#I was thinking today i really want to work in skull driving and was like man thats stupid

[redrobin-detective]

[itneverendshere]

pogue reader getting sick but she can’t call out, but rafes fr mad at you about it

changed it a bit just bc i want to show reader's progress regarding her hyper-independence, they're already dating and past the "i love you" phase, i felt like some progress had to be made by this point, especially bc this is after their big fight in this. hope you enjoy <3

don't want less, don't want more - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

The floor beneath you feels like it's tilting, moving under your feet like a boat rocking on rough water. You blink a couple of times, hoping that’ll shake the haze taking over your vision, but it doesn’t do much. 

The bar lights over your head are too bright, and the music thumping from the speakers makes your head feel like it’s trapped in a vice. The clink of glass, every laugh, every order shouted at you feels like a hammer driving nails straight into your skull.

You swallow hard, trying not to gag. Your throat’s raw, and your chest feels tight, but you’re powering through it because you don’t have much of a choice. Not a choice at all.

"Whiskey sour, extra sour!" some country club douchebag yells from the other side of the bar.

His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. You force a smile and nod, reaching for the bottle, but your hands are shaky. You catch yourself on the edge of the bar before you can drop it.

This morning, you could barely get out of bed. Fever burning through you like you were standing too close to a bonfire, throat too sore to talk, and your head pounding so hard you thought you were going to pass out just brushing your teeth. 

You tried calling in. Tried. Told your manager, Greg, that you were sick as hell, couldn’t make it, but the guy just grunted like he always does. "Can’t afford anyone calling out today," he said. Like the world was going to end if you didn’t show up to sling drinks for a bunch of rich assholes.

So here you are.

You rub the back of your neck, trying to loosen up some of the tension building there, but it doesn’t help. Nothing really does at this point.

"Hey!" The guy who ordered the whiskey sour snaps his fingers in your face. "You deaf or something? Whiskey. Sour."

"Got it," You mutter, trying not to let your voice crack as you finally pour his drink. 

Your vision swims a little as you set it down in front of him, and for a second, you think you might actually faint right here at the bar.

That’d be something. Faceplant into a bunch of overpriced cocktails in front of half of the Kooks on this island. Greg would probably just step over you and ask you to get back to work.

You lean against the bar for a second. Your stomach rolls, threatening to revolt, but you choke it back. You can’t afford to be sick here. Not when you’re already in trouble with your manager for barely making it on time. You think back to the half-assed breakfast you tried to eat—if you can call a slice of toast breakfast—and how your stomach rejected it like poison.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Rafe coming in. And suddenly, you’re even more aware of how wrecked you are.

You know he still struggles with how independent you are sometimes. You’ve always been the kind of girl who handles things on her own, and Rafe has this tendency to think that means you don’t need him.

Today, though? You need him more than ever, but you couldn’t bring yourself to call for help.

You immediately know it’s gonna be a thing.

His eyes lock onto you from across the bar, and even through the fog in your head, you can see that look on his face. He’s pissed. Of course, he’s pissed. His jaw’s clenched like he’s biting back whatever rant he’s about to drop on you, and you can already feel the tension creeping up your neck.

Great, as if you didn’t feel bad enough already.

You try to stand a little straighter, look a little less like you're one second from collapsing, but your legs are jelly, and the room’s still spinning like you’re on some messed-up carnival ride.

You don’t want him to see how bad you’re hurting right now. But today? You’re too out of it to even try and explain.

He strides up to the bar, looking sharp, as usual. Meanwhile, you probably look like death warmed over. His eyes are scanning you, taking in the pale face, the way you’re gripping the edge of the bar like you’re about to keel over. You see his lips tighten, and yeah, he’s definitely about to lay into you.

“You didn’t call,” he says, voice low but definitely annoyed. He leans in, trying to keep this between just the two of you, but with how loud the bar is, it still feels like a confrontation.

“I’m fine,” you lie, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. 

Rafe’s eyes narrow. He’s not buying it. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Why didn’t you call me?”

You hate that you feel guilty.

“Because I’m handling it,” you say, voice softer now. But even you can hear how weak you sound.

It’s not convincing. Hell, you’re not even convinced.

He crosses his arms, looking down at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t figure out. “Handling it? Baby, you can barely stand.”

You let out a sigh, trying not to let it turn into a cough.

"I’m fine," you repeat, but even you know it sounds pathetic at this point. Your head feels like it's full of cotton, you’re not sure if you’ll make it through the next few minutes, let alone your entire shift.

But pride’s a bitch.

Rafe just stands there, arms crossed, staring at you like he’s waiting for you to come clean. You can feel his frustration, but there’s something else, too. Worry. It’s in the way his eyes keep flicking over your face, how his fingers are tapping against his arm like he’s holding himself back from just scooping you up and carrying you out of here.

"I heard from Topper," he finally says, like he’s been holding that card in his back pocket. You blink, trying to keep up. "He saw you at the club earlier, said you didn’t look right."

Great. Freaking Topper. Of course, idiot couldn’t mind his own business. You can almost picture him, all dressed up in some preppy golf outfit, spotting you from across the course and making a note to text Rafe the second he saw something off.

Rafe’s still watching you, waiting for a reaction.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with some excuse, some way to brush it off, but your brain’s too foggy, and all you manage is a weak, "I was fine then."

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? 'Cause Top said you looked like you were about to hurl on the 9th hole." He’s trying to keep his voice low, but you can tell he’s annoyed. Not at Topper, not even really at you—just at the whole situation.

You want to snap back, tell him you’re fine, that you’ve got it under control. But instead, all that comes out is another tired sigh. “Greg wouldn’t let me call out. Said they needed me.”

“You serious?”

“Dead-serious.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches so tight you think you hear his teeth grind. His hands come out of his pockets, flexing like he’s about to hit something—or someone. He runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to calm himself down before he says something he’ll regret.

But you know him—he’s never been great at holding back when he’s pissed. And right now? He’s definitely pissed.

“Greg said that?” His voice is low, but there’s this dangerous edge to it, like he’s two seconds away from losing it, “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come down here, I would’ve—”

“I know.” You cut him off because you do know.

He would’ve dropped everything and come running. That’s exactly why you didn’t call. You didn’t want to be the a burden again. Like you said, you’re still working on yourself.

Rafe leans against the bar, his whole body radiating this intensity that makes you feel both comforted and nervous.

“So, let me get this straight,” he says, voice louder now, not even bothering to keep it low-key anymore. “You’re sick as hell, and that asshole wouldn’t let you stay home?”

You wince. He’s drawing attention now, people at the bar starting to glance over. You hate seeing him like this, but you don’t have the energy to smooth things over.

“Rafe, please—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No, seriously. What kind of fucking manager forces someone to come in when they’re this sick?” His voice carries, and a couple of the other bartenders are giving you looks, like they can’t decide if they’re more surprised or impressed by Rafe’s audacity, "You’re killing yourself for this job, and he doesn’t give a fuck.”

You glance toward the back, hoping Greg’s still in the office and not witnessing this meltdown. The last thing you need right now is more heat from him. But of course, your luck sucks, because just as Rafe’s ramping up, Greg strides out from the back, clipboard in hand, that same stupid scowl on his face like he’s already annoyed at everything.

Rafe spots him instantly, and if you thought he was mad before, now he’s on a whole other level.

"Greg!" Rafe calls out, loud enough that half the bar turns to look. Your stomach sinks. This is about to get ugly.

Greg stops dead in his tracks, his eyes flicking to Rafe and then back to you. He knows. He knows exactly what’s about to happen, and he’s already losing the upper hand.

“Yeah, Rafe?” Greg’s voice is weak, almost shaky. Like he’s trying to keep it together, but he knows he’s got no chance. Rafe’s family literally owns half the island—Greg’s just some middle manager with too much attitude.

Your boyfriend steps forward, slow and deliberate, closing the space between them like he’s already won this thing.

“You made her come in today?” His voice is calm, but it’s that scary kind of calm that’s worse than yelling. The kind that makes your stomach drop because you know the person holding it together is barely holding back.

Greg opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is this pathetic mumble. “We… we were short-staffed.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, his lips pulling into this cold, humorless smile. “Short-staffed?” He glances at you, and you feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You really didn’t want this to turn into a scene, but here you are. “You see how she looks right now? You made her come in like this?”

Greg’s eyes flick back and forth between you and Rafe, and you can see the panic starting to set in. He’s sweating now, probably realizing that this little power trip he’s on is about to bite him in the ass. “She didn’t… uh… say she couldn’t work…”

“She told you she was sick,” Rafe cuts him off, voice like steel. “You’re the manager, right? Thought that meant taking care of your staff. Guess I was wrong.”

Greg’s mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to think of something to say, but nothing’s coming. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, knowing any move he makes right now could get him fired. Hell, maybe even blacklisted from every job on the island. The Cameron’s have that kind of pull.

“I-I didn’t realize how bad it was,” Greg finally stammers, but even he doesn’t sound convinced by his own excuse.

Rafe takes another step forward, practically towering over Greg now. “You didn’t realize?” He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “Look at her, man. How could you not realize?”

You wince as the room seems to get quieter, everyone watching this power struggle unfold. You’d rather be anywhere but here right now, but you also know that Rafe’s not letting this slide.

Greg takes a step back, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“I-I was just trying to keep things running. We… we were slammed.”

Rafe’s smile drops, and now it’s just pure ice. “You think that’s a good enough reason to put my girlfriend’s health at risk?”

Greg looks like he’s about to pass out himself at this point, but he manages to mutter, “No… no, I—I didn’t mean…”

“Here’s the deal, Greg,” Rafe says, voice low but dangerous. “You’re gonna back off. Let her finish this shift if she wants. If she doesn’t? She’s out, no questions asked. And next time, when she says she’s sick, you listen.”

Greg nods so fast it’s like his head’s on a swivel. “Of course, of course, Rafe. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just—”

“Good,” Rafe interrupts, already turning away like he’s done with this conversation. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Greg just stands there, wide-eyed and frozen, clearly too scared to even argue. He stammers some half-hearted apology, but Rafe’s already turning back to you, brushing the whole thing off like it was nothing.

You look up at him, still in shock at how quickly Greg folded. “You really didn’t need to do that.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the bar with that easy confidence he always has. “Yeah, I did,” he says, his tone softening now that it’s just the two of you. “I’m not gonna let some nobody push you around like that.”

You sigh, feeling both relieved and slightly embarrassed. “You know he’s probably gonna hate me even more now.”

Rafe smirks, like that’s the least of his concerns. “Who cares? He won’t say a fuckin’ thing. Trust me.”

“Everyone’s going to say a thing, baby. They’re gonna think I have some kind of privilege because I’m dating you.”

Rafe’s smirk softens. He steps a little closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear him over the dull roar of the bar.

“Let them think whatever they want,” he says, his hand brushing against yours. “You’ve been busting your ass here long before I ever stepped in. Nobody can take that from you.”

You bite your lip, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, judgment and curiosity. He’s right in a way—you’ve been working extra hard. But still, it’s hard to ignore the feeling that now, everyone’s going to assume you’ve got some special treatment just because of Rafe’s name.

“It’s not about that,” you murmur, “I just—don’t want people thinking I can’t stand on my own. I don’t want to be the girl who hides behind her boyfriend’s power.”

Rafe tilts his head, studying you with that look he always gives when he knows you're holding back.

“You think that’s what this is?” His voice is steady, his tone a little softer now. “This wasn’t about power, baby. This was about someone treating you like you didn’t matter. And I’m not letting anyone—anyone—do that to you.”

He’s not wrong.

Greg didn’t give a damn about how sick you were, only about keeping the bar running, like you were replaceable. And you hate how right Rafe is, how much you needed someone to step in, even if it makes you feel a little helpless. You swallow hard, the tightness in your chest easing slightly, though your body still feels like it’s been run over by a truck.

“And you’re not working anymore today, or the next week for that matter. You’re gonna get your ass in my car and we’re going to the doctor.”

You nod, knowing there’s no arguing with Rafe when he’s like this, but part of you still feels guilty.

Not for needing help exactly, but for not being able to handle it all on your own. You've always been the girl who grits her teeth and gets through it, but today? Your body is screaming at you that you just can’t. Not anymore.

Rafe’s watching you closely, like he’s waiting for you to argue, but you don’t. You’re too drained. The adrenaline from the confrontation with Greg is wearing off, and now all you feel is this bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m not going to a doctor,” you say, even though you know you probably should. “Just home. I just need to sleep.”

He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to read between the lines of what you’re saying, but then he just nods. “Fine. But if you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m dragging you to urgent care. No arguments.”

You give him a weak smile, trying to show you appreciate it even though you feel like crap.

“Deal.”

Without another word, he moves around the bar, ignoring Greg’s gawking and the way everyone’s still sneaking glances at you two. He gently takes the towel out of your hand, sets it on the counter, and slips an arm around your waist.

It’s the first time you’ve felt stable all day, leaning into him like you might actually make it to the car without collapsing.

“I don’t think I can afford an appointment.”

He looks at you like you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. His arm tightens around your waist, steadying you as you start to sway a little on your feet.

"Not worried about the money.”

You try to shake your head, but the movement makes you dizzy, and you stop, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

"I just don’t want to be that person, you know? Relying on you for everything."

He gives you a side glance, eyebrows raised.

"Baby, you’re not relying on me for everything. You’re literally sick, and I’m not about to let you tough it out just because you’re too stubborn to ask for help. We’ve talked about this a million times.”

"I guess," you mumble, letting your head rest against his shoulder as you walk towards the door.

"No guessing about it," he says, softer now, his fingers brushing your arm in a way that makes you feel more grounded. "You’ve been holding down the fort for too long. Let me take care of you for once."

The air outside hits you like a slap, but Rafe keeps you close, leading you toward his car. Your legs are weak, the fever still simmering under your skin, but his body warmth keeps you upright.

"Thanks," you whisper, even though it feels weird to say. You’re not used to thanking people for basic care, but with Rafe, it feels different.

He pauses, opening the passenger door for you.

