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#i’ve never taken one of my long forks or straws away from the house and the only place i eat is the living room
chuuphic · 3 years
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one of my forks is missing....roommate you devil
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Take It Out On Me
Happy Smutty Saturday! I seem to like writing things revolving around the pandemic lmaoo I'm sorry, I don't want to make that a habit. This is escapism, after all. Anyways, request from god knows how long ago about angry fucking with our fav gremlin boi
Pairing: Merriell Shelton / Reader (Female)
Warnings: 18+. There's some angst, some words exchanged in anger but nothing too crazy. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls don't be dumb) Rough sex, dirty talking, hints of BDSM if you squint, praise kink if you squint.
Word Count: 3K
Tag List: @edteche2 @xmxisxforxmaybe @diasimar @txmel @gloriousdarkangelsworld @paradoxicaltornado @404-not-found-xix
Enjoy!
When the pandemic started, things weren’t so bad. Your job allowed you to simply work from your laptop, you had turned the second bedroom/storage room into a makeshift office and it worked just fine. Merriell, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He had been laid off, and, at first, was incredibly stressed about it. Thankfully though, you made enough money to cover the rent and the government came through with some financial aid that helped Mer pay for the bills. You’d be okay.
In fact, once the financial stresses were taken care of, it was actually kind of nice. You two hadn’t lived together long, but long enough that you had noticed your schedule differences and long enough to know you had missed each other. Gone were the late nights at the shop that left you lonely and missing his touch. Quite the contrary, during the first few months, you had fucked like rabbits. He had taken you in every room of the house like you were christening the damn thing all over again. The kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, hell, he even had you in your ‘office’ at one point. It was fun, being together all the time.
Until it wasn’t.
Eventually, being cooped up in the same goddamn space all the damn time got to both of you. And you loved him dearly but god he was so fucking annoying sometimes. Usually, you could avoid creating tension either by slinking away to your office for a bit or politely asking him to take a walk. But the office door had been a lost cause ever since he fucked you up against it so hard it came right off its hinges and it was raining outside, so he couldn’t leave. You were stuck.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, but the little things that usually didn’t matter had gone unchecked and undiscussed and were beginning to bite at your skin in a way you couldn’t ignore. For you, it had started when you went to the bathroom in the morning, only to discover he had left the toilet seat up and you fell right through. For him it had started when you unconsciously kicked him awake at 6 in the morning on a Saturday. And from there it spiraled. By the time you were ready for coffee, he had drunk the whole pot.
“Thanks for leaving me some.” you had grumbled, and maybe you meant it in good fun, but your sleepy attitude struck a chord, and you knew that because it was met with silence.
So maybe that’s why you didn’t ask him if he wanted some of the eggs you were making for breakfast. And maybe that’s why he decided the be extra loud when he finally made his own breakfast. Pots and pans clanging as he threw them in the sinks, cupboard doors slamming shut and using his fork just a little too violently in a way that set your whole being on edge.
By the end of the day, you had snapped at each other a few times and the tension was so thick that you could barely stand just being next to him. You hated that you were feeling this way, that these stupid lockdowns were driving you away from each other when all you wanted was the opposite. But you couldn’t let go of your anger and annoyance, and it bled through your veins, poisoning any conflict resolution that threatened to act as an antidote to your frustrations.
The last straw came at dinner. He had asked you what you wanted to eat and just the question had you gritting your teeth. So you had replied, telling him that he could make whatever he wanted. That, apparently, was the wrong answer.
“Jesus fucking christ,” he snarled, slamming his hand down onto the kitchen island, “Can you please jus' tell me what the fuck you want?!”
You had done nothing more than glance his way and roll your eyes, not getting a chance to respond before he was launching into a tangent.
“Seriously, what the fuck do ya think I am? Some kinda mind reader?” He asks, one hand gesturing wildly while the other keeps the counter in a white-knuckled grip, “Ya been in this fuckin’ mood all goddamn day and Darlin, I gotta say, ‘m fuckin’ sick of it.”
You bark out a sharp, bitter laugh, “Oh, you’re sick of it?” You stand up from the couch, walking behind it so you can get closer to him, “Like you haven’t been intentionally pissing me off all fucking day.”
His jaw pushes out in annoyance, both hands now gripping the countertop, “I promise you,” and you gotta give the guy credit for trying to regain some composure, “whateva’ I did to make you this goddamn bitchy was not intentional.”
“Oh, so I’m a bitch now?” You counter, folding your arms over your chest.
His eyes close and his chin tucks into his chest, recognizing his mistake but unwilling to apologize for it, “That’s not what I meant.”
“No, no, it’s fine. Tell me.” you insist, stepping closer to him, “Tell me what a bitch I’ve been. Blame all your problems on me. Because that’s just easier, isn’t it?”
It’s not true. You know. He knows it. But right now, all you can focus on is the anger that’s been boiling in the pit of your stomach.
“Y’know what? Maybe this-” he cuts himself off, but his quick gesture between the two of you finishes the rest of his sentence for him. Silence fills the kitchen and now there’s salt added to the wound. Hurt swirls with your anger and you can’t stop yourself from talking even if you tried.
“No, say it.” you encourage bitterly, crossing the line into the kitchen, “Tell me how moving in together was a mistake. Tell me how you can’t fucking stand living with me. Tell me how I’m so bitchy and how sick you are of my shit. Tell me-”
Before you can finish antagonizing him, he’s got you pushed up against the wall, his hands braced on either side of your head. He’s so close to you, you can feel his breath, angry and panting on your skin. You look into his eyes, seeing them hard and cold with his anger but something else lying behind them.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, and before you can even begin to be angry about it his lips are on yours and you can’t breathe.
His anger is very apparent, even as he kisses you. It’s rough, bruising, but it’s an outlet for all the negative feelings you’ve been experiencing so you kiss him back just as hard. You reach for him, unsure if you’re working to pull him closer and push him away. It doesn’t really matter though because he doesn’t let you touch him for long. Within seconds both your wrists are taken in one hand and pinned above your head. You fight against his hold, despite knowing it’s futile. In retaliation you bite down hard on his lip, feeling only a little satisfied when he pulls away in shock, his free hand coming up to check for blood. There's not.
You meet his eyes with a defiant smirk. He wants to play dirty? Fine. You can play that way too.
He steps away and for a second you think he’s actually going to walk away. But then-
“Get your ass to the bedroom.”
You almost laugh. If he thinks you’re, in any way, going to be compliant tonight, he’s sadly mistaken. Instead, you cross your arms, falling back to lean against the wall, your eyes never leaving his. He chuckles, an angry smirk crossing his features. He looks away, shaking his head, tongue poking against the side of his cheek in complete disbelief. Before you can think of your next move he’s got you thrown over his shoulder, marching the both of you down the hallway to your shared bedroom. You squirm, trying to push yourself to an angle that would let you fight his grip but it’s no use. By the time you work his hold free, he’s already dropping you on the bed. Although dropping may not be the right word, he all but slams you down, leaving you momentarily breathless.
Even then, he moves quickly. His hands move to his belt, quickly working the clasp back and off so he can slide his jeans off. Despite your anger, you feel heat pool between your legs when the fabric drops to reveal bare skin. It’s nothing new for Merriell, but it never fails to do something to you. He knows it too, a cocky smile gracing his face as he sheds his shirt too. He only lets you look for a second before he’s quickly flipping you onto your stomach. He forces you up onto your knees, hand finding the back of your neck to keep you where he wants you as he climbs onto the mattress behind you.
You put up a bit of a fight, although you’re becoming less and less focused on your anger and frustration and more focused on the feeling on his cock pressing against the back of your jean-clad thigh.
“Always seem to forget how fucking stubborn you are.” He growls into your ear, pressing himself against the line of you body while his free hand starts to unbutton and work off your pants, “Hard headed and difficult.” he continues, biting roughly on your earlobe just to here your intake of breathe and to feel you struggle against his hold, “A fucking brat.” He punctuates the last words by tugging both your jeans and panties down around your thighs roughly. You hiss at the forcefulness of the action, feeling the burn of the fabric against your skin contrasting with cool air against your bare pussy.
You’re completely at his mercy.
His presence is dominating, even though you can’t see him, his hands, one pressing on your neck to keep you still and the other caressing the swell of your ass, let you know exactly who's in charge. You don’t struggle, both of you knowing how much you want him, but you still hold an air of defiance. Your face is turned so you can breathe, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. He tries to draw you out, teasing you by dragging his cock against your wetness. He alternates between taking the tip and rubbing it between your folds and fucking the space between your thighs. He knows what it does to you, can see the way you fight the urge to beg by pressing your lips together.
But you don’t fold.
“C’mon baby,” he taunts, venom laced in his words, “I know you want it.” As he talks the hand on your neck slides up into your hair, “Know you want that attitude fucked outta ya,” He tugs your hair roughly, pulling a gasp from your lips and forcing you to look back at him, “All ya gotta do is ask.”
You breathe heavily for a second, eyes locked with his, “Go fuck yourself.”
He growls, shoving your head back down into the mattress and thrusting into you roughly. Your back arches, eyes rolling back in your head as he begins to fuck you, not allowing you even a second to catch your breath. The second he sees bliss cross your features, he’s insufferable.
He laughs against a moan, “Feisty,” he comments, “but the second my dick’s in ya, you’re putty in my hands.”
You’re desperate to prove him wrong. You force your eyes open, locking them with his and pushing back against his thrusts, the headboard already banging against the wall with the force of both your movements.
“Feel’s good doesn’t it?” He asks, free hand coming down on your ass with a sharp smack.
“I’ve had better.” Your voice bounces with each thrust, but you’re determined to keep your composure, despite the pleasure that makes your toes curl.
Another growl rumbles through his chest and he lays another harsh smack to your rear, just to see your body react, “Liar,” he hisses, fingers digging into your skin.
His angle changes ever so slightly so that his cock now drags against your sweet spot with every movement and you can’t force your moan back. His eyes light up, laughing delightedly at the sound, “Had betta’ my ass.” he comments, leaning down to bite roughly on your shoulder, effectively leaving marks all across them, “Ya jus’ can’t help ya’self. You love it. Love the feeling of my cock in you.”
“Who says I’m thinking of you?” You shoot back.
You know it’s not true. Merriell was unlike any lover you had before, you were hopelessly and utterly ruined for anyone else. But that didn’t matter. The comment, however untruthful, hits his possessive streak just like you knew it would. He pulls out of you, flipping you onto your back and nearly ripping the remaining fabric off your body before resuming his brutal pace, this time using your wrists on either side of your head to hold you down. In this position he can ensure that you’re looking at him, leaving no doubt in either of your minds that it’s him that makes you feel like this. Only him.
“Such a fucking brat,” he growls, leaving bite marks all along your skin. By the time you’re done, there won’t be a part of your body that’s not marked by him.
He stops talking for a second, focusing instead on giving you the fucking of your life. He’d never fucked you like this. He’d been possessive, sweet, caring, loving, jealous. But never angry. Not like this. Every ounce of frustration and anger he’d felt was redirected to his hips, the air tense with the hurtful words you’d both said earlier.
“C’mon,” you taunt when he slows for a second, lips turned up in a sneer even as you pant, breathless, “That all you got?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, hoisting your legs up onto his shoulders, releasing your hands so he can move one to your throat, pressing you into the bed that way instead. It’s hard for you to breathe that way, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it. And if you thought he was fucking you hard before, it’s nothing compared to the way he’s fucking you now.
The new angle allows him to trust deeper into you and your stubborn resolve begins to fade a little. Your hands scramble to latch onto his forearm that holds you down, not trying to push him away but just searching for purchase, for support somewhere you’ve always found it. He’s not faring much better, head rolling back onto his shoulders with a groan as he fucks you. You’re both quickly abandoning your anger in favor of the pleasure that you provide each other.
“Merriell,” you mewl, a peace offering without even realizing it.
His head snaps back to look down at you, eyes sparkling at the sound of your name on his lips for the first time tonight, “There she is,” he pants, leaning down to kiss you, open-mouthed and filthy. It’s still harsh, but the anger behind his motions is nearly gone, “My good girl, huh?”
You don’t even need to nod, to voice your confirmation. It’s not even really a question. You both know you’d come to an unspoken agreement.
“Fuck, baby girl.” he moans against your mouth, slowing his trusts just enough so he can really make you feel the drag of his cock inside you, “Oh, you feel so good.”
You love it when he gets like this. When all he can do is fuck into you and voice his pleasure. It’s a sure sign of surrender.
“Yes,” you gasp, back arching up against his as you feel your pleasure begin to reach its peak, “Merriell, I’m close.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, nodding in agreement, “C’mon, baby I gotcha. Let go for me.”
Your eyes lock with his the second you feel yourself slip over the edge. You see the way his eyes watch you, full of love that he had hidden behind his anger earlier. Your nails dig into his arm and your eyes roll back, unable to help yourself as pleasure courses through your whole body. You think that maybe you're shaking, but you’re completely detached from your conscious, knowing only the bliss he’s brought you.
Your senses come back to you just in time to feel him finish inside of you. His head buries into your neck, muffling his moans against your skin. The hand that had previously held you down now cups the back of your neck, the other gripping the back of your thigh with a grip so tight, you’re sure you’ll wear his fingerprints for a week.
He collapses against you, staying buried in your heat but pulling back enough so he can kiss you passionately. You kiss him back, hands tangling in his hair as your emotions begin to rise. When he pulls back your eyes are wet with unshed tears.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, rubbing your noses together.
He nods, rubbing your noses together affectionately, “Me too,” he says, just as quiet, “Don’t leave.”
It’s a rare moment of sheer vulnerability, much needed after the heightened tensions throughout the past few days. You both knew, on some levels that the words shared earlier were spoken only out of frustration. But there was always that glimmer of doubt that you both felt. For him, it was always that you could find someone better. And for you, it was always the possibility of him growing sick of you.
You shake your head, kissing his softly, lovingly, “Never.”
After a few more moments of holding each other, he pulls out of you but doesn't move much further. He pulls you tight against his chest, kissing the top of your forehead. You bask in the silence for a handful of moments, just listening to each other breathe, finally feeling the tension between the two of you dissipate.
“Next time, can you just please put the seat down?” You murmur against his chest, a teasing tone to your voice.
He barks out a laugh and you grin against his skin at the sound.
Everything was going to be okay.
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babayagakeanu · 3 years
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How Will I Know? -part two
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Pairing: Jethro Gibbs/reader
Summary: In which the reader finds out that Gibbs is in fact, in love with her too
Warnings: smut, NSFW 18+, oral receiving(female)
It’s been three weeks since your discussion with Gibbs, and he’s been giving you the silent treatment all those 21 days. It was agony, and you felt so small whenever you were near him. His hard gaze towards you made you overthink and regret ever opening up to him like that, and it made it even harder to do your job with Abby. Forensics was hard enough, Gibbs made it even harder when he kept entering the office every hour. 
“Abs! What do ya got?” He says, entering your shared office in a swift motion. You watch the two as they interact, Abby sharing the details of the prints you two had found on the Vic’s jacket. 
“Great job, Abs. Y/n, I expect you to do the same.” Your blood boils at Gibbs’ remark, but you swallow your pride and continue to work on finding DNA matches. Abby looks over to you and grimaces. “He didn’t take it well, did he?” He didn’t at all, you think, acted like a big baby about it. 
