#and an apron for extra effect

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

My exams start tomorrow but maybe instead I should draw Sulejmani in a tank top and sweatpants doing chores because it’s not like the rest of his squadron ever does anything for this household

we need to start romanticizing doing household chores in tank tops and sweatpants in the same way that we romanticize knighthood and i am not fucking kidding

[mascwoman]

Okay, I think I might go as an artificer for weekend #2 of Ren Faire. I am plotting.

[wayvchip]

cute dates with boyfriend!wayv

kun invites you over to his apartment to cook dinner and have a relaxing wine night. except maybe it wasn't that relaxing since you both turn it into a tipsy masterchef cooking competition. although you are quite intimidated by his cooking skills, you don't let that stop you from trying your best (which wasn't very good). kun, being the nicest guy ever, lets you win. the winner chooses the loser's punishment. you make him wear an embarrassing apron that says "kiss the cook but don't touch the buns" kun complies and prays the pictures you took of him on your phone never end up in yangyang's hands, or else he would never hear the end of it.

ten loves volunteering at the animal shelter, especially a shelter with lots of cats who need extra love and attention. you and ten spend the whole day playing with the cats, feeding them, cleaning out their cages, and brushing their fur. he almost wants to adopt yet another cat or two or three, but you gently remind him this isn't in real life neko atsume so he cannot collect all the cats in the world (unfortunately). ten's eyes soften when he sees you cuddling a senior kitty and he can't help but think to himself he wants to raise many cats with you in the future.

winwin would take you to the beach on a sunny day to enjoy the light breeze and salty air until the sun sets. you notice how he doesn't even try to hide the fact that he is checking you out. winwin compliments you endlessly and gives you one of his jackets to cover up because he hates the thought of other people staring at you. throughout the day, you help each other reapply sunscreen, and you giggle whenever he struggles to squeeze the tube that barely has any sunscreen left, because it sounds exactly like someone after they eat taco bell. during moments he thinks you aren't looking, winwin manages to find a pretty pearly white seashell among the billions of grains of sand and gives it to you.

xiaojun would invite you over to his place and you guys spend the whole time building legos and geeking out over the newest flower and plant lego sets. he starts sweating when your hand accidentally touches his hand while reaching for the same lego piece, even though you guys are literally dating. silly ahh boy. after you both finish building the set in one sitting, xiaojun makes you one of his famous oreo mug cakes, and he makes sure to lightly blow on the spoonful of batter to cool it down before feeding it to you and watching you eat it (he is so whipped for you)

hendery would take you to a hong kong style cafe. it's cozy and cute, and has lots of history behind how the shop came to be what it is today. you have trouble deciding what to order since you are unfamiliar with cantonese food but hendery excitedly explains each dish in detail just for you. once you decide what to get, hendery orders for you in cantonese, which makes you fall in love with him all over again. his eyes light up when you show interest in learning a few canto phrases and he feels his heart melt a little when you repeat after his words and ask if your pronounciation was okay.

yangyang loves going to the arcade section in the amusement park. the bright, colorful lights, silly circus music, and sound effects from the machines makes him feel like he's reliving his childhood again. yangyang tries to show off his claw machine skills because he wants to impress you. he literally tries so hard and finally wins a plushie for you after his like eleventh attempt. while yangyang is rambling on about how the "claw machine was rigged" and how "it wasn't a skill issue" on his part, you give him a quick kiss on the cheek, which makes him shut up immediately and start blushing furiously.

[bangchansdirty-slut]

"Would you like another one?"

Paring: Baker!Felix x Bottom!Male reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Brownie Boy decides to put a little something inside a brownie he made just for you so he can get a special ingredient for his frosting.

More: Masterlist

A/n: I wrote this half-awake today. Also, should I make a fem version of this? Anyways enjoy! And requests are opened.

M/n stepped into the dimly lit bakery, the smell of freshly baked pastries filling the air. It was well past closing time, but Felix, M/n's best friend and the baker extraordinaire, had left a light on for him. The two of them shared a special bond, one that transcended mere friendship; they were practically inseparable. M/n wove through the empty tables, the chairs on top of them, and the counters covered in neatly stacked bowls of freshly whipped cream and sprinkles. He rounded the corner to find Felix in the back, his hands covered in flour, his face beet red from the heat of the oven.

"Hey, Felix," M/n called out, setting his bag down on the counter. "You know you could've just texted me to come back later."

Felix laughed, wiping his flour-covered hands on his apron. "Oh, you know me, M/n. I always like to see you." He glanced at the clock, then back at M/n. "But since you're here, why don't you help me with these cupcakes? I made an extra-large batch today, and I could use an extra pair of hands."

M/n nodded, stepping up to the counter. He loved helping Felix in the kitchen; it always made him feel so… useful. Together, they worked in companionable silence, piping icing onto the cupcakes and decorating them with sprinkles. After a few minutes, Felix paused and leaned in close. "You know," he whispered, "I made a special brownie just for you."

M/n's stomach growled at the mention of brownies. "You did?" Felix grinned, handing him the pan. "Go ahead, take it. I already put it in the oven, so it should be nice and warm."

As M/n carried the pan over to the oven, he felt a surge of warmth in his chest. It wasn't just from the heat of the oven; it was the thoughtfulness behind Felix's gesture. He set the pan on the counter, taking a deep breath in anticipation of the first bite. He glanced over at Felix, who was carefully icing one of the cupcakes, and found himself wondering how long it had been since they'd had a night like this, just the two of them.

Time seemed to slow down as he took a bite of the brownie. The chocolate was rich and fudgy, the walnuts providing a pleasant crunch against his teeth. But it wasn't long before he felt a strange sensation washing over him. His cheeks flushed, his heart raced, and he found himself unable to meet Felix's gaze. "Um," he stammered, putting the half-eaten brownie down on the counter. "Felix, I think you put something in this brownie."

Felix laughed, walking over to stand behind M/n. "You mean the aphrodisiac?" he asked, his breath hot against M/n's ear. "Don't worry about it. It's all natural, and it'll make things more fun."

As the effects of the aphrodisiac continued to take hold, M/n found himself growing more and more uncomfortable. His heart raced, and he could feel a warmth building in his groin. "Felix," he said, his voice strained, "I don't feel so good."

Felix placed a reassuring hand on M/n's shoulder. "It's okay, M/n. Just relax. You're with me, and I won't let anything happen that you don't want." He guided M/n over to the counter and helped him sit down. "Now, just take deep breaths and try to calm down."

As M/n tried to steady his breath, Felix retrieved a bowl from the cupboard and placed it on the counter. "I'm going to help you feel better," Felix whispered, his voice low and soothing. He knelt down in front of M/n and gently urged him onto all fours. "Just like this."

M/n felt a mixture of embarrassment and arousal as he obeyed Felix's instructions. His heart raced, and he couldn't help but wonder what Felix was planning to do next. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Felix had retrieved a bottle of frosting from a drawer. "Felix?" he whimpered.

Felix smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, M/n. I'm just going to make sure you're comfortable. This will help." He dipped his fingers into the cupcake frosting onto his fingers before slowly, carefully parting M/n's cheeks. "Just try to relax and enjoy this."

As Felix's fingers traced circles around M/n's anus, his touch was surprisingly gentle. He started by just teasing the entrance, using his fingertips to spread the icing that was already there. Then, with a soft moan, he began to slowly push one finger inside. M/n let out a soft gasp, his body tensing up, but Felix continued to move in and out of him, careful not to go too deep or too fast.

With each thrust of his fingers, Felix pressed harder against the spot that made M/n squirm the most. It felt so good, but at the same time, it was almost too much. His hips bucked involuntarily against Felix's hand, begging for more contact. "Felix…" he moaned, his voice barely audible over the sound of their breathing.

As Felix's fingers expertly worked their magic, M/n couldn't help but notice the wet, sticky sensation that was starting to build between his legs. The aphrodisiac was doing its job, and his arousal was growing by the second. He could feel himself becoming more and more engorged, the head of his cock beginning to peek out from the folds of his foreskin.

Just when M/n thought he couldn't take any more, Felix withdrew his fingers and knelt down behind him. M/n felt the warmth of his breath against his sensitive skin before he felt the tip of Felix's tongue press against his entrance. With a soft, wet lick, Felix began to circle his tongue around M/n's opening, gradually easing deeper and deeper. M/n arched his back, moaning loudly as the sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

As Felix continued to tongue-fuck him, his hand found its way between their bodies, teasing and stroking M/n's engorged cock. He slowly began to jerk him off, matching the rhythm of his hand with the movements of his tongue. M/n felt like he was about to explode, the pleasure building inside him with each thrust of Felix's tongue and each stroke of his hand.

With a final, deep thrust, Felix pushed his tongue as far inside as it would go, and M/n felt the familiar tingle in his balls that signaled his impending orgasm. He let out a long, shuddering moan as his hips bucked wildly against Felix's hand. His cock jerked violently in Felix's grip, spewing hot cum across the palm of his hand and into the bowl with frosting in it beneath M/n. The release was intense, overwhelming, and blissful all at once.

As the last spurt of cum pulsed from his cock, Felix pulled his tongue away and licked his lips, looking pleased with himself. He reached over to the counter and picked up the bowl, holding it up for M/n to see. "There you go, M/n," he said with a grin. "Your special gift for me." He held up one of the cupcakes with the icing that had been mixed with M/n's cum and offered it to him. "Go on, eat it up."

Still catching his breath, M/n reached out and took the cupcake from Felix, his heart racing. He took a bite, savoring the sweet, salty flavor that was uniquely his. As he chewed, he felt a new wave of arousal begin to stir inside him. He looked up at Felix, who was watching him intently, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Felix smirked and grabbed another cupcake from the counter. He knelt down beside M/n once again and placed the cupcake between his legs, directly against his engorged cock. "Here, M/n," he purred, "why don't you finish yourself off with this?" He pressed the cupcake firmly against M/n's throbbing member, the icing already smeared with their combined essence.

M/n groaned, feeling the familiar pressure building inside him. He closed his eyes and reached down, using one hand to guide the cupcake against his cock. With a sharp thrust, he impaled himself on the cupcake, moaning loudly as the sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure through his body. His hips bucked wildly, fucking himself on the cupcake as he came, his cum splattering against the icing and coating both their hands.

Felix leaned in, capturing M/n's lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He could taste himself on M/n's tongue, the tangy flavor mixing with the sweetness of the cupcakes. As their tongues danced together, Felix reached down and stroked M/n's cock, milking the last drops of cum from him. He continued to kiss him, their bodies pressed tightly together, until they both collapsed in a heap on the floor, breathless and spent.

Slowly, Felix pulled away, his eyes trailing up and down M/n's naked form. "Mmm…that was quite the show, M/n," he purred. "You're quite the talented performer." He picked up the tray of cupcakes and held it out to him.

"Would you like another one?"

[crunchycat6]

time to post stuff that is for me and me only: pizza tower dungeon meshi au (ask me about it i will go insane)

pino’s outfit was tough to work out but i like the idea of him wearing his apron everywhere just because he likes it :] he doesn’t wear much armor aside from chainmail so he doesn’t wear himself out carrying all that weight

i wanted to keep the effect of theo’s mask and i think the hood shadowing most of his face + the rat ear silhouette capture that pretty well, i also like drawing baggy pants and long cloaks

some more ramblings under here

Theo is the party leader and started all this with Hazel/Noisette (she’s basically the party’s cleric) he keeps picking up random people he finds in and out of the dungeon to help him get to the bottom

Theo has made a pretty big name for himself on the surface by parading himself around as a beast man (unlike izutsumi, he doesn’t much care about his dignity) he’s also a talented musician, so he’s pretty rich and famous by the time he decides to dungeon crawl

he hired peppino because the party needed extra muscle (agility isn’t enough to win every fight) and theo of course knows that pino is desperate enough for money to go down with him. pino is very aware of this but goes anyway because. well. yeah he needs the money.

when they first go down into the dungeon, the only people in the party are theo, hazel, peppino and gustavo (and brick) but they find some more friends down there :] in true pizza tower fashion they don’t usually rely on swordfighting or clever thinking and get through the dungeon by brute forcing it (peppino is very good at this)

i’ll try to get some more refs out soon, hazel and gus are probably next but who knows

this is very self indulgent so if you read all this thank you <3 if you have any questions feel free to ask i WILL keep talking

[angrypotato3]

Customer Fem Reader x baker Wanderer

-I wrote this thinking about wanderer but then I realized I never said his name so it can be whoever you want I guess.

-this was kinda rushed and not read over. I made this late at night while I was craving crepes. I’m not very proud of this work.

-reader

-wanderer

-Wanderer’s suppressed thoughts

I look up at the door when I hear the little jingle. It’s her. I feel a strange sensation in my lower stomach, I think people refer to this feeling as butterflies (stupid) why would I be feeling that way toward her.