"You don’t gotta thank me, okay? I’m just doing what anyone who loves you would do."

Your heart skips at that. You’re still not used to how easily he says stuff like that, like it’s no big deal. But he’s rubbing off on you, because you can say it just as easily now.

“I love you too, sorry for being a pain in your ass.”

Rafe chuckles as he helps you into the car, leaning down to make sure you’re settled before he shuts the door. He bends down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"You're always a pain in my ass," he murmurs against your skin, grinning as he pulls back just enough to look at you. "But you’re my pain in the ass, and that’s what matters."

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips despite how wrecked you feel. The fever, the headache, the exhaustion—it all takes a backseat, at least for a moment. 

Knowing Rafe’s always got your back? That makes it a little easier to breathe.

[a66-1]

starving.

Simon x Fem!Insecure!Reader.

Part 1 | ???

TW: Talk of ed's, negative self talk, low self esteem, bad mouthing (from reader to herself, comes with the territory) cursing, self harm. i tried not to be too descriptive with the reader, so EVERY insecure girlie who reads this feels seen. (these tw are for the whole thing, im pretty sure this is gonna be a series)

a/n: hey. if you need help, dm me. ill talk to you if you need it :). (also i made my banners. if you want one dm me! i make them for free, just with credit :)) NOT PROOF READ

i hope your doing okay honey.

Stepping out of the shower, the towel around you just big enough to touch ends is slipped around yourself. Showering is getting harder. You can barely stand glancing at the mirror now.

You dry yourself off, and hand the towel back up. You can do it, just walk past the mirror to grab your clothes.

You take the steps past the mirror, and turn your back to the mirror to change. Slipping your bra on, and it squishes the skin on your back and you grimace.

Once your dressed, you turn back around. The nagging voices are just waiting to pounce. I mean, what? You used to be so skinny.

You used to be pretty.

You decided to let your hair air dry, and you walk into your bedroom. You had work today, but you really wish you didn't. It was a bad week, you'd skipped 3 meals in the last few days and you know what your therapist would say.

'The progress you've made, hun. You can't go back now.'

The bad days are getting too close to each other now. You used to have at least a week between them, but now it's barely 48 hours. Maybe being off medicine isn't working good anymore.

Maybe you're no good.

You throw in a big hoodie, one that covers you, and some sweat pants, glancing at the big mirror in your room.

You can't stop analyzing yourself.

There's not one good thing on you is it?

Fuck.

The rest of the day was spent at your stupid 9-5, with your stupid boss, in your stupid, lonely life. Christ, being off anti-depressants is really hitting you hard. Everyone at your job is stupid and today every customer who wants to blow you ear off about how you kids these days, by the end of the day, your so tense that your shoulders are aching.

You got about 30 minutes left at this off-brand kroger store, when a big, big ass man walks in, shoving a mask with a skull print on it on. You curse to yourself, you really don't want to have to call the police for a robbery, you just want to go home.

To be honest, if he had a gun, you'd be half tempted to let him shoot you-

"Ma'am?" A heavy British accent came from your right. You turn your head, and scan his few items. You don't bother with the how are you's and you sigh.

"It'll be 16.84." You drag your eyes to his, and he reaches to his pocket, pulling out..

A wallet. What else were you thinking?

He hands you a twenty, and you hand him his respective change. He bags his own items, because honestly, you seem like the only worker in the store. Your face is written with exhaustion, whether it be from this job or something else, and the guy notices.

"Have uh... A good day." He nods to you, and walks off.

You purse your lips, and sigh, closing your cashier, because fuck finishing today. You're too close to a breakdown, and you're not trying to let anyone see.

You drive home, your hands tight around the wheel. You know it's a bad idea to be driving this emotional, to the point you wonder what would happen if you swerve your car into a tree.

You won't do it though.

You need to get back out there. It's why you stopped taking your meds.

You promise yourself that tomorrow you'll go out, and at least get a one night stand, you want need, anything.

Once home and in bed, you scroll and scroll and scroll. Doom scrolling is too common on these longer nights. You have a pillow tucked into your arm, and your hand squeezes it every time that pang in your lower chest rings out. Loneliness, you think.

You always scroll through your old friends instagrams or snapchats, seeing their nice bodies and nice boyfriends. You've been so nice and kind and karma should be on your side, but it always failed.

Especially after your last boyfriend.

Your friends say to wait.

To wait.

To wait.

But waiting is getting harder. Days are getting longer, and your head seems to spin more when left to its own devices. Why do you have to wait?

Your looks.

Your personality.

Who'd wanna be seen with you?

You flip your phone over, and shove your face in the pillow, your breathing staggered.

You fell asleep late, that night. The tears brought you to exhaustion.

woah why did this take 2 tries to write.

be waiting for pt.2

TRUST FINALS ARE SOOM COMING TO AN END and summer i will be STEWING TRUST!!!

Taglist!

@i-am-hungry-24-7

thank you for all the support. drunk simon blew up and im crying bc i came back after a 2 year hiatus and i wasn't getting the same feedback as usual so to finally seeing people enjoy my work again makes me feel great. <3

sorry simon wasn't in this part much. you gotta know the reader first tho, right?

bye babes..

-a661

[sescoups]

surprise - lee jihoon

masterlist

summary: your boyfriend needs to know how pretty he is, and you can only think of one way to show him

word count: 1.2k

a/n: i blacked out again. idk what happened but i am in love with this man so ig that explains it.

18+, MDNI!! warnings under the cut <3

warnings: oral (m. rec.), deep throating, mentions of penetrative sex, reader is so down bad but so is jihoon so it's doubly gross tbh, lmk if i forgot something!

You’re distracted, to say the least. The worst part is that he isn’t even doing anything particularly seductive, you’re just down atrocious. To you, there’s something about the way Jihoon’s fingers move over the keys as he works on a melody on his midi keyboard, something about the way he taps the drum pads, and when he stretches in his chair you can barely stop yourself from melting into a puddle.

He’s just too pretty, and you can’t let him live without knowing just how much you appreciate his mere existence.

When your knees hit the floor next to his chair, he jumps in his seat. He hadn’t heard you move, and almost forgot you were there. Not really, because how could he - you’re his favorite human to ever walk the earth - but you had definitely not been at the forefront of his mind right then. Your eyes meet his, and he just knows he’s about to be absolutely ruined forever. Again.

With the help of the arm rest, you turn his chair in your direction until you’re settled between his knees. You rest your head on his knee, staring up at him with wide eyes. His beauty will never stop baffling you, you think.

The position you’re in reminds Jihoon of too many similar occasions for him to be able to stop his dick from getting hard, but he suspects that was your plan anyway. Your eyes glisten at him the way they always do when the tip of his cock is kissing the back of your throat, and suddenly, his mouth is dry and his head is empty. Your hand trails up his thigh and he has to shut his eyes to escape the sight of you for a second; otherwise, he fears he may combust.

Your hand comes into contact with the bulge straining against the front of his basketball shorts, and a hum leaves your throat. You don’t mean for it to happen, it just does. Maybe it’s because you can’t help but think of how he can ruin you with it, or maybe you just sincerely feel like his pleasure is yours, too. It doesn’t really matter. As the nails on your left hand scratch against the skin of his right thigh, your right hand is teasing at the waistband of his shorts. You blink up at him, waiting for any indication (other than his erection) that he wants this and you’re allowed to keep going. Consent is sexy.

“Please,” he breathes, and who are you to deny him?

You lower his shorts as well as you can while he’s sitting in his desk chair, and he lifts his hips to help you out. His boxers come off with them, and you come face to face with one of your favorite parts of your boyfriend’s body. He takes his shirt off, too, because wearing only that is weird to him. You couldn’t care less, distracted as you are.

While yes, your underwear is absolutely ruined at this point, you’re not after stimulation for yourself. Your only goal is to swallow Jihoon’s dick whole and swallow every drop he gives you so he can get back to work. You don’t even think about teasing him and simply grip him with one hand, stroking a few times while you watch his face slacken in pleasure.

Once his hips start lifting of their own volition you can’t hold back any longer, so you put his tip in your mouth and suck gently. A punched out breath leaves him from above you, and you meet his eyes briefly before his roll to the back of his skull. Your lips twitch around his shaft before you sink deeper, starting a slow bob up and down.

Some days, he prefers for you to go fast; others, he just wants to feel your every movement, the drag of your lips against his skin driving him insane. Today, he’s torn. He wants to cum so bad, your sweatpants and messy bun combo wreaking havoc in his mind, but the sensation of your tongue against his shaft is too good to pass up. His skin feels like it’s burning, and while he can’t see the flush spreading down his neck and onto his chest, you sure can.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me, darlin’,” he mutters out, his thighs trembling from the pleasure. You swallow around him in response, and his hips force him deeper into your throat.

Where he isn’t the longest, he’s thick. Your lips are straining around him, as is your throat. You think it must be the best feeling in the world to be choking on his fat dick, jaw aching and drool spilling out through the corners of your mouth. Jihoon appreciates the view just as much. Too much, maybe.

“Baby, baby, I can’t, I need to- I’m- please,” he ends up wheezing.

You hum around him and sink down the rest of the way, letting your nose get buried in his pubic hair. You stay still for a moment and swallow again, and then he’s gripping his chair for dear life as he spills himself directly down your throat. He’s convinced that he’s going to grip your hair so hard it will hurt you if he doesn’t keep his grip on the chair, but he wants to touch you so bad, wants to let you know that you bring him more pleasure than he’s ever felt in his life.

As soon as he’s finished, you’re pulling back to suck in a deep breath. His body has gone limp against the chair, a thin layer of sweat having materialized on his skin mere minutes after you started. His chest is rising and falling fast, and that glorious flush is still gracing his neck and chest. He looks so pretty you can’t help but lean in and suckle gently on his tip again, only to be swiftly rebuffed.

“If you think I have anything left to give you right now, you’re insane.”

You laugh and wipe around your mouth, licking your lips. Your boyfriend is still reeling, convinced he’s dreaming or hallucinating or something, because there is no way this is real. The constant white noise that occupies his head is quiet, and in its place is you. He’s still not sure if he should just take you home, fuck you like you deserve and then fall asleep or write you a song, because he’s honestly extremely inspired right now.

While he’s zoned out, you stand up and move back to the couch. Your knees crack as you go, but you don’t even wince; you have no complaints about what just happened, and you will gladly wait a few more hours to go home with your lover. You’re pulled away from your phone before you’ve even properly unlocked it and pulled into a slow, passionate kiss by the man of your dreams. You hum against his lips, and he groans at the taste of his own release tainting your lips and mouth.

“I think,” he mumbles, hand carding through your hair and gripping it tightly, “that we need to go home. Right now.”

Once again, who are you to deny him?

a/n: if you liked this post, please remember to like and reblog! thank you <3

[grxmreaperx]

Hi!!

I just read your Mark Hoffman fic and I loved it!! Would you be willing to write something with Hoffman being a little obsessed with the reader? any further plot is totally up to you, I just need more Hoffman fics. 😩 Angst, fluff, smut (if you’re okay with that of course!)?

God, I love this request!! I’m all for men being obsessed in fics. And there’s no way I can answer this request and NOT write my first Hoffman smut (👀)

Also, you’ve all been so sweet and lovely ahhh I’m so glad I made this blog!!

You Belong to Me

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x reader (reader is AFAB)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: 18+!! Smut!! Kinda went off with this ngl. I had way too much fun with this. Mark being very dominant and obsessed with the reader. Praise and degradation kink. Hair pulling, spanking, cream pie. Mark being very possessive. Oral sex (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), p in v penetration. Every ounce of feminism left my body writing this.

Summary: Upon John’s request, you’ve been working as Mark’s secretary at the precinct in order to keep you off the list of suspects in the search for Jigsaw’s accomplice. Did Mark really expect you to not take this golden opportunity to mess with him? As much as he appreciates the tight pencil skirts you’ve started wearing to work, he does not appreciate the attention it is drawing from his coworkers.

You were driving him absolutely insane. He wasn’t sure whether to bash John’s skull in or worship him like Amanda does for placing you here. He already had a hard enough time focusing on stake outs and working on traps with you, and now you were here. In his place of work, where he was supposed to be professional, supposed to pretend he had never seen you before you had your “interview.”

Mark knew exactly what you were doing. Your first day you walked in here, friendly smile on your pretty face, pencil skirt glued to your legs, staring right at him.

“Good morning, Detective Hoffman.”

God, he was going to kill John.

He hadn’t exactly had time for a sex life since everything went down. His sister’s death, planning Seth Baxter’s fate, joining Jigsaw, all on top of his detective work. And it hadn’t really bothered him; he had more important things to think about.

Until John decided you’d be a perfect addition to the team.

---

You knew your plan was working exactly how you wanted.

John hadn’t tested him yet, so why shouldn’t you? The detective needed to be tested, didn’t he?

You saw how he stared at you when you walked into work each morning, spending the time before your shift picking out the perfect outfit that you knew would drive the man mad.

You had decided months ago that you tired of the tension, the pull you felt towards the man every night you spent working together. And now John, bless his soul, had given you the perfect opportunity to do something about it.

You had seen some of the other men at the station watching you, eyes hovering a bit too long on your legs and ass. It didn’t bother you much, you ignored them for the most part, they weren’t your test subject, they weren’t your detective, so you hardly even noticed.

But, oh, did Mark notice. He noticed every fucking time. And every time was a new test of his willpower. Every single time, all he could think about was what sort of trap he could devise that would be worthy of the pigs who dared look at you.

---

“How you doing today, honey?” You turned around in your chair and saw Henry Miller, one of the cops that was most persistent with you. You were friendly with him; he was nice enough. The only problem was he thought he had a shot with you.

“Morning, Henry. I’m doing alright, how are you today?”

“I’d be a lot better if you finally let me take you out tonight.”

You scoffed. “How many times do I need to tell you I’m not interested before it finally gets through?”

He leaned on your desk, hands resting on the table, staring intently at you from across the surface. “Cmon, baby. Just one dinner, that’s all I ask. I’m very persistent.”