You sigh, looking down at your sample and face her. “No he didn’t. He’s been giving me harder tasks and giving me the silent treatment for almost a month.” You swivel in your chair before getting up to continue your rant. “Abby, I thought  Gibbs and I were close. He opened up to me about more than he’s ever opened up to any of you guys, no offense.” 
“None taken!” She responds. “Maybe he’s processing it, giving it some time to swish around in his little noggin. If it gets to a point where you can’t take it anymore, talk to him, y/n. You deserve closure, at the least.” She hugs you, patting you on the crown of your head before getting back to work. The work day proceeds the same, catching the suspect before the two day period runs out. 
———-
It was midnight when you guys had finished, and you and Gibbs were the only ones left at your desks. It’s been hell working in silence; usually you two would find something to talk about, maybe you would ask him about his boat or he would ask you about your latest puzzle. Either way, it was awkward and uncomfortable. 
“Gibbs?” You ask, the waver in your voice instantly detectable. 
He doesn’t look up from his paperwork. “Yes, y/L/n?” He hasn’t said called you by your last name since you were a probie, and that was the last straw.
You shift in your seat, “I think it’s about high time you give me an explanation!” His head snaps up, a glare already storming in his steely blue eyes. “I’ve been honest with you on how I felt about you. Was it the perfect time and place? No. But I don’t regret it. The only thing that I regret about this is letting you leave without telling me the truth.” He’s silent for a moment, trying to call your bluff; only to be found with tears in your eyes and the devastation wreaking havoc on the color of them.
It’s not long until he gets up, reaching to your desk in a few long strides. You can feel your heart hammering in you chest, and the nervousness ate at the pit of your stomach.
“Jethro, are you-?” He yanks you up with one hand, not too rough, but enough to pull you flat to his chest , the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. You smell him; sawdust and bourbon. Smoky with just a hint of manliness.
“I have tried incredibly hard to keep my distance from you because all I want to do is kiss you.” You knew Gibbs wasn’t one for words but even the simplest of sentences behold the deepest meanings. You looked into his eyes, memorizing the image of yourself reflecting back at you, hoping that you will be for his eyes only now on.
“Then kiss me,” you say, craning your neck for him as he dips into your mouth, growling at the taste of your lips against his. His hands travel further, cupping both of your ass cheeks and pressing you into him. You gasp into his mouth, scratching at the base of Jethro’s neck.
“Jethro, please I-“ You whine, backing up into your computer desk, careful of knocking down the computer. “What do you need, babygirl?” You could feel the corner of something digging into your back but you didn’t care. 
“I want you. All of you.” You say, against his lips that were still currently attacking yours.Your hands found their way under his shirt, feeling the warmth and rigidness of his muscled back. His lips leaves yours, dragging a whine out of you from the loss of contact. 
“Meet me at my place, tomorrow evening. Dinner’s on me, you bring the bourbon.” He leaves you a sweet kiss, another following on the corner of your mouth. You pack up and are about to leave when he stops you. “By the way, you were never just a friend to me.”
You sigh, grinning up at him. “You sure you don’t want to come to my place? I can think of a few ways to prove myself to you. Well, more or less, show you.” He smirks, chuckling before playing with the strap of your bra, peeking out from underneath your short sleeve top. 
“Well, as much as I believe you can show me, I also believe in the art of suspense and surprise. So, tomorrow at eight.” 
——————————————————————————————————
The time to go over Gibbs’ place tonight was almost upon you, the hour hand reaching 6:30. You were in the shower, currently listening to every power-up song there was, and scrubbing your skin until it was red. Once you knew that you’ve been in the shower for way too long, you stepped out, wrapping a fluffy towel around you and hurried to your bedroom to pick out your outfit. You didn’t want to dress up to much, knowing that Jethro would most likely be wearing a button up t-shirt and jeans. You settled on a tight black shirt, paired with simple blue jeans. You had opted to curl your hair, letting it fall into loose waves and for your makeup, simple but with a bold red lip. It was 7:30 by the time you were done getting ready, so you packed up the bottle of wine and headed to his his house.
The phone rang a few times before he picked up. “Yeah, Gibbs.” 
“You still answer your phone like that with your significant others?” You say, smiling as you turn down his street. 
“Who said you were my girlfriend?” He asks, the joking evident in the way he chuckles at the end. 
“Well, what I’m wearing under my clothes and the way you kissed me last night said otherwise.” You park your car in his driveway. “Now open up Marine or I’m leavin’.” The phone call ends and the door opens, revealing Jethro, who actually looked like sex on legs. He donned a jean button up, and cargo pants. 
“Wow.” Is all he says, watching as your chest gleamed under the light of his kitchen. “Wow, yourself.” You respond, leaning in to kiss his jaw. “You looking like that makes me wanna skip dinner and get to the fun stuff.” He smiles, looking down at your smirking face. “Well, if you keep talkin’ like that, I might end up being hungry for somethin’ else.” He leads you to the kitchen were he made an excellent dinner of steak, potatoes, and some veggies. 
“Why did I known you were a meat and potatoes kind of guy?” You quip, watching as he smirks at you before cutting into his steak. 
“I’m a simple man, y/n. I know what I like.” You knew that his last sentence has a double entendres, and it makes the corners of your mouth quirk up a bit. 
“I don’t doubt that you do.” You say, and the two of you eat your dinner in a comfortable manner, it felt natural, like you knew that fate had brought you together, but you wouldn’t tell him that, not yet. You still had the fear of losing him, of him pushing you away like he did with his ex-wives, and you didn’t want to ever be referred to as Jethro’s ex-wife. 
“Something on your mind?” He asks, cutting through the silence and shaking you out of your head. 
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just thinking.” You shrug, forking more veggies into your mouth. 
“Nothing is always something. What are you thinking about?” he puts his fork down and rest his elbows on the table, folding his hands. You sigh, putting your fork down.
“It’s gonna sound embarrassing if I tell you.” 
“No, it won’t.”
“Well,” you begin, the fear in your throat rising. “You know how I feel about you, and I’m just thinking about why I took this job in the first place. I love forensics and working with Abs is just one of the many perks of the job.”
He laughs, “ She is a character.” 
“But, I think the biggest perk there was, is you.” You look up at him, and find him walking up to your chair, and lifting you up from it. “Yeah, I think I’d agree too.” His hands ghost up your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His lips find your neck, leaving wet, hot kisses causing you to moan softly and grab his biceps in an attempt to stable yourself. 
“Jethro...” you mumble, watching as he stares down at you with his steely blue eyes, looking at how the icy blue ring deepens with lust. His lips are on yours in a flash, and something tells you he couldn’t handle not kissing you for long. You match his pace, a kiss full of gnashing teeth and hot breath. Your hands reach up to wrap around his neck. “God, you taste so good, J.” You feel his shit-eating grin on your lips before you pull away.
You grab the bottle of wine and two glasses. “Meet me upstairs in ten minutes.” You wink at him before walking off upstairs, not without adding an extra sway to your hips. 
———————-
The Marine had finished cleaning up dinner in record time, and you had finished putting lotion all over your body, brushing your teeth, and positioned yourself in just your panties on his bed; they were lace, of course. It was when you heard Jethro coming up the stairs that the excitement starts eating at the pit of your stomach. You’re sipping on your third glass of wine when he opens the door and stops in his tracks when he sees you.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He states, his eyebrows raised with a smirk. “you’re looking real pretty right about now.” He can tell your nipples are perked, and are in desperate need of attention. “Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth open, come put it to good use, mister.” He smirks, his hands in his pockets as the tightness in his pants grew, he felt it as he was walking towards you. Shoving his socks and shoes off, he climbs on the bed, taking your wine glass and sipping it with once again, a smirk. Setting your wine glass on the bedside table, he envelops your lips in a fiery kiss, licking into your mouth and tasting the Cabernet on your tongue. His hands find your hips, squeezing as he breaks contact with your lips. He sits up as you climb into his lap, your arms ghosting over his broad shoulders meanwhile grinding into his bulge. 
“I love you,” you remind him, watching as his lips turn into this wide smile, as if the heavens opened up to him, and that would be alright because he could die a happy man right about now. 
“I love you, too.” He kisses you, and maybe you were just in a daze but you felt every emotion in his kiss. As if he was telling you something without actually telling you. His lips trail further down your collarbone, sending chills through your spine and when he reaches your taut nipples, it causes you to let out a high-pitched gasp. His tongue swirls around your teased bud, nipping it a little.
“For years, I’ve dreamt of knowing what was under these clothes of yours, and you know what? My imagination is nowhere close to the real thing.” He lays you down, watching as your hair cascades against his pillow. “I’m gonna show you what it’s like to be with a man, sweetheart.” You giggle at him, but it’s suppressed once he dives into your pussy. Licking and sucking at the small bundle of nerves you know most men can’t find. 
“Oh, Jethro!” You gasp, hands tangling themselves into his short silver locks. “Just like that... just like that” you mumble, his fingers working your tight hole, hot, wet, and tight. You were nearing your release when he releases his fingers and mouth, coming back up to kiss you before shedding off the rest of his clothes. “Wha-” he smirks down at you, before tugging at his cock, entering you  in a swift motion. Your gasp was swallowed by another kiss, but he didn’t move, allowing you to adjust to his larger size. Once you tap his shoulder, he moves, slowly but gradually picking up pace once he hears your tiny whimpers and mewls.
“So fucking tight,” he adds, his sharp and heavy thrusts causing your breasts to bounce, and his large hand moved from the pillow by your head to capture your breast. You left out a high-pitched moan as his thrust sends you into overdrive, nails scraping at his shoulders while you moan out his name like a mantra.
“Good girl,” he moans, getting close to his end as well. His thrusts start to sloppy and with a guttural groan, he comes, spilling his hot seed inside you.
——————————————————-
Your fingers were trailing his face, committing his looks to memory, as if one day you’d wake up and he wouldn’t be there. You’re figuring he’s doing the same since he’s looking at you like you’re the only one in the world who’s made him feel so strongly about someone. There were no need for words, because everything has already been said.
———————————————————————-
Taglist: @minninugget @bandgeek88
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artificialqueens · 3 years
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A Road to Somewhere, Chapter 1 (Adore Delaska) - Puppy
A/N: So, I’ve been wanting to write a Spirited Away AU for some time, so here we are. Spirited Away is my favorite Studio Ghibli film (plus the first one I ever saw) and I thought it would work in this setting.
I would like to thank @thackeryisatop and @chaoticnachokitten for helping me beta. Also thanks to @chaoticnachokitten for helping me with final casting.
I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this first chapter.
Chapter 1
Spanish Translations for Chapter 1:
“Ojalá que sobrevivan” - “I hope they survive”
“Puedo abrir la ventana?” - Can I open the window?
“Mierda” - “shit”
“Mija” - “my daughter”
~~
The jolts of the car startled her out of possibly one of the best naps she’d ever taken. Besides, it was the snake dream again, so it wasn’t anything new. Adore blinked herself awake and stared out the window and directly into the sun. It was so bright that she could barely see a thing. She couldn’t tell if they had left California or not, and she didn’t want to ask her mother if they were there yet. That kind of shit doesn’t fly now that she was a thirteen year old girl, practically an adult in her perspective. From the likes of it, it seemed that they had driven for 5 hours, yet the drive didn’t feel like it was getting any shorter.
Her phone was nearly dead and her mom had the charger at the moment, so there wasn’t any use trying to get some more juice on it. No one wanted to look at her updates on the trip. Heck, even Ganja was probably too busy with Gia and couldn’t be bothered with their own things to pay attention to her. They’ve probably been to San Francisco before; it wasn’t anything new. In the meantime, she just stared at the bouquet of flowers Laganja was thoughtful enough to buy.
“I’ll miss you, Adore. Until we meet again.” The messages on the card read with Laganja’s signature following it.
She appreciated the sentiment. She really did, but it seemed to her that they could’ve done more than just carnations. She was almost surprised that the flowers had survived this long considering the heat. The whirring of the engines and the occasional voice from the GPS kept her from napping any longer. “Moooom?” Adore groggily maneuvered herself within earshot of the woman driving the car.
“We have about an hour left. I think you can handle it. Now get back in the back, Dory.”
She sighed and sulked in her original spot. “I really don’t see why now was a good time to move. Azusa was, like, the bomb.”
“Me neither, but think on the bright side. There won’t be as many knife fights and we might get a cat at the new house. And your cousin says the middle school is great. You’d fit in well, I hear.”
“But Ganja won’t be there…” She whined, leaning back a little farther and scaring herself with the crinkling of plastic. “FUCK!”
“Watch your language.”
She whined. “SHIT! They’re all sad now.”
Bonnie glanced in the rearview mirror at her daughter and a newly crumpled bouquet of flowers. “Maybe you shouldn’t have smothered them.”
“Someone finally sends me flowers, and it’s for this. Great. They’re probably gonna die before we even get there.” Adore never doubted the California heat; that was an apt excuse for her pessimism, right? On top of everything else that had happened today, her gift wilting away into nothingness would be a perfect ending to this already hellish day.
“Ojalá que sobrevivan. We’ll put them in water as soon as we can.”
“Ma? ¿Puedo abrir la ventana?”
“Sure,” Bonnie responded. “Hold onto the card,” she shouted over the sounds of the wind blasting into the small car, “You don’t wanna lose it!” Her daughter took that word to heart and shoved the note in her jean shorts’ pocket. They’d be at the new house sooner than later if she took another nap, but it felt like something out there was keeping her awake.
It must have been that same force that subtly influenced Bonnie to avoid the GPS and swerve into a wrong turn, thrusting the seat belt-less Adore to the other side of the car. Thankfully, she was unharmed.
Bonnie cursed in Spanish before slowing down her drive. “I must’ve missed the turn. Mierda. On the bright side, I think there’s a rest stop up ahead so you can stretch your legs or do whatever it is you need to.”
“What’s with all those rocks? They look like houses.” Adore poked her head out of the window to get a better view, her Ariel red hair whipping behind her.
“Never mind. At least we made it.” Her mother parked the car and stepped out. The more the two looked around, the less it seemed like a normal rest stop. There weren’t any park benches or vending machines; hell, there weren’t any other people besides them. It was simply the Delanos, the forest, the road, and the structure ahead of them. “Ah… now I got it. This probably used to be some tourist trap in the early eighties.”
“Why’d people stopped coming?” Adore wondered as she observed the framework of the building. Maybe it’s the fact it’s in the middle of the fucking woods, Adore. She blinked as a voice in the back of her head answered her rhetorical question. “Y’know what? Screw it, I’m going in!”
Bonnie grabbed her hand, halting her daughter in the process of rushing through the entrance. “No you’re not.”
“Come on, I just wanna look at it. Only for a few minutes!” The redhead whined as she wiggled her hand out of her mother’s grasp. “I’ll be, like, right there and back…”
“I’m… gonna call the movers. Tell them we’re gonna be late and-” Before she could finish her sentence, Adore ran into the tunnel. “Let’s hope they have a key.”
