#best cheap recreational

[evilkaeya]

pm and ada on truce missions in different cities and they keep coming across restaurants that have signs hanged outside saying "banned for life" with teen skk's faces on them

[littlelamy]

......we're gonna do some winter things

masterlist - 05

A week before Christmas, and not a single snowflake in sight. Instead, you were stuck in the middle of a tropical paradise, where the closest thing to winter was the air conditioning in the beach house. Honestly, you weren’t sure whether to call it magical or downright ridiculous.

The sun blazed overhead, casting a golden glow on the white sand and the crystal-clear waves that lapped lazily at the shore. The only nod to the season was the pathetic little palm tree in the corner of the house, strung up with cheap Christmas lights and tinsel that looked like it came from a dollar store. It stood there awkwardly, like it was just as confused about the setting as you were.

“Hey, princess,” Rafe called from the porch, strutting by like he owned the damn beach. He was in nothing but his swim trunks, sunglasses perched low on his nose, and his cocky grin practically shining brighter than the sun.

You sipped your fruity drink, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re having way too much fun with this whole ‘Christmas on the beach’ thing.”

“Hell yeah, I am.” He shrugged, running a hand through his messy, sun-bleached hair. “Beats freezing my ass off in the snow, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know.” You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “There’s something about snow that feels... right this time of year.”

Rafe snorted, dropping onto the chair next to you with zero regard for personal space. His knee brushed yours, his warmth spreading across your skin. “Snow’s overrated. You know what’s not overrated? This.” He gestured dramatically to the pristine beach and the endless ocean.

“Let me guess.” You rolled your eyes. “You’re about to tell me you’re the best part of this whole trip.”

His grin widened. “You said it, not me.”

“Jesus, you’re so full of yourself,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“And yet,” he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping, “you’re still here.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but he stood up before you could get a word out, grabbing your hand and tugging you to your feet. “Come on. We’re making Christmas memories, whether you like it or not.”

“Rafe—what the hell are you doing?” you protested, but he ignored you, dragging you toward a small shack near the edge of the beach.

“Trust me, babe,” he said, throwing a smug glance over his shoulder.

That was always a dangerous sentence coming from him.

Inside the shack, he’d set up what could only be described as the most chaotic, half-assed attempt at recreating an ice-skating rink. Christmas lights were strung haphazardly around the walls, and in the middle of the cleared-out space, he’d placed two skateboards with poles attached to mimic skates.

You stared, dumbfounded. “Rafe. What the actual fuck is this?”

“It’s a rink,” he said like it was obvious.

“It’s sand.”

He shrugged, clearly unbothered by your disbelief. “You wanted winter vibes. This is what you get.”

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done,” you said, crossing your arms.

“And yet,” he repeated with a grin, “you’re still here.”

Despite your best efforts to stay annoyed, you found yourself laughing as he grabbed your hand again, pulling you onto his makeshift “rink.” It was ridiculous, but Rafe didn’t care, and somehow, that made it funnier.

“All right, all right,” you said between fits of laughter, stumbling as you tried to push off with your feet. “You win. This is... something.”

“Damn right it is,” he said smugly, catching you when you nearly fell into him. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you steady, and for a moment, you felt the world slow down.

The sunset cast a warm glow over the beach, turning the sky into a mix of fiery oranges and soft purples. Rafe’s grin softened as he looked at you, his fingers brushing against your side. “See? I told you I’d make it feel like Christmas.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat at the way he looked at you. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your voice lacked any real bite.

“And yet,” he murmured, leaning closer, “you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

This time, he didn’t give you a chance to fire back. His hand slid to your cheek, tilting your face toward his, and before you could even process what was happening, his lips brushed against yours.

It was soft at first—just the slightest hint of pressure, like he was testing the waters. But then, when you didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, his hand slipping to your waist to pull you closer.

The world around you seemed to disappear. It didn’t matter that you were standing in the middle of a makeshift “rink” on the beach or that it was the most un-Christmas-like setting imaginable. All that mattered was the way he kissed you—confident, warm, and just a little bit smug, like he’d known all along this was where the night was headed.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your heart racing as you looked up at him. His grin was back, softer this time, but no less cocky.