“Miller, isn’t there something you’re supposed to be doing?” You recognized the deep voice instantly and had to stop yourself from grinning. This was perfect.

The smile dropped from Henry’s face when he saw Hoffman staring daggers at him. He looked like a deer in the headlights, a child that had been caught stealing candy.

“Yes, sir,” he muttered, before quickly making his way back to his desk.

“And you,” he started, eyes on you. “In my office.”

You flashed him your best smile. “Of course, Detective.”

----

“Sit down.”

You sat down in the chair across from him, trying to scope out the look on his face. His jaw was tense and shoulders tight. He looked like he was about to explode.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

He sucked in a breath. “Bullshit.” He stood up, slowly making his way around the table. “You walk in here every day, in your tight little skirts, giving me that proud little smile, and you’re going to sit here and act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” He placed on a hand on each armrest, eyes boring down into you. “Now, let’s try again, shall we? What the fuck was that?”

Bingo.

You smiled up at him. “I just want to look nice for you, Detective.”

He shook his head and gritted his teeth. “Oh, you wanna look pretty for me, is that it?” You nod. “You know what would make you look real pretty? Get on your fucking knees.”

Embarrassingly quick, you sink out of the chair and onto your knees, staring up at the man. He smirks.

“Well? You just gonna stare at me? Don’t act like you don’t know what to do.”

You reach up and slowly get to work on his belt, trying to act like you still have some sort of control. Not that you minded, but it was still nice to pretend.

All resolve left you went he wrapped a hand in your hair, pulling back until your chin was pointed up at him. “Don’t do that. You’ve teased me enough. Now it’s your turn.”

You pulled down his pants just enough to reach his dick. You sucked in a breath. You had some idea of what you were in for, but fuck.

You tried to tease him a bit more, you really did, but as soon as you heard the deep groan when you took him into your mouth, you were done for.

His hand in your hair guided you, bobbing your head on his dick, feeling it hit the back of your throat each time. Each tug on your hair, each time you felt the tip of his dick down your throat, you felt a spark go straight between your legs. You looked up at him through thick eyelashes, eyes slightly teary, spit spilling over your lips.

“God, I knew it. You do look very pretty like this, sweetheart.”

You were slightly disappointed when he finally pulled your head back, dick soaked with your spit. “Get up.”

You shakily got to your feet, suddenly aware of how much of a mess you must be. His eyes roamed over your body, examining you from head to toe.

“Go on, sweetheart. Bend over the desk for me.”

You quickly complied, bending over the front his desk, legs slightly spread. You felt him behind you, placing his hands on your hips before landing a hard smack on your ass. His hands pushed up skirt, pooling it around your waist and exposing you to him. He ran a finger over your underwear, pressing lightly on your clit, before landing another blow.

“Such a little slut, aren’t you? Already soaked for me. Have you enjoyed acting like a brat?” Another smack. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” you said softly.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Much better.” He pushed your underwear aside, running a finger through your folds. You felt your hips push back, trying to get more. More of anything, more of him. He pulled his hand away, running it over your thighs. “So desperate, aren’t you? You know exactly what you’ve been doing to me, teasing me, acting like a brat. Why should I touch you?”

“Please, sir, I’m sorry. I just wanted – “

“Wanted what? Wanted me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” you breathed. You felt him slide one finger in, quickly followed by a second. You bit your lip, suddenly aware of where you were and who was outside this office.

“So, you thought you’d make me jealous, hm?” he asked, fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. You nodded, rolling your hips against his fingers. As soon as he felt your movement, he pulled his fingers away. A whimper left your lips.

“Why should I make you feel good, when you’ve done nothing but tease me for months?”

“Please, sir. I need it.”

“Louder.”

“But- “

“I said louder.”

“Please, sir, please, fuck.”

He slid into you all at once, not giving you any time to adjust to his size. You let out a loud moan, before clamping a hand over your mouth, hoping to God no one heard you.

His hand found its way to your hair, pulling you toward him, back arching. You felt his lips right next to your ear as he finally moved his hips, pulling almost completely out before pounding back in. “No, no, baby. You want to tease me, make me jealous, let these cops flirt with you? You’re gonna let this whole fucking office know who you belong to.”

He set a rapid pace, hips snapping against yours. You felt your eyes roll back in your head, legs unsteady.

Mark groaned in your ear. “God, do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this pussy? How many times I’ve thought about bending you over and ruining you? Do you have any fucking idea what you’ve done to me? You’re all I fucking think about anymore.”

You let out a loud moan, no longer caring who heard you two. “God, fuck.”

“Cmon baby, tell me who you belong to.”

“You, sir.”

“Louder.” His long, hard strokes made your legs weak.

“I belong to you, sir! I’m all yours!”

“Good girl.” His other hand reached around your front, fingers quickly finding your clit and drawing quick circles around it. “Now, let everyone out there know that I’m the only one that gets to make you cum.”

Your legs shook and you knew if it weren’t for his arms holding you up, you wouldn’t be able to stand. Your mind was blank, forgetting everything but his words and the feeling of his cock filling you.

Your vision went white as your orgasm washed over you, the room filled with sounds of you moaning his name and his skin slapping against yours. You felt his pace falter slightly, his breath hot on your ear as he emptied himself inside you.

You stayed like that for a moment, both trying to catch your breath, before he finally pulled out of you and slid your skirt down.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about doing that,” he said, breathless, as he pulled his pants back up.

You let out a soft laugh. “Me too.” You start to grab a tissue from the box on his desk to clean yourself up before he grabbed your wrist. He spun you around to face him, face inches from yours.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. I want everyone to know that you’re mine. And I want to see you try and hold yourself together with my cum dripping down your thighs.” He gave you a smirk before letting go of your wrist, making his way back to his chair, and continuing his work as if nothing had happened.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself as you tried to make yourself look somewhat presentable.

Maybe your plan worked a bit too well.

---

Let me know if you guys like this!! I've been thinking about doing a NSFW alphabet with our lovely detective, let me know if you guys would be interested 👀

[taiga-shark]

Claws

taiga and romeo have a chat. inspired by chain w/ @ficoandleo, with a small side of angst.

cw: suggestive (not explicit), slight blood, mention of much much more blood and violence.

Number of times today that Romeo has decided to replace the locking mechanism on the door: five.

Make that six.

Taiga kicks the door to the VIP room open as if this is just how people open doors. The damn thing has been whining in protest all day, every time it’s been opened, and it’s been driving Romeo fucking insane. The way Taiga just marked it with the sole of his boot, it’s probably broken for good now.

“What are y-” Romeo does not get the words out before Taiga drapes himself over his sniper like a shapeless bag of beans. It turns even Romeo speechless, if briefly.

Taiga growls something under his breath.

“Can’t you see I’m busy? It’s th-”

Another growl - lower, louder, and nowhere near human.

Romeo is acutely aware of the looks the security goons are giving him. He can already hear the hushed rumors spreading poison through the veins of the House. Don’t they hate each other? I thought they were fighting. No way, I definitely saw him on Taiga’s lap the other-

“Out. We are having a meeting,” he says with no small amount of struggle to maintain his dignity under Taiga’s dead weight.

The two guards exchange a glance, but they don’t move.

Romeo sighs. Ignoring his orders is hazardous to one’s health. “Did I lapse into Italian? Out.”

They hurriedly shuffle out the door before they get reintroduced to the business end of a gun.

Instead, he turns his wrath to the captain.

“You cannot just waltz in here like that!” he yells, not sure if he hopes they hear him outside or not. “Not if you’re going to-”

“Scritchies.”

It’s so muffled that Romeo isn’t totally sure what he heard. The only reason he is sure is because he knows Taiga, whether he wants to or not. He wills away a headache and gives a sharp sigh. “Fine.”

Taiga all but collapses to the floor until he’s more or less kneeling with his head in Romeo’s lap. He mumbles something else unintelligible. All that’s really clear is that it was a bad day. Romeo carefully works his gloves off, one finger at a time, then sets them aside. To think, his perfect manicure, reduced to this.

He traces the fingers of one hand into Taiga’s cayenne-red hair, parting the layers a little at a time until he can see the blonde fighting for its life closer to his scalp. Below that are scars - some from fighting, some from trying to shave his own hair, and plenty from attempting to peel his skull back to get at the brains underneath. Romeo slides the pads of his fingertips through the roots of Taiga’s hair.

Taiga emits a grunt and sinks more heavily onto Romeo’s lap, burying his face into a very expensive pair of pants. Romeo is trying, and struggling, and failing to keep his mind on his work of monitoring the casino cameras, while he less-than-absentmindedly strokes and scratches Taiga’s head with steadily increasing pressure.

He can feel Taiga start to relax, tension unwinding from him bit by bit. It starts to take hold of Romeo, too - tugging at the edges of his ever-working mind, suggesting he take a break, stay a while, the day can wait, come back to bed-

Something wet and cold is on his knee.

“Don’t drool on me, you bastard!” he cries indignantly. “Do you have any idea how m- mm!”

Taiga leaps on him like a coiled spring and crushes him into the couch. His shoulder silences Romeo’s cry and replaces it with the thick, heavy spice of his cologne, cut through with the tang of leather from the strap of his arm holster. His growl is back, irritated and vaguely threatening. A quick burst of fear flashes through Romeo - the constant wondering of is this finally it? is this the day he snaps? - but it’s gone as quickly, because he knows better. He knows Taiga better than that.

“Alright, alright! Fine, fuck.”

Taiga seems less sure, as he still has one knee digging into Romeo’s ribcage.

Romeo resumes his slow, deliberate massaging of Taiga’s hair. Almost immediately, Taiga calms down again, sinking against Romeo like all his bones just melted. He sighs aggressively, his breath swirling over the shell of Romeo’s ear and gripping him with an involuntary shiver.

Romeo waits for Taiga to say something about it. A joke, a comment, a question. But nothing comes.

Then Taiga inhales with a cold, crisp gust of air that showers Romeo’s neck with invisible sparks. Anyone else might react like a prey animal, this close to these eyes and those teeth. But Romeo is not one so easily intimidated. He remains still, trying not to think about how much he’s thinking about Taiga’s thighs pinning him in place.

“You smell nice today.” It’s so low and mumbled that it could be mistaken for distant thunder. It reverberates deep within Taiga’s chest and shakes Romeo’s heart.

“Tch,” he hisses into Taiga’s ear, precise and suppressed as a sniper’s bullet, “of course I do.” He sweeps both hands up through Taiga’s hair, allowing himself a dark chuckle when Taiga gives a blissful little shudder of his own. “You know how much I’ve spent on fragrances.” All for nothing, it seems, he thinks but does not say.

Taiga nods a little. “Mm-hmmm. Only the best for Lu~Lu…” It comes out in a singsong tone that most would take to mean he was teetering on the brink of insanity, but Romeo knows better. He knows Taiga better than that.

Romeo’s fingers move in symmetrical, rhythmic circles and twirls, catching longer pieces of Taiga’s hair and looping them around his digits, pulling them through with the tiniest scrapes of his beveled nails over the skin. This is what Taiga really wants - for someone to trace over his lines and scars, to rewrite his awful history with their pretty fingertips.

Taiga’s teeth come to rest oh so precariously on the infinite slice of air between his mouth and Romeo’s ear. “Tired of this.”

“Of what?” Romeo can tell he’s not talking about ‘this.’

“All this bullshit…” Taiga mumbles, tucking his hands around Romeo’s waist, moving with all the dexterity of a drunk.

Oh. That.

Romeo would rather this be a literal face-to-face conversation, but sometimes one must take the hand one is dealt. He sighs and nudges Taiga’s head with his own, breathing deep, all the way down until his lungs hurt. “I am, too.”

Taiga pushes himself away enough to lean down and nuzzle his face into the crook of Romeo’s neck, making it clear how badly he could mar the delicate skin if he felt like it. “Then stop it,” he insists.

Romeo is losing his will to fight, losing his ability to care, losing himself in the scent of Taiga’s hair. It’s nothing like his own, or like Leo’s. It’s not obsessively clean or conditioned within an inch of its life or preened to a fault - it’s honestly pretty gross, hasn’t been washed in long enough that he can tell, it’s oily and dirty and why does it smell so good, it’s fucking intoxicating - something about Taiga’s skin itself, something inherent, something that can’t be purchased or manufactured or fabricated.

Something real. That’s what it is about Taiga, isn’t it? He’s always real.

Romeo feels himself falling, sort of backwards and sort of just down, trying to stay on the couch until Taiga grabs him by the waist and yanks him down to the floor, rolling with the momentum so that Romeo ends up on the floor with Taiga grinning down at him. Taiga is showing an uncharacteristic amount of self-restraint - in months past, by this point, there would be at least some damage to Romeo’s clothing. Romeo’s eyes flutter shut as the memories - and the desire - spill into his mind.

“Look at me, Lu-Lu.”

Cold, smooth metal slides over his forehead, sweeping his hair aside, and Romeo opens his eyes halfway to see the backs of Taiga’s jeweled fingers framing his view of the captain. Black nails sharpened into points draw soft, irregular shapes on his sculpted cheekbones.

“You wanna know why.”

“What-?” Romeo frowned through the haze currently clouding his judgment. It was dark - too dark to see Taiga clearly, but enough light glinted off of those scissor-blade teeth to tell he was grinning. “Hng!”

Taiga dug a thumbnail into the thick, pulsing artery in Romeo’s neck. “You wanna know why I keep my nails long.” It wasn’t a question. “Because…”

Taiga’s face was suddenly a mere breath away. Moonlight blinked in his acid-green irises.

“Because you have such pretty eyes,” he murmured softly. The planes of his teeth punctuated the kisses he left beneath each one. “I’ll never find anyone else with eyes prettier than yours.”

Romeo looked as confused as he felt.

“But…just in case…” Taiga’s free hand ghosted over Romeo’s face, brushing the tip of his nose, before the edge of a nail stuck firmly - but not painfully - into the dewy, silken skin of his lower eyelid. “…in case I do find prettier ones…” His voice dropped to the lowest, most intimate whisper. “…I’ll be able to gouge them out…and give them to you.”

