. It would take all of the water that flows over Niagara Falls to cool the heat generated by the number of vacuum tubes required.”

- Professor of Electrical Engineering, New York University.

“Who...would want to read a book about a bunch of crazy Swedes on a raft?”

- Editor, turning down The Kon Tiki Expedition.

“We don’t like their sound, and guitar music is on the way out.”

- Decca Recording Co., rejecting the Beatles, 1962.

“Drill for oil? You mean drill into the ground to try and find oil? You’re crazy.”

- Drillers whom Edwin L. Drake tried to enlist to his project to drill for oil in 1859.

“There is no reason anyone would want a computer in their home.”

- Ken Olson, president, chairman, and founder of Digital Equipment Corp., 1977.

“I think there is a world market for maybe five computers.”

- Thomas Watson, chairman of IBM, 1943

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ziglyforhappypets · 1 year

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Persian Cat 101: Their Story & All You Need to Know

SizeMedium to Large, with males weighing 9 to 14 pounds and females weighing 7 to 11 poundsCoatLong, Thick, GlossyColourWhite, Blue, Black, Red, Cream, Chocolate, LilacAverage Lifespan15-20 yearsFeaturesShort muzzle and round face

The Story

The story of Persian cats began with their birth in Mesopotamia, also known as Persia, later on, which is now known as Iran. With such soft, fluffy beauty, and a docile persona, this Persian purry was bound to catch the eye and attention of several people, even tourists. One such person was Pietro Della Valle, an Italian noble, who was completely awestruck by the charms of this Persian meow. He brought a family of Persian meows to his home back in Europe in the 17th Century. From being Queen Victoria’s favourite to landing in the U.S.A during the late 19th Century, the Persian cat breed has come a long way as well-traveled pur’mates.

What’s a Persian Cat Like?

A Persian meow is quite docile by nature and enjoys a laid-back environment. They are calm and independent and just as loving. On one hand, they like to snuggle into their parents’ laps while on the other side, they do not mind watching the views and the birds from windows all alone. All they need is a cat tree or a soft, comfy, sofa-like bed.

Temperament

They love being playful, but they also need peace and quiet. They do not enjoy climbing over the height and would rather prefer to rest up in an armchair or their bed. Persian purries make great pet cats around quieter children and easy-going doggos too.

Features

A round head, a short, cute face, a snub nose, and chubby cheeks, these beautiful features are the identifiers of a Persian kitty, and if these features weren’t so adorable already, their big round eyes and small curvy ears do the trick. Watch the smile perk up your face as you watch a Persian run towards you for attention on their short legs and sturdy, cuddly bodies.

Colors

The original and first-ever coat of a Persian purry was gray. As breeding happened, these kitties began to get spotted in multiple colors ranging from gray to silver, white, and solid-toned. Their eye color depends on the color of their coat. White Persian purries have deep blue or copper eyes, whereas, silver Persians or gold Persian kitties have green eyes, and Persian kitties in other solid tones have copper eyes.

Shedding

Their coat tends to shed a lot. You can avoid or manage this shedding through regular pet grooming for cats at a salon or at home. As a routine, comb their coat daily to prevent the formation of tangles and matting. Regular brushing and grooming also keep the loose hair in check.

Their Overall Health

Owing to the Persian’s face, a short nose, the Persian purries may face certain health complications such as,

Respiratory difficulty

Excessive water in the eye

Heat sensitivity

Misaligned teeth

Ringworms due to their long furry coat

Skin rash, itching, and alopecia

Renal diseases

Few More Interesting Facts About Persian Meows

Today, there are over 70+ colors in which Persian cats exist.

The first ever cat show that the Persian kitty ever participated in happened back in London in 1871.

When the breed of Silver Persians emerged in the U.S.A, the government wanted to patent it as its own breed under the name ‘Sterling’. However, this claim was rejected. Whether a silver meow or a golden meow, they are classified under the Persian category only.

Choosing the Right Food for Persian Cats

Owing to their small jaw and comparatively flat face, the Persian kitty finds it difficult to eat dry kibble or have enough water. This can lead to dehydration and cause the nutrition requirements to remain unmet. In such a scenario, to fulfill the Persian’s requirements, go with hair fall defense products and choose a feeding bowl or water bowl that is wider and shallower.

To explore cat toys, cat treats, and cat food for your Persian purry, get in touch with our experts who will guide you to the right products and services. You can also shop directly with us from tour online pet store or the Zigly App. When it comes to pets’ care, with Zigly #NoCompromise.

View Source : https://www.zigly.com/blog/post/persian-cat-101-their-story-all-you-need-to-know.html

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animal25 · 1 year

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What You Need to Know Before Getting a Pekingese

The Pekingese is a member of the toy group, ranging in height from six to nine elevations and in weight from six pounds for the smallest to 14 pounds( 3 to 6 kilograms) at the heaviest.

Pekingese are long-bodied, low tykes with branches kindly bowed. The body is sturdy despite its small size, and the figure contributes to a” rolling” gait.

Pekingese are readily honored by their docked muzzles, large prominent eyes, and” v” shaped nose wrinkle between the nib and the eyes. The cognizance hangs long off the massive round head, and the tail is carried majestically over the reverse.

The crowning glory of the Pekingese is the gushing fleece. The hair hangs long and straight, immaculately with a harsh texture and abundant soft hair.

plenitude of borderline hair is on the cognizance, tail, and branches. All colors are respectable; a black mask, black outlining to the eyes, and black on the cognizance are desirable.

Origin: Beijing (China)

Height: 6 to 9 inches

Weight: 8 to 14 pounds (6.5 kg)

Lifespan: 12–14 years

Litter size: 2 to 4 puppies

Breed Size: Small (0–25 lbs.)

Color: Black, Grey, Red, Blue, Cream, White, Fawn Gold/Yellow, Brown/Chocolate/Liver

Breed Characteristics

The Pekingese, a compact toy companion of regal bearing and a distinctive rolling gait, is one of several types created for the ruling classes of ancient China.

These are sophisticated tykes of undying fidelity and numerous subtle delights. Pekingese are compact, heavyset toy tykes importing up to 14 pounds.

The fleece is longest at the neck and shoulders, giving Pekes their notorious’ captain’s mane.’ Coats come in colorful reds, from golden red to darker tones.

The large, short-muzzled head is a wider-than-long’ envelope-shaped cube, and the eyes are large, dark, and sparkly. A unique point of Pekes is their royal’ rolling’ gait.

Pekes are fascinating, confident companions who develop a tight bond with their favorite human. Bred to live in palaces, they can be as serenely independent as the emperors who possessed them.

The History of the Pekingese Dog

The Pekingese is an ancient strain of Chinese origin. How he was developed is a riddle that we will probably no way break, but one thing is for sure he didn’t spring from the union of a captain and a marmoset( a type of monkey), as one legend has it.

Busts and filmland of tykes that act the Pekingese – large head, flat face, a lionlike mane of fur, short legs, and a featherlight tail carried over the reverse – date as far back as the Tang Dynasty( 618- 907). The power of the tykes was limited to members of the Imperial family, and their theft was punishable by death.

A number of names knew the tykes captain canine, sun canine( for those with a red-gold fleece), and sleeve canine. The ultimate were so-called because they were small enough to ride in the deep sleeve of their high-ranking proprietor.

Pekingese first came to the attention of the Western world in 1860, when five of them were taken as booty by British officers during an altercation between Britain and China. Queen Victoria was presented with one of the little tykes, which she named Looty.

By the 1890s, further of the tykes had set up their way to the West, either smuggled out of Homeric homes or given as gifts to high-ranking Westerners.

A canine who went by the name of Pekin Peter was imported to England in 1893 and displayed at a canine show in Chester the ensuing time, in the Foreign Dog Class.

Other Pekingese who contributed to the early development of the Peke in Britain were named Ah Cum, Mimosa, and Boxer( so named because he was acquired during the Boxer Rebellion in 1900).

The American Kennel Club honored the Pekingese in 1906, and the Pekingese Club of America was formed in 1909. The Peke presently ranks 61st among the types registered by the AKC, no longer the object of desire that he was in the days when he was an icon of the mysterious East, but still comfortably popular.

more details:https://animalatoz.com/pekingese/

#https://animalatoz.com/pekingese/

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animala2z · 1 year

Text

Pekingese: Dog Breed, Appearance, Health, Care Full Info

The Pekingese is a member of the toy group, ranging in height from six to nine elevations and in weight from six pounds for the smallest to 14 pounds( 3 to 6 kilograms) at the heaviest.

Pekingese are long-bodied, low tykes with branches kindly bowed. The body is sturdy despite its small size, and the figure contributes to a” rolling” gait.

The crowning glory of the Pekingese is the gushing fleece. The hair hangs long and straight, immaculately with a harsh texture and abundant soft hair.

plenitude of borderline hair is on the cognizance, tail, and branches. All colors are respectable; a black mask, black outlining to the eyes, and black on the cognizance are desirable.

Origin: Beijing (China)

Height: 6 to 9 inches

Weight: 8 to 14 pounds (6.5 kg)

Lifespan: 12–14 years

Litter size: 2 to 4 puppies

Breed Size: Small (0–25 lbs.)

Color: Black, Grey, Red, Blue, Cream, White, Fawn Gold/Yellow, Brown/Chocolate/Liver

Breed Characteristics

The Pekingese, a compact toy companion of regal bearing and a distinctive rolling gait, is one of several types created for the ruling classes of ancient China.

These are sophisticated tykes of undying fidelity and numerous subtle delights. Pekingese are compact, heavyset toy tykes importing up to 14 pounds.

The fleece is longest at the neck and shoulders, giving Pekes their notorious’ captain’s mane.’ Coats come in colorful reds, from golden red to darker tones.

The large, short-muzzled head is a wider-than-long’ envelope-shaped cube, and the eyes are large, dark, and sparkly. A unique point of Pekes is their royal’ rolling’ gait.

Pekes are fascinating, confident companions who develop a tight bond with their favorite human. Bred to live in palaces, they can be as serenely independent as the emperors who possessed them.

History Of The Pekingese

By the 1890s, further of the tykes had set up their way to the West, either smuggled out of Homeric homes or given as gifts to high-ranking Westerners.

A canine who went by the name of Pekin Peter was imported to England in 1893 and displayed at a canine show in Chester the ensuing time, in the Foreign Dog Class.

Other Pekingese who contributed to the early development of the Peke in Britain were named Ah Cum, Mimosa, and Boxer( so named because he was acquired during the Boxer Rebellion in 1900).

0 notes

asshrimpleasthat · 3 years

Text

I figured @jellicle-home-for-jellicle-ships event would be the perfect chance for me to practice writing shorter stories. So here’s a little Platoria sick fic:

Plato poked his head in through the flap in the door, surveying the room. After confirming the coast was clear, he picked up his small basket and dashed into the house, following the familiar path through the kitchen, around the corner, and up the stairs. He paused just outside the door that was left slightly ajar, gently sniffing the air to confirm that no humans were present. He made his way in, heading to the bundle of blankets and pillows spilling out of an extravagant cat bed. The bundle coughed.

“Mistooo... where are you...” Victoria whined.

Plato placed his basket down and rounded the front of the bed, regarding the white ears poking out of the nest of blankets— the only part of Victoria he could see.

“Uhm, Misto’s still out, but—“

Plato was cut off by a shrill scream, followed by a strained cough, deep breath, and then, “Platowhatareyoudoinghere?!”

“Mistoffelees asked me to keep an eye on you while he was out.”

“No! Don’t look at me!” The ears vanished into the blankets.

“What’s wrong?”

His answer was a garble of sounds that was entirely smothered by the blankets.

“What?”

The blankets shifted, and then a muffled, “I’m so gross and ugly like this.”

Plato straightened up. “Vic, we made an oath. ‘In sickness and in health’. There’s no situation on Earth where I could see you as anything less than beautiful.”

“Plato...” she sniffled. “We aren’t married.”

“Not yet, but just you wait.”

That earned him a small, wheezy giggle.

“Now come on out of there. I want to see my beautiful queen.” He patted the bundle, enjoying the soft feel of fleece on his paws.

“No.” The bundle shifted as Victoria buried herself deeper in her cocoon. “ ‘m still ugly.”

“C’mon. If you don’t I may have find my way in there and show you how beautiful you are by cuddling you all up myself,” he teased.

“...Will there be kisses with those cuddles?”

“As many as possible,” Plato nodded to himself.

Another soft, wheezy giggle. “Well that doesn’t sound like much of a threat at all.”

“It will be when you have to explain to my mum why I’ve suddenly got the flu.”

“Jenny loves me. She’s more likely to blame you.”

“Damn. Guess I’ll have to pull out the big guns to flush you out,” Plato teased.

He started pulling at the blankets until he found an opening and ignoring Victoria’s indignant squeak, he quickly searched around until he found the soft fur of the queen’s sides and began tickling her.

“Ah! Plato no-“ Victoria squeeled, words peeling off into laughter as she started writhing about.

“I’m not gonna stop until you come out from there,” Plato laughed, narrowly avoiding being kicked in the stomach.

Plato did stop when Victoria’s raspy laughter turned into an aggressive coughing fit.

“Oh shoot, hold on!”

Plato began tearing at the blankets, pushing them out of the way until he was finally able to see the sick queen. Vic took a several labored breaths, coughing between each one, and Plato gently rubbed her back trying to help soothe her.

“I’m so sorry, Vic. I wasn’t thinking.”

Breathing under control, Victoria shuddered slightly before saying in a rough voice, “Its okay. It was nice to laugh, even if it hurts.”

Plato continued rubbing her back, smoothing the ruffled fur there back down. He was finally able to take a good look at her, and he couldn’t help but feel awful about it now. Still, true to his word, despite her runny nose, puffy face, leaky eyes and disheveled fur, he couldn’t help but find her to be the most beautiful cat he’d ever lay eyes on.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, once she seemed settled.

More coughing. “Guess.”

Plato tried not to wince. “Sounds bad. Did you need anything?”

“Kisses would be nice.”

He chuckled, “Anything else? Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? I brought a care package from the Junkyard. Munk helped me put it together.”

“A care package?” She seemed to perk up at that.

“Yeah! Hold on a sec.” Plato trotted back over to the back of the bed, dragging his forgotten basket around and beginning to dig through it while Vic eyed the package curiously.

“Let’s see, we have... some chamomile tea from Mum, Tuna-Tastic treats from Jelly, some flower crowns from Jem and Cettie to cheer you up, a picture of himself from Tugger, a Get Well Soon card signed by everyone, a bunch of crystals from Tantomile and Coricopat to ‘purify your negative energies’, some jewelry from Jerrie and Teazer, Pounce said this is his favorite toy—“

“Oh Everlasting! That’s a lot of stuff.”

“That’s not even half of it. Everybody left you a little gift to help you feel better.”

“That’s so sweet of them, but its really not necessary. I’m fine.”

“Everyone’s worried. You’ve never really gotten sick before.”

The whole time he’d lived in the Junkyard he had never seen Victoria with so much as a cough. Her or Mistoffelees. He wondered if it was because of whatever magic they had running through their veins. Victoria didn’t have the abilities to conjure cats or throw lightning like Misto, but Plato was sure she had magic just as much as her brother.