“See? I told you I’d make it feel like Christmas,” he said again, his voice low.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to your forehead, “you’re still here.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[attapullman]

The Perfect Pink | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: While bartending for Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine's Party, you encounter a pink-cheeked man and his cherry-loving cousins.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: all fluff with alcohol mentions

A Note From Mo: Here is my Pink Lady fic for @thedroneranger's Pick Your Poison event to go with this gorg moodboard! As a part-time mixologist and full-time Bob Floyd lover, this was such a fun concept to play around with and has inspired me to come up with more pink drinks. I've never been a Valentine's girly, but I fully believe this pink-cheeked WSO could convince me otherwise. To everyone who reads this, I love you bunches and bunches, all 365 days in the year!

It’s so pink. Horrendously. Abysmally. Pepto-bismally. PINK.

When you agreed to tend the bar in a pinch, a few bundles of carnations and candy pink paper hearts were your guess for the evening’s decorations. But when you showed up to Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine’s Party holding a crate of soda water and a handful of shakers, your senses flatlined with the amount of pink covering every surface.

Petal pink tablecloths straightened over round tables; a small bouquet of magenta carnations attached to each folding chair and incensing the recreation hall of the retirement home. Heart-covered paper plates and folded napkins set up at each place setting, glittering confetti sprinkled around the tableware. The ceiling isn’t even a reprieve, a rainbow of fuchsia and rose and flamingo and blush balloons filling up every available inch of space.

Suzette on the front desk had complimented your dusky pink sweater - an appropriate choice for the holiday - but set against this backdrop you feel like another decoration. An oversized bauble that also makes cocktails and pours cheap wine.

And now, standing behind this makeshift card-table-turned-bar covered in bubblegum crepe paper, your brain might explode in a cloud of hot pink smoke. Counting out pours and trying not to slice yourself making garnishes is a struggle keeping up with all these orders. While the average age of the party goer may be eighty, they drink more than the 21st birthday bash you bartended last weekend. You’ve been here all of an hour and Mrs. Moscovitz has already downed three fuschia cosmopolitans.

While disappointed you don’t have more romantic Valentine’s Day plans - though, when have you ever had a date on this too pink day? - it’s fun to see who’s turned up to celebrate. White-haired couples are swaying on the makeshift dance floor, every shade of pink and red in their attire. Bridge groups and knitting circles are excitedly chatting at their respective tables, gossiping over who is in attendance and with whom. Even the staff have wide grins splitting their faces, enjoying the festivities that break up the bleak winter. It’s the least you can do to spend the holiday providing beverages for this crowd.

The best part is the families. While romantic love is thick in the air, so is platonic love. Family members of all ages have come out to spend the holiday with the residents. Mr. Gordon’s daughter and her family have driven hours to catch up over pot roast and sparkling cider while his grandson plays trucks over a pile of chocolates he snuck from Suzette.

Orders have slowed down and your eyes keep glancing over to Ms. Floyd’s table. The entire clan has showed up for dinner, dancing, and to take home a batch of her homemade snickerdoodles. Multiple relatives are taking up two entire heart-sprinkled tables. Your focus is mainly on the second table for too far from you, where the grandkids have been relegated to play cards and swap candy hearts to pass the time.

“Why don’t you go ask the pink lady for more cherries.” God, he’s cute. The only guy in this place near your age and his attention is stolen by a pair of toddler girls obsessed with the cherries in their Shirley temples. 

You divert your eyes quickly when you realize he’s talking about you and your pink sweater. The girls giggle shyly, the high pitched squeals of glee as they convince him to go up instead. Fiddling with shakers, wiping down the counter, you try to stay busy as you physically feel him approach the converted bar and your trembling hands.

“Hi!” His smile is thin and nervous and his cheeks are pink, blushing from his little cousins and their antics. Also because you’re much prettier up close and he’s wearing a shirt he’d never normally be caught in if his grandma hadn’t picked it out. 

He’s much cuter at this distance as well. Sandy hair combed neatly, one small strand slipping out behind his ear. Friendly cerulean eyes framed by golden wire spectacles, similar to the ones several of the ex-military men at Rolling Acres are sporting. His thin lips falter slightly as he takes in how well the pink of your sweater compliments your skin. God, he wishes he wasn’t wearing this shirt.

You spring into service mode and grab a fresh cocktail shaker. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m technically up here for some cherries.” You dutifully nod, hoping to hide the fact you’ve been watching him converse with the toddler girls in their matching baby pink dresses most of the night. You make a small dish of cherries up and push it toward him, shaking your head when he attempts to pay. “The thirty-eight cents of cherries is a small expense for a night those two will talk about for weeks. They’re on the house.”

