#whoops its nearly 4am i need to sleep

[dxsole]

five times kissed!! donny beefsteak.

😚 FIVE TIMES KISSED 😚

Still Accepting!

FIRST. It starts on the knuckles, Virote’s hand being raised up to his lips. He’s got the latest box, inside yet another purchase for the nursery— listen, Daisy and Donna may be small but they’re growing like weeds and they need cute clothes. “Okay so, just to warn you, I added somethin’ to the order.” Ah, so the kiss was to warm Virote up before. He’s a bit sheepish as Virote eyes him curiously, cutting open the box— Along with all the nice, new outfits they had picked out for the girls were matching collars, all with bowties. “Listen, they also sold stuff for cats an’ dogs so I mean,” He holds up one daisy printed shirt (for Daisy, of course) and the matching bow-tied dog collar. “All the kids can match now. I’m just bein’ a fashion-forward dad, ya know?” His lips curl into a smile as he gives Vi one more peck, knowing there’s an agreement in there somewhere.

SECOND. Donny’s not even sure it registers. It’s firm-lipped and pressed to Virote’s forehead. They’re not a common occurrence, but some days are tiring. Life presses a bit. Someone gets bad news. Sometimes you just don’t want to talk or move or give more to society than you already have. So they sit, eating noodles that have a level of heat that’ll melt a normie’s face off, Kiki as the sentient black hole stretched over the pair’s laps, Tyson sleeping soundly on the floor, tail wagging in his sleep. It takes a second for the kiss to settle but he eventually feels Virote leaning against his side. It may be a tiring sort of day but they can handle it. 

THIRD.  It misses the mark slightly; he’s too excited, too stimulated by the previous whooping and clapping of the audience. It still rang in his ears even as he picks up Virote and twirls him around— Virote has been the spectator so many times, cheering, screaming sometimes when Donny was in the ring. In this twist of events, Donny’s the one in the crowd, fists clenching every time Vi’s body dropped— only to watch him catch himself in some incredible act of acrobatics. Donny wasn’t sure how in the hell he does it, but seeing Virote smile that wide and look so proud of himself was the highlight of the night. “Ya did amazing!” Donny murmurs between congratulatory kisses. “We gotta go out an’ celebrate, right? Go all out.”

FOURTH. The celebration had spilled over from dinner to dessert to 4am midnight snack— he’s not sure when they developed this penchant for eating when they had something to celebrate but he’s not exactly complaining. He’s chomping on a Toblerone, chewing thoughtfully before he glances up at Virote. “Ya know it’s basically, like, a Crunch bar but a lot more sophisticated.” Virote apparently likes how Donny can reduce anything down to its generic counterpart (he once compared prime salmon to a Filet-o-Fish, which enraged the waiter) because he’s just smiling down at him from his perch on the bed, head shaking. “C’mere. Prove me wrong.” They’re quick to meet, Virote leaning down and Donny reaching up, a residue of chocolate swirling between two tongues in the dark— Virote’s nearly falling off the bed at this point but thankfully Donny’s wasting no time in climbing up to meet him.

FIFTH. Oh, its...its so petty. Donny liked to think he wasn’t a petty sort of guy; he got along with nearly everyone and if you actively try and piss him off, he’s got a knuckle sandwich your name on it. But see, when you expect people like Donny and Virote to bend to your will and then get mad when they don’t? Or to be more precise, you’re a big asshole who really thought you had a chance with either of them and think that glaring at them from across the way is going to make them stop being happily married? They're both glaring right back and it doesn’t stop until Donny smooches his husband. Going hard. Two separate middle fingers are held up— Stay in your lane, buddy.

#sailorvinus #ch: donny #people #vivi motorboat srisati #donny & vi really say 'we're out of all of your leagues'

[furryarbiterangel]

October Story Time Post 20

Water distorts sound. That’s something you figure out quickly when you live on a lake. It can be annoying, especially when your neighbors blast their music at top volume late into the night. You’re unsure of how many times you’ve made noise complaints. You just know it’s a lot.

Recently the sounds have changed. A new noise unlike what they've turned on top volume. One that only occurs at 3am. That sounds suspiciously like… like Happy Birthday, and Joy to the World, and Do Your Ears Hang Low, and Pop Goes the Weasel, and Music Box Dancer. As though. As though there is an ice cream truck sitting across the lake.

Still you don’t think too much of it besides the fact that the 3am noises are waking you up.

And the cops are sick of going out for noises they report are gone by the time they reach your neighbors.

But you still hear it. Even as they call you to follow up that they’ve spoken with you neighbors and there is no music. Everything changes one day when the police knock on YOUR door with a noise complaint.