“Hi YN what do you want today?” I ask when she gets to the counter (I try to hid my excitement the best I can.) “ohh you remember my name.” She says beaming. You guys might be wondering who she is. She’s a regular at my cafe, she comes in every morning before work. She’s very bubbly and friendly, it’s kinda annoying (I love it.)

I scoff “of course I would you come in everyday. Don’t you think you waist too much money here?” I say my face heating up out of embarrassment. “Never, your desserts are the best I’ve ever had.” My face gets even redder at her praise. “You trying to get free food?” (I’ll give it to you anyway) I say once again trying to hide the effect she has on me.

“No no I wasn’t, I genuinely think that.” I look away I can’t look her in the face not with how hot my cheeks are. “So then what can I get you?” “I think today I’ll get an iced coffee with… chocolate and strawberry crepes.” She exclaims excitedly. (Her sweet tooth is so cute.) I put her order into the machine. I cash her out, and tell her to wait at a table for her food and I’ll bring it to her .

I Make her coffee and crepes extra tentatively (want it perfect for her) I also add an extra chocolate cookie (she loves them). I head over to her table. “Here’s your coffee and crepes.” I say placing them in front of her. “Ohh I don’t think I got any cookies.” She says confused. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice “ohh you didn’t, well I can’t take it back now guess I’ll just give it to you for free.” I say hoping she doesn’t notice I did it on purpose.

“Is there any thing else I can help you with?” I ask expecting a no. “Actually there is. Do you have a pen?” I nod and hand her a pen from my apron. She grabs a napkin and writes something down. “Here”she hands me the napkin “my number so we can get to now each other out side of the store.” She says winking at me.

I look down at the napkin, it hasn’t fully dawned on me that she might be into me. Until I finally snap out of my trance. my face flushes a bright red and I nod before scurrying quickly back behind the counter. I definitely will not be contacting her anytime soon (I want to text her right now) and Im definitely not in love with her (I love her so much).

[midnight-hotel]

Alastor's Radio Sounds Part 2.

Find Part 1 here

Here’s the requested part to of experiencing Alastor’s radio sounds. I’m trying to avoid doing too many headcanon posts but if I find one that intrigues me, I may make an exception. 

Naturally it had only been a matter of time before Alastor came to accept that you knew about his barely contained radio sounds. He seemed to have just accepted that you were able to read into him just a little better than everyone else.

Of course, he tried to make it harder for you to gain a reaction though.

He strives to make it harder for you to come up with comebacks, flirted that extra bit to coax a reaction out of you or even prompt something from the radio static that hung around him. 

While you initially thought he had no control of the sounds made, you did eventually come to find that there was some control. Sound effects to punctuate his own statements and funny sounds to mock those around him. 

Then there was music. 

He started to play small snippets of old songs when you were around. 

When he was standing behind you, a low tone would play to creep you out or when you were just lounging around and he was reading a book, a gentle melody would play, filling the silence. 

One day you had found him in the kitchen, cooking something that actually smelt quite good- though you wouldn’t put it past him to have something strange in there- humming away to a melody playing in the background. 

You hadn’t realised that you had been staring until you saw him turn directly towards you, as if completely aware that you had been there the whole time. 

Dressed in his usual attire, though his blazer was swapped for an apron, he extended a surprisingly ungloved hand towards you. 

You’d hesitate for a moment before approaching, placing your hand on top of his extended one before you’d be pulled in close. 

Before you’ve realised what’s happening, the music’s changed and you’re being waltzed around the room.

You could have sworn you weren’t in the kitchen anymore and you were wearing the finest clothes that could be tailored. 

You could have sworn he was wearing a full suit again- free of rips and tears that it normally adorned.

You could have sworn he was staring at you adoringly.

And yet by the time you put on a smile and grounded yourself again, you found you were still in the kitchen, the radio demon grinning with you as he gave you a spin. 

When he had finally released you to attend to his stew again, he left you with a bow, the music fading away to a round of applause.

You were beginning to think there may be more to his powers to enjoy than just his radio sounds.

[thewriterthatghostedyou]

The Butterfly Effect

Chapter 1

Ok so it’s been a whileeeeeee since I’ve written anything lol but I’ve been reading more House of the Dragon fanfics and got ✨inspired✨ by @sepherinaspoppies and @evagreen-stories so if this vibes with you check their stuff out! This will be a dark fic though just a warning for y’all.

Guess this was longer than I intended but I wanted all of the introductions and start of the story in one part. Any feedback or comments are appreciated but never expected! I hope you enjoy!

Trigger warnings: none yet but there will be more next chapter

The heat in the kitchens was more unbearable than usual. The air in the room was typically stuffy due to the large stone ovens the Westerosi people used, but you had forced yourself to become accustomed to the heat. It was worth the effort; however, as having a steady job as a woman was near impossible in this day and age.

You craned your neck down to look at the dough you were rolling and silently thanked your mother for forcing you to help in her bakery as a child. You grew to enjoy baking as you grew up, and luckily had many recipes memorized. You needed money and there were worse ways to get it.

Sweat rolled down your temple as you remembered running through the streets of silk in your jogging outfit, eyes darting fearfully around watching the prostitutes lure in new customers as you took in a new and scary world.

“What is it this time?” The head chef, Naerys, walked over to you, eyeing your work curiously.

You gave the older woman a smile as finished rolling out the dough. “It’s called a croissant. If done right it should be flakey on the outside and airy on the inside.”

Naerys nodded thoughtfully and motioned for you to continue.

“Now we need to let it sit for a while before we store it in a cool place.” You tried to pull your hands from the sticky dough and squeezed any remaining part of it off your fingers as you spoke.

“Impressive work as always.” Naerys gave you a motherly smile as she continued. “We should be prepared for tomorrow.”

“Should be?” You arched a brow at that. “I have prepared everything as much as I possibly can unless you want me to throw it all into the oven now.” As much as you enjoyed your job baking tarts and cakes, your bones creaked from carrying in heavy sacks of flour and longed for sleep.

“Now don’t give me that look, love,” Naerys sighed. “You do good work, and meal wise we are well prepared for tomorrow; however, Ursa fell ill today. We need you to attend to the feast.”

You sighed as you knew where she was going with this. Different worlds or not bosses always have the same look when asking you to go above and beyond your job. And of course the maidservant that tended to the royal family fell ill on the day that Princess Rhaenyra returned to the Red Keep.

“It’s not forever,” Naerys rushed to get out. “Just until Ursa is well again. We cannot afford to lose you here.” You and your recipes more likely. You knew that the nobles enjoyed your modern pastries and more than often found yourself making extra batches to fit the demand. “And if you do this we’ll have Alannys bring in the new bags of flour.” Now that was certainly tempting and your hands were already aching from the massive load you brought in today yourself. What harm could bringing a few plates out do?

You fidgeted with the strings of your apron, white flour clinging to the fabric. “Fine.” You begrudgingly gave in. “I’m not sure what exactly to do though. I’ve never tended to the tables, much less a royal one at that.”

Naerys gave a small exhale of relief and smiled at you brightly. “We’ll have someone else carry in the platters, all you need to do is fill their goblets with wine. Most of the time they will hold it out for you to fill.” Naerys grabbed a nearby clean apron and handed it to you while motioning at your dirtied one. “You must change that though and rebraid your hair my dear, you’ll need to look clean and presentable for the royal family.”

“Of course.” You nodded and quickly untied the old apron. “Is there anything else that I need to know? What will happen if the pitcher runs out of wine?” The dirty apron hit the ground with a light thud as you reached for the clean one. It smelled slightly of soap and was sharply pressed. Naerys was not joking about you looking presentable it seemed.

“Ah yes, the eldest prince, Aegon, will no doubt drink heavily.” She hummed, watching as you finished refastening the apron and removed your cap. At first you thought the big white hat that the servants wore was goofy, but now you appreciated how it would hide any loose curls or hairs as you redid your braids. “Once it is empty you can hand it to a nearby footman and he will fetch you another. Now, let me get a look at you.” Naerys eyed you carefully and pulled your cap back over your head. “Good. Now make haste to the dining room love, you must be there before anyone else.”

She smiled at you one more time as she shoved the pitcher into your hands. “Oh!” She exclaimed softly. “I almost forgot. Do not look them in the eyes, you are not to be seen or heard and try not to eavesdrop as hard as that may be. You will do wonderful.” With that the older woman turned and headed towards another cook toiling over a fire, only pausing to pick up your discarded apron.

You nodded your head quickly, perhaps trying to convince yourself of that very thought as you hurried out of the kitchens. You weren’t sure if the events of Fire and Blood will have changed since you were thrown into this tumultuous world, and you prayed to anyone that would listen that it hadn’t. As gruesome as the Dance of the Dragons was, it was better that you knew what was going to happen before it did.

The Red Keep was much larger than the shows and book made it seem and you still found yourself getting lost in the more obscure winding hallways. It was lucky that the royal dining room was near the library. Although you weren’t allowed entry to the room you still enjoyed walking past it and smelling the old books whenever you could. It reminded you of another time, another world. One that you wished you could go back to.

It was odd how one small choice had led to the upheaval of your entire life.

You needed to snap out of those thoughts. You needed to focus on the task at hand. The past was in the past. You watched as the doors that lined the halls grew more and more ornate as you walked the long trek from the kitchens to the part of the castle the royal family inhabited.

The usually quiet halls covered with plush rugs and richly colored tapestries were bustling as other servants ran around, trying to perfect every last detail before the royal family came for dinner.

You picked up on the smells of honey roasted ham and other various dishes that made your mouth water. Although you worked in the kitchens day in and day out, you never had a chance to sample the food you served to others. Usually it didn’t bother you, you would go back to your small hut near the castle entrance where you shared a home with three other servants and made your own meals. But that didn’t stop your stomach from grumbling slightly as you entered the large dining room. When was the last time you had something to eat?

“Ah there you are!” A footman who had a striking resemblance to a weasel came rushing over to you as your eyes darted around the room. There were a few musicians in the back of the room, testing and strumming their instruments softly and chattering about something you could not overhear. In the middle of the room was a large table filled to the brim with food that you had a part in cooking.

“The king is about to arrive. You may stand over there.” The man gently grabbed your arms and led you across the room into a small barely noticeable alcove next to great velvety curtains that framed windows larger than you.

You only nodded dumbly as he rushed away. You didn’t know what to respond with and even if you did you didn’t know how to phrase it. The people in Westeros spoke some type of Old English that you had trouble mimicking and even back home when there were no odd phrases you had trouble conversing with others. Perhaps if you were lucky everyone would think you were dumb and wouldn’t notice you. You knew of Prince Aegon’s habits with other maids and already regretted agreeing to serve the family.

You were snapped back to reality as cheerful chattering grew closer and the Velaryon boys strode into the room with Princess Rhaenyra and her husband Prince Daemon in tow.

“The Red Keep certainly looks different.” You overheard Jace say to Lady Baela.

“It looks more like the Sept of Baelor but greener.” Baela scoffed, earning a small chuckle from her father.

“It is rather garish is it not?” He responded, pulling out a chair near the middle of the table for his wife before seating himself next to her.

The Princess smiled at the sentiment while Jace and Baela sat across from the pair. “It seems like Alicent has had a hand in the decorations.”

It was as if her words had summoned the queen herself, as Alicent entered with her arm intertwined with the King’s keeping him steady as he struggled to shuffle over to his chair.

If this was following the show this would be his last night alive. You felt the hairs on your arms raise as he fell into his seat harshly but smiled at his daughter with a content expression.

“How good it is to see your face my dear.” He huffed out, ignoring his other children seating themselves on his other side. You noticed in particular as the One-eyed Prince started drinking as soon as he sat down.

Perhaps Aegon wouldn’t be the drunkest tonight after all. You walked on the edges of the room trying to remain unseen as the younger Prince raised his cup for more. You slowly obliged his silent request, focusing more on trying not to over fill the cup than the conversation at hand.

With that done, you stepped back silently and noticed that his brother had also finished. If the dinner had just started and the Princes kept up this pace it’d be a long meal.

The minutes passed slowly as you occasionally refilled cups, more on the green side than the blacks.

Everything seemed to have been going well. Both Rhaenyra and Alicent were talking and laughing with the king before he had to be taken to his chambers to rest. And even you smiled as Jace offered to dance with his aunt. Helaena always was your favorite out of the bunch. And she looked happy as the two of them spun around, something she must not have felt often being married to Aegon.

You flinched as you heard someone clearing their throat and remembered why you were there. Your smile fell quickly as your eyes met the younger Prince’s sneer.

“Oh. Sorry.” You whispered out softly, rushing over to his side. Your hands shook slightly as you watched the red wine pour into his cup. Unlike the other times you attended to the Prince, this time you felt his sharp gaze on you as you worked. Perhaps he just thought you were lazy. You didn’t dare look up though. While the older brother was more often than not blackout drunk, the younger prince was known for his short temper that seemed to be set off at anything and everything. You remembered watching as other maids cried from his stern words and begged for reassignment.

