#andy black x oc

[donnydamakkk]

⏤͟͟͞͞ ANDY HERRERA MASTERLIST

࿏━━━━━━ ◦ FICS with OCS ◦ ━━━━━━࿏

nothing yet.

࿏━━━━━━ ◦ FICS with CHARACTERS ◦ ━━━━━━࿏

nothing yet.

࿏━━━━━━ ◦ FICS with READER ◦ ━━━━━━࿏

ANDY HERRERA SHORT FICS

[VARIOUS] various

short fics with reader rather than an oc

[sweeytheart]

If you are looking for quality works, I recommend this profile without even thinking twice. Your writing is perfect, your characters are excellent, your stories are heavenly and you are a wonderful author! Everything about you screams PERFECTION!

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Thanks for visiting! All of my Official Masterlists can be found below. Likes, reblogs, comments, and suggestions are always welcome and appreciated! Happy reading, friends!

Stories marked with (**) indicate smut or implied smut. Minors DNI.

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[atinylittlepain]

Prologue

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

wordcount | 1.8K

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | thank you folks for your patience while I was being a little worm about this. Very excited to kick off this series, and I'd love to hear what you think <3

....................................

There is the after, and there is the before. This is the before. In the before, there is a town nestled down in the purple-blue belly of a mountain, all shade and damp, cool green. A small town, everyone knowing everyone and everyone knew everyone as far back as history could reasonably stretch. And in this town sits a house at the end of a string of houses, sidewalk curling up in waves under the old force of tree roots, wrought iron gates and sleepy porches. Kids dare one another to step through the gate of this house. Only the bravest make it up to the porch, a quick clambering tap to the front door, wanting, but not really wanting, to see who might answer. All but one child, that is. She has no problem walking through the gate, but she’s learned to be quick in getting through the front door and slipping it shut behind her. The other kids like to throw rocks if she lingers, so she doesn’t. But there is always a sweet suspension of disbelief on the walk, before the gate, and the porch, and the slip through the front door. How nice, to have all her classmates walking her home after school. 

“Did you get into any trouble today?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, always another chance tomorrow.” It’s just enough to coax a smile out of her, her aunt and all her tuts and tsks, turns of her nose and we need a brownie before we do your homework, little choice but to follow after her into the kitchen, warm and sticky, the smell of fresh yeast and something richer. Even now, even in the first gasps of Summer, a pot always boils on the stove, spoon stirring lazy inside it. 

Her aunt moves like a bird she thinks. But not the delicate kind. She saw a blue heron once, at the lake outside of town. Like that, she thinks. Graceful but sharp, big and sweeping, the tails of a linen shirt, and the braid woven gray and black that hangs between her shoulder blades. All so familiar, she can’t help but sigh, cheek propped in the clammy cup of her hand. 

“Something happened today.” 

“You don’t say.” Her aunt, always knowing before she can tell her, sometimes even before she knows herself. She picks a chocolate chip out of the brownie split between them, holds it on her tongue and lets it melt. 

“Andy Nichols broke his arm. He said there’s pins in his bones.”

“Is he the one who–” She nods before her aunt can finish her question. Yes, the one who never threw rocks at her. Yes, the one who would sit with her at lunch, not because his other friends dared him to, but because he wanted to. The one who, last week, sitting on the bleachers during recess, pressed a quick, there and gone kiss to her lips, all shy, all sweet, wings fluttering fierce in her chest. Yes, that one. 

“Now he won’t even look at me. All his friends are saying I did something to him.” 

“Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry. People can be, well, people suck, to speak plainly.”

“Did I?”

“Did you what?”

“Did I?” And the silence is enough of an answer, isn’t it? Her aunt’s eyes melt a little, lips pressed in a thin frown. Her aunt, who is as tired as she is, though she may do a better job of hiding it. After all, while she lost a mother, her aunt lost a sister. And the thing, that thing, this thing, that is threaded like a dark cancer through the sinew and snapping pulse of their hearts, contagious, careful or you’ll catch it. Everyone in town knows not to fall in love with a Campbell woman, a long history pocked with strange deaths, unexplainable misfortune. Her father wasn’t from town though, the first mistake of many.

‘It’s best if you don’t think on it, hmm?” Quiet and close in the kitchen, she does her best not to cry, feeling weak, a little wilted. One of those hugs that presses all the air out of her lungs, she needed it, breathing in deep, soap and sweat and soil and my little witch, we have work to do. 

Homework doesn’t really mean homework in their house. Not the paper she’s supposed to be writing on the civil war, not studying for the math test she has on Friday. Homework means her and her aunt in the greenhouse, and her aunt quizzing her on the plants they tend to. What is what, what does what. 

Lemon balm for stress and sleep. Also used to treat cold sores. 

Echinacea for immunity.

Peppermint for nausea and headaches.

Belladonna for sleep, handle with care. 

It comes easily to her, the same way that knowing things comes easily to her aunt. Plants, she thinks, make more sense than people do. It takes them a few hours to work through the greenhouse, night coming on in a swath of orange that smolders purple, cool shadows filtering in through green glass. They prune, they water, they propagate, and her aunt must think her extra pitiful tonight because she offers to teach her a few new tricks. The offer falls flat, however, when the prickled sound of scratching shivers up her spine. She knows it well, imagines that she could hear it from all the way across town at this point. The back door, nails skittering over its window panes, face pressed to glass, smeared shame, or maybe just a secret. All that’s needed, a look shared between them, no words. She stays in the greenhouse, closes the door behind her aunt, but leaves it cracked. She shouldn’t, but she likes to listen. 

What she hears is always the same. Variations of desperation, I want, I want, I want, I need, I need, I need, him, him, him, her, her, her. How badly? So badly. Anything? Yes, anything. She’s watched a few times, peering around the doorway into the kitchen. All kinds of ways to meddle, to tangle threads, cut them loose, pick your poison, pick your pleasure. Her aunt tries to keep her away from it, the dark, crawling things, the needles, the wax dolls washed in smoke plumes. But she knows. Love is an ugly thing. 

She doesn’t watch tonight, hardly listens either. Something else on her mind, in her hands. She plucks rose petals, lavender, rosemary, fills her hands with the rumpled things, says what she planned to say.

He’ll ride horses, talk to them too.

He’ll work with his hands. 

There’ll be a streak of silver at his temple. 

When we’re together, he’ll be able to stop time. 

“Are you casting impossible spells again?” Her aunt catches her just as she’s stepping out into the backyard, damp grass and cicada thrum and the moon.

“I hope so. I hope it’s impossible.” They stand in the cool, damp grass, all that heat dropping down into a low mist around their ankles. And her aunt knows exactly what she’s doing. Afterall, she was the one who taught her this. Somewhere between a love spell and a prayer, though she hopes hers is more like a curse. 

“There’s no taking something like this back, Maggie. Are you sure you want to do this?” She nods, says yes, and it’s enough for her aunt to stand down, giving her space to finish the rest of it. Intention, energy, that other word that people like to throw around She focuses on the words and the words become something other than words, and the petals and leaves lift from her hands. The moon takes care of the rest. 

“I hope I never fall in love.” 

The thing about spells is they always find somewhere to land, even the impossible ones. And somewhere in the before, that impossible spell found its target. Cupid’s arrow bent and broken, though still able to sting sharp. Somewhere in the before, a boy in another town in another life, young knees working hard to make the thin tires of a bike spin, already late heading home for dinner in the cooling night. 

The boy’s mother hears him before she sees him, big, hot tears and ribs shaking with sobs she doesn’t often get to hear anymore, getting older, trying to get braver. The boy is bleeding, the boy is crying. The soft round of his palms scraped and stuck with gravel, and his knees no better, all down his shins, and he didn’t mean to cry, didn’t want to cry, but walking the rest of the way home, wrestling with the crooked handlebars of his bike, the feeling and the pain got too big, and he didn’t know what else to do with it.

“Oh honey, what happened?” His words come out in stops and starts, little stuttered gasps. I fell, gets strung into a few extra syllables, already ushering him upstairs and into the bathroom, the sharp smell of this’ll sting, cotton gauze getting stuck in the blood. 

In the before, still young, the boy is a soft thing. He cries easily, and he doesn’t like that. Cries when he’s angry, when he’s hurt, when he’s frustrated. Cries harder when he cries because he wishes he wouldn’t cry, even if the words for such a feeling are still too old for him. Somewhere along the way, the boy will lose that. The boy will lose so much. But for now, his mother is making all the big and little hurts better, box fan humming in the cracked window in the bathroom, his brother, even younger, watching through the slivered opening of the door. 

For now, the boy lets his eyes close, sticky with salt and the last wandering tears, and he wonders if he really saw what he thought he saw, what stunned him so snappingly that he flew head over handlebars onto the still-simmering asphalt. A blurred vision, blink and miss it, though even so, he’s still sure of what he saw. A rose bush, a sudden burst and bloom and flashbang, nothing and then something and then everything. Blooms that unfurled their skirts as fast as he was riding by, until what had been only green was blotted out entirely by heavy white petals. The boy will lose this memory with time, reasoning it away as an impossible imagining, something from a young mind that will no longer be his. But while the boy is still young, still a soft thing, he will think to himself with a kind of secret wonder that whatever he saw that night, it had to be magic. 

......................................

taglist: @suzmagine @joelsgreys @vee-bees-blog @noisynightmarepoetry @kungfucapslock @iloveenya @evolnoomym @wannab-urs

[lambsouvlaki]

For the Hell of It - Anniversary

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: G, no warnings.

Word count: 1,800

Summary: After two years together, Jason takes her out somewhere special for their anniversary.

Masterlist

It was mid morning when Jason called. 

That was deeply unusual, this month especially. He had been so busy lately she barely saw him except for the days she got up and found him dead to the world on the other side of her bed.

Idly cataloguing the possible reasons for the call, Andy turned down the radio and stepped away from her laptop.

A serious injury? Unlikely, that call typically came from Alfred and would have happened three hours ago. Location compromised, maybe? Pretty good chance, although it wasn’t usually a call but an emergency alert telling her to get her ass out the door. Maybe he was loopy on fear-toxin antidote again and needed to hear she was still alive. 

Most likely situation was Jason calling to tell her he was leaving the country, or the planet, or possibly the universe. Given the timing, it would be… well. Not crushing, but disappointing. 

Two years into this relationship, she knew better than to get too precious about calendar dates. 

“Hello?” she said with a jaunty tilt of her head. No pre-emptive sulking, she refused. 

“Hey beautiful,” Jason’s voice came through the little speaker. It was warm and low. “I’ve missed your voice.”

Her eyebrows rose and relief lit up her face. “Did you just? I’ve got a presentation tomorrow that needs some rehearsing, want to listen to my dulcet tones talk about community support funding?”

He laughed. “I would actually, but I’d rather hear the whole story from the beginning. Are you free this saturday?”

“Hmm, am I free this saturday?” she drawled. “On our anniversary?”

“Yup, that saturday.”

“Why, yes, baby, I think I am. Why do you ask?”

“You’re not free anymore. I’m calling dibs.” 

“Oh?” She dared to feel not just relief but anticipation. 

“8pm. I’ll come get you.” 

“Alright. How am I dressing? Steel capped boots? Running shoes? Ballet flats?” She had learned the vital importance of this question since going out with him. Jason’s plans were best faced prepared. 

“Heels,” he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. “Wear that slinky red number you hide at the back of the closet.”

She paused. Of course he’d seen it. “I’ve… never actually worn that before.”

“What did you get it for then?” he asked, teasing. 