The teen stopped and looked behind her. She could barely see her mother on the phone as she was washed out by a pool of light. The tunnel felt longer than she expected, as she never fully felt like she reached the middle. A breeze blew behind her, urging her to go forward. It may have been strong enough to blow her over, but it felt gentle in places too. If Adore was to fall, the wind would probably catch her and set her on her way. She scoffed and went on her way, faster as the wind pushed her.
This place wasn’t like any other tourist trap that she had encountered before. It was mostly a field with a small collection of buildings far off in the distance. From what Adore could see of the buildings, they were foreign in nature - Japanese, probably considering California’s history. An old straw hut struggled to stay upright at the wind, decorated with dandelion seeds from a far off field. The cobblestone she was standing on eventually gave way to a dirt path towards the infrastructure. A clock tower stood on top of the structure behind her: dormant, yet imposing. A little farther down the path, there was a collection of rocks. Bonnie shortly caught up to her and they both took in the view.
“Damn… we should’ve brought a picnic.” Adore muttered off-handedly. As if on cue, a savory smell wafted through the air.
“Come to think of it, I am starving. Let’s see if there’s something up ahead.” The two women went on their way down the path and towards the little uphill town. “They were probably going to put a river there,” Her mother pointed to the rocks, “Would’ve been neat.”
Adore followed suit, becoming more aware of the noise of the footsteps. The more she traveled down that path, the less she wanted to stay. The less she felt wanted. However, she hadn’t eaten in a couple of hours so it was worth it. She had enough energy to hop up the stairs without tripping.
When they entered the town, it was mostly deserted. There were definitely sounds of action and evidence that people had been there before. Occasional piles of bones stacked on top of plates from previous customers and some orange peels had been scattered around the ground. “Are any of these still open? It’d be a dick move to come in, like, fifteen minutes before they close.” Adore wondered aloud before, as if by magic, the two arrived at a buffet. There were a few catches though. From what they could see, there was no one at the kitchen or at the cashier’s. “Maybe they’re on a break?” she continued, but her mother ignored her.
“Mija, you’ve got to try this!” Bonnie shoved a forkful towards her daughter, who stepped away
“I don’t think I oughta. Also… vegetarian, remember?.” Her mother ignored her as she scarfed down whatever was in front of her. Adore didn’t care how good it looked, she didn’t want to eat it.
“This is the only time we’re gonna have anything of quality before we get to the house. Come on, you’ve gotta have something… When was the last time we ate? Breakfast?”
“Yes, but isn’t this, like, kinda stealing? There’s nowhere that specifically says ‘all-you-can-eat’!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Bonnie said with a mouthful of chicken, “I’ve got credit cards and cash. I’ll pay when someone gets back.”
Adore just scoffed and wandered off while her mother engorged herself with whatever was in front of her. They were going to be here for a while, so she’d might as well get a feel for the place. She glanced at the empty shops as she walked, hoping that another one that was more her speed was open and manned properly; however, she had no money so she was basically screwed. The redhead trudged her way up another flight of stairs towards a sign. She couldn’t quite make out what it said, but it didn’t really matter. She turned to her left and gasped, noticing a building she hadn’t seen before.
“Wha?” Adore blinked to see if she was seeing it correctly. It looked like a traditional bathhouse. There was some steam or smoke coming from a chimney-stack, so there had to be some people inhabiting this ghost town. “That’s strange…” she pondered. If so, why weren’t they out and about? What was so great about the saunas that everything else needed to be neglected? She grabbed a ponytail holder and put her hair up into a messy updo and approached the bathhouse.
As soon as she was about halfway across, she was startled by a sudden rumbling of the bridge and a crossing train, or at least the sound of it. “I… guess there’s a station nearby.” She talked to herself before speed-walking to the other side to see it cross. She hopped up onto a railing and leaned forward to get a better look. The farther the train was out of sight, the more cautious she was becoming. It was as if someone, or something, was watching her every move the moment she came to the bridge. When Adore stepped down from the railing, her suspicions were confirmed.
A girl who looked about her age (perhaps a little older) stared at her, gasping as Adore made eye contact with her. It was as if she had run into an old friend. She had blonde hair that went to her mid-back and was slightly taller than her with a fairer complexion than her. There was something definitely odd about the lady, but she couldn’t quite place it. The two stared at each other for a bit as the sun began to sit behind them. There was something familiar about her, but too familiar. There was no time to focus on formalities though.
“You shouldn’t be here, you know,” The blonde charged towards Adore.
“Wait what? Why?”
“No time to explain. It’s getting dark.” She increasingly grew more panicked, pushing Adore farther and farther down the bridge. “You should leave. NOW.” It was nearly too late for words now. The sun was setting faster by the second and lamps began to light behind them. She collected herself for a moment and whispered in Adore’s ear, “I’m sorry, but I have to do this. I’ll distract them so you can get away faster. The woman then pushed her towards the last stretch of the bridge at the edge of the staircase.
Adore looked back at the woman. She couldn’t quite understand what she was doing, but she noticed something come from the other girl’s hands. They looked like flower petals… or scales, perhaps. She wasn’t close enough to fully determine the material. “Bitch didn’t have to push me though…” she mumbled to herself before running off to find her mother again.
She called her as loud and as frequently as she could. Her voice could’ve given out at any moment without hesitation. Thankfully, the redhead was able to determine her location; it seemed like anyone could hear the sounds of her chewing no matter where they were. “Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma!” She tugged on her mother’s arm, but she didn’t budge, “We gotta go! We gotta go! It’s getting dark! I don’t wanna be here anymore! I’m-” Before she could apologize any more, she witnessed the hand she was holding turn into a cloven hoof. The face that then faced her wasn’t human. Adore stared at her mother’s bovine features as she stepped back. “Mom…” She remained frozen in place as the pig that sat in her mother’s face continued to gobble at whatever was in front of her.
There was something grotesque about her mother being treated like that. A frog-like spirit appeared from behind the counter and beat the pig with a flyswatter as if she was some common pest. Adore covered her ears as she heard the pleading squeals from the sow that used to be her mother. She jumped when Bonnie eventually fell down. There was nothing she could have done at this point. Many more spirits surrounded Adore, signalling the human to run for her life. She had clearly seen enough in one day.
The girl remembered her path the best that she could. She spotted the clock tower in the distance; she knew the exit was closer than she thought. Adore ran down the steps, nearly tripping over her own feet. She could have been seriously injured if not for the body of water that caught her. For a split second, she wished she could have sunk to the bottom of the makeshift lake, or at least she’d become a mermaid and swim to safety. Alas, she couldn’t swim that fast and she couldn’t even drive yet. She was simply stuck.
She came face to face with an oncoming riverboat. For all she knew, it could have been manned by ghosts as well. She was able to make out a few figures at it reared closer to shore. It was almost like Noah’s Ark in a sense that the inhabitants were mostly animal spirits. They were conversing; she could overhear bits of small talk. It was like they couldn’t even notice the sopping wet human off in the distance.
Adore crouched down and curled herself into a ball. This had to be a dream, right? She hoped she was still in the car drooling over her shirt and covered in the petals from Laganja’s wilting flowers. She and her human mother would be at the house by now, and she’d get around to settling in her room with a phone at full charge. She rocked back and forth with her head in her hand. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! Wake up, goddammit!” Adore slapped herself. “Just go away…” She muttered after calming down. She realized soon enough how poor of a word choice that was.
As she attempted to shield her eyes from the boat’s lights, it was all in vain. She could see the boat through her hand. In time, the boat docked and the animals disembarked while continuing their conversations. As soon as they touched the land, something strange happened. They transformed into more humanoid states. Some of the spirits still had hints of their true forms though. There were ones with beaks and webbed fingers; some still had their original ears and tails as well.
Adore quickly backed away into a corner, hoping to not be noticed. Although it wasn’t like she was going to due to her current state. She crawled up a hill when she was fully out of the procession’s line of sight. When she went to a haven of safety, she crawled back into a ball. All she felt like doing more than anything was to fully disappear into the nothingness that surrounded her. She was taken out of her daze by someone tapping on her shoulder. Adore jumped slightly and turned towards the touch; it was the girl again.
“Don’t worry. I’m trying to help here.” She shoved a berry towards Adore’s lips. “Please. Eat this. You need to eat something from this world in order to stay in this world.”
“Aren’t you gonna apologize for fucking pushing me?” Adore tried to push her back in retaliation, but it was no use. She had simply passed through.
“Alright, I might have been a bit harsh. Are you going to eat this or not? I promise it won’t turn you into a pig.”
The redhead opened her mouth, letting the berry fall into her mouth. She chewed as her face twisted, reacting to the taste. It was a little tart for her taste and not very filling, but if she needed to eat to save her life, then so be it. Her shoulders dropped, becoming less tense. She didn’t know why, but she felt so much calmer around this stranger.
“There we go,” The blonde held her hand and squeezed it lightly, “You’re here. You’re alive. You’re okay.” Her touch felt strange to Adore. Her hands were rough, but not calloused. It was as if they were covered in something other than skin. Scales perhaps? She was cautious enough not to rub the wrong way.
“I’m okay,” she parroted back at the woman.
“You see? Now, come with me.”
“Wait!” Adore yanked the standing girl’s arm, bringing her back down to eye-level. The blonde sat down and listened attentively. “What about my mom? She didn’t really turn into a pig, right?” She asked as if she didn’t see her transform in front of her. Hopefully, this was merely a trick of the eye or her brain was making her see things from fatigue. It had already been a long enough day; the last thing she wanted to do was cry.
“You’ll get to see her soon enough, but not right now.” She put a hand on her shoulder, but quickly stopped herself. There was danger lurking around and she could sense it. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, pulling the human into her and shielding her body from the force that followed her. “Don’t move.” Adore couldn’t help but stare upward.
There was a large black bird, no bigger than a vulture, circling the area. The strangest thing about it was the head. Instead of a beak and feathers, it was a shrunken human head. She couldn’t quite make out what or who the head was supposed to resemble, but the face didn’t seem happy. After a few more swoops, she clung to the person, enjoying her protective nature and the touches.
“I think we’re good. Let’s go.” The woman attempted to bring the young human to her feet, but couldn’t. It was like her legs refused to move.
“Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no…” Adore hyperventilated, but was quickly shushed.
“Calm down. Take a breath. Can you do that for me?” Adore nodded her head while the mysterious woman smiled. “Lemme… do this real quick. In the name of the waters and earth beneath me, unbind this girl from the land.” Her hands glowed a radiant white and Adore stood up, as if by magic.
“That thing is probably after you. We have to get you out. Now.” Before she could properly thank her rescuer, the magical woman gripped her palm and started to run.
And off they went.
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sevensstories · 4 years
Text
I Thought I Knew You Chapter 3: Day 1
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters: Angel Dust, Alastor, Charlie, Vaggie, Husker, Niffty, Cherri Bomb, Fat Nuggetz Ships: Radiodust slowburn Updates: Maybe every Thursday depending on my schedule Warnings: Alcohol mention, drug mention, mature content, mature language
Chapter 1: House Arrest Chapter 2: Contraband  Chapter 3: Day 1 You Are Here Chapter 4: Day 2
Read it on AO3, or just read under the cut!
Angel Dust once again found himself in the dining hall, glaring at the demon sitting across from him. He drummed his fingers against the tabletop as he studied that ever-present smile. He knew it was Alastor who raided his room. He knew it. But what the hell could he do about it?
He couldn’t confront him, that would be admitting he had the stuff in the first place. The last thing he needed was Charlie finding out. Even if he confronted Alastor in private, more than likely that would lead to a very dead Angel Dust. If he could help it, he really preferred staying alive. Or, well, undead. He would consider retaliation, but he didn’t need other things he owned being taken because they were deemed a “bad influence”, or whatever else Alastor came up with to make his life more miserable than it already was. Knowing him, he would somehow make up an excuse to take Fat Nuggetz, and Angel Dust didn’t think he’d be able to cope with that one. So, short answer, he couldn’t do a damn thing.
God fucking damn it.
“Is everything okay, Angel Dust?”
The concern in Charlie’s tone snapped Angel Dust from his thoughts. He glanced up, met with a worried expression. He sighed and straightened up, setting his fork down on his plate. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just not hungry.”
Angel Dust didn’t miss the way Alastor’s smile widened just a notch and his eyes narrowed. “Oh but, Angel Dust, you’ve hardly touched your breakfast! Did you have a… rough night?”
Angel Dust felt fury bubble up in his stomach. Of course, of course the cheeky bastard would openly taunt him, because Alastor was well aware that there wasn’t a damn thing Angel Dust could do about it. However, after a second’s pause, a slow, easy smirk replaced his glare. Or was there? Angel Dust leaned his elbows against the table and rested his chin in his hands, making sure his chest was extra fluffed and in full view. His voice came as a low purr, his eyes half-lidded in a way he knew made other demons just melt. “Sure did, sugar. What, did’ya feel me thinkin’ ‘bout ya?”
Oh, how the tables turned. Alastors sadistic grin quickly faded, replaced with a nervous smile. “I, aehm… p-pardon?”
“You heard me, baby,” Angel practically moaned, shimmying his shoulders a bit and batting his eyelashes. “I mean, if you’re curious, you can always join me, I’d be happy to have the company.”
“I-I don’t, um…” There it was, damn it was too easy sometimes. One suggestive comment and that tough guy act just crumbled away. Whatever Alastor came up with as retaliation later, this was more than worth it.
“Angel Dust!” His attention snapped to Vaggie, who did not look happy with his little display. Her arms were crossed and she had a glare like she was trying to burn holes through his forehead. 
Knowing Vaggie and how much she disliked Angel Dust, she probably was.
“You really have to do this here?” She snapped. “Some of us are trying to eat, you know.”
“Yeah, and some of us are trying to get eaten,” Angel Dust retorted. Remembering Alastor’s rumored cannibalistic tendencies, he thought better of his comment and shot a wink towards Alastor. “In the fun way, I mean.”
It would seem as if that was Alastor’s last straw. He stood abruptly, almost knocking his chair backwards. His voice was filled with static and had a slightly panicked tone that was music to Angel Dust’s ears. “Would you look at the time! I have a… thing to do. Yes, a thing! Goodbye.” He was gone before anyone could stop him, not that anyone wanted to try.
“Wow, that’s gotta be his weakest excuse yet,” Angel Dust mused, examining the claws on one of his hands. “I think I’m actually getting better at this, and I didn’t even think that was possible.”
“You’re supposed to be becoming a better person,” Vaggie grumbled, standing and picking up her plate. “I’ve lost my appetite.
“Hey, two for one! Look at me go,” Angel dust grinned, clearly way to proud of himself. Even Charlie gave a somewhat exasperated sigh. 
“Angel Dust, I know you’re upset about being under house arrest, but do you really have to retaliate?” Angel Dust chose to ignore the soft pang of guilt he felt at the disappointment in Charlie’s tone.
“Who said I was retaliating?” He huffed, crossing his arms and slouching back in his chair. “Gotta entertain myself somehow, considering I’m not even allowed to go outside.”
Charlie frowned, studying Angel Dust for a moment before speaking. “I know this isn’t going to be easy, but it really is for your own good. We wouldn’t be doing it if we didn’t think it would honestly help in your redemption.”
Angel Dust almost couldn’t help the eye roll, because of course that’s what she would say. “Yeah, well maybe I don’t want to be redeemed. Didj’a ever think of that?”
