“Goddog,” Buck mumbled, missing the mesh bag by a whole hell of a lot. “Get off it, old man.” After the pep talk, he nabbed his pipe and puffed for a moment, glaring at a wooden box filled with bags. The festive months lifted his spirits, and typically, getting a head start on Chrismassy things made Buck happy. Of course, the women had ruined his favorite hobby. “Shiiiiiit.” “What’s wrong, buttercup?” Totti asked, patting her ruffled skirt. “You love working on holiday specials.” “I do, but it’s our house guest that’s got me in a tizzy. She’s working my last nerve, too.” “He wants to fuck heeeeeeer,” Torti sang. “I do. He ain’t lying. Thing is, she ain’t available.” Totti shrugged and said, “Well, there’s other bees on the bud, honey. You know this.” The wee betty landed on the mushroom-shaped bowl of his pipe and placed hands on her narrow hips. “Y’all are mighty generous with your bed, never too picky either. Go find someone who is available.” Buck canted his head, brows knitting. “But I don’t want nobody else right now. She’s my fancy at the moment, Totti. And you know how I get when someone grabs my attention.” “True, but if she’s not into it, then you have no choice but to accept it.” “You ain’t lying either.” Buck took to his pipe, and Totti pushed off, then flitted about. “I gotta respect her wishes, and I do, but she lost a bet.” “What a fucked way to go about getting what you want,” Torti said, jumping into a pile of crackly mint leaves. “You’re an asshole.” “And you a cunt.” “Thank youuuuu, I love you too, Buckley.” The mini man and miss wore the same attire at all times, preferring tunics and fluffy dresses. Because Nieema loved them more than most, she made their cute garments. Other sprites thought them weird for adopting “primitive fashion trends”. They were nudists by nature and didn’t see the point in covering their bodies. Buck didn’t care, but not everyone shared their love of running ‘round the forest booty naked. “She agreed to this bet,” Buck amended, setting his pipe on the table. “Jasper could’ve said no.” “You could’ve not offered,” Torti said, grinning like Carl’s raggedy ass. The sprite ducked into the pile of leaves and popped up, tossing them in the air. “Ugggh, I love fresh mint. This shit clears my skin and guts.” “I don’t need to hear ‘bout your guts, Torti. Please do shut the fuck up.” “As much as I don’t want to agree with the village bitch,” Totti chimed, “I must say that was mischievous of you.” “Would you look at that, I’m living up to Mama’s expectations.” Torti and Totti spat in their palms and flapped their wings three times. “No, no. We shall not speak of her in our sanctuary. Don’t go there, buttercup.” “Sorry,” Buck muttered. He quieted and let nature speak for him. The homey treehouse was a living entity, groaning and shifting as Buck shuffled from shelf to shelf. He hummed and two-stepped as soft, deep lofi played from the small speaker on the kitchen counter. It was wedged between canisters, candles, and teacups. The art of tea making soothed his spiraling thoughts. One-hundred sachets later, Buck yawned and scratched the base of his left antler. “These ‘bouta shake loose. Another week or so.” “Yaaaay!” Torti circled Buck and clapped in his line of sight. “You hear that, T? We’re getting new mattressessss.” “That is lovely, mine is getting lumpy. I can barely sleep.” Buck was all about resource and reuse. Nothing in nature goes to waste. Even the velvet on his antlers. It made for great bedding materials. The sprites loved how soft it was, and he didn’t need it after a time. Hank, on the other hand, hated how he gave it away for free… and to sprites of all people. A repetitive tapping at the door made his mouth and ear twitch. “Come on in.” The visitor chirped and wobbled on through the revolving window pane made for avian and sprite folk alike. “You late,” Buck snapped. The colorful bird didn’t pay him any mind, chasing Torti around the tree house. One day, they’d stop flirting and be done with it. Chessie was married but free to fuck. He was polyamorous; his husbands were not. Two men shared Chessie; they didn’t even live together. It wasn’t no shit Buck would volunteer for. Their polyam structure was completely different. They were on the same highway but in two different lanes. Buck surveyed the spice wall and pulled a shimmering purple blend. Magical spices added a kick to his tea, and he thanked Maggie by giving her twenty percent of his earnings. Crystal powders carried magic well and were often safe to consume in small, measured doses. “Chessie! Stop foolin about, now. I got shit to do.” The twittering tropical sea bird trilled and flapped his wings until they were no longer visible to the naked eye. The frenetic motion helped the man shift. Watching his transformation was kinda like staring at the sun. Glaring and powerful, an impossible glowing orb evolved into Chessie Tideway. He was a short, lanky gentleman with burnished brown skin and white freckles. His curly hair and eyes resembled the island waters in which he was born. Warm, shallow tides had been kind to him, giving his complexion a dewiness most paid for. The personable fellow had been his best friend for almost three hundred years. “Woooo doggie, I tell you!” Chessie ambled on over to the icebox and grabbed them both a chilled longneck. He cracked them open with his sharp teeth and chucked tops into the bin. “Bruh, that house is a piece of shit. I mean, it’s ready for a nice wind.” “I know it.” After sprinkling the powder over the basket of tea bags, he accepted the frothy, autumnal hops. Clove and Creme were his favorite. “Hawke gon’ catch his death one day behind his trickery.” Chessie swigged and burped, sitting his bare ass down on the couch nearest to Torti. There wasn’t shit a sprite could do for him, at least nothing Buck could figure. “So, what you find?” Buck asked. “What didn’t I find? A charred wicker spider out back, your construction buddies milling about, writing shit down. Then, sometime after sunset, people start peeking into the house. You know that weird white lady who be giving vendors at the farmers market a hard time? Wushuname…uhuh—” “Sissy Perkins.” “That’s her, yeah. She was looking all in the window with some other folks. That didn’t seem odd to me until I noticed how all of them was wearing the same bracelets with scribbles on them. Prolly some cult shit.” Buck snagged his pipe and added the magic powder, clove, Pixie Dash, and dried bubble flower to the bowl. He stuffed, struck a match, and puffed. “What about the curse?” “Ohhhhh,” Chessie tipped his beer and tapped Torti on his tiny head. The man screamed and bit the tip of Chessie’s finger. “Tell me you love me.” Torti made a gagging sound, and his teeny body shuddered. “Even if I liked giants, you wouldn’t even make the top fifty on my To Be Fucked list.” Buck leaned against the counter, arm under his elbow, holding the pipe to his lips. Smoking was another hobby, one to soothe and mellow. It softened the mind and body, allowing him to create in peace. “The house got about five curses on it, I’d say. Residuals from the last done spoiled the soil and water. I took a sensor charm up in there, and that motha fucka turned red instantly. Ain’t nothing good ever happened in that house.” Chessie scoffed and sprang to his feet, heading for the icebox a second time. He threw away the empty bottle, plucked another, and some fruit. “Back in the day, a warlock lived there. They ran his unhinged ass outta town, but still, don’t nobody know what he did in there. For a while, the mayor wouldn’t let citizens anywhere near it. If I was Ms. Marrow, I’d bulldoze the whole thing, start fresh, and ward the grounds.” Buck grunted at the thought of all that work. It’d be hell, but quite possibly worth it. Jasper’s safety was important, for whatever reason he’d yet to scrutinize, but refused to ignore what he felt when in her company.