He grabs the dish with a smile, but realizes he now has no excuse to stay by the bar. And while he loves his cousins, he’s on leave for a few more weeks and you’re really pretty. A few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. He extends his hand with a timid smile. “I’m Bob.”

You reach out and shake his hand back as you introduce yourself, hoping the condensation coating your fingers isn’t too noticeable. He immediately commits your name to memory, happy to replace “The Pink Lady” with a name as fitting to you as yours.

He moves out of the way as a woman in a magenta scarf orders a round for her bingo group. Bob watches as you whir into action, pouring liquors and counting off ounces. The delicate way you garnish each drink so the owner feels special. Your gracious smile when a tip is stuffed into the heart-shaped velvet box provided to you for tips.

When the line at the bar dies down, he sidles back up to your makeshift station. Bob notices the way you eye the decorations warily, still adjusting to the deafening pink of it all. He drums lightly on the blushing pink tablecloth, catching your wide-eyed attention. “Everything all right?”

“Uh, this place is too…pink?” you laugh, gesturing to the overabundance of rosy hues surrounding you. For possibly the first time all night, Bob realizes that while you were the only pink thing that had his attention, it is suffocating in the recreation hall. 

“Yes, yes it is,” he chuckles right back, eyes soaking in the offending decorations. There’s a comfortable air between the two of you, and he decides to push his luck for more time with The Pink Lady.

Bob clears his throat, pulse thrumming through his body. Tonight is his one and only chance to land a date with the pretty bartender.

“So, to go with the theme, what is the pinkest drink you can make me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his best attempt at flirting. A hint of a giggle escapes as you purse your lips, contemplating his challenge. 

“I can make you a pink lady.” 

He narrows his eyes. “Is that a real drink, or have you named it after yourself?”

“It’s real, I promise.” You’re all smiles at his attention as you combine the gin, applejack, and grenadine with a splash of lemon juice. He really could watch you work for hours.

As you reach for the last ingredient, his eyes bug out. “Is that an egg?” He’s a Navy man, his normal bar only has cocktails with two ingredients. Since when did eggs go in cocktails?

“When you dry shake an egg white it creates this nice foam, adds to the drink.” While he wants to come across as open-minded and cultured, he’s hesitant. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”

He’s bewitched as you pour the perfectly pink drink into a plastic coup, the creamy white foam rising to top it off. A cherry balances the rim, one that won’t be stolen by his mischievous cousins. As he looks between the freshly poured drink and you, he swears your cheeks are the same happy pink.

You push the drink toward him, excited to share something new with a customer. Always a gamble as a bartender, but worth it when you expand someone’s palate. He gives you a tentative smile, unsure if he’s going to like it, but he really wants to impress you. In return, you give him an encouraging nod, completely unsure of how this will go. He takes a sip, the frothy mixture coating his tongue.

As far as he’s concerned, the drink is named after you. Not too sweet, not too tart, a divinely balanced combination of flavors in a perfect pink concoction. Bob is convinced you would taste just as good, especially with a cherry. The thought makes his brain blank.

“Do you like it?” Your hopeful eyes are endearing. He wants to brush the strand of hair from your cheek and assure you that he likes it, that he’d like anything you made him because you made it. But you’re practically strangers so he stumbles over his words as he promises it’s delicious. 

The bowl of cherries for his cousins still in his hand, Bob stands to the side of the bar and sips his tartly sweet drink, casually keeping up conversation with you as you serve other patrons. You’re glad for the company, enjoying the way he asks about your technique and mutters out the few things he knows about wine from conversations with his aunt. Despite the fact you’re working, it’s the best Valentine’s Day you’ve had in years with this bespectacled man watching you tend bar.

He’s just so cute, blushing his own special pink hue when your eyes connect while you shake up a few martinis.

“Uncle Bob!” There is no mistaking who is calling him over. Two identical heads pouting as they motion him over. His time with you is up. He gives you a sweet smile, trying to memorize every inch of your face, before motioning his hand filled with cherries in their direction. You bittersweetly grin right back, smile lingering as you start on Mr. Nickerson’s two merlots as you watch his broad shoulders walk away.

Oh, how you wish he would come back.

Because it’s a retirement home and not a frat house, by ten the party is wrapping up. You’ve exchanged shy glances with Bob a handful of times, but his family has taken up most of his attention with Navy questions and inquiring when he’s going to visit next. He barely registers the event is over before he’s rummaging through his mom’s handbag with his last attempt at salvaging the night.