“Of course you do,” Angel Dust didn’t miss the nervousness that tainter her smile. “I mean, why else would you be at the hotel? You volunteered, remember? To get better?”
“Oh gee, I don’t know.” Angel Dust stood, not bothering to pick up his untouched plate. “Maybe because this place is free? I needed a place to stay before the extermination hit, this is a place to stay that don’t charge rent. It ain’t rocket science, toots.” “I know you don’t mean that!” Charlie’s hopeful smile and the optimism in her tone were infuriating. “You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t some part of you that didn’t want to get better, and that’s exactly what we’ll help you achieve!” 
“Yeah, sure, whatever you say. I’m going to my room.” Angel Dust didn’t give her a chance to respond before he walked off in a huff.  Who did she think she was? As if he’d ever actually fall for her little redemption scam. There was no way even she believed that bullshit. But, hey, who was he to tell her how to live her life. He made his way back to his room. If nothing else he could just snuggle with Fat Nuggetz, the only one in this whole damn hotel who wasn’t royally getting on his nerves right now. It wasn’t until his hand rested on the doorknob that he heard the radio static. 
That god damn radio static.
“Fuck off, smiles.” He didn’t even turn to face the demon that he knew had to be standing right behind him, creepy ass motherfucker. 
“I’m just checking on you,” Alastor purred, clearly recovered from earlier. Damn that was fast. “I mean, that is my job now, after all.”
“Oh bullshit,” Angel Dust pushed his door open and walked inside. Nuggetz perked up with his return, and shrank back when he spotted Alastor. “You’re just enjoying making my life as fucked as possible and we both know it.”
Alastor hesitated before venturing inside behind Angel Dust, glancing around the now familiar room. “Nonsense, my dear! I’m simply doing what any good, ah, caretaker would do and checking in on my ward.”
“You’re not a caretaker, you’re a warden.” Angel Dust flopped over on his bed, resting his upper arms over his eyes. “Don’t try to sugarcoat what this is.”
“Oh, I would never.” Alastor’s grin widened a notch.
Angel Dust peeked out from under his arms, irritation and bitterness leaving a sour tang in his mouth. “You just let yourself right on in now, huh?”
“You could say that.” Alastor absentmindedly spun his microphone in place. “You could say I’ve already acquainted myself with your quarters.”
Oh this brazen bitch. Angel Dust didn’t exactly expect Alastor to hide it, but this was ballsy as hell. “Oh, so you admit it then?”
“Admit what? You’ll have to be more specific.” Alastor’s eyes wandered back over to Angel Dust, clearly enjoying this little game he was playing.
“You know very well what!” Angel Dust sat up with a glare. “I get takin’ the drugs and booze, whatever, it sucks but I can deal with it. But the toys?! That shit’s personal!”
“You mean the items you were in no way permitted to have?” His grin widened, once again taking on a sadistic tone. “Why, Angel Dust, I’m only doing the work I’ve been assigned. Don’t you know, you’ll never be redeemed if you’re allowed to keep such… belongings.”
“Oh, what, so you can’t even say ‘sex toys’?” Angel Dust snorted, not missing the way those words made Alastor bristle. “We both know you don’t give two shits about redemption, especially my redemption, so save the act for Charlie.”
“Regardless of my feelings about redemption, yours or otherwise, I’ve been given a job to do.” The smirk Alastor was sporting was all the more infuriating. Oh what Angel Dust wouldn’t give to punch those oversized teeth right out of his mouth. 
“You don’t care about your ‘job’,” Angel Dust made air quotations with his fingers to emphasize his point, “you just wanna make my life miserable. Well, you know what, pal? I’m already in hell, so do your worst. I don’t got nothin’ ta lose.”
“Oh, we’ll see about that.” Alastor’s sinister tone sent shudders down Angel Dust’s spine, and he found himself rethinking his little challenge. Maybe that wasn’t such a great idea after all.
However, he was nothing if not stubborn. “I guess we will,” he huffed, crossing both sets of arms. “But I’ll say this. I betcha you’re gonna get sick of this little charade ya got goin’ long before ya get me ta give up.”
Alastor perked in interest. “Oh? Is that so?”
“Yeah, it is.” Angel Dust shifted uncomfortably, but he held his ground. He knew this was a bad idea, but damn it he was pissed and he had poor impulse control.
Alastor considered a moment, studying Angel Dust with an intensity he wasn’t used to. It took everything he had to stay still and not show Alastor how much he was doubting his own words. Far too long of a pause passed before Alastor spoke again, his demeanor far too relaxed and his grin much too sharp. “Well, then, in that case, how about a wager?”
Angel cocked a brow. “What kinda wager?”
Alastor took a step closer, leaning forward so he was closer to eye level with Angel Dust. “Oh just the kind where, if I win, you leave this little establishment. You go home, to your filthy studio, and you never come back. The kind where if I win, when I win, and I so much as see you again, I’ll be sure to see to it that ‘Angel Dust’ is never heard from again.”
Angel Dust felt his heart stop for a moment. Leave the hotel? He was here for a reason, and it wasn’t exactly by choice. He doubted he would actually be able to stay in the studio after what he had pulled, and even if he could Valentino was sure to make his life far worse than Alastor ever could. The thought alone made him sick to his stomach. On the other hand…
He was no stranger to deals, and he could get this to work in his favor.
Angel Dust put on a cocky grin to match Alastor’s, masking his own doubts. “Ya know what? You’re on, baby. But what do I get if I win?”
Alastor paused and drew back, considering. “Hm. I suppose I hadn’t thought of that, not that it will matter in the end. What is it that you’d want?”
Angel Dust considered a moment. What did he want? This was a big opportunity here, he didn’t want to waste it on a laugh. There were plenty of things that he could ask of Alastor, plenty of things that would make him squirm and be oh so satisfying to watch, but nothing that would benefit him in the long run. His mis-matched eyes widened when something came to mind. No, scratch that, there was one thing he could ask for. One thing that would solve all of his problems, if he could just hold out for the next month. 
He looked up at Alastor, newfound determination igniting his features. “Buy my contract from Valentino.”
Alastor visibly faltered, his eyes widening in shock. “...pardon?”
Okay, this was good. He threw Alastor off his rhythm, this could work. “You heard me. If I win, when I win, I want you to buy my contract.” He mimicked Alastor’s words in a faux display of confidence he prayed Alastor couldn’t see through. 
Alastor blinked away his shock and his wide grin masked anything else he may have felt. “Oh, is that all? Well that’s easy enough! Not that it will matter, you won’t be winning this little bet of ours.” Alastor offered his hand, a green glow emanating from his palm. A blast of air shot past them both from the sheer force of his power, and Angel Dust felt uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach like a rock. Alastor, on the other hand, looked nothing but confident. Excited, even, like a predator primed to go in for the kill. Like he knew he had won. “So, do we have a deal?”
This was a bad idea.
Angel Dust hesitated just a moment before taking the hand and giving it a firm shake. “Deal.”
A burning sensation traveled from their conjoined hands up his arm, all the way to the side of his neck where it stuck like a pin. Angel Dust couldn’t help his wince, and he didn’t miss the way Alastor’s grin darkened.
This was a really, really bad idea.
And in an instant it was over. Angel Dust was left standing at a loss, whereas Alastor was already making his way to the door. “Wonderful! Just wonderful, pleasure doing business with you my good fellow! Now that that’s settled, I must be on my way.” Alastor opened the door and stepped through, offering Angel Dust one final glance that made his fur stand on end. “Until next time!” And with that, Alastor disappeared into the hallway. 
Angel Dust just stood there, trying to process what had just happened. How much of a mistake was this going to be? What were his chances of even winning? He had never gone through withdrawal before, but he was sure it was going to be a bitch. Could he really hold out for an entire month?
Then again, when his thoughts drifted to what Valentino would do to him if he ever dared to go crawling back to the studio, he realized he didn’t have much of a choice.
He was stuck with this deal, whether he liked it or not.
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strawberriestyles · 5 years
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Chapter 1: First Impressions
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(Banner made by the savior herself @tiostyles)
Harry X OFC (AU)
In which Blue, a perpetual wanderer, finds herself drawn to the mystery of Wolver Valley, and to a certain motorcycle-riding mechanic named Harry.
Read previous part here.
Author’s note: WELCOME TO WOLVER VALLEY. I hope y’all get the same vibe as I do from this place and these characters. Please like, reblog, and LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. Enjoy. Xx
Thank you to my lovely betas: @biteharrysthigh // @lilacobscure // @metinthehallway // @belle-ofthe-sea // @nofoookingway // @lyllibug // @justsaying20
Blue traveled back into town, balancing on the edge of the curb all the way. She hadn’t been in Wolver Valley for more than an hour before she’d seen everything Main Street had to offer: an old-school movie theater, some little boutiques, a diner, a florist, a bookstore, a record shop, a tattoo parlor, and something that looked suspiciously like a strip joint. Not even a cafe.
Deciding that she’d lugged her bag around for long enough, and finding that her strawberries were diminishing at an alarming rate, she made her way to the next block, where she’d caught sight of the Red Roof sign. She checked herself into a room, threw her duffel on the double bed, and stuck the rest of her fruit in the mini fridge. She left before she’d even noticed the pattern on the wallpaper.
As Harry said, The Five and Jive really was just around the corner. A little brick structure with a pot-holed parking lot and dying neon signs lighting up the front windows. Even at six in the evening, it was loud. Music and shouting filtered out through a wood-framed screen door.
Blue pushed her way inside and glanced around. A couple of pool tables, both of which were crowded around. Scratched up booths and a rather empty bar top. Blue swung herself up onto a stool and checked her pockets for cash.
“Oh, new face,” said a woman who appeared on the opposite side of the counter, bronze skin and full lips and cheerful dark eyes. “How exciting."
“Are you Leya?”
The woman looked taken aback. She raised an eyebrow as she leaned backward, toward the lines of bottles arranged on the glowing shelves behind her. “Who’s been talking about me?”
“Harry says hi.”
A wide, white smile spread over Leya’s face. “Well, in that case, first drink’s on the house. What’ll you have?”
“Vodka tonic,” Blue ordered. “You serve fries?”
“Wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said a man, passing behind Leya and laying a hand on her hip as he worked his way to the end of the bar. “Jack likes to add so much salt, you’ll dry your tongue right out.”
“Actually, he’s right,” said Leya. “Onion rings are probably a better option, if you like those.”
Blue sighed. “I guess I’ll take an order, then.”
“Zayn?” Leya cued.
Zayn sipped a glass of water that he’d pulled out from beneath the bar and rolled his eyes before making his way back around her and into the kitchen. Leya returned her attention to Blue and began mixing up her drink.
“So, what’s your name? Where are you from?”
“Blue. And I’m not really from anywhere.”
“Blue. Like the color?”
She nodded shortly. If she was going to have to keep introducing herself to these strangers, she might just stay in her motel room for the rest of her time here. She’d only done it twice so far and she was already finding it tiresome.
“Not from anywhere?” Leya reached beneath the bar and stuck a lime wedge on the rim of Blue’s glass, pushing it across the counter toward her. “You’ve gotta be from somewhere. You didn’t just appear.”
“I was born in California.”
“Oh. Cali girl, huh?”
“Not really,” Blue deadpanned, sipping from the little yellow straw that Leya had stuck in her glass.
“Mysterious, then.”
“You’re not from around here either,” Blue commented, noticing the way that Leya framed her syllables.
“No,” Leya agreed with a short nod. “Jamaica."
Blue glanced around the bar, at the older men tucked away in a corner, dressed all in black and brown leather. There were a few kids who certainly weren’t of drinking age practicing shots at the pool table closest to her, and another of their friends messing with the old jukebox against the far wall. The girl stepped back to the pool table when she’d made a decision and the twang of a country blues song sounded through the room.
“So,” Blue began, spinning back around on her stool, "who would I have to talk to about getting a job here? Just for about a week or so.”
“You have experience bartending?” Leya asked, just as Zayn returned with a basket full of greasy onion rings. He set them down in front of Blue and looked between her and Leya.
“You’re hiring her?” he asked. “Some stranger? What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Her name is Blue,” Leya told him with an irritated look. “And I will hire whoever I’d like.”
Zayn scoffed. “It took me two weeks to convince you to hire me, and we’ve known each other since second grade.”
“Because we’ve known each other since second grade, Zayn. And you’ve been a pain in my ass ever since.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn muttered. He leaned in and pressed a rough kiss to her cheek and then flitted off down the bar to serve another customer.
Blue watched him leave and then raised a brow at Leya. “I should be talking to you, then? Do I have to sleep with you to get a job, too?”
Leya let out a chiming laugh. “Wouldn’t hurt,” she said. “This is my uncle's place. You never answered my question. Do you have experience?”
“I have experience drinking,” Blue offered, sipping at her vodka tonic again. “But I’m a quick learner.”
Leya took a deep breath, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Could be interesting. Where are you staying? Red Roof?”
Blue nodded.
“I’m guessing you don’t have a resume or something for me, huh?”
“No, ma’am.”
A large group of men burst through the screen door. Middle-aged, dads probably, wearing cut-off t-shirts with numbers on the back. Leya tipped her head to them. “All right. I’ve gotta get back to work, Blue. How about you come back tomorrow evening. It’s pretty slow on Sundays. We’ll get you a little training.”
“Sounds like a plan, boss,” Blue responded.
***
The strip-joint-looking place really was a strip joint. Blue knew when she walked past it for a second time, when the blazing sun was beginning to fall at the end of the valley, and a wide-set bouncer newly positioned at the entrance hit her with “You looking for a job, honey?”
“If only you’d asked me a few hours ago,” Blue responded, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and continuing on down the street.
She poked her head into a couple of boutiques. In one she bought herself a new pair of sunglasses, just before the store was about to close, to replace the ones whose frames she’d bent just a few days ago. She slid them into her hair on the top of her head as she stepped back out onto the sidewalk. The sun still wasn’t down, but it was falling, and somehow she was already growing hungry again. Probably because she never finished her onion rings.
Blue trailed up the strip to the neon-lit diner that read “Shelly’s.” She stepped through the door to find it filled with teenagers. Some on dates, some groups crowded into booths too small for the lot of them. There were only two tables left. Blue picked the one closest and threw herself down into the chair facing the windows. She drew out the notebook and pen that were tucked inside her leather jacket—all of which she’d collected from her motel room after she left The Five and Jive.
“What can I get you?”
Blue glanced up to find a waitress standing over her. She had big eyes framed by dark glasses, black, sharp bangs, and bright red lips that she licked at when she had Blue’s attention.
“Do you guys happen to have blueberry pie?”
The waitress—Ava, her name tag read—glanced toward the counter across the room and squinted her eyes. “I think we might just have one slice left. À la mode?”
“No, just the pie, please. Oh, and a black coffee.”
“Sure thing."
Blue opened up the faux leather cover of her notebook as she was left alone again and began to flip through the used pages until she found a blank one. Then she removed the cap of her pen with her teeth and scribbled, in fluid black ink, the date at the top left of the paper: Saturday, July 27, 2019.
She’d only jotted a few words down before Ava returned with a plate of warmed pie. The waitress set a mug on the table, beside the plate, and filled it from a pot of what Blue hoped was fresh coffee.