“Okay, but caffeine is a controlled substance at this point, teetering on the edge. Let’s be for real. It should be just as, if not harder to get, ‘cause it’s strong as hell, I ain’t lying now, and you know this chile.” Max stared at the sketch she’d been working on for two days and hated it. She hated a lot of her work. It was never bright enough, perfect enough, or even slightly artistic. At least, in her humble opinion. “I love it when you talk like a grandma.” Max smiled and put pencil to paper once more. It was tough to concentrate on the mermaid slash steampunk piece with Can’t Stop by After 7 blasting. “That’s ‘cause I am, a grandma, Ndari.” “No the hell you are not.” She chuckled and said, “You’d have to be a grandmother for that. And you don’t even have kids.” “Annnnd I never will,” Max sang, meaning every word. Kids were a scary, sticky fingered bunch, plus the idea of growing another body inside of her own was revolting. She shivered, blew a huge Bubblicious sphere, popped it, and examined the girl’s face etched on white parchment. “She looks like Gary Busey.” “You always think they look like Gary Busey.” “’Cause they do, bruh. Like, swear to god. Look!” Spinning the heavy book around on the glass counter, she shoved it at Ndari. The girl stopped with her broom work and glanced at the buxom mermaid. “Nothing like him.” “Lyin’ ass,” Max muttered. Ndari giggled and returned to sweeping the two- hundred-square-foot waiting area. A high-gloss black floor meant everything was visible, and Ndari never missed a speck. Little miss was a bona fide neat freak. She peeped allllll dust, dirt, and debris. The girl swept about twenty times a night, and the entire shop smelled like Lysol. Which, was actually a good thing considering their specialty. Snagging her three-hundred-page drawing book, Max got back to business and shaded in her tail. The fins were adorned with bolts and wires. She loved mermaids, sirens, and the ocean. The mermaid thing was borderline obsessive. “I have no appointments!” “And here he goes…” Max slammed her book closed, threw the pencil, and watched as Jordan stomped from the back and fell onto a fancy sectional. “And whose fault is that?” Ndari barked. His enormous frame filled a five-seater without issue. The six-foot-eight, two hundred and ninety-pound mountains Doc Martens stretched well past the arm. “Shut up bitch, I am boooored, okay,” Jordan cried, while Max cocked a brow. “Seeing as it’s June 3rd,” Max said, “you are ‘bouta be crying in two weeks. ‘Cause our shop will be booked to hell. So look here heffa, don’t come hooping and hollering now. Take this time, ‘cause yo lazy behind will be the first one moaning about how you’re tired and overworked.” The man bolted upright and gasped, full on drama with a hand on his broad chest. “Why do you have to drag me like that, honey?” “’Cause I love you,” Max chimed. Jordan blushed and waved a hand. “And I love you, boss lady.” “Move!” Ndari yelled, shoving at his foot with the broom. “You know what? You can stop yelling at me, Cinderella.” They both giggled while Jordan lifted his feet. Big mister had a voice like Barry White, a beard he kept braided Thor style, and perfectly tailored. Folks often assumed he was in a biker gang or a motorcycle club, whatever they was calling it these days. “Can we play something newer?” Ndari groaned as she sprayed large, spotless windows with stank glass cleaner. “Like, Nsync.” “Nsync?!” Max balked, recoiling at the audacity. “You know better Ndari, this ain’t an Nsync safe zone. It’s New Kids on the Block, or Backstreet Boys. Mint Condition and shit. Nsync is not welcome, and that ain’t news. You showing your age, now.” Ndari cackled as she swiped and polished. “I am only forty-nine.” “Girl, we got cougars up in here.” Max ignored Jordan and his eighty-two-year-old ass. Pointing at her best friend, Max snorted. “Honey, forty-nine is edging fifty; you are almost a senior citizen.” “Shhhh, don’t.” Ndari snickered and threw a paper towel across the room. It landed on the floor, she ran for the thing, and snatched it quick. “If any of you drop even a crumb my floor, you’ll have to see me in a duel.” Of course, there was a clatter of metal on granite. Jordan emptied his pockets. He threw a handful of change and mints at the girl’s feet. Ndari screamed, jumped on his dumb self, and put him in a choke hold. She’d taken four years of Jujitsu and was not to be trifled with. Jordan, on the other hand, ain’t never been in a fight. Standing behind the counter, Max booted the POS and clicked until finding their ordering database. She checked what was low and restocked, two of everything. “Incoming!” Jordan shouted and hopped to it. Ndari went with him and hung from his neck like a pendant. “I’m ready! Move girl. I need to make some money.” “Yes, you do.” Max peered through tinted double panes as two men approached in a hurry. They looked stacked from afar. “Damn.” Ndari dropped the broom and ran behind the counter. She tended to her job, as a receptionist. Max slid in and leaned beside the woman who readied her tits and fluffed a cute pixie cut. It shooolll was a setup. Heavy spice and blood wafted at the exact moment two fine men entered her tattoo shop. Ohhhh, yeah, those two would turn a girl out and into something nasty. “Hay, you takin’ walk-ins?” The brunette asked, in a Goodfellas accent. Ndari nodded. “Indeed, you lucked out. We don’t close ‘til four.” The testosterone-heavy boys admired their high wall covered in art and drawings Max personally sketched. People liked her shit… ‘shit’ being the main word there. “Cool, ‘cause we stopped on South Beach, at The Tatt-” Max snapped her fingers, cutting off the insult. “We don’t say that name around here.” She smiled, showed and teeth ‘cause them was vampires staring at her. “Oh, my fault.” That one was naughty as eyes found both sets of cleavage. Sex sells, okay. They’d booked so many clients after a glimpse of tiddie meat. “Anyway, they were closed, so we asked around. We were told, Ink In Hell was the next best thing.” “I should turn you away for that, Paulie.” Max tsked playfully as the big ol’ hunk of muscle smirked. Those baby blues sparkled as she swung attention to his buddy. A spicy red he was. Taller too, six-five, maybe six. Wide, thick, and tatttted. She clocked a couple of clovers weaved into ornate markings on his forearms. He was obviously Irish. As if his brazen, long mane wasn’t enough evidence. Red nudged Gotti and whispered in his ear. They cracked in heavy masculine laughter. “Alright, alright. I don’t know what I want. Fuck outta he’.” Jesus, he was a bold cliché. “So, what do you two have in mind?” Ndari asked, in her ‘tryna fuck’ voice. “We have plenty of options.” “I don’t know.” The Italian Job shrugged and went on. “I never even had a tattoo before. I’m old school, body is a temple, and all that. You know. I was raised Catholic. My Gma is gonna have a stroke if she finds out.” Big Red turned and pinned eyes on Max. She wiggled a little. He was fine. Like, handsome in the extreme. A full-grown ass male like that was not going to bark up her tree. Then he spoke. “I’m hoping to pop his ink cherry.” Sex, his voice was a lengthy four rounds of deep and sweaty. Max laughed and slapped the counter. “’Nough said, come here, church boy.” She gestured for their company and snagged another full sketchbook. Good lawd, they smelled nice. Cologne, aftershave, weed, and soap…male vampire. The latter got her carpet wet, honey. “Okay, so you’re Catholic and Italian.” “How’d you know, I—” “Lucky guess, it’s your sense of humor.” He grinned and tapped his buddy’s chest. “Look at this youngsta here. She got a mouth, don’t she?” “I am ninety-eight years old, Frankie.” “Aye, Frankie is my cousin, I’m Ines.” Her brows popped. “Wow, not what I assumed at all.” “Yeah,” Ndari hummed, considering Ines. “Thought you more of a… Giraldo, maybe.” “That’s terrible, I’d slit my own jugular.” Their quad chuckled as Jordan appeared and cleared his throat. “I’m ready when… ever. Hi…” He waved at Ines and… “What about you? What’s your handle?” Max asked the handsome fellow. He dragged a low-lidded gaze over and smirked. Like a nasty Sphinx. “Jaxon.” “Ohhhh, kaaaayyy.” Jordan chimed in from behind and did everything to shove his big ass between them. Max brushed the wall and giggled. “That’s rustic and rugged.” “I think it’s classy, my mom has good taste.” “She does.” Jordan nodded and twiddled his braid. “Okay, back to you, Ines.” Max pushed at her cock blocker… that was funny. No way in hell. “You’re Italian, catholic, and have a grandmother. So, I’d say, medium-sized, and nothing too flashy.” “Yeah, yeah, exactly.” Max chewed quickly and blew a bubble. She flipped plastic pages with vamp speed and stopped on an Italian flag number. The words, ‘Chaoi bella’ in cursive, were etched under it. “Dai nemici mi guardo io, dagli amici mi guardi Iddio! I will protect myself from my enemies, may God protect me, from my friends.” Max recited the words, and Ines tapped Jaxon again. “You know Italian?” “I do.” “Il tuo un breve asno intelligente.” “You are right on both accounts, I am short, and I am a smart ass.” Max shrugged and sighed. “Thanks for noticing.” Another bubble emerged and exploded while he cackled. “I like it, I wanna get that one. My Gma will approve, and it’s not so big.” “Perfect,” Ndari said. She started the formalities of payment and such. “Have you fed within eight hours?” “No.” “Okay, great.” “Alllrighty.” Jordan had to say something. “When you are done, Ndari will bring you into my office.” The male spun on his heels, happy as hell. And so was Max, this guy was their third customer of the night. Summer was a pain in the ass. They had roughly five hours to work with, and humans weren’t allowed…sort of, so they were short on time. Max watched them exchange money for services, and hot damn. They were a duo made for GQ or Vogue. Ines had a rough quality, handsome and dark, tanned. His other half was pretty, runway-ready, and fuckin’ seductive. Being escorted, neither took a second look, and yeah… story of her life. Males like that never gave Max the time of day. Ndari shuffled back in her Crocs and met Max face to face. “I am sweating… everywhere.” “Shhhhh.” Max grabbed the girl’s hand, her vape, and ran out the door. They giggled into the night and flopped down at one of the small bistro tables. “I cannnot,” She blurted. “Honey, I—two?” As Max turned on her pen, Ndari squealed. “Two purebloods at once. My god, did you see Ines and those shoulders? I swoon.” “Okay, but that ginger boy?” “Makes you think, does everything match the drapes. You should shoot.” Max chuckled, expelling a light mist of smoke. “I know you fukin’ lyin’. Big boys like him do not fool with women like me, a lowly halfbreed. I know my lane, ‘aight. And I stay in it.” Her best friend knew nothing about living as a six, seven on a good night. Ndari was fabulous, a classic beauty queen from Indonesia. Lithe and athletic. By no means did Max hate herself, but she preferred to call a spade, a spade. “Not this again,” Ndari mumbled. “You’re always so humble… and self-deprecating.” “I am not self-deprecating.” Max paused to suck down cherry-scented smoke and spoke on exhale. “I’m a realist, I ain’t ‘bouta set myself up for humiliation.” She wasn’t no dummy and wouldn’t play the town fool either. “Tuhuh, not I. Aye, did you see how high he was?” “Yeesss.” Ndari slouched in her chair. “Mr. Jaxon was baked. Flying.” “Must be nice. Weed makes me nervous.” Hitting the pen one mo’ gain, Max nodded. “Give me a bottle of brandy, and I’m straight.” “Old ass. You sound like my aunt.” “I am an auntie, hell. Got on cotton briefs to prove it.” Her girl cut up, and they cackled at the self-burning. But hey, at least she wasn’t delusional about her geriatric status.