“At least someone is enjoying themselves tonight.” He scoffed, talking quietly so only you could hear. “I’m sure for someone of your…” He paused as his eyes roved your body. “…station, that this is quite the spectacle. You small folk are all so easily entertained.”

You felt your face light on fire at his smug smile. Fucking elitist prick. His words made you seethe for some reason. It wasn’t like you haven’t been called worse, working in the food service industry had given you thick skin, but his remark was the reason you preferred to remain in the kitchens unseen. The nobles were all the same, ungrateful and spoiled.

You were about to open your mouth, perhaps for a clap back that would have cost you your head, when someone did you the favor of bringing out a roasted pig and setting it in front of the one-eyed Prince.

You huffed out a laugh as his cheek twitched at the sight which earned you another searing glare.

“Perhaps you are right. Enjoy the pig, my prince, as I know it reminds you of your first dragon. I cooked it myself.” You tried to keep your voice down but apparently Lucerys Velaryon had overheard and released a small laugh.

Perhaps that is what set off Aemond as he stood up quickly and slammed his hand onto the table. You watched as his face morphed from his twisted sneer to something calmer. More collected.

“Final tribute.” He said with a smile as he raised his cup.

You took this moment to step back as he paused. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey.”

Alicent nervously began picking at her nails as her son spoke and the two Velaryon boys eyed Aemond cautiously. “Each of them handsome, wise…” He paused again and seemed to be debating something that he decided to ignore. “Strong.”

“Aemond.” Alicent hissed, eyes nervously darting across the room.

“Come let us drain our cups to these three,” He gave a shit eating grin to Jace as Aegon waved his cup in the air laughing. “Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace snapped, stomping towards his uncle.

“Why? ‘‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourselves strong?” As Jace got closer you watched as he punched Aemond across the face which only caused the One-eyed Prince to laugh as he kept hold of his wine. At the same time you heard Aegon slam Lucerys’ head into the table as he tried to get up.

“Jace!” Rhaenyra shouted, standing up quickly. “That’s enough!”

With a scoff, Aemond shoved Jace away from him and swirled his drink with a bored expression. He pretended not to see the two guards holding back the Velaryons. “It seems I’m in need of more wine.” He gave you a cold smile as he sauntered over.

“Perhaps you’ve had enough.” Alicent said, rushing over to her younger son. “You may leave.” She waved you away dismissively and for the first time that night you had not been happier until Aemond grabbed your arm harshly.

“Nonsense we’ve barely started eating mother.” He shoved his cup towards you again and waved it expectantly. “Well?”

You gave a questioning look to the queen who instead of answering turned her son towards her and waved you away. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?”

You didn’t wait to hear anything else, and instead scurried towards the doors as quickly as you could. You knew you shouldn’t look back at the train wreck behind you but part of you couldn’t help it.

As you closed the heavy door behind you, you noticed one violet eye piercing into you, instead of listening to his mother. It was then that you knew that the Prince would not forget your words.

[jo-harrington]

Chuck (Eddie Munson)

Summary: It's just a regular closing shift at Benny's. Easy peasy. Nothing bad could possibly happen.

Word Count: 3.5k

Characters: Eddie, Jeff, Benny Hammond

Themes/Warnings: Boys will be boys, friendship, smutty intrusive thoughts, Masturbation(?), Food Fucking, Eddie has an unspecified romantic partner (could be Steve, could be Reader, could be anyone that's not what this story is about), Song Fic, What's a Little Psychological Torture Between Friends…

Note: You know what? In true unhinged fashion, I had to write this for @courtingchaos on her birthday and not only that but give her some credit here. This was born from us being stuck in a car on Lake Shore Drive, hangry and a little slap happy, on the way to Navy Pier after I witnessed something that was probably very similar (in the most innocuous way) at a suburban Burger King.

Meg, you are my life. My world. You are my Cheese. Burger. And this one's for you. Happy Birthday.

Thank you AGAIN to @dr-aculaaa for the beta and @deathbecomesthem for some of the diner lingo. Disclaimer that I never worked at a diner so this is probably horribly inaccurate...but just suspend your sense of disbelief if you have.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

If anyone wants to get the full effect of this fic, you need to put Mr. Roboto on repeat for the duration of your time reading.

---

5:55PM

Jeff stared at the clock as he wiped down the counter.

Every tick of the second hand had him gritting his teeth a little more, enough where he should probably worry that he was gonna crack a tooth. All because Eddie was late for his closing shift.

Their closing shift.

And not just late, late again. For the third time in as many days they worked together.

If he even showed up.

Now Jeff wasn't one to complain. Shit, Eddie was the one to suggest that he apply at Benny's in the first place and put a good word in for his best friend.

Ben was getting a little older and wanted to enjoy what was left of his youth while he still had it, instead of solely being stuck behind his grill for the rest of his life. An extra waitress on the weekends, an extra line cook during the week, and the business ran smoothly, even when he decided to take a day off.

And Eddie was pretty much employee of the month, knowing all of the regulars orders like the back of his hand.

Until Jeff started getting scheduled alongside him.

Until Eddie started going on dates, and started "going steady" with someone.

Until Eddie started playing hooky to go and suck face and god knows what else while parked up at the quarry.

Jeff let his fist slam against the counter as another minute ticked away, only for the bell of the door to chime and Eddie walk in, shrugging his apron on and shedding his leather jacket in a flustered rush.

"Sorry I'm late," he said with an easy smile on kiss-swollen lips. Jeff rolled his eyes at the sight and at the apology. "Oh come on, I promise I'll be on time tomorrow. Scout's honor." Eddie crossed his finger over his heart.

"You weren't a scout," Jeff retorted.

"Hey now," Eddie teased, starting in on one of his typical Munson-isms that usually ended up in forgiveness or forgetfulness. "I actually was. For one day before some snot-nosed kid pushed me over and I accidentally said fuck. Then they asked me to leave. But once a scout, always a scout."

Jeff hummed and turned on his heel to push back into the kitchen and start prepping for the dinner rush.

The thing was...they worked really well together. They had a good routine of noting what tasks needed to be done throughout the night. It's not like the diner was ever that busy on weeknights and Benny had been doing it alone for years, but it was nice to have someone you got along with at work.

Well it was nice...when they were there. It was nice when your work buddy was actually reliable and helped you out, which made Jeff feel bad because Eddie was his friend, his best friend. But Jeff could let Eddie's luck and charisma let him slide through his responsibilities.

So Eddie was about to find out what kind of hell it was when you were in the weeds alone.

---

Jeff had gone out to take an order when the phone rang.

Eddie grabbed the receiver with a quick "yello'" only to get a familiar voice rasping on the other end.

"Can I speak to Jeffrey please?" came the reply from someone dramatically sounding like Edith Bunker.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Gareth, I know it's you," he sighed.

"No, this is Jeff's grandma," the younger boy kept up the ruse, snickering a little at the end. "I need to talk to him."

Eddie let his head roll back on his shoulders as he heard the stifled giggling of his friend over the line, and then he peeked his head out of the passthrough.

"Jeff!" he called out. "Your grandma's calling."

Jeff donned an exaggerated and fake look of concern; he jogged across the diner and grabbed the receiver from Eddie's hand.

"Hello?" he answered and Eddie watched as his expressions got more animated, as did his voice. "Grandma? Oh no, what happened...an accident? You need help? You need me to leave work and come home right away?"

"What?!" Eddie shrieked and reached out to snatch the receiver back from Jeff's hand. He placed it against his ear but only heard Gareth laughing and then the ring tone. He was about to ask Jeff what the hell was going on, only to find him pulling his apron over his head. "Come on now, where do you think you're going?"

"I've gotta leave," Jeff shook his head frantically. "It's my grandma, she's in the hospital, I've gotta go."

"Jeff, come on."

"There's no one else to take care of her."

"Seriously. Quit it."

"You'll be ok by yourself tonight right?" Jeff ignored everything Eddie said and looked at him expectantly as he dug his hand in his pockets for his car keys.

For a moment, Eddie felt the panic rise within him; he figured Jeff was a little upset that he bailed the past few nights but...seriously it wasn't anything that Jeff couldn't handle.

Was his friend really that mad?

"Listen I'm sorry I bailed on work a few times this week," he apologized, but Jeff just shook his head and pulled out a roll of quarters.

Then another.

Then another.

And the panic Eddie had faded into curiosity, then realization.

No, Jeff wasn't mad; he was annoyed.

"Hey listen, it's just for tonight so I can check on my grandma, you'll be ok," Jeff explained as he walked over to the old jukebox in the corner of the dining room. He began loading the old machine up with quarters and punching buttons in rapid succession. "I'll even make it up to you. You can have all the tips in the tip jar from before you got here earlier and I'll put on some music that you'll like. Hey look, Ben took your advice and updated this a little.

"He even has your favorite Ed," Jeff glanced over his shoulder. "Styx."

Eddie groaned in loathing this time, thinking of the power ballads and synthesizer nightmares he was about to endure because his friend was gonna get back at him.

The Grand Illusion. Or worse Paradise Theater.

The records inside of the machine shifted as they queued up tracks for the next however-long Jeff had paid for.

"Don't do this Jeff," Eddie pleaded as his friend grabbed his jacket from the coatrack by the door. "I'll never skip work again. I promise. Just stay."

"But my grandma needs me Eddie..." he whined and then winked at Eddie before running out the door. "Have fun."

Eddie sighed and accepted defeat as the door shut and Jeff was gone, all while the sparkly synthesized voice began amidst electronic fanfare...

Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto...

---

7PM

You know what? It didn't start out that bad.

"You're wondering who I am," Eddie sang along and bopped to the beat as he flipped burgers on the flat top. "Secret, secret, I've got a secret."

He had food to cook and orders to take and he fell right back into the routine of those short staffed nights when Benny started to realize how much he valued his personal time, but right before Jeff was hired.

It would be fine.

And there was a little musical accompaniment? Even better.

He figured that he might start loading the machine up with quarters before his shifts from now on, instead leaving it up to the chance of the customers.

"Machine or Mannequin?" He did a little spin. "Secret secret, I've got a secret."

Eddie hadn't even realized that the song that started out the night--Mr. Roboto--repeated itself until he got back to the kitchen, and then it repeated again.

And again.

He had to admit it was growing on him though. Like a cancer, but still growing. So he either needed to adapt or it would kill him. The lyrics were catchy, he could dance to it a little, and there was a good beat that he could almost headbang to if he tried.

It wasn't even that he hated Styx, he just hated what Styx stood for. Mainstream popular music. It was commercial and sanitized. Yeah Babe wasn't that bad of a song. And neither was this one. Shit...if he really thought about it, was the band even really that popular? They were underdogs, and he always rooted for an underdog.

"With parts made in Japan," he sang into his spatula and slapped slices of cheese onto his patties for dramatic effect. "I am thee modern man!"

---

8PM

So if you see me, acting strangely, don't be surprised.

There was a little bell at the pass that got hit whenever an order was up.

Of course, with Eddie being the only one working it didn’t need to get hit.

Still, every time Eddie passed it, he just had to tap his hand on the bell along with whatever verse or instrumental was playing.

I’m a man who needed someone and somewhere to hide.

It wasn’t getting to him.

No. Not at all.

It was just a graduation from him playing air guitar with a broom and drumming on the counter with spoons.

Ding ding ding ding ding, ding ding ding ding ding.

Eddie tapped at the bell with both hands at the crescendo and then went to the walk-in to scream.

Nothing to worry about.

---

9PM

I’ve come to help you with your problems, so we can be free.

“Hey can you change the song at all? This one’s been repeating for a while.”

Eddie smiled tightly at the guy at the head of the long rectangular table and then dropped the blue plate special down in front of him with a clatter.

“It’s broken,” he explained, not wanting to get into it.

Several customers had asked already; it was getting as annoying as people who said they were tipping with kindness. Obviously if he could get another song on the jukebox, he would.

How many fucking quarters had Jeff put in there?

“Could you unplug it? Plug it back in again?”

He’d thought of that too.

But wasn’t it just his luck that they lived in the do-it-yourself amateur handyman Midwest…and the damn thing was wired into the wall itself.

And he really didn’t want to cut the line and have to explain to Benny how an electrical fire burnt down his diner.

“You know what?” Eddie took a slow, calming breath. “This is actually…my favorite song." There was a disbelieving blink. "A-and it’s my birthday.”

The withering look he received made him second guess burning down the place; it actually didn’t seem so bad after all. He could deal with Benny.

I’m just a man whose circumstances went beyond his control. Beyond my control. We all need control.

---

10PM

I am the modern man, who hides behind a mask…

Eddie wore his Freak label proudly.