“Enjoy,” Ava said, withdrawing to fill more emptying mugs at the other tables.
Blue forked a bite of pie into her mouth and studied the diner’s floor as she chewed. The tiles were all different colors, arranged in patterns at some points and completely randomized at others, probably replaced and patched in countless times since this place opened. The pie was mediocre, just like The Five and Jive’s onion rings.
She blew over the lip of her mug, hoping to cool her steaming coffee just enough to take a short sip. The liquid still scalded the tip of her tongue. She teethed the spot, already growing sore, as she began to recount the day’s events, the people she’d met, the words that had been spoken.
Blue thought that perhaps Ava would stick out to her. A pretty, red-lipped waitress, the only person who hadn’t asked for her name all day, the one she’d spoken to most recently. Or even Leya, who was to be her new boss. And she did journal about both of them, along with Zayn. But she was surprised to find it was Harry who held most of her pen’s attention.
Blue didn’t even like him, she didn’t think. He’d been rather rude, acted like she’d inconvenienced him, as if her car’s decision to break down wasn’t an inconvenience to her. But there was something about the short clip of his words and the way that his eyes moved that she must have found interesting.
It was nearly an hour later when she finished writing down her thoughts of the day. Ava refilled her coffee twice. Now Blue’s mug sat half empty and the crust of her blueberry pie still sat on its plate, but she shelled out some cash for the food, along with a few dollars for a tip, and left the money on her table. She placed the chewed-up cap back on her pen and tucked it into her pocket, fitting her notebook under her arm, and left Shelly’s. Despite all the coffee, the day’s events had tired her out, and she craved the stiff sheets of an unfamiliar motel bed.
***
Blue slept late into Sunday afternoon. She awoke to the low glare of sunlight through the thin yellow motel curtains. She turned over, away from the windows, as she stretched against the day.
She was unsurprised by how late it was. The previous night she had driven straight through hoping to make it into the Carolinas before she needed to stop. But here she was stuck on the western end of Missouri, pointlessly deprived of sleep, bunkering down in the musty, scratchy sheets of Wolver Valley’s Red Roof.
Blue forced herself out of bed when she saw the red numbers on the side table’s digital clock. Leya hadn’t given her a time to be at The Five and Jive, but Blue wasn’t going to burn her bridges on the first full day in town. She showered to rinse of the scent of long car rides—the inevitable scent of a traveler. She slipped into a pair of jeans, a thin t-shirt, her worn-in boots, and pulled the front of her hair out of her face, still damp. She clicked the door to her motel room shut behind her and headed off, munching on the rest of her farm market strawberries on the way.
The sun, even from the far end of the valley, was hot on Blue’s back until she reached the corner of the street and turned right. The crowds at the bar really were thinned out tonight, although she was sure they would pick up at least a little before the evening was through. But for now the parking lot was nearly empty. Just a few cars, and on the bit of pavement just in front of the windows, a bike that struck a familiar chord in Blue’s mind.
Her footsteps slowed as she approached the screen door, puffing on the last dregs of her cigarette. She scanned the motorcycle, glinting in the sunlight that seeped through the town’s shadows. She knew whose it was. That familiarity, after only being in town for less than a full day, made Blue uncomfortable, like there was something crawling just below the top layer of her skin. She crushed the sparks of her cigarette out into the pavement just in front of the rubber tire of the motorcycle before slipping into The Five and Jive.
The inside of the bar reflected its barren parking lot. A couple of old-timers were seated at the bar. Leya was wiping down the wood. And Harry was there, as Blue knew he would be, bent over the edge of the left-hand pool table, hair spilling around his face. Another man stood at the table’s corner, hands twisting around the stick clasped between them. A short blond sat on a stool that had been pulled across the room. She twisted the seat beneath her, apparently bored and impatient with the game being played out in front of her. Harry flashed a quick grin as she muttered something to him, revealing a deep dimple in one of his cheeks.
“Oh, good,” Leya said by way of greeting. “Perfect timing.”
Blue offered her a thin smile as she worked her way around to the other side of the bar, crushing the empty pulp basket that had once held her strawberries. She tossed the container into the trash can as she passed it and came to stop beside Leya.
“I’m gonna show you how to mix up some basic things,” said Leya. “But first, can you take these over to them?” She nodded toward the pool table as she pulled out a couple bottles of beer and began pouring tequila up to the rim of a shot glass. “You’ve already met Harry, right?”
Blue sighed as she took the beer bottles in one hand and carefully balanced the shot glass between her other fingers, trying to keep the alcohol from spilling. “Yes.”
“Good.”
Leya went back to wiping down the bar top. Blue took that as her cue. She spun on her heel and trailed across the room. Only the blond noticed her approach, eyeing the tequila shot in Blue’s hand and leaving her doubtless it was meant for her. Blue passed the shot over and was taken aback by how easily this tiny girl downed the alcohol without any type of chaser.
“Thank you,” the woman said.
Harry glanced up at the sound of her voice. The other man with them was still tilted forward, eye squinted as he lined up a shot and sent the cue ball across the table. It bounced off of the eight ball and then rolled into the corner pocket closest to Blue. He swore beneath his breath and then he was looking up, too.
“What’re you doin’ here?” Harry asked.
Blue chuckled drily and held out the beers in his direction. “Again with the rude greetings.”
He scratched the back of his neck and leaned forward to take one of the bottles. The other man traveled around the table to take the other, tipping his head toward her as he took a sip of beer.
“Right. Blue, this is Niall and Boston,” Harry introduced, gesturing respectively to the man beside him and the woman still perched atop her stool. “They work with me.”
Blue raised her eyes to Boston, barely more than five feet tall, eyes glazed over with the effects of alcohol and feet tapping to the rock drumbeat playing through the bar. Blue couldn’t picture her covered in grease and pulling apart the pieces of a car, but it was fun trying to conjure up the image.
“Ah, Blue,” said Niall after he’d swallowed his drink. "The one that tried to set the garage on fire. You know, we’ve already had our fill of arson in this town."
Blue raised her brows. “Is that so?"
"What’re yeh doin’ here?” Harry repeated, cutting Niall off before he could even reply. His bottle was hanging unsipped at his side.
Blue took the glass from Boston’s hand and rounded the table to collect the empty beers that Harry and Niall had already finished from a wooden shelf against the far wall. “I work here.”
“Leya hired you? Thought yeh weren’ stayin’.”
“Just for a week or so.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Boston spoke up from behind her. “You’ll miss the party.”
“Oh, yeah,” Niall echoed. “You should stay another week. Wolver Valley’s bicentennial is coming up. Boston’ll probably be drunk off her ass, but we can take you to the fair and—”
“No,” Harry interrupted again. The other three all turned to stare at him. He finally swallowed a mouthful of his beer and then shrugged. “She’s a traveler. Wants to get outta town. Rushin’ me to get a new exhaust pipe in and—”
“Actually, take your time,” Blue told him. She waved the empty beer bottles in her hand. “I might just stay a few more weeks. Could use the money.”
Harry slipped a hand through his hair as he surveyed her. He didn’t look pleased about the news. Niall, however, nodded in approval. Boston clicked her heels together before hopping down from her stool at last. She really was short, especially beside the two boys.
“Perfect,” she said. “Could you get me one more shot, Blue? It’s my turn to kick Harry’s ass.” She peeled the stick from Niall’s fingers and began re-racking for a new game. “And also, if I could bum a cigarette when you go out for a smoke, I would really appreciate it."
Blue nodded and turned back toward the bar. She dropped the empty bottles in the receptacle that Leya directed her to and then poured out another glass of tequila for Boston. She felt Harry’s eyes on the side of her face, even as she trailed back over to the pool table, where Boston was breaking. And on her back as she returned with the empty shot glass. Hot like fire. The heat only faded as Harry lined up his own shot, and it didn’t return for the rest of Blue’s shift.
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ainarosewood · 5 years
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Prompt 10 Foster  Heritage
@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast
Rhonar wiped his brow as he paused in forking another bale of straw into the chocobo pen.  Silver kwehed her thanks to him and began adjusting the straw in her nest meticulously.
“Well looks like she’ s gonna be nice n comfy when she gets around to laying that egg o hers.” a gravelly voice said from behind him.
The young Hrothgar turned to the voice nodding at the elder hyur that it belonged to.
“That’s the last o yer chores aient it Rhonar?” the old man asked.
“Aye da, its Belar’s turn to water em and Rina should have the greens for em any moment.” 
The old man nodded then and said, “Then saddle up Softfeather n Axebeak.  Thers somethin  I want to show ye.  Something its bout time ye see.”
Rhonar did as he was bade curiosity burning. He had lived almost his whole lofe on this small chocobo ranch and aside from the birds they really did have anything special.  So what could his father possibly need to show him.
A short while later both he and his father were astride the two chocobo he’d readied and riding through the wintery forest surrounding the ranch.  They rode in silence for a while the brisk breeze and a few winter animals their only company.  
Suddenly his fathers voice broke the silence, “I think you figured out long ago that I didn't sire ye right?”
“Aye, its never mattered if that's what your worried about I know you've always loved me as much as you did Belar and Rina.  Didn't matter that I wasn't your own flesh and blood,” Rhunar said reassuringly
The old hyur took a breath then said, “Course it didn't yer ma and I took ye in an ye were our kith no matter what anyone else wanted to say.”
Rhunar just nodded he well knew his adoptive parents had gotten no end of grief and jeers at raising a ‘beastman’ like him.  They along with his brother and sister had vehemently defended him over and over.
“The damn villagers forget all too easily what they owe some folks sometimes.” he father added, “Were here son dismount.”
Rhunar dismounted from the chocobo looking at where they had arrived it was a little ways up the mountain right before one of the main paths that led through.  Off to one side were two mounds of earth buried beneath a fine layer of snow.  Between the wall of the pass and the mounds were two stone pile cairns rimed with ice.
“Here lies Lornar and Rina Ovasch.  Yer birth father n mother.  They died here protectin the villiage from the Zagnohl.  It was a fearsome beast that was killing folks left n right for quite sometime.”  his father said
“They fought it?” Rhunar asked.
“Aye lad ye see they were a pair o adventures that had taken up residence in our village.  They did odd jobs here an there for folks sometimes traveling for a time fore returning.  They were well loved n respected by folks cause they helped everyone they could.”  The old man closed his eyes in grief for a moment before continuing, “Then the beast stalked out o the mountains killing everyone that ever came near this pass.  As ye know this is the main trade path that leads to the larger cities.”
Rhunar nodded knowing full well that often they had travelers looking for chocobo come though this very pass to go to their ranch.
His father then said, “Folks first tried to petition the Imperial Viceroy to send some aid. But all o their petitions were ignored our village just wasn't important enough.”  He paused a moment looking at the carins then continued, “Suffice to say this did not sit well with either o them but they weren't about to just go right away.  Ye were about three summers old n they didn't wanna take a child with em to deal with that dangerous o a beast.”
“That’s when you n ma?”
The old man nodded, “We offered to let you stay with us so they could hunt down the Zagnohl and put an end to its rein o terror since the on highs couldn't be bothered.”
He closed his eyes then said sadly, “Bout a week after they left a traveler came through and informed everyone they’d succeeded in slayin the beast but had paid for the deed with their lives.  He had buried them feeling it wasn't right to just leave em and brought back what little they’d had with em.”
He gave the Hrothgar a smile then, “So yer ma an I found ourselves with a young cub to raise and not much knowledge as te how to.  Thankfully yer birth mother, Rina had been a bit o a historian o sorts n she had volumes written bout the traditions o the Lost, that's yer clan lad, in their house in the village.  Yer father had plenty o journals bout their journeys too so we didn't want for knowing bout them.”
“Da why are you....”
The old man’s smile broadened, “Yer restless son.  I’ve been seein it.  Don't get me wrong I know ye love the birds and ye work hard. But I know its not what ye want.”
“I...I don't know what I want to be honest,”
The old man nodded solemnly, “I’ve noticed that too lad.  Truth is I know I’m not gonna be around much longer.  Yer ma has already taken her journey to the lifestream n I wont be long te follow.”
Rhunar looked alarmed his sea green eyes filled with worry was there something his father hadn't been telling them.
The old man gave the Hrothgar a smile, “I aient dyin yet boy! so calm down. Its just accepting my mortality.  Now why I bring it up is you n yer siblings are gonna hafta figure out what ye wanna do with yer life.”
He walked over an placed a hand on Rhunar’s shoulder, “Now ranch life will prolly be more n enough for yer brother n sister so I got no fear that the birds aren't gonna ‘ave anybody. But you, “ he gave him another big smile, “yer itching for something more n I want ye to figure out what that is.  Figured ye cant do that without knowing where ye came from.”
“Da I....”
“Its alright lad, I want ye to know one very important thing.  The thing it seems everyone in the village wants to forget.  The man and woman that lay ‘neath those cairns were brave and kind folk.  The kind that ‘elped their fellow man no matter what.  Ye are cut from the same cloth I’ve seen it time an again.”
Rhunar felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment he knew his father had referred to some of the times he’d helped the people of the village even when they hadn't asked for it.
The old man stretched grimacing as his joints protested both the weather and the movement. “Lets get back to the ranch now lad. Yer mother n fathers effects are in the basement take some time n look through em.  Get to know where ye came from.  Then ye can figure out were ye wanna go from there.”
He then remounted Axebeak and waited for Rhonar to get astride Softfeather.  As he did and they began to return home the old man finished, “Know no matter what path ye choose Rhunar you’ll always be my son n I will always be proud o ye.”
Rhunar nodded in response his throat so tight he dare not trust his voice his cheeks blazing.  It didn't take them long to get back to the ranch and the Hrothgar made his way to the basement and brought up the books his father had spoken of along with a worn lance.  He then sat at the table and began reading them eager to learn of his past for from there maybe he could figure out his future
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halethestilinskis · 6 years
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The Proposal - Tyler Hoechlin Imagine
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Love is a weird feeling. When you were younger, you weren't really sure if you were ever going to fall in love, you never even knew what love was, or what it was supposed to feel like. There were times were you felt like you were in love, but was it actually love? Or were you lusting after a boy that you had no future with, after all, how do you know who you're going to end up with when you're a freshman in high school?
There were days you felt as though you were going to be alone for the rest of your life. You weren't the most popular, you had a few close friends that you hung out with, but nothing more. No boys were interested in you, you couldn't even get a date on tinder, things were looking pretty hopeless. Until, a boy named Tyler Hoechlin came along.
It was right before the Teen Wolf days. You were vacationing with your family in Georgia, where they happened to film the first and second season of Teen Wolf, and you ran into three hilarious boys at the bar. You had just turned 21, so going to the bar was a new thing to you, but your sister wanted to get away from your family and decided to take you out. He wasn't talking much, the other cute brunette with a shaved head was doing most of it, the other one with longer hair going along, but you couldn't get this smile out of your head.
After a while, the two other boys decided to go off to the bathroom together, the older one sticking around, twirling the beer bottle he had, around in his finger tips.
"So, y/n, is it?" he asked with a cheeky smile, his head dipped down, looking at the floor before back up to you.
"I'm surprised you remembered" you blushed awkwardly, not really sure what to say or how to start a conversation when someone else isn't the one making all the small talk.