Romeo couldn’t breathe. Luckily, thanks to Taiga’s mouth eviscerating his, he didn’t have to.

But then the bickering started, and Taiga had started shortening his nails. Romeo thought he was clipping them (like a normal person), but closer inspection revealed tiny cuts on his fingertips and cuticles and knuckles. He was biting them back, uncaring of the damage he dealt to himself like a bad hand in poker. To anyone who got close enough to notice, it was a nervous habit.

To Romeo, it meant Taiga no longer cared. Not enough to commit grievous bodily harm on his behalf, anyway.

But his nails are sharp again. How long had they been sharp again? How blind had Romeo been, really? Had they really been fighting for that long that he hadn’t noticed?

Taiga’s rings slightly cool the fever burning through his skin. “You still have the prettiest eyes,” Taiga says wistfully.

Romeo manages to push himself up on his elbows and smirk at him. “I know that.”

Taiga bends low and kisses him, really kisses him, tongue curling languidly and shamelessly around Romeo’s, dissolving his favorite weapon into a mess of heartbeats and desperately pawing hands. Taiga grips one wrist and brings the deadly fingers close to his teeth, slicing neatly into one with the tapered edge of a tooth, eliciting a pained whine from Romeo that hides much darker wishes beneath the surface.

Taiga never blinks as he licks the blood away from Romeo’s trigger finger. “And you always will.”

x

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️ tell me more about Gerrard biting it at the murder mystery night!

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰ what’s happeniiiiiiing

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

Hey!!!!

30 for ☠️:

---

 “But I think someone commented on it being vegan.”

“Vegan,” Tommy agrees. 

“Vegan,” Matt and Mark from Harbor both answer. 

So there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that he chose the pitcher that was not supposed to contain clam juice. And still he died of an allergic reaction.

“Did your husband have any other allergies besides shellfish, Mrs. Gerrard?” Ransone asks Dorinda. 

“None that we knew of,” Dorinda says. 

“How quickly after he started drinking did Captain Gerrard react?” Ransone asks the party guests. 

“Maybe a minute? Two?” Eddie replies. “I don’t know. I was pretty buzzed already from drinking before the caesars came out. Time feels… Loose?”

“Two minutes? Less?” Hen frowns. “Really, I can’t say.”

“Could’ve been forty-five seconds?” Karen answers. “I’m not sure.”

“A minute and a half?” Buck guesses. “I wasn’t paying a ton of attention to him.”

“God, I don’t know,” Chim sighs.

“A minute,” Tommy answers confidently. “It was a minute.”

---

30 for ➰:

Tagging @steadfastsaturnsrings

---

He turns to see the kayak rack lurching, sending the top kayak sliding out, fast and hard onto the sand. It lands right where he was standing.

It would have hit him. Right in the back of the head. Buck feels a faint throb in the back of his skull and lifts a hand to touch it. 

“Oh my god!” Brittany shouts. “That was close!”

But Buck doesn’t respond to her. Instead, he catches sight of Eddie. 

Eddie is standing, a few feet away, arms planted firmly at his sides, staring. He’s just staring at Buck. His jaw is clenched. His eyes are big. He’s not really breathing. 

“Dad?” Chris asks, noticing his father’s frozen state. “Are you okay?”

“Eddie?” Buck adds. 

“How did you know that was going to happen?” Eddie asks. His voice is low. Accusatory.

“What?” Buck asks. “I didn’t.”

“You didn’t,” Eddie repeats. 

“I just… I had a bad feeling.”

---

36 for 🚨:

---

“We go,” Eddie says. “Together. I hold your hand. You grit your teeth. Maddie sees you aren’t the issue.  And then we bitch about them the entire drive home.”

Buck sighs. “Doesn’t seem totally fair.”

“It’s not,” Eddie agrees. 

But what is? The unasked question. Right. ‘

“We aren’t bringing Chris,” Buck insists. “I won’t.”

“Definitely not,” Eddie agrees. “I won’t even introduce him to mine properly.”

“Okay,” Buck agrees eventually. “Thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie smiles sympathetically. “I’ve got your back. You know that.” 

And he does know it. 

iii.

They do exactly what Eddie suggests. They agree to a single dinner. They dress nicely. They bring a side dish. Baked brie and fig jam. Something Bobby taught him. 

Buck reminds himself it’s all for show. For Maddie. For himself. But an insidious little part of him whispers a quieter truth. You still want to impress them. You still want their approval. He know it’s true. And he fucking hates it.

---

36 for ⚡️:

---

He’s not sure why this is so significant. It’s not like Bobby is doing anything different from what he’d normally be doing. Being friendly in a social setting. He’s just being himself; a happy, unburdened version of himself. Buck knows what the inverse looks like, too. But somehow, it is significant. 

A year and a half ago, when Buck first made the decision to cut his parents out of his life, there had been a sort of loss. Not a real one, but a psychological one. The loss of an idea maybe. The misheld delusion that one day things could get better, and he could have parents to celebrate him during these big milestones. That they’d want to. If he put in the work. If he could be better, be less explosive around them. Less sensitive. There was a long part of his life where the idea of getting married without his parents would have filled him with shame and grief and emptiness. 

He doesn’t feel any of those things today. No shame, no grief, no emptiness. He feels proud. He feels joy. He feels loved, fully. And he doesn’t feel like he’s missing his parents, in any way, shape, or form. He is not lacking anything with their absence. 

He feels like he has exactly who he needs. 

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Hmm?” Buck replies. 

“You okay?”

Buck realizes he’s been staring into space, in Bobby’s general direction. 

“Oh. Yes. Yeah, I’m great actually.”

Eddie squeezes his knee under the table. “Good. I’m glad.”

Buck looks down the table at everyone who has showed up for them tonight. 

Yeah, there’s nothing empty about his life at all.

[dollsonmain]

I've forgotten how to sleep and startled myself when I looked in the mirror on my way to bed last night. The eye wells in my skull were very, very visible. Slightly less bad this morning.

So sleep hasn't happened due to both anxiety/stress and the AC having been broken for a while. AC was out for about a week and once it was fixed, I was too stressed about the absences thing at school to sleep the first night, and then too stressed last night because Son broke his school laptop yesterday and we have to tell That Guy today, AND That Guy had gone out partying with friends after work which means he drives home like that in the middle of the night and I always worry he's not going to make it. I can't sleep until I hear the garage door open. If he crashes, with the way he has our finances set up, Son and I are effectively homeless immediately. Part of why I am trying to work. Him not coming home until 1am also prolonged the anticipatory anxiety of having to wait to tell him the problem and get over the aftermath.

And then I woke up at 3am like always and couldn't get back to sleep.

Anyway.

Work stuff ish again

I will not complain about being expected to work 6 hours a day because that's less than a "normal" job anyway, but really at that point I'd rather work a full 8 and get benefits.

I very much think it should be illegal to schedule people juuuuuust under the cut off for benefits to be required by labor law. You should have to either schedule people 40 hours or 20 hours, no in between, IMO. Scheduling someone exactly 20 hours gives them plenty of time to go work SOMEWHERE ELSE for the other 20 hours without having to worry about being scheduled to work 60+ hours a week because both employers are cheapskates that will work you 30 hours.

I also need to completely change my daily routines AGAIN to get to work on time.

My current-new routine is:

wake up at 3:30 and get my morning coffee

sit around and wait for That Guy to leave for work which is usually 4-4:30

Son gets up and we have the morning together

Son leaves for school at 6:50

I don't get hungry until somewhere between 7 and 9 and will have breakfast then

depending on how exhausted I am I will or will not do chores between 5 and 10

leave to walk to work at 10:20

get to work at 10:40/10:45

work 11-3

That Guy picks me up on his way home from work, though I did have to walk home yesterday

do chores

dinner between 4-5 or so

vegetable time

Now, I'm going to have to skip my morning coffee because it makes me poop and I don't want to be pooping while I'm also the only cashier at work.

So it's going to be like....

wake up around 3 and shower OR shower in the evenings and deal with being gross from night-sweats at work so wake up at 3:30, I do prefer to show up to work nice and clean but it is a gas station...

force feed myself some sort of solid food while waiting for That Guy to leave for work around 4-4:30

make sure the boy gets up no later than 5

leave to walk to work at 5:20

get to work at 5:40-5:45

work 6-whenever (she hasn't decided when????)

leave work to walk to home whenever that happens to be and I'd rather it WASN'T noon because it's going to be stupid hot, then, but stop on the store's "porch" to put on sunscreen real fast... which means I need an opaque travel size bottle for sunscreen, and eat something so I don't pass out on the way home (yesterday I took a small bread roll and some jerky and ate that and drank a second V8 Energy while walking)

get home around 1 if I left at noon because the walk home is slower than the walk to work

eat a real lunch? finally have my poopin coffee?

chores

Son and That Guy get home at 3

profit???

I'm going to have to prep and take multiple sugar drinks so my blood sugar doesn't bottom out while at work. Right now I've been taking one bottle of water with a Real Lemon lemonade drink stick mixed in and I forget to drink it but it's there so I can slam it before leaving. I'll need to also take a meal replacement shake got sugar, salt, and other nutrients, I think, and an extra water.

Manager keeps trying to get me to buy something at work before my shift starts and I'm like no thanks those are MY monies, now, you're not getting them back on your overpriced bottled water.

Today I need to do laundry, deal with the fallout of telling That Guy that Son broke his school laptop, go to Kohl's and see if I can find some New Balance cross trainers to wear to work since I will be doing walking, standing, and lifting and I think cross-trainers would be the best option AND already know NB is the brand they primarily carry, need to find a hi-vis vest or couple of belts because I'll be walking to work in the dark, and That Guy said he'd take me to dinner today for leaving me to have to walk home from work Yesterday but what does that matter? That's going to be every day from now on.

A few more paychecks and I'll look for a scooter again. Or something. Still kind of like the idea of getting a cargo trike, ngl. Would be harder to steal than a bike anyway.

I don't know what I'm going to do in the winter.

-

Running a salary and income tax calculator and factoring in about $3k in short-term hobby income, even putting that no tax is withheld, it looks like I'd expect a tax return of $3k? Because there's about $3k in tax credits??? Whatever. I'll figure it out when it's closer to the right time.

[blackjackkent]

Stopped by Dammon's forge to get Karlach's next upgrade!

As with their first encounter back at the refugee camp in Act 1, I think Karlach's the one really driving this and Rakha just tags along and hands over the infernal iron when asked. She is invested in Karlach getting her repairs - even Rakha is not immune to Karlach's overwheming friendliness, and Karlach has been one of those with the most influence on Rakha's own developing outlook. But she doesn't have any idea how the repair might work and is basically just following directions for whatever Karlach feels is best (and is also really preoccupied by her own shit today).

So she mostly just listens quietly as Dammon delivers his news.

"I only need one more piece of infernal iron to craft an insulating chamber that could make it possible for Karlach to--"

"--touch people?!"

"Exactly."

Rakha watches silently as Dammon takes the piece of iron they found, works it slowly and methodically into the shape he needs. She watches as Karlach pulls open her armor to slot the piece into place against the mechanism under her ribs. She watches Karlach's expression morph from hope to eager anticipation.

"There. So did it... work?"

"Only one way to find out," Dammon says with a smile.

Rakha and Karlach have discussed before how Karlach longs for a hug. Rakha cannot recall ever having given anyone a hug, and this doesn't feel like the moment she wants to start (certainly not with the mood she's in). But Karlach looks at her expectantly...

She remembers Wyll touching her sometimes on the arm or shoulder in moments of strain, and the comfort it has brought her. And mimicking that, she reaches out and lays a hand on Karlach's shoulder, feeling the muted heat pulse up through armor and glove into her palm.

Karlach relaxes visibly, sagging a little into the touch. "You feel so nice..." she murmurs.

It's not a compliment Rakha has ever been paid before. But it stands as a nice contrast to the absolutely terrible night she's had, saturated with brutal thoughts.

-----

Dammon goes on to explain that it is not all good news - Karlach will not be able to live indefinitely if she remains in the material plane. Insulation or not, the engine will eventually kill her.

Karlach's response to this news fascinates Rakha. "I never wanted to live forever," she says fiercely. "I just want to live good."

At first, after the nautiloid, Rakha's focus was entirely on survival. Now, with Sceleritas's instruction hanging coldly in the back of her mind, she is coming to grips with desires beyond that - desire to fight back, to not cede control to the beast. To choose.

To live good. She isn't sure she can say it with the open-hearted optimism that Karlach can. She isn't even sure she has a right to. And she still wants with fierce animal instinct to continue to survive and to destroy the things that hurt her and her companions.

But she files this away alongside all the other statements that have formed the pillars of her few months of consciousness thus far.

-----

"Listen," Karlach says later, "I'm never going back. If you said I could die right now or live a thousand years in the Hells, I'd choose to go out now with my freedom intact. I don't expect anyone to understand that - but I've been dealt a hand most people don't have to contemplate playing."

"I respect your decision," Rakha answers. She hears her own thoughts reflected in Karlach's words - that developing need to choose and stand against outside forces.

Karlach smiles. "Thanks, soldier. Your support means I've got one less thing to worry about. That means a lot to me. You really are the best of the best - of the best."

Rakha doesn't answer. She wonders whether Karlach would say that if she could see inside Rakha's skull where the beast urge sits, where the images lurk of all the death and destruction it wants - of Isobel bleeding from eyes and mouth, of Last Light's Harpers chewed to pieces by darkness, of Karlach's own body bursting apart in a shower of ash.

[flansuki3]

Short fan fic about Makarov and his tattoos

Makarov liked to say that he had been saved by Imran Zakhaev, usually people would use phrases like "He helped me through my battles." or "He was a significant support for me." followed by quite a lot of praise for the person who helped them through their worst moments.But Makarov could talk for hours about how the hero of Russia saved him.

So Makarov had already met Zakhaev, lived in his house and was the family chauffeur. A boring job in his eyes, normally Victor preferred to drive his own car himself and the wife loved to go to places that made Makarov wait hours and hours in the car.