He could feel it when they sat together, when she danced and when she laughed. When he held her face between his paws and kissed her gently.

“I wish they wouldn’t. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Plato hummed in agreement, though he had to admit he was just as worried as everyone else.

“Are you sure you’re fine? You don’t need anything? Anything at all?”

“Hmm, well... I am a little achey.”

“Maybe this’ll help.”

Plato climbed up into the cat bed, gingerly pushing the small queen until she was laying on her stomach. Being as careful as possible (he didn’t want to hinder her already weak breathing), he slowly began massaging her back, eventually moving down her arms and back up to her neck again. Victoria hummed in pleasure, melting under the touch of her boyfriend.

“That’s lovely. Exactly what I needed,” she moaned.

Plato was glad she was turned away and couldn’t see his blush. “Heh. I’m happy to help.”

They sat quietly for a moment, Plato gently kneading the white queen while listening to the soft wheezing that accompanied her every breath. After a while, her eyes closed, her breath evened out, and the queen drifted off into a comfortable sleep. Plato, as slowly and quietly as he could, pulled some of the blankets back over her body and then climbed out of the bed, careful not to wake her. He pulled Vic’s care package closer to the bed so she wouldn’t have to move far to grab it and crept towards the door.

“Plato?” her soft voice called.

“Yeah?”

“Stay with me? Please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s... incredibly lonely being sick.”

Plato didn’t need to hear another word. He wordlessly climbed up into the bed with Victoria, shifting himself under the covers with her and curling around her smaller frame. As he pulled her against himself, perhaps a little too tightly, Vic turned around and stole a quick kiss before nuzzling her head against his chest. Plato laughed, kissing the top of her head, and the two cats drifted off to sleep together, purring loudly.

A few days later, Plato could be heard telling his mum that a few stolen kisses were well worth having caught the flu.

#cats the musical #cats musical #plato #plato cats #victoria #victoria cats #platoria #whoops posted this a day early #i thought today was sunday lmao #ah well

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex, violence, and drug use.

Word Count: 7.6k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk

Field Trip

“You want to go to Chicago with me?”

I coughed, having almost inhaled a chunk of pineapple off my slice of GrubHubbed pizza. We were sitting on the grass outside Forks And Spoons under the shade of the maple trees, which were turning from jade to ruby to amber to fool’s gold, rejoining the earth they once rose from one fallen leaf at a time. It hadn’t rained in almost four days—was that some kind of record?!—and the leaves littering the ground crunched when I stepped on them, which I did purposefully and often. The breeze was soft and whispery and temperate. I could get used to this whole having actual seasons thing. “What, in like a hypothetical, at some point in my life kind of way?”

Joe smiled. His U Chicago hoodie of the day was black. “No, as in this weekend.”

“Really?”

“The Cubs have a game on Saturday, and it’s supposed to be rainy and overcast the whole time, and I just thought...” He shrugged, toying with a piece of pizza crust before tossing it to the squirrels. He’s nervous, I realized. How the hell do I have the ability to make the sexy undead Italian man nervous? “It might be nice for us to be able to get away for a few days. Away from my family. Away from Charlie. Not that I don’t appreciate the ambient noise of his snoring from the living room couch, it’s super endearing, I seriously consider dating him instead of you at least twice a week.”

“Go for it. Charlie could use a rich husband. His pension is pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“I am not necessarily opposed to clandestinely seducing my sugar daddy stepdad should the occasion arise.”

Joe crossed himself like a nun passing tattooed, cursing, lip-pierced teenagers on the sidewalk. “Lord, protect me from this harlot.”

A weekend away. No Charlie, no constant and chaotic whirlwind of Lees, no Ben. I hadn’t spoken to Ben since our misadventure in the Lee kitchen; if he wasn’t avoiding me of his own volition, he was following orders to stay away. Joe claimed that they’d talked it out. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “I accept your invitation. Although, truthfully, I’d rather get hit by a bus than watch an entire real-life, no-commercial-breaks baseball game.”

“I accept your acceptance. And I’ll throw in a visit to the Shedd Aquarium, just for you. They have baby sea otters.”

“Sweet.” I checked my iPhone. “I’m gonna be late for Chemistry.”

“Anything fun planned?”

“We’re doing a lab involving hydrochloric acid. I’m highly concerned that Ben will accidentally spill some on himself. The miraculous instantaneous healing thing might raise a few questions.”

“Hm,” Joe replied. But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at my bandaged hand. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” He took a preoccupied swig of his Dr. Pepper. Solemnity never seemed right on him; it was like he was wearing somebody else’s skin. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Hey. Mob guy.”

Now his eyes flicked to mine.

“No more sad spaghetti.”

“Okay.” He surrendered, took my face in his hands, gave me a kiss on each cheek and then one quick parting peck on the forehead. “You win. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic, actually. I’m gonna be eating my weight in hotdogs and mustard-slathered pretzels on Saturday. What’s there not to be ecstatic about?”

“The fact that your license says you’re only twenty and consequently can’t get a beer?”

Joe blinked, remembering. “Fuck.”

I drained my Diet Coke, flung my pizza crust to the skittering grey squirrels—no eerie albino forest friends today—and pulled on my backpack. “See ya. Have an awesome time in Game Theory.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t!” he chimed, waving, grinning compliantly; and yet did I still sense some lingering menace of disquiet, of fear? I suspected I did. Chicago would cure everything.

Ben tensed when I walked into Professor Belvin’s classroom, ran his fingers through his unruly blond hair, peered fixedly down at his notebook and feigned obliviousness. There was already a metal tray of Erlenmeyer flasks, labeled bottles of solutions, burettes, goggles, gloves, and an unassembled ring stand crowding our small table by the open window. Autumn air poured in like seawater through cracks in the hull of a ship.

“Guess who’s gonna see the Cubs play up close and personal this Saturday?” I announced.

He pretended to have just noticed me. “...You...? But that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was Joe’s idea. I’m acting like I’m not totally thrilled and freaking out about it, but I am. Don’t tell him.”

Now Ben was the one staring at my bandaged hand. His green eyes were large and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Sure,” Ben returned noncommittally.

I started skimming through the packet of lab instructions and setting up our titration experiment as Professor Belvin circulated through the classroom, observing, commenting, offering suggestions and critiques. My wounded hand—still sore in the lull between Advil doses and relatively useless—was quite the embarrassing hinderance; I fumbled with a large glass flask and almost dropped it.

Ben shook his head and reached out to stop me. “Here, oh my god, this is so pitiful, sit down. Please sit down. I’ll set it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” I peeked at his notebook. “Your handwriting is atrocious. Haven’t you had like a century to work on that?”

“Penmanship was never at the top of my to-do list, tragically.”

“What language is that, anyway?” The phrases scrawled in black ink in Ben’s notebook definitely weren’t English. Or Italian. “Elvish? Are you a lowkey Lord Of The Rings fan? Magic and self-sacrifice and nearly insurmountable evil, I could see that being your thing.”

He smirked, struggling with the ring stand. “It’s Welsh.”

“Welsh,” I repeated, perplexed. “Welsh...like how Gwil is Welsh?”

“Precisely.”

Professor Belvin checked in on us, nodded in approval, reminded me that I was always welcome to stop by at bowling league activities, and resumed his wandering.

“Gwil still speaks it,” Ben continued. “The rest of them speak it too. At least enough for basic communication.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, fascinated, examining the long, unfamiliar words riddled with Ls and Ws and Cs. “But that must be very useful.”

“It is. Welsh is nearly a dead language at this point. It’s like talking in code. I always refused to learn it on principle...or maybe I was just being difficult. I would study other languages, Arabic, Japanese...but not Welsh. That was always Gwil’s language. Their language. It was a Lee thing. But now...”

“Now you’re sort of a Lee too,” I finished for him, smiling.

“Whatever,” Ben said, hiding behind his bangs.

I watched him as he at last tamed the ring stand, secured the burette, placed the Erlenmeyer flask. Then he began reading the labels on the solution bottles. “Guess what else.”

“What, Baby Swan?”

I grinned, showing off my unremarkable, entirely benign human teeth. “I’ll bring you back your very own U Chicago hoodie.”

That night, after a pleasantly prosaic dinner with Charlie—burgers, one veggie and one of the conventional variety, and milkshakes at Danny’s Diner—I started packing a small, Arizona-sky-blue suitcase as sparse raindrops pattered against the roof and moonlight streamed in through the open window. Then I ticked off my mental inventory.

“Jeans, sweaters, pajamas, socks...”

I pawed through the top drawer of my old, scratched dresser—the same one that had once upon a time been Renee’s—and contemplated the bra and panty options. Would my theme be comfort and practicality, or feral impenitent seductress? Friday and Saturday in Chicago would be our first nights alone together. That had to be significant, right? After some deliberation, I gathered a handful of lacy, transparent, and/or exceptionally skimpy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that Jessica had more or less forced upon me during a shopping trip in Port Angeles last month. As I dropped them into the open suitcase, I glanced up to see the albino owl outside my open bedroom window.

“You never know,” I told the owl, shrugging.

It leered judgmentally back at me with those gory red eyes.

“Oh shut up. How many eggs have you laid in your lifetime, Casper The Unfriendly Ghost? Probably like a bazillion. Freaking feathery trollop.”

The owl had nothing to offer in its own defense.

“Why don’t you ever come around when Joe’s here? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. He’s pale and weird too. Although I like his eyes a little better than yours. No offense, Snowflake.”

The owl blinked, tilted its gaze at me, ruffled its feathers and sent the raindrops that had gathered there flying in every direction.

I slid my iPhone out of my back pocket, spun around, and snapped a quick selfie with the owl in the background. “Say cheese, Marshmallow!”

The owl immediately unfurled its wings and flapped off into the trees, vanishing.

“Huh. I guess homegirl is camera shy.” I texted my selfie to Archer, typing out with my thumbs: I am the Steve Irwin of Forks. Behold, one of my many forest friends.

Archer replied a few minutes later: WOW! Pasty and mildly disturbing. Exactly your type. :)

“Yours too, apparently,” I murmured, smiling in my empty room.

I went to my full-length mirror with the plastic, teal-colored border, briefly appraised my reflection, felt a dull swell of approval for what I saw there. The version of myself that had once been so consumed by fears of inadequacy seemed impossibly far away, maybe even fictitious, a dream so vivid I could mistake it for truth. Three things were taped across the top of the mirror: Joe’s Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!! post-it, his Official Whatever You Want Pass, and a photo of us dressed up together and standing in front of the limo in the Lees’ driveway just before the Calawah University Homecoming dance. I peeled off the Official Whatever You Want Pass, carefully folded it into a neat little square, and tucked it into my wallet.

When the rain began to pour and thunder rolled in off the Pacific Ocean, I closed my bedroom window; but I remembered to leave it unlocked for Joe.

Departure

“Got your license?”

“Yes, Dad,” Joe sighed.

“Got your airport snacks?”

Joe held up the gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with pumpkin and white chocolate chip cookies. “We’re ready to rock.”

“Call me when you get there safe,” Mercy fretted, hugging me and then Joe. “And Joseph, sweetheart, you make sure you keep an eye on her. She’s never been to Chicago before, it’s a big city, and O’Hare is an absolute nightmare, it’s so easy to get lost...”

“I don’t think he needs any reminders, love.” Dr. Lee laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked his neatly-trimmed beard with the other, watched us with a vague and wistful smile.

Mercy went back to trimming the flowers she had spread out across the kitchen countertop, white calla lilies that she threaded one by one into a translucent sapphire blue vase. “Now don’t forget to say goodbye to your brother. He’s out back feeding the new ducks. And I expect these ones to stick around for a while, thank you very much.”

“Mom, I don’t need to say goodbye to Rami. I’ll just think it. Really loudly.” Joe rubbed his temples with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “Peace out, you nosy bastard.”

“Joseph,” Mercy pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go say goodbye. Don’t get all aggressive. Don’t take it out on the flowers.” Aggressive...what a joke. I doubted that Mercy Eleanor Lee, formerly Martin, had a single aggressive bone in her immortal body; not even the infinitesimal stapes of her inner ears or the sesamoids of her feet.

“They’re calla lilies,” she replied dreamily, tending them like children. “And they symbolize love, and beauty, and fidelity...”

My nostrils itched and burned faintly in dissent. “I think I’m allergic to them.”

“You’re allergic to fidelity?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s it, now you’re definitely not getting my reclaimed virginity. No ma’am. I am not hit-it-and-quit-it material.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Mercy murmured.

“I’m going,” Joe said, showing his palms in capitulation and disappearing out the back door. I dragged my suitcase to the front one, politely declining Mercy and Gwil’s offers to help.

Lucy—her bleached hair in a high half-ponytail and wearing polka-dotted black tights, combat boots, a plaid miniskirt, and an extremely Octoberish orange sweater—was sitting cross-legged on the roof of Gwil’s Volvo. God, he’s such a dad. “Have a nice time,” she chirped artfully.

I opened the hatch of Joe’s Subaru and threw my suitcase inside. “Why do you sound like you already know I will?”

“I might have some relevant clairvoyant insight.”

“No way.” I stared up at her, stunned, my hands on my waist. “But you can’t see me, right...?”

“True. But this vision wasn’t of you. It was of Joe. You just happened to be there.”

Interesting. Very interesting. “And what transpired in this vision?” A night full of hot, steamy, blissful vampire sex? A girl could dream.

Lucy closed her eyes, recalling it fondly, maybe even cherishing it. “You were sitting in the stands of a professional baseball game. I could hear the crowd roaring, the umpire’s trumpeting interruptions. Blue and white...everyone was wearing blue and white. And you were there together—Joe a vampire, you human, side by side, almost entwined—shouting to each other over the thunderous noise and laughing and pushing nuggets of soft pretzels into each other’s mouths. So happy. I’d never seen Joe so happy.” Her striking pale eyes came open. “And he’s someone who’s already rather prone to happiness, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” I agreed.

“He’s never been serious about anybody else. I hope you know that.”

“I know that’s what he tells me.”

“It’s the truth,” Lucy insisted. “I would know if it wasn’t. Rami would know, Ben would know. Joe...he’s kind of the opposite of you. He’s always been the easiest to read. He’s the one Rami hears most loudly, the one who shows up most often in my visions. He’s clear, you know? Uncomplicated. Authentic. And what you mean to him...it’s something everybody sees. It’s a contagious sort of lightness, of joy. So thank you for that.”

And if whatever mysterious genetic switch that renders me immune to your talents wasn’t flipped, I’m pretty sure I’d look the same way. “I should definitely be thanking you,” I said. “You guys have a pretty cool existence going on here. And I’m so grateful to be invited into it.” For however long this lasts, anyway.

“None of us really invited you,” Lucy demurred. “We just let it happen.”

“So everyone knew I was coming? Because you saw it?”

“Everyone but Joe.”

“You never told him?”