"Hard to forget with a pretty face like that" he flirted, making you blush wildly. There was an awkward pause, not because you didn't like the flirting, or also thing he's the cutest thing in the world, but because you simply didn't know what to say.
"I'm sorry" he said suddenly, watching fiddle with the drink in your hand, stirring the straw, watching the ice move in circles, "I think I'll just go join the guys in the bathroom".
"No!" you said instantly, surprising even yourself at the sudden reaction, "I mean" you shook your head, "Sorry, I mean, I'm just an awkward person, and I never know what to say to people, not because I don't want you flirting with me". He gave you a look, and then a small smile, "Alright then, how 'bought I buy you a drink, and I'll do all the talking".
"I like the sound of that" you smiled brightly, following him to the bar, and then sitting at a table once he handled you the drink.
Both of you ended up making conversation rather easily, it was very natural to talk to him, and he had a strong, trustworthy vibe, and ended up telling him things that you've never told anyone else in your entire life.
Ever since then, you've been seeing each other, it took some time for both of you to actually give yourself an official title, and he was definitely a little nervous telling you about his profession, and what he aspires to do in his life, but once he saw how positive, and happy for him you were, the more he knew that this was a good decision.
And four years later, here you were, sitting in your shared home in sunny Los Angelos. It was definitely a change for you at first, since you were from the east coast, and very much used to the snow and four seasons, but once you got into the groove of things, you realized this wasn't so bad, only the summers were bad, but nothing air conditioning couldn’t fix.
"Hey babe" Tyler greeted, walking through door and hanging his keys on the hook, "How was your day?".
"It was good, I haven't done anything other than like ten loads of laundry" you rolled your eyes at the amount of clothes this man had, causing him to giggle a little bit, "How was your audition?"
"It was good, I think I have a good shot" he shrugged, "Do you have any hot dates for tonight?" he plopped down beside you.
"Yeah actually" you grinned, starting up your laptop.
"Oh really?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.
"Yeah, his name is Cycl0n3" you smirked, knowing he wouldn't understand the reference you were making.
"Wait… what?" he asked, his face scrunched in confusion.
"Yeah, well, I pass by him a lot when I'm walking down the street and I never really talk to him, but what if he's the world's most perfect man, and I've been missing out this whole time?" you asked him in a  very serious manner, watching his face change from confusion to worry, and then back to confusion, stuttering words, wondering what to say.
"What are you talking about!?" his eyes were wide, and then softened as soon as he heard The Sims 3 power up song, that he knew all too well with the amount you played it.
"Is this a stupid Sims reference" he rolled his eyes, your giggle giving him the answer, "Alright well, how about, instead of going out with Cycl0n3, I bring you out" he smirked, moving closer to play with you hair.
"I like the sound of that better" you stated, turning your head to kiss his nose, "Wanna go around six?"
"Sounds perfect, dress fancy" he left with a wink.
"Where going to a fancy place?" you asked, your eyes lighting up, your head following him as he walked behind the couch.
"Only the best for you" he leaned down and pecked your lips, causing you smile to grow.
The Sims only peaked your attention for so long. Eventually your Sim got married and had kids, and it got a little redundant, so you saved and quit the game and started to get ready, starting with you make up. Hoechlin was in the living room watching some TV. Dinner was an hour out, and all he had to do was put clothes on, which you prayed it was a full a suit.
Your make up never took too long, you had your routine down pat, and never really explored and experimented with anything. Your hair always took the longest, whether you curled it, straightened it, or put it in an updo , it always took some time. You decided to go with a cute little up do, curling it first and then pinning it up.
There was a dress in your closet that you've been waiting for a reason to wear, which meant Tyler had never seen it before. It was a black fitted, strapless dress with a slit up the right side, all the way up until the top of your thigh. You were looking forward to making his jaw drop, which is exactly what happened when you walked down the stairs, your heals clicking on the way over to him. 
As you wished, he was in a full tux. Clean white shirt, black tie, and over coat, and he looked absolute edible.
"Wow" he gaped, taking your hand and spinning you around to see the full view, while you blushed madly and twirled, "I've never seen this one before".
"Exactly" you winked, "I love when you wear a tux" you took a step back, giving him the same treatment he gave you without making him twirl around, his face turning pink in the process.
"Are you ready?" he grinned, hiking his arm up so you could take it, "your chariot awaits".
He led you out of the house, into his car, even opened and closed the door for you, not that he didn't usually do it, but it felt more special tonight.
As the night went on, you could feel Tyler growing more anxious. He wasn't the most impatient man, he was willing to wait for things, but he usually just grabbed whatever was offered to him, but today was different. The restaurant staff offered him 3 different seats, to which he all declined, and told them he wanted a booth, and even though the reservation was for 6, you didn't end up sitting down at the booth until 7. Not that you minded, Tyler was always very easy to talk to, the conversations always flowed smoothly, and time always went by fast when you were around each other since you would always get lost in conversation and thought.
When you got seated, Tyler was quiet, looking through the menu like it was the most interesting thing on the planet, even though you knew he was going to get a steak, like he always gets. It look him 15 minutes to decide, and he hasn't said a word to you since you sat down, you were beginning to think you did something wrong.
"Hey" you said softly, grabbing his hand, making him look you in the eye with a soft smile, "What's up?" 
He looked a little taken a back, "Nothing, why?".
"You declined 3 tables because they weren't booths, and you haven't said a word since we sat down, and then studied the menu only to get what you always get.." you stopped, studying him this time.
"Nothings wrong" he said with a smile.
"Ty" you cocked your head in slight annoyance, "I've known you for, four years, and I've lived with you for like three now, I think I know you a little better than you think I do."
"Y/n, nothing's wrong" he tried to convince you, "I promise, I'm just… I don't know, I guess I'm nervous about the audition today and it just got into my head a little bit".
"I thought you said it went good?" you asked, wondering what happened to make him so nervous.
"It did" he stated, taking a sip of his water, "Sometimes you just worry" he shrugged.
"Okaaaaayyy" you drew out, still feeling like it wasn't a real answer, but you dropped it, not wanting to push it further, he was already looking uncomfortable as it is.
The night went on as normal, you ordered you drinks, talked, ordered your food, talked, ate your food, talked, but the conversation felt a little forced, he was constantly looking around him, watching what everyone else was doing before turning his attention to you.
"Is something supposed to happen tonight?" you asked, peaking his curiosity. "No" he sipped his water, "why?"
"You keep looking around like someone you know is here or something" you shrugged, peaking at you chicken with your fork. Tonight was definitely weird.
"No" he shook his head, realizing how weird he was being, "I'm sorry, I'm just really distracted today, but I promise" he took your hand, "everything is okay, between us, and everything-" he got cut off by waiters bringing your dessert over, and every piece of worry went out the window when you saw your cheesecake sat down in front of you.
"Thanks" you grinned to waited, looking over the giant piece of chocolate cake in front of him.
You picked up your fork to dig in, when Tyler grabbed your attention, "I know it's cheesecake, but I wanted to continue this conversation".
"Okay" you smiled, putting the fork down and giving him your full attention.
"You know I love you right?" he asked, genuine concern in his eyes.
"Yeah" you smiled, "of course I do, do you know I love you more?"
He returned your smile with a grin, "I don't think that's possible".
"Oh yeah?" you challenged, "prove it."
"Right now?" he asked, giving you a suspicious grin.
"Right now" you confirmed, "but what about my cheesecake?"
"I don't think you'll be in the mood after this?" he winked.
"You sure do think a lot of yourself to think cheesecake is less important" you responded with a smirk.
"Okay, fine, dig in" he urged, watching you pick up the fork with suspicion and squinted eyes, and then digging in.
"You know I love you right?" he continued, as you savored the creaminess and nodded, "I love you more than anything in the world, more than any career, more than anything in this life. You are my whole world, and I can't imagine a day without your smile and laughter, or coming home at night to anyone else playing sims and eating bagel bites with FRIENDS playing in the background. You make me laugh every day, and genuinely enjoy life more than I ever have before, you make everything an adventure to me, and have brought me complete and genuine happiness, I never want to have a day without you, so…" he got up, fixing his coat in the process and taking something out of his pocket that sent your fork down to your plate with a clang that rang through the entire restaurant. "Y/n (y/l/n)" he said, bending down to one knee without taking his eyes off of you, "Will you do me the honor of marrying me?"
Tears immediately swelled your eyes, as you put your hands over your mouth like every movie ever. You felt like you couldn't breathe, much less respond, but you knew you had to choke one out because he's been down there for quite some time and you knew his anxiety was raging. You tried to cry out a yes, but words were not coming from your mouth, so you settled for a cliché nod with such eagerness that you thought all your hair came down from the updo you made.
Tyler took your hand from over you mouth and slid the ring onto your finger, giving your hand a kiss and then standing up to engulf you in a hug, burying his head into your neck as you ruined your make up on his shirt.
"I love you" you choked, sniffling, "I love you so much".
"I love you more" he replied into your ear, pulling back to give you a kiss, the sound of clapping finally filling your ears. You looked around to see the restaurant applauding the proposal as you both smiled and sat back down in your seats.
"So, was the cheesecake better than that?" he smirked at you, digging into his chocolate cake.
"It's pretty creamy, Ty" you smiled at him, giving him a wink.
"You're lucky I love you" he grinned, watching you dig back into the cheesecake.
"And I love you" you promised, holding up your left hand and blowing him kiss. He smirked and dug into his cake while you did the same thing, enjoying the momentary silence and bliss of everything that just happened.
Everything you ever dreamed of just became a reality. You knew you were going to marry Hoechlin one day, but you didn't know this was going to be the day that he asked you to do so, but it was real, in the near future, you were going to be Mrs. y/n Hoechlin.
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missingverse · 6 years
Text
Missing  Chapter Twelve
A week until:
She'd been up at the cave for three days and whatever mystery illness she had was clearly getting killed off by the fresh air and clear springwater up there (she figured, anyway) but she had to go home eventually.
After school, she tossed her clothes and sleeping bag in the washing machine, made a mental note to pick up some paraffin for the camping stove and batteries for her flashlight and showered. Just as she was getting out of the bathroom she caught the scent of cooking wafting from the kitchen. It didn't smell all that appetizing (way too much garlic and five-spice) but after three days of char-grilling over a campfire something cooked on an actual hob would be nice.
“Hi honey, how was your day,” Miriam drawled, already halfway into a Long Island iced tea.
“Pretty good,” Helga drawled back, sitting across from her. “Got an A on my History report.”
“That's nice,” Miriam sniffed, and swigged from her glass.
“Hit three home runs in practice yesterday.”
“That's super,” Miriam slurred, stirring her ice cubes with a straw.
“Then I beat a homeless man to death with my baseball bat. He had it coming.”
“That's nice,” she said again.
“Went to the park to celebrate and ended up doing a whole bunch of meth with some crackheads.”
“Well, the important thing is that you tried, dear,” Miriam slurred, blinking heavily.
Helga rolled her eyes; the 'say outrageous shit and see how long it takes Miriam to notice' game used to be fun when she was younger, but it was getting dull. Miriam just didn't react to anything anymore.
Bob blustered in just then with a pot full of some mysterious bubbling 'stuff.' Probably chili again. He looked surprised to see Helga there.
“Where the hell have you been?” he growled.
“Overnight field trip,” Helga shrugged. “I gave you the permission slip, remember?”
She gave him nothing of the sort but Bob nodded anyway.
“Uh, yeah,” he muttered. “Hang on, I'll get you a plate.”
He took the pot back with him for whatever reason, and there was a big production of opening and slamming cupboard doors. When he came back, he dumped two plates of 'stuff' in front of Helga and Miriam. Helga poked at what might have been a pinto bean with her fork gingerly.
“What's in this?” she asked as Bob sat down with his own plate.
“Little bit of everything,” he said, but he wouldn't look at her; he just shoveled the stuff into his own mouth. “Eat it and stop whining. I didn't spend all day in that kitchen to have you turn up your nose at it.”
She rolled her eyes again, but took a dainty bite of the mystery stuff. It was gritty, and oddly chalky and the aftertaste reminded her of accidentally inhaling aerosol spray.
…..
Phoebe caught up with Arnold at lunch, just as he was telling Thom from Social Studies about some cliff notes he had found.
“You were going to tell me something this morning,” she said instead of hello.
Arnold was acutely aware that people were looking at them and whispering. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gerald frowning. He gathered up his lunch tray, excused himself to Thom and brought Phoebe over to one of the empty tables at the back of the cafeteria.
“Yes, I was,” he said. “Something I came across this morning, it triggered a memory for Helga.”
“What was it?”
Arnold glanced around him; if Phoebe got upset, the rumours would be pretty wild....
“Arnold, stop it.”
“Hm? Stop what?”
She threw down her sandwich and fixed him with a hard glare.
“Stop keeping things from me because you think I'll be upset,” she said. “I've been upset for five years. I know it's going to be bad but I can deal with it. I want to help Helga just as much as you do.”
“Okay,” he sighed. “What do you know about Pocaselas?”
“Not much,” she said, brows furrowed in concentration. “I got a bus from there once when my Dad's car broke down.”
“Helga sees the name of the place in her dreams,” he told her. “I think it's like a residual memory. She also said she feels like there's something around her neck when she's asleep.”
Phoebe paled, but braced herself.
“Pocaselas is known for being a place that runaways go to a lot,” Arnold continued. “Do you think she might have gone there?”
“No,” Phoebe answered abruptly. “She always said she was determined to wait it out. She would have qualified for boarding school scholarships in another year, she was talking to Mr Simmons about it.”
Arnold hadn't thought about Mr Simmons for a long time. In the aftermath of Helga's disappearance he'd taken early retirement and left Hillwood. A paper reporting on the case quoted him as 'heartbroken.'
“She wouldn't have gone voluntarily,” Phoebe said, shaking her head with certainty.
Arnold swallowed. “Then that leaves us with the other solution. Have you heard of the Black Gulch Ripper?”
Phoebe paled even more, which should have been impossible.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Bits and pieces.”
“Most theories say he's an experienced woodsman,” Arnold said, bringing up the slew of articles he had looked up on his phone between classes. “Pocaselas is bordered by a stretch of woodland and marsh that meets Hillwood's forests on the other side. There's no roads connecting them and it's about two days walk if you don't mind wading through sinkholes in bear-infested wildland.”
“All the Rippers' victims were adults,” Phoebe countered.
“They were young women, or at least looked it,” Arnold said. “The youngest was nineteen, and all of them were taken from Pocaselas. Then he went quiet about three years before Helga went missing. It's not unknown for murderers to keep picking younger and younger victims.”
“So you think he caught her in the forest when she was out there? He walked for two days through bear-infested wildland, as you put it, and just happened to come across her? That's kind of far-fetched...”
“Is it really? Because none of the buses leaving Hillwood, none of the cars going through the speed cameras picked up anyone fitting Helga's description. As far as we can see, she never left the forest.”
“All his victims were dumped in the Gulch,” Phoebe said. “They never found Helga's body.”
“All of his known victims,” Arnold countered. “People disappear from Pocaselas at four times the national average. An experienced woodsman would be better suited to dragging someone through the marshes.”