Annnd we made it to publishing day! I know it’s late, but I didn’t give a set time for a reason, because I know me. Also, I wanna let y’all know that this almost didn’t happen. I almost made a post stating how I was too sick to edit it. But you know what? I pushed through this flu I got. It’s bad y’all. About six days of hellll on earth, you hear me? Anyway, I said fuck it. No excuses. So I got my lap desk and did what needed to be done. I figured I’d have days to do all this, but I was extremely unwell there for a spell and couldn’t even sit upright. I am now on the mend and felt good enough to get it done FOR Y’ALL. I set a date and I wanted to stick to that. I wanted to prove it to myself that I could do it, no matter what. I’m proud of myself and I’m excited that y’all get meet the Chaotic Trio, as I have called them for a few years. With that said, happy reading, and as always, thank you so very much for stopping by!
After a final hit, he pinched the glowing cherry and stashed the blunt behind his ear. AB then snatched his shirt tails free, unbuttoned, and let the tank work some heavy overtime. Emerging from the vehicle, he noted a blonde out front who stiffened by the very sight of him. “Sup?” She smiled. “Hellooo.” The tattoo shop was packed with vampires, no doubt. Miss Mini Skirt looked like an employee. Music was loud as he entered goth heaven. Black on black. Everything, save for the counter space and white desktop. “Oh wow, you’re back…uhhh…” The tall brunette with a short cut squinted. “Jaxon?” “Nice memory.” She smirked and nodded. “Come for one yourself this time?” “Nah, nah. I was wondering if the other,” he lifted a hand to his torso, and she snickered, “short one, is around.” “Yeah, actually. She’s in the back, getting her stuff.” Pixie Cut turned, then looked back at him. “We’re about to close up.” “I feel you. I’ll wait.” The person on his radar returned from wherever she had been. Ample hips and thighs made him stare. God damn her! Ab thought. He didn’t know what she was looking for in that bag, but hopefully it was her number. “Ndari, baby, have you seen my phone?” “In the POS.” “Shit, right.” She halted and glanced at her buddy. He couldn’t tell for sure, behind the dark frames. She had Sunglasses At Night fetish, obviously. “Look who it is, Ginger Snaps. I’d love to offer a session, but we are done for the night.” She marched forward, and he observed a slight limp. Rummaging through the register, she snorted. “You know wh—giiiiirrl, I don’t remember putting it in there.” Scatterbrained…unattractive. Slamming it shut, she said, “So anyway, feel free to make an appointment, Lucky—” “I fucking dare you to finish that sentence. My Mama doesn’t even call me Lucky Charms.” Eyes darted as the blonde sashayed behind the counter, and the tall one shook her head. But Shorty recoiled and said, “You, are a customer in my establishment, and I can refuse service at any time, Irish Cream. I will tase yo big ass. I got one in my purse. You should find someone safe to play with.” Unclear on how to respond, AB laughed. Her Napoleon complex was strong as fuck. “Damn, I didn’t come to get tased shit. All I wanted was your number.” She made an odd croaking sound, looked at her employee, then dove into her purse again. “Why you want my number?” “So I can text you. Or FaceTime.” “Fuck FaceTime, I hate Apple.” She paused with the digging and lifted her gaze. “You wanna call me?” “If that’s okay, I guess. Or not.” “I—” She sought her girls’ approval, shrugged, and giggled. Ah, insecure. Strike two. She was racking them up quick, but Miss Ma’am didn’t have a thigh gap, and that was his weakness. Smash and dash. Lick and flip, etc. “You know what?” A rude as hell male with no sense of personal space leaned on the counter and smiled at Shorty. “Wus good, baby. You ready?” “Yeah, yeah. Uhm…” “Ohhh, you have a boyfriend.” AB sniffed and threw up his hands. “My fault, you coulda just said that.” “He’s not, my boyfriend.” “I ain’t,” the guy blurted, eyes tracing AB’s frame line by line. “You tryna holla, feel free. Let me mind my business, over here.” He slid to the sitting area, and Jaxon looked back at his current fixation. “Like I was saying, name and number.” “I think I’ll pass. Oh shit, my Monster.” She scoffed. “I’ll be right back.” As the female scurried away after rejecting him like a trick, AB admired the wagon. “Damn, bruh, she curved you quick.” “You are all up in my space.” The weird male had crept in beside AB for a second time. “You don’t own me or the shop.” He chuckled. “The fuck.” “If y’all aren’t together, what’s the problem?” The rude gent smiled and checked him yet again. AB snarled. “You got one more time, halfbreed.” “Aye, bruh, relax. I was just looking, and she ain’t gon’ let you hit…” Licking his lips, the male met AB in the eyes. “But, if it’s back shots you want, I can ease that pain, you feel me.” Jaxon side-stepped and recoiled. “I’m sorry?” “Damn, thought I got one. You old as shit, from the smell of it. I assumed—” “It’s your lack of tact that has me floored, not you making a pass.” “I didn’t hit on you, Red. I asked if you wanted to cut. Different shit.” “Okay, I’m ready.” The woman AB had come for briefly considered him, then the other male, who cackled and pushed off the glass. “Let’s go, baby, we gotta buss some corners before sunrise.” As she came around, AB stared her down. Blushing and grinning were good signs. “So you’re gonna give me nothing?” he asked, as her friend exited. “No. N.O., damn. I know you heard me the first time. Bye, girls, be sure to lock up. You have ten minutes, Jack… or whatever your name is. Shit or get off the pot.” Her ass and attitude left. With it, Jaxon’s patience. Humiliation and rejection were uncomfortable. It happened, but maybe three times in his whole life. And yes, she would come to regret this. For now, he’d find a willing soul who’d crawl through shards and salt to suck his dick.