"We know that your neighbors across the lake are annoying with their music keeping you up at night but fighting fire with fire is not the way to resolve this problem.”

You shake your head in confusion struggling to understand because you were sound asleep when the knock comes.

“What are you talking about?”

“The music sir. You need to turn down the music.”

You stare for a while then invite the officers inside.

There is no music. They check your appliances. They check your outside for speakers. They find nothing.

As they’re leaving a sound starts to drift lightly into hearing. The joyful yet distorted sound of Pop Goes the Weasel.  The cops frown and assure you they’ll address your neighbors for lying and trying to get you into trouble.

A few minutes later the cops are back. They explain to you that although they understand how frustrating it is to be constantly woken, it wasn’t exactly cool for you to turn up your music after they left.

“I’ve been awake still sir.” You explain, “the music is keeping me awake” You lead them once more into the house where the eerie noise still echoes.

“I’m getting real sick of this.” One cop says.

“You all will need to figure this out between yourselves.” The other adds on. “We won’t be responding to calls from this house anymore.”

You protest that it’s not fair but they shake their heads in annoyance and leave.

The music is gone for the night.

The next morning there is an ice cream truck sitting outside of your house. It’s not playing music yet you get a peculiar vibe you don’t like coming off of it. You edge around it to get to your car. Everything remains silent.

When you get home from work that evening, the truck is sitting in the same exact spot, soft playing a tune. Frustrated, you walk up towards it, ready to have some harsh words with the driver. But as soon as you get within 4 feet of the truck it blares. Sinister music, distorted despite the proximity, and chilling twist on original tunes.

You jump in shock, nearly falling as you scramble away from the sudden burst of noise.

Once you’re several feet backwards the music shuts off with a click. The silence almost as deafening as the song had been.

Grumbling you decided to leave it alone but mutter some choice words as you leave.

That night you wake to the distorted sounds of ice cream truck music. Echoing into your house from across the lack. And from in front of your house. You sneak a glance out the window, struggling not to move the curtains, and see the ice cream truck sitting in your driveway. You leap backwards as the music turns up. As though the truck had seen you.

Confused and frantic you call 911.

“Is this a true emergency” a grumpy voice at the other end of the lines snarls “or is this another one of your ice cream truck calls?”

You pause, not willing to admit it’s another call about the music but concerned about the growing closeness of the truck sitting in your driveway.

“That’s what I thought.” The operator hangs up.

At 4pm the music turns off. The truck stays in your driveway.

You call out of work, citing a medical emergency.

The truck doesn’t move.

Your neighbor calls you that night, snapping at you that if you don’t move your truck off their lawn they’ll press charges.

You hang up.

The truck now sits at your front door. Driveside door open. A dark figure stands on your porch. You can’t see its’ face but it appears to be holding an ice cream cone in each hand.

You run back to the room, slamming the door behind you, and burying your face in layers of blankets trying to block out the sound. It doesn’t work.

Instead of turning off at 4am today the songs continue to early in the morning growing more and more distorted as the night wears onwards. When the music finally stops, your impromptu earplugs doing little to drown it out, you creep down stairs.

Your front door stands open.

You call 911 again.

They don’t answer.

You call your neighbor.

They don’t answer.

You try 911 again and the phone line goes dead.

You’re alone. In a big house with an empty truck sitting in your driveway, blocking your car from leaving.

You shut the door making sure to lock it. You return to your bed and hide under the blankets. You sleep poorly, followed by dreams of a man with a gaping mouth and swirled black and white eyes. He is always hungry. Music blares out of his cavernous mouth. He follows your in your sleep, slowly, steadily gaining ground. Never stopping. Never resting.

At 3am you wake in a cold sweat. Music surrounding you until you can hear and sense nothing else.

You open your eyes slowly. Dreading what you’re going to see. At first there is nothing but darkness. You begin to relax. But still that eerie music. Those poor imitations of songs. Echo in your head.

But in the dark. A figure stands besides your bed. Outlined by flashing lights from the truck outside. Music trickles in streams from a speaker that acts as his mouth, eyes nearly hypnotic in their ever moving pattern.

The music stops.

“Would you like to make a purchase?” The question is as distorted as the music has been.

You shake your head stammering out a soft “No thank you”

“Whoops! Wrong answer!” It sings.

 ...

There is a truck that sits across the water.

If you listen careful it plays its’ merry tunes.

Songs twisted to the point of incomprehension.

You must be careful not to listen too closely. You never know if the ice cream man in monitoring you too.

#october storytime #horror stories #creepy music #creepy ice cream man #don't listen too closely #October story time!