Mute and unhappy, Phoebe stared down at her nibbled-on sandwich and Arnold did the same to his own mostly untouched lunch. They were almost relieved when the bell rang and they went back to class.
And then, something very unexpected happened.
Just as Arnold was pulling out his Algebra homework, Rhonda Lloyd Wellington stopped in front of his desk. Tapping her foot irritably and frowning down at him, she was oddly twitchy.
“I need to talk to you about something,” she said, glancing around the room at anyone who was looking in their direction.
“Uh, sure?” he said, surprised. She hadn't spoken a word to him in over a year.
“Not here,” she said furtively. “Meet me in the coffee house after school. If you're even a minute past four, I'm leaving.”
And then she was gone.
…..
The girls were furious, because Helga Pataki was flaunting her older boyfriend in front of the school with absolutely no shame.
Well, flaunting wasn't the word Arnold would have used. Helga was talking quietly to the boy at the wall that separated the school grounds from the street, and he was gently teasing her about something because she laughed and jokingly punched his arm. He flashed his teen-idol-worthy smile at her, the kind that seemed designed to make preteen girls swoon, and she rolled her eyes because she was all too used to it.
To the other girls, they might as well have been making out in full view of the entire school.
“He treats her like one of the boys,” Angela Harper sniffed with an injured air. “If that's the kind of thing he goes for, good luck to them.”
“Wasn't there another boy walking her home yesterday?” Nadine piped up.
“That's Martin,” Phoebe said over the spine of her book. “Patrick was away yesterday and they don't like letting Helga walk home in the dark. She's not dating either of them.”
“Whatever,” Angela said, tossing her hair back. “Personally I don't think a boy should walk you home unless you're dating but that's just...”
“Could you all just shut the fuck up?” Rhonda growled suddenly, looking up from her phone for the first time.
A touchy silence fell on the girls, they exchanged nervous glances. Rhonda smoothed down her hair, and over her shoulder Arnold could see she wasn't looking at her phone but rather at her own reflection in the blackened shine of the screen.
…..
Rhonda glared when she saw Arnold had brought Phoebe with him.
“You could have warned me you were bringing her.”
“Sorry,” Arnold shrugged. “I get the feeling this is about Helga. You were behind us in the cafeteria.”
“Bingo, Sherlock,” Rhonda laughed scornfully, and then she looked nervous again. “Hey, you mind getting me a latte or something? They don't let me vape in here, can you believe that?”
“Okay,” Arnold nodded, and went to the counter to order. Phoebe followed him.
“Can you believe her?” Phoebe hissed into his ear. “As if she's doing you a favour being here...!”
“She might be, we don't know yet,” Arnold hissed back. “If she gives us something new, it's worth the price of a latte, right?”
Phoebe grudgingly agreed.
Even when she had her coffee in front of her, Rhonda fidgeted, took out her vape and put it away again, touched up her mascara and fiddled with her phone before she even tried to speak to them. Her hands were trembling, Arnold noted with surprise.
“Did you want to tell us anything or are we just here to watch you be Rhonda?” Phoebe bit out at last.
“Ooh, that's told me,” Rhonda laughed mockingly. “Fine, let's get this over with.”
But as she took a sip of her latte, her demeanor changed once again, her eyes dropped to the table in front of her.
“Look, you have to understand something first, okay?” she began. “I was a stupid kid. A really fucking stupid kid. I did stupid shit and nobody ever stopped me so I just kept on doing it. Get that?”
Arnold nodded, Phoebe folded her arms and stared. Rhonda sipped her latte again.
“Back then, I was really pissed off at Helga,” she continued. “I didn't even think she liked boys... and she didn't give a shit about looking nice or anything so it was kind of annoying when suddenly all these older boys are fawning all over her like she's some fucking supermodel....
“She wasn't dating them,” Phoebe cut in. “You know she wasn't!”
“Whatever,” Rhonda quipped. “Anyway, it made me mad, okay? And I thought fine, if she can do it so can I. How hard would it really be to get myself an older boyfriend? Turns out it's not that hard at all. Especially if you do it online.”
Arnold's heart sank; he had a feeling he knew where this was going.
“You'd better believe I got lots of attention. As many older boys as I could ever want. Way older. And then there's this one guy who pops up, and he's really nice to me. Listens to all my complaints about school and home and whatever, and then he sends me a picture.”
“What kind of picture?” Arnold asked, his mouth gone dry with the horror of it.
“A picture of Helga. Not a creepy picture or anything, except she's asleep in it. And he tells me she's his cousin and asks if I know her. I didn't even know she had a cousin.”
“She doesn't,” Phoebe said quietly, as if from very far away.
“I didn't know that. So I said yeah, she's in my class. He tells me he wants to meet up with his family because they got separated or some shit, and I figure if he meets up with them he would be in Hillwood and I could date him properly. Like I said, I was a stupid fucking kid.”
“what did you do, Rhonda?” Arnold gulped.
“I told him where we lived.”
Phoebe reacted before Arnold could stop her. There was a loud crack as her palm met Rhonda's cheek. Rhonda's head snapped to the side and she stayed there, stunned, as her face reddened.
“You bitch,” Phoebe growled. “You sold her out because you wanted a boyfriend? You fucking bitch!”
She went to slap her again, but Arnold stood up and grabbed her arms, pulling her back, as Rhonda shakily sat up again cradling her cheek in her hand.
“Phoebe, no,” he hissed, trying to drag her back down to her seat. “Come on, what's done is done.”
Phoebe swung back and pushed him away, and then she grabbed her bag and stormed out. As the door of the coffee shop slammed shut, he could see she was in tears. He could go after her, but....
“Rhonda, are you okay?” he asked quietly.
Tears were glittering in her eyes, but she blinked them away and tried to act casual, sipping her latte like nothing had happened.
“You're a nice guy, you know that?” she laughed bitterly. “It's no less than I deserved, right? As if I haven't been thinking about it ever since...”
“Did you tell the police when they questioned you?” he asked, already guessing she hadn't.
“No,” she said, and Arnold's heart sank. “Arnold, I sent pictures to some of those guys! Pictures I didn't want my folks seeing....and you know how that kind of thing gets around....I'd have been finished at school.”
“Helga's probably dead, Rhonda,” Arnold reminded her. “And whoever got her is still out there. I think it's a bit more important than your reputation.”
“Yeah, well,” she laughed again, so bitter it stung. “Like I said, I was a stupid fucking kid.”
…..
Helga was asleep in his bed when he got back, and Arnold's heart thumped hard because she had been sleeping more and more lately. Did it mean something? Were they running out of time to find her closure?
The PC was on, and a folder of his finished homework was open on the screen. It was only 8pm, but he dressed for bed and slid in beside her anyway, to watch her breathe. His eyes traced the long line of her throat, looking for the mark of whatever she felt was around her neck. Sure enough, there was a faint red line circling her neck, near the juncture of her chest. He reached out and stroked it gently with his finger.
Suddenly, Helga mumbled something frenzied-sounding in her sleep, turned over and ended up just an inch or two from Arnold's face. He saw something he hadn't noticed before.
On her bottom jaw, on the right side, two teeth were missing.
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like-bunnies · 7 years
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Summer Dreams -- an Ichabbie Ficlet
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I promised @sneetchstar I’d write her an Ichabbie birthday fic way back in early 2016. A year and a half later, here it is! With “summer” thrown in just for fun! Rated E. 
Abbie is tired of winter and Crane tries to make her forget about the cold. 
“I wish it was summer already,” Abbie muttered, putting on her heaviest black North Face puffy coat and her favorite leather gloves all so she'd be able to make her way into work. She already had her snow boots on - they were just part of her ensemble lately since this winter seemed endless. She was thankful that her street had been plowed early and that Crane had gone out and shoveled the driveway so she could get out easily. “February is brutal.”
“Indeed it is,” Crane said.
“I don't need to hear about Valley Forge,” Abbie warned him, pointing a leather-clad finger in his direction.
“I wasn't going to say a thing,” Crane said, sounding disappointed. Of course he was going to say a thing or two. That's what he did.
“Just remember how lucky you are that the archives are closed and you get to stay in for the rest of the day,” Abbie said as she wrapped a heavy scarf around her neck and face.
“Indeed I am,” Crane replied.
“Very lucky. Damn, I could do with an island holiday. Warm, clear water. A few drinks. A lot of sunshine,” Abbie mumbled underneath the scarf and the hood she pulled up over her head, waving to Crane before she made her way out the front door.
“We could all do with an island holiday, Lieutenant,” Crane said to himself with a smile.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Abbie was tired when she finally arrived home. Her feet were freezing and not even her heavy snow boots and woolen socks could keep out this amount of snow and cold. Her face was starting to chap from the icy wind and she was certain her hair was going to be a shocking mess once she was warm enough to take off the stocking cap she borrowed from a technician at the latest crime scene. It had been too damn frigid outside to worry about her hair then but she was sure she was going to pay the price now.
She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes, enjoying the sudden warmth of her own house. It was so nice and warm... actually, it was almost too warm. The heat was turned up more than she ever set it. She opened her eyes, prepared to ask Crane if the thermostat was broken and instead she discovered that she had been transported to some magical tropical island in her own living room.
Little multicolored lights flickered here and there. Some of the light strings were in the shape of flamingos and others in the shape of palm trees. Crepe paper streamers in bright, tropical shades of pink and yellow festooned the ceiling and some generic Calypso music was playing softly. Something was filling the air with a spicy fragrance and Abbie's stomach rumbled.
She shed all of her winter gear, not even thinking about her hair anymore, and left it hanging by the door to dry. Abbie was now too busy wondering what was going on and what happened to her house. And what happened to Crane?
“Crane? Where are you?” she asked, hoping he didn't come around the corner wearing swim trunks, or worse, a Speedo. She could only handle so much tropical flare in one evening.
“I'm right here, Lieutenant,” he called out and she found him placing some tropical flowers on the table. Thankfully, he was in his normal clothes, boots and all.
“You aren't exactly dressed to match the mood you set in here,” Abbie said, seeing that lights in all sorts of tropical shapes were hanging in all the rooms.
“Just imagine I'm a Caribbean pirate, plundering whatever treasure I can,” Crane said, loosening the ties at the neck of his shirt and raising an eyebrow in a lecherous way befitting a pirate.
“Oh, trust me. I've imagined that before,” Abbie said softly, looking at the array of food before her.
“Pardon me?” Crane asked.
“Oh, nothing. What is this?” Abbie asked, pointing at some spicy looking dish. “Please tell me this is jerk chicken.”
“On tonight's menu, we have a mango crab salad, followed by a Caribbean fish stew and the entree is jerk chicken with coconut rice and beans with a pineapple rum sauce on the side. For dessert, there will be sweet plantains,” Crane said with a flourish, partially bowing and indicating that Abbie should take a seat.
“You went out in this weather for all of this?” Abbie asked, thankful but at the same time worried about Crane's sanity.
“I went out in this weather for you,” Crane said, holding up a finger and turning around, rushing off to the kitchen. He returned with two drinks in tall, curvy glasses that Abbie was sure she didn't own when she left this morning. The drinks were decorated with tiny umbrellas and chunks of fruit. “I wanted to serve you a drink out of a coconut but it is winter in New York, after all. Some of this was hard enough to find.”
“Crane...”
“I wanted to create a little warmth on this otherwise bleak February day,” he said. 
“Wow,” she said, sipping the drink through a colorful straw and getting a mouthful of dark rum.
“It's my own creation. Better than Sex on the Beach!” Crane said.
“Is there really anything better than Sex on the Beach?” Abbie joked, giving him a coy look as she took another sip of her drink.
“Ahem... how about some dinner?” he said, pulling a chair out for her and tucking her in. She just smiled as he blushed.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
“Lieutenant... here,” Crane said, taking his napkin and leaning toward her, wiping the mango juice from her chin. She had been eating the slices of mango that didn't fit into the salad and enjoying every juicy bite. For a second, she wondered how much this meal cost but then figured it was less expensive than going to the Caribbean in February.
“You really didn't have to go to all this trouble, Crane,” she said, taking the napkin from him and finishing the job.
“To see you smiling and warm again, it was worth it,” he said, taking the last piece of plantain and offering it to her. She took a nibble of it off his fork and he then finished what she left. They had devoured a good portion of the meal but there's be enough for her to take a plate to work tomorrow. Everyone would be jealous.
“It was delicious.”
“After I clean up, we're going to go watch some summer block-buster movie whilst sitting on a beach blanket in front of the TV,” Crane said. Abbie was certain with all that she had eaten, she would be sleeping in half an hour or less. And she was right.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Abbie woke up when the DVD ended. The room was lit only by the glow of the TV screen and the cute little lights he had strung up around the place, some blinking and some not. She was warm and comfortable and in the arms of Ichabod Crane. Well, this was new. He was snoring softly behind her and smelled slightly of rum. His hand was pressed against her lower abdomen in a very possessive manner that she decided she really rather enjoyed.
She moved back against him to discover that he was also very warm and very comfortable and very, very erect.
Well, that answered a few questions she had.
She knew she should pull away but curiosity got the better of her. She slid back a bit more and moved her bum against him, closing her eyes and questioning where she thought this was all going to lead. She sighed, realizing deep inside that she always knew where she wanted this to go. She was just never sure how to get there until right now.
“Abbie,” he mumbled.
He neither told her to stop nor did he move away. She writhed against him more and he fumbled with the button and zipper on her jeans, pulling them down just enough so he could slide his hand under the stiff fabric. He moved her panties aside and touched her and she moaned at the sensation. It had been too long since she had felt fingers that weren't her own touching her there. She was thankful they had both taken their boots off already before they started watching the movie. It was much easier to wiggle out of her clothes and toss them aside.
After shedding her own clothing, Abbie pulled his shirt off and watching as he unfastened his breeches and kicked them down his legs and off. She was over him, her mouth hovering so close to his and they each breathed in the other, lips barely touching but enough for a hot bolt of arousal to travel right down between her thighs. His tongue flickered out across his lips for a just a second and then she kissed him for the first time, enjoying the taste of him.
His tongue now explored her mouth and his beard burned her face but she wasn't complaining. She pulled away and explored his face with her mouth, brushing across all his distinguishing features. She licked across the notch on his throat, causing him to moan from deep in his chest. She moved her mouth ever so slowly over his face, brushing across the scar he had on his forehead, wondering how he had received that wound.
Before she had the chance to ask, he turned her over onto her back and slid down her body, exploring all of her now. His tongue danced over each of her nipples and she threw her head back and moaned. He moved lower, dipping his tongue into her bellybutton and her moans turned into a giggle. A moment later, he was between her legs, his lips suckling her before his tongue explored absolutely everything. She moaned again, her fingers wound tight in his hair. When she came hard over and over again, she looked at him and he looked so satisfied with himself. More satisfied than he had been with his dinner. He smiled and crawled up her body slowly.
“Please,” was the only word she could manage to mutter. They moved together like they had been doing this forever. He was over her and in between her thighs and she reached between them and guided him into her body. She loved the feel of the weight of him on her as her legs wrapped high around his hips, letting him move even deeper inside of her, filling her completely.
It was too late to worry about any of this being “safe.” Much too late. He came inside of her and then fell on her, both of them breathing hard. She unwrapped her legs but he didn't pull out or move. Instead he propped himself up and kissed her over and over again.