“No. Not even now.” Lucy turned sharply towards the trees, as if she heard something in the soaring western hemlocks that swayed drunkenly in the wind. After a moment, she continued. “I’m not sure if I can even explain why. It wasn’t that I feared changing the timeline or something...my visions always come true regardless. Always. But I guess...” She tugged on her short half-ponytail, pondering. “I guess I didn’t want to cloud any of his decision-making, any of his emotions with the specter of the inevitable. I wanted whatever he felt for you to be completely organic. And it is.”

I considered her. “You are extremely thoughtful for someone who spends as much time shopping as you do.”

Lucy laughed in a high-pitched, almost juvenile trill, netting her fingers beneath her chin, her elbows resting on her bent knees. “I do like to shop. I didn’t always though.” She peered off into the trees again, this time pensively. “Did Joe tell you anything about my life before Gwil saved me?”

“Aside from the copious hippie jokes, not really.”

She nodded, her eyes far-away and still lost in the forest. “Gwil and Mercy are inordinately wonderful people. My biological father and mother, unfortunately, were not. And maybe they couldn’t help it, because from what I understand their parents were monsters too. I don’t think of them very often now, not even to resent them. But when I was alive I burned with it, with all that hatred, with all that bitterness. Every bruise was another log on the fire. Every screaming match or hurled plate was a splash of gasoline. So I ran away and found what I fancied to be a new family, and I lived on basement couches and out of vans and in abandoned buildings, and I explored increasingly inventive ways of putting that fire out.”

The October breeze cascaded through the trees, carrying echoes of birdsong and disembodied distant voices and the scent of pine. It reminded me of Joe.

“Chemically speaking,” Lucy said, “that first hit of heroin, that first high...it’s the best you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Nothing else will ever compare. Not skydiving, not backpacking through Southeast Asia on some Pulitzer-prize-winning journey of self-discovery, not winning the lottery, not the births of your children, not falling in love. And once you accept that, what’s the point in stopping? Everything you ever experience will live in the shadow of that needle. You’re twenty-five and you’ve already seen the endgame. You’re born, you suffer, you catch a glimpse of paradise, you pay bills and push shopping carts down the aisles of grocery stores and insipidly smile your way through your husband’s work parties until you die. What’s the fucking point? So I didn’t stop shooting heroin. And the whole time, I knew it was killing me. That’s what they don’t tell kids when they force them to make those idiotic classroom promises to never do drugs. You know it’s killing you, but you don’t care. Because it feels so goddamn good. Because it becomes the only sliver of your existence that doesn’t cut like glass beneath your skin. Sometimes you love things so much you let them kill you, isn’t that ridiculous?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her; still, I heard my own voice: “Yes, it is.”

“It took dying for me to see that life is worth living. That there’s magic in the mundane and the frivolous. And that there’s beauty everywhere if you bother to look for it.” Lucy uncrossed her trim legs, leapt gracefully off the Volvo, and—with definite but not unkind scrutiny—pulled at the collar of my thrift shop sweater. “Even in your very, very, very misguided fashion preferences.”

The front door of the Lee house swung open, and Joe jogged out, carrying his suitcase. Gwil, Mercy, Scarlett, Rami, and Ben appeared on the porch to wave us off.

“What’d you do?!” Joe demanded, pointing at Lucy.

“Nothing,” she quipped.

“You guys gotta stop doing this!” Joe exclaimed. “You know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing, you gotta stop cornering people and forcing them to listen to your creepy tragic backstories! Nobody freaking asked!”

Lucy chuckled patiently and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. “Have fun.”

“You know it.” Joe tossed his suitcase into the Subaru and opened the driver’s door. “Ready, Baby Swan?”

“Almost.”

I walked to the wrap-around porch, climbed the steps, held my hand out to Ben. My stitches had almost completely dissolved over the past week, and the clunky impediment of bandages was no more. Joe crossed his arms and watched from beside the Subaru with an uneasy frown, but he didn’t try to stop me. He nodded to Rami, so subtly I almost didn’t notice. Rami nodded back.

“I will miss your melodramatic brooding immensely,” I told Ben. “Please do some fun family stuff while we’re gone. I’ll see you soon. Dan eich bendith.”

“Dan eich bendith,” he replied, taken aback. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he ignored my outstretched hand and embraced me, his grasp so strong and yet so careful. His scent like crisp leaves and salted caramel and autumn sieved into a bottle unfolded in my lungs like an opened book.

“I Googled that especially for you,” I whispered. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m in awe.” His words were characteristically sardonic, but I heard warmth in them as well. When Ben pulled away, I saw that everyone else was smiling. Mercy had tears in her eyes.

I retreated back down the porch steps and met Joe by the Subaru. “Okay, mob guy. I’m good.”

He slid on his sunglasses, shook his head, flashed a proud and toothy grin. “You definitely are.”

All the way down Route 101 to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, we listened to Joe’s classic rock mixtapes and my NOAA Ocean Podcast episodes, reviewed the weekend itinerary, ran through the bare essentials for me to understand an MLB game (“Which I am totally not excited about whatsoever,” I informed Joe, who knew enough not to believe me).

When the Boeing 747 ascended above the clouds and unimpeded sunlight poured in from the other passengers’ windows, Joe put on a black sleeping mask over his sunglasses and reclined his seat, tried to nap, passed the time until he would be safe beneath the curtains of the sky again.

Somewhere over the Dakotas, as I leafed through a book about the Great Barrier Reef for my Marine Botany class, Joe’s hand bumped mine. “Hey,” he said drowsily, seriously; and I braced myself for some emotional declaration, some dire warning, some grave realization of the futility of what we agreed—almost always wordlessly, and yet unfailingly—was love.

“Yeah?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Uh oh,” I replied, smiling now.

“Flag down the flight attendant and get some more of those honey roasted peanut packets,” Joe said. “I’m starving myself back to death over here.”

The Windy City

The bat cracked deafeningly against the baseball pitched at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a home run. The crowd erupted into mindless, primal shrieks of conquest; and when Joe jumped to his feet, clapping and cheering and nearly spilling his blue-and-white bucket of popcorn, I found that I did as well. I screamed for the team of a city I’d never lived in, sank back into my seat beside Joe, nestled against his chest as his right arm closed around my waist and hauled me in closer, as his left hand teased me with a soft pretzel nugget hovering just out of reach. And in that moment, I felt like Lucy, snatching Polaroids out of the space-time continuum of the present and the future and the past. There was where Joe and I were right now, of course; the day we had met each other in the nonfiction section of the Calawah University library; the dance floor at Homecoming; the first night he snuck soundlessly into my bedroom window; all those years we still had left to spend together. Not forever, but perhaps long enough.

“I like this baseball thing,” I told him over the roar of the crowd, twirling my fingers around the curling locks of dark hair that stuck out from under his Cubs cap. Or maybe I just like you.

“Whew, thank god.” Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. “Now I don’t have to break up with you.”

After the game—a 5-3 Cubs victory, close enough to keep the spectators’ blood pumping throughout—we boarded the L, held onto the metal railings as the packed train car bumped and swerved along, and disembarked in Little Italy. Historic brownstones were interrupted by a freckling of pizzerias, Italian ice stands, and sports bars spilling out shouts of triumph and despair. We were staying in the Four Seasons with a view of Lake Michigan; but we had an hour of daylight—albeit chilled, dreary, and forever threatening rain—left in our Saturday. Tomorrow would be the aquarium, and then dinner before catching our flight back to Seattle, back to the greenery and fog and eternal dampness that I was beginning to think of as my home. Had I really only left Phoenix two months ago? Had I ever really lived there at all?

“So,” Joe said as we walked under shedding green ash and black cherry trees, his arm draped across my shoulders. “Guess what the University of Chicago has. In addition to a killer Economics PhD program, which yours truly will be graduating from in approximately 2027, astonishingly aged not a single day. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

“Hideous sweatshirts?” I guessed.

“One of the best Marine Biology departments in the world. And the affiliated Marine Biological Laboratory up in Massachusetts, where they send their PhDs to do research.”

“Wait, seriously?” I stopped abruptly, the heels of my boots squealing against the sidewalk. “You mean...for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, for my other girlfriend who is also inexplicably super obsessed with the ocean. I clearly have a type.”

“You want me...to come to Chicago...with you...after graduation? For like...a five to seven year commitment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, that just sounds...serious.”

“Huh. What do you know. I guess we’re serious after all.” He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, leading me down West Taylor Street. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

“How is this going to work for you, anyway?” I asked, beaming uncontrollably now, trotting along beside him. “Living in a place that isn’t Washington or Scotland or Alaska?” Chicago was cold and cloudy for a lot of the year, true, but few cities were Forks-level wet and sunless. Forks-level tyrannically depressing, I would have said two months ago.

He shrugged, unphased. “Night classes. Sunglasses. Faking a chronic illness so I don’t have to leave our house. I’m really good at that one. Plus I can get a doctor’s note any time I want one. I’ve got connections, you know.”

Our house. He said OUR house.

Joe came to halt in front of a stately yet plain brownstone which now operated as a trendy bookstore, the kind that sold six dollar lattes and hosted anarchist poetry slams on Friday nights.

“Is this where we’re going to crack hipsters’ kneecaps as a bonding activity?” I asked.

“This is where I grew up.”

I looked again, studying the earth-colored stone quarried over a century ago, the wrought iron railings that framed the front steps, the rectangular windows revealing the illumination and shadows of other families’ lives. “Joe,” I said softly, leaning into him, searching for my words.

“There were eight Mazzello kids: Joseph, Charles, Mimi, Salvador, Donna, Lucia, Bianca, and Giuliano.” He rattled them off like a jingle from a fast food commercial. “And I was the oldest. So when my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of his shift at the Zenith Radio factory, it was my job to step up and figure out how to keep everyone fed. I was seventeen and completely hopeless at school back then; Sal was always the smart one, the disciplined one, he ended up as a math professor at Loyola University. I was just some directionless, grieving kid who never shut up. But there was a place for boys like me in Chicago in the 1920s. The mob could get you money. The mob could turn that same incessant chatter that got you bruised at school into something useful. And the mob could give you a family.”

Joe watched the brownstone solemnly, meditatively, his hands in his pockets.

“My mom sobbed for an hour the first time I brought home an envelope full of bills with Hamilton’s face on them. She knew how I got it. But how could she say no, how could she tell me to stop? We’d never seen money like that. All my siblings could finish school. My sisters could have new dresses on days that weren’t Christmas and Easter, my brothers new shoes, Sal the glasses he needed so badly. My mother always had something to put in the offering plate at church. And once you were in the mob, it wasn’t exactly easy to leave. But they took care of their own. After I died, they sent my mother money for years, until her own children were established enough to support her. That’s when I learned that money wasn’t just something that put food on the dinner table or kept the lights on. It’s a way of showing loyalty, of giving people peace and comfort and meaningful choices in their lives. It’s how I’ve been taught to give back to the world. So I guess I shouldn’t have disparaged my fellow vampires back in Forks, because there’s a slice of my tragic backstory, Baby Swan. Now you know. And you should know everything, since we’re in this thing together. Or maybe I just want you to.”

I laid my palm against his cool and flawless face, ran my thumb lightly across his cheek. “You really are serious about me.”

“I am alarmingly serious about you.”

“Even though this thing of ours has an expiration date?” Since I can never become a vampire. Since I will never have the distinction of being a permanent fixture of the Lee coven.

“That’s not a problem for today. That’s a problem for ten or fifteen years from now, whenever you decide you want to settle down and have kids and do the whole Great American Dream bit. You’ll be sick of me by then anyway. You’ll be dying to get away from us. Hahaha, get it? It’s a pun. Dying to get away from the vampires.”

I couldn’t imagine ever being sick of Joseph Francis Mazzello. Still, ten or fifteen years felt almost as good as forever to me. Fifteen autumns, fifteen Christmases, fifteen journeys around the sun that he avoided so deftly. “Why me, Joe?” I asked, incredulous. “You could have anyone. Any human, any vampire. Why me?”

“Because you’re you,” he said simply. And his mystified dark eyes added: What kind of a question is that? “You’re smart and you’re hilarious and you actually care about the world, about where it came from, about where it’s going, about people and places and animals that you’ll never meet. You’re indomitable. You’re fearless almost to the point of recklessness. And yet you’re so kind. You’re even nice to Ben, and humans are never nice to him...they’re either horrified or confused, or they’re too busy fantasizing about him to remember that he’s a real fucking person. But you’ve always tried to see the good in him. Even when he didn’t deserve it.” Joe shook his head, marveling. “And yeah, I’ve...I’ve screwed around, full disclosure. I’ve done the hookup thing. And it was great for what it was. But I never wanted more. I never felt some gnawing, sentimental, Hallmark-channel need for connection, to understand who they were as people. And then I met you, and...I want to know every single goddamn thing about you. I want to know your favorite color, what books you read, what the hell is so appealing about pineapple pizza, what you dream of. I feel like I could never get tired of trying to understand you.”

A refrain circled through my mind like a whirlpool, dragging every other thought down into oblivion: I love him, I love him, I love him. “Blue,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Turquoise blue, like the sky in Arizona. That’s my favorite color.”

The smile, slow and wonderous, rippled across his face. He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Joe led me onwards, down a few blocks and around a corner, as the muted sun receded from the sky and the first stars took its place, pinpricks of celestial light in a blanket of violet, azure, amber, rust. He stopped in front of the Church of Saint Lawrence, established in 1902 according to the sign mounted on the brick wall that faced the street, perhaps the same church that he had once visited with his family as an impatient child, snickering with his brothers and sisters and kicking the back of the pew in front of him with shoes that never fit quite right. There was a fountain bubbling with transparent water, a statue of the Virgin Mary at the center, coins made of copper and nickel and zinc glinting through the water under corridors of silvery luminance cast by the streetlights.

“I lied about not having my own superpower,” Joe informed me mischievously, not at all serious.

“Oh, did you now?”

“Absolutely.” He opened his wallet, rooted around, pulled out a penny and handed it to me. “I can make wishes come true. So go ahead.” He nodded towards the fountain. “Make your wish.”

The penny was worn and nearly indecipherable, but I was just barely able to read that it had been minted in 1928. The same year Joe was turned. “Joe...I can’t just throw this away!”

“You’re not throwing it away. You’re exchanging it for a wish. Now wish.”

I closed my eyes, chose my wish, tossed the penny into the fountain. The plink it made when it hit the water was bright and yet mournful somehow, like windchimes, like flickering candlelight.

“Outstanding job,” Joe complimented.

He was so visibly proud, so content, so faultless. The streetlights threw shadows across the sidewalk, the fountain, the whole world it seemed. I laced my fingers behind his neck, gazing up at him. “What are we doing tonight, mob guy?”

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, we have options.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Door Number One,” Joe began. “It’s been a long day, and you’re exhausted from the illustrious honor of witnessing a Cubs victory firsthand. So we go back to the hotel, find some shark documentary on tv, order room service, shower, and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Just like last night.”

“Not bad. How about Door Number Two?”

“Door Number Two. You’re tired, but not that tired. We go back to the hotel, find that same aforementioned shark documentary, but totally ignore it and make out instead. Maybe we even round second base, in the spirit of the Cubs. Whatever you’re up for. Then we shower and drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

“Even better,” I said, and I meant it. “And what’s Door Number Three?”