But all in all it was a job he was grateful for, he didn't earn much from it and most of the time he spent reading books in the car while the others went about their business, he was happy to be able to spend time with Imran Zakhaev to drive him to work. Sometimes it was long drives to faraway places, other times they didn't leave the city but it took them all day to go back and forth running errands.

For Makarov those were the happiest days.

"How did you sleep, Mr. Zakhaev?"

"The weather today is so hot, isn't it? Don't worry, I have bottles of water here if you're thirsty. And I also have your favorite snacks."

"I don't mind carrying your shopping for you. The truth is, I get a little bored in the car, I like accompanying you to the mall better than just waiting."

That were phrases that repeated like a loop of infinite bliss, in the quiet life of a human who in the past had not had a single hour of tranquility like this.

To say that he simply respected and loved Zakhaev was to belittle his feelings for him.

Makarov loved him, had fallen in love with him and instead of rejecting those feelings he had stored them in the chest of his heart like the precious treasure they were.

“So, what does that skull on your arm mean?” asked Victor as Makarov took the day's shopping out of the car.

“Nothing really, I just wanted to cause terror to the idiots in prison," Makarov answered frankly in his eccentric frog voice. But I like to show off my tattoos and see the reactions of "normal" people.”

“Father!” Victor caught the eye of Imran who was taking a break in the garden. “Do you think I would look good if I got a tattoo of a skull on my face?” Victor joked just to annoy his father.

Imran approached him trying to put on a calm face and placed his hand on his son's shoulder.

“Only vulgar and undesirable people would do such a thing. Tell me, if your future daughter's boyfriend had a striped body, would it make you happy? Have respect for this family, for your future family and for yourself and never do one of those ugly things to yourself. They are disgusting, I would never love, in any way, anyone so vulgar; normal people don't do that”

“You just gave me a whole lecture just for a joke, Dad.”

Young Victor just laughed and his father followed him in the laughter fest until Imran realized what he had done.

“I said all those things and I didn't even think about the fact that Vladimir was standing in front of me." Imran though.

And yes, Makarov was there with his hands full of vegetables and milk for dinner that night, just staring at him, mute. When Imran returned his gaze the young man set about his work.

Zakhaev caught up with him in the kitchen, stood there for a few seconds and sighed looking at the floor in embarrassment.

“You know well that even if Victor decided to get the ugliest scrawl on his forehead I would still love him, love him very much. You know that, don't you?”

Makarov nodded, nodding as he arranged the vegetables in the refrigerator, a regular maid's chore that ended up being his.

“I don't mind what you think of my tattoos, Mr. Zakhaev. You have no obligation to like me, I'm not your son. And I already knew what kind of image they give to others, I already knew that normal people don't do that.”

In all those years in prison, even in all those years committing crimes he had never felt as ashamed of himself as he did at that moment, he already knew that Imran would never reciprocate, he was married and a member of a traditional family but in his heart he harbored that stupid little hope that invited him to fantasize at night. Even now that childish fantasy felt even dirtier. He regretted every drop of ink that adorned his body as he tried to concentrate on making room for the new food in the lowest part of the refrigerator.

“I spoke without thinking, please forgive me.”

So unexpected, so sweet and warm. Imran the man he loved, the man many others admired had knelt down to Makarov's level to give him a hug.

“I don't think of you as vulgar men, much less as ugly. I think of you as the hardworking, kind young man who is also very intelligent. The boy I'm hugging is very dear to me, you know? Even though you have those tattoos that I don't like, even if you didn't have them I would love you just as much as I do now. I even think they look good on you.”

Makarov let himself be carried away by that brief fantasy that had been brought into the realm of reality and embraced him back.

From that moment you could believe that Makarov had accepted that part of his past, that he would continue to sport his tattoos with pride. But gradually his attire changed to one that covered his body completely, even using gloves to hide the tattoos in that area.

"I want to protect this man, I even want to protect his pride. I do not wish for anyone to feel disgust seeing him next to me. I want everything around him to be pristine and perfect as he deserves."That was what Vladimir Makarov thought as he reciprocated Imran's embrace.

Now he no longer works for the Zakhaev house, now people no longer look at him as that young delinquent that Imran helped out of pity and naivety.Now he can walk around in his elegant black suit and his position of power knowing that his distinguished presence adds even more prestige to the man he loves.

[nightmareofthelake]

speak to me - [samicolin] - Chapter 3

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Colin stared at the computer. Numbers, letters, and symbols that were supposed to make sense but didn't. Lines and lines of nothing but mysteries and secrets that no one knew and yet Colin was the one who understood it better than anyone. He felt a headache spreading through his skull, dragging his mood deeper into the abyss. Colin loosened his ponytail to relieve some of the tension and ran a hand through his hair. Memories from before flashed through his mind. Of Sam's hand in his hair. The way his nails scraped across his scalp, sending shivers through his body. How he pulled his hair and Colin had to bite his tongue to stop obscene sounds from leaving his mouth. Colin leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and imagined Sam's hand running through his hair and not his. But it was easier said than done because it didn't fit. His hand was too big and rough and didn't feel nearly the same as Sam's.

He should be ashamed of himself for fantasizing about his own colleague. He had already made the atmosphere between them awkward enough. He couldn't lose what little respect Sam still had from him, but it's too tempting to just lean down and place hundreds of kisses on Sam's soft skin. Maybe even steal a sweet kiss or two from his lips. Colin had to pull himself together or the computer wouldn't be the only thing driving him crazy. He couldn't even really explain how these feelings came about. At first Sam was just the new employee and from one day to the next Colin couldn't think of anyone else. It only got worse after he noticed Sam reacting to his voice, causing Colin to develop a strong desire to whisper sweet nothings in his ear. Colin had to stay strong. He had to remain professional and treat his colleague with respect. Because that's what they were. Colleagues. Nothing more.

A glance at the clock told him that he had done his time and could go home. It was also late enough that he would be the last one out of the office. Colin didn't know if he would survive another minute with Sam and was grateful that he wouldn't run into him again today. The IT guy packed up his things and thought about whether he should take his wet clothes with him, but ultimately decided against it and left them here to dry until the next day. The walk home will be long and didn't need the extra weight. Colin left the room, which was more of a closet than an office, and made his way to the exit, but he stopped abruptly when he saw Sam just packing up his things.

"Oh!" came from Sam when he saw Colin. “You’re still here!” “I got to work pretty late today,” he reminded him. “Why are you still here?” “The computer was...” “Yeah, I get it.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck and gave the other man an embarrassed smile. “I originally wanted to get you, but then you showed up dripping wet and I wanted to give you time to collect yourself,” Sam began to explain. “But as soon as you got back to work, Freddy was running smoothly again and I didn’t want to bother you.” Colin wanted to protest. Telling him that he could never bother him and that he should approach him more. Blessing him more with his presence. But Colin bit his tongue. "I’ll still take a look at your computer tomorrow.” Colin tried to sound as normal as possible and somehow managed to do so without swallowing his own tongue. Sam just nodded.

“How are you getting home now?” Colin sighed. Just the thought of his journey home was exhausting. Why did he have to live at the other end of the city? "I walk. My luck with taxis is non-existent and I won't even try to wait for a bus or train to get me where I need to go." “I can drive you if you want.” Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea. “I don’t want you to have to take a detour because of me…” "That's no problem! I like to help!" Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. “Aside from that, you've already had a shitty day today...and you're probably tired too...” Say no. Say no. Say no. “I...ah...okay.” He's not going to survive this trip.

To say that the silence in the car was anything but uncomfortable would have been a lie. Colin tried not to look in Sam's direction the entire drive while Sam tried to figure out how to start a conversation without sounding completely stupid. Both regretted their decision. Unfortunately for both of them, traffic was particularly slow today as a construction site had appeared on one of the main roads. This meant that the two men had to spend more time together in a small space and if it hadn't been for the radio, you could probably have heard both of their hearts racing. Colin had to suppress two desires that could worsen his relationship with Sam in two different directions. One desire was to take Sam's face in his hands and kiss him as passionately as possible until they were interrupted by the other's honking. The other desire was to jump out of the car and either leave the country or jump into the sea and be swallowed by the waves. Was he a bit dramatic? Possibly. But he couldn't help it that Sam made him feel like that, and unfortunately for him, he didn't even really know why. Yes, he admitted that Samama Khalid was very attractive, but a pretty face usually didn't have that much of an impact on him.

"Welch höhere Macht habe ich erzürnt, so dass ich gefangen bin in dieser gesegneten Folter?" It was an almost barely audible whisper and Colin wasn't even aware he had said anything until Sam suddenly looked at him. “What is the deal with you speaking German?” Colin swallows the lump in his throat. He really didn't want to have this conversation. What was he even supposed to say? Yes, I started speaking German because I know you don't understand it and so I could freely say whatever was on my mind without embarrassing myself or ruining our non-existent friendship. “It helps me not to forget the language.” “Oh, okay.” That was surprisingly easy, Colin thought. I don't believe a word this guy says, Sam thought.

They were both quiet again for the rest of the ride, for which Colin was grateful. Sam parked in front of Colin's apartment and Colin got out. He turned around and wanted to thank his colleague for the ride home, but was interrupted by Sam. “Would you like me to come pick you up tomorrow?” Colin looked at him in surprise. "What?" “Well your car is currently under repair, which means you are currently without a car.” Just thinking about his car gave Colin a headache. Maybe he should just buy a new one. “I can pick you up and take you back home until you get your car back.” Say no. Say no. Say no. For the love of God, say fucking NO! "Yes that would be nice..."

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Romantic stuff for both the twins

Get ready for my 12 AM babbling session for the goobers

Ester

Bullet isn’t used to being called by her first name, as far as she’s concerned it’s Bullet. She thinks her real name, Ester is ugly. Most people call her Essie or E if she knows them outside of work.

But Klaus calling her the whole thing- Ester. At first it’d piss her off. She notices that he calls everyone else ‘Mrs.’ or ‘Miss’ or ‘Mr.’, but not her. It basically means, at least to Bullet, that he sees her as an individual, not a bullet-sponge or a worker. Seeing herself as that would take her forever, with both what she went through in the Marines and CIA, being seen as nothing more than meat.

Another thing before we get into Zach- the first time Bullet and Klaus cuddled.

At first, she thought she was too good for that lovey-dovey shit. That her repulsive flesh was too rough, calloused, and scarred to be deserving of his delicate handling.

Until Klaus finally put his arms around her and she’s lying on him. Ester’s trying not to sob because she knows she doesn’t deserve it. He’s so soft, warm; she thought his muscles would be hard and stiff, but he’s like a damn pillow. With his hand running through her hair and fingers tracing her scarred covered back- goddamnit don’t cry don’t cry-

The torture she endured rendered her “too ugly” to be wanted by anyone.

At least Bullet will never need to buy a new pillow again.

Zach (NSFW warning)

Got some spicy shit for you today- (if you’re ever uncomfortable with this please lmk ASAP)

Zach LOVES hearing the noises that Steph makes when they do the deed. He mocks them and intentionally changes his pace to get more out of her. I mean dude loves everything else about Steph and her moaning ain’t really that different 💀

Physically, he’s very gentle with Steph in general, but that don’t change the fact Zach wants to her to lose it. He can be cruel, in fact he is most of the time, but he doesn’t like physically hurting Steph. Mentally? Yeah kinda.

He won’t move in the rhythm she wants, if he does, he moves in an agonizing pace; too fast or too slow. Zach will just spend any time they do the deed taunting her; whispering in her ear all sorts of things 🤭

LISTEN HERE

Klaus and Ester

Klaus literally would refuse to call her Bullet. If he was told who gave and why she was given the name, he would be very quiet for a second, but you could tell that the knowledge pisses him off. His chest would inflate a little more in the breath that comes after being told, he'd hold that breath for a second before he lets it out through his nose. His nostrils would flare a little and his gaze would be very solid, still, intense as he's watching her.

He'd then very gently say her name again (I imagine that maybe this is a conversation they have once they've gotten to know each other a little better and maybe are in the beginnings of a relationship) and rest a hand on her cheek, but they're large enough that his palm is on her cheek, but his fingers encroach on the base of her skull. He'd little tap the skin there, before he then pulls her to him, his arms around her in a gentle hug.

"You are more than that," he'd say, accent thick, "and you know it."

As for the cuddling thing? This man is the champion of cuddles. You want healing? Klaus cuddle. Get one. Well, if Ester is willing to share XD Also, slightly similar to Zach with the scars, Klaus would make sure, in his own little way, that what Ester looks like, the marks and scars that she has, has no affect on the way he feels about her. He's not overly fantastic with the way he would word things, a little blunt and rough around the edges, but you can tell what he's trying to say, to remind her that "your scars don't define you" and she's beautiful no matter what.

Zach and Steph

Nsfw ahead

Steph would very much allow him to take the lead - I don't feel like Steph has a high sex-drive, in the sense that she doesn't seek it out often herself and goes on the cues of Zach, if that makes sense. Like, how do I even explain this XD Steph has a lot of self-control and can go without it for a very long time, but if Zach was to rock up like "bedroom, now, I have not seen you, felt you for too long and I'm going insane" she'd be straight in that room lmao

I've probably not explained that aspect very well, but I hope that something comes across anyway

Now, in regard with how they are, Steph would find herself very frustrated and whining whenever he does that kind of thing. Of course, it drives her crazy cause she loves him being in control. She also trusts that, even in the long game, Zach knows every aspect of her so well that he's doing this to give her the most pleasure and let's just say she never leaves the room dissatisfied.

Can she walk? Probably not...

Did she have a great time? You bet.

Is Zach smiling like a fucking idiot because no matter how long they've been together, it always feels like the first time again, with that excitement, that impishly driven, new lovers exploring and learning about each other vibe.

I imagine that he'd whisper sweet nothings but then tease the absolute fuck out of her, perhaps even giving slight demands.

"Use your words, honey, or else I can't give you what you want."

"F-fuck you-" She'd say because now she's frustrated.