“Oh, you know. Maybe I’ll get invited to the Oscars.”

He laughed, low and promising. “I’ll make you feel like you did.”

She bit her lip. She was grinning like an idiot, alone in her own apartment. Two years in and she could still melt her with a word. 

“Okay.” 

“I’ll see you Saturday, sweetheart.” 

They hung up and she drifted to her closet, eyeing up the dress. 

He couldn’t make their first anniversary. The planet was under an invasion while Bruce was off-world dealing with some other, separate invasion, so Jason and Dick split up cowl temping duties. Dick went to go play Batman with the Justice League and Jason stayed to play Batman in Gotham. 

He was more than capable of it and the average criminal didn’t even realise there was a different guy under the cowl. They just thought Batman was feeling extra mean this month. But it more than doubled his workload.

It didn’t blindside her. They were both disappointed but didn’t make a fuss, they had a system in place for these things. Both made compromises and extended grace to the other, and their relationship was stronger for it.

All the same, when Saturday night rolled around and she heard the purr of a car rolling up outside, excitement fizzed in her chest like bubbles in champagne.

She put on her finishing touches and went out to meet him. 

Jason waited for her in a perfectly tailored black suit. He didn’t fancy himself up very often, or ever, in fact. Having him dressed up was more of a luxury than the McLaren sports car he was leaning against. 

She drank in the sight of him. He looked like he could put Brucie Wayne to shame. The smirk on his face completed the ensemble.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said. 

She wore her floor length evening dress, with a halter neck and the most indulgent plunging neckline she had ever worn, to say nothing of the split in the skirt. It was also bright red. She felt a little shy in it, but it wasn’t a dress for hiding in. She had towering black stilettos on her feet and a lazy swing in her hips. She wanted him to look his fill. 

His eyes roamed over her with open appreciation. They were shortly followed by his hands, settling on her hips. He pulled her to him.

How was he still so much taller than her? 

He kissed her, slow and deep and hungry. She leaned into him. He luxuriated in her. 

Her night was off to a wonderful start. 

Once they could bring themselves to part, he helped her into the car, and drove them off into the night. She put her hand on his thigh. He interlocked his fingers with hers and drove one handed. Gotham’s lights flashed by as they left their native little corner of the city behind. They wound through the Diamond District. 

They slowed to a stop in the courtyard of a softly glowing restaurant. There was a cellist playing in the foyer. She recognised the name in a looping font over the door. She’d read it on some list of world best’s. 

“You did not get a booking here on Wednesday. Did you?” 

“I booked a year ago.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to miss it twice.” 

She squeezed his hand. A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t encapsulate just how much it meant to her. She knew the case he was working on wasn't wrapped up yet. He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. 

She looked out the window at the people getting out of cars ahead of them. Doubt niggled at the back of her head.

“I may not actually be fancy enough for these people,” she confessed. 

Jason scoffed. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna put everyone else here to shame.” He killed the engine and turned to her. “They should be grateful for the privilege of seeing you. I know I am.” 

She smiled, ducking her head a little. He tilted her chin back up and looked into her eyes, leaning down towards her. 

“You know these windows are tinted?” he said. 

She snorted a laugh. He snatched a kiss. 

“If you smudge my makeup, so help me.” 

“Sweets, you know that’s a challenge.” He tipped her chin higher and kissed her neck, expertly dodging where she had blended her foundation into her skin. 

She sighed. She loved this ridiculous man so much.

A valet tapped his window and Jason drew back with a sly grin. 

He got out and came around to open her door for her. It was a necessity given how low the seats and how tall her heels were, but she was happy to lean into the fantasy as he took her hand. 

Doubt was for behind closed doors. With the world watching she stepped out into the courtyard in a flutter of red silk and her chin held high. Jason slung an arm around her waist, resting low on her hip. They walked like they belonged because who the hell was going to tell them they didn’t? 

They were welcomed in by the maitre d’ and led across the packed restaurant floor. Jason caressed the curve of her hip without shame. 

She spotted the empty table their path led them to. Jason stiffend at her side. 

At the table directly next to it sat another couple, presumably also on a date. Bruce Wayne and a gorgeous brunette with a pixie cut, staring deeply into each other’s eyes. 

Bruce glanced their way only briefly, and his expression froze. 

Dread broke through his public persona for just a moment, a look perfectly mirrored on his son’s face. The collision course was set. Jason walked like he was approaching the gallows. 

The brunette noticed the hiccup and looked back, revealing Miss Selina Kyle. She looked at Andy and rolled her eyes in commiseration. 

“Actually,” Andy said, tossing her hair back and stopping in place. 

The maitre d’ paused in his path. 

“I would love to sit on the mezzanine floor. With the wall of flowers? It must be so beautiful.”

She ruthlessly silenced her internal scream over making a fuss. She was not surrendering her evening to Wayne bullshit. She got waxed for this. 

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am, the orchid display isn’t currently available, we are preparing an exciting new display for the spring after Poison Ivy-”

“It’s what I want,” she said pleasantly. 

“Of course.” 

The maitre d’ redirected them with perfect poise. He whispered in a passing waiter’s ear, and led them to the stairs. 

Jason took her hand and squeezed it in silent thanks. The tension seeped back out of him. She squeezed back. 

The mezzanine was comparatively quiet, with a giant print of Monet’s water lilies erected to cover some construction works. It had a lovely view of the rest of the restaurant however and the glinting chandeliers hung down over the main floor. 

Table settings were arranged for them with a swiftness and subtlety even Alfred Pennyworth would approve of. Jason got to sit with his back to a wall and with sightlines over the entire pace, which always made him more comfortable. The table was small, they sat very close together, making it feel more intimate and private. 

There were no prices on the menu and she didn’t grasp what the minimalist dish names actually meant. For a moment it filled her with a mute panic. Jason gave her a calm look and played with her hand on the table.

“We’ll have the chef’s menu, and the paired champagne for the table,” he said. 

She was more than happy to be swept along. And she could pronounce the champagne better than the waiter, which calmed her fear of making a fool of herself. Jason managed to look exactly as at home here as he did while having a smoke on top of a dumpster in the Alley. 

The food was all delicious, albeit in tiny portions on very large plates.

Below the table Jason ran his hand up her bare thigh, his fingers sneaking under the split in the dress.

She made eye contact as she licked the last of a creamy sorbet off her spoon. He watched with unadulterated focus. She ran her bare leg against his briefly, tastefully, and then retreated. He smirked at her. It was the smile of a man who knew exactly where his evening was heading.

He lifted his glass, with the last of its golden liquid in it. “To another year, beautiful.” 

Next>>

[libbytwq]

♡》 Bonjour fellow mortal organisms :] 《♡

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♡》 Welcome to my blog! 《♡

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[miharuki]

𝕽𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘 𝕳𝖊𝖗𝖊/ 𝕾𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖙𝖆𝖈𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝕬𝖖𝖚𝖎

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:hi, I'm miharuki or just uki, and I make fanfic requests, my English isn't the best but I do it in English and Portuguese (Eng/ptbr)

𝐏𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐀̃𝐎:oi, eu sou miharuki ou só uki, e eu faço pedidos de fanfic, meu inglês não dos melhores mas eu faço pedidos em inglês e em português (Eng/ptbr)

𝕬𝖓𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖘:

★Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler

★Tate no yūsha no nariagari/The rising of the Shield hero

★Tensei shitara slime datta Ken/that time i got reincarnated as a slime

★Jujutsu kaisen

★Dr. Stone

★Tondemo Skill de Isekai Hourou Meshi Online

★Blue Exorcism

★Kimetsu no Yaiba/Demon Slayer

★Tokyo revengers

★Mashle:Magic and Muscle

★Uramichi Oniisan/Life Lessons with the Uramichi Oniisan

★Saiki kusuo no psi-nan/The disastrous Life of Saiki kusuo

★Death note

★Hypnosis Mic

★Kaiju no 8

★Diabolik lovers

★Hunter x Hunter

★Marginal #4

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ────── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ──

𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘:

★The legend of zelda (linked universe)

★Genshin impact

★Undertale

★Omori

★Yandere aimulator

★Sally face

★Yanderes games

★Amor doce/My Candy Love

★ the kid ind the back

★ 14 days with you

★The Coffin of Andy and Leyley

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ────── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ──

𝕮𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖘:

★The owl house/a casa coruja

★Miraculos

★Hora de aventura/Adventure Time

★South park

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ────── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ──

𝕺𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒/𝕺𝖚𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖘 𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒:

★Creepypasta

★Happypasta

★Vocaloid

★Yanderes

★Crush boyfriend

𝕽𝖚𝖑𝖊/𝕽𝖊𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖘

•I don't do characters x characters/eu não faço personagens x personagens

•I don't make smut content about underage characters /eu não faço smut de personagens menores de idade

•I don't do any underage characters, the maximum will be between (Teen only (12+)/eu não faço personagens menores,o máximo será adolescente (12+)

•I only place orders in private /faço pedidos somente no privado

•Yandere characters are different from ocs yanderes or boy/girl yanderes/personagens yanderes são diferentes dos yanderes ocs ou yanderes garoto/garota

•I don't do fem x fem (I don't have much experience with that)

•Orders may take time due to me studying/os pedidos podem demorar por eu estar estudando

•I WILL NOT make fanfiction about characters from series or films/actors or etc., I don't do that and I will refuse to do any kind /•NÃO farei fanfics sobre personagens de séries ou filmes/atores ou etc., não faço isso e me recusarei a fazer qualquer tipo

[f-cat]

Hello!

I just wanted to remind you all who are following up on requests that I genuinely can’t get to them all, only maybe a few at a time. I see them and am not responding because they get removed if I do.

I can’t do them all. :)

I’m not a full-time artist and have a regular career, so please excuse me if I can’t get to yours. Just to prove I’ve seen your requests, here is everything from my inbox so far in no particular order:

Ms. Marvel

Warcraft Elf Feet

Lara Croft

Magik X

Jubilee

Storm X

Ahsoka X

Bo-Katan

Rio Morales (Game)

Rio Morales (Movie) X

Rogue X

She-Hulk X

Supergirl X

Powergirl X

Powergirl being tickled

X-23

Shanna the She-Devil

Jill Valentine X

Claire Redfield X

Atom Eve

Sif (God of War)

Ashelin

Elena Fisher

Chloe Frazer

Honey Lemon

Gogo Tomago

Aunt Cass X

Rapunzel

Padme Amidala

Princess Leia X

Raven

Starfire

Blackfire

Myself / FCat X

Gwen Stacy (Comics)

Gwen Stacy (Movie)

Spider-Gwen (Movie)

Mary Jane (Game)

Mary Jane (Comics) X

Captain Marvel

Black Widow

Bishop X

Andi X

Marika X

Ulf (OC) X

Shadowheart (again)

Karlach (again)

V

Panam Palmer

Judy Alvarez

Songbird

Hera Syndulla X

Jinx X

Vi X

Rinoa (Final Fantasy)

Quistis (Final Fantasy) X

D.Va (a lot of requests) X

Kiriko (also a lot) X

Ana

Mercy (3 of her) X

Widowmaker

Mei

Brigitte (A lot) X

April O’Neill (Fortnite)

A bunch of other models from Fortnite (3)

Ellie (The Last of Us Part II)

Yotsuyu (FFXIV)

Random woman

Elsa X

Anna X

Nani (from Lilo and Stitch)

More Wonder Woman X

Tsunade

5 different anime characters (I can’t do these)

Superhero OC (1)

OCs from friends (2)

Ysh’tola Rhul X

Gentiana

Lunafreya

Bayonetta or Samus Aran

Korra

Asami

Princess Zelda (Twilight Princess)

Princess Zelda (Breath of the Wild) X

Princess Zelda (Skyward Sword)

Princess Zelda (Tears of the Kingdom) X

Princess Zelda (My choice, apparently)

Darth Talon

Scarlet Witch being tickled by Agatha Harkness

Tifa Lockhart being tickled

Smothering Room Shenanigans

Old Tickling Renders

Do you RP - No

Do you RP - No

You’ll likely recognize yours. Thank you for being patient with me.