Mead, bards, and a lovely maiden by the name of Junis. This moment mimicked theirs. It was strange to witness, and Nieema sat in awe. Four hundred years prior, she’d met a mischievous dark fairy boy in a tavern much like Mio’s. They had talked for hours about nothing, and everything then shared a bed with Junis, of course. Nieema hadn’t believed in love at first sight. She’d never been one to dream of white dresses and children. It wasn’t for her…until he laughed at a silly joke. The beautiful dishwasher with his black pine hair and sun-soaked sepia skin warmed her from the inside. But Nieema was off to war. She’d come in, broody and anxious, set to drown her sorrows in honey wine. He, changed her plans with a single quip. Though it’d be some years, centuries before she’d see him again, Nieema knew then she’d marry a humble dishwasher. Buck had left Jasper stunned as well. His quick tongue and devilish smile had yanked her right on up. Nieema was sure she shared the same slack-jawed expression after Buck had kissed her that first night. Jasper was cooked, done for, and she didn’t even know it. “You, punched Trevor Voaremont?” “Yeah.” “I don’t approve,” Nieema added as the fries arrived. “Thank you, baby. Hol’ on, Irene. Can you get Auntie a glass of ice? You know, the chunky kind.” “You and that damn I…” Irene rolled eyes and went to handle another table before fetching that ice. Nieema pinched a fry and dipped it in the cheese, then the ranch. “Nasty,” Jasper muttered. “Pick one.” “Before you knock it, why don’t you try it.“ “No thank you,” Jasper snipped. She grabbed a few fries and ate them dry like a god damn heathen. “Salt and pepper is all I need.” “Classless.” “Buckley Sunside, I told you—“ “You said not to cause a mess, I didn’t. But I had to do something, Nimmy. Shit. He was two seconds from walking up on y’all.” Jasper coughed until her face purpled. Nieema shoved a glass of water at the woman. “Drink it and calm down, dear.” The succubus did as Nieema asked and ate a couple more fries. The unsavory situation was ‘bout to ruin Nieema’s appetite yet again. She nibbled, and with each deliberate chew, she ruminated. Stewing, really. This motha fucka would catch his death creeping about Indigo Plains like the slithering piece of shit he was. “So, that’s when you punched him?” Buck gave a curt nod and sipped his brew. Nieema thought Jasper might swoon on the spot with how she smiled. “Wow. He is watching me then.” “I told you he was. Buuuut, it’s like I said, you’re safe. I won’t let him come near you.” Jasper sprinkled too much salt on the second batch of fries and cleared her throat. “I wish I wasn’t so scared of this asshole. He’s a feeble human with twenty-twenty-five good years left. Some demons might call me a coward and snatch my rank.” Nieema recoiled and scoffed. “Rank?” “As in…” Buck was surprised as Nieema. “You was in the military?” “No. I escaped before my boots hit the ground. No way in Undervell or any other hell would I be forced to fight in a war that started before I was even born. My father makes certain his children serve the Undervell cause. From birth, we are taught to fight, to defend our house. “Kit, is an ass kisser. He’s older than me and wouldn’t dare defy Carriont. Me? Shiiiit. I ran. Fuck no. Not me. I’ll make my own way.” Buck chuckled and dipped his fries in the cheese while Nieema crunched on ice. She worked on two mouthfuls and observed. “So, you know how to box?” Nieema asked. “I can do more than that, but I refuse. It means leaning into my father’s teachings. Being who he wanted me to be. I avoid confrontation at all costs. Someone will die fucking with me, and I’d rather not take a life. It’s bad business.” “Indeed,” Nieema replied. As an ex-general, she understood. After serving the rebellion for many moons, Nieema never wanted her kids or grandchildren anywhere near the battle line. War was brutal and changed people. The damage was irreparable. Though she’d left the trenches well over fifty years ago, nightmares still slipped through the cracks, threatening to do her in. Jasper evaded eye contact because she was a proud woman. Nieema respected it and her aversion to pity. Buck’s declaration touched her somewhere beneath skin and bone. As an old vampire, Nieema possessed the innate ability to read people. From the hop of their pulse, to the rapid beating heart, and overworked lungs. Jasper was a well of knowledge as she swallowed and blinked, feigning nonchalance and swagger. “Not too many have come to my defense without wanting something in return. My older sister and Kit aside, no one has cared enough. This isn’t an opening to talk about feelings and shit, but thank you. I’ve seen the worst of things living in Undervell. I’m not spooked easily, but Trevor and this last year…” Jasper chuckled and stuffed fries between her curved fangs. “I don’t find this amusing,” Nieema intoned. “Why make light of it?” “You had to have live through it to understand.” Silence stretched until Irene slammed a glass on the table. Nieema beamed up at her niece. “Thank you, baby, can—” “Auntie, I got ten tables. This is not your house.” “I am your queen,” Irene laughed and flapped a hand. “Your food’s coming out soon. I don’t got time.” “Go’on, baby. But fix your damn face. Always frowning.” The little girl snickered and winked at Jasper. Nieema snapped fingers and grunted. “Unuh, not over here.” She departed with a swirl and deliberate step. “What about your parents?” Buck asked, choosing the wrong subject. Nieema did not want to talk about that shit. “Where are they? You mentioned kingdoms and whatnot. Where’s your mother?” “He’s very nosy,” Jasper looked to Nieema and cocked a brow. “This ain’t nothing.” “My mother? I don’t know where she is. Somewhere in the five kingdoms. I have no idea. She didn’t bond well with my father and wanted nothing to do with me because of it.” Nieema sucked teeth and glared at her husband. Why did he have to go there? He never knew when to shut right the fuck up. And now, he glowered at a basket of fries. No doubt the parallels in their story made an impact. Nieema unbuttoned her suit jacket and sighed. Her old man’s craggy wound throbbed within her own chest. She rubbed the ache, and he patted her thigh. “It’s okay, beloved. I’m good.” “Bullshit,” Jasper spat. “You fell into an ocean of sorrow just now. Your empathy almost strangled me. What—never mind. It’s not my business.” Nieema didn’t approve of her attitude. Jasper closed up shop and threw them mental bolts. Her false aloofness and fight would do little in this situation. It was futile. Something in the blood and body. Simmering in her soul beckoned them. Not just Nieema or Buck, but both. As one. They felt its caress. The familiar magnetism and pull piqued more than curiosity. This was worth patience. Nieema would wait for the demon. In the end, Jasper would be a woman possessed, writhing and pleading like the rest. “So, what? Is this an open marriage or…” “That’s more like it,” Buck said, smiling like a damn fool. “Yes, open and seeking a third.” “For what?” Jasper asked, going in for more fries. “Fun, pleasure, a good time, one night?” Nieema attacked her second glass of ice and let Buck hold the floor because if she spoke. “Whatever is necessary in the moment. We take all with open arms and legs. We’re happily married and mated, but we ain’t monogamous. Never have been. It was clear from the moment we met.” “Why aren’t you satisfied with each other?” “Ha!” Nieema slammed her glass and crunched before speaking. “Listen here, deary. It’s not about satisfaction or happiness, though. It’s about living and leaning into our sexuality. We love and welcome any and all genders. I love exploring new bodies, new blood, and giving pleasure to those seeking it. “Make no mistake, I love my husband with every fiber of my being, but we have desires as individuals. I love women too damn much, and he is an unapologetic tea bagger. If this man don’t suck dick in the next three months, he’ll get tetchy.” “Silicone is coo’ and everything, ya know? But I like how my hands look choking a chubby six-incher with ridges. Slap it on my tongue, play with it.” Buck swigged his beer, burped, and said, “Plus, I like to swal—” “Okay!” Jasper waved hands and snatched her water as their plates arrived. “Thank god. Holy shit.” “Coming in hot,” Irene said, delivering their meal. “Extra spicy twenty-piece for my best freeen.” She winked at Jasper again. “Thank you so much, this looks and smells divine.” The saucy succubus lingered on the last bit and matched Irene’s flirtatious smile. “Unc, here’s your short ribs. And here, Auntie, I want fifty percent gratuity.” “You lost ya damn mind, chile.” “Fifty!” “Can you get Uncle a little extra cheese? Thank you sweet pea. Imma double that tip.” Irene rolled her eyes before departing like an angry, bored teenager. “Awww, Auntie love herrrr.” Nieema nodded and watched her grown niece tend to patrons with glee. “She so sweet. Irene is the youngest. So she spoiled, you know. My brother can’t tell her no. He didn’t even want her to work. Lil. Princess.” “The way you soften when gushing about your family is adorable.” Nieema dropped her smile and picked up her fork. “Family means everything to me. Everything I do is for them.” “I can see that.” Jasper went for her wings, and Nieema dragged a crusty wedge of sourdough through braised marrow. It was gelatinous, grainy, and fabulous. If not the patties, then marrow was her go-to. When Buck’s short ribs arrived, they cut the long chatter and focused on their meal. Per usual, Milo put his whole god damn foot up in the bone marrow and seasoned the hell out of his famous fried cabbage. Fat back bacon and hot sauce elevated every bite. Nieema didn’t need solids, starch or carbs, but she wasn’t about to turn them down. Why should she deny herself this moment of bliss? Granted, she couldn’t eat a lot, but she ate enough. Fat and sugar in the blood gave her ample hips, luscious thighs, and a belly Buck loved more than her tiddies. “I tell you what,” Buck said, rubbing his bulging stomach. “I can’t touch nothing else. Them tea cakes will have to wait until tomorrow. Sarah dropped them off. Said they were for Friday’s tea party, but I was gonna sample some, naturally.” “I figured you were joking about that,” Jasper said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Tea parties? What, do you plan them or something?” “Yes I do, and what of it?” Buck tweaked a brow, and Nieema smirked, loving his prideful side. “Everybody got a hobby, mine is gardening and tea.” Jasper erupted in tinkling laughter. It was bright and melodic. Nieema enjoyed her elated display far too much. “You two,” the demoness gestured between them with a fork, “you’re walking contradictions.” “Says who?” “You’re a cowboy, Buck. Let’s not forget your loud, sexy car and the way you carry yourself. Whatever masculinity is, you possess it. Since when has tea brewing and tea cakes ever been considered masculine?” Nieema canted her head and hummed. “You must unlearn whatever teachings go on down in Undervell, dear. Brewing and making tea are not gender-specific, and I find it odd to attach male or female, feminine or masculine to such things. It is rather close-minded and toxic. “Buck is a person, not male or female, a person who enjoys tea parties. Where we are from, everyone takes tea rather seriously. They consider him a brew master of sorts. Everyone looks forward to his parties. They are invite-only and the reservation list is long. Some folks been waiting years to attend.” The woman contemplated, eyes fixed upon her cake. She chewed and nodded, drinking her fizzy pop. “You’re right,” Jasper muttered. “You are absolutely right. Buck, I apologize. We aren’t so tight in the ass about sexuality, obviously, but gender roles aren’t up for debate. You can be whoever you want to be, as long as it is male, female, or interbred. You must fall into one of those categories. Each gender serves a purpose in Undervell. Three boxes, no room for discussion.” “Shiiiiid, don’t tell the Lurma peoples that. Them folks who live up there on Keyhold? They have ten genders and no roles to be had.” “I’d like to meet them,” Jasper said, cutting into that monstrous four-layer cake. Nieema had never finished a slice and probably never would. “Can I?” Nieema grimaced and tipped her glass of ice. “Don’t think so. The only person who speaks to Lurma is Old Man Joyner. He barters with them.” “Mmm. The hermit?” “Yup.” Buck groaned aloud and pulled out his wallet, thumbing through plastic. “Don’t know about yall, but I’m ready to kick back. I got a long day tomorrow at the store. Bright and early. Huh, my treat.” Jasper hacked into her second piece and eyed the man. “Who said I’d offer to pay anyway?” “You funny now, Jasper. Keep it up.” Nieema cackled, slapped her husband’s shoulder, and kissed him flat on the mouth. He was a man of his word, and they had that in common. Much like Nieema, Buck preferred his way or none. They butted heads, but he was easily subdued. The dark fae stood no chance against her wily ass, and Jasper didn’t either. It was only a matter of time before the succubus pleaded for mercy. Until then, patience was key.