He accepted it, everyone else accepted it.

But maybe this music was getting to him a little bit as he started noticing of the different inanimate objects around Benny’s that he could potentially fuck.

That was a level of Freak that he really hadn’t embraced yet.

So no one else can see my true identity!

Well, it was sort of always there simmering beneath the surface. He had been a horny teenager and was now a horny young man. There was always a question about what objects he could stick his dick into.

But he’d tried to curb that curiosity after the pool noodle incident.

Now though…he was far enough gone that things were starting to appeal to him again. And it scared him a little bit for those thoughts to pop up during work.

Not enough to stop though.

Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto. Domo. Domo.

First it was a bagel with the perfect hole.

Actually, was it even the music causing this? How dare that bagel look so damn fuckable. Cream cheese wouldn’t be the best lube, he had to admit. But he didn’t mind trying. Unfortunately that bagel was needed for someone’s sober-up sandwich.

Then there was a hole in the vinyl of one of the booths. He stared at it every time he brought out an order or bussed a table. Eventually he couldn’t help himself and he lightly ran two fingers over it and then plunged them inside the hole, like a lover would, only to find the edges were jagged and rough…and he was disappointed that it wouldn’t be the most pleasurable experience.

He wasn’t one to say no to a little bit of teeth when getting his dick sucked but that wasn’t what he was looking for right now.

At one point he even considered fucking the jukebox itself. Get it to shut up once and for all.

The logistics weren’t right.

Where would he even put his cock? Just rub the head of him along the coin slot while he jerked off? Pass.

His depravity needed to be put on hold though, because as he was in the walk-in trying to cut a channel into a head of iceberg that might be the perfect fit for him, he spotted a tub of hamburger with a label in Benny’s chicken scratch saying “discard” with the date.

He froze and let his thoughts swirl before he shook his head and put the iceberg down. He slammed his hand against his forehead as though that would make his internal monologue right itself.

Because what the hell was he doing?

Regardless of the absolute torture he was enduring, he was still at work and had a job to do.

Why was he trying to fuck a head of lettuce? Or fingering a hole in a booth. No, he was absolutely losing his mind, he needed to control himself, he needed to get back to work.

He was about to exit the walk-in when he glanced back at the tub.

“Can't forget that tonight,” he muttered to himself as a reminder.

Then back into the kitchen he went.

Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto. Domo. Domo.

---

11PM

“Thank you very much Mr. Roboto,” Eddie muttered as he dropped maraschino cherries into milkshakes. His voice was ragged, desperate. Pleading. “For doing the job nobody wants to.”

“Thank you very much Mr. Roboto,” he deadpanned as he numbly swept the floor. “For helping me escape when I needed to.”

Thank you.

Thank you.

I wanna thank you.

Please thank you.

Thank you thank you.

Thank you thank you.

“Thank you,” Eddie smiled, as the joy finally die inside of his body as he rang out the last customers. But it was rapidly born once again as he waved goodbye. “Thank you thank you!”

---

12AM

The doors were locked, the lights in the dining room closed.

And Eddie stood in the kitchen with a lit cigarette in his mouth as he concentrated on the task at hand.

The problem was plain to see. Too much technology. The jukebox still played out on the floor.

Machines to save our lives? No. Machines dehumanize.

He shouldn’t be fucking the jukebox or a head of lettuce or a bagel. No. He needed something warm and malleable.

Living.

Or well…close enough.

It was the perfect idea! Instead of taking it right to the dumpster, he’d taken the tub of ground chuck out of the walk-in and let it get to room temp at the end of his shift, and now he was standing there molding it into the right shape.

He was ready and aching after palming himself in anticipation. He’d meticulously wrapped his hard cock in plastic wrap, for lack of a better option. He needed this.

He deserved this.

Why hadn’t he ever thought of this before?

The time has come at last…

He put out the cigarette in the meat then lined up with the channel he'd crafted. He hissed as he sunk in—synthesized angels sung all around him, guitars strumming in harmony—and finally felt relief for the first time all night.

Secret, secret, I’ve got a secret.

His hips rocked in time with the beat, driving deeper and deeper. He felt the slightest bit of cold when he finally bottomed out, the center of the Chuck not entirely at room temp yet. It was an unexpected thrill and he shuddered as pleasure shot through him.

He let his head fall back and he laughed with the feeling, laughed uncontrollably, and the sound echoed through the diner, forever scarring the walls with wicked glee.

To throw away this mask.

It was strange, fucking what was essentially a mass of viscous sludge. Not bad, just strange. Not entirely wet but not dry either. Maybe it was perfect actually, something he never knew he needed. Just for him. A little slice of cheese...er, heaven...just for him.

Especially when he formed meat to suit his desires as it shifted.

That feral grin stayed on his lips as he worked himself to completion, as he pumped mercilessly.

Secret, secret, I’ve got a secret.

And somewhere in all of the hubbub, Eddie came to the conclusion that although it wasn’t perfect, he could get used to it if he had to.

Because he had to.

He'd be stuck here forever, lost in Dennis DeYoung's vocal prison until the end of time.

Now everyone can see my true identity.

He thrust harder and faster, panting and kneading and clenching until all he knew was the meat and secret secrets and his own depravity as he spiraled downwards further into insanity.

I'm Kilroy.

He felt it coming.

Kilroy.

Cumming.

Kilroy.

It exploded out of him with those last few emphasized beats of the synthesizer. He felt the cling wrap bulge with his spend, felt the tingles along his spine and through his limbs as his orgasm shot through his body.

He leaned over, satiated, until his nose brushed the meat in sensuous exhaustion.

Kilroy.

He could hear his pulse in his ears, along with a buzzing din of tinnitus, and the ticking of a clock out in the dining room.

But where he expected the beginning of the next round of torture, Eddie only heard silence.

He breathed heavy, broken breaths. Gulps of air that felt like too much oxygen and not enough at the same time. He felt lightheaded.

It was over.

His punishment finally over.

He closed his eyes and thanked whatever God or Demon gifted him with this boon, and then his eyes shot open and he stood straight up as he stared at the mess he made.

"Fuck."

---

The Next Day, 5PM

Jeff felt like the cat that ate the cream when he drove to work the following day.

He felt a little bad about what he’d done to Eddie, and he had all the intention to make it back to Benny’s around 7 or 8, but Gareth had convinced him not to.

“Come on,” he’d told Jeff. “You know Eddie’s gonna get a good laugh out of it.”

“Yeah! Besides,” Dave interjected. “Shame on him for leaving you up shit’s creek so much. Hopefully this’ll teach him a lesson.”

And Jeff agreed with them.

He and Eddie were friends but that didn’t mean Eddie could walk all over him.

He was glad to see the van parked in Benny’s lot when he arrived for his shift, and as far as he could tell, everything was normal when he walked in.

Ben was at the grill and Eddie at the counter.

Actually, everything looked better than normal. Everything in the diner looked squeaky clean and under the smells of cooked food, there was a tinge of the disinfectant they used to deep clean.

“You must’ve had the slowest night ever if you did a deep clean of the place,” Jeff clapped a hand on Eddie’s back and noticed that Eddie stiffened under his touch. “What time did all those quarters run out?”

Eddie laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck.

“Little after midnight,” he chuckled. “And it was fine. But, uh, now I know better than to fuck with you again.”

“Yeah you’re on time today, you beat me here!”

Eddie grabbed his arm as he passed and then leaned in close, voice pleading and desperate.

“I’ll never be late again, won’t be a no show, but please…don’t ever subject me to that hell again. Please.”

"Scout's honor," Jeff cackled.

Upon Eddie’s look of relief, Jeff headed back to get himself settled.

He chatted with Benny for a second before the older man left for the night. But as he went to the walk-in to get more onions to chop, he noticed something.

“Hey Ed!” He called out through the pass and Eddie turned. “Thanks for tossing that ground chuck! Or…Domo arigato I guess heh.”

He turned back to the task at hand, so he didn’t notice all the color drain from Eddie’s face.

[takadokii]

✴ extra: insatiable yearning !! ‧₊.࿐

summary Suguru likes helping you cook, but sometimes he's plagued with an insatiable hunger for you; he knows it's wrong, but only certain thoughts can stop them. pairing geto suguru x f!reader tags cunnilingus (f & m receiving), unrequited feelings warnings slight smut! slight angst, word count 1.1k links collection ; taglist

this is an additional chapter of my series "caught in the middle", if you enjoyed this, consider checking it out! 🩵

Suguru enjoys teaching you to cook.

It started with a genuine concern for your health when he discovered you lived off of microwave meals and had developed into a sort of guilty pleasure for him as time passed.

He would start off simple, teaching you when to use oil instead of butter, how to know when the rice is properly cooked, and what spices and herbs add the best flavour to it.

He liked holding the wooden spoon up to your face after it cooled down a little. At first you’d be hesitant, testing the temperature with your lip before putting the food into your mouth, letting out a noise of contempt as soon as the flavour set in.

He enjoyed letting his hands linger on yours whenever you were cutting spring onions, tomatoes or carrots, he showed you how to use your fingers to measure where to cut next and he liked the little pause and jolt your body would do whenever he’d lean in close and tell you you were doing a really good job.

He enjoyed the fact you’d bring cookbooks into school, showing him whatever recipe you wanted to try next. Sure, a few times he lied to you in his expertise about it and had to hastily try the recipe out at home before going to you and pretending as though it was a long passed down recipe that had been in his family for generations.  

You’d read the steps out to him, sitting on the counter as he washed, prepared and measured the ingredients, you’d swing your legs a little and Suguru had a hard time holding back from the temptation to reach out and hold your thighs in place.

Cooking was something important to him, just as you were and as he felt these parts of him connecting, colliding in a way that made it impossible for him to think about one without the other, he feared the thought of connecting you to the pleasure and peace he found in food.

Despite loving to cook, Suguru was also an enjoyer of eating, he enjoyed trying all sorts of different tastes from different cultures and could warm up to the idea of just about anything, he thinks that everything one consumes has an effect on one's soul.

Eating, could be in its simplest form the consumption of nutrients, keeping his body alive and strong, but it could also be tasting, savouring the flavour of something delicious, exciting, sweetness melting on his tongue.

When he connects his love for you to his love of food, he realises quickly he needs you just as much as he needs to eat, hungers for you like a starving man every time you stand just close enough for him to reach out to you.

When you gift him a “Kiss the Cook” apron for his birthday he can’t properly contain his smile, and uses it as an excuse to come by your house more often in hopes you’d do so.

Once growing more comfortable, you started the habit of being a bit more hands-on with your assistance.

Tying his apron drove him crazy, you’d always stand much closer than anyone would deem necessary, pressing yourself into his back as you tied a small bow.

You’d lean up then, your chest pressing into his back and he can feel the firmness of your breasts when you’d whisper with a smile into his ears. 

“Done.”

When you move to look him in the eyes he’s still thinking about you, the counter is still empty and he can’t help but think about sitting you down on it and eating you out pushing your panties to the side and making you cum on his tongue until your legs would quiver on his shoulders.

He imagined the look on your face, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you came undone for him, the sweet noises you would attempt to muffle with your hand.

He’d pause, just as out of breath as you seemed to be, leaning up for a quick kiss, you could taste yourself on his tongue.

He’d whisper into your mouth with a teasing smile, a feign pity at the thought you could dared to assume he was finished with you, “Done?”

Before kissing a trail down your body and diving his mouth between your legs again.

But what really pushed his buttons was when you’d tuck the loose strand of hair behind his ear for him, whenever he was leaning forward and it was obscuring his vision.

You’d do it so gently, letting your finger graze his neck before letting it fall back to your side again.

He’d gulp and let out a shaky breath, irritated by how oblivious you were to the effects you’d have on him.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, but he barely hears it, trying to focus on not cutting his fingers off while chopping the onions.

He continues cooking, looking down he imagines you sitting there, on your knees, choking down his length, spit running down on chin as your nails would dig into his thighs.

Your eyes were near to closing, in an attempt to shove his dick even further down your throat, but he wouldn’t let you.

He’d keep the hair from your face, to return the favour as he pulled on it, making you look up at him.

“Keep your eyes on me.”

He finished cutting the spring onions.

“Everything’s fine,” he chuckles and puts them in the pot without glancing your way.

He feels bad, occasionally, when he’d sit across from you as you ate the shared creation you had made and sees you gulp down the food so innocently, loudly exclaiming your fascination with the flavour as he is still caught up in these lude thoughts he had about you.

But he can’t help it, because despite sitting across from him, his hand doesn’t dare to reach out to yours and all he can think about is the tingling beneath his skin of a touch unfelt, a one sided tension flowing through his veins.

He allows himself to think of you like this, despite knowing how wrong it is, how disgusted you’d probably feel if you were to find out but he thinks these might be the only thoughts that can distract him from how madly in love with you he is.