"Ah ah ah, " he changes the pace, slower, as his hands trail down her thighs, "that isn't any way to speak to me, is it?"

She's whining, crying, almost at breaking point.

"Come on, honey, beg for me."

[alphashley14]

One Of Us

A Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated/Mystery Skulls Crossover

Chapter Three

In My Dreams

A few days after the incident at the Haunted Museum, The Mystery Skulls had just left Lewis’ Manor and were on their way to the Burlington Library. Through their investigations through the records of Crystal Cove (and what they already knew from what their source had told them), they’d discovered a reference to another Mystery Incorporated group: The Benevolent Lodge of Mystery. They knew that other groups like theirs had existed in Crystal Cove throughout the town’s history, but this was the third actual concrete example they’d found, the first being the Mystery Fellowship (aka: the Darrow family) and the second being The Fraternitas Mysterium (but their source had already told them enough about them that they didn’t need to do any further investigating). They were hoping to learn more about the Benevolent Lodge of Mystery, and maybe even to find clues about other groups as well. 

“I’m gonna ask you again, Arthur. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look right. And the library is still gonna be there tomorrow.” 

“Nah, I’m fine, Vivi. Just… I dunno. I’m just feeling kinda sleepy today.” 

And indeed, it was visible to all of Arthur’s friends that the bags under his eyes were back. But Arthur, who all too often hid his pain from his friends, was vastly underexplaining how he was feeling. The fact of the matter was, he’d felt increasingly over the past couple days as if he was becoming disconnected from his own body, and it had reached its peak this morning. Arthur felt as if he could fall over at any moment ever since he’d gotten out of bed. Not to mention that his whole left side was throbbing - he really needed his meds adjusted, they weren’t working as well as they should.

But he didn’t want to trouble his friends with his issues, and he knew how important this investigation was. And above that, he was afraid of being a burden. Which led him to where he was now, sitting in the back of the van trying not to doze off. 

Unaware of the true nature of their friend’s condition, Lewis was driving and Vivi and Mystery sat in the front with him. “Do you think he’s okay?” Lewis asked quietly. 

“I don’t think he’s as okay as he wants us to think. You know how Arthur is.” Vivi replied in a hushed tone. 

“Maybe it’s his meds?” Mystery suggested. 

“Possibly.” 

“Whatever’s going on with him, the Burlington Library is also a historic home.” Lewis said. “We were planning to spend the night anyway. Maybe when we get there they’ll let him turn in early? Lie down somewhere while we look for clues?” 

“Lewis! LOOK OUT!” Vivi shouted. 

“Oh, SHIT! ” Lewis slammed down on the brakes and the van came to a screeching halt just a foot shy of hitting a rather unusually dressed fellow standing in the middle of the road. His motorcycle sat parked not far off.

Lewis stuck his head out the window. “Hey, what they hell, man? Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” 

“Stand and deliver! I’m the Dandy Highwayman! And this is a robbery.” The man said, pointing his guns at the windshield. 

Lewis, Vivi, and Mystery were not impressed. 

“What’s going on guys, why did we stop?” Arthur asked sleepily, poking his head over the backseat. 

“Apparently we’re about to be victims of a ‘robbery’ .” Vivi explained dryly. 

“Looks like another one of Crystal Cove’s fake monsters.” Said Mystery. 

“What do you guys think? Shall I whip out the bat?” Vivi asked.

“Nah, stay here. I think I’ve got this one.” Lewis said, getting out. 

“Lew, please don’t kill him.” 

“So, what’re you supposed to be? The ghost of the Dread Pirate Roberts?” Lewis asked. 

To be fair, the Highwayman was very smooth in recovering from the initial surprise of failing to intimidate Lewis. He pointed the barrel of one of his weapons directly at Lewis and said, “I believe you fail to understand, my dear fellow. I am the Dandy Highwayman, and this is a robbery. I’ll be taking all of your valuables in this bag, if you don’t mind.”

“Uh-huh. So like… what are you though? A ghost?” 

“My dear lady!” The Highwayman said, walking past Lewis like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t there. He walked up to Vivi’s window. “What a captivating woman. I see an intelligence in those eyes that could only belong to someone worth listening to for hours and hours on end.” 

“Oh, really ?” Vivi asked, playing along. 

Lewis was shaking with anger. His eyes turned black, his irises glowing a malevolent pink.

The Highwayman, bless him, was oblivious to the fact that he was enraging one of the single most powerful spirits in North America. “Yes, really. I ask, would you like to accompany me? I would be absolutely thrilled to hear all about your life, your hopes, your dreams, and your aspirations.” 

“Honey,” Vivi said dryly, “if I told you about half of my life, you wouldn’t believe a word of it. Seriously though, Lew-Lew has me curious. What exactly are you supposed to be? A ghost?” 

The highwayman didn’t say anything. 

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. See, around these parts we know a ghost when we see one. Do you know how?” 

The Highwayman looked at her confused, so Vivi pointed in the direction of the increasingly bright pink glow. 

“Please don’t kill him, Lew.”

When the Highwayman turned, he came face-to face with an absolutely furious spirit. Lewis had gone full ghost - his head a floating skull above his broad shoulders, flames engulfing his cranium and shoulders where his hair should be. And his body was covered by his frightening black and white skeleton suit, the familiar golden heart throbbing with emotion. The Highwayman was so terrified when he saw Lewis that he screamed and ran, nearly knocking his bike over in his efforts to get on it, and nearly running it off the cliff when he tried to race away.

No sooner were the sounds of his engines fading into the distance, Vivi was laughing herself to tears and Lewis was begrudgingly resuming his human illusion and getting back in the car. Mystery was trying (and failing) not to giggle too, and though Arthur was smiling, he was too tired to laugh. 

“It’s not funny.” Lewis grumbled. 

“Oh come on, Lew.” Vivi giggled, taking off her glasses to wipe the tears out of her eyes, “It was a little funny. I almost feel sorry for the guy, he was so scared! ” Then she burst out into laughter again. 

“Do you guys think we should maybe-” Arthur yawned - “call Mystery Incorporated? That seemed like it’d be right up their alley, don’t you think?” 

“I don’t think we ever got their phone numbers.” Mystery said. 

“No, I don’t think we did. We ought to next time we see them.” 

“Oh! I got Mrs. Dinkley’s phone number. I insisted after that mishap at the Haunted Museum, just in case she did need our help with anything after all.” Arthur said, getting out his phone. 

He dialed, and the phone rang for a few moments before Mrs. Dinkley picked up. “Hello, Mrs. Dinkley. It’s Arthur, from the Mystery Skulls. We just had a run-in with something… weird, and we wanted to get word to Velma and her friends about it. Would you mind giving us her number? Or just passing the word along?” 

༻˚⁺･⚉｡○✼༓☾⦾♫෴♡💛♡෴♫⦾☽༓✼○｡⚉･⁺˚༺

Back at the Crystal Cove Library, Scooby Doo had fallen asleep while looking for clues about the Highway Dandyman with the gang. This should have come as no surprise - the great dane hadn’t been sleeping well lately, plagued by terrible and vivid nightmares. Shaggy had been really drowsy the past couple days, too. This time however, Scooby’s dream was more than just a dream. 

Within the world of slumber, Scooby lifted his head off of the tome on which it rested to find his friends had left their seats, the pile of books they’d been using back on their shelves. At the familiar sound of a bell, Scooby turned to see Nova standing by the doorway. Without a word, she turned and left. Curious and confused, not fully aware he was asleep, Scooby hopped off the chair he’d been sitting on and followed. When Scooby walked through the doorway after her, he found himself in an unfamiliar corridor. The walls were covered by crimson curtains, and the floors were a strange, smooth black and white zigzag pattern.

“Nova?” Scooby called. 

He looked in the direction it looked she’d gone and there at the end of the hall by a marble statue was another doorway. Scooby walked down the corridor and through the doorway, and found himself in a room. 

The walls and floor were the same as they had been in the hall, but the middle of the room was tastefully furnished with black chairs and tables and silver lamps in a very simplistic and modern style. A very nervous and very familiar looking teen wearing a yellow and white striped t-shirt was sitting in one of the chairs, and over in an empty space of floor, a strange, very short man in a red suit was dancing to a jazzy tune. Scooby couldn’t help but tilt his head and cock his eyebrow with confusion.

The little man finished his dance and gave a bow, and then said in a voice that echoed throughout the entire space, “Welcome, to the sitting room, Scooby Doo.”

It frightened Scooby so much that he awoke, his head shooting off of the book he’d been sleeping on with a frightened yell. The sudden movement moved the pages and revealed a piece of old parchment that had been hidden between them.

The gang had paused their research, and Velma was on the phone with (Scooby realized after a few seconds of listening) Arthur Kingsmen, one of the Mystery Skulls. Whatever they were talking about must have been good, because she let out an excited “Jinkies!” near the end of the call.

When Velma got off the phone, she reported to the gang that Arthur had called to let her know that the Mystery Skulls had just had a run-in with The Highway Dandyman, but he’d failed to rob them or to get Vivi to go with him, but it was just weird enough that they figured they’d let Mystery Inc. know. 

Fred was actually relieved that they hadn’t caught him, because he was eager to get to trapping again after his opportunity to trap had been thwarted two mysteries in a row, now. 

After that, the gang returned to their books, and not a minute later Velma found their first clue. All of the books on “dashing rogues” and “devinaire thieves” were checked out by the women who had been abducted. Fred found their second one not long after: a members list for a book club with all the ladies’ names on it, including Daphne’s Mom. Which was odd, because Nan Blake hated reading (unless it was a shopping catalog). 

That was when Velma noticed the piece of parchment. 

“Where did this come from?” She asked, picking it up. “Cuarto Llave!” She read off of it. 

“It’s the fourth key!” Daphne cried. 

“But like, we haven’t found the third. I thought we were like, finding these in order.” Shaggy said, rubbing his eyes from where he was resting with his head in his arms on the table. 

“Guys, I don’t think it was any accident that we found this. But why here? And how does it tie into the Dandy Highwayman?” Velma asked.

“All I know is we have to come up with some answers fast, or I might never see my mother again!” 

“I’ve got it! I’ve got the perfect plan to trap this Dandy Highwayman!” Fred declared giddily. 

And like that, it was trapping time. 

Unfortunately for Fred, when the time came, he would eat his words about being glad the Mystery Skulls hadn’t caught the Highwayman, when the next girl he took was Daphne.

༻˚⁺･⚉｡○✼༓☾⦾♫෴♡💛♡෴♫⦾☽༓✼○｡⚉･⁺˚༺

Daphne and the other women, lucky for the gang, were under no kind of “spell”, as the men of Crystal Cove seemed to think. Rather, being the clever meddling kid she was, she’d gone along with the Dandy Highwayman on purpose to get on the inside and make sure the other women were alright. One act of deception by Daphne and a trap involving some nets and a shed full of TNT later, the Highwayman was unmasked (as the librarian - who would have thought?) and all was well in Crystal Cove once again (at least as “well” as it ever was in Crystal Cove at any given relatively peaceful moment).

… That is, until Scooby fell asleep in the Mystery Machine on the way home. 

Shaggy and Scooby were both really tired. Shaggy had been getting increasingly “out of it” the past few days, and he seemed really sleepy - Velma and Scooby were convinced he was getting sick, but he insisted he was still well enough to solve mysteries with the rest of the gang for now. And Scooby of course hadn’t been sleeping well, Kriekstaffebots and “Nibiru is Coming” Nova haunting his nightmares (but that was just too many donuts before bed, right?). 

One of the Mystery Skulls’ songs was playing on the radio (Velma had started listening to their music as part of her research about them. Suspicious or not, they were really good.) Shaggy and Scooby weren’t contributing to the conversation much, opting to enjoy Lewis’ voice playing softly from the radio instead. Both of them were looking forward to being back at the Rogers’ residence where they could eat three dinners and then go straight to bed for some well-earned rest. 

"When I see you in my dreams,

You can fly so high it seems.

Took me to another level,

Of your love."

And the next thing Scooby knew, he was back in the sitting room. 

The dog trembled in fright as that same little man in the red suit walked out from behind one of the red curtains. “Scooby Doo. The time has come. She is… here.” He said in that same echoing voice. The curtains opened once again, and Nova stepped into the room. 

“Nova?” Scooby said hopefully. 

“I am not Nova.” The cocker spaniel said. “I have only borrowed her body so that I may bring you an urgent message.” 

Scooby got down from the chair in which he sat and the two dogs sat across from each other to talk. 

“Scooby Doo, your life is in danger. All of your lives are in danger.” 

“Huh?” 

“I am of the Anunnaki: inter-dimensional beings that visit the planet Earth every few thousand years. We arrive at a time called Nibiru , when the barriers between our worlds grow weak.” Not-Nova explained. “The Annunaki have a long history of helping humans, but we have no physical form and must inhabit animals. This is why some animals - our descendants, like you and Professor Pericles - can talk, and others cannot. This is also why populations of fantastical animal-like creatures exist across the world. They belong to bloodlines that are much closer relatives of ours, and given such they have retained many of our powers.

“But not all Annunaki are kind and good.” Nova said. “There are evil ones, and the most evil of all is imprisoned beneath Crystal Cove, and must not be set free.” 

Scooby gulped, and began to tremble in fear. 

“But you will not be alone in this endeavor.” Not-Nova said. “When you awaken tomorrow morning, you will find a gift I have prepared for you. Its true value may be unclear at first, but stopping Professor Pericles from freeing his master and destroying the evil entity will be nearly impossible without it. And it will make Pericles’ efforts even more difficult. With the help of my gift, you must undo it, Scooby Doo. Save yourself. Save your friends! Save the world!” 

Scooby was so terrified he was awake and on his feet in an instant. 

“The cursed treasure is evil! Evil! We have to destroy it!” 

As his friends looked on in horror at Scooby’s sudden declaration, the Mystery Skulls continued to play in the background.

And I’m back in my waking life,

Wished you could teach me how to fly.

You make me wish that I was sleeping.

But you keep fighting to survive.

Somehow you’re only in my dreams. 