About two years ago, I gave Vella a try. It went absolutely nowhere. I don’t know, maybe it was my lack of marketing skills. Anyway, I took Neon Red down six months before Vella shuttered and said I’d release it on D2D or Smashwords. I can still do that. I’m still thinking about it, but I figured why not give Substack a go and see what happens. If it doesn’t pick up after about six months, I’ll bring it here. No big deal. I get more reads through FB than anywhere else anyway. So, with that being said, I will post Content Warnings here. Neon red is a Dramatic Paranormal Romance. Keyword: dramatic. It’s dark, twisted at times, and messy. The story follows four vampires. First up, there’s Maxine, a depressed, ninety-eight-year-old divorcée living at home. Then we have Low, a bodyguard intent on fucking up his career and personal life. And because I love chaos, there is Jaxon Aubrey, a genius accountant moonlighting as a drug lord. Lastly, and not my favorite character, Tracy. Maxine’s father, Low’s boss, and Jaxon’s newest client. Neon Red is the first in a three-book series I completed four-five years ago. It’s not my best work, but it is fun and enjoyable. I have been editing and tweaking since its Vella days, so it ain’t sooooo bad. Neon Red is a journey some may not like, and others love. Keep in mind, again, this is a dark story with dark themes. I don’t condone drug use or selling, nor do I care for those who actively destroy lives. This is fiction, and trust, I do not glorify it. There are consequences for every action. If you follow along to the very end, you will see what I mean. The main coupling is a fast-burning polycule. Mmf. Crossing swords and sloppy toppy for everyone! By everyone! I’ve said it many times, but all these characters are Bi or pan. No assuming, just know! Also, Maxine and Low are Black. Jaxon is not; he is Irish. I suppose this makes it an Interracial and Black love romance. Neon Red is unapologetically Black, and some language will seem dated. That’s intentional. These are old ass vampires with decades behind and in front of them. Time moves differently when you’re immortal.
Without further delay, the CWs and trope card.
Off-page death of a parent, Depression Murder, Parental Neglect and Financial Abuse Trauma, Mild Gore Blackmail, Drug Selling, Drug Use (weed), Parental Abandonment, Mention of Religious Bigotry, Past Domestic ViolenceNeon Red trope card includes Polycule dynamic, plus-size FMC, Secret Relationships, morally gray MCs, Paranormal Romance, Forced Marriage
Before moving to Indigo Plains, Jasper hadn’t researched the town much. Kit had been right; it was an impulsive purchase but a needed one. She knew Indigo Plains operated mostly at night, with its large nocturnal population and all. With three schools, one hospital, and a tight-knit fae community, Jasper figured there wasn’t much to it. Their delivery run proved her wrong. Sure, Indigo Plains lacked high rises and an urban symphony, but it was rich with life. Far from a sleepy town, pedestrians crowded the sidewalk. Bodies spilled from a rowdy bar, and a group of teenage satyrs laughed into a busy cinema. Everyone Jasper encountered was kind and quick to introduce themselves. The shops and eateries were packed. There wasn’t a piece of trash in sight. And she hadn’t tripped over a rat or stumbled on a beer bottle. The air on Great Oaks Street was sweet and savory. The aroma snared her. A food stand in front of Zarbies bakery gathered their attention. “Oh, hay now!” Nieema doubled back and inhaled with dramatic flair. “These are Nana Fosters’ famous meat pies. Flaky dough filled with salted pork, spices, and extra cheese.” “Where can we pay?” Kit asked. Quick to spend money he didn’t work for. “Where can—” “These are samples. She puts them out at the end of every night. We’re coming up on two am, she’s about done.” “Soooo…” Kit clutched his new journal, waiting for Nieema’s answer. “Go ahead, sir! They free.” “Excellent.” Jasper loved free food and wouldn’t pass on this. The first buttery bite made her sag. She shook her head and grumbled with a bulging cheek. “This is—“ Kit lost his tongue and moaned. “I can’t think of anything else. I want a basket full.” “Well, most order by the dozen.” A gentle smile and eyes greeted them. “Hello, there. You must be new in town.” The fairy elder with pastel pink curls and gauzy wings fluttering at her back hobbled over and extended a hand. Jasper accepted the salutation with thanks. “Jasper, it’s nice to meet you, ma’am. This is my brother, Kit.” The man waved, smiled, and chewed. “I’m Nana Foster, and these here are my Poppin’ Patties.” “They are positively delightful,” Jasper admitted, her finger itching to grab another. “You know me, Nana.” Nieema winked and said, “I’ll take two-dozen. Add ten more for my friends here.” “Now, why are you two hangin’ with this troublemaker?” The women cackled and hugged, Nieema patting her back on the pull away. “I may be trouble, but I’m the best kind.” “You know better than to lie to me, girl!” Nana Foster slapped Nieema’s arm with a towel. “How’s that mall business going?” “You know, going.” Jasper witnessed the elder darken, her jovial nature evaporated. “I never wanted no strip mall. I didn’t vote for it.” “Ninety percent of y’all did, and Bobbi had to be fair, Nana. He—” “It ain’t gonna do nothin’ but bring mess and take our business.” “You know we’re loyal. Indigo Plains will not turn its back on you.” Nana sniffed and snapped her towel. “Yeah, until a mighty big-name cookie shop promises something new.” “A cookie establishment will not have these delectable treats, Nana Foster.” Kit gave a curt nod and plucked another pastry. “Two per mouth.” Nana quirked a brow and her hip. Jasper nearly choked as Kit grimaced and put the pie back. Demons had elders too, and knew better than to cross them. “Well Nana,” Nieema piped, “I’ll be by to pick up the order tomorrow. We gon’ get on the good foot. I gotta get supper started.” “I know, feed those babies.” “They’re grown!” “Grown as a sapling.” Nieema bid Nana farewell and Jasper did the same. The elder pinched Kit’s cheek and he gleamed. The display was erroneous. He’d never let a soul touch his face, let alone a stranger. Then again, Kit appealed to an elders nurturing side. It could be his features and stature. “She’s nice,” Jasper announced. “Everyone is nice. It’s nothing like Misthill.” “You stayed in the capital?” Nieema asked, clearly astounded. “Girl, six-million people is too many for me. The hustle of the city isn’t my favorite.” “I think you’d fit in well,” Jasper said, stopping at her truck. “However do you mean?” “Your attire is…” “What? You ‘spected boots, a cottage dress, and pigtails?” “Maybe. your husband is a stereotypical cowboy.” Jasper traveled from Nieema’s neat and tidy box braids to the tips of her buckled boots. “Y’all are polar opposites.” “You know what they say ‘bout opposites, don’t ya?” For the third time on this wee early morning Nieema opened the door for Jasper. It was sinful how heat flared upon her cheeks and spread. The little woman caused a scene and Kit giggled climbing into the backseat. Jasper claimed passenger and grinned at the wily vampire. “Are you this chivalrous with everyone?” “Only those I deem worthy. Buckle up!” Nieema slammed the door and was quick about hitting the gas. Weird, disjointed music filled the amicable silence. “What is that raucous?” Kit asked. “It’s offensive and vile!” “Skat jazz.” Jasper boomed with laughter because this shit didn’t fit Nieema either. “You’re a strange, perplexing woman, Mrs Sunside.” Nieema popped a shoulder. “So I’ve been told.” “Jazz, quilts, and a cowboy husband? You’re two steps away from front-running a death metal band with electric blue hair and black nails. Can’t say it doesn’t suit you, however..” “I know you can’t, tuhuh! I look damn good.” “What melody is death metal?” Kit tapped Jasper on the horn. “Will I like it?” “Think Core Dread.” “Yuck! I hate it already.” Nieema smiled, eyes on the road. Headlights illuminated her glossy, tailored brow, the curve of her nose, and the sharp point of her fangs. “So,” Nieema began, “I think we should go over what we’ll be doing tomorrow.” “With my house?” “Yes ma’am.” “What can be done?” “For now? Survey and demolition.” Jasper winced. “I’m sorry, what? Demolition?” “It’d be doing you a favor,” Kit murmured, not minding his own business. “At least it’s mine, and Father didn’t acquire it for me.” “Well, just so you—that’s… I refuse to stoop.” Nieema chuckled as if something amused her. Jasper failed to see what she had. A demolition was the exact opposite of what Jasper wanted. “What do you mean by—“ “Calm down, woman. Damn. Listen, in order to rebuild, we must destroy first. The floor is rotten. The walls are crawling with mold. The wiring is faulty, and there probably ain’t no repairing