He sighs and eats his food, hungry for something else.

is this kinda sanji coded? anyway, my first smut I'm sorry if my words during those scenes arent as descriptive or eloquent yet, I'm sure ill get the hang of it soon :)

thanks for reading! <3

much love, jae 🩵

[hazzybat]

Non-exhaustive list of Actually helpful ADHD cleaning tips from somone with ADHD who has gone many months without cleaning at all before and is figuring out what works for them

- VACUUM EARLY. The usual cleaning rule is to vacuum last but that won't work for us. Get everything off the floor then vacuum while you still have motivation and you aren't tired yet. It'll feel nicer to walk around, it will get a lot of dust and dirt (so you're in a cleaner space) and if you get burnt out/distracted half way through then at least that big thing is done

If you have energy once everything is put away then vacuum again to get the dirt you missed.

- Take meds. If you have meds take them. They help. Even if you think they don't, even if you hate some side effects take them so you can have a nice house

- Music or a podcast. You have to play something to keep yourself occupied. TV will make you want to watch but audio will let you do other things

- Set the bar low. Only say you'll clean one room. Or you'll just put away clothes. Or you'll just change your sheets. Give yourself victories so you want to keep going. And then if you don't do more then hey! You did what you set out to do!

- Throw out things. I know hording tendencies are hard and if you are a crafter you want to keep every little scrap of junk but it'll help if you throw things out.

If you feel you have to keep that piece of cardboard ir plastic then get a zip lock bag and put all your little craft bits in it. You can keep it but if you use nothing from it then you can throw out the whole bag after a week or a month.

- Put on a cute apron/ tie your hair up/ pretend you are a 50s housewife. You have to make it interesting for yourself so play dress up! It'll help it be fun and it's like a work uniform. It'll help to tell your brain that now you're in "cleaning mode". And a fun apron will help protect you from any dirt which is extra good. Hell wear a pair of high heels and tiny booty shorts just to wear something different.

- Along those lines of making it fun/different pretend you are on a cleaning show! Pretend you're making a YouTube video about how to clean/look at this amazing transformation! I love videos of people with my level of depression or adhd actually clean and feel better. It makes me feel less alone so sometimes I pretend I'm also making a video for everyone else who struggles.

- If your house smells bad light a candle or incense or have room spray. You need to be able to clean up the bad smells so you have to be in the room with the bad smells. Make them less bad so you can get rid of them

.

- Wear gloves even if you aren't doing dishes.

- It's okay to do one room at a time. It's okay to do only bits of the room. It's okay to put away half your clothes then clean the desk them put away the other half of the clothes. You don't have to do everything in order

- Bring a big garbage bag with you everywhere so you can easily put everything there instead of filling up the bin in each room.

- Also bring a laundry basket with you. Anything that need to go in another room put it in the basket so you can stay in the room you're cleaning and not get distracted, then take it with you when you leave

- If you have a blorbo pretend they're helping you. They're encouraging you from where they're leaning against a wall or they're gonna come over after so you want your house to be nice for them. It can help you feel like there's a point to it all.

- You aren't a failure. You have a brain that works differently and it needs help to work best.

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

"sorry, but i think i lost your plot" where toothless notices hiccup admiring our protagonist often and follows her around one day while she's working? basically toothless being a wingman of sorts

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 17

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 1,006

You and Toothless rendezvous.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, unedited

<Previous - Next>

You hurried down the steps of the Ingerman home, basket in tow, a warm, clean cloth wrapped steaming loaf of bread sitting on top of a basket of dirty laundry.

Each step tapped against the wooden stair, your worn boots doing little to soften your footsteps.

You walked with quick strides through the clearing, running across damn dirt and a forge that hadn’t yet been lit in the early morning darkness, only pausing briefly to glance at a shadow at the corner of your eye.

When you looked back, there was nothing there.

You shrugged it off, despite the chills running down your back, intent on quickly getting down to the wells before anyone else could. 

You held a rag in your fists, braced against your hips, staring at your work, at the many, many shiny weapons lined and mounted against the wall, some patterned, most not, all sharpened to the highest degree.

As you polished to the highest degree, soot and other things caked onto your clothes and the apron you’d borrowed from Mrs. Jorgenson. 

Your attention was drawn, for a moment, to the half open window, where you caught a glimpse of a large green eyeball just as it disappeared from view.

You didn’t mind it, instead looking away and taking a few more moments to admire your work. 

You knew the Jorgenson head didn’t much care for polished artifacts, though Mrs. Jorgenson insisted on it. Something about utility and pride, nothing you learned from anyone but the head lady herself. She has some very strong opinions on it.

You looked outside a window to your side, half covered by wooden shutters and a wood frame to match the wood everything else, admiring the yellow, rising sun.

The Head should be back from his early morning training soon off in the forests. You found that he trained like every day was Thorsday Thursday.

You fled quickly as the morning got just a bit brighter, willing yourself out before the fresh dewy feeling left the air, grabbing your coin and your effects, before either one could come home and they could start arguing. 

Sitting by the well, on top of the built stone wall surrounding the hole, you looked down at the nice cloth wrapped gift you had gotten earlier that day.  

Off to your side, a terror danced and pounced around, following a bug. 

Animals, dragons mostly, crowed and lazed in the warming noon light. 

You unwrapped it, revealing a nice loaf of bread. 

You were sure you were going to save it as much as you could before it started to mold. You needed to finish it before it went bad. 

But you thought it wouldn’t hurt to take off a few slices. 

The poor woman, Mrs. Ingerman, had gotten up extra, extra early to bake you a loaf which was impressive considering you were up in the earliest of hours, so early it had only been a few since the last night. The last midnight, that is.

You stared out at the place around, at the occasional person bustling past, most vikings heavily involved with their tasks for the day. 

You spotted something in an alley, large and slinking and nearly black, it’s body language cautious and yet not.

A Night Fury. The only Night Fury you knew, crouched around the corner, observing you.

If he shifted just right, you could see the glint of a metal buckle attached to his strap. You wondered where his rider was.

You bit into the bread loaf, still staring at him.

Had he been following you all day?

You looked at the sheep in front of you, shears at your side. 

It was a dusty white one, slightly overgrown, white fur and gray face very fuzzy. 

You considered cutting its wool into a shape like you’d seen gardeners do to bushes. 

You stood on a floor of hay in the gentle shade of a barn, one by the open fields sort of close to the coast-cliff line overlooking the sea and the craigs. 

It had been a long while since you’d shorn a sheep, yet it felt like just yesterday you’d learned.

You stared out at the open stall towards the light of the afternoon where the fields were open and the sheep were wandering free.

The grass was tall and green and looked incredibly fresh, something nice to lay in. 

You would do that after your task and the retrieval of your coin when it was colder and you could better appreciate the fresh earth freely.

You blinked.

It looked like you had a friend for the day.

You didn’t see anything, but you did hear a light purr, the kind you could perhaps brush off as one of the sheep’s, before you heard a loud thump. 

You brushed it off.

You wondered if he had a task for you?

You stared down into the open barrel, slightly smelly, damp with seawater and slime, ready to be hung and dried and maybe pickled, filled with fish of many different sizes.

You wiped your hands on the towel by your side, shifting your rolled up sleeves further up your arm as you stared down at your work. 

And then you looked off to the side, where Toothless peered out at you, the green of his eyes a bit more difficult to make out, washed over with orange. 

You reached into the barrel and tossed him a fish.

It landed against the ground with a smack, and he jumped back into the shadows slightly, before creeping forwards again, eyeing you curiously. 

He sniffed it curiously, looking up at you with big, suspicious eyes all the while, large, draconic shoulder hunched before grabbing the tail delicately by the teeth.

Quickly, he threw it up into the air and gulped it down before quickly turning around and bounding away, leaving vague imprints of his paws in the dust layer resting over the hard, dry dirt floor.

 Whatever brought him to you, the fish seemed to treat pretty well.

[heartfullofleeches]

Dearest could you spare me a drop of some nsfw headcannons for amyas??? I've been scrolling through his tag and I agree with anon with the small pathetic ones being the doms while we peg the strong confident ones supremacy 😞✊.. Ofc you can write him however you want though, it's so funny how I'd drop him in a dark room full of spiders to ROT but be attracted to him at the same time LMAOOO anyway would love the face reveal king 👑

(Been a hot minute since we've summon the pathetic cupid to the table so I will grace you with his presence.) [Mentions of knife play (if you squint and somo)

Amyas can be your angel....or your twisted, perverted mess of an angel. It's all about where you set the grounds in your relationship. Given an inch, he will take a mile. Put him in his place, and he's your toy to command and break as you please.

Amyas lives by his personal moto of "weakness is power". He feels the cuter and more submissive he is, the more you'll love him - and see he's too helpless and weak to ever leave alone. He's watched you shower before and watched porn where he imagined you two as the actors - but pretends like he's never seen a human body before. To be fair, it's nothing like actually touch you so his shyness isn't a total act. He blushes and stammers as he asks you to take off his cardigan because he's too nervous getting undressed in front of someone so beautiful - but really he just wants you to touch him more...and you're pretty as hell.

That moto works just the same if you let him dom. He's so sweet and shy - you never would have guessed him to be the same freak that shoves his tongue down your windpipe until you nearly faint and grip your hips so forcefully they bruise with his finger marks. His praise comes off as thinly veiled degradation for you letting this worthless mess of a cupid do as he pleases with you - and how eternally grateful that worthless mess is. Want him to choke you he will make you see stars. If it's jealousy/angry sex, he will engrave his name into your collar with one of his arrows so everyone knows you belong to him and once he cools down he let's you mark him so people know he's yours too.

Speaking of his arrows, there are different types that cupids can possess. Amyas in charge of both "true love" and "heat of the moment" arrows. The first is - as the name implies, but the second is a little different. That burst of undeniable passion when two people who absolutely hate each other fuck, or when eyes meet across the bar for a one night stand the parties in question will never forget for the rest of their days. Amyas would never used his arrows on you.... unless he had to, but he would graze your skin with one of the latter. With just a small nick, the effects are temporary. He'll cut you again and again if he grows addicted to the faces and sounds you make. It's pretty much knife play with an aphrodisiac filled blade.

Whether you're breaking his back or he's breaking yours, Amyas likes a little bit of romantics thrown into the mix. You'll know the evenings plans with he's cooked you a full course meal and wears nothing but the apron he slaved away in. Maybe you want to eat dessert off his chest. He has the sensitive nipples to make it extra sweet with those sounds he makes. Candle lit bedroom, a playlist of all the songs that remind him of you, a nice bubble bath afterwards. Bird brain's got you covered.

Another sensitive point is his wings. You can pull him from his dominance streak with a sharp tug on his feathers, or stroking their base gently. Run your fingers down his spine where they meet and he will be putty in your lap.

Amyas finds your sleeping face to be extremely beautiful. I mean - you always are to him, but while you're asleep you're more angelic than him. If you don't know about his other side he will take this advantage to whisper every little dirty secret he has as he jerks off near you. He'd temp teasing those pretty lips with his cock, but he knows he's not worthy of such an honor and he'd probably end up just shoving it down your throat or cumming on the spot.

Cupid boy can really sing. Straight pipes on this one. It's best to make sure all windows are closed and maybe even soundproof your room with how loud he gets. He's a lot quieter if he's top, but that doesn't mean he shuts his mouth

As a final note, Amyas wears panties with bows on them. He's not a huge fan of boxers or other cuts of underwear - also they're just really cute and he likes putting on cute things for you.

[sergeantsporks]

Writing Request!

Hunter gets adopted by direwolves.

Sorry.

Hunter plucked a twig out of his hair. “No—you’re fine. I should have known better than to take a new palisman for a flight right away. Stupid of me to think I was experienced enough it wouldn’t be a problem, huh?”

He’d seen enough palisman awakenings to know that what Dell called their “teething power” was unpredictable, and they weren’t used to flight right away. He’d given the advice countless times—give them a second to figure out flight themselves before you hop on the staff. He’d also watched his advice be immediately ignored by countless young witches who wanted nothing more than to share first flight with their palisman, and had done the exact same thing he just had, shooting off erratically into the sky and crash-landing.

Despite the crash, despite the long trench he and his new palisman had left in the forest, Hunter’s body buzzed with excitement, with exhilaration. She’d woken up—and she was beautiful. He reached up to touch Waffles’ face, half expecting this whole thing to be a dream. But she was real and solid underneath his fingers, and he couldn’t help but let out a whoop of happiness.

He was answered with a mournful howl.

Hunter shut his mouth, falling instantly into survival mode. He teleported to the top of a tree, crouching silently in the branches and waiting, watching the forest carefully. A minute ticked by. Then two. He might as well have been part of the tree; he didn’t move a muscle. The howling didn’t start again, but Hunter’s ears twitched, picking up a pained yip, and snuffles. He leapt carefully to the next tree, barely shaking the branch when he landed. Then to the next, and the next, until finally, he found the source of the howling and snuffling. A direwolf pup crouched in the forest, one of its six legs caught in a steel trap.