Now Joe became jittery; his eyes darted to the fountain, the church, the cars that rolled lazily by. He was so desperate to conceal his hope, to not impose any undue influence upon me. I felt infinitesimal, almost weightless drops of rain against my cheeks, my collarbones, the downy undersides of my arms. “Well, uh, Door Number Three is...it’s...well...uh...it’s...”

Door Number Three is a home fucking run. “I want Door Number Three.”

“Really? Because you don’t have to say that, you can say no, that’s completely fine, it’s more than fine actually, it’s awesome, it’s totally cool, I’m seriously fine either way, and you can obviously change your mind whenever—”

“Wait.” I broke away from him, yanked my own wallet out of my purse, found the Official Whatever You Want Pass, hastily unfolded it, and presented it to Joe. “I want Door Number Three.”

He barked out a shocked laugh, accepted the pass, studied it in disbelief. “You are full of surprises, ma’am. It took me a hundred years to find a woman like you. And I don’t think I ever will again. Makes one wonder if this whole eternity thing is all it’s cracked up to be.” He tucked the pass into his pocket and kissed me beneath the streetlights, beneath the stars. “So there’s one tiny caveat to my wish-granting superpower.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled impishly, nudging the tip of my nose with his. “You have to tell me what you wished for.” He was joking, as he almost always was; I didn’t have to tell him anything. He wouldn’t press the issue. I doubted that he was really expecting me to answer at all. And yet I wanted to tell Joe; I yearned, for once, to be as clear as Lucy had said he was.

“For you and me,” I replied in little more than a whisper. “And for forever.”

Home

The only thing that startled me was how profoundly unstartling it all was, how wholly uncomplicated, how effortless.

I didn’t feel like a different person afterwards. I didn’t feel that some latent spark of lust, of carnality had been ignited, had singed through me, had left me forever marked like the heights of children ticked off on a doorframe over decades; I felt neither ruined nor awakened, no wiser, no older, no more enlightened as to the incalculable eccentricities of the vast and enigmatic universe. I felt only happiness, and exhausted satisfaction, and a deep, dreamless peace that engulfed me like frothy fingertips of waves dragging pebbles and shells back into the sea. I felt only a homecoming that was measured not in miles but in soul.

We slept in as the morning sun rose over Lake Michigan, bought Ben a hoodie (black, of course, per his usual aesthetic) from the University of Chicago gift shop, strolled unhurriedly through the dimly-lit, relentlessly blue pathways of the Shedd Aquarium. As I stood in the glass tunnel and watched sawfish and blacktip reef sharks soar by overhead, Joe linked his arms around my waist, tucked his chin into the dip of my collarbone, kissed the slope of my jaw.

“What do you think?” he asked, perhaps a touch apprehensively. “Could you get used to the Chicago life for a few years?”

“I would be tempted to kidnap some of these guys and bring them home to live in our bathtub. But yes.”

And Joe murmured, smiling, his lips to my temple: “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

Our flight back to the West Coast took off after dusk, and there was no blinding sunlight for Joe to avoid; only immense glooms of clouds and gleaming distant stars and the unfathomable void of space, cursed with crushing pressure and darkness like the cervices of the ocean floor.

Fifteen years might not be enough, I thought, resting my forehead against the cold airplane window as the city lights died behind us, as Joe’s hand weaved through mine on the armrest. But forever sounds just about right.

Larkin

There once was a boy born in a stone cottage with a dirt floor in a vanishingly inconsequential village just west of Clifden, Ireland. It was February 9th, 1672, bitterly cold, miserably wet, and the sea was murderous with storms. His mother was illiterate, as her mother had been, and as her mother had been as well, all the way back to people who painted mammoths on cave walls with their fingers; she was thirty-three and already exhausted with living, her seven children forever underfoot, her full and ruddy cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt from the field and ashes from the fire. Her husband was a failure and a drunk, but half a day’s worth of work once or twice a week was better than none at all; and as much as she never would have admitted it, he was a tether for her in a world that was often, as she had learned, both lonely and cruel.

She gave the baby boy a name—a strong Irish name, none of that audacious English rubbish—that meant rough or fierce, just like the sea that rose and ruptured against the rocky cliffs outside. He would need to be rough to survive in this world. He would need to be fierce.

He began like all the other children had been: sweet and yet anonymous, yielding, needful, worryingly small. She rocked him absently with one arm as she stirred the stew pot with the other. She sang to him, told him stories long before he could comprehend them, tales of the Lord and the saints and all their malevolent adversaries: serpents, pestilence, demons, dragons. She tossed stray sticks to him so he could carve pictures into the dirt floor and keep out of the way as she labored with the laundry or the sewing. And he grew, and he grew; and there was nothing remarkable about him at all, that boy speckled with mud and soot and the perpetual bruises of children mostly left to their own devices, that boy with pallid skin like his mother’s and black hair like his father’s and eyes so light and vibrant a brown they were nearly gold.

The boy was a baby, and then a child, and then a young man. And his mother realized one day—all at once, as a mother does when their attention is divided among so many other lives, when the children’s analogous faces bleed into each other and even their names sometimes escape her, even those names that she had chosen herself from the stories her own mother once passed to her through threadbare whispers—that people had a habit of following him, of listening to him. That there was an ether of allure that hovered around him like the mists that clung to the precarious, crumbling cliffs that touched the sea; that there was something like what the heathens called magic. And when the war came, that boy who was no longer a boy left his mother’s stone cottage and enlisted in Clifden, lied about his age, signed his name with an X because that was all he knew how to spell. But he was sure to tell the man who handled the ledger that he did have a real name, a good Irish name, a name apt for a soldier, a name that his mother had told him meant rough or fierce: Larkin.

There are men who join wars out of loyalty, principle, love for their homes; and then there are men who join to escape their homes, perhaps to forget them entirely. If you were to consult that ledger signed in a pub in Clifden, Ireland in 1688, you would read that I fought for Ireland, for the Catholics, for Christ the Lord and all his saints. But what I really fought for was my own resurrection: to take that boy stained with dirt and ignorance, drown him in the blood of other mothers’ trivial sons, and dredge up some greater version of myself that I had always known existed, that was hidden somewhere in the netlike darkness of the marrow of my bones.

People follow me, and they always have. I couldn’t tell you why. When I called them to enlist, when I thrusted swords and pikes into their calloused farmers’ fists, when I told them they could fight and live to see their wretched homes again, they believed me. I climbed the ranks like a ladder, like a mountain made of bones. And all those other mothers’ sons laid down for me so I could walk across the bridge of their spines to what I mistakenly assumed was invincibility.

At the Battle Of The Boyne, my horse was shot out from under me. A Williamite caught me beneath the ribs with his dagger. And as I bled out, staring up at the sky and impatiently waiting for the pain to vanish as my consciousness withdrew like low tide, I became aware that someone was lifting me, holding me, spiriting me through the battlefield and then the wilderness; and that my pain, in a disconcerting turn of events, had swelled to a vicious and unrelenting inferno.

Three days later, I woke to find that I was resurrected again, this time as something more than human. The man who turned me was blond-haired, light-eyed, agile and yet gentle, ancient and yet ever-changing.

“I thought you’d survive,” Nikolai said in a thick Slavic accent, standing over me with a kind smile. Then he helped me to my feet. “You have greatness in you. It sweats out of your pores, it’s in every word you speak. What a shame it would be for all of that to go to waste.”

He taught me everything: how to read and write, how to hunt, how to dodge the sunlight, how to survive an existence that was both theoretically endless and yet forever on the precipice of being cut short. He introduced me to the Draghi, to vampires who were remarkable for their ferocity, or their creativity, or their curiosity, or their cleverness, or all those things at once: Victorien, Honora, Elizabeth, Kestrel, Zhang, Sergei, Ana, Gwilym. And most crucially, Nikolai showed me that my human talents were magnified several times over, that his own followers were not immune to them, that there was power in collecting exceptional individuals like pieces of china stacked in a locked cabinet; and that if I could learn to climb immortal bones, the ladder never needed to end.

You never quite get used to the power, to the invincibility, to the promise of eternity. You never take it for granted. It hits you, again and again, in ceaseless and victorious waves. Once I was a barefoot toddler who sketched dragons and Catholic saints from the stories my mother told me into the dirt floor of our drafty stone cottage. Now I live in palaces with marble floors, with spiral staircases and libraries and gold-dripping ballrooms, with unobstructed views of any sea I choose. Now I am the dragon.

My phone rang, and I checked the name on the screen. Then I answered. “Hello, beauty. How’s the other side of the Pacific treating you?”

And Liesl answered, in a soft and astonished voice: “I don’t think Lucy can read her. I don’t think any of them can.”

I could feel it again. Another wave, crashing through me like the ocean, like the unstoppable rolling of time: power and insatiability and exhilaration. I smiled in my twilight-lit study as long-dead stars rose outside and the wind howled like wolves over the East Sea. “You know what to do.”

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stimtoybox · 7 years

Note

I really like scent stims and I love stuffed animals, do you know of any good scented stuffed animals? I think a scented comfort buddy would be good for me but idk which ones smell good (scented stuffed toys can smell kinda bad sometimes). Do you know of any good ones?

Anon, I won’t be able to make good personal recommendations on scented toys. I don’t use artificial scents, and many of the scents used on commercial and even handmade scented plush and soft toys are artificial. I struggle enough with other people’s perfumes as is, so this is going to be one of those stimming areas where I‘m less than helpful. I’ve included a list of options you may wish to check out, but if folks want to chime in with something they own that they can confirm smells really good, please do so!

What I do, because I do love good essential oil scents, is scent my own plush and pillows! I have a collection of essential oils (also used in my oil burner by my desk) and there’s two ways of going about it.

The first and easiest: clear essential oils like lavender, tea-tree or peppermint don’t stain. I drip them directly onto the plush or pillow, leave them to dry and then handle the toy, refreshing when needed.

The second is best done with a toy that has an inner pocket that can be opened, like the heat bag plush you can find at K-Mart or Big W. The toy is an outer plush casing containing an inner bag that can be microwaved to provide warmth. (Not knowing where you are, anon, I’d say that you’ll be able to find these at most department stores, although it will be easier to find them during autumn and winter.) Because other essential oils - any of the citruses, for example - do stain, so to keep from staining the toy, I drop the oils onto the inner heat bag, not on the animal plush case. This gives me all the benefit of a soft, weighted plush toy that smells wonderful but without the staining, and it’s easy to refresh when the oils fade, just by opening up the toy.

You can do this with perfume or fragrance oils, too, if that’s your preference. They work the same way. The only difference is that perfume oils are artificial.

(Additionally, as discussed in this ask, which I recommend reading for further discussion on scenting heat bag toys, you can also try using herbal tea bags tucked inside the toy.)

I like scenting my own toys because I already have the oils and I can choose scents and scent blends to my preference. I admit that this is an expensive option if you don’t already have an oil collection, although low-quality perfume oils and blended essential oils can be purchased (around $2 AUD a bottle) from most dollar shops. Most of my oils come from a local pharmacy or independent sellers at the Queen Victoria Market, but we’ve had Piping Rock recommended to us as an internet resource (and their collection looks divine). The benefit of buying in person from a pharmacy, market stall or dollar shop is that you can test-sniff the oils before buying, meaning you don’t spend money on something you dislike!

(My scent recommendations: lavender is a really good all-purpose relaxing oil with a gentle, woody scent that’s a little sweet but not overpowering like rose or other florals. If you’re just getting started with oils, it’s a great one to try, and one of the safest to use. Just, like all essential oils, never use it undiluted on your skin. If you want something that clears the nose and is refreshing, peppermint is also good, and it blends well with lavender. It’s overpowering, so I use something like two drops peppermint to six drops lavender. I also enjoy most citruses - lemon, orange, bergamot, lime - as they’re quite refreshing without being cloying or sweet. Lemon and bergamot or orange and bergamot also blend well together.)

For folks who’d prefer already-scented toys:

@dragonadventurescrafting has the Scented Strawberry Plush. (Store currently on break.) I know she has made different scented plush in the past, so you could always drop her a message if you have a request.

@luna-stims found this lavender-scented bear at Walmart ($6.88 USD).

Pillow Pets Sweet Scents ($19.99 USD) is a range of bright pillow-shaped scented plush animals, targeted at young children.

Smanimals ($7.99 USD)are scented plush animals, very cartoonish in style, also highly child-targeted.

Build a Bear (which used to support A$ but does so no longer) has a few different scents: strawberry, apple blossom, lavender, doughnut and candy ($6 AUD each). (This is for the scent added to the plush animal, not the plush itself.) There’s a few bear and animal options between $15 and $20 AUD.

Toasty on Amazon are a range of different scented plush, all of then filled with a natural herbal blend ($18-$30 USD, depending on animal). There’s penguins, a tiger, bears, an orca - lots of different animals not usually covered by scented plush. These are more realistic, more classic-looking plush.

There’s also Scentsy, who do support A$ through the sales of A$-specific plush and oil burners (see this post for details). Their toys cost $30 USD and are also more child-focused.

In all honesty, I’d direct people towards the Toasty plush first, as they look nicest and contain a natural herb blend. I think this is more tolerable and even safer for more people than artificial fragrance packs inside a toy - especially since many artificial fragrances smell very artificial, which I suspect is one of your concerns in sending in this ask. I know it’s one of mine!

What works for you, though, comes down to what your scent preferences are. What do you like smelling? Do “fake” versions of that smell bother you? Do you prefer subtle scents or strong ones? Do you like blended scents? Write down a list of the smells you enjoy and anything you think might impact the kind of toy you need, and then see if there’s a toy that comes close to it. If there isn’t, you’ll probably have to approach this as a DIY with a heat pack toy you scent yourself, but the benefit of that is that you can make that toy scented just how you like it, with scents you know you love.

I hope that helps you some, anon. Finding the right toy with the right scent for one’s preferences can be a difficult thing, so expect a little experimentation on this!

- Mod K.A.

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allyvampirelass29 · 4 years

Text

The Queen and Victoria

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

"Do you love her, Mister Manx?"

Charlie's lip curled with his distaste at Bing's clumsy impertinence, daring to ask such a question.

"What business could it possibly be of yours, Bing, as to whether or not I love the woman I have wed?" He snapped viciously, not bothering to look at the brutish oaf of a man and his slow-spreading, vacant expression.

"Forgive me, Mister Manx, if it not be well and proper to ask, but........ don't you WANT to love the little thing? Isn't that why you stole her in the first place, brought her here to Christmasland? To be your happy missus?"

"Thin ice, Bing, THIN. ICE." Charlie rasped back, his knuckles tightening over the curve of the candy cane's crook, that made up the fencing, and he looked out over the sweeping grounds, blanketed in snow, frowning imperiously, at the too perfect creature, that frustratingly fetching female, that beguiling brunette beauty, his own Mrs. Manx. There she was in all of her glittering red strapless gown glory, her full skirts skittering across the drift, as she reached down, tentatively, to pet one of his skeletal reindeer, seeking an impossibly red apple from a sparse white tree.

Hello, Wife. The question lingers........ even as I look at you. Do I love you, My Sweet? The answer was most alarming, and he said it out loud in a huff.