[ambasingresident]

Decided to draw the OC's of the THSC community on Tumblr as characters from the TNO universe (THSC x TNO)

I drew the oc's present in the post based on the artstyle of each blog (or at least how I interpret it) and the theme I gave to each oc. Hope ya'll like and enjoy it. I'll probably draw a second batch of THSC oc's x TNO art if I can find any oc that I can draw, if you want to be included then just dm me (or don't).

@yunaisky 's Andy Postman and Frederick Cedric x The Red Poppy Movement

"The Tyrant-Fighting Boyfriends of Roue"

@bluetorchsky 's Accordion and Violin x The Humanist

"The Music Dragons of Shostakovich"

@rarestdoge, @smoresthehalloweenqueen, and @mai-mai-lim 's ABC Trio x Siberian Black Army

"Be Gay, Do Crime!"

@caruskie 's Carus x Free Aviators

"The Witch of the Urals"

@capturecharlesau 's Danny Felizima x Governorate of the Levant

"Capitano Luce Stellare del Levante (Captain Starlight of the Levant)"

@ceresfromnationstates 's Calvin Perez x South African War (US Inteevention)

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD MORNING SOUTH AFRICA!!!!!!!!!"

@m1mk1d 's Max and @itz-candikin 's Lexi x Buryatia

"Le Holesom Mutineers of Sablin"

(Tbh I had fun drawing all of these, will look forward in making a project like this)

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Tag Game: Writeblr Interview

Thanks to @cowboybrunch for the tag, this looks fun!

Long post incoming.

----------

Short stories, novels, or poems?

I find I end up with novelette/novella-length stories more often than not. I've written plenty of one-shots and short stories for prompt events, and I like doing that especially when I'm doing fanfiction or nameless characters. When I write with ocs though I tend to stretch stuff out and what had originally started as a one-shot or short story ends up becoming a novella.

Don't get me wrong I have plenty of WIPs planned out to be novels (like Trials of the Six), but the first drafts of The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure and The Legend of Orian Goldeneye were both novella-length and will probably stay that way or end up being longer. My Hero x Villain series ended up being a novelette, so basically I can't plan for how long a story's gonna be lol.

I've written a little bit of poetry (heck, I wrote one for The Legend of Orian Goldeneye that may or may not get cut), but it's not my favorite thing to write because I way overthink things. But when I do compose poetry I usually do limericks.

What genre do you prefer reading?

Fantasy, no contest. And within fantasy, usually High Fantasy with a lightcore or hopecore focus. I read some gritty stuff, but I find they tend to have elements I don't really like more than the ones I do.

Are you a planner or a write as I go kind of person?

Both? I like having an idea of where the story's gonna go, and I plan that out either before writing or while writing, so I don't get stuck. But it's really loose and gives plenty of room for the characters to go feral. I'm in the middle, but I lean more panster than plotter.

What music do you listen to while writing?

Soundtracks, usually from videogames or movies. I really should start organizing my two writing playlists by vibes other than calming music and boss fight-type, but I'm pretty happy with how I have it now. I also have some seasonal aesthetic playlists which match the vibe of the current weather.

Field Music Playlist (calming background soundtracks)

Boss Fight Playlist (pump-up, more exciting soundtracks)

Seasonal Aesthetics: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter

Favorite books/movies?

Oh goodness.

Uhhhh. UHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

My knee-jerk answer for favorite movie is and always will be The Princess Bride. But I also really like Back to the Future, The Martian, and Clue.

With books I tend to separate them into categories. For fantasy I would say it's a tie between Dragonlance: Dragons of Autumn Twilight by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, The Death Gate Cycle: Hand of Chaos by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, Mistborn: The Final Empire by Brandon Sanderson, and Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynn Jones.

For sci-fi it's The Martian by Andy Weir, followed closely by Skyward by Brandon Sanderson.

My favorite classic is Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, followed by Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austin.

And for nonfiction I like Stuck by Justina Van Manen, The Healing Imperative by Mike Aquilina, and Beautiful Holiness by Kathleen Beckman.

And of course the Holy Bible and the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

Any current WIPs?

This post is getting long enough already, I talk about my WIPs here and they're all linked in my pinned post in one way or another.

Create a character description of yourself:

Quiet, and keeps to herself. Never without a book, never without a rosary. Her brown hair is long, reaching nearly past her waist, and often kept up in a ponytail or a braid. She dresses mostly in dark colors, black jeans or skirt and a shirt or blouse that is black, navy, or gray, but occasionally wears a bright shirt. She wears little to no makeup unless she feels like being extra fancy. She always has a ring on her right hand, and usually a bracelet that matches her outfit, both of which she fiddles with. Her friends are few but she loves them dearly, and they are often on her mind. Though she may be quiet most of the time, she never hesitates to speak up for what she believes in.

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

Eh... not really. I know my own thoughts and experiences much better than those around me and I wouldn't wish a lot of the stuff I do to my characters on the people I know so it just feels kinda weird to me.

Are you kill happy with your characters?

I find I like to bring my characters to the brink of death and back again rather than just killing them unless I want to write about grief. I'm more kill happy with immortal characters for the same reason.

Coffee or Tea while writing?

Usually just water, but if I can get my favorite iced coffee drink than I'd be happy to drink that.

Slow or fast writer?

It varies depending on the amount of research I have to do in a scene, but I think I write pretty fast. I haven't measured my words-per-minute in a while but it was pretty good if I recall correctly.

If you were in a fantasy world, what would you be?

I'd love to be a guide of some kind, part of the group enough that I won't get killed off. I'm pretty good with navigation and maps, and I'd like to have powers (minor ones, not overpowered) but that would depend on the fantasy world.

Most fav book cliche:

Scoundrel with a heart of gold. I eat that up like a starving woman. Han Solo, Mat Cauthon, Ifan Ben-Medz, etc. Draven Cozenson, Diana Ozborne and Korfel Domin are two oc examples.

Least favorite cliche:

Love triangles. Frustrates me to no end, especially how most of them are resolved and how they really only seem to drive wedges in the fandoms (Keeper of the Lost Cities fandom, I'm looking at you.) I have no love triangles in my stories and I never will. I have minimal romance anyway but in the two I got there is no competition.

Favorite scene to write?

*evil grin* Love writing the whump or hurt/comfort scenes, all my ocs get whumped in some form or another, and I have fun every single time.

Reason for writing?

Creative expression, love for my ocs, with a dash of "I maked these :D"

In all seriousness, it's a hobby that I love. It sparks joy and it's a craft that I continuously improve upon and the more I write the better I get at writing. I also occasionally fantasize about publishing one day and my books having fandoms of their own. Maybe that will happen someday.

----------

This was fun! Tagging @fourwingedwriter @phoenixradiant @thewritingautisticat @writingphoenix @somethingclevermahogony

@agirlandherquill @happypup-kitcat24 @imsoveryveryconfusedatlife @geode-crystal @pluttskutt and open tag! :D

Blank list under the cut:

Short stories, novels, or poems?

What genre do you prefer reading?

Are you a planner or a write as I go kind of person?

What music do you listen to while writing?

Favorite books/movies?

Any current WIPs?

Create a character description of yourself:

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

Are you kill happy with your characters?

Coffee or Tea while writing?

Slow or fast writer?

If you were in a fantasy world, what would you be?

Most fav book cliche:

Least favorite cliche:

Favorite scene to write?

Reason for writing?

[canecorset]

whitelist

Scream, The Witches, Hocus Pocus, Beetlejuice, It, Corpse Bride, Coraline, Gremlins, Goosebumps, Breaking Bad, Fallout, Air Buddies Spinoffs, Pup Star Movies + Puppy Star Christmas, Men In Black, Ghostbusters, Venom, Jumanji, Paddington, Beverly Hills Chihuahua, Cats & Dogs: The Revenge of Kitty Galore, Vampire Dog, Supernatural, Zootopia, Any Monster High Media except the newer ones, Yo-Kai Watch, Back To The Future, Rick and Morty, Powerpuff Girls, The Matrix, Fight Club, Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th, The Ring, The Shining, Good Omens, Needy Steamer Overload, Sucker For Love, Class of '09, Any Chilla's Art game, Any Puppet Combo game, Genshin Impact ( i will give any natlan or sumeru character their melanin back ), Honkai Star Rail, Zenless Zone Zero, Pokémon, Kirby, Any Legend of Zelda game, Animal Crossing, Doki Doki Literature Club, Five Nights at Freddy's, Tuck Everlasting, The Outsiders, Lord of the Rings + The Hobbit, Pirates of the Caribbean, Doctor Who, MCU, DCU, My Little Pony, Frankenweenie, The Nightmare before Christmas, Edward Scissorhands, Alice in Wonderland, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, The Grinch, Phantom of the Opera, Disney ( i do not support the company, it is merely ingrained in my childhood and i enjoy the whimsical stories of old school Disney ), Smile, The Mandela Catalogue, Possibly in Michigan, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Hannibal, Vtubers ( no nijisanji ), OCs ( must provide artwork, if it was drawn by someone else, tell me who ), Demon Slayer, Jujustu Kaisen, Bungou Stray Dogs, JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, Sailor Moon, Death Note, Chainsaw Man, Reverse: 1999, Resident Evil, The Last Of Us, Call of Duty, Red Dead Redemption, God of War, Devil May Cry, Detroit: Become Human, Doom, Madoka Magica, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Nier: Automata, Spy x Family, Darling in the Franxx, Panty & Stocking, Toilet Bound Hanako-Kun, Overlord, Wuthering Waves, Dark Souls, Halo, Fundamental Paper Education, Final Fantasy, Vocaloid, A Land Mine Vampire's Overbearing Love, I Wanted to be Hurt by Love, Zom 100, The Case Study of Vanitas, Sanrio, Cherry Crush, Danganrompa, Mean Girls, The Walten Files, If It's Not On This List Or Blacklist, Ask First!

blacklist

The Coffin of Andy and Leyley, Boyfriends Webtoon, Dori ( genshin ), Makima and Himeno ( chainsaw man ), Homestuck, South Park, Mori ( bungo stray dogs ), Anything Pedophilic, Incestuous, Abusive, etc. Anything With Toxic or Harmful Intentions ( stalker x victim, etc. )

greylist / restricted

Any non-SFW media but if i'm able to find some content that isn't explicit, i suppose i can edit it. I won't do ship or Hu Tao related content unless we are moots.