Cause’ as real as this may seem, 

I used to think that this was real, 

Til’ you came down and you rescued me.

༻˚⁺･⚉｡○✼༓☾⦾♫෴♡💛♡෴♫⦾☽༓✼○｡⚉･⁺˚༺

If being around Professor Pericles was like walking on eggshells before Ricky ended up with mutated cobra larvae in his spine, it was absolutely hellish after.

Destroido’s main building was big , and Ricky had to keep making his rounds to keep up appearances. So avoiding Pericles, Brad, and Judy was easy. It took all of one day for Ricky to become a professional at it. 

It came at his poor employees’ expense of course, but he told himself that if he somehow survived until their next paycheck, they’d find a fat bonus that served as his apology. He was a lot more thorough than usual in his inspections and duties, hid in the breakroom for hours on end, took all his meals in the upstairs cafeteria rather than in the one downstairs near the labs or in his private rooms (much to the confusion and horror of his staff), and took an extra break in the bathroom to get his shit together when the urge to scream became too much. 

(He was fine. Really. He was totally fine.)

Unfortunately though, he couldn’t hide from Pericles, Brad, and Judy forever. All he wanted to do when that happened was disappear - and sooner rather than later, he usually got his wish. When the others weren’t either snapping at Ricky or rubbing his weakness in his face, they treated him like he was just a fly on the wall. After all, he wasn’t a teammate worth listening to anymore, he was a tool. 

An idiot human mascot for Pericles to perch upon.

It wasn’t that Ricky didn’t try to give input - the scheme Pericles was concocting to build a fake post-apocalyptic Crystal Cove and give Brad and Judy plastic surgery to trick Fred and the kids into giving away where they’d hidden the planispheric disk was an utterly insane long shot that he doubted would work even if it wasn’t unnecessarily expensive and complicated madness . 

He supposed he could have phrased it better, but he still got tortured with the remote again just for arguing. 

Still, at the end of the day, when Ricky crawled back into his rooms, laid on his bed and stared at the wall trying to sleep (fuck you, insomnia) and wishing he could cry his emotions out, a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he deserved this. 

It was his actions that had put Professor Pericles in the favorable position he was in now, and it was his actions that had led him here.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He’d been a fool to think he meant a thing to his old friends. He’d acted like the leader of the group ever since their alliance began (and why wouldn’t he, considering it was his roof over their heads and his resources they were spending to solve their mystery? Pericles had proven he couldn’t be trusted with leadership, and Brad and Judy were a couple of empty-headed followers), and now they were making him pay for his hubris. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid .  

To make matters worse, starting the day after Ricky’s failed rebellion, he noticed he was starting to feel… disconnected. As the days passed, he felt himself becoming increasingly lightheaded, unfocused, and sleepy (though he didn’t get much sleep no matter how hard he tried - again, fuck you, insomnia). There were even moments when it seemed as if he was watching his own body move on autopilot from the outside looking in. 

Ricky could think of only two possible explanations: either it was a side effect of the poison he was being tortured with (because God only knew what the after effects of mutated cobra venom were), or his depression was coming back. 

As ridiculous as it sounded, he honestly hoped it was the former, because now was not the time for his own bullshit to cause even more problems for him. 

Still, it was most certainly a possibility. He’d been off his meds for over a year now, trying not to be dependent on them for his entire life. And it had worked - his depression hadn’t come back after he stopped (sending helpful hints to a certain gang of meddling kids had helped with that too). But given recent events, it would make sense if his mental state had changed. 

Assuming it was the latter (he couldn’t exactly do anything about the former), Ricky started taking his pills again and did what he’d done in the past to chase his demons off: he poured himself into working. 

Ricky refused to let himself fall into the state he’d ended up in in the past. Especially now, when he was vulnerable enough already. So, to keep himself from getting to that point, he forced himself to do basic daily tasks like cleaning and personal hygiene in the mornings. Then once the day actually got started, he put even more vigor into his rounds, looked for non-existent things to fix on the Enigma Machine (he was allowed near the car, but he wasn’t allowed to drive it unless Brad, Judy, or Pericles was with him), and when he wasn’t doing that he was looking for Cassidy. 

He had been worried before. He was really worried, now. There hadn’t been a trace of her in weeks - ever since Pericles had said she’d been taken care of. Ricky had been a fool to twist those words for the sake of his own comfort. 

She’s not dead. She’s not dead. She can’t be dead.

Still, it wasn’t easy. 

Firstly, Pericles wasn’t giving him access to the internet. He was only allowed access to things within Destroido’s own systems, save their communications. To top it off, Brad and Judy kept barging in at random moments any time he was online just to “check in”. 

Bullshit . It was another tactic to remind him of his place, and nothing more. 

Secondly, no matter how hard he worked or how busy he kept himself, his symptoms persisted. Were the meds not working? Or did he need his dosage adjusted? Perhaps it really was because of the venom. Or maybe it was unrelated, and he was just getting sick? 

Whatever. He didn’t care what happened to him. All he cared about anymore was knowing that Cassidy was alright. One evening, Mr. E was using the company’s systems, searching for any trace of Cassidy, when he became aware of a certain pair of back-stabbing leeches entering the room behind him. 

Ignore them, and maybe they’ll go away.  

“You’ve been on the computer more and more.” Brad observed.

Fuck.

“He sure has, Brad!” Judy piped in, “You’re not allowed on the internet, so what do you do in here for hours on end?” 

“There’s been no sign of her for weeks!” Ricky blurted out, turning around to face them. 

“Who are you looking for?” Judy asked. 

“Cassidy.” Ricky replied, failing to conceal the concern in his voice. 

“Maybe she finally gave up.” Brad suggested smugly. 

“No! She would never give up!” Ricky said firmly, standing up. “She’s gone.”

“Of course she’s gone.” Professor Pericles said, flying into the room and landing on a monitor above Ricky’s head. “Anyone who crosses me gets… eliminated.” 

Ricky’s heart sank to his feet, hammering like a drum the whole way down. Horror twisted his guts into knots. “N-no. You didn’t.” Ricky stammered. The last bit came out higher pitched than intended, his throat was closing in on itself and his vision was blurring around the edges. It took a second for him to realize it was because tears were welling in his eyes.

She’s not dead. She’s not dead. She can’t be dead.

“You were informed she had been taken care of.” The bird said, fluffing his feathers dismissively. Ricky’s legs gave out under him and he sank to his knees. It was suddenly getting very hard to breathe. 

You agreed with him that something needed to be done about her. What did you think he was going to do?! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

And of course, seeing it getting to Ricky, Pericles had to take the opportunity to twist the knife. “Would you like to know how she died?” The parrot asked, fluttering down from the top of the monitor to the edge of the desk. 

The only one of us left that was worth saving, the only person left on Earth who might have given a shit about you, and he killed her. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. It’s all your fault. You killed her. You killed her! You killed her!

“If it is any consolation, my sweet Ricky, she likely did not suffer.” Pericles said. “They say that drowning is one of the most peaceful ways to die. If the explosion didn’t kill her instantly.” 

“Fuck you.” Ricky wheezed. 

“What?”  

“FUCK YOU! You bastard!” Ricky roared. “You were always jealous of her! All because you wanted me all to yourself, you just couldn’t let me have anyone else that I loved! And look at what you’ve done to us!” Ricky wasn’t afraid anymore. He didn’t care anymore. He felt as if he was watching from the outside as just a tiny splash of the years of repressed anguish spilled out of him. “Brad and Judy threw away their own son like garbage for that stupid treasure! Anyone with eyes can see what I’ve become! Cassidy was the only one of us who was strong enough to stay good in spite of that stupid curse - in spite of you! And YOU KILLED HER!” 

Ricky didn’t even mind the punishment he received for his outburst. Even when his throat was hoarse from his silent screams and his spine felt as if it was being ripped out, the pain was a welcome distraction from his grief and his crushing guilt. Those hurt a thousand times more than anything Pericles could ever do to him.

You deserve this. She’s gone. She’s dead. You killed her. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

When it was over and Ricky came back to his senses, he was alone. Pericles, Brad, and Judy had just left him there on the floor to get ahold of himself. He didn’t know how long he laid there, waiting for the aftershocks to subside, but when he got up he was feeling oddly numb. He took a look around the room one more time before he shut off his monitors, turned out the lights, and left to return to his rooms. 

Once in the privacy of his own chambers, he went to the kitchen first, where he retrieved a bottle of wine. Something stronger tempted him, but he didn’t want to completely silence his pain with alcohol. Cassidy deserved better than that. Then he went into his room and shut and locked the door behind him. 

Ricky uncorked the wine and took a long swig straight from the bottle, before he set it on his bedside table, walked into his bathroom, stood before the sink, and took a long look at himself. 

Fuck , he hated himself. He didn’t realize it was possible, but he hated the man that scowled back at him in the mirror even more than he hated Professor Pericles. Disgustingly fat, hair that had grown past his shoulders simply because he didn’t give enough of a shit about himself to cut it, dark bags under his eyes that carried the burden of his existence. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

His own self-loathing stabbed through the cloud of numbness that had been shielding him, and without even thinking about it, Ricky screamed and punched the mirror as hard as he could. 

It didn’t shatter. Rather, it left a crater-like crack where his fist hit the glass, and he wasn’t sure if that said more about the mirror or about what a damn weakling he was. Either way, his hand was bleeding. 

Ricky was tempted to leave it as it was, but he begrudgingly disinfected and then bandaged his bloodied knuckles before walking back into his bedroom, that familiar numbness returning. Then he sat down on the edge of his bed and took another few gulps of that wine, ignoring the throbbing pain in his hand, and he… existed. He honestly wasn’t sure how long he just sat there, numb to the universe, occasionally taking another drink, before he turned his head and his eyes fell upon the framed photo of Cassidy, his beautiful Angel, on his dresser. 

Just the sight of her broke the spell. Ricky’s throat closed again, he choked back a sob, and he wiped his tears away with his sleeve. Then he set the bottle down on his bedside table, reached down under his bed, and pulled out a box he didn’t touch very often anymore - it was custom made, made of dark mahogany with a certain logo in the shape of a magnifying glass on the lid. He unlatched it, opened it, and took out a large photo album before closing the box and sliding it back under from whence it came.  

With a level of carefulness he didn’t use with many other things, Ricky opened the book to his favorite pages - the ones that were about her . 

Angel Dynamite. 

When they had first reunited when Cassidy first returned to Crystal Cove, he’d never said anything about the fact that she used his old nickname for her as her new alias. But damn , did she rock the DJ look. In spite of everything, she’d managed to move on from the trauma of their youth, something he had never been able to do. Cassidy had continued to grow and change in a way he hadn’t, and she’d made something of herself. “Angel Dynamite the DJ” wasn’t quite as grandiose as “Mr. E the wealthy and powerful CEO and founder of Destroido Industries”, but unlike him the person she’d become was good , and she had found and kept her happiness where she could. 

He’d never told her, but he had always admired her for that. Why had he never told her that ?

Cassidy Williams, their first day of their freshman year at Crystal Cove High. She looked so dorky and cute in her pigtails, those square glasses, and that pretty green dress. 

Angel Dynamite standing by her radio station for K-Ghoul’s grand opening. 

Cassidy eating with a younger him at Skipper Sheldon’s. 

Angel Dynamite DJ-ing an event in Crystal Cove. 

Cassidy standing with him in her parents’ foyer just before he took her to prom. 

Cassidy sitting with him on the hood of the Enigma Machine. 

Cassidy Williams, with her Mystery Incorporated pin proudly pinned to her dress in the photo they took of her for the club’s page in the yearbook.

‘Thinking of Cassidy again,’ him-of-the-past had written next to this photo. ‘Remembering when we first met. Professor Pericles was there and I could tell he was jealous. He didn’t want to share me with anyone.’

Meeting me was the worst thing that ever happened to you.

Ricky cried that night in a way he hadn’t cried in twenty years. I’m so sorry, Cassidy. How could you ever forgive me? My Angel Dynamite. 

Insomnia be damned, his exhaustion finally took over and he eventually cried himself into a fitful slumber. 

Fitful that is, until the dream. 

Ricky opened his eyes to find that instead of on his purple bedspread, he was for some reason laying on the floor. But it was most certainly not his floor or his room. He was in a corridor. The floor had the strangest black and white zigzag pattern, and the walls were covered by crimson curtains. 

Ricky sat up, rubbing the wetness from his eyes. He swallowed nervously and stood. There was a doorway at the end of the corridor, and standing next to it was… him . The younger, thinner, healthier version of himself. Back when he was seventeen, the last time he had ever been happy. Solving mysteries, in love, and still thought he was surrounded by loyal friends. The version of himself he’d wanted nothing more than to go back to for the past twenty years. 

God, you must think I’m such a piece of shit. 

But, the other him wasn’t looking at him with disgust. There was something warm yet sad in his expression. He walked through the doorway. Ricky followed. 

The room he found himself in was a circular intersection between the corridor he’d just come from and two other hallways. At the center of it sat a small, vaguely familiar cocker spaniel. And right as Ricky entered, two other figures walked through the other two doors with just as much trepidation. But Ricky wasn’t paying attention to them. The doorway to his left… for some reason he felt compelled to go there. Was that where the other him had gone? 

Curious, he walked into the room, past the cocker spaniel, and stepped into the dark corridor from which one of the other two figures had come. 

As Ricky continued onward, it was so dark he couldn’t see a thing. The doorway behind him had disappeared, and its light along with it. He wasn’t exactly sure when he fell asleep. But the second he opened his eyes, he was suddenly wide awake. 

Coming face-to-face with the bared teeth of an angry great dane will do that to you. 