"Too much........ I love her too much, and it's becoming a problem, Bing. Most disconcerting."

His dark eyes narrowed, as the girl eagerly plucked the succulent red apple from its branch, giggling happy, as she fed it to the deer from her doting little palm. Are you eating out of my hand, My Fawn, or have you right now got me wrapped, tied up in a bow 'round your pesky little finger?

"Problem?" Bing ventured even more cautious, his eyes impossibly wide. "Love's the thing! How can Mrs. Manx be a problem, when she wears your ring?"

Charlie felt his gaze soften, fighting his half smile, as he searched for the ring on her finger, and it glinted in the silvery sunlight. You wear it, for me........ Even on our wedding night, that you wasted, sobbing at my window, huddled against the glass in fear, foolishly thinking I violated your power, when I was kind enough to demonstrate to you its full potential, even then, embroiled in our darkest hour, you never once took it off.......... It has not left your finger, and I know it never will.........

"It may be a champagne problem, Bing, but a problem persists, nonetheless....... Because I hate that I love her this ardent, this despicable depth of feeling is........ unnatural......... I've abhorred every conniving female that has carried with her the name, Mrs. Manx......... Save for this one, thus making my docile dove the most dangerous of them all. I crave her more than even the strongest creative power. In truth, she's more threat to me, my work, than Vic McQueen could ever be........"

He sighed, vexed, leaning over the rows of candy canes, elbows elegantly folded beneath him, a strand of jet black hair working free of his slicked coif. He admired the way her dress shimmered as she walked, and she shivered in the cold, her shoulders bared, and as white as the surrounding snow. Her cheeks chilled, and as red as the apple she'd held in her hand. You tempting little Minx, Mrs. Manx........ Who are you to taste of the forbidden fruit of my love? The Eve to my frosted Eden, what crowns you Queen of Christmasland save that but MY hands?

"Shall I erm, take care of it, Sir? If this Manx Bride does not appease, than Bing must bring a second, and make the first flee........"

Charlie wrinkled his nose, attempting to banish the rising violence incurred by Bing's fool thoughtlessness. "My Boy, if you so much as touch Allyssa Manx, even once, the graveyard of what might be, will then become, your Christmas Present. A Partridge hanging from a pear tree. You gargantuan lump, I am not displeased, but severely the opposite.......... When we love too much, we lose even more. Remember that, Bing."

"Yes Sir, I promise, I won't touch her."

"No. You won't," Charlie finished sharply, turning away as Ally let herself fall back into the drift, defying the cold, making a snow angel. Ohhh must you toy with me so? My Snow Angel, My Porcelain Plaything? What am I going to do with you?

"Ready the Wraith, Bing, I require a distraction, and there is a dear little lad in Hartford that's dreaming of Christmas fun, while his fool parents spend their nights getting drunk. He shall be a special surprise for my young bride, a brand new, adorable son...... The first to greet her when she meets them."

"Uh Boss, do you think it's wise, she meets the little nippers so soon? She only just got here......."

"Why, of COURSE, she must meet them, my GOD, Man, where is your head today?" Charlie chastised, with an indignant scowl, which all too quickly melted into a fond smile. "Those poor motherless souls, are orphans no more......... They have a kind, nurturing, beautiful mother now, and a doting, dare I say, spoiling father. I have done it, Bing, at last....... with my taking a wife, I have given them everything. A queen to rule them, a matron to soothe them. She is my gift to my Found Children, and they are mine to my lucky bride. Christmasland just needed a woman's touch......... As did I........"

Ally had popped up from the drift after leaving her lovely indent, her gown rustling, and she caught sight of her striking husband contrasting dark with the snow, ebony against the white, and her gloved hand raised in a gentle wave.

He fought the handsome grin, and lost, waving regally in return, nodding his raven head forward, in genteel grace. His smile faded however, as Bing pushed forward, far less graceful, wobbling, with an absurd wave of his own.

Ally looked startled at first, and then smiled nervously as she waved back at him too.

"You're not to touch her, Bing, I mean it, not even once. She's too delicate, too pure, to have to entertain the likes of your insufferable company. You may exchange with her, vague niceties in my presence, but otherwise you will spare her your unsettling gaze."

"Yes, Boss. It's not polite to stare at Mister Manx's pretty wife. Bing must stay away, if he wants to stay alive........"

"Good, good. Now prepare the car for my departure." Charlie hopped nimbly over the candy cane fence, and descended towards the lower grounds of the castle. "I must....... tend to my bride......."

"Sure thing, Boss."

Charlie did not so much as glance backward as Bing hunched his shoulders and stalked towards the garage. His eyes were fixed hard on his sweet wife as she had turned to study the very much alive snowmen wreathed, like the reindeer, in glowing, coloured lights.

"My Dear Mrs. Manx, do take care......... the snow creatures can be quite vicious, especially on a warmer winter's afternoon like today. They are, shall we say, temperamental........."

He felt her melt against his leather gloves as he snuck up behind her, taking hold of her near naked, freckled shoulders.

"They seem........ rather sweet." She cooed, as he placed a burning kiss into her red, frigid cheek, digging his nails into her shoulders, just slightly, and he felt her shiver, excited, as the sharp tips poked through his supple gloves.

"Beware that which possesses only the appearance of goodness, My Dearest Love......... for in such clever deception can hide the heart of wickedness........."

Ally breathed deeply, fighting for her white plumed breath as she spoke. "A lesson you have taught me all too well, My Darling Husband.........." Charlie smirked with her answer, aroused by her subtle defiance, running his fingers along her gauzy, sparkling neckline, sliding them torturously slow down her silk bodice.

"How very telling, My Sugar Plum, and while I'd love to impart the entirety of my knowledge of wickedness to you....... I must depart. You'll see yourself inside, won't you? Wrap yourself up a bit warmer next time you venture out, I must insist. How perfectly scandalous.......... A married woman scurrying around with her shoulders bare, showing off such soft, pale, freckled skin........." Charlie's breath got heavier as he spoke, relinquishing his talons from one of her shoulders, to replace it with his open, eager lips, meeting fast with her bare skin. "However, in the privacy of our rooms, do feel free to show me every........ last....... one of these teasing little freckles........." He kissed the dotted constellations as he spoke, her white wine skin tasting even better for having been chilled, and had there not been a little boy in dire need of his particular talent, he'd would have been tempted to stay, and do just what he told Bing he needed to do......... tend to his wife.

"Charlie.......... Where are you going?" Ally asked breathless, a little rattled, not just with her husband's scandalous words and pleasing attentions, but at the wary thought of being alone with that other lurking, rather large friend of his, that seemed to skulk everywhere that Charlie went.

Charlie snickered, whirling her around to stare into her worried green Christmas tree eyes, his gloved hands taking possessive hold of either of her sides, pulling her to him. "Fret not, Snow Angel, I shall return to you, once I had done with my work. Rest now, retreat to our love nest, and find comfort in our marriage bed. I shall share it with you soon enough."

"What work coaxes you from me? Please, Charles, do not leave me here alone with your odd friend, looming ominous! He frightens me, even if it is not his intent."

Charles chuckled amused, moving swiftly forward to brush his nose against hers, leaning in for a kiss, and then pulled away, just as she went to indulge him.

"My good work must remain a continued mystery to you, Pet," He lamented, brushing a stray curl from her face. "But worry yourself no more, Mister Partridge will be accompanying me on my errand, and you will be spared any further awkward instances, I assure you."

Ally bit her lip, looking guilty and embarrassed. "Please understand me, Charlie, I do not wish to speak ill of Mister Partridge, nor do I seek to hurt him in this opinion, but I am rather distressed by him."

Charlie chuckled lower, deeper, his dark eyebrows slanting deadly forward. "Bing, while an irksome fellow, yes, is no threat to the Queen of Christmasland.......... You, My Precious Wife, should be far more concerned about the distress caused to you by tender hands. You should fear me infinitely more than Bing Partridge........."

"I do......... You're......... terrifying." Ally whispered reverently, and Charlie's hot breath threatened a kiss, before he granted it mercilessly.

Ally kissed him back, grasping at the back of his coif, and he pressed into her lips more fiercely as she pulled every sleek strand loose, working them through her dear little fingers.

"Diabolical. Using your feminine allure to trap me here? You ARE a scheming minx, Ally Manx," he rasped back, the heat in his voice making his snow white rose positively wither.

"You dastardly clever fiend, however did you figure me?" She gasped back blissfully, feigning affront, and he grinned wickedly.

"Because........ It was I that was the making of you, My Dear....... I know you better than anyone ever could. All your life I have watched you, studied you........ Waiting." Ally shivered, but this time it was out of actual fear, a seeping cold, quick to kill the searing heat of Charlie's attraction. Flashes of him, towering over her, grinning cruelly, hands raised as he puppeteered her own, making them author his violent scribbling, the words engulfed in a blaze of hatred and black smoke, and she'd felt it........ the girl........ the brave teenage Creative, flying from her bike, colliding with the side of a truck, crumpling, concussed.

She turned her head away, missing his kiss, and Charlie nodded coolly, impressed. "My, my, what a devastating punishment indeed. Perhaps we might continue this delectable disciplinary action once I've returned, but for now....... Do get inside, and get yourself warmed up."

She nodded, averting her eyes as Charlie carefully kissed her hand, sensing the subtle change in her demeanor. There it is....... that ever so foreboding reluctance. We can't have that.

"Charles, why do you not tell me about your work? Why cannot I accompany you, instead of that dreaded, hulking Bing?"

"Don't pout, Darling, it is more becoming than I can bear, at present." He protested, pressing a gloved finger to her pouting lips. "You are safe here....... If I had it my way......... You would never again depart the comfort and confines of my glorious inscape........."

Ally felt the chills of a far more sinister nature creep unwanted through her body, a suspect fear taking hold. "But you WILL let me leave here, and see again the natural world, won't you, Charles..........?"

He could taste the fear in her voice, and while he'd feasted on it, hungered for more of it, as she'd fought to free herself of his floating grasp, he did not care for it this time, that bitter hint of desperation. Women were frail creatures, that behaved badly when they turned desperate.

He forced a smile, and shooed away the shadow of his dark intention, letting the pale light break through his black eyes. He was secretly working on a way of dealing with that pesky little possibility, as they spoke, cooking up a special something that would take care of the unfortunate issue once and for all....... But as for now, her hunger for the lie, was even more aching than her need of the truth, and so he would gladly feed it to her, without regret.

"Of course, oh you poor girl, of COURSE you shall be returned to the outside world, in time! What kind of heartless tyrant do you take your husband for?" He stroked her hair, as he cooed his assurance, and watched her eyes believe every word, watched her swallow the lie, relieved, as he pressed it urgently to her lips. "Forgive me, My Bride, in my haste, in my newlywed state, I may have proved overly protective." He took her hands in his, and looked deep into her eyes, with his best guise of sincerity. "I do not, at present, think it wise for you to make the transcendent journey. There are nefarious beings that poison the outside, My Pet, bad people who might prey upon your good nature, and if anything should happen to you........." Charlie's voice trailed off, rife with a very real sorrow, grasping her hands in donned earnest.

"No, of course you are right, Charles, forgive me........" She whispered in hushed apology, squeezing his hand, relenting as he brought his other gloved palm to cup her cheek. He knit his brow painfully, putting on the mask of the distraught husband, feeling her give in, helpless to stop it, as he took control of her mind just as effortlessly as he'd done with her hands.

"What waits for me out there, save an empty world that didn't even want me?" She whispered, fighting the tears. A world that doesn't care I've gone. No one's looking for me........"

"Shhhhhh," Charles soothed, pulling her into him, holding her head to his chest, fighting the smug joy, as he stroked the top of it. "There now, My Sweet........ It is true. No one searches for you because you are no longer lost. You are found."

Ally cried into the front of his woolen coat, as he continued to calm her, kissing the top of her head, while she clinged to him. "That's so beautiful, Charlie, and truly profound. My place........ is here. Right here. With you. With your children."

"Yes, My Young Bride, and they are going to LOVE their dear mother, as much as I do," He simpered, smoothing his thumb up her cheek to catch her falling tear. "No one cries in Christmasland, My Divine, and there are far more inducements here, in this magical land I've promised you, than upon that hated, sinking ship, I rescued you from." He snarled his lip in a way he knew she couldn't see, his thoughts deliciously malicious. I told you, Girl, you would never leave my Paradise for the Lost, and whether I keep my promise through candy-coated enticement, or a creative kind of punishment, so be it........

Ally smiled sweetly up at him, before nestling her head back into his chest. "Thank you, Charles. For saving me, for marrying me, forgiving me in this, my ungrateful request. It was a slight in asking, and I am sorry. You gave me a home, a palace of shining lights and sparkling snow, and while you and I have had our......... creative differences, I don't want to leave, I couldn't do that to you, or your children, whom I ache so to meet and mother and love......."

"Our children," Charles whispered, with a playfully raised eyebrow, resting his forehead against hers, taking both of her hands in his. "They are rather gnashing their teeth to meet their new mother as well," he finished smoothly, bemused by his own wit. "Such a shame they could not attend our Christmas Eve Wedding, but you see, introducing a new woman into their lives is a big change. It must be the exact right moment........." I must first find the means to make sure they don't eat you alive, he thought with another smile. You will be a treat for them, My Sweet, just not the one they're used to their father spoiling them with..........

"Our children........ Ally breathed, pulling back to kiss him tenderly. "I like that, I love them already, Charlie, oh how happy our family will be!!!"

Charlie kissed her back slowly, watching her face light up like a Christmas tree. "That's right, Mrs. Manx you will have no choice but to love them. They're especially unforgettable.

Ally giggled, and Charles led her up the snowy knoll to the candy cane fence, helping her over it. "I must bid you adieu, My Sugar Plum, but I will return with an extra special surprise for you, a wedding present that I hope you will find more favorable than the first........."

Charles kissed her carefully again, as she shivered with his words, writing the goosebumps on her delicate skin.

He turned away from her, when she reached for his arm, and that meddlesome desperation bled through her fingertips.

"Charlie..........?"

"Yes, Allyssa, My Love?" He answered back, looking over his shoulder, fending off his perturbed suspicion.

"The girl....... on the motorcycle....... Who is she? Is she........?" Ally's voice was pleading, faltering on the last word, making him shudder.

"Alive?" He asked spitefully, and she cast her eyes downward with the harsh sound of his voice. They hadn't spoken of it, hadn't uttered one single word between them on the matter, since that awful, rapturous, fateful night. Why did she want to talk about it now? Why couldn't she forget about Vic McQueen? Why couldn't HE forget about Vic McQueen?"

"Yes. To my every screaming vexation, The Girl on the Motorcycle lives. No thanks to you." Charlie hissed, pulling free of her hold.

"I couldn't do it, Charlie, I won't do it. I won't be a killer like-" Ally gasped tearfully, clapping her hand over her mouth, ashamed.

"Like....... Me," Charles finished with a cruel smile, impressed that she'd actually said it.

"No, Charlie, please-" Ally sobbed, wavering to meet his intense gaze.