“Warm enough now? Still need a tropical vacation?” he asked her between kisses.
“Oh, I'll always need a tropical vacation and the ocean and you but I'm now warm. Hot, actually. Very hot,” she said.
“Indeed you are,” he said, kissing her again as the little flamingo lights continued to blink around them.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
The End
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shotgunhouse-blog · 7 years
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“Snake Head” by Lynda Leidiger
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The whole snake head business began, of course, on Halloween.
I had seen it in the window, weeks before, on the shelf with a gorilla, Richard Nixon and an old man with one bloody eyeball hanging down over his cheek. The snake was a king cobra, emerald green, a proud hood splayed behind its head. Its small red eyes stared arrogantly above me. I loved its milky fangs.
The night before the party, my husband took me to buy the mask. “What do you want that for?” he said when he saw it. He was trying on a Jimmy Carter mask and chuckling at himself. The clerk told him they had just sold the last Menachem Begin.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s me.”
I slipped it on. It was very dark and I could hardly see out. My eyes were focused through two small holes in the roof of the cobra’s rubber mouth. It was like tunnel vision, the clerk’s face looming toward me as through a fisheye lens.
“It’s very unique, dear,” she said, squinting at me. “I only had half a dozen of these, and I had to order them back in January. This is the last one.”
Some other customers started to gather around me, pointing and snickering. I made hideous faces at them, testing the mask. They didn’t see.
“I’ll take it,” I said. My voice bellowed in my ears behind the thick rubber walls.
“Isn’t it awfully hot?” my husband said. He peered in at me without meeting my eyes and nodded in satisfaction, as though he had paused at the entrance of a haunted cave and found it empty.
I wore the head all the way home in the car. I could see only straight ahead; palm trees waved like giant feelers at the edge of my vision. I had the odd sensation of being brought home from the hospital. Instead of taking the freeway, my husband drove slowly down Ventura Boulevard all the way from Tarzana to Studio City. Although it was early afternoon and the car window was rolled down, nobody seemed to notice my head. I could tell he was disappointed.
“And they say people in New York are blasé,” he muttered.
For the party, I put on a strapless gown of purple velvet, swarming with seed pearls and rhinestones. I also had black-velvet gloves to my elbows, a rhinestone bracelet and black-patent-leather shoes with straps around my ankles. Finally, I draped a fawn-colored rabbit-fur jacket around me. The jacket felt odd; my husband had given it to me and I had never worn it. The thought of the dead rabbits was still faintly sickening.
My cobra eyes stared at me from the mirror. A golden reptile throat rose from my shoulders. I was magnificent. “It’s a shame you don’t have some green body paint,” my husband said. He was angry because he wanted to go as a gypsy and I wouldn’t let him take my violin. He thought he had a right to it because I hadn’t played in two years. He grumbled as a cut a hole in my throat so I could drink through a straw without taking off the head.
It turned out to be one of those Hollywood parties. I’m not sure how we were invited, but we went because my husband thought he might make some connections. Someone told him Ralph Bakshi might be there. A Doberman in a feather boa lunged for me at the door, barking and frothing. Fidel Castro slapped the dog’s snout until it was quiet, and handed me a joint.
“Charmed, Fidel, I’m Joan Crawford,” I said, holding out my velvet hand to him. He looked pleased to be recognized. Nearly everyone laughed. My husband beamed; he hadn’t been so proud of me in years. I held the joint to my throat and watched in the mirror as the smoke slid out over my black tongue.
We went out onto the patio and stood, smoking, under the cardboard skeletons hanging from the eucalyptus trees. Their feet scraped loudly against my head. I could tell that Ralph Bakshi wasn’t going to show up there. I got myself a glass of wine punch.
“Hey, what do you look like under that mask?” some guy asked. He wore a tweed cap and there were several pipes in his pockets. I tried to decide whether or not the pinkish-purple blotches had been painted on his cheeks. “I bet under that mask you got blonde hair. Am I right? The coat’s the tip-off; if you had dark hair, you wouldn’t wear a coat that color.”
“If she had, like, black hair, the contrast would be too much,” someone else agreed. He was an actor from Phoenix. He told us several times that he had just arrived in L.A. yesterday with two dollars and eight cents in his pocket. His shoes didn’t match and his eyebrows were drawn so that one went up and the other down.
“I bet she’s got blue eyes, or maybe hazel, and high cheekbones. And very soft skin,” the guy with the pipes said suggestively. His acne glowed eerily under the patio floodlights.
My husband smirked, pleased.
“Just pretend I’m not here,” I said, and had another hit.
A girl with pigtails and white knee socks came bouncing out of the house. Under one arm she carried a cloth doll in a bonnet. “I heard there was something to smoke out here. I haven’t moved so fast all night.” She giggled.
“It’s harsh,” the actor said, passing her the joint.
“Harsh. It’s nice to hear harsh. I mean, people say raspy. Raspy and dusted!” She tossed her pigtails and took the joint in long, noisy gasps. “It’s flippy. Hey, you’re a soldier,” she said to Fidel.
He took the cigar out of his mouth disgustedly. “Exactly what are you supposed to be?” he said.
“I’m four years old,” she said, cradling the doll.
“I’m twenty-one, going on a thousand.” The guy with the pipes kept trying to look in at me, but he was having a hard time standing up. I was having a hard time trying to figure out why no one seemed to have come in costume.
“God, aren’t there any potato chips? Raw vegetables give me ulcers,” the actor said and wandered off.
The guy with the pipes poked the girl’s doll. “That Raggedy Ann?”
The four-year-old scowled, crinkling her painted freckles. “This is Holly Hobbie. Her friends call her Hobbie; I mean, Holly.” She dissolved in giggles.
I found that I could push pretzel sticks through my throat.
“I want to show you something,” Fidel whispered. He led me up to his room. Over his bed was a huge oil painting of a Venetian canal. He told me had painted it himself in 20 hours. It wasn’t badly done at all. Somehow, he had put a small light behind it so there was a sun in the sky, which he could make brighter or dimmer. The sky was a kind of faded amber color and the crumbling buildings were dried caramel. He turned the sun low for me. “I knew you’d like Venice,” he said, fingering my purple velvet.
Just then, the four-year-old came in. “Wow. What color is it?” she said.
Fidel let go of my dress and put the cigar back in his mouth. He looked as though it didn’t taste particularly good. “There are twenty-two colors in it,” he said. “I have them written underneath.”
The four-year-old bent over him to get closer to the painting. It was getting hot inside the head; I felt like going out again. As I left, I heard her telling Fidel that she could see a little blue. I met the Doberman on the stairs. He quietly showed me his teeth but didn’t bark.
My husband scarcely took his eyes off me all night. He devotedly brought me carrot sticks and slivers of zucchini to push through my throat. Once or twice he pressed against me behind the punch bowl.
Two more people came to the party, a cop and his girlfriend. They came as each other. The guy who thought I was a blonde had taken over the stereo and was playing two lines of a Dylan song over and over again.
“Oh, Momma, can this really be the end?” he sang mournfully, waving one of his pipes.
“Oh, let’s go,” my husband said. “Everybody here is trying to break into commercials.”
As we left, the guy stopped singing Dylan to whisper to me, “I’ve voted you beauty queen of the night.”
I turned to glare at him, but the snake head stared straight ahead, haughty and indifferent, as we swept past.
At home, I took off the purple dress and touched the emerald scales of my face.
“Leave your shoes on,” my husband said hoarsely.
He pushed me onto the bed, grabbing my breasts and pulling himself into me, a climber gaining a momentary hold on an impossible cliff. I dug my nails into the meat of his broad back and spurred him on with my shiny heels. He came within seconds, as always.
“That was wonderful,” I said, as always. I touched the cobra head gratefully and cried until my tears welded the rubber to my skin.
I wore the snake head to work on Monday, with a new dress in a soft, wine-colored material that clung to me. I felt sleek and shapely, but it was the cobra head that made me feel beautiful.
“What are you supposed to be?” Rosemary said. She was a stupid, unhappy woman, just smart enough to be perpetually suspicious that people were making fun of her. She had been a secretary with the company for 28 years.
“Happy Halloween,” I said, sitting at my desk and uncovering my typewriter.
Rosemary frowned at me. “You watch it,” she said. “Mr. March said just the other day he thought you had some kind of rebellious streak. But I stuck up for you, I said you were maturing. You’re going to ruin me,” she hissed.
There was a stack of work in my basket. I crumpled the vinyl cover of my IBM and shoved it into a drawer. “I’m getting a cup of coffee,” I said.
Going down the hall to the coffee machine, I saw my lover. He was lean, forest-eyed, wheat-haired. Seeing him always took my breath away, made me weak in the knees. I was a fool, an embarrassment to myself.
He smiled at me. His eyes slid up the forked tongue and found me right away. He shook his head. He thought I was beautiful.
Safe within my rubber fortress, my slack idiot’s face melted for him. I have known you 100,000 years; we were dinosaurs together, I told him soundlessly.
Mr. March saw us in the hall. He bent toward me, trying to look down my dress. “Don’t we look yummy today?” he leered, looking to my lover for agreement, but he was gone.
“Do we?” Fuck yourself in the ass, I mouthed gloriously.
His lean brown vulture’s head bent farther toward me. “Who are you supposed to be?” he said. His wrinkled tie dangled obscenely outside his vest.
“I’m supposed to be a secretary,” I said.
Still bent over, he said, “Why are you afraid of me?”
“I’m not afraid of you.” I hate you, I said.
His face constricted with pretended concern. “Why don’t you open up to me?” he said, very low. “You mustn’t be afraid. You won’t get the reaction you expect. Think about that.” He wagged a finger at me, brushing my breast.
“I’ll think about it.” You asshole, I said.
When I got back to my desk with my coffee and my straw, Rosemary was typing furiously. “You’re cute” was all she would say.
My lover came by to take me to lunch. We went to his apartment. He is a writer; his four unpublished novels, neatly bound, stand next to his bed. They are all about a woman he loved in Paris eight years ago. He does not expect to love again.
The early afternoon sun, filtering weakly through the vines, dappled us like lepers. He stroked my proud hood with one hand as he undid my dress. I writhed beneath him, then over him, my hidden face contorted  into molten curves of longing. I felt my lips curl past my teeth; sweat drizzled down my cheeks. There was a downpour in my head, dim memories of an ancient sea.
Afterward, he gave me some Perrier to sip through a straw. He put on an old record and sang to me, his voice flat and husky as the November wind. He was wishing he was in Paris.
I cut tiny slits between the scales to make the head more comfortable and stopped wearing make-up. I took off the snake head for a few minutes every night and washed my face in the dark bathroom. Once I turned on all the light and nearly screamed. The head in the mirror was pale, grotesquely small. The face quivered stupidly, a weak, pitiable, unsafe face. A face that I had tolerated despite nearly 30 years of consistent betrayals. Of its own will, it would blush and snarl and yawn and weep and look alternately sad and foolish. It had no interest in protecting me. I had given it many chances, I thought, as I put the snake head back on. It felt so good.
After I had worn the head for a week, Mr. March called me into his office. He liked to sail and there were models all over his desk and credenza. “Don’t you think you’re carrying this thing too far?” he said, staring in at where he thought I was.
I said nothing. A cobra says nothing.
“You’re not in college anymore. This kind of prank won’t go over here. You’ve got to think of your career,” he said. “You’re a bright girl, but you’ve got to start watching your step. We can’t have this. Besides, it must get terribly hot in that thing,” he added hopefully.
I reminded him that I was always on time, that i was the best typist in the office, that my work was always in compliance with company standards. I casually mentioned discrimination and the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, which was already handling several suits against the company.
He blanched under his Sunday-sailor’s tan, then tried to look hurt. “I don’t know why you're afraid of me.”
I left him jabbing his pen into the rigging of an old whaler.
Drinking all my meals through a straw was beginning to make me thin. For the first time in years, I liked the way I looked. My lover ran his tongue along the clean blades of my hipbones and pressed his face against my flat belly. He murmured that he thought his French was beginning to come back.
He pureed oysters for me in the blender and made me duckling à l’orange, frogs’ legs provençale, poached salmon with chestnuts. He sauteed tiny carrots and crumbled dillweed into the melted butter. He tenderly fed his creations into the blender and I drank them with a straw.
My husband complained, “Your tits are too small.” He said it was like screwing on box springs without a mattress. He had lost his hold. He bruised the span of his chest against my knees night after night. He never wanted me to take off the snake head.
Sometimes, after he was asleep, I’d sneak into the kitchen and put something in the blender for myself, a taco or a bowl of Cheerios, and drink it through my cold sleek snake throat. Once I stole a page of my lover’s latest manuscript and tried to drink it, but Paris was a pulpy gray paste that stuck in the straw and had to be scraped out of the blender.
I began playing the violin again. I crouched in the closet and played while my husband slept. I began memorizing arias from Bach’s Passion According to Saint Matthew and singing along quietly in melancholy German. I cried happily in the dark, under the coats.
After a while, Mr. March wouldn’t even look at me, no matter what kind of dress I wore. I licked my lips at him invisibly as she shrank against the wall, clutching his attaché case, his bald brown head smooth with revulsion.
Rosemary no longer confided what she and Mr. March said about me. They went to long lunches together; she’d come back flushed and self-righteous.
She rarely spoke to me. One day she said fiercely, “Why don’t you just go home and have some kids? Or are you afraid they’ll hatch?” Her sneer was so ignorant that it needed no reply.
My husband bought me an imitation-leather bra and garter belt. He went to Frederick’s of Hollywood, I suppose. He also bought me some absurdly pointed imitation-snakeskin boots. Luckily, I never had to walk in them. It must be like making love to a La-Z-Boy recliner, I thought, smiling while he grunted and battered himself against my Naugahyde thighs.
One night, when he was through, he told me about a bad dream he’d had.
“You burned the house down,” he said. “You meant to do it. You said we could only take a few things, to make it look like an accident. Then you sprinkled gasoline around the house and we lit it. I helped you.” He shook his head slowly and he said again, “I helped you.”
“Why did I do it?” I said.
He looked at me, his eyes searching the cobra cavern. He looked puzzled, then annoyed and sullen, like someone trying to scrape mayonnaise out of an empty jar that he could have sworn was full. “I don’t know,” he said. “It wasn’t in the dream.” Moments later, he was asleep.
A few nights after that, he got up for a glass of water and heard me in the closet. I was playing Come, Sweet Death, sobbing blissfully. He grabbed my arm and yanked me out into the light. He was shaking. Slowly he reached for me and, with both hands, tore off my head and ripped it up the back. He looked at it for a moment, lying in his hands. Then he threw it into the bathtub and started lighting matches. The scales began to smoke and melt, oozing across the pink porcelain. The smell was nauseating.
He carefully turned over the head so that I could see the emerald hood darken and fall away. The small red cobra eyes rolled upward in despair, the soft fangs flowed like marshmallow cream over the forked hot tar tongue. I pressed my violin into my chest until the strings groaned.
The room was filled with fetid black smoke. My husband was crying, too, tears cutting grimy ditches through the soot on his face. For a long time, he watched the feeble, smoldering thing that had been the snake head; he couldn’t stand to look at me. Finally, he got himself a glass of water and went back to bed.
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