DNI

Basic DNI, anti-mspec / "contradictory labels", radqueer, safequeer, aggressive stans, misandrists, deny transandrophobia, "irl yanderes", demonize PDs or believe in narc abuse, etc. TERFs, if you're here to start discourse, ed / sh blogs, femcels and incels, NSFW blogs, nasty people.

prioritize

Transmasc, Transsexual ( masc, male, etc. ), Sappillean, Gaybian, Boygirl, Demigirl, Black Exclusive Labels, Rabbit Hole Miku, Vampire Miku, Ghost, Fairy, Water, Dark, Fighting and Flying Type Miku, Indie Kid, Kidcore, Lovecore, Dark Academia, Weirdcore, Horror, Clowncore, Americana, Morute, Southern Gothic, Biblical Imagery, Vulture Culture, Cybercore, Scenecore, Nonhuman, Otherkin, Otherhearted, Bat Related, Bug Related, Monster Related, Loser Related, Freak Related, Mutt Related, Aro + Ace Related, Anything Cute, Aquatic or Fluffy, Mean Girls, Desaturated Colors, Occult, Cyber Y2K, Hippie / BoHo, Low Poly, Forensics Aesthetic, Feminine Masc, Austism Related, BPD or AVPD Related, 80s Aesthetics, Burlesque Aesthetics, Gender Non-Conforming, Drag, Deadpool, Wolverine, Batman, Moot Requests.

things i'll do

tumblr layouts, character pride icons, mogai flags, aesthetic carekits, dual flag + music suggestion, rentry graphics, dividers, blasian / darkskin edits upon request.

things i won't do

alt system terms, discord or twitter layouts, rentry directory graphics.

[tryskomys]

Wet Sand

Stone Gossard x OC

Chapter 16 - Alright

Summary: kinda sounds like you give a shit.

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

notes: this is a bit of a lighter one - well, some parts of it are. a little filler episode if you will. and hell, we need it, because we have some tough shit ahead of us. not yet, but close. let’s enjoy this, then! even if it seems like the world’s most important problem to them.

oh and ps.: i’m proud of you all for making it through another year, guys. <3 happy 2025!

tws: i will stop writing out ‘mentions of sex’ like i stopped writing ‘weed’, it’s getting old. after all, we are young, we run green. jealousy. stone is an asshole. keeva is an asshole and desperate on top of that. love is in the air <3 oh, and john frusciante. he’s not a trigger warning, just a normal warning. beware the washboard abs!

song:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

September, 1989

Between work and rehearsing for the new album, Keeva was exhausted. The summer season at the café was thankfully ending, but autumn wasn’t much better - all those specials and syrups and foams. She felt like she would soon have hazelnut chocolate running through her veins instead of blood and it's only been a few days.

They were leaving for LA in two weeks to record. She was thrilled but extremely nervous. The pressure wasn’t just from the label or from themselves, it felt like the whole of Seattle was holding its breath, too.

Everyone was asking about it. Everyone wanted a taste of ‘Andy's band’s new masterpiece’, the big thing they've been working on for almost two years. Even the people who didn’t like them too much had this morbid curiosity about what the unrightfully popular wannabe-glam metal assholes Mother Love Bone will unveil.

And Keeva loved the material, but making it was like going through unnaturally prolonged labour. There were songs she wasn’t completely satisfied with and even though she poured her heart and soul into them, she still felt like she was doing a half-assed job.

She just wished there was more opportunity to do some weird experimental shit, bring in something totally crazy and feel appreciated for it.

She loved every single guy in that band fully and dearly, but the musical differences were a deep chasm on the bad days. She felt like getting the record done would be a huge band-aid finally ripped off and that it would allow them to have some clean slate at last.

Right before leaving, they had a show opening for The Red Hot Chilli Peppers at The Moore, which was extremely exciting. Keeva had seen them once before Hillel died, but after that happened, she was quite devastated.

Another one.

She was hesitant to even listen to them after that, let alone see them live, but this was a perfect opportunity to check out their new guitarist. From what she’d heard, he was quite the prodigy.

They had the greatest night to unwind a couple of weeks ago, too, because The Cult were in town opening for Metallica. Stone had a whole MTV shtick with Josh, who brought his trusty VCR. She was a bit sceptical, but as always, he was stubbornly insisting.

“Pretty please, Baby? Come on, it will be so fucking irresistibly awkward, we gotta do it.”

When she walked up to the back door of the Centre Coliseum on the moody evening, she could see Stone’s looming figure clad in his yellow sweatshirt, explaining something to Josh, who had the camera pointed at his face.

Oh god, he wasn’t kidding.

Keeva whistled, making them both turn at her.

“Oh, look who it is, the prodigal daughter,” Stone mused to the camera when she arrived with a wide grin. She huddled herself deeper in her thick scarf, her black leather jacket subtly glowing in the amber light of lamps. “Cheerio, Baby!”

“Hey, Pooky!” Josh waved and moved his camera just at the right moment to catch Stone flicking Keeva’s freezing red nose. She slapped his hand away and gave him a quick hug.

“Evening, gentlemen. Where’s Cindy?”

“Went back home for spare batteries.”

“What’s this little manifesto mean? I demand my backstage pass,” she pulled out her best posh accent while hugging Josh and then crossed her arms, theatrically puffing her chest out.

“Jeff Ament was supposed to meet us here,” Stone turned to the camera to address the non-existent audience. “Give us a key to the insider knowledge of Seattle rock. He’s abandoned us, though. Everyone has…and, uh -”

“And now we’ll freeze to death. Let that be on our gravestones,” she shook her head with a disappointed sigh. “Here lie blah, blah. Died of hypothermia, Anno Domini 1989. Jeff Ament stole their golden tickets.”

“They’ll bury us and these policemen in a mass grave,” he quickly nodded to the group of cops behind them. Keeva frowned.

“Woah, woah, woah. I don’t wanna be in a grave with you,”

“Why not?" he shrugged. "I’m known for being a darling guy.”

“‘Cause you…snore?” she raised her eyebrows as if it was the obvious answer, narrowing her eyes.

They all giggled and Keeva closed her eyes to compose herself before reaching up to tug her scarf higher, covering her icy ears.

“Do you want my jacket? I really don’t think you have enough layers on. It’s only like, what, sixty degrees?”

“I don’t know what that means, Yank. I’m still on the Celsius scale - you know, like a civilized person.”

“Yeah, sure thing, grandma,” he condescendingly tapped her cheek and then shook his head with a disapproving stare into the camera. “Fine, let’s make our death a little bit more intimate.”

Stone sat on the curb and patted the empty space next to him.

“Sit. Sit with me, my children.”

Oh, Stone. When Keeva gave him the clumsy proposition, she didn’t expect him to be so thorough with it. Her already thin hopes were wavering more and more as weeks from their encounter turned into months, but then he just came up to her one day and audaciously swept her off the counter she was sitting on, threw her over his shoulder and never looked back.

“I’m bored,” he’d said.

And every time since then, he came up with a new bullet-proof excuse.

“Tammy pissed me off at work. I had to throw out a whole batch of pretzel dough because it apparently wasn't salty enough, I need a wind-down.”

“Writer’s block. My brain feels like a tin bucket, gotta make sure I still have human needs…yup. Plenty needs.”

One time he even came up and knocked on the wooden frame of her room at 3 AM as if he could tell she was wide awake.

“Hey. Uh, can’t sleep? Want me to help with that?”

She brought that one upon herself. A few nights prior to that, that was her excuse. It took so much work, but she managed to push herself to hop down and ask him.

He was one to be fast asleep at around midnight, but lately, he’d been staying up unusually late. He must’ve been stressed about the recording - that’s what she guessed, anyway. It wasn’t like he’d tell her.

When she reluctantly pattered down the stairs, he was lying in his bed, clutching his guitar to his chest and staring at the ceiling. He looked so deep in thought that she almost turned back again - it seemed inhumane to disturb him. His pipe was sitting on his bedside table, burning through the unattended clump of weed - as if he was using it instead of an incense burner.

“How wasteful.”

His head snapped towards her as if she’d just slapped him, his eyes wide for a split second before he relaxed. He gave her a careless shrug and looked away again, back to the peeling burgundy paint.

“Polygram money,” he muttered, surprisingly unamused. She just stood there, scratching the wooden pillar. The pipe’s muted sizzling was hypnotizing - maybe she could fall asleep if she just focused on it. Let it be her lullaby, sparing her pride and -

“What’s the occasion?”

She couldn’t turn back now. He already read her, maybe even before she walked down. Always remembering the slightest details. That made her knees buckle, so she had to lean on the pillar to support herself - she folded her arms and hoped that he would think of it as her being cool instead of weak.

“I can’t sleep,” she said, keeping her voice just above a whisper.

Stone scoffed and crossed his legs, mindlessly plucking the low E on his guitar.

“What’s it to me?”

She didn’t understand why he was being so dismissive. Was she not kind enough in her approach? Respectful enough? Careful enough? Was her tone too snarky? Was her hair greasy?

Fuck, it’s the zit on my chin. Or do I have something in my teeth? Oh no, and there’s an egg yolk smear on my t-shirt. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten those fucking pancakes. And the cellulite is getting worse, too, Jesus fucking Christ. Why didn’t I put pants on?! I’m getting way too comfortable.

Bruised spongy legs and dirty pyjamas, the epitome of womanhood. That’ll surely do it for him.

“I need a reason,” he mumbled. His soft voice was like honey to her ears, snapping her out of her dissociation. Such harsh words, spoken in such a sickeningly sweet tone.

There’s no such thing as God. If there was, he wouldn’t give this asshole such an irresistible face. ‘Cause that’s just cruel.

He looked so sincere, though. So unbothered, practical. Just staring upwards, plucking the same string over and over, face softly obscured by the smoke coming out of the pipe next to him. His nonchalance was intoxicating - contagious.

She couldn’t properly think her response through, her vocal cords worked faster than her brain.

“You’re impressively good at putting me to sleep.”

Fuck. Daft cow.

The quack-like giggle he let out before he sat up broke her weakly composed facade.

“Baby, we really gotta work on that flirting game of yours or no one’s ever gonna sleep with you,” he tutted and dusted pancake crumbs off his striped boxers. He reached out to take a big hit of the burnt chunk that was left in his pipe. “No one but me, that is. You know I’m easy.”

Even on the night of The Cult gig, he had flawless reasoning. At least that was what it seemed like to her after Ian Astbury's graciously gifted shots.

“I’m drunk. You’re drunk, too.”

Although, she was tipsy enough to not contest it even beforehand - tipsy from his stupid running joke that was getting old even before the gig began.

“The policemen outside recognized me from the ‘wanted’ posters around Pioneer Square so I had to run for it,” she jogged back to her tandem of idiots after taking a quick smoke break outside. She tapped her thigh. “They caught up but then I showed them this sweet little backstage pass. I promised them Cornell’s autograph and they let me go.”

“That’s the testament to the power of the Seattle music scene, ladies and gentlemen. Slap on backstage passes and go from there,” Stone pointed a finger at the camera. “Anyway, Baby. You're late for our survey segment. Did you hear that Dave Holland is not in the band anymore?”

She snorted.

“Uh…I did, actually. You told me like, five hours ago?”

“You’re supposed to be shocked, now," Stone rolled his eyes. "You’ll make me look bad.”

“Oh, fuck,” her eyes popped open as Josh disapprovingly shook his head with a grin. “Dammit, sorry. Okay, ask me again.”

“Oh, here you are, Baby!” Stone nonchalantly leaned on the wall next to them after professionally clearing his throat. “We were looking all over for you. The viewers want your commentary on some very important news in the music business. Did you know that Dave Holland isn’t in Priest anymore?”

Her jaw dropped.

“Is he not? You’re fucking with me, right? That’s mental,” Keeva clutched on her chest, acting out of breath while she turned to the camera. “See, ladies, when you’re friends with Stoney Gossard here, you learn something new every day. Sometimes even twice a day, clearly.”