"No, come now, you can't take it back....... You married a killer, a monster, you called me, if I'm not mistaken?" He smirked, but his eyes were deathly cold.

"No........ I-I didn't mean it, Charles........ Please, I just don't understand it! Why does the full force of your hatred, your fury fall upon this one girl? What could she have possibly done to you, to inspire the darkest of your intent? Tell me?"

Charles shook his head, disappointed as he looked at her, so lovely, so perfectly impossible. "Victoria McQueen is a problem, my problem, and one I'll admit I had hoped we could solve together. She threatens you, even while you throw yourself to her defense. She is my greatest enemy, and if you harbor any misplaced sympathy for what we did to her........ There is no place for you here.......

Ally stared at him, incredulous, tears glistening in her green eyes, stunned, as he looked right through her. "You would...... banish me.......?"

"No. I would banish the woman who would enact this treachery in aiding my most hated foe. I know that isn't you, Allyssa Manx." Charles insisted through gritted teeth.

Ally nodded gently, raising her head. "No...... No, it is not...... But I must ask this, and then we need never speak of it again. Do you love me........ as much as you hate her.......?"

Charles felt himself struck to the heart by yet another deafening answer.

"Yes."

Ally wasn't sure whether to be achingly relieved for herself, or paralyzed with fear for this Victoria McQueen. This messy-haired, reckless girl, prone to screaming profanities, being herself a mere eighteen years old, WHAT power could she possibly hold over the Strongest Creative of them all? Charles' own beloved Wraith could take him anywhere, what use did he have for this coveted red motorcycle, and the mysteriously named, "Shorter Way?” But the question that stole the breath from her lungs was this......... Could Charlie come to regard his own wife with the same crushing hatred as he'd revealed for his mortal enemy? A girl, not much younger than she?

"Yes, Mrs. Manx. I do love you with the same violent intensity that I hate Victoria, and I assure you there exists no more a romantic profession than that!!! However, I can also assure you, without hesitation........ one shall never cause effect to the other. Just as my possessed hatred for her, shall never impede my ability to love you, so shall my love for you, never sway me in my tirade against her........"

Ally nodded solemnly, the severity of his words as biting as the cold which had grown between them considerably.

"I want to hurt her, wrest from her everything she holds most dear. I want to ruin her, and I cannot promise that I won't use you, and your smoking pen to do it. However, I won't make a murderess of my own wife. You'll take her to the edge, yes, but I will be the one to finish it."

#charlie manx #nos4a2 #charlie manx x oc #vic mcqueen #christmasland #paradise for the lost #bing partridge #paranormal romance

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cilliansaccent · 4 years

Text

Class of Temptation - CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Leave a like, reblog or comment below to show your support and love! Enjoy…

PLEASE READ:

No mention of Cillian’s true family or relatives. All names are made up.

Cillian will act very differently compared to the Cillian we know.

This is a TEACHER x STUDENT fanfiction, it’s going to be kinky, dirty, nasty and extremely TABOO!

I will write whenever the mood grabs me, so I apologise if there are long breaks between chapters :)

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Background: Tessa is a twenty-three-year-old model from a broken-up family, living in London with her best friend and starting a course on Drama and Theatre. Though, when she gets closer to the super hot Mr Murphy who is her much older teacher, there is a battle of lust and love between them. They’ll have to figure out what to do with their tight relationship as other issues begin to rise and nip at their heels…

Word Count: 4,978

!!Warnings!!: Mention of sex before foreplay and whatnot at the end.

Chapter Name: My Pet

Brief Chapter Outline: Back to class, Tessa finds out that some of her classmates had attended the party Esther threw and some embarrassing videos. She is ready to knock some teeth out before it converts to murder when she hears two certain people together in a classroom after hours... Then it leads to her discovering something.

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Tessa knew she was screwed today. She would have to come to class and tell Cillian why she had not uploaded her assignment and she was so not looking forward to it. It was a fair chunk of her grade. She hoped the end of term assignment would boost her up, she was doing well in her other subjects for the course though.

"Why do you even bother putting make-up on?" Elijah asked, he was still naked in her bed and watched her.

"I need to look good. Happens when you are a female model." She smiled. She was seated at her table and applying lipstick on.

"I guess that's true." He laid back on his back, "Got work today. I should go home..." He trailed off.

"You can stay here as long as you want." She mused as she stood up and pulled off her dressing gown. She pulled on her thong and a simple black bodysuit, high waist black jeans and a delicate mesh sparkly top. She braided back her hair and tugged on a pair of white sneakers.

"Yeah I could but I need the money..." he let out a loud dramatic sigh.

"Aw, poor baby." She laughed as she sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over him, "Message me after you finish work?"

"I will. Want me to come over tonight?" He leaned up and kissed her chin gently.

"You can come over whenever you want." She played with a curl of his hair and smiled.

"Sweet. I'll make sure I climb up on the balcony and sneak through." He teased as he sat up and had a hand on her thigh, his thumb rubbing back and forth.

"Such a romantic. But you might hurt yourself and I don't want that." She reached out and touched his shoulders and ran her hands down his arms.

"Yeah, I guess I can't do that then. I'll just give you a call after work and see where you are at." He nodded.

"Alright. I gotta go now. I'll see you later. Love you." She kissed his cheek, leaving red lipstick behind and headed out. She drove to her uni, parked and headed up. Her nerves kicked in and she started to stress, how the fuck was she going to do this? She knew Cillian was kind and caring but when it came to work not being handed in he was quite hard about it.

She slipped into class with everyone else and took her spot next to Julian who was grim looking.

"You good?" She asked her best friend. He had kept his messages short and brief these past few days.

"Yeah. Peachy." He said giving her a sidelong look before he resumed reading.

She nodded and kept quiet. People came in and some stopped by to tell her this:

"Hey, crazy party on Wednesday night. Thanks for the invite."

"Yo, can't believe you kicked us out! You are so fucking crazy girl!"

"Oh my god," Victoria smirked as she stood in front of her desk as the rest of the group headed to their table. "That sex party at your apartment was so good. I had such a pleasurable night. Your toys were such an abundance, you love a lot of anal though. And BDSM."

Cillian had just walked in and heard what Victoria said to Tessa and only cleared his throat. "Victoria please sit. Class will start." He said with a stern tone.

Victoria laughed and went to go sit as Tessa sat there red-faced. The whole class heard it. Julian let out a soft choke as he glanced at Tessa.

"Sex party?" He whispered.

"Not my idea nor did I approve of such shit. Esther's fault." Tessa muttered.

"Right. I have to show you something after this." He said.

Tessa only grew more stressed.

"I have already begun going through the assignments and luckily enough I've finished them. I must say I am very happy with the work you guys have produced. I'm not the one to have favourites but... I do love the details and the extensive research you all have done. Well-done." Cillian beamed from his desk. "But I do want to express my admiration to Sofia who has done an exceptional job on her report. I will send you all a copy of her work so you may have it as a reference for how you can sort out your reports or for any type of assignment that requires research and using examples and paraphrasing. I thank you all for a pleasant read." Everyone clapped for Sofia who was sticking her nose up and enjoying the attention greatly.

She gave Tessa a cold and sly smirk before her eyes returned to Cillian, all just sex and lust in her eyes.

Tessa wanted to gag and she sunk further into her chair, her heartfelt like shattering as she heard the praise Cillian gave to the stupid bitch. No way was his dislike for her had to have changed so fast, she knew he hated her and how she always came on to him so strongly even in front of everyone. It made her want to rip her eyes out.

Class continued on as per usual and she worked on her script with Julian. She learned that Julian's parents were in town and he wasn't in a good mood as they were the ones who kicked him out of their home when he came out. He was to attend his sister's graduation and had to deal a night worth of shit from his parents. Tessa offered him advice and a safe place in her apartment if he needed a friendly face. He accepted it.

When class was over and people milled around Cillian to received back their marks, Sofia waltzed over and giggled, "Happy I got a great grade? Cillian is so all over me about it. I kinda thought you would've beaten me but hey, look at that. The queen arises higher than her dirty servants." She laughed, "Also, Victoria had such a blast. The videos I've seen really makes me question whether you are a disgusting freak too. Never seen so much leather in once place and such exotic creepy looking toys. You are so fucked in the head." She whispered and left Tessa boiling in her own anger.

"Shit." Julian sat there and saw Tessa watch Sofia as if she was about to rip her head off.

"Videos?" Tessa looked at Julian.

"That is the thing I wanted to tell you about. It's all over Facebook and Instagram." He took out his phone and showed it to her especially one where Victoria and some random two girls and guys were showcasing Tessa's wardrobe and the various sex items she had. Her name wasn't mentioned but Tessa had keen-eyed friends who could pinpoint her clothing and her bedroom.

"I'm gonna fucking kill her." She knew there was no chance those videos would disappear. Forever online.

"What are you gonna do?" Julian asked as he packed up his stuff.

"Nothing. I can't do anything," She whispered as she looked up, Cillian was saying good-bye to the last few students.

"You sure? You could do something." Julian frowned.

"Yeah? Like what? There isn't anything I can do, Julian. What happened has happened." She said.

"What is going on?" Cillian had come over and heard the discussion.

"Nothing," Tessa said quickly as she shoved her stuff into her bag.

Julian pressed his lips together, "I guess I'll see you later." He said and left her alone.

"What videos, Tessa? I've been hearing whispering all class about some... Party you held." Cillian was expecting an answer and he would get one from her. He wasn't too happy with her.

"I held no such party. My roommate held one without my knowledge. House was trashed. I had to clean, throw things out and buy everything again." She pulled her bag on her shoulder. "Now I want to go. I have no time in telling you anything." She turned to go.

"Now, hold up, Tess. What is this aggression suddenly? Why are you acting like this?" Cillian grabbed her arm.

She snatched her arm back and glared at him, "Cause I'm an actor and I'll behave in whatever way I want." She bit back.

Cillian crossed his arms, "You are no such actor. You are behaving like a child and ignored my questions today."

"And Sofia is any fucking better than me?" Oh, God, she was fuming. How dare he call her a child?

"Sofia has become a very respectful girl these past few weeks with my help on aiding her. She's really outshone herself despite her many doubts." Cillian stood his ground. But he knew he wished it would've been the opposite and for Tessa to be the best than that... Skank.

Tessa scoffed and let out an emotionless laugh, "Wow... You... Wow. And I thought you were smarter than this, Cillian. Didn't think fake tits and botox pumped face was what you liked. Maybe I should do the same? Pump my lips till they're like balloons, my tits heavier than a fucking elephant and take out part of my spine so I can snap forward to expose my plastic ass? Is that what it takes you to get your attention?" Her words were spilling out without a filter and she had no way to stop them. She hated the fact that he took so much interest in Sofia and he had private lessons with her. Despite not wanting to talk to him about her life, she enjoyed his gentle spirit and kind eyes. Not once did Elijah came to mind when she had her thoughts on Cillian.

Cillian was shocked to hear those words from Tessa. He only kept his attention on Sofia because... Because he wanted to get Tessa out of his head. The beautiful girl before him enraptured him so fast all he could think was taking her over his desk. And the tight clothing she always wore... Fuck.

"No words, huh? Damn. Your standards are so low, Cillian. I don't want no more lessons with you, I don't need them." Tessa stepped back.

"We need to discuss your assignment you failed to upload. You will come to my office at four this afternoon." He pulled his brain in and go back to teacher mode.

"Yeah. Sure. Fine." She rolled her eyes and stalked out of the room, feeling so much anger she wanted to stab something. But instead, she went for the music room that the music club had owned for themselves. Anyone part of the club could come in here. She was glad no one was here and she pulled out the cello and lost herself into the music.

Cillian was heartbroken when she left. He had no explanation to her about why he took an interest in Sofia. He couldn't just tell her he wanted her in ways that could cost him his job... But fuck, he WAS doing Sofia... What made the difference? Oh, right, he fucked Sofia so he could rid the thoughts of wanting to fuck Tessa. Fuck. He needs to pull himself together and get his damn morals right. He had to end it with Sofia. No more of this stupid shit. Today he would do it when she would come to him.

It came to the end of the day and Tessa had to work herself up to walk towards the office building. She really did not want to talk to Cillian or be near him other than be in class and do her work. It was clear she failed and she didn't want to hear it again. She already got an email. She ran a hand over her throat, then down her shoulder, a thing she would do if she was nervous. She paced back and forth in the hallway.

"Just go. Listen. Agree or disagree on whatever shit he has to say." She muttered to herself, "Then leave. Easy." After a few more minutes of hyping herself up, she headed down the hall past many classrooms.

But there was a sound like a laugh or something spiked her interest. She paused and listened closely... Another sound, a female sigh followed by what was like a... Moan? But it was too soft to really pick out what it was so she slowly backtracked to a room. She stopped in front of a door and could hear the sound of shuffling clothes and another soft sound, definitely a moan. She wondered if it was just some students who wanted to have some risky sex. But no, the next words made her feel like someone shot her.

"Mm, Cillian..." The female voice was none other than Sofia.

Tessa was still as she listened further, she could hear the familiar sounds when someone was thrusting, the creak of the table, the soft grunts of a man, and the sounds of skin to skin. He was going at it and Sofia was clearly trying to hold back her moans. But some loud ones did escape.

But he couldn't... No way. No way would he let Sofia get into his pants. He hated her. Did he not? Jealously slammed into her before she could fight it back. She didn't believe Sofia would do this... She heard the pair get close to their peak and Cillian let out a soft grunt as he finished up.

"Oh... Wow... That was a good one. I like it when you take me hard. Treating me for how good I did today?" She purred.

Shuffling of clothing, "No. I was not. This will be the last time, Sofia. No more." Cillian said with a hard tone.

"Liar. You said that last time and we've fucked like ten times now. You will always come back to me, babe. You like these tits and my tight pussy. I didn't get that surgery for nothing." She huffed.

Tessa wanted to gag but she continued to listen.

"I'm being serious, Sofia. Enough of this. I don't want it anymore." Cillian came by the door and Tessa tensed but he walked away. "You need to stop."

Sofia laughed, "Yeah, yeah. Come on Cillian. I know you love it. Besides, how else will you get that other bitch out of your thoughts?"

Now Tessa was very curious.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Cillian hissed and it sounded like Sofia came close to him.

"It's so fucking obvious. You watch that little skank every time in class. You've moaned her damn name, 'Oh Tessa!' into my ear four times now. Even just then you did it." Sofia said with a low purr.

Tessa couldn't believe that no way would Cillian...

"It's a mistake. Just like we are." Cillian replied.

"Again. You lie. You want her so badly but she's got no balls to ask you for that. Only I do. I mean, I am a bit pissed you think about her instead of me, but at least I get to ride your cock. Also, you won't have her any time soon, she's got a boyfriend. So, you are stuck with me." She giggled. "So, same time tomorrow? I'll wear your favourite panties."

Tessa stepped back from the door and walked away hastily, not wanting to listen any further. Cillian wanted her? Then why was he with Sofia? Was it really true he liked his girls to be naughty? To have the balls to approach him? Sofia just said that. He was calling it quits with Sofia and Tessa hoped he would stick to his word... Maybe... Just maybe...