the pipes. Everything must go, then, renovations.” “Oh, okay. So then I’ll need a hammer and such.” “Girl, you gon’ need a sledgehammer.” “Sledgehammer?!” Kit bellowed. “I have a war hammer much like it. Can I help? Can I demolish?” “Sure,” Nieema said, mid-giggle. “But you’ll have to be fitted with safety gear first.” “We’ll be wearing armor too? This place isn’t as ab as I thought. First, the bean casserole, then home and goods, meat pies, and now, I get to wield a hammer!” Jasper loved her brothers enthusiasm and thirst for violence. He was the Dukes favorite thanks to his appetite for war. She didn’t buy it, though. Kit had been molded by their patriarch. He walked the path Carriont paved and ached for approval. Countless children and Jasper was the first to leave. “What are we gonna do now?” Jasper asked. “I’ll throw dinner on the table, then call it a night.” Nieema parked in the driveway, gathered her satchel, and slipped out of the truck. “You can mosey about under my roof if you’d like.” They followed her lead and retrieved Kit’s wares. Jasper had only bought herself a few necessities, whereas Kit, went apeshit on cat toys, journals, and sheet sets. Nieema’s comment wasn’t a suggestion, but an invitation. The roll of her tongue spoke where she had not. “Think I’ll catch a rain check on dinner.” Jasper glanced at her yawning brother, then studied the gorgeous farmhouse. “I don’t operate on a nocturnal schedule yet. I’m tired as hell.” “If you change your mind, let me know.” “I will.” Nieema’s carmine appraisal remained for three seconds too long. “Hope so, ‘night y’all.” “Goodnight, madam,” Kit said. “Thank you for the outing. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun.” The vampire frowned. “I wouldn’t call working fun, but you’re welcome. If you wanna see some real fun, I’ll show you. We’ll make a night of it.” “Excellent.” With a wink and wave, Nieema jogged into her home. Jasper groaned as her head dropped. She kicked pebbles and muttered. “I think she likes you,” Kit remarked, stating the obvious. “Thanks for the news. Come. Let’s get drunk on berry wine and watch Head Chef.” “Head Chef?” Kit’s lilac stare brightened and sparkled with glee. “Is it like Cooked and Charred?” “No. It’s more like Bottom Flame Kitchen.” “Nice. Watching land dweller shows is technically research. I’d loved to learn more about their cuisine.” “Most people don’t eat what they make on those shows.” “I will. I’ll be happy to give these dishes my best effort.” Jasper let Kit prattle. It was nice to hear him talk about something other than battle and ranks. “I’ll be your taste tester.” “Terrific.” Kit swung his bags as they marched for the cabin. “This is going to be great. You’ll see.” “Can’t wait.” She grimaced and prayed for her poor guts. Whatever Kit had in mind scared the shit out of her.
Thank you so much for reading! You’re an incredible human!
Born into an apocalypse, The Huntsman knew a little something about death…but nothing, about babies.
On any other night, Carver would finish the bounty and get ghost. This was not one of those nights. After fulfilling a small contract, Carver stumbles upon a wailing child. In need of help and a babysitter, he seeks advice from the only decent person he knows. It just so happens that person is his closest friend and maybe, his greatest desire.
This is a 25k MM paranormal romance. We got spells, small conflicts, vampire feedings, wizardry, and adorable found family fluff. There are grey themes such as the death of a spouse, blackmail, and contract k–lings.
Jasper snickered as her brother glared at the plumber’s feet. He wasn’t used to being dismissed, much less by a stranger. Kit fooled many with his fresh face and unrealistic phobias. But demons knew better and feared him, as they rightly should. She looked on while petting a unique blend of threads. It was softer than anything she’d ever used. “Kit,” Jasper warned. “I was merely trying to help, sir. There is zero cause for your attitude or rude introduction.” “That wasn’t no introduction,” Hank muttered from below. “I don’t know you and I don’t wanna know you.” “Damn, man.” Jasper high-whistled, draped the folded quilt over the armrest with care, and jacked to her full height. “I have never been so disrespected. You are an asshole and lack manners. You, sir, would fit well on my favorite pike!” “’Scuse me?!” Hank scrambled from under the sink and rose from his ass like any gravity-defying vampire. “What the hell you say to me, boy?” “Boy?!” Kit seethed. “Alright, alright.” Jasper wedged herself between the men and tried for de-escalation. “Kit, you can’t piss people off then threaten to kill them, its uncouth. But Hank, it’s kinda rude calling a grown man a boy. He’s three hundred years old. You can’t say things like that. My brother, here, isn’t known for his patience.” “Neither am I.” “Hm.” Kit sneered and Hank was no better. “Dearest brother, I have some important stuff to teach you about this world. Come. Let’s leave Hank to his business. “I need supper before I actually murder someone.” Jasper stifled a giggle and a hangry joke. It was funny because he was serious. “There ain’t nothing in that ice box. You’ll have to wait for groceries. Nieema just left.” Sooty puffs of smoke escaped from Kit’s nose as he huffed. “If you that doggone hungry then go on up to the main house. I’ll tell them you coming.” Jasper wagged praying hands and bowed as Kit stomped for the door. He exited with vile words while Hank’s jaw ticked. “Sorry about him,” Jasper said. “He’s not used to fae or land. He’s read a lot about this place but never visited.” “I reckon he’s a spoiled prick who ain’t worked a day in his life.” Jasper grunted and smirked. “Now there, is where you’d be wrong.” “Sure.” Hank let the convo rest there and returned to tightening bolts or whatever. Jasper took his silence as a period and joined Kit on the porch. A vicious wet heat clung to her skin and soaked Indigo Plains. Humidity touched every blade of grass and leaf. She’d moved here for solitude and the promise of peace. The weather was a delightful bonus she much appreciated. “If someone doesn’t ask for help, you leave them alone,” Jasper pronounced, admiring the majestic vista. “It is an honor to meet me, Hank should have been-“ “Up here, you’re a nobody.” Jasper shrugged and cleared the steps in a single bound. “What do you mean? Please explain.“ “Nobody, no one, not a soul gives a damn about you, Kit.” “I don’t know how I feel about this revelation.” Kit matched her stride by power walking and looked as if she’d shattered his heart. “Fowler says land dwellers love demons. These people worship us and beg at our feet.” Jasper laughed and sought a star-speckled sky. “Ohhh, they do love us. He was right. They show up and show out. For those with succubi blood, they’ll do just about anything.” “I’m only half incubus.“ “Don’t matter.” “I say, your vernacular is atrocious.” “You can be two-thirds or fourths, whatever, no one cares. They’ll kill for you, Kit. Some would clip their own vein and pluck every hair from their pretty little head for you.” “That sounds more like it!“ “They want your body, brother.” Jasper skipped ahead and spun, facing Kit. She remained on the path and smiled at his obvious terror. “They care not for your status or the reward of being your bonded.” She stopped dead and clutched his suspenders. “No, no! What they want, brother mine, is your mind, your dreams, and strapping form sheltering theirs and—“ “Enough!” Kit smacked her hands away and blushed. His gray cheeks purpled with embarrassment. He was a prude and no fun at all. Grinning at the man, she flicked a bejeweled loc over his shoulder. “I’m gonna set your ass up with somebody,” Jasper vowed. “What?Wait—no.” She sighed and continued on their journey. Approaching the big ranch house she cackled as Kit stuttered and stumbled. Words never caught purchase on his tongue. “I don’t wanna hear your excuses, bruh. Listen, you need to get bent then bent over.” “I am not discussing this with you! My intimate affairs are none of your concern.” “What intimacy?” “Don’t be crass, Jasper.” She took the steps in twos and side-eyed her eldest sibling. His head and spirit dragged across the covered porch. “I’m sorry, Kit.” Jasper locked an arm around him and squeezed. She wasn’t the biggest hugger, but exceptions must be made. “I know you have fears and… worries. As with most things. I won’t push, but I might make suggestions.” “You always do.” She smiled, kissed his sad, shaved horn then stabbed the doorbell. “Off with you,” Kit snapped. Jasper released him and shoved the fucker. He stammered and cussed. “Who the fuuuck are you?” Jasper pivoted and Kit yelped at the sound of a grating, warped voice. She didn’t know what the hell to make of this perched creature. Ugly as shit and odious, saliva dangled from its crusty beak. “What