“Okay, okay,” Stone reached out and cupped her mouth to silence her. “Let’s move on, we have more topics to tackle. Quick-fire questions. Let's hope you'll do better than the last girl - no offence to her, but we need content. Who do you like better, Glenn Tipton or K.K. Downing?”

“K.K. No question,” she quickly shot back.

“Any particular reason for your choice?”

“Just because it’s a cool fucking name,” she shrugged.

“What about Iron Maiden?” Stone questioned, an intrigued look on his face.

“Who doesn’t like Iron Maiden, come on.”

“Opinions on Steve Harris?” Stone raised his eyebrows and before he finished lifting his fingers in the air, she already spat her beer back into her cup.

“A double shredder?! Double shredder. Come on, now. That’s all you have to know,” she turned to the camera when she composed herself and opened her mouth wide with a shocked face. “How could I not like him? I’m only human.”

He wouldn't let it go after the show, either. The dedication was so excellent she couldn't help but play along.

“Hey, Chris, did you know that Dave Holland is not in the band anymore?” he appeared behind Keeva out of nowhere and nonchalantly threw his arms around her neck when she was talking to a well-baked Chris and Greg - the latter was sporting a new terrible haircut she gave him on a whim at 2 AM after an exhausting rehearsing session.

Funny how tiredness doubles as being drunk out of your mind.

“Huh? He’s not? Bullshit, that’s insane,” she exclaimed and bent her head back to look up at Stone with wide eyes. He grinned as they exchanged falsely subtle thumbs up and tugged on her hair before he rested his chin on the top of her head again. Josh shook with laughter, stabilizing his VCR with both hands.

The Peppers gig was about as different as it could be. Yes, Love Bone had a great show and the guys were fantastic - the new guitar player was really a wizard - but Keeva’s main object of attention disappeared somewhere as soon as they walked into the bar after the show, his pink scrunchie getting swallowed by the crowd before she managed to stop him.

They met the guys backstage and promised to take them to the best joint in town - of course, Stone and she chose the Off Ramp to spite them.

They loved it, though. Stone didn’t even have time to begin his scam routine - The Peppers clearly had a lot more dough than any of them, lavishly buying the group drink after drink.

“You just keep bringing me these tequila shots, one after another, and I don't have the heart to tell you that I fucking hate tequila,” Keeva sighed when John joined her at the table again, putting a tall shot glass in front of her with a ringing thud.

He was one annoying fruitfly - he always came back, no matter how crass and caustic her jokes at his expense were. A really cute fruitfly nonetheless.

“Why do you drink ‘em, then?” he chuckled, and weightlessly sat down opposite her, lighting a cigarette.

“Because I value people’s money, John, that’s why,” she leaned on the table, squinting. He just snorted and took a small pause before continuing.

“He’s kinda an asshole, that Stoney of yours, met him at the bar,” he said, taking a puff. “Probably doesn’t like that you’re sitting here.”

Keeva huffed and shook her head.

“Oh, he’s not - we’re just friends. Slash roommates,” she waved her hands around, hoping that the dim light would hide her glowing red blush.

John scowled.

“So he’s just fucking you? Shouldn’t be jealous, then,” he raised his eyebrows and leaned on the table, too. She choked on her saliva when she took a breath to answer.

“Excuse me?” she coughed out.

“You heard me,” he replied, shaking his bleached short hair out of his eyes. Keeva mirrored his smug expression.

“Aren’t you a little brash, mate?”

“Figured you’d like that if he’s the one fucking you,” John shrugged and leaned back in his chair. Keeva squinted at him, tipping her head to challenge him to elaborate.

“That Stones cover you did tonight? Two people who play like this must be fucking,” he shrugged again and took a drink. Keeva blinked a few times to digest his statement.

They routinely did a cover of Gimme Shelter - it was arranged with three guitars in mind and it just sounded really good with Andy’s wailing.

She was usually tasked with the main melody while Stone was doing his perfectly funky rhythmic part and Bruce was the psychedelic undertone at the bottom.

She didn’t know what it was, maybe the harsh lyrics, but the beating cadence of the guitar sounded like a heart to her. His heart. It made her move in ways that were maybe a bit too unchained for the kind of music they played. And Stone seemed to be pretty into it.

She couldn’t help but chuckle at John’s sincere stare.

“So, by your logic, if we’re together, why are you trying to get into my knickers?” she confidently asked, but John immediately raised his finger to stop her and wiggled in his chair again as if he couldn’t sit still.

“I said that you’re fucking, not that you’re together. Two people who play like this can’t be together, that would be unsustainable.”

A cold shiver ran down Keeva’s spine, but she tried to write it off as a consequence of having one too many shots.

The fucking tequila.

Why was this cocky asshole staring at her and why was he looking right inside her head?

Why was he right?

“Wise man. And using big words like ‘unsustainable’, too. You should be a therapist,” she mockingly nodded, giving him a sly smile. “How much per hour?”

“You couldn’t afford me,” John smirked and crossed his arms. Keeva scoffed at his arrogance. Somehow, it was endearing. Maybe even attractive. She couldn’t tell.

“Try me.”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled, darting between her and his lap. Her flushed cheeks puffed with a laugh as she shook her head.

“Oh, you’d have to be a much better therapist to get that,” she grinned and sipped a bit of the tequila to give herself more confidence. She catastrophically failed, though, letting out a childish cough as if she’d never taken a sip of alcohol before.

The Off Ramp spirits were really something else.

“Guess so,” John said with an amused pout that morphed into a wide smile when she giggled at his expression. As the alcohol clouded Keeva’s brain, music seemed to be getting louder and the lousy lights were glowing brighter.

And he seemed more and more beautiful.

Yes, he had all this contagious giddy energy around him and washboard abs were peeking out of his strategically unbuttoned red shirt with black suspenders on top, but it was his eyes - they didn’t match him. They weren’t keeping up with the youthful smugness. They were calm and wise. And sad. They reminded her of -

No.

“That girl beside the bar,” Keeva said and nodded her head in the direction of a redhead sitting on a barstool a few feet away from them. “She’s been eyeing you the whole night. She was next to me in the pit, pretty sure I heard her moan during one of your solos. Might be a better target for your unsolicited advice.”

John didn’t even bat an eye. His smirk just widened because he noticed the strain in her voice.

“I’m pretty content right where I am,” he mumbled, taking a big drag of his cigarette without leaving her eyes.

Keeva cleared her throat. John’s nose was pretty, too. Only strengthened her longing thoughts - even the most beautiful of faces couldn’t compare to him. On cue, her eyes searched around the room.

Please, don’t be there. Don’t make me do this. Let’s just go home.

And yet, Stone’s bright pink scrunchie peeked out behind the corner as if to spite her - she was subconsciously looking for him the whole night and at the one moment she prayed she wouldn’t find him, he appeared out of thin air.

He was laughing, scratching the back of his neck as a tall brunette whispered something in his ear and then leaned back against the wall, letting him cage her. Then, he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and followed her through the crowd all the way to one of the hallways - the one that led to the back door.

They disappeared from her sight there.

Keeva’s eyes slowly moved back to John, who was still staring her down. She hid her sigh by downing the tequila in one harsh sip.

“So am I.”

John softly nodded as if he heard her train of thought. He’d noticed the smidge of insincerity in her voice. There was a flash of seriousness in his eyes before he completely changed his demeanour again, shifted in his seat and spread his legs.

“You’d feel even better if you were right here,” he tapped his knee with a smile.

Keeva wanted to laugh at his corny pornographic posture, but her body didn’t allow it. She just mindlessly leaned on the table and raised her eyebrows.

It’s just casual. It’s casual. He never promised me loyalty and I don’t owe him anything, either.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Will you?” John said, his voice so silent only she could hear it.

She shrugged with a small smile, but before she could continue, Greg appeared out of nowhere and slammed his hand on the table. She jumped and so did John.

“Pooooooky! Your glass is empty, it’s time to drink up, babycakes!” Greg sing-songed and hugged her around the shoulders, waving a shot glass in the air while making airplane noises. When he noticed John’s red cheeks, he darted between the two of them and then sucked his teeth.

“Oh shit, I’m interrupting your little date, am I?” he muttered, scratching his head. Keeva bit her lips and nodded, pushing back a laugh. Greg groaned and slapped his forehead.

“Fuck, sorry. I’m a dumbass. Anyway,” he snapped back to her and started forcing the shot in her face. “Here comes the airplane! I promised Stoney I’ll make sure you drink it or he’ll beat me up.”

“Jesus, Greg, he’s just a sack of bones,” Keeva mumbled, trying to ignore the implication. She squeezed her eyes shut when he finally got her to part her lips and threw the shot back. She coughed a few times and then sneezed.

“Have you seen those knuckles? Bless ya,” he slurred and then handed the second shot he was holding to John.

“Here you go, buddy. Great show tonight. No airplane for you, sorry,” Greg said and patted John’s shoulder.

“Back at you, man,” he grinned and kicked the shot back, a bit shaken from Greg’s strong grip.

“Bring her back home in one piece and no funny business!” he said and wiggled his index finger at John, then gave Keeva a loud sloppy peck on the forehead and left as swiftly as he appeared.

Keeva stared at the table for a few moments before finally gathering enough courage to look at John. He was grinning, his cheeks flushed.

‘I promised Stoney I’ll make sure you drink it.’

Fucking bastard. Of course he was watching.

“Not easy being the greenie, innit?” she mumbled, expecting a laugh from him. But John’s cheeky smile fell.

“Yeah…”

He looked at the table and squirmed in his chair again, this time twisting into a hunch as he picked on his nails.

“How do you do it?” he asked after a few moments.

Suddenly, all the bravado was gone and in front of her sat a boy. A shy, tired boy asking for advice.

Oh, buddy, you’ve come to the wrong place.

“Dunno. Play along, throw it in their face…cry me to sleep,” she shrugged, nudging him with her foot under the table. He finally looked at her again, breaking into a soft smile.

Another long silence.

“Does he do it too?”

He didn’t need to drop names, his eyes spoke for him.

“Do what?” she asked just to prolong the opportunity to think her next moves through.

“Mock you.”

“More than anyone,” Keeva said with a sour chuckle. “The ‘Baby’ isn’t a flirty hot nickname, you know. It’s literal.”

John nodded and looked away again. He was shaking his leg, once again unable to sit still.

“And, uh…how do you deal with that?” he asked like an innocent kid. For a moment, Keeva thought that she saw him search for someone in the crowd, too.

She sighed.

“I sleep with him.”

“I figured,” he said with a chuckle and turned back to her. He waited for a few moments and then changed his posture again, melting into his chair.

“Does he make you feel good?” he silently questioned. His cocky smirk completely erased any doubt that was all over his face just a minute ago. Keeva’s cheeks went beet red, but she managed to keep her composure.

“What, you think you could do better?” she shot back and grinned too, but she was fighting the urge to just tell him off again.

Highly doubt that.

John didn’t budge, he just crossed his legs and lit another cigarette.

“I can try,” he shrugged after taking a drag. Keeva opened her mouth and closed it again, chuckling.

“You’re very persuasive, I’ll give you that.”

“Tell you what,” he exhaled the smoke and scratched his chin. “I’ll go talk to the ginger at the bar so you can decide in peace.”

She snorted, secretly delighted that he was offering her a way out, regardless of his intentions.

“So I’m your little rebound?” she squinted at him and folded her arms. He just shrugged with a sly grin.

“You’re a little hypocrite, Baby, that’s what you are.”

She sat back as John continued.

“Bet your friend is somewhere around. Tell him that tonight he will either fuck you or fuck off and leave the fucking to me. Then we can try the rebound thing.”