She shook her head. She was so not thinking right. To try and get Cillian's sole attention on her? It made her aroused. She had thoughts the moment she saw him and she had caught his gaze on her many times, saw the heat and passion. She figured his wanting for her was true. Leaning against the elevator wall she had to come to a conclusion. Should she risk it and make an attempt? Or should she just forget about it all and spend a happy life with Elijah who had shown so many good qualities towards her?

Tess waited in the foyer, standing beside the window and watched the grey sky. Cillian came up eventually and looked over, "Hey, Tess. Sorry for the delay."

She looked over but didn't reply and gave him a curt smile. He guided her to his office and she sat down as he closed the door. She crossed her leg and sat with her arms loosely crossed in her lap as she kept her eyes downward as he sat down with a soft grunt.

He let in a breath and a short sigh, "I'm glad you could come here, Tessa." He said, "I can see you don't want to do this but we must."

"Let's make it quick, hm? I have no time to sit here and be reminded of being a failure." She said as she looked up, keeping her face neutral. Though she could not get the images out of Sofia all over him.

Cillian eased back in his chair in a low slouch, one arm supporting his weight as the other flicked a pen between his fingers.

Fingers that would be inside Sofia.

Tessa only got angrier.

Cillian could see that emotion in her eyes. He wondered why was she so pent up. "Fine. Well, I can skip the whole you not posting your assignment. Can I ask why?"

"My laptop was destroyed from a sex party my roommate hosted." Tessa said without hesitation, "And before you say it, yes, I know. I'm the dumbass who didn't save a second copy or somewhere else."

Cillian was totally dumbfounded, the aggression was pouring through her words and the way she sat. But holy fuck that look on her face... He was turned on. He gritted his teeth and leaned forward, "What is wrong with you Tessa? And don't give me a bullshit response. I know something is up." He snapped back. If she wanted to be like this he would give it right back to her, fuck being her teacher now.

Tessa leaned forward too, all she could see were those lovely lips upon Sofia's, his hands roaming her body and drawing her closer, "Nothing is fucking wrong with me. I'm the most okay person on this planet. Now, tell me I've failed so I can go." She said.

"What is it with you and constantly wanting to be degraded like this?" Cillian asked, "Huh? I cannot fathom such a beautiful girl like you to be beaten down like this. You are not a failure, Tessa. I can help you with this, look I can make an exception and give you until the end of this week to do the assignment. I've spoken to the board and I truly believe you are capable of so much." His voice lowered and he was gentler on her now.

Tessa frowned and looked away, clenching and releasing her hands in her lap. Cillian knelt before her now, his expression placid, "I want to know what I did to make you act like this." Cillian slipped his hand in hers.

She bit her lip and pulled her hand back, "I thank you for giving me an extra week. I will make you proud." She stood suddenly and he stood too.

"You already do, Tess. With your weekly work and good attention during class and moderate activeness to class, the discussion is wonderful. I can't ask you to do anymore. So please, tell me what have I done? Did I do something?"

Tessa wanted to tell him how angry she was that he was doing Sofia as she glared at him, "Why do you care?" She asked instead.

"I care-" He was at a loss for words, "I-" His brows furrowed as he looked at her. "It's because-"

The words fell out of her before she could bite them back, "Because you're fucking someone else."

Cillian stepped back as if the words slapped him, "What are you talking about?"

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Whispers tell me." Of course, Sofia wasn't in all her classes but the other girls were and she had caught a whiff of it today. And the fact she saw it unfold before her in that classroom to told her as much.

He shook his head, "Rumours are dangerous Tess-"

"I saw it." She said with a dead look, her tone matching it.

"S-Saw it?" Cillian whispered, "You must be mistaken. I am not like that, Tessa."

"I like it when you take me hard," Tessa did her best impression of Sofia and Cillian seemed to lose colour to his face. "Didn't actually see it but I heard it. Walked by the classroom and heard it all." She held his gaze.

Cillian tried to recover and shot back, "And why do you care? Is this what you are mad about?"

She scrunched up her nose, "No, gross. Why would I be jealous of some fake bitch? At least I got some real shit and not some plastic crap shoved into my body." She rolled her eyes. "You do whoever you like, Cillian. You like em with some balls to them. Plastic ones, it seems." She picked up her bag, "Anyway. Not my problem." Hurt was coursing through her and all she wanted was him for herself. "I'll get the assignment done-" She was pinned against the wall beside the door and Cillian was extremely close to her face.

"It is your problem because you don't like who I fuck." He growled, his lips mere inches from hers.

"It is not, you dumbass. Why should I care? I don't own you." She bit back.

"It is. I know you want me. You think I'm blind to your gaze? I can see it right now you want me. I will admit I want you to, I don't want Sofia. I never did." His hands moved from her shoulders to her waist and he closed that gap between their bodies as their hips came together.

She felt a hard push against her crotch and bit back a moan, "Then why do you hurt me like this? Why must you fuck her?" She whispered as she gripped his arms.

"Because I-I wanted you so badly that I couldn't get you out of my head. All I could think is about you." He pressed his forehead to hers. Her heart fluttered at the words and the truth he spoke so clearly. "I used her to get you out of my head cause I did not wish to hurt you if things went wayward with us. But God... I'm an idiot. I should've... Approached you or said something. It might've ruined our relationship if you denied me but God... I should've taken that chance." He whispered intimately to her.

She was feeling all sort of things, a slam of emotions rolling through her and she leaned forward and kissed him softly. She felt his hesitation and pulled back, looking at him. "I- Forgive me-"

His lips came crashing back down on hers and they kissed hard and desperate. It was messy as teeth and tongues clashed, her fingers diving into his hair as his arms locked around her body and there was no room between them. She felt her leg being lifted and held to his waist, and she felt his driving hips into hers and the promise of something that leads to no clothing. She let out a moan as his hand came up to fondle her breast as his head dipped to her neck again and his mouth leaving a trail of heated kisses to her flushed skin. He then pulled out that mesh top and pulled it over her head and threw it aside alongside his jumper. He watched how Tessa worked to undo his tie and then unbutton his shirt.

Yes, He thought. He would finally claim her, have her perfect body under his. He chuckled when she pushed open his shirt and leaned in kissing his neck and down to his chest, her fingers brushing along his slides to the belt buckle of his pants. He let out a soft moan when she gave his nipple a teasing suck and came back to his lips.

"Like that?" She murmured and kissed him.

"Mhm." He pushed her back against the wall and saw the excitement in her eyes. "You like to be dominated?"

"I do. I'm your little pet to play with." She licked her lips as he attacked her neck again and kissed down to the neckline of the bodysuit she wore.

"My pet." He murmured with a smirk, "I like that. And what name would you call me?" He pulled down the thin shoulder straps and the neckline under her perfect breasts. They were absolutely perfect, bigger than a handful. Much bigger. But at least they were real.

Tessa loved that heated gaze on her bare chest, and she arched her back for him to really show off her assets. "Like what you see, sir?" She bit her bottom lip feeling his hands rest on her waist and slowly move up to just under her arms and move across to cover her breasts. She let out a soft moan.

"I love it." He rasped, "Love these nipple piercings. What if I did this..." He grabbed one and tugged on it.

Tessa covered her mouth and let out a soft whimper, her hips snapping forward. "Ah!"

"Ah, sensitive. Perfect." He leaned in and began to suck on one, rolling it over his tongue and teeth as he let his hand slide down the flat surface of her stomach and force its way between her jeans and her body. He felt her soaking core and her body trembled-

"Mr Murphy! I need to have a chat with you about one of the assignments you have marked. It concerns me." A woman called from the door as she knocked.

Cillian let out a soft curse, "Uhm... Okay. Give me a moment. Just with a student." He called out as he pulled his hand out-

Tessa gripped it and pushed it back in, "Touch me. Just for a quick moment." She whispered and began to rock her hips, needing to cum so badly from all the touching and kissing he gave her.

"I can't- Oh god." He mouthed and had her back against the wall and fingered her clit fast, feeling her grip on his shoulders tightened.

"Mr Murphy, how long?" The woman seemed impatient.

"One minute! Please." He replied as he pushed two fingers into Tessa, now fingering her fast and hard as her body rocked and trembled, he could feel how tight her walls were. She was so close.

"I am on a tight schedule, Mr Murphy." The woman urged just as Tessa made an 'O' face and let out soft delicate whimpers against his shoulder as she released over his hand. He stayed like that for a moment before he had to pull away. He looked at his fingers and his cock hardened before his eyes widened... He had come as well with her. He felt the wetness at his jeans and they both glanced down.

Tessa giggled and took his hand, cleaning his fingers by sucking on them and used her tongue. She stepped back and fixed her bodysuit as he shrugged on his jumper as he had no time when the door opened.

He had just thrown his shirt over the table as he made his way back to the chair to sit when the door swung opened, the female teacher glanced at the pair, "Sorry to intrude so rudely but this is of concern."

Tessa smiled as she slung her bag over her back, clutching her coat with her sparkly shirt underneath it, "That is okay. We are done here for today." She said.

"No worries. I just want to remind you of uhm... Your lipstick is... All over the place." When the woman had her eyes on Tessa, Cillian had ducked his head behind the desk to clean off his lips with a handy wet wipe he had and his neck before he sat up.

"I got some wet wipes." He offered a packet to Tessa.

"Thanks." Tessa smiled and took one, meeting his eyes and gave him a wink and mouthed, 'This isn't over yet' before she wiped her lips carefully.

"Poor girl, you didn't offer her earlier?" The woman scoffed as Tessa left them, shutting the door behind her. Once she was in the elevator, out of the Uni and in her car she sat there for a good moment. Eyes shut and just... Coming down from all of that happened in the office of her damn drama teacher. Was this just another one of her hot dreams? She reached between her legs and pulled her hand out. Wet as fuck. Not dreaming. He had made her cum for real. She licked them clean as she pulled on her sparkly top and her coat as she was cold but still felt hot in certain areas.

Cillian made her cum.

For real.

He kissed her, touched her breasts, fingered her...

Holy fuck.

She felt her phone ring and she jumped from her occupied thoughts. It was Elijah when she picked up. Fuck. And yet... She felt no guilt as she organised a movie night for tonight at her place. No guilt when she promised him an exciting night. And definitely, no guilt when she met him, kissed him and let him fuck her body when they got bored with the movie they watched in her room.

What the fuck has she gotten herself into?

#cillian murphy #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #teacher x student #fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic

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welcometoaucklandtatum-blog · 4 years

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Everything You Could Possibly Need To Know About Auckland

It’s no easy feat making a move to a new city. But never fear, we’ve rounded up a local’s guide of the best things to try, buy and eat around town so you can live your best life here in Auckland!

Food

We’re happy to report the foodie scene here in the city of sails (it’s a nickname, just go with it) is thriving. Whether you’re looking to get dumped by gyoza or the best fried chicken in town, check out the below for tried and tested local gems.

The Coup, Takapuna – Dare we say it, The Coup puts the colonel’s 11 secret herbs and spices to shame. Don’t pass up a chance to give one of their game-changing Po’ boys a try.

The Blue Breeze Inn, Ponsonby – Any Aucklander will tell you The Blue Breeze Inn is one of the best in town. Featuring a pan-Asian inspired cuisine, head here for a legendary Mai Tai (or two). While you’re at it, order a round of dumplings, pork belly bao and XO noodles. We warn you this spot is addictive!

Eden Noodle House, Mt. Eden – Speaking of dumplings, Eden Noodle House is legendary among locals for a cheap bite. Often with lines out the door, you can’t go wrong with anything on the menu – they’re that good.

Rude Boy, Freemans Bay – Offering classics done right, head here for ultra gram-worthy dishes and sprawling cabinet food that’ll make your mouth water. We recommend the mixed creamy mushrooms or if you’re on the go, a sourdough doughnut from the cabinet.

Sugar, Northcote Point – Take a day and head out to the Chelsea Sugar Factory to Sugar. Their high tea is a must for special occasions and is complimented with some of the best views in town.

Winona Forever, Parnell – Another café doing good things, the Eton Rifle French toast is not to be missed. The big breakfast plate also hits the spot.

Oh Calcutta, Parnell – Serving the best Indian in town, once you try their butter chicken and tandoori salmon, no other will compare.

De Setti Soldi, Epsom – A small but mighty family-run Italian spot offering fresh classic pasta and pizza. You’ll fall in love at first bite.

Prego, Ponsonby – Another fabulous Italian spot offering excellent Italian cuisine. Their spaghetti agioli is a must-try.

Wu & Yu, Mt. Eden – A whacky and wonderful blend of East and West, Wu and You’s menu boasts dumplings, soft shell crab tacos and a dessert menu to die for.

Garden Shed, Mt. Eden – The closest a café will come to a garden picnic, The Garden shed keeps things classic and focusing on flavour and presentation. Their burger is one of the best and not for the faint-hearted.

Giapo, CBD – You’ve never seen ice cream like this before. Prepare for your mind to be blown.

Dr. Rudis, Viaduct – To finish off those big work weeks look no further than Dr. Rudis. Featuring an in-house bowling alley, micro-brewery on-site and live music, see out the week from their rooftop.

Headquarters, CBD – Another after-work favourite, head here for a cold beer, lounge in the sun and boogie to Dad music.

Miann, Morningside – For handmade chocolate creations. BYO stretchy pants.

Lowbrow, Queens Rise CBD – Southern American foods at its finest.

Bars

Deadshot, Ponsonby – Tucked away on Ponsonby Rd, Deadshot is a table service bar where bartenders come to you and whip up a concoction based on your preferences.

Caretaker, CBD – Same as above but in Britomart underground.

The Churchill, CBD – A rooftop gin bar in the Four Seasons on Queen Street. At an international standard, head here when you’re wanting to impress.

Talulah, CBD – A tiki bar with strong neon hues and even stronger cocktails. Our advice, tell the bartender to surprise you, you won’t be disappointed.

Chapel, Ponsonby – Not a destination but a stop along the way on any big night out.

AV Club + Saturdays, CBD – A one-stop spot for when you’re in the mood for a quiet one and a boogie. Saturdays keep things mellow while AV blasts house music at its finest.

Family Bar, K Rd – A hub for the local LGBTQ+ community, head here for non-stop Britney and Beyonce all night long.

Beauty/Hair

We’ve already made the questionable choices, so you don’t have to!

Spring Spa, Ponsonby – From facials to pedicures they do it all! Pro Tip: Ask for Kushbu when booking, she’s a threading genius.

Dry & Tea, Newmarket – For when you want a little more sparkle for a night out.

Rose Quartz Hair Studio, Parnell – One of Auckland’s best kept secrets, owner Michaela’s hands are magic when it comes to hair. And her chat is great too!

Blaze, Newmarket – Masters of their craft when it comes to hair colour.

Health

Sweat up a storm at these spots.

Box Fitness Studio, Newmarket – A boxing class like you’ve never seen before!

Westward Cycle, Newmarket – A spin class by candlelight. Think of it as a dance party on your bike.

KCore Pilates, Victoria Park – Feel the burn at one of the best reformer Pilates classes in town.

Body Tech – Offer curated fitness programmes backed by research, not claims.