Hunter’s breath caught in his throat. Seeing a direwolf pup in the wild was rare—mostly because the packs guarded their young jealously, and the majority of those who did stumble upon a wild direwolf pup were quickly ripped to shreds.

But this one didn’t seem to have the rest of its pack. It snuffled and whined, alone in the trap. Hunter watched for a few more minutes, waiting to see if the rest of the pack would give itself away. When the forest showed no signs of movement, he leapt down, landing softly on the ground and approaching the pup slowly.

“Shshsh, I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured, “I’m here to help.”

It was startling how similar direwolves looked to the pictures he’d seen of human realm wolves. He supposed that was where one or the other had gotten its name. Aside from the extra set of legs, and the tusk-like fangs that curved from its lower jaw, this pup could have jumped right off of his T-shirt.

Hunter examined the trap. It was a fairly simple model—he poked the trap demon in the eye, and it let go, glaring at him. Hunter gently lifted the pup out of the trap, glaring right back at the trap. It was small, far too small to catch a full-sized direwolf. Either the trap had been meant for something else, or poachers were after the pups for exotic pets.

Heavy teeth sank into Hunter’s arm, but the puppy didn’t have the bite force to actually break skin. Hunter lifted his arm up to look the dangling pup in the eye. “Stop that,” he commanded the puppy sternly, “I can’t bandage your leg if you’re chewing on my arm.”

To his surprise, the pup let go. Hunter rummaged through his apron pockets, pulling out a pair of heavy gloves he used to handle some of the more clawed palisman. He mentally kicked himself for not using them earlier, but better late than never. He didn’t have bandages with him, but his polishing cloth was better than nothing. He tied it swiftly around the pup’s injured leg, just the right tightness to stem the bleeding. As thanks, the pup bit him again, with no effect on his gloves. This time, it was easier to shake off.

“You’re welcome,” he told it grouchily, “Go find your pack.”

Waffles trilled a warning, and too late, Hunter realized he’d let his guard down. Eyes glittered in the trees, and a low growl hummed through the air.

Hunter dropped the pup like a hot potato and jumped to his feet. A quick spin told him that the direwolves had him surrounded, but they hadn’t pounced yet.

The pup, he realized. They were giving him space and judging whether or not they could rescue the little creature. How long would that hold, though? What was more important to a direwolf? Pup safety, or revenge? No research had been carried out successfully. Due to the ripping-into-shreds tendency.

Hunter made a choice that was either absolutely brilliant or the last thing he would ever do in his life. Before the wolves could make their decision, he scooped the direwolf pup up and threw it towards one side of the circle.

The startled yelp and the look on the pup’s face as it flew through the air was so comical Hunter would have laughed if he wasn’t so worried he was about to get mauled. But his gamble paid off—the entire pack lunged towards the pup to make sure it was alright, for the moment forgetting about the interloper in their midst. That one moment was all Hunter needed. He bolted, teleporting away to give himself extra time.

Fly? Waffles chirped. Hunter shook his head. He’d love to—and most times, it would be the best option. But he could feel the magical energy still bursting out of Waffles at the seams, and he couldn’t risk another crash, not right now with direwolves on his heels.

The pack recovered from their surprise and Hunter heard their howls tear through the trees. He ran faster, vaulting over rocks and fallen trunks, occasionally teleporting again when he could feel their steps thrumming in the ground and hear their panting behind him.

Snap

Hunter’s momentum kept him moving forward so fast he didn’t even realize for a second what had happened until he was abruptly yanked to a stop, and his left leg exploded in a riot of tearing pain. Hunter crashed into the ground, but he barely felt the impact. The direwolves howled again—no—wait—that was his voice, screaming.

Hunter’s breath seized up in his chest. The ground turned into a blur. His leg throbbed. Direwolf teeth snapped closer and closer.

Ding

A sound like a pealing bell rang softly through the trees, and a haze of golden light tumbled around Hunter, just as the first direwolf closed the distance. The creature thudded heavily into the golden bubble that surrounded Hunter, its claws scrabbling uselessly at the surface.

His staff floated in front of him, wings outstretched. The golden light cast strange shadows, concealing any color of the bird, and Hunter squinted, his head spinning.

“Flapjack?” he murmured. He knew, somewhere in his gut, that he was wrong. But it felt so familiar—so right.

“Safe,” Waffles chirped, and just like that, the spell was broken. Flapjack was gone. But the palisman he did have—his brave, beautiful, loyal palisman—was still there, protecting him. “Keep safe.”

Hunter dug his fingers into the dirt, taking deep breaths and steeling himself to look down.

Another trap demon had locked its jaws around his leg. The thick steel had bit straight through his boots, and already blood oozed out around its teeth.

Hunter’s stomach heaved, and he tasted bile.

Can’t breathe, he thought dizzily, and laid down flat on his back. Just breathe, breathe, breathe. He pulled up a handful of dirt, pouring it slowly onto his forehead. The steady pressure of the falling soil dragged him back down into his own body, and he took a deep breath, repeating with another handful of soil. Outside, the direwolves settled, pacing around the golden bubble. But inside the shield, inside, Hunter felt the stillness of the forest seep into his bones. If he died here, the forest would move on. It was strangely comforting

Hunter sat up, moving slowly and carefully to avoid moving his leg and setting off a fresh round of tearing. Still, every second felt like knives stabbing further into the wound. With a clear mind, Hunter could see that the wounds hadn’t actually bled that much—the jaws, for all the damage they were doing, prevented the blood from exiting the wound.

He was out of bandage substitutes. As long as Waffles could keep the shield up, he’d be safe from the direwolves. And as long as the trap demon remained lodged in his leg, he wouldn’t bleed too badly. Trying to leave now was certain death. But he couldn’t stay here forever.

It almost felt wrong to summon his penstagram scroll, like he was breaking the forest’s calm. But, he argued to himself, all creatures had a way to communicate distress to their fellow animals. This was simply his howl.

Still, he kept his messages short. One to Eberwolf, and another to Viney. He trusted them to tell anyone else who needed to know. Then, the call completed, he sat and waited. Only a few direwolves remained pacing. The others laid a little ways away, playing with their pups and leaving the hunt to their fellows.

Hunter watched the remaining hunters. They watched back. And slowly, one by one, they drifted off. Only one stayed. It laid down, but kept its amber eyes fixed on him. Hunter met its stare. Neither of them broke eye contact. Somehow, Hunter was certain that if he did, the wolf would call its pack, and they’d attack the shield until Waffles couldn’t hold them back any longer. Finally, the direwolf yawned, rested its head on its paws, and closed its eyes. Hunter breathed a long sigh of relief.

The respite didn’t last long. The golden light around him flickered, and Waffles chirped an apology. The direwolves perked up. The shield flickered again, then went out entirely.

One

Two

Three

Hunter’s heart beat a quick tempo in his chest, but he didn’t dare move. If he ran, he was prey, and he wouldn’t stay out of their reach this time. Waffles fell to his hands in staff form, ready to fight.

The direwolf closest lifted its head again, slowly rising to its feet. It took a few steps closer to Hunter, unconcerned. It sniffed the trap around Hunter’s leg first, its lips peeling back in a snarl of disdain. Then, its nose came inches from Hunter’s dirt-streaked face. It snorted, sending a blast of hot air in Hunter’s face.

Then it laid back down.

The rest of the pack followed its lead, sniffing Hunter’s face, then settling in a big pile around him. One of them started to lick Hunter’s injured leg, but stopped when Hunter yelped, his stomach heaving again. He dug his hand back into the ground, settling his breathing back down. He had to stay a calm part of the forest. Otherwise… he didn’t want to start to think what they’d do to him.

Despite the danger literally surrounding him, Hunter couldn’t help but lean back, resting against one of the direwolves’ flank. The steady rise and fall of its breathing slowly lulled him into an easy sleep.

Waffle’s chirp woke him. The sun had risen, dappling the forest floor with light. And sitting in a circle of happy direwolves was Eberwolf, who seemed completely unconcerned with the massive creatures, despite the fact that he held their injured pup in his lap.

“Good sleep?” Eber signed, letting the pup go.

Hunter sat up. His head pounded, and his mouth felt drier than the Titan’s palm. He couldn’t feel the trap around his leg anymore—in a panic, he sat straight up, dislodging a puppy that had curled up on his chest. But to his surprise, the reason he couldn’t feel the trap was because the trap was gone, and his leg had been wrapped in clean bandages.

Eber chuckled. “V-I-N-E-Y. You slept. Took all her magic to keep from being torn.” His face split into a proud grin. “Not like me. Not like you.”

“Mrgh?” Hunter managed. The puppy he’d dislodged crawled back up to him, someone discontentedly. Hunter scratched its ears to placate it. “What happened?”

“Part of the pack now.” Eber howled, as if to emphasize the point, and the rest of the pack howled with him. And strangely, Hunter felt a deep pull in his chest, too, a call to open his lungs and heart and howl with them.

Eber grinned again. “Helped a pup. Didn’t back down. Showed good defense. Earned respect. And trust. Very good.”

“Oh,” Hunter responded faintly. The fact that he’d even survived the night surrounded by a direwolf pack made his head spin. But still, a glimmer of pride shone underneath that. Not many people could say they’d befriended a direwolf pack—especially not one with pups.

“Very good,” Eber repeated, “Now? Time to go home.”

Hunter felt a twinge of sadness at the idea of leaving the forest behind, but the feeling was quickly overwhelmed by a wave of relief. “Yes, please.”

[deceptive-daydreams]

The Under-Ground

Chapter One - Welcome to The Under-Ground

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - In which you work at the local Hawkins coffee shop where you thought you'd be able to escape the horrors that were high school a few years after graduating. Until one of those horrors lands a job in the closing shift with you...and you have to train him.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

5K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I finished this sooner than I thought I would...pls let me know what you think, I am having so much fun writing this so far and I can't wait to keep going

Masterlist

Next ->

The chill Autumn air infiltrated the apartment and left you shivering, the wool blanket atop your comforter did little to aid you in getting warm.  That’s what five hundred dollars a month got you in small town Hawkins, it's what you could afford.  Old striped wallpaper that alternated a faded baby blue and pale yellow that seemed to have been glued to the wall since the 70’s barely clung to the walls, a majority of it peeling and begging to be torn off.  The stained white linoleum throughout the kitchen had seen better days and the carpet in the living room and bedroom was dingy, so dingy that no vacuum could possibly come close to cleaning it.  The lock on the door was on the verge of breaking and almost didn’t work–almost.  And of course the heater was definitely broken, the creepy landlord would take his sweet time to fix it, leaving you with a freezing apartment as the seasons changed and Hawkins welcomed the fall.  A broke college student by day and a barista by night, these are the cards you were dealt for now.  

Classes at the community college had finished for the day, rotating to the night courses.  A few papers were due next week, one for your business class on the effects of product promotion in business growth that happened to be stressing you out extra.  Your fingers tapped away at your laptop from your mattress nestled in the corner on the floor of your tiny bedroom.  4:30PM, the time in the corner of the screen read, just half an hour before your shift at The Under-Ground.  With a groan, you click save on the document and shut the laptop which was certain to be opened later tonight after your shift only to continue the torturous essay.  Begrudgingly you began your pre-work ritual of grabbing whatever snack or meal you had in the fridge, scarfing it down, and then tidying your appearance a bit while listening to your daily playlist named “Eh” on Spotify.  Today’s vibe was set by Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.  

The rusty bathroom faucet sputtered water before allowing a full stream to flow into the sink.  You splashed some water on your face to feel more alive although it may have been a mistake in hindsight since the apartment was already cold and rather than feeling refreshed, you felt like a wet dog.  Dabbing your face with a towel hanging from over the rod where the tie dye shower curtain hung as well, you collected any leftover mascara from the previous night beneath your waterline and around your eyelids.  Moving to the compact closet in the bedroom, a simple outfit of jeans and a maroon knitted sweater you’d ‘claimed’ from the lost and found at the college were chosen and paired with your only signature docs.  Lastly, your apron was tied around your waist in a neat knot.  

Grabbing your keys from the laminate countertop and shoving your laptop in your bag, you make your way through the damaged and scratched up wooden door that was the entrance to your apartment, the number seven nailed to the front of it.  “God dammit.” you jam your key in and out of the lock, twisting and repeating until it finally clicks in place.  The door leads right outside into the biting air and you scurry down the concrete stairs while avoiding touching the nasty railing, Mrs. Harrison’s chubby cat, Raphael is perched right at the bottom like he always is.  His large green irises stare up at you, giving the appearance that he was just a fluffy ball of black fur with eyes.  “Ralphy” you mumble your nickname for him affectionately as you steal a pat from his head on your way out of the apartments, a small meow chiming through the air.  