in the name of death gods is it?” Kit asked, gripping her bicep. “I have no clue.” “Ah!” Buck charged at the unnatural, winged cryptid, wielding a dangerous broom. “You old buzzard! Getchya ass—ah!” “I came to welcome you new guesssts.” The thing squawked and took flight, losing feathers on their ascent. They clawed at bristles and laughed. The hysterical howl was horrifying. Jasper almost smiled as Buck and the spawn of something beyond the depths of hell dueled. Buck held good form with a thick forest green braid whipping about. She often paid attention to details; the makings of a person. Tensing thigh muscles, a calloused iron grip, and the curve of his hips. This was bad business but they offered to help. “Damn scavenger.” Buck stomped, swore, and cracked his gum. “Sorry ’bout that. Dust Peckers are damn hard to shake. I’d rather termites. Come on in, Hank said y’all need a meal.” With Buck missing the hat, Jasper got a better look at his eyes. She nodded in passing and clocked the grin. He wasn’t cute smelling like an unknown sweet wood and cinnamon bark. Their inviting home immediately claimed her attention. The main house was an architectural feat and Jasper didn’t know shit about building things but it was wondrous. Spacious, massive even, and immaculate. She stopped by the stairs and counted three stories. Coated in white and love. The Sunsides residence was nothing like her rotting Victorian. “What a serene environment.” Jasper high whistled and followed Buck through a hallway lined with more odd artwork. She was taken aback by framed embroidery. Various sizes and shapes, the pieces hung from every wall. After a decent stroll, they entered the great room and veered right, into the kitchen. “This is living!” Kit shouted. “You have done well for yourself, Mr. Sunside.” “Buck.” “Buck. What is it you do, exactly?” “They own a construction business.” Kit hummed and meandered. Jasper kept a close eye on the demon. He was prone to touch, handle, and fumble. One might never guess he was a natural-born killer with a specific skill set. Sitting at a table tucked into a cove of windows, she watched Buck rummage. The kitchen with its long counters and shiny appliances filled Jasper with envy. She’d grown up around the same luxuries but had never owned anything until now. It wasn’t the high-end refrigerator or the weird coffee contraption that made her slouch, no. It was the fact that all of this was theirs. No one bought or filched it from a human with recurring debt. This was why Jasper had left the nest. She wanted to make her own way, be her own person, and live by her own rules. Duty, obligation, fear, and corruption brought her here. The freedom this world offered was unmatched. “So,” Buck started. “I got leftover lasagna, roast beef for dips, subs, or ten-layer bean casserole. Don’t ask me what’s in it. I don’t know, my grandson Mace inhales anything with beans.” Kit slid into the booth and pulled a small pad from his pocket. “What is a bean casserole?” “Layers of mashed beans, cheese, meat, and sour cream I think. You wanna eat it cold.” She was curious about Kit’s notes and what he jotted down. He had a love of food that surpassed eating it but she never saw the appeal of preparing a meal. Jasper couldn’t cook for shit. She was told by an ex that a starved stray dog wouldn’t touch her food. She tested the theory of course, and it was true. The mutt gruffed and pawed at the bowl, flipping it over completely. “I will have that,” Kit said. “Would you happen to have hot sauce?” Buck laughed, his husky amusement supplied her with far too much delight. “Do a pig shit?” “What—yes, they do. I think. I’ve never seen a pig in person.” “You’re funny, Kit.” Buck presented her brother with a large bowl of bean muck, chips, and a tub of Reaper Water hot sauce. “I like you.” The gorgeous, dense souled man popped gum and rested his big boot on the bench seat. It was a decent pose, one she often used when trying to court easy prey. His stance and stare would’ve made a daintier person blush. “And what about you, darlin’? What can I get ya?” They’d met hours ago and he went straight for a pet name. Jasper wasn’t a petite damsel, but god damn it, some words turned her into a doe-eyed flower. Some shit wilted her petals and ‘darlin’ was a winner. Not even twenty-four hours since they had exchanged names and she was ready to swoon. Time had never stopped her in the past, but things had changed. A while ago, Jasper ignored her instincts and rode the wave of passion. She lost herself. Twelve months of hard lessons made her hop states, buy a house in a rural town with a population of five thousand, and delete all socials. “Lasagna,” Jasper said, digging into his shadow-laced gaze “And make it two servings if you can. I like to eat.” “We got that in common.” Buck dropped his foot and backpedaled into the kitchen. “And I don’t leave no crumbs behind either.” She wouldn’t bow to this man or fold for him. Not now. Not ever. “This is incredible!” Kit announced. He drizzled more sauce on the goop and scooped. “I can’t name most of the spices but I will research this recipe at a later date. I know a few off the top of my head. Pepper, garlic, sweet chilies, and onion.” Kit paused for a tick then carried on. “Believe it or not, Buck, demons have taken to some of your culinary customs. We adore onion and garlic quite a bit. Though, you are mighty liberal with it. Do you really use them in every dish?” “If my wife can help it.” “I assumed the vampyree were allergic to garlic.” Buck chuckled again, the harmony snaked around her spine and tightened. “It has to be unprocessed. Whole cloves, wild, and grown in cursed soil.” “Ahhhhh.” Kit mumbled and waved his spoon. “I see, yes. Another piece of knowledge fractured by the hands of time and small human minds. I understand. Most think us spirits attached to religious institutions. I’ve never understood the connection. They’re fables.” The moment Buck gifted Jasper with food she let Kit talk the man’s ear numb and dove into the cheesy, meaty goodness. The piping hot tomato sauce was well seasoned and thick. She drifted in and out of the conversation, stuffing her face. Jasper didn’t care how rude it was or how she looked. After such an exciting night, she was starved. Two slices of butter-topped sourdough hit the spot and sopped up leavings like a sponge. “Glad to see somebody likes my lasagna.” A cup of iced tea appeared as Jasper sucked sauce from her fingertips. Now, she blushed… a little. Lifting eyes to Nieema, Jasper nodded. “I love it actually. It’s been years since I had a real home-cooked meal.” The woman scoffed in surprise. “Let me guess you, don’t know how to cook?” “I can bake a mean pop tart and throw together the best cocktails you’ll ever have.” “Now there,” Buck interrupted. “Is something I need in my life. A cold mixer? I can’t get enough of goblin glitter.” Jasper laughed and sipped a chilled sweet tea, heavy on the lemon. She relished it. “Gooood choice. Extra sugar cane, cranberry bitters, and maraschino cherries. I’d never peg you for a glitter guy, Buck.” “Well, see. That’s cause you don’t know me. I welcome a good peg—“ “Get the hell—“ “I’m only playing, woman.” Buck snatched his wife into a crushing embrace and captured her lips. He devoured her on the spot and Jasper gawked. She didn’t mean to but had no choice in the matter and Buck’s cutting eyes caught her dead. Prying his wife off, he cackled. “Don’t you go teasing me now, I gotta go.” “You can stay.” “I most certainly can not. These bills ain’t gon’ pay themselves.” Nieema wrapped his long braid around her fist and yanked. Jasper flinched at the power move. Their foreplay and flirtatious energy clogged the air. As a veteran succubus, she involuntarily fed on lust and carnal desires. Jasper nursed their shared intimacy and nibbled on it. Scents and energies fused, causing her stomach to drop. An unfamiliar brand of desire pooled deep in her belly and settled between clenched thighs. This was about her biology and make. Nothing more. Her demonic soul thrived in this environment. Fighting such urges was futile as they were a testament to her maturity. Nieema shoved Buck and returned. Nieema’s intense, scarlet consideration was worse than her husband’s undivided attention. “Who here wants a tour of our ranch?” Against better judgment, Jasper raised her glass. “I’m for it. What say you, Kit?” The demon shrugged, unsure. “As long as we stay out of the woods.” Nieema bit into a ripe, kingsbury peach and said, “I ain’t making no promises. Those woods hold many magical secrets” “They can keep them,” Kit clipped. Jasper and Nieema giggled. More than ready, she scraped ceramic and rushed to the sink. “Alright, Nieema. Lead the way. I’m anxious to see the grounds.” If Jasper was lucky she’d keep her eyes on the scenery and not, on Nieema’s mouth.