“I’m pretty sure he left a long time ago,” Keeva scoffed, darting her head towards the exit.

John got up and walked around the table to her seat. He offered her a cig from his box, lighting it up when she picked one.

“Let’s test it.”

He bent to her level and leaned in, brushing off a few curls stuck in her eyelashes. Before she could understand his movement - or blink for that matter, he suddenly pressed his lips against hers in a short but warm kiss, holding her head in his palms.

Keeva was flabbergasted.

She’d forgotten what a kiss felt like - not that she ever properly knew. But it was heavenly. As soon as John’s lips touched her, though, she immediately shut her eyes so she could imagine it being someone else. And she truly hated herself for that.

Little hypocrite. Sounds about right.

After a brief moment of lingering, he pulled away, a cocky grin plastered all over his face.

“You look cute like this,” he chirped and then set off to the bar, leaving her to sit there in utter silence.

Keeva's cheeks were burning red and her eyes were hazy. She felt lightheaded. A few of her curls stuck out at the places he held her and her dark red lipstick was slightly smudged. She scoffed as she watched him leave.

“Good girl, learning fast,” Stone’s voice appeared right next to her head, making her jump. He swiftly grabbed the cigarette from her and took a drag, puffing the smoke right into her face from the inches of distance between them. Then he gave her a sarcastic smile and walked around the table to sit opposite of her, right where John sat just a few minutes ago.

She shivered.

He mocks you and bats his eyelashes once and you’re already ruined? Pathetic.

“You were watching me, sleazebag?” she squinted at him. She was everything but mad at him, no matter how hard she tried. It was like a dream come true - he always came back to her. Her dignity was smashed into tiny shards, but she didn’t care.

“It was a historical event, wasn’t it? Never thought the day would come, the second kiss of your life!” he took another drag and shrugged, keeping the insincere smile. That did spark something akin to anger in her.

“No thanks to you,” she snapped back. She would be regretful of that low blow if Stone didn’t have a stain from a lipstick that wasn’t hers on his neck. The twitch of his eye implied some sort of impact, but his smile grew even wider.

“Exactly, that’s the best thing about it.”

Motherfucker.

Oh, he knew how to fight back. He knew exactly where to stab to be sure he didn’t miss.

“So did you just want to congratulate me and be on your way?” Keeva put on a sweet tone, pointing at the door. “Please, thank you. Bye?”

“No, actually, that’s just the debris,” he shook his head and carelessly crossed his legs. “I came to deliver a message.”

“Oh, you’re quitting the business to be a postman now? Good for you, Stoney. Love a man in a uniform,” she said, thoroughly satisfied when her bitchy attitude provoked an eye roll from Stone. “Who for?”

He stared her down and rudely put the cigarette out against the table.

“That juicy little boy that just planted one on you.”

She let out a loud cackle.

“Okay, a message for the little boy from the big boy table? I’m invested.”

“Whatever he’s doing, I don’t give a shit,” Stone said after a long pause, breathing out the cigarette smoke through his nose. “But if he harms a single hair on your head, I’ll take those stupid suspenders of his, shove ‘em up his nostril and pull them out of his ass. M’kay?”

Is he jealous?

Bullshit. No way.

“Kinda sounds like you do give a shit,” she squinted. “Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

“It will have more impact from you, I think,” he shrugged.

“He had a message, too, just thought I’d spare you,” Keeva sat back and reached up to wipe her smudged lipstick. “Apparently? Tonight either you can fuck me or he’ll do it for you.”

“What a poet,” Stone sharply scoffed. “Like I said, let him do his thing, but if he doesn’t -”

Okay. That’s it. Leave, now.

“Yea, thanks. Get it,” she shook her head and gave him a hostile stare, hoping that he’d leave as fast as possible so she could shed the tear she’d been holding since they’d arrived at this cursed place. “So I’m your delivery boy now?”

When he didn’t budge or look away, she chose to continue and twist the dagger.

“And what do I get in return from you, hm? A kiss on the cheek?”

Oh. Oh no.

A nauseating burn settled in Keeva’s throat as more blood rushed into her face, heating up thanks to his questioning stare. It was like the crass comment lingered in the air like a thick storm cloud, the thunder echoing over and over again through the four walls that surrounded them.

A kiss on the cheek, that’s what we’d agreed on.

How do I take this back? Fuck, please let me take it back.

Stone didn’t say anything, he just shifted in his seat so subtly she almost didn’t notice. Her face was slowly dropping the sardonic smirk and he just watched it happen, observing her like a strange phenomenon.

Jesus Christ, just say something, you idiot. Anything. Or he will.

“You know what, scratch that. We’re leaving,” he said, his tone nearly unphased. Keeva couldn’t back out, now.

“Is your ego so hurt by a little boy that you have to leave?”

“Yeah, positively devastated,” he scoffed and got up. “We were supposed to be at Devon’s birthday party like two hours ago. Regan sprinted four blocks to come and get us ‘cause they were worried. He’s waiting outside, so pack your shit up pronto. Or don’t, I don’t really care, but Devon does.”

Shit. I forgot.

“How long do we have to be there?” Keeva whined like a petty child, eager to forget about this whole scene.

She wanted to fall on her knees and kiss his high-tops for ignoring her comment, that was the worst thing about it.

“Dunno, long enough to find you a different little boy who’ll hurt my ego, now that I’ve robbed you of this one.”

Stone’s seemingly jealous tone was long gone. His classic cold diction suited him better, even if that fact was disappointing.

She turned to the bar - John wasn’t there anymore and neither was the ginger.

“You really don’t wanna be the one to do the fucking tonight, do you?” Keeva chuckled and turned her back to him to take her jacket off the back of the chair - that was her excuse to hide the stray tear that finally escaped her eye.

“Honestly, I’ve lost my appetite.”

“And once again, two of Seattle’s greatest minds think alike,” she said with a sour chuckle, quickly wiping the drop on her cheek before walking around him without another look at his face. “Hope you’re ready for an ass-beating in Scrabble tonight, big boy.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

[atinylittlepain]

Split Seam

steve harrington x f!oc

part of the girl boy series

18+ allusions to smut, stuffy family dynamics, overall just a fun time tho

a/n | marriage done the standy way, this was fun to write :')

...........................................

It’s raining in Philadelphia and chocolate hearts are on sale at the CVS down the block from his apartment. Valentine’s cards too, pink and purple and red and everything must go. He buys a bottle of seltzer and a chocolate rose. When he gets to the station he unwraps the red tinfoil and takes a large bite out of the bloom. He’s starving, didn’t get lunch at the office today with the usual end of the week scramble of numbers and numbers and suits and numbers. But he’s only got an hour and change on the train. He can hold out, Hershey’s aside. 

He’s done this train ride sixty-two times now. This is number sixty-three, but he’s not keeping track. All he knows is that it still feels like relief when he’s seated and the train starts moving. It’s always felt like a relief to be moving in the same direction as her again.

They’ve gotten this right, he thinks. As right as they possibly could, at least. The first year of what Andy called moderate-to-long distance was hard. Awkward phone calls with long swaths of silence, calls that were missed altogether, crossed wires, cataclysmic blowouts that were and weren’t about the things they argued about. But they’ve made it this far, nearly two years of this perpetual back and forth ache that’s only soothed with train rides, with closing that gap. 

There’s been three apartments in New York, and he’s pretty sure he likes this last one that she’s in the best. Greenwich Village, old brick and pock-marked sidewalks and tall windows that wash warm over lightwood floors, and he likes being the one making this trip because he likes getting to see her in a space that feels like her. And he likes this too, the same as the first sixty-two trips, she’s waiting for him at the station, that brief moment, miracle, within which he sees her but she doesn’t see him. Checking her watch and running a hand back through her hair, in her brown leather coat, sharp and smooth and too cool for a banker from Philly, but she’s here for him, smiling big, smiling everything when her eyes finally catch his. 

This always the same too, a soft, sweet rejoining, her hand curling at the nape of his neck, other arm slung over his shoulder and here, here, she presses her lips to his cheek, her nose sliding in line with his and hi, baby, another kiss, quick, and he’s home. 

“They have you staying late again, don’t they? Or did you get all dressed up just to see me?” Little tug to his tie as they thread through throngs of people, out into the cool damp night in as close of a tangle they can be without getting heckled for it on the street. 

“Catch-up from the holidays, or at least that’s what everyone keeps saying.”

“Right, right, crunching numbers and murdering secretaries American Psycho-style?”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Little squeeze to her hip, little mean as they continue their walk back to her place. Her grin gets lit up by the neon creeping into the oncoming night. 

“Kidding, your colleagues however, well, yeah.” Well, yeah, Andy had come into town right before Christmas to go to his company holiday party with him, and had gotten into not one, not two, but three verbal altercations with his co-workers about the invisible labor of women, as well as the recession. Not that he would admit it, but he had been impressed, and maybe a little flustered, watching her hold her own amongst the suits. They had left early on account of said flustering, as well as the little snap he had given to one of the suits who told him something about needing a muzzle for that one. The partition in the company-ordered limo was raised when they got back into it, the green velvet of her dress hiked up and up and up exposing sheer black nylon and skin, and they both had forgotten all about the suits and the snap by the time they got back to his apartment. He still gets a little hazy, sweet gauze in his mind when he thinks about it. 

“How are the feminists this week?”

“Oh you know, angry, hairy, generally awesome and oppressed. I turned in my third draft on Wednesday.”

“That’s amazing, honey. It must feel good to be almost finished.” 

“It feels good to finally get my advisor off my ass. Bigger and better things, et cetera, et cetera.” He knows not to ask after bigger and better, having made the mistake once of asking if she had heard back from any of the PhD programs yet. She had smiled a watery thing, and promptly dissolved into a pool of sound and tears, too much, don’t ask. She’ll tell him when the news comes in, he knows, though there still remains a selfish slice of him that hopes and hopes and hopes UPenn comes back with a yes, and she answers with a yes too. But for now this is enough, here, and stopping her on the stairs up to her apartment to press a curved kiss to her mouth, so proud of you, honey. She beams, scoffs, thank you, and it drips with sheepish sweetness, her eyes rolling up to hide the truth of it, but he still catches it, lets her believe he doesn’t when she tugs him into her apartment. 

It’s true what they say about absence and fondness, at least in the case of Sylvia, who lately has been greeting him with a desperate peel of cries, twining around his legs with such a fervor that he has to try hard not to trip over her. No petting though, she still likes to scratch if it isn’t on her terms. 

“Nice flowers.”

“Thank you, someone sent them on Valentine's day.” A veritable flame of roses sits preening in a vase on her kitchen counter. He had asked for the biggest, the best, no expenses spared because he’s making money now, real money, and any gifts for her have to be a sneak attack because of it. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mmhmm, you better watch out because it looks like you have some competition from another suitor.” She lays the accent on thick, her family’s accent, soo-tah, throws in a waggle of her fingers, ring glinting for good measure. The ring, and the whole ordeal of it. There had been no family heirlooms left to ask Frank and Kitty Broder permission for, just a nervous conversation the day after Thanksgiving, the one before last, sweating hard beneath his collar and hands shaking. Because while Andy is anything but traditional, Steve picked up pretty fast that this was not quite the case with her parents. A fiance of the second oldest had clued him in on as much the first time Steve was brought home to meet the family, summer break and a big reunion, plenty of hands to shake and names to forget. And the second oldest’s fiance had sidled up next to Steve with a sloshing glass of prosecco and the grin of someone who had figured this whole production out. Somewhere between the mafia and the Vatican, you do the math, man. 