Morning People – Pre-work rave? Keep an eye out for weekly pre-work raves at local bar Cassette.

Shopping

Key malls to check out are Sylvia Park Shopping Centre and Westfield Newmarket. Expect to find classics including H&M, Zara, Kookai, David Jones and Decjuba.

K Rd, CBD – Head here for thrift shopping. Check out Stalgic Society, St Kevins Arcade and The Army Shop.

Ponsonby – A hub for local designers including Ruby, Lonely and Deadly Ponies. Head to Tatty’s for pre-loved designer treasures.

Things To Do

Waiheke – A hop, skip and ferry trip away, Waiheke is a wine-lovers paradise. Vineyards to checkout include Cable Bay, Casita Miro and Mudbrick.

Beaches – Classics include Mission Bay, Kohimarama, Takapuna, Piha and Red Beach.

Staycation - For when you want to get away without getting out, head to The Hotel Grand Windsor. You’ll find yourself immersed in olfactory hospitality with lush rooms, a spa on hand and flowing cocktails from Cooke’s Restaurant & Bar. Dreamy!

Day Trips – Just over an hour and a half away, locals escape to Matakana and Omaha at every chance they get. Matakana’s weekly farmers market is legendary as is Omaha’s expansive range and surf.

Night Markets – On the hunt for local up and coming foodie trends? Look no further than the Auckland Night Markets, where many of Auckland’s hotspots have started.

Rangitoto – Another short ferry trip away, you aren’t an Aucklander until you’ve done the trek up Rangitoto at least once.

Auckland War Memorial Museum – Learn all about basically anything with a stroll around the Auckland Museum.

Cornwall Park – Our answer to a central park, Cornwall makes for the perfect running route and picnic spot.

The Capitol – Level up your dating game and book a movie at The Capitol, a hidden boutique cinema that’s equal parts intimate and magical. And within walking distance of your house!

Stream – While we’re sure you’re missing Stan, we have a killer slate of streaming options. Check out Neon for the latest and greatest movies and HBO drops, Lightbox is only good for The Handmaids Tale, and TVNZ OnDemand, home to The Bachelorette, Grey’s Anatomy and is 100% free!

Creative Mornings – A free series of morning talks from local creatives and industry leaders; topics vary but you’ll only leave having learnt something new. Tickets are limited so be sure to register on creativemornings.com to be in the know!

A Guide To Speaking Kiwi

Guilty of merging and switching vowels and ending every sentence like we’re asking a question; us Kiwis sure do make it hard for newbies to fathom exactly what we’re saying.

Instead of nodding, smiling and acting like you completely understand this unique accent, find an empty room, say the following words out loud and soon enough, you’ll be convincing everyone (and yourself!) that you are a true-blue Kiwi!

Dick: A wooden platform outside a house. Usually enjoyed in the summertime.

Tin: One more than nine.

Iggs: Laid by chickens and often enjoyed with evercardo on toast.

Chups: Chips.

Fush: Found in the sea and enjoyed with chups.

Why-poo: Small seaside town.

Tiddy Beer: Your cuds favourite stuffed toy.

Cud: A young person or goat.

Beer: Large mammal often found in forests.

Beer: Not clothed or covered.

Beer: A cold beverage enjoyed in the summer.

Rung: A piece of jewellery worn on a finger.

Bug: Large/ considerable size.

Bugger That: Not going to happen

She’ll be right: That’ll do.

Bloody Nora: WTF.

Beard: Where you go to sleep.

Hid: Rests on top of your neck.

Ear: What we breathe.

Stuck: A thin piece of wood found on a tree.

Pig: Used to hang up wet washing.

Silly-brities: A famous person.

Really: Something that hardly ever happens.

Cheer: Something to sit on, often round a table.

Sucks: Comes before sivven

Have any questions? Concerns? Need a pal? Don’t be scared to reach out! 😊

You can catch me on [email protected] or 02102837039

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cope-to-anime · 5 years

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Soft Kuroshitsuji Asks

R!Ciel: What’s a memory you would never forget ?

O!Ciel: What’s your favorite sweet thing ?

Sebastian: What is your favorite time of day ?

Vincent: Do you like chilly weather or a sunny weather more ?

Undertaker: What memory would you want to relive ?

Madam Red: What color do you associate yourself with ?

Rachel: What would you rather do: lay down in a field or pick flowers ?

Finnian: What would a perfect day be like ?

Bart: What was the first thing you learned to cook ?

Meyrin: What would be the first quote you’d write in your journal ?

Snake: What do you do when you hang out with friends ?

Tanaka: Which do you prefer: the stars or the sea?

Agni: Name 3 dishes you would like to try

Soma: If you could have any superpower, what would it be ?

Elizabeth: What is your favorite fairytale ?

Edward: Name 3 of your favorite songs

Bravat: Do you believe in magic ?

Alois: If you were reborn, what would you want your name to be ?

Claude: What’s your ideal house like ?

Hannah: What hair color would you want to have ?

Luca: What toy did you have as a kid that you really loved ?

The Triplets: Name 3 or your favorite things

Grell: What picks you up when you get down ?

William: What have you currently been working on ?

Ronald: If you could play any sport, what would it be ?

Othello: What word describes you best ?

Sieglinde: What are you most curious about?

Wolfram: What is your favorite film ?

Lau: What drink would you order in a cafe ?

Charles Grey: What pet would you like to have ?

Charles Phipps: What kind of plant would you want to keep ?

Queen Victoria: Where would you want to travel ?

Yana: What is your favorite historical event ?

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animal25 · 1 year

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What You Need to Know Before Getting a Pekingese

The Pekingese is a member of the toy group, ranging in height from six to nine elevations and in weight from six pounds for the smallest to 14 pounds( 3 to 6 kilograms) at the heaviest.

Pekingese are long-bodied, low tykes with branches kindly bowed. The body is sturdy despite its small size, and the figure contributes to a” rolling” gait.

The crowning glory of the Pekingese is the gushing fleece. The hair hangs long and straight, immaculately with a harsh texture and abundant soft hair.

plenitude of borderline hair is on the cognizance, tail, and branches. All colors are respectable; a black mask, black outlining to the eyes, and black on the cognizance are desirable.

Origin: Beijing (China)

Height: 6 to 9 inches

Weight: 8 to 14 pounds (6.5 kg)

Lifespan: 12–14 years

Litter size: 2 to 4 puppies

Breed Size: Small (0–25 lbs.)

Color: Black, Grey, Red, Blue, Cream, White, Fawn Gold/Yellow, Brown/Chocolate/Liver

Breed Characteristics

The Pekingese, a compact toy companion of regal bearing and a distinctive rolling gait, is one of several types created for the ruling classes of ancient China.

These are sophisticated tykes of undying fidelity and numerous subtle delights. Pekingese are compact, heavyset toy tykes importing up to 14 pounds.

The fleece is longest at the neck and shoulders, giving Pekes their notorious’ captain’s mane.’ Coats come in colorful reds, from golden red to darker tones.

The large, short-muzzled head is a wider-than-long’ envelope-shaped cube, and the eyes are large, dark, and sparkly. A unique point of Pekes is their royal’ rolling’ gait.

Pekes are fascinating, confident companions who develop a tight bond with their favorite human. Bred to live in palaces, they can be as serenely independent as the emperors who possessed them.

The History of the Pekingese Dog

mo re details:https://animalatoz.com/pekingese/

#https://animalatoz.com/pekingese/

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animala2z · 1 year

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Persian Cat Breed Personality, Price, Image, Kittens Special Food

The Persian is the most popular pedigree cat in North America, if not in the world. He first came into vogue during the purist period, but he was also far ahead. However, writes about their early history. Persian comes in two types show and traditional.

The Show Persian has a rough trim, short cognates, a flat nose, large round bobby eyes, a broad, short body with heavy boning over short tree-box legs, and a thick, flowing premium of a tail. Traditional Persian, also known as doll face, does not have the extreme features of the Persian show, and his nose is of a normal length, giving him a melodious expression.

Both types have a ball of long, glamorous wool that comes in many colors and patterns, and both share the same formidable personality.

The sweet, tender face of a Persian turns to the people he loves in the same way that a pansy turns its face to the sun. He communicates with his suggestive eyes and his soft, sweet voice. The Persian is the epitome of a staged cat, with a peaceful and fearless personality.

It’s hung, but it’s also dégagé and quirky. He’s not a mama or a rambler, but a chairman or a cute disguise in the chesterfield or playing with a favorite feather toy.

Breed History

Persian cats are one of the oldest cat types and can be traced back to the 1600s. While there are question marks about where they came from, they are believed to have originated in Mesopotamia, later called Persia, in what is now ultramodern day Iran. They are said to have been smuggled from Persia by European explorers in the 17th century.

Over time, this Middle Eastern cat has been a favorite of royals, including Queen Victoria, and has literal numbers similar to Florence Nightingale. He has also made appearances on the big screen, for example as the beloved companion of James Bond’s archenemy Blofeld, and as Mr. Bigglesworth in Austin Powers pictures.

However, to furious effect, Parm apparently lost his hair and was played by a Sphynx cat for the remainder of the story.

Temperament and Personality

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juiceboxandcrackers · 6 years

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Last night at The Estuary

I assume that every location has their own little groups where you can meet and greet and explore ALL OF THE BDSM THINGS... That being said, our area has two active groups. Through The Looking Glass (we haven’t been) and The Estuary. We discovered them on Fetlife and check out the actual location about a month ago. The people were so welcoming and they don’t seem to fuck around. There are rules. There are safeguards.

Last night was the second time there and even though we had a rocky start to the evening because of some stupid shit I did... it was a head first dive into open play. Open play at The Estuary means you can create a scene using any of the equipment and tools available to explore your kinks. They have a Saint Andrew’s cross, a queening chair (I think?), this massive metal wheel you can be tied to, a spanking bench, and hooks and things to be suspended from.

Side note: There are some talented shibari rope play folks in this group.

I prepped the hell out of myself for it because Daddy told me he was putting me on display. Shaved all of the things, spent a little more time on hair and makeup because it calms me and its almost ritualistic for me. I have to sit there and think about WHY I am doing it and all the eyes that will be on me. My anxiety was twitching. Daddy requested that my nipples be seen but since I need support and don’t want to feel completely naked, I got to wear this pretty quarter shelf bra that I got from Lane Bryant yeeeaaaars ago and never had a reason to wear it. Support AND the nipples are free for sensation play. Winning. I wore crotchless panties because Daddy also wanted me to wear the tail he bought me... for more sensation play.. we will get to that. Threw on some thigh highs, a cute skater dress, and some five-inch stilettos... BAM.. Livvie was PREPARED.

I have a playlist in my Apple Music titled “TIE LIVVIE TO THE BED” which was used for our scene. I need to add more stuff to it, but what was played was perfect for our first scene.

Note: Crazy Train is not actually on the list. It was just a song I introduced to the nugget earlier today.

We opened the scene with Until We Go Down.

Daddy had me stand in front of the Saint Andrews Cross as he knelt down and slowly removed my shoes and as he came up lifted and removed my dress. I don’t think I looked away from him from that moment on. You see... The Estuary has this dungeon room of sorts (where our scene was) and sort of above it is a viewing area where other members can quietly and respectfully watch whatever is going down in the dungeon. So basically I am being cuffed and chained facing forward in little to nothing. Just focus on Daddy. Don’t look at the peoples. I watched Daddy like a hawk until I couldn’t. Cuffed to a cross, he teasingly put hair clips on my nipples, stuck a ballgag in my mouth and then ....blindfolded me. Oh. My. Fuck. That is the most terrifying and freeing feeling in the whole goddamn world. Vulnerable is not a strong enough word.

Daddy is crafty with sensation play. One of the tools he used on me last night was a basic dental cleaning tool that your dentist uses on you.

The feeling you have when it is drug across the skin is similar to having a knife tip graze your skin.... just smaller. It leaves these fun little lines all over the skin. I hope for knife play next time though.

Please, Daddy?

Betcha he says, “Yes, Babygirl.” Betcha!

He ran that thing all over ever inch of visible skin on my body... my favorite areas for this tool are my sides. It hurts and tickles at the same time. I love that fucking sensation so much.

He used Blue, his 42-falls blue suede flogger in various levels impact on my skin. I will introduce you to Blue in another tumblr post. I am being lazy and not wanting to get off the couch until this is complete to go take a picture of Blue. I love Blue. It is my favorite toy ever. Daddy knows how to make it feel good... like a friggin massage... and also hurt like the hand of God lighting your ass up. But it never leaves a mark. We love that. Aside from the tiny scratches from the dental tool that will be gone by tomorrow, we are not fond of bruising and damage to the skin. Daddy takes great care in preventing that. He is the bestest. Besides... as a burlesque dancer, I do not need to be shaking my ass on stage looking like I got in a fight.

He used Mr. Pinky (vibe) on my clamped nipples before removing them, unhooking me from the cross and turning me around to cuff me back to it. Here is where shit gets real.

We have made friends with a lovely couple at The Estuary that go by Dragon and his little Cherry (she is this adorable pixie-like creature). Dragon let Daddy borrow a reed type impact toy to try on me. I protested a couple times before I was on the cross, but honestly... I knew I deserved what was coming to me after the aforementioned bullshit earlier in the evening. I wish I had snapped a picture of the thing to post here because me trying to describe it verbally is pointless.

All I can really say at this point is that it got my fucking attention. Little taps with it are actually quite nice... but when Daddy puts a little power behind it (doesn’t take much) it stings like hellfire. I am undecided if *I* like it, but I know Daddy loved it. I think he likes the noises that escape my mouth when he gets me with it.

There was a point when I was facing the wall where Daddy removed the gag...

“Let me hear you...” he said in my ear.

I am thankful for that. The ballgag we have is a little ... big and it is hard to hear anything when I am wearing it. And left in too long and I feel like I have lockjaw or something. I hope we can find one similar, but smaller because I actually do love being gagged.

But back to the commands whispered in the ear... fuuuuuuck that gets me all kinds of wet. Maybe its not even the commands really... just the dominant voice Daddy has that I have apparently been obsessed with and turned on by since we were kids. Daddy voice is a real thing and it is heaven.

The scene ended before I realized it and I wanted more... but I was already in subspace to the point of almost incoherent communication.

I don’t know who brought me the super soft blanket to wrap up in but it felt like microfiber heaven on my stinging back and ass. Cuddles in the Aftercare Room were nice and next time I am bringing my favorite koala in case Daddy needs to leave the room.

Quiet cuddles in a dark room after that scene were necessary. That was one of the most intense experiences of my life. Daddy called me his little exhibitionist. I think it is too soon to call me that. Haha. I mean... I don’t hate it, but I am still not quite sure I could do it without the blindfold to make me forget where I am.

We shall see.

I have no doubt there will be more scenes in the future. I am excited to see where things go.

We went to breakfast with Abracadabra and his sub, Blue. That was honestly the best way to end the night... breakfast at 5 a.m. with new kink friends. They are such nice folks. After my second time being around everyone, I am not even sure why I was scared to begin with.

Now... to get Daddy on the cross under Goddess Victoria. Muahahahahaha. 😈

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