Nieema
Nieema spent the last hour moonlighting as a tour guide. Even for her —somebody who’d lived on this land their entire life— she found the setting sublime. Acres worth of flatland, three lakes, snaking rivers, and a picturesque mountain view left her ass speechless many uh nights. She loved Indigo Plains with its harsh winters and humid summers. Living amongst the stars and the trees was nice. She preferred sketchy woods over echoing catacombs. “I thought most ranch dwellings raised cattle,” Kit said. He gestured to a pasture with grazing sheep and goats. “Where are the bovine and bulls?” Nieema launched an old tennis ball through the air and watched Ringer, one of three, Collies sprint after it. He barked and jumped for it. “Cattle ain’t our brand. Never was. The Haggers across the road keep cows and bison. Goood job, boy!” Nieema crouched and scrubbed Ringer between the ears. “Cows and such don’t take to vampires well. Sheep and goats? We’re best of friends. Ain’t that right, baby?” She snatched the fuzzy, old ball from the pooch and tossed it again. “It’s beautiful out here,” Jasper rasped. “Fresh air and impressive views. I can only imagine what Christmas is like around here. Especially the mountains.” Jasper was a masterpiece if Nieema had ever seen one. She was rough and tumble, but not coarse. Her silver hair short and newly chopped with spoke of rebellion. Nieema knew countless succubi. They never cut their intrinsic cornrows and braids. It was so unlike her people and abnormal, but fitting in Jasper’s case. Restarting their walk, Nieema chucked the ball and checked the time. “Say, how would y’all like to make some deliveries with me?” “Deliveries? What do you make? What is it you do?” Kit was a nosy man with strong opinions and a blunt tongue, she liked him. “Jasper said you own a construction business.” “Yeah, we do. But, we got more bills than you know and as an immortal, hobbies are a must. In my downtime, I make candles and quilts.” “Wait, you’re the one who made the quilts and art, huh?” Jasper smiled, no doubt perceiving Nieema. “I did, and what of it? I’m an old broad who knits and makes sweet-smelling candles. You gonna make a joke? My whole family does.” “What? No, no. I was uh, well…” Jasper peered at the horizon and ruffled her hair. “I cross stitch. I’m great with a needle and thread. Good with my hands. Thought about making blankets and such, but I can’t afford a sewing machine right now.” “Get outta town!” Nieema gasped as they approached her pick-up truck. “Now, why ain’t you just say so? Do you take commissions? You got a portfolio or a website or something?” “I do.” Nieema wagged a finger and plucked keys from her skirt pocket. “This is great! I need some new patches, too.” “Is this how you make money, Jasper?” Kit asked, with more oomf than necessary. He dispatched judgment and Nieema thought it rude. “What you tryin’ to say, sir? Because my little sewing job brings in six figures a month.” Kit tapped his lip with a sharp talon and mulled on it. “Exactly,” Jasper said. “I sell feet content too.” “Feet? What would anyone want with photos of hooves?” “Not all of us have hooves, Kit.” “Well, yes, I forgot you have five strange digits. I suppose your matriarch is to blame for such an unsightly mutation.” Jasper sniffed and frowned at her kin. “They pay out the ass to see my feet, okay. You wouldn’t understand.” Nieema stabbed the fob and started the truck as she worked to steady her heart. Pretty feet made her crawl and kneel. Knowing this here demon had a booming foot business quickened an ancient vampire’s slow beating pulse. Gathering herself, Nieema hummed and opened the passenger door. “After you.” Jasper sighed and shook her head but hopped into the front seat. Kit’s eyes flitted about the cab before hopping inside. “This is exciting. We have a train system and carriages in Undervell.” “Under what?” Nieema asked, putting the truck in drive. “What’s—“ “Hell,” Jasper supplied. “Right, right. I be forgetting hell ain’t the real name for it.” “Hell is better. I like it. Sounds foreboding and dark.” “Everything Undervell is not,” Kit supplied. Jasper laughed, looking back at the demon. “I wouldn’t go that far. We have blackout seasons and nights where it rains acid and molten metals.” Kit drooped and sighed. “Don’t remind me. I love our down season, it’s when we break out the skulls, candles, and give hatchlings treats.” Nieema kept eyes on the two-lane highway and listened as the siblings reminisced about a holiday similar to Halloween. Except Undervell folk had a ball and dined on fine foods for an entire cycle, whatever that meant. With their land skirting the edge of Indigo Plains, the trip into town lasted longer than it should have. Twenty minutes and some change later, Nieema parked in front of Landon’s Home Goods. “I’m still not used to this,” Jasper said, staring at the pink and purple facade. “There’s no skyscrapers, high rises, subway systems, or factories.” “That ain’t true, we have four factories.” Nieema popped the trunk and slipped out. Jasper and Kit followed. She rounded to the backside of her truck and retrieved boxes. “The Petersons own a mill and the largest wheat crop in town. Hell, Maybell’s milking Farm has the biggest factory around and then there’s Jed’s water purification, lab, factory, center place.” Jasper lifted the boxes Nieema tapped and Kit slammed the hatch. “Thank you kindly. And last but not least, you got the blood distribution bank down on Heartlocke Circle, right next to Mace’s barbershop. My grandson owns that spot.” As they started for the store, Nieema smiled at Bonny Kinsington. “How’s the kids, Bonny?” “Great, Miss. Here, let me.“ Bonny yanked open the door and bowed her head. “They’re good. I’m throwing a party for Nathan, I’d love it if y’all could swing on by.” “I sure will. I know Jo will be happy to see Maryanne.” “She’s married now, Miss.” “Oh, well, they’re still friends.” “True.” Bonny grinned, her cheeks strawberry red. “I must be going, gotta put the roast on.” “You go on, honey. Don’t let me hold ya.” Bonny waited until they were inside Landon’s, which gave fancy department stores a run for their money. Indigo Plains kept to their own brands and local shops, they didn’t need no outsider business. One mall was enough. “I bought a few cups from here yesterday,” Jasper said. “The deals are fantastic. It’s not often you can find quality for under five bucks. I was shocked.” “Landon barters with the fairies for his stuff. And, you know, folks bring things in. Like me, I give him these candles free of charge.” “For free?!” Kit shouted, wrestling with a buggy. He rattled the cart loose and beamed. “Oh! How marvelous. I have always wanted to use one of these. I’ve never shopped on my own before.” Nieema sashayed on through the busy store and glanced at Jasper. Her kin seemed spoiled, sheltered, and pampered. She, however, did not. It was interesting. “Do you have those uhm, cards or the paper sort of currency?” Jasper laughed, the harmony pleasant and welcome. “Debit? Yeah. Cash? No. But— wait, what are you trying to ge— Kit, wait, bruh. What—“ “You go ahead, I’m gon’ hand these over to the stock team. And talk with the manager.” “Alright. We’ll be quick.” Jasper bounded after an excited Kit, leaving Nieema to process. Wondering where the woman’s tail was, she went about her business and decided to make this snappy. They had six deliveries to make before closing time.
“Do I like Jasper? Yes. I do. She’s cute and rugged. I’ve made it my duty to get to know this woman. I have to, I want-no, scratch that, I need to know her secrets. There’s something about Jasper I can’t place. She’s surprised me with her charm. And for a vampire my age, that don’t come easy. So, naturally, I wanna show her around. And there ain’t no tour guide better than me. I’ve lived in Indigo Plains for a veeeeerry long time.” – Nieema Sunside
Gnome in Your Home: A dark-ish romance with a new twist on Santa and the act of gift giving. please read all content warnings before diving in!
Christmas and Other Horrors: A delightful horror anthology filled with Christmassy cheer and gore!
Two-Parts Mistletoe: A short thirty-page queer read about love potions and meeting your anonymous booty call in real life for the first time.
Beneath the Monster: The grinch but for adults!
I read quite a few books over the holiday season, but these held my attention for whatever reason. I’m not apologizing for the smut! You should know me by now!
J. T. Frost 