Frank was unmoved, tolerant of the idea at best, considering him over the dark rims of his Buddy Holly-esque glasses, a stylish man, tall and thin man with a slick of gray hair and a thick gold ring that could blind you if it flashed the wrong way. He only had one question for Steve which, mercifully, he could answer correctly. Yes, he told Frank, raised Roman Catholic, though he left the non-practicing part out. Meanwhile, Kitty was already designing the invitations in her mind. 

And that wasn’t even the hard part. Because yes, hasty by some judgements (Eddie’s), and unlikely by other judgements, given Andy’s views (Robin). But he knew, he knew, spent a few months looking for a ring in the evenings when he’d get off work. When he did find one, he didn’t even wait a week, letting the black velvet box burn a hole in his pocket on the train ride to New York that very same weekend. And the proposal itself was simple, no fuss or fanfare, if not a little nerve-wracking. He spoke honestly, plainly. He spoke love. And he’s never known relief like he did when she smiled and told him there’s no one else I’d ever say yes to, baby. So maybe it’s hasty, and maybe it’s all skewed a little unorthodox. But it’s theirs. 

“They better act fast then, got that appointment tomorrow and all.”

“Did you bring all your documents?”

“Driver’s license, social security number. We’re set, honey.”’

“I’m still not changing my last name.”

“No, I know, I don’t care about that.”

“My mother is pissed about it, apparently so is yours.” 

“I think when all this is said and done, those two are gonna leave their husbands and move in with each other.” 

“God, that’d be good for them, or maybe terrible.” 

“Little of both, probably.”  One of the stranger outcomes of this whole wedding thing, the alliance that’s formed between Diane and Kitty. Though maybe not that strange, he thinks, certainly plenty of common in between them. At the very least, this wedding wouldn’t be happening next month without the pair of them leading the absolute battle charge of planning they’ve accomplished. Kitty’s words, knowing my Miranda, she’d be happy with a shotgun wedding in Reno, and Andy hadn’t disagreed, happy to leave all the cake and the flowers and the tulle up to their mothers. Steve was more than happy to stay out of the fray too.

“You didn’t eat lunch, did you?”

“How can you tell?”

“Steve, you never eat lunch. I ordered Thai before I left to get you,Tom Kha Gai and egg rolls, the usual. It should be here soon.” 

And the rest of the evening is very boring, very mundane, a third-floor window lit up warm, and framed inside of it, them on the couch with a smattering of takeout boxes. His tie undone and hanging loose around his neck, top three buttons of his shirt popped as well. Warmth and salt and sour sating him, he goes slack when she tries to teach him how to properly hold his chopsticks, moreso enjoying the feeling of her hands fidgeting with his fingers, her careful concentration. He goes right back to using a fork when she’s finished, grinning at the roll of her eyes. And afterwards, stomachs full and eyes heavy, worn weary from their respectively long weeks, they get into the shower, all kind touch, simple pleasure, her fingers kneading back along his scalp and his hands soaped and slipping over her skin, working into the spots that he knows ache, satisfaction in her sighs. 

Soon, he thinks, hopes, this won’t be a thing they have to ration, all this touch, all this sense, all this closeness. This will simply become the thing they do every night, getting into bed together and talking about things that don’t really matter while their bodies relearn one another. He wants these things in a near dizzying way, big, bold, brazen want that simmers and sighs in her presence, tired kisses, and it’s enough, her hand in his hair, and it’s enough. 

He wakes up the next morning bleary-eyed with want, eager for this early morning appointment at the county clerk’s office, because this is another step, big step, making it even more real step. They both seem to feel it, quiet over the rims of their coffee mugs, smiling, and what? What? What’re you smiling about? It’s a big day, isn’t it? Yeah, nervous? No, you? Not at all, no. And he means that when he says it. There are few things in his life that he has been so certain about. 

And yes, maybe they had a romantic idea of how this would go, but it really is just paperwork in a dimly lit cubicle, and signatures here and here and yes, wedding will take place within sixty days. Steve tries to make a joke about cousins, and is only met with a blank look from the clerk, and a swift side-eye from Andy. 

But when the paperwork is signed and there’s a manilla envelope with their wedding license in his hand, there is a lightness, a lift, a giddy kick, like kids getting away with something when they leave the office. Tucked in close to each other, a little oblivious, and maybe a little obnoxious, and a man walking the other way lets them know as much, bumping right into Steve’s shoulder and watch it! And without missing a beat, Andy’s head whipping around and hey, fuck you, we just got married! Which, well, technically not, but it still makes them both laugh a breathless thing, wild, wind-bitten smiles. And they’re still running on all that flare and fluster when they get back to her apartment, open-mouthed kisses and greedy hands and she has to hold him back by the lapel of his coat to grin an awful thing and you wanna see the dress? 

“You have it?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, here, right now?”

“Yes, Steve, it’s been fitted and everything. Locked and loaded and ready to blast me off into marital bliss with you, et cetera, et cetera. Now, do you, or don’t you, want to be the first, the very first, to see it on me in all its matrimonious glory?” 

“Isn’t that bad luck?”

“Baby, please.” She groans, pressing her forehead against his, and really, he’s just giving her a hard time, because he knows what this means to her, beneath all the snark. The first to see it before anyone else, before the rehearsal, and the aisle, and all the family that neither of them really care to have present. A moment for them, just for them, and no one else. 

“You really want me to see?”

“Mmhmm.” Quiet, crackling murmurs, whispered between smiles.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’d like to see.” 

“Go sit on the couch, I’ll be right back.” And so he does, a little shake in his hands, a little burst and batter of his heart against his ribs. Nervous now, and he’s not sure why, the ticking of the clock pulling taut and loose all over like melted taffy. And then, and then, the padding of bare feet, and the hard rush of blood in his ears, and the sweet exhale when he does finally see her. 

“Honey.” Bordering on pained, the word is said with a sigh, and he’s not going to, no, no, just a little flush of heat behind his eyes and in his throat and Andy’s baby, don’t cry makes him sniff hard and swallow, his hand settling on her hip when she steps closer between his legs. Smooth white silk and simple, and her hair is still gathered in the clip she tucked it up into this morning and she’s still wearing a smear of Vaseline on her lips and she’s the best thing he’s ever seen, he thinks. Tells her as much and she smiles big, chin tucked down and her thumb stroking along the column of his neck where her hand is loosely curled. 

“Well, thoughts?” 

“Wow, just wow, yeah, no other thoughts.” He knows she’s going to start wilting under any more compliments, never one for them, a warbly Steve that makes him smile, squeezing at her hip, coaxing her to c’mere, c’mere, even as she resists his pull.

“If you fuck up this dress we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Not gonna fuck it up, just come a little closer. I wanna, uh, look at the stitching.” 

“You’re so full of shit.” Even as she says it, her smile is starting to slip and spread, another shuffled step closer as his hands splay across her low back, and lower, and lower, and a squeeze that’s just a little mean, making her laugh while he starts to hike all that silk up and up into his hands. 

A few weeks later, when he’s met with the sight of her in that dress in a very, very different context, all he can think about is that afternoon. No one will ever know that he got to see her first in that dress, before anyone else. Nor will they know that they spent the rest of that afternoon splayed on her living room floor with the fabric of her dress bunched up around her hips and his hands curled into the plush of her thighs and his mouth, open and taking, watching the dip and fold of fine fabric, the arch of her back, pleasure for pleasure’s sake. No one will know that in the after, his hips stilled and flush against hers, both of them panting and preening into each other’s kisses, they found the smallest tear at her hip, and that she couldn’t be mad about it, not even a little, when he sunk back down between her legs and laid his apology at the open hinge of her hips. 

He’ll find that tear again, when the vows are said, and the family and friends are clapping, and they’re walking down the aisle together, his hand on her hip. He’ll find the tear then, the perfect secret shared between them in a quick glancing smile.

[lambsouvlaki]

For the Hell of It - Rescue

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: T, brief description of violence.

Word count: 990

Summary: Red Hood comes to her rescue.

Masterlist

She woke slowly, sedately, to the touch of Jason’s fingers trailing down her cheek. 

Eyes shut, she leaned into it. 

The hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up. There was no light scrape of rock hard calluses against her chin. The skin was smooth.

Andy’s eyes snapped open.

Black Mask looked down at her.

She recoiled. Or tried to. Her body responded slowly, groggy and jerky, against hard metal restraints. She was bound to a chair. 

“Red Hood’s squeeze, hmm? Lucky find,” he said. He wasn’t talking to her. He tilted her chin back the other way to look her over. “I knew he was just a man under that helmet.” 

A large man covered in tattoos stood behind him to his right. He looked down at her in disdain. 

“Anything you want to tell me, Miss Wright?” Black Mask drawled. 

She kept her mouth shut. 

The second man hit her on the face. Her head rocked back. Her ears rang. 

“He asked you a question.” 

She bit her tongue to stop her pained whine. 

“He doesn’t know you’re missing,” Black Mask said. “And he won’t, not for days. No masked maniac coming to rescue you. Your chances of getting out of here start and end with not pissing me off.” 

She looked at the nasty grins on the face of the two hulking enforcers standing by the door. The uncaring menace in the man who hit her. The mocking glint in Black Mask’s eyes.

“You’re not letting me out alive anyway,” she said, with mounting terror. It churned in her gut. 

Black Mask barked a hoarse laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll wring every last secret out of you before I do you the favour of letting you die.” 

One of the enforcers turned his head, his brow furrowed. 

Something rattled onto the floor, then blinding white exploded everywhere. Her vision blanked out entirely, one final image burned into her eyes: Red Hood standing behind Black Mask, with his gun pointed at his head. 

She was thrown sideways in her chair and landed hard on the ground. Guns fired with deafening reports, too loud for her to tell where or from who. Blind and still reeling from the impact, she felt the tattooed man grab her hair. He was ripped violently off of her a second later, and she went skidding sideways across the ground. 

Everything got lost in the chaos and noise, before a blow to the head knocked her out.

-----

Andy woke to Jason’s hand in her hair. 

Her heartbeat picked up, foreign alarm she couldn’t name or understand in her throat, until she registered the familiar calluses against the small of her neck. Strong hands, scarred and rough, massaged her skin with all the gentleness in the world. She breathed out in relief, and her eyes fluttered open. 

Her head lay in Jason’s lap. He was reading a book, his wrist propped up against her shoulder. A gun sat on the bedside table. They were in a safehouse. She didn’t recognise it. 

She felt perfectly safe. It took her a moment to process why that mattered, and why her mind even presented it as meaningful.  

Her brows pinched and the side of her face stung at the movement. She brought up a hand, and felt butterfly strips across her brow. 

Patchy memory filtered in. 

Jason turned a page with his thumb, calm and measured. He radiated fury. It wasn’t at odds with the gentleness of his hold on her. His calm methodical rage was so dangerous it could burn Gotham to the ground if he loved it any less. 

“What happened?” she asked. Her voice was raspy and her throat sore. She had the vague idea she might have been screaming during the scuffle. 

“Black Mask’s second in command launched a coup and murdered his Boss,” Red Hood said, still looking at his book. “He’s trying to pin it on me to keep the support of Sionis’ loyalists. Nobody believes him.”

She remembered, sudden and clear as day, burned into her mind against the pure white of a flashbang grenade: Red Hood pointing a gun at Black Mask. A fan of blood and viscera, in a frozen still, exploding out behind the black skull.

She sat up. She stared at him. 