Fun, angsty bit of trivia for you all because not enough people caught this in the show: ‘Thinking of Cassidy again,’ him-of-the-past had written next to this photo. ‘Remembering when we first met. Professor Pericles was there and I could tell he was jealous. He didn’t want to share me with anyone.’ I didn't make that up for this story. That's canon. In Season 2, episode 24: 'The Gates of Gloom', in the scene where Ricky is shown to be looking for Cassidy and he first learns she's been killed (part of that dialogue was used in their conversation but I made his reaction more devastating for ✨spice✨) If you zoom in on the book of photographs he's looking through, you can see the captions of one of them reads: "Thinking of Cassidy again. Remembering when we first met. Professor Pericles was there and I could tell he was jealous. He didn't want to share me with anyone." I don't know if Professor Pericles ever loved Ricky, but one thing's for sure: he was obsessed and extremely possessive of him. That's not love, but it's toxic and dangerous as hell. It's a small detail that's easy to miss but for those who notice it, it says a LOT about their relationship.

And yes - I know. I'm warped. But there can be no comfort without hurt! And come on - how much did I reeeally change Ricky's suffering from the canon material?

Chapters 1 through 10 of One of Us are currently posted on Archive of Our Own.

[spiked-mall-goth]

ummmmm guys. i have had a day let me tell you. super long diary like entry lol

i had to get up early to go see my papa and help him move some furniture, and although i was running on a total of 2 1/2 hours of sleep i was excited. he lives out in the city and its about an hour and a half drive but the highway is completely surrounded by trees so that was a fun ride. listened to lots of music and talked about barbies with my dad. we counted 21 total yard sales on the trip.

got home and ate lunch after unloading some beds. my papa wanted some old twin beds out of his house so we took them home. i have a new mattress now!! which hopefully means far less daily back pain!!

after lunch we decided to go to a few of the yard sales we passed by. and let me tell you i got a HAUL. i got a pair of really nice pajama pants that have little skulls on them, then at the next one they had SO MUCH STUFF!!! like guys.. i got a sweater for 25 cents.. GUYS. i got a little black sweater, a flowy black summer top, a fucking black velvet CAPELET, and the most gorgeous black 80s prom dress; although sadly it does not zip and needs alterations but its WORTH IT!!! it has really big poof sleeves and a massive flower sash omg guys its AWSOME. at the same place i also got a little fake ivy for my kitchen :D it desperately needed a little life, a big ass puzzle to work on with my brothers, and they had MOUNDS of vhs tapes... for FREE. soooo uh yeah. may or may not have come home with like twenty new tapes. oh yeah did i metion that i only paid like a total of six dollars so far?? i made out like a Bandit. final yard sale and the woman was like 'uhhhh $1.25.'. so for a $1.25 i got a peanuts drinking glass (i think from mcdonalds..), the entirety of firefly on dvd, and a ceramic angel. normally i do not go for religious imagery in my decor, but. it was like 102F.. i hadnt slept since my two hour night.. i was severely dehydrated.. heat exhaustion was setting in a little bit.. and i dunno, she just called to me. she reminded me of laura palmer.

okay, so i get home and unload all my of goodies, then i start cleaning my room. i have to disassemble my old bed frame and clean under my bed and shit. i already have a pounding headache at this point but i have schedule to keep. beds gotta be moved b4 tmrrw. so i am FIGHTING trying to get the frame apart, i'm all sweaty and gross and i finally get it!! :D i feel some stuff falling over behind me and b4 i can even look up i get whacked right upside my head loony tunes style with a huge metal beam :( i start feeling kinda funny and i vaguely remember talking to my brother who told me to lie down. i pass out cold and hard on the couch for about an hour. vague memories of seeing something in the room with me. not really important i just think you should know.

wake up to my brothers shaking me to make sure i havent DIED. i lived! yayyy!! ate dinner, and then it was time. i have been looking at this online auction for over a week now and it was ending in a matter of minutes. i did when some some stuff! i got the directors cut of JTHM, revenge of the filler rabbit, and some other comic which i cannot remember rn.. but anyways it was 5 bucks! and then i bought a snoopy wallet for a few dollars. although i did miss out on a clear phone.. so sad. but overall i had a very good shopping day today idk why. everything just like fell into my lap at affordable prices... like wow..

after the auction i still had not moved my new bend in (ya know.. bonk on da head) so i fight forever to get it put together. but yippeee!!! its al here! and i was given a new blanket to put on it which is very soft :3

anyways now im here after showing and watching x files for a bit.

if you read all of that.... wow. ily <3. i normally dont like to just like info dump about my irl daily stuff, but today was just so like action packed it was kinda bonkers. anyways i have to go to bed bc i have more stuff going on tmrrw.... and i honestly might just cancel them.. i am TIRED.

[1000-niche-interests]

Lol what’s a title

AGHGHHGGHGHGHGHGH @taylortut gave me permission to write something for her AMAZING The Last Place on Earth series, so here’s a short sickfic about Kit Reed, aka tlpoe’s certified Cool Older Lady™

Disclaimer: I read just about every TLPOE story I could get my grimy slimy hands on (aka: found in the tag) to get context for this story and make it accurate, but I STILL don’t really know how the Last Place team’s jobs work, or if they even can be surveilled, but let’s just say that Lacey’s task in this story is very important and high risk or something. Idk, I don’t specify the details anyway! But sorry if I get anything wrong!

Also uhhhhhh does Roni and Kit’s daughter have a name? I feel like I don’t remember her having one so I just call her a bunch of nicknames when I reference her in this story. Hope that’s okay??? maybe?

---

“Kit. Kit. Kitty!”

Kit Reed dragged her eyes open to the tone of her wife shaking her, the sound of Roni’s alarm clock going off pulsing around her skull. The sunlight streaming in the window was too bright, the alarm clock was too loud, and even Roni’s hands on her shoulder made Kit flinch away uncomfortably, half asleep and half knowing that no, this probably wasn’t a good feeling to wake up to.

A better feeling, though, was Roni’s hand on her face, then her forehead, lingering there long enough that Kit probably should have been worried, but found herself too tired to actually think about it.

“Ah, now that explains it.” She heard Roni mutter, the alarm blissfully silent now as her wife’s hand pulled away. “You have a fever.”

Now that did get Kit thinking, because she suddenly remembered what day it was. Shit. This just wouldn't do at all.

“Can’t,” Kit said, sitting up even though it made the room tilt like a mockingly slow carnival ride. “Medina’s got that job today. I have to be there.” 

“Well, sorry honey, but you can’t control if you’re sick or not… and you are, most definitely, sick today.” Roni replied, a familiar furrow of concern settling between her brows as Kit pushed herself out of bed and made her way to the closet to get dressed. She heard her wife sigh from behind her, heard the bed creak as Roni got up, Kit pulling on a bra and a shirt without real choice of purpose.  Roni always got up half an hour later than her, which meant Medina was set to go in an hour, and with the drive to the office, Kit didn't have long to get ready if she wanted to make the time. 

“Hey, Kitty?” Roni called in, then appeared behind her as Kit combed back her hair with her fingers, suddenly unable to find the comb Roni always put here, specifically for her in the mornings. “Remember when we sent the kid to school with a cold because she had a test? And then they sent her home with a 101 degree fever?” 

Kit did remember. Their daughter had aced that test, too, and they’d kept her home for the rest of the week to recover. Roni even gave her ice cream for breakfast one day to make up for sending her to school. Kit had been glad she was okay, and felt bad they didn’t know she’d been that sick. Still, their daughter had gotten an A on the test, something she knew for a fact the kid was still proud of to this day; so was Kit.

“It’s not noble to push yourself to work when you’re sick. Not for Lacey, definitely not for you. You trained them, they’ve got this.” Roni said, still behind her, then pushing the familiar plastic comb into her hands. “And you especially shouldn’t go in sick enough that you can’t find the comb that’s in the same place I always put it…” Her wife was convincing, and Kit almost wanted to give in and go back to bed, but… Medina’s job was too important. Too dangerous. She needed a professional watching her back on the cams, and that’s what Kit was. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, leave Lacey without that. God knew Medina got hurt enough on her own, she didn’t need another injury because Kit couldn’t do her job.

“I hear you, Roni.” Kit sighed, a low crackle of congestion ominous in her lungs as she did. “But I still need to go. Just for Medina’s job, then I’ll take the rest of the day off. Alright?” 

“And tomorrow.”

“...And tomorrow.” 

Roni nodded, stepping away. “Okay. I’ll drive you to work, alright? And back. You’re too dizzy to be behind the wheel.” Part of Kit wanted to object, there, but a dizzy spell cut her off as she turned her head wrong, and she relented. 

---

Three hours later, Lacey Medina was back at the Last Place successful, and even in one piece. She did, however, get the sense something wasn’t right as she entered. 

Kit hadn’t been in when she’d left, despite literally always arriving at the same time every day, before Lacey’s departure time for this assignment. It struck her as odd, but the oddest thing was that when she got back, Mrs. Reed, Roni, was there too, and Kit was somehow really pale and really flushed at the same time. Not to mention shivering, despite the sheen of sweat on her forehead as Roni sat her down, TJ hovering nervously nearby as Esther returned from the kitchen, a glass of ice water in hand.

“What’s going on?” Lacey asked, with Eve, who had been her ride back from the job, closing the door behind them. 

“Kit kinda took a page out of your book, Lacey,” TJ said, in a tone that indicated he was joking, but also quite worried. “Almost fainted.”

“It was not fainting,” Kit bit out, tone terse, but surprisingly lacking her usual bite as she took the glass of water offered to her by Esther. “I just… got dizzy. More dizzy then I was before.”

“And almost passed out, yes, that’s what fainting is, honey.” Mrs. Reed spoke softly to her wife, but just loud enough that everyone else could hear. It almost made Lacey feel like she was intruding. Then, a thought struck her.

“Wait, Kit, what are you doing here if you’re that sick?” She asked the very question Kit herself had asked Lacey many times. And despite Lacey knowing her own personal answers, she had no idea what Kit’s reasoning was. It wasn't like anything would fall apart if Kit took a sick day, and she knew that, even though they all knew she loathed admitting it.

“We already had arrangements on the job today,” Kit explained with a weak shrug, shivering and pulling her suit jacket tighter around her frame. “I just had to be here. In case.”

“Of?” Eve asked from behind Lacey, but guiltily, Lacey could already guess the answer.

“In case I got hurt. Or needed backup.” She said quietly, and Kit nodded.

“Whatever else you are, Medina, or what you’ve done, you’re a good kid.” Kit said, looking at Lacey with glassy, bloodshot eyes that made Lacey almost wonder if the older woman was delirious. “Can’t stand the thought of something happening to you because I wasn’t there. You’re my responsibility. All of you.” Kit gestured vaguely at everyone else, too, and Lacey got the point but she still felt bad about it. She’d technically dragged Kit into work like this because...

“Okay, now that Lacey’s back, I really have to get her home,” Mrs. Reed broke Lacey’s train of thought as she spoke, helping Kit to stand. “Fever reducer, tea and sleep for a couple days, I think… Hope you kids can manage the Place by yourself.” Mrs. Reed gave a knowing smile, and for just a beat Lacey’s guilt vanished.

Kit was their boss. Kit was good to her, even motherly at times (in all the good and bad ways). Kit did this for her, and if Mrs. Reed knew they could handle things, then so did Kit.

She had faith in them. And in that moment, Lacey even had faith in herself.

-

(Yes, the last “Place” is capitalized on purpose. I think I’m funny)

[writeblrsummerfest]

Lemon Tree Lane

“Okay, everyone.” Lizzie clears her throat. She’s sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the couch, the camera balanced on the cushions so it’s facing her. She feels like she’s being watched, and not just by the proverbial viewers that will, hopefully, one day look at this film.

She feels like she’s being watched by something in the house.

Lizzie wraps her tail around herself, so she can run her paws over the thick fur of it. When she was a kitten, she would wring her tail between her paws so often and so hard, she would work bald spots into it.

“I think that… I think that we should talk about why I’m here.”

A deep breath. Silence in the house.

“I made a deal with someone. Something. And if I can stay in this house all night… I mean, hey! I get something really great.”

Lizzie tries to crack a smile, but it feels plastic on her own face. The sound of footsteps from upstairs makes her ears fold back against the curve of her skull.

The smile vanishes.

She takes another deep breath, holds it, lets it in a whoosh. “I don’t like ghosts. That was never my thing. But – But sometimes, this spooky stuff is worth it, right? So. I’m going to try my best to stay here all night. Because my best friend really needs me to. And if I’m lucky, I’ll find -”

Thump.

Something heavy hits the ground in the dining room nearby. The water turns on in the kitchen with a burst of bubbling pipes. Someone starts to him, directly behind her.

Lizzie jumps to her paws, grabs her camera, and she runs.

Straight.

Up.

The.

Stairs.

-*-

We’ve got a special challenge for you! Today we heard a bit more about WHY Lizzie is in Lemon Tree Lane, and then we saw her go upstairs. Well, she’s put out a challenge for all of the other explorers out there!

Write your minky (or other character!) a little bit about WHY YOUR MINKIE is at Lemon Tree Lane, and WHAT MAKES THEM GO UPSTAIRS. This will be an ongoing challenge! Every day, we’re going to see a little bit more of Lizzy’s story and get a new Lemon Tree Lane prompt. Let’s explore the haunted house together!

-*-

Welcome to the sixth day of the Writeblr Summerfest! We have so many amazing things planned for this month, but first, I want to introduce Lizzy! She’s the driving force behind the community selected Haunted House theme for the festival this year!

Now, before we get started, I want you to take a look at Lizzy! She’s the mascot this year! She’s called a minky, and her character sheet was made by the lovely @mothersart! Now, Mother has volunteered her services to do what we’re calling grab bag commissions for anyone that wants their own minky explorer to take part in the events! She currently has THREE OPEN SLOTS.

Here’s a LINK to her commission sheet, but I’ll summarize it for you, too! She has two options.

$10 gets you a total grab-bag surprise minky explorer, you don’t get to customize it but you get to own the character forever onward!

$15 lets you pick a ‘theme’ for the explorer; do you love pastel goth? Cottagecore? Skateboarding? Let her know, and it will be the inspiration for your minky (ps, you still own them)!

While it’s not a requirement, I highly recommend you considering it if you’ve got the spare change laying around! Mother has been a huge help getting things together with the event this year, and her minkies are just absolutely amazing!