The Under-Ground wasn’t a far walk but it sure did seem that way the colder it got.  You’d been working there since the Spring and so far had no issues with weather but you knew it would bite you at some point.  The walk through downtown Hawkins is crisp and cloudy, leaves blowing delicately from the trees and laying perfectly in the street, colors varying from red, orange, and brown.  It was mid September.  Patrons wander about the streets attending to their daily errands.  Teenagers mess around at the entrance of The Hideout, no doubt attempting to use their fake IDs only to be turned away by the bouncer, Stan.  

Joyce Byers cleans the storefront window of Melvald’s, taking care to not miss a single streak.  Her face lights up as her son, Will approaches the store.  Max Mayfield skateboards past you down the sidewalk at lightning speed, the only reason you know it's her is a flash of her flaming red hair as well as Lucas Sinclair trying to keep up with her on his own board, a nervous expression written on his features as he carefully maneuvers.  Nancy Wheeler hurriedly gets into her car, wrapping up her workday at The Hawkins Post while Jonathan Byers gives her cheek a kiss and heads over toward Will and Joyce.   

The Under-Ground comes into view as you round the corner, the brick building vacant of customers at the moment from what you can tell through the windows.  The evening rush hasn’t picked up yet, usually kicking in at around six when the college students like yourself would make themselves at home and study over lattes and espresso shots.  The bell chimes above the door as you pull it open, the smell of coffee beans and pastries flooding your nose and some upbeat jazz playing through the speakers.  Robin sits atop the counter much to the boss, Ronnie's dismay but he’s not around to scold her.  Her dirty blonde bob is freshly trimmed, bangs laying just right across her forehead while she has a lollipop sticking out her mouth and she skims through a magazine lazily.  One leg is hitched up onto the counter with her bright yellow converse on display, knee to her chest.  She’s wearing jeans with a few holes and a vintage tee.  Her bright blue eyes glance up and land on you, face lighting up as she greets you.  “Hey, Robin!” you greet back, making your way behind the counter to clock in on the computer.  

“You’re lucky, it’s been dead for hours.” she says while setting aside the magazine.  “Think it’s gonna rain too so it’ll probably stay that way.” she continues.  

“Good, I can probably catch up on some homework then.” you hum, punching in your employee number.

“Oh and some new guy is supposed to close with you tonight, I think you’re training him.” she mentions.

“So, no catching up on homework then.” you sigh.  Training someone new wasn't necessarily difficult however it was draining since you already knew how to do everything like the back of your hand.  Dumbing it all down always took a minute since you had to slow down and give them time to catch on.  

“Did Ronnie say who?” you ask, turning to face Robin.  Hawkins was small which meant that everyone knew everyone.  Which was unfortunate sometimes since that also meant everyone knew everyone's business.

Robin hops off the counter, hair bouncing as she does.  “Nope, I just know that it's some dude.” she crunches down on her lollipop and discards the stick in the garbage a few feet away.  

With a sigh, you head to the back room to put your bag in your locker only to find Steve lounging at the lunch table, his feet crossed on top of it while scrolling through his phone and two legs of the chair he occupies off the ground as he balances.  Today he sports some red corduroy pants and an ivory crewneck sweater finished off with converse, just like Robin’s, only black.  “What’s up?” he greets, not once looking up from his phone.  

“Scrolling through Tinder again, Stevie?” you mock while setting your bag in your locker for safe keeping, hooking the lock around the metal and clicking it into place.

“Actually, it’s Grindr.” he says matter of factly.  

“My bad, you find anyone cute?” you ask, peering over his shoulder, his aftershave smelling subtle and pleasant.   

He lands on a cute blonde guy with green eyes, most likely from a town over.  “Not really.” he exhales, running a hand through his voluminous hair.  

“Well what about him?  He’s pretty cute.” you encourage.  

“Dude, it says he likes to do Karaoke for fun.” he glances behind at you with a raised brow.  You shrug, unaware of why that would deter him.  

“If that's not a red flag, I don’t know what is.” he states, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his pocket while standing, making his way to the vending machine.  “What happened to me, Socks?  I used to pull 'em left and right and now no guy or girl will give me the time of day.”  Socks was your nickname given by Steve and Robin after the dreadful incident where a pipe burst from one of the sinks and you happened to be standing in front of it, the bottom half of your pants along with your socks becoming soaked.  The rest of the evening you worked your shift without shoes, only in your sopping wet socks with your jeans rolled up.  It had been an ongoing joke since, although you always reminded them how horrible it is to go around in wet shoes, the squeaky sound they would make against the floor and the squishiness of the soles.  They always disagreed, insisting that it would be worse to work in only socks and how they’d just opt to continue wearing the drenched shoes.  

“Steve, I think Grindr and Tinder and all the dating apps might be giving you unrealistic expectations.” you tell him truthfully.  

“Okay, but who the hell else am I gonna find in Hawkins?  Been there, done that, this is my only option."  He inserts a dollar into the vending machine and punches in his selection, shortly after a bag of pretzels falls.  

“Pretzels, Steve?  Really?” you taunt.  “How bland of you.” you deadpan.  He pulls open the packaging and tosses a pretzel in his mouth all while giving you his signature pout.  “Maybe that's your issue, you dumb yourself down for these people you don’t even know.” you continue.

“Wow.” he raises his arms in disbelief, a hint of humor evident.  “That…” he flings a pretzel at you, hitting your chest.  “...was mean.” he sasses.  “But probably true.” he finishes.  “Don’t you have a job or something?” his head tilts toward the door.  

“Yeah, and so do you.” you shoot back, grabbing his apron from where it hung over one of the breakroom chairs and throwing it at him.  

Exiting the room, you hear Steve chime in one more time.  “I’m off in like fifteen!”  Your shifts always overlapped with Steve and Robin’s, them usually taking the morning to afternoon shift and you taking over closing.  Ronnie would always hang out in the back office so you didn’t have to close alone but that was pretty much the extent of his labor.  The beans needed to be ground for the next day, chairs stacked on the tables, bathroom tidied, ingredients prepped, counters wiped down, etc.  And you were always the one to do it, not that you minded so much.  Ronnie never micromanaged and you had gotten good at closing so it became somewhat of a meditation time.  The town winded down and the dim lighting provided a relaxing glow, almost as if you were in a spa.  You could at least pretend anyway.

Robin was making herself a latte, carefully pouring the milk over the coffee in an attempt to make a design.  She’d been practicing for weeks with no success.  “Dammit!  Another wasted latte!” she slams the small pitcher of cream onto the counter.  

“That for me?” you question over her shoulder, spotting the blob of white draped over the coffee.  You ended up drinking them most of the time, always looking forward to your daily latte handcrafted by Robin.  

Letting a breath out, she hangs her head in defeat.  “It is now.” 

Steve saunters out from the back, stopping in his tracks right next to Robin.  “Another one?  Seriously?” he mutters before continuing to the espresso machine to make probably his fourth drink of the day.  

“When is the new guy scheduled to come in?” you ask as you pour yourself an iced coffee.  Everyone was allowed one free drink a day however it was never enforced unless the owner, Ronnie’s mom was around.  She owned The Under-Ground while her husband owned The Hideout.

“5:30, I think?” Robin answers.  The clock on the register currently reads 5:20.  Steve glances at you, trying to hide a smirk as he quickly looks in the other direction.  

“What?” you demand.  Shaking his head he continues pouring an espresso shot into paper to go cup.  A tug on his sleeve doesn’t get him to budge.  “Steve, why did you give me that look?!” you hound him.  

“Nothing!” he raises his hands in defense, a shit eating grin on his face.  

“Steve.” you narrow your eyes at him, brows knit in frustration.  

“Yeah, Steve.  What do you know that I don’t?” Robin steps towards him while crossing her arms in offense.  

“Nothing!” He lies, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Steve.” Robin glares at him.

“Y’know, this is already getting to me.” he points to his cup.  “I gotta run to the bathroom.” he rushes to the back once again, holding his stomach and pretending to grimace in pain.

“What’s up with him?” you look at Robin, the two of you left standing there without any idea.  She shrugs, handing you the botched latte she just made.  

Pushing aside your theories, you begin setting up for your shift, restocking the cups and making sure there’s enough whip cream in the canister.  The Under-Ground had a very cozy vibe, dark mahogany woods decorating the interior, little twinkly lights draped above the windows, and a snug book nook tucked away in the back corner with large shelves that took up the whole wall.  Accompanying it are a few tables and chairs, their wood matching the counter and on top of each table sits various houseplants that you’d have to remind yourself to water.  

Robin tops off the pastries as she always does at the end of her shift, adding some chocolate croissants, blueberry muffins, brownies, and a brand new lemon loaf to the case.  She finishes off by wiping off the glass with a rag and then ensures the display of gift cards and bags of coffee beans on the counter is dusted off and pristine.  

You busy yourself by restocking the to-go sandwiches in the open cooler at the front of the counter, making a note to also grab a few more parfaits from the back since those were running low as well.  A few books are scattered among one of the tables so you take it upon yourself to collect them and tuck them neatly back on the book shelf.  Other than that, nothing else is left to do and you should be ready to start training the new hire without any distractions.  You reward yourself by sipping on the latte, the bitter taste gracing your tongue and warmth coating your throat.  Robin disappears to the back briefly, coming back out with her bag while shoving her apron into it, ready to clock out the second it hits 5:30.

The roaring of an engine suddenly echoes in the streets, an obnoxious sputtering filling your ears as you glance up and out of the front window.  It comes to a screeching halt as a motorcycle pulls up into one of the parking spots horizontally rather than vertically like the rest of the vehicles.  Jackass, you think to yourself as the owner kicks the kickstand down.  He wears a standard black motorcycle helmet, a leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and some combat boots, a walking stereotype for some kind of punk ass kid.  

Jim Hopper catches him, his cop car parked a few spaces away while he does his crossword in the driver’s seat.  You can’t quite make out what's being said but as Hopper exits his car in a hurry,  you can tell they have most likely had run-ins like this before.  The jackass looks up in aggravation as he still straddles the bike, the sky reflected in the visor of his helmet.  Hopper appears to be telling him off but not giving him a ticket when he most definitely should.  Jackass reparks the bike correctly, gesturing to it as if he’d performed a magic trick, Hopper with a hand on his hip and a scowl on his face.  He points a finger at him, muttering one last thing before retreating back to his own car, eyes never leaving the guy.  

Steve emerges from the back again, carefully.  “Shit.” he mumbles.

Your gaze moves from the scene outside to behind you at Steve who is also now looking out the window.  This provokes you to look back outside.  Just as you’re about to ask, the jackass removes his helmet, revealing a head of wild brunette curls, his hand adorned in chunky rings as he grips the helmet.  Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to inputting some inventory in the computer.  Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he’s making his way toward the door.  “Are you kidding me?” you say under your breath.  

“Thought trendy coffee wasn’t his style.” you say to no one in particular.  Steve inhales as if waiting for some kind of impact.  

“Oh…” Robin says in some kind of realization.  

The bell above the door rings as he swings it open, striding across the shop and in front of the counter, his eyes are a dark abyss as he looks from you to Robin and then to Steve.  

“Munson.” Steve acknowledges him.

“Harrington.” he says back, a tinge of disgust rolling off his tongue.  Robin’s eyes are wide as they shift between you two.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you bite, voice full of malice as you glare up at him.

Bringing his hand to his chest, his face contorting into a mock pout, he sets the helmet on the counter.  “Ouch.  That make you feel better, sweetheart?”  Sarcasm drips from his tone.

You scoff about to tell him to leave but he just continues.  “Make you feel all big and bad?  Get it out of your system yet?” he taunts, a smirk playing on his lips.  

“Oh no.” Robin says quietly, leaning over you to clock out and then subtly making her way around the counter.  

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here and find someone else to dick around with?” you snap, grabbing his helmet and forcing it into his hands. 

A cocky look takes over his features.  “Well what if I’m a paying customer?” 

 “I have the right to refuse service so, I’m refusing.” you can feel anger coursing through your veins, blood running hot.  

“That’s unfortunate.” he frowns, moving to make his way behind the counter.  “For you.” his stare burns into you, two black holes nearly swallowing you up.  

“I don’t have time-” you begin but are cut off when he reaches over you and starts typing away at the computer, clocking in.  His cheap cologne and cigarette smoke flood your nose.

Steve looks at you apologetically as Eddie passes him on his way to the back.  A silence lingers as you process that you’ll be forced to work with the one person in this town you can’t stand.  Eddie Munson was the new hire and of course he had to be scheduled on the closing shift with you.  Life couldn’t get any worse than this, a shitty apartment, and now a shitty job that you used to love combined with mountains of homework.  Your eternal hell.  Work was supposed to be a place you could briefly escape.  Sure it was still work but you didn’t mind.