Jason hadn’t killed anyone in years. He wasn’t allowed to, or Batman would run him out of town.

The enforcers, any witnesses, they’d know what happened, they would have to be– he couldn’t have just walked out with her, she was dead weight, had he really–? Had he– For her?

A quiet, hard thought cut through her muddling. 

There had been a good reason Jason didn’t kill Black Mask during his initial rampage, and it wasn’t lack of opportunity. He had plans, counter plans, acceptable losses, and goals he wouldn’t bend on. Necessities balanced on delicate scales sometimes called justice but more accurately called reality. The power vacuum hadn’t been worth it.

And he’d done it anyway. He’d killed Black Mask, in the middle of Batman’s city, for her. 

He looked back at her, unflinching.

She lay back down, putting her head in his lap. 

He ran his hand over her again, carding it through her hair and burying it deep beneath her curls.

Those men, however many it was, died for her sake. 

Did their blood stain her too? Did it stream down from his hands onto her head, dripping through her hair to streak across her face? 

They would have tortured his secrets out of her, that hard voice said in the back of her mind. She was alive because Jason killed them first.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He curled over her and looked into her eyes. The hard fury cracked and she saw the desperate storm in his gaze. 

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” 

I love you.

Next>>

[lgbtmulti]

RP SEARCH

Andy, 26, he/him, looking for other 18+ roleplayers for some Teen Wolf roleplays 1x1 on Discord

Preferably looking for Teen Wolf roleplays, but any I've included I'm looking for

May double up.

People I rp:

Stiles Stilinski - Werewolf AU

Liam Dunbar - Hybrid AU

Isaac Lahey 

Scott McCall

Eli Hale (true alpha)

Damien Argent (OC, Twin of Allison)

Jason Roberts (werewolf, wizard hybrid)

Ships I'm looking for:

Sciles (Scott & Stiles)

Sterek (Stiles & Derek)

Stiles x Lydia 

Liam x Theo

Liam x Brett 

Isaac x Stiles

Isaac x Scott

Damien x Scott

Damien x Stiles

Jason x Derek

Jason x Lydia

Jason x Kira

Heartstopper

Nick Nelson

Charlie Spring

Harry Potter

Remus Lupin 

Sirius Black

Harry Potter

Ships (Looking for)

Remus x Sirius

Harry x Draco

Harry x Cedric

Merlin BBC

• Merlin

Looking for (ships)

Merlin x Arthur

Merlin x Morgana

Hannibal NBC

Will Graham

Hannibal (ships looking for)

Hannigram (Will x Hannibal)

[felicitysmoaksx]

JJ’s Fic and Moodboard Masterlist Updated 7/14/24

Moodboards

Best Friends Brother AU || One Chicago || Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Sarah Reese: Police Officer || One Chicago || Sarah Reese Centric

Single Dad!Severide || One Chicago || Kelly Severide Centric

Halstead Brothers Adopt Reese || One Chicago || Gen

Merlyn Twins au || One Chicago & Arrow || Tommy Merlyn & Connor Rhodes

One Chicago x Jatp Fusion || One | Two | Three || One Chicago & Julie and The Phantoms || Mult-ship

The Andi AU || One | Two || One Chicago || Sarah Reese Centric & Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

The Resident x One Chicago Crossover || One | Two || The Resident & One Chicago || Gen: Conrad Hawkins & Sarah Reese

Ballet au || One Chicago || Sarah Reese Centric

Voight Family Values || One Chicago || Gen and Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Sarah Reese as a Former Black Widow || One Chicago & Marvel Studios || Gen: Sarah Reese & Bucky Barnes

The Sisters Halstead || One Chicago || Gen: Makayla Ward & OC

MCU Spiderman Meets The Amazing Spiderman || Marvel Studios || Gen

Mockingbird || One Chicago & DC TV || Gen: Sarah Reese & Dick Grayson & Mult-Ship

Severide & Reese Step-Siblings au || One Chicago || Gen: Sarah Reese & Kelly Severide

Burgstead Pregnancy AU || One Chicago || Jay Halstead x Kim Burgess

Superstar Juke AU || Julie and The Phantoms || Julie Molina x Luke Patterson

NHL Star! Connor Rhodes || One Chicago || Connor Rhodes Centric

WHAT IF NESTA COULDN’T PHYSICALLY SPEAK IN ACOTAR? || ACOTAR || Nesta Archeron x Cassian

What if Paulo took Daisy with him when he left Clump? || Irreverent || Gen: Paulo Keegan & Daisy

Some Kind of Haunted || One | Two || One Chicago & Criminal Minds & CBS FBI International || Gen: Brian Lang & Connor Rhodes && Connor Rhodes x Sarah Reese

FICS

Marvel Comics

The One Where Tony Survives (Alt Endgame Universe) || WIP (Series)

A Handful of Moments I Wished I Could Change (And a Tongue like a Nightmare that Cut like a Blade) || Complete || One Shot

Two Worlds (One Family) || Complete || One Shot

The Darcy Lewis Chonicles (Series)

Just Tony || Darcy Lewis and Tony Stark || One Shot

Julie and The Phantoms

Found a Time and Space || WIP || Multi-Chapter || Juke & Williex

In These Small Hours (Series) || Complete

Hollywood Tragedy Aftermath || Complete || Bobby | Trevor Wilson Centric

Do You Hear That Love? || Complete ||  One Shot  || Willie x Alex

Melancholy Kaleidoscope || Complete || One Shot  || Julie x Luke

Little Wonders (These Twists and Turns of Fate) || Complete || One Shot || Julie x Luke and Willie x Alex

One Chicago 

You Held Me Up on Your Shoulders Way Up High || Chicago Med and Chicago Fire || WIP || Multi-Chapter || Sarah Reese and Kelly Severide 

It Was a One Night Stand Until I Woke Up Next to You || Chicago PD || WIP (Series)

It Was a One Night Stand Until I Woke Up Next to You || WIP ||  Multi-Chapter || Jay Halstead x Kim Burgess 

Blood Thicker Than Water || One Shot || Complete || Jay Halstead x Kim Burgess

Married But As Friends (Series) Chicago Med || Complete

Delicate || Chicago Med || Complete || One Shot || Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

You Could Still See the Best in Me || Chicago Med ||  Complete || One Shot || Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Cause I Clutched Your Arms like Stairway Railings || Chicago Med || Complete || One Shot || Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Freeze Time, Baby Rewind  || Chicago Med ||  Complete || One Shot || Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Friends Don't Look at Friends That Way || Chicago Med || Complete || Multi-Chapter || Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Come Back Be Here (Series) || Complete

Never Stop || Chicago Med || Complete || One Shot ||  Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Guilty by Association || Chicago Med || Complete || One Shot || Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

If I Drift in the Wrong Direction (You Turn the Tide) || Chicago Med || Complete || One Shot || Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

You & Me || Chicago Med || Complete || Multi-Chapter || Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Reader Imagines (Series)

Apartment Fire || One Chicago || Complete || One Shot || Jay Halstead &  Disabled fem!reader Halstead sibling

Doctor Visit  || One Chicago || Complete || One Shot || Halstead brothers Will & Jay Halstead &  Disabled fem!reader Halstead sibling, and Manstead if you squint

One Chicago Soulmate AU || WIP (Series)

Your Words (Burned into My Skin) || Chicago Med || Complete || One Shot ||  Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

In Your Eyes (and it all makes sense) || Chicago Med || Complete || One Shot ||  Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Sweet Nothing (All You Wanted From Me Was) || Chicago Med || Complete || One Shot ||  Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Long Story Short  || WIP (Series)

Rare as a Glimmer of a Comet  || Chicago Med || Complete || One Shot ||  Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Voight Family Values || WIP (Series)

Yeah, I Just Wanna Take You Home || Chicago Med || Complete || Multi-Chapter ||  Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Hold On, I Still Want You  || Chicago Med || Complete || Multi-Chapter ||  Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Interlude: What If || Chicago Med || Complete || Drabble || Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

Bottled Up Feelings are Silently Screaming (You Were Breaking Down) || Chicago Med || WIP || Multi-Chapter ||  Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

DC TV

What Happened in Russia, Didn’t Stay in Russia || Arrow || Oliver x Felicity (An AU season 2 rewrite) || WIP (Series)

You’ll Always Be My Girl (or Felicity’s first scar and Oliver’s lecture) || Complete || One Shot

Slade’s Promise (Or Oliver’s Overprotective But with Good Reason) || Compete || One Shot

DC TV/Chicago Med Crossover

Mockingbird & Co.

The Same Little Breaks In Your Soul || Chicago Med || Arrow || Titans ||  WIP || Multi-Chapter ||  Sarah Reese x Connor Rhodes

MY REDBUBBLE SHOP

MY KO-FI PAGE

[laura-the-yellow-cat]

Beverly the Bee My NEW MSA X Dark Deception Enemy OC

Full Name: Beverly the Bee, Vanessa ___ (in the past)

First Name:

Last Name:

Nicknames:

Gender: Female

Profile Pic

Age: 26 (deceased)

Blood Type:

Occupation:

Actual or Past Occupation:

Favourite Shows/Games: ___/___/___

(___,___,___)

Favourite Food:

Instrument:

Favourite Animal:

Family Members Relatives: ___ and ___ (her parents), Sabella the Butterfly/Lewana ___ (her sister: disowed)

Other Family Members Relatives:

Species: Human, later Animatronic Bee

Friends: Angelisa the Angel/Fairy Doll Hybrid, Sally the Princess Cat Hybrid, Farkle the Prince Fox, Sammy the Kind Sun, Mark-Mark the Sleepy Moon, Billie the farmer bunny and Alastair the new mascot bear/demon hybrid (former), Mr. Giggles the Jester-Collector, Gary the Goat/Raccoon Hybrid (mind-control), Dennis the Gopher, Wilbert the psycho Wolf, Malak, The Black Charro, Agatha, Jerry, Murder Dolls, Murder Monkeys, Possessed Statues, Gold Watchers, Plant Piranhas, Dread Duckies, Goliath Clowns, Killer Twins, Reaper Nurses, Reaper Professors, Joy Joy Gang, Dracula the Ghost Vampire, Mama Bear, Trigger Teddies, Mannequins, The Puppeteers

Enemies: The unknown investigators (killed and deceased), Gary the Goat/Raccoon Hybrid (normal-self), Angelisa the Angel/Fairy Doll Hybrid, Sally the Princess Cat Hybrid, Farkle the Prince Fox, Sammy the Kind Sun, Mark-Mark the Sleepy Moon, Billie the farmer bunny and Alastair the new mascot bear/demon hybrid, Sabella the Ballerina Butterfly/Lewana ___, Doug Houser, Tammy Houser, Bierce, Mystery Teams, Girls' Clue Club, Stella the Cat, Aurora Woodson, Stanley Woodson, Greg Woodson and Lonnie Woodson (his mind control)

Alignment: Good (in the past), Evil/Bad

Likes:

Dislikes:

Hobby:

Goals:

Weapons:

Powers and Abilities:

Skills and Abilities:

Skin Colour:

Eyes Colour:

Hair Colour:

Clothes:

Shoes:

Accessories:

Nationality:

Hair Style:

Mr Giggles' Portal: ___

Beverly the Bee's Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2tbWYNKNsM

Beverly the Bee's Chase: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBHU6TQCago

@sfcabanasstarcgs and @mysteryideasgroup

This one sounds likes Blossom (IF 2024 Movie), Baylee the Bee (from Andy's Apple Farm) and Siren Sara (from Willy's Wonderland)