“Steve!” both you and Robin scold him at the same time.  He squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for more yelling.  

“You knew Ronnie hired him and you just didn’t tell me!” you seethe.  “You could have warned me!  I could have switched shifts or something-or, or–or tell Ronnie he’s a criminal or something!  So he wouldn’t get hired!” your eyes are bulging out of your head as you reprimand the poor guy.  

“Okay, see, the way you're reacting right now doesn’t give me any confidence that you would have reacted any differently if I told you earlier.” Steve explains while clocking out.  

“So you think springing it on her like that was any better!” Robin says loudly.  Steve contemplates for a moment.

“Look, Socks.  I’m sorry.” he apologizes sincerely.  

“Socks?” Eddie stands in the doorway that leads to the back, now free of his leather jacket and wearing a black Metallica tee.  “What kinda fucked up thing did you do for a nickname like that?” he asks, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, kill me now.” you drag your hands down your face in agony.  Steve and Robin slowly make their way toward the front door, looking at you sympathetically.

“See you tomorrow?” Robin awkwardly points finger guns at you before they speed up and shuffle out the door.

You sigh heavily, dropping your arms limply to your sides.  Turning around, Eddie is about to speak up again but you cut him off. 

“I don’t wanna hear it.  You don’t talk unless it's about work.  I’ll train you today and then I’ll ask Ronnie to move you to mornings or something.” you tell him in one breath.  

He laughs before replying.  “You’d like that wouldn’t you?  Hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re stuck with me, doll.” he chuckles lowly.  “I only work nights.” he says with that stupid grin.  

“Who did I piss off for this to happen?” you mumble to yourself, rubbing at your temples.  “Put this on.” you shove an apron at his chest.

He grunts at the impact.  “No.” he simply says, refusing to grab it from you.  His expression is blank.

Scoffing, you shove it against him even harder.  “This is work.  We work here.  Stop acting like a damn child.” you say sternly.  

Now taking the apron in his hand, you think he’s finally come to his senses until he bunches it up and tosses it onto one of the counters, eliciting a groan from you.  You were foolish to think he would play nice.

–

Trying to train Eddie was as useful as training a fly.  He didn’t listen and would purposely mess things up claiming he didn’t know any better and he almost charged one of your only customers that night double the actual cost.  It was like watching a toddler, you couldn’t take your eyes away from him or all hell would break loose.  The cherry on top was all the snide comments he would make which led to more bickering.  

When it came to closing time at 9:00, you were exhausted and could practically feel the eyebags hanging off your face.  There was not enough espresso in the world to keep up with Eddie’s antics.  You were counting the money from the register, making sure all was accounted for, Eddie watching as he was supposed to be learning when really he was zoned out.  

“Alright, Socks, are we done here?” he says with a bored tone.  

You glance between him and the cash, still counting under your breath while ignoring him.  Poking your arm, he tries again.  “Socks.  I got things to do.” he continues.  “Hey, I’m talking to you–”

“--Oh my god, just go.” you break, finally completing your counting and setting the money back in the drawer neatly.  

“Fuck yeah.” he whispers, rushing to the back to collect his things.  Pinching the bridge of your nose, you only hope he quits before you have to work another shift with him.  Eddie wasn’t just an asshole, he was the asshole who was partially responsible for your shitty high school experience.  You know it's dumb, there’s no reason to let something keep a hold on you for so long but it just does.  It makes you cringe, it's like the equivalent to peaking in high school but opposite, and yet you can’t seem to look past it.

Nothing but the twinkly lights and the dim overhead lights lit up the shop, a moment of peace taking over you while the town outside laid itself to rest.  Shutting off the music and untying your apron to drape it over your arm, you do one more scan to make sure everything is set for tomorrow.  Satisfied, you head to the back to retrieve your bag.  Eddie passes you, almost running you over on his way out, his stupid helmet in hand.  

“See ya tomorrow, Socks.” he salutes as he clocks out, shortly after you hear the bell chime signaling that he had left.  He was overusing that nickname but you knew it would only please him to call it out.  You had to keep your cool until he figured out he didn’t fit in here and quit.  Exhaling, you unlock your locker, grabbing your bag and tossing your apron in before exiting and heading for the door.  

The door is locked and double checked as you step out onto the sidewalk only to find that it was still raining.  Just my luck.  Eddie’s dumb motorcycle roars to life again a few feet away from you, a nuisance to the tranquil town around you.  Rolling your eyes, you begin your damp journey home.  It’s not until you’re in front of the movie theater that you hear that damn bike behind you.  You think he’s going to speed past you, maybe splash some water on you while he’s at it but the engine rumbles as if right next to you–which it was.  

“Are you lost?” you spit, continuing to walk.  

He rides beside you slowly, irritating you to your core.  “Need a ride home?” he asks, slightly muffled by his helmet.  

You huff before responding.  “No.  I don’t need anything from you.  Get the hell out of here.”  You keep your gaze straight ahead as you walk, him still following behind.

“Sweetheart–”

“--Do NOT call me that.  Ever.  Again.” you scold, taking a moment to point your finger at him, your face displaying disdain toward him.

“Look, I may be an asshole but it's raining.  I can give you a ride.” he coaxes but it doesn’t work.  You keep on, the rain drops collecting on your eyelashes.  

“Get bent, Eddie.” you say, now walking faster, hoping to evade him.

He lifts the visor on the helmet, now showing his eyes as he keeps up with you.  “Get on the damn bike.”

“Fuck you.” you snap at him.

Desperate, you start jogging across the crosswalk and that's when he gives up.  Glancing behind you, he flips the visor down and revs the bike before speeding off.  You weren’t stupid and you weren’t going to play into his little sadist games.  Life was already steamrolling you and you did not need some jackass to factor into it.  After a few minutes of walking, you finally rounded the corner and the faded powder blue apartments came into view, street lights illuminating the way.  The streets were sleek with rain and oil, giving off reflections of the traffic lights and buildings.  You were careful to scurry your way across the parking lot to avoid any of the creeps that hung around late at night.  It wasn’t exactly the best area, being notorious for drug deals and any other illegal side hustles.  

Raphael’s spot on the stairs was vacant due to the downpour which you frowned at, you always looked forward to seeing him upon coming home.  A few skeezy looking men stood nearby however they seemed to be involved in their own drama as they argued and took no interest in you.  Gratefully, you continued quietly up the stairs and hurriedly unlocked the door, jamming the key in the lock until it gave out to you.  

Slipping into your nightly routine, you begin to unwind as much as you can.  A quick shower awaited you since the hot water was limited and you couldn’t wait to munch on one of the sandwiches you snagged from work.  In your defense Ronnie had ordered way too many for the week and the back fridge was overflowing with them.  The local deli they came from, Anderson’s had some fairly good quality meats and cheeses so for that you were thankful as they pretty much kept you fed.  Tonight’s would be turkey and swiss with mayo on sourdough, your favorite.  The lights flickered on as you hit the switch, another quirk that came with the run down apartment.  The living room and entryway were now bathed in a warm and quite dim glow, or in other words if you wanted to read a book, it’d be quite difficult to see.  Shivering from being drenched in rain, you set your bag on the kitchen counter adjacent to the entryway and start taking off your damp clothes, peering into your room to toss them into the hamper and slipping into the bathroom.  It was a tight space, not a whole lot of room to do much but it was home.  

Turning the faucet to ‘hot’, you wait for the water to get warm enough to bear, the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom still bothered you no matter how long you lived there.  You stood on the bath mat feeling the water with your finger until it was to your satisfaction, stepping in and feeling welcomed by the sudden warmth you’d been waiting for all day.  In that moment you feel relief from the pressures of the world, the deadlines, bills, loans, essays, all of it.  Everything melts away for approximately three minutes and that's when the water starts to turn cold again, returning you back to the dreadful reality you wish you could neglect.  

But to your dismay, the cycle just starts all over again, keeping you hostage.

~end~

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Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi

[eolewyn1010]

Downton Abbey Fashion 32 - 1920s evening dresses

Precisely none of Edith’s and Rose’s evening dresses have sleeves, while Sybil, still a young woman but already a wife and pregnant, wears a sleeved dress. So, there seems to be a correlation – it’s just not consistent.

Edith’s official introduction to gold (come on; I could barely see the dress she wore for the Christmas ball) is a lovely, flowy damask number with a pattern that I cannot really identify. Something vaguely orientalistic with wings and vines? Well, it’s gold thread in satin, and the neckline is one I tried to implement on a dress myself. If I understand the situation on her hip right, this is another of those apron-shaped dresses worn over an under layer that has some gathering on the side of the drop waist.

Hm, this is okay, but I don’t love it. The coral silk satin is nice, but the embroidery seems a little perfunctory. The draping tries to give the top some shape, but it looks like the silvery decoration element with the tassels that they attached to her hip might be a tad too heavy because this ends up looking lopsided. I do like that the skirt has enough volume to pull off some gathering; imo it looks nicer than most of those smooth rectangle skirts.

A bit peachier color, but this looks a lot like the previous dress. A gathered skirt, an asymmetrical hip decoration, although this one doesn’t pull down the top so lopsidedly, and its much more colorful to match the embroidery around the neckline. Another drop waist, another sleeveless dress, another round neckline – this doesn’t do a lot new.

Neither does this, but I have to admit I’m hopelessly biased in favor of the fabric. Look at that shimmery damask! That’s probably why it doesn’t do much in the way of embroidery, but this does have a new design element: There seems to be an extra bit of fabric down from Edith’s left shoulder that adds a layer to one side of the dress, giving this a bit of a toga look.

The return of Edith’s pale emerald shade and she keeps this dress into season 4, although it looks a little plain. Keeping the embroidery to the neckline and sides leaves the majority of this dress bland, which I think would work better if the fabric did a little more on its own or if Edith would have opted for a showier necklace.

See, this fabric does all the work on its own. I can’t even guess what material this is, and I would love to know if this is a costume or one of Edith’s famed originals. This wild pattern! And since Edith loves her orange shades, she picked a headscarf matching the piping trim and the sash. A very vivid look, and one that returns for season 4.

As does this sage green dress with various parts of its surface covered in what I think is silver beading; this actually even stays on into season 5. I like the skirt on this one; it seems to be layered, the beaded fabric over a plain green long skirt, fluttering around her legs with the sash and giving this a little movement. On different occasions, Edith chooses different accessories to go with this, a little beaded headband or one of her knotted headscarves.

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I should really stop whining about grey; it makes me out as a hypocrite on dresses like this. Because this shimmering velvet is gorgeous. And then someone sat down and turned the lower half of the skirt and the sleeves into big, massive masses of embroidery. The effect is wonderful, even though not much coloring gets added to the whole deal. I apologize to grey; it really just needs to be put to right use. Favorite.

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Here we have Rose in her good daughter color, although she still likes her risqué pieces. I’m reasonably sure she is the one who introduces some of the shortest skirts we’ve seen on this entire show – this seems to just barely pass her knees. The sash repeats the same plain fabric the under layer seems to be made of; it peeks out at the hem of her skirt. But the dress is beaded on main, a lot of floral motives in white, silver and grey shades. The overall image is quite lovely, although I personally am glad when Rose doesn’t frizz up her hair around her face anymore.

Shorter skirt, deeper cleavage – Rose, ffs, you are barely eighteen and that guy is married! Get away from that creep! Granted, the dress goes a bit into the understatement, letting the little bit of embroidery and Rose’s jewelry set some lines of sparkle here and there. It’s not like the girl doesn’t have taste; she just likes to provoke. The night club also had some glorious 1920s headpieces on other clients; I wish I could have gotten some shots of them. But bad lighting and everything is in motion all the time, so I didn’t.

Of all her dresses, this is the one that gets repeated for next season? Eh, okay. It’s not one of her nice, flashy signature colors, but the embroidery is roses, so I guess it’s got Subtle Symbolism™ going for it. To be honest, I’m wondering why she didn’t wear this one to the club, what with the material being 100% shimmer. It still doesn’t end up looking very glamorous because that shade of green reminds me of dung.

Honestly, this dress doesn’t deserve the ire it gets from Rose’s mother. Especially since she’s in her good daughter color. “Looking like a slut”? It’s fine. Calm down; you haven’t seen the cleavage and the knee length on the red one. This one is longer, the neckline isn’t a scandal even though it could have used a necklace. The back dips rather deep, granted, but not unusually so for the time. I like the playful design, the additional sashes from the shoulders and around the skirt, and the beading on the front is pretty. The design and color combined with the flower embroidery of the upper blue dress would make for another favorite.

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With that, the season 3 outfits are done (except for a couple extra categories that get separate collective posts). Some characters are waved out, some new ones are ushered in, shenanigans are getting increasingly zanier. To more fashion choices and beyond!