You’re cleaning up your supplies when the Floyd clan walks past, all waving good night to you and the staff, thanking you all for a great Valentine’s night. The girls thank you for their cherries, a stem hanging from one’s lip. 

Staggering at the end of the crowd is Bob, his cheeks flushed and palms tingling. He stands in front of your table, rocking on his heels, working up his courage. You give him a warm smile, thanking him for his company, and he completely melts. As he holds up his occupied hand, he hopes this works.

“Forgot to slip this in earlier.” His smile is tense as he jams a few dollars through the absurdly small hole in your improvised tip box. You thank him before both blurting out awkward goodbyes. As he catches up with his family, a pang rings through your chest. Disappointed he’s gone, never to be seen again. 

Bob Floyd, a Valentine’s mirage you will remember fondly.

Once all your things are packed, you square things up with Suzette with your pay for the event and a promise to stop by to visit the residents later in the month. You schlep everything to the car, a mixture of emotions painting your face in the rearview mirror as you make your way back home. The weight of defeat keeping you from bringing anything inside except for that damn tip box you’re hoping will cover groceries for the week.

You pry open the velvet lid and are met with the best surprise.

There, at the bottom of your substitute tip jar, underneath all the singles the elderly stiffed you with, was a scrap of cheap rosy pink napkin. You unfurl it to see neat chicken scratch handwriting, the pen poking through the fabric in spots as he worked to write out his message with a phone number beneath.

I’m here until the 27th. Drinks on me? - Bob

Now that you think about it, maybe you do like pink.

taglist: @berryvanille @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @seitmai @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

join the taglist

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Jeon Jungkook | Bonus Drabble 5

Summary: Jungkook has treated you like a princess all day for your birthday and it's all lead up to this very special moment (a little glimpse into their future 🤭) Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 1.5k~ Warning: Honestly no warnings I think. Just some cute fluff and some suggestive language. Nothing crazy (written very quickly but I hope you guys still like it!) Requested by: 🧜‍♀️ anon 💜 (Happy Late Birthday my love) & another anon from a while back 💜 (sorry I didn't get it out till now 🥺) Start from the beginning

"Can I open my eyes now?" I ask, humoring him in this silly game that he's made of my birthday today. 

"Not yet, just a little closer" he say, guiding me by my hips and I soon feel the ground change from some sort of pavement to that of a stonework pathway. "Careful" he warns as I stumble when my foot gets caught on a rock. "I wouldn't have to be careful if I didn't have to keep my eyes closed" I grumble and he laughs before bringing me to a halt.

I feel him walk around me until he's standing right in front of me and tilts my head up towards him. "You and I both know you would've tripped on that rock anyways" he whispers against my lips causing me to shudder. The intensity of his words and actions mixed with the cool crisp air in this open area giving me goosebumps. 

He places a chased kiss on my pouted lips that try to respond to his but he's pulling back before I can even try to deepen it. "Okay, you can open them" he say, now standing behind me and I once I open my eye my breath is instantly taken away. 

"Jungkook" I whisper, a recreation of a beautiful white gazebo covered in twinkling lights and vines full of white roses accompanied by a table for two is the scene I'm met with. The warm glow scatters across the pathway as he ushers me closer. I turn around to face him once we've taken a closer look and I can see how nervous he looks after having revealed his hard work he had put together for the night. 

"You remembered" I say, blinking back the tears that I feel are no doubt making my eyes gloss over. "Did I do a good job?" he asks while he rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his that always makes this strong confident man turn into a shy teenage boy, melting my heart and making me fall in love with him all over again. 

"It's perfect!" I say, going on my tippy toes and kissing him, hints of how I'll show my appreciation to him when we're alone again lightly laced through it. 

"It's almost as if we're in the actual movie!" I say, walking inside of the gazebo and admiring how much attention to detail he's put into this. "No wonder we've been watching A Cinderella Story so often" I say, now connecting the dots and finally figuring out why he had been so sneaky recently. 

"What? Can't a man just simply like a movie?" he playfully scoffs, walking closer to me and wrapping his arms around my waist to pull me close. "Thank you" I say and he hums in response. "Happy Birthday Darling" he replies, leaning down and rubbing his nose against mine. 

He pulls back and waves someone forward that had been hiding in the shadows and when I turn around I realize he's somehow managed to get a stringed quartette for the night. "Jungkook this is too much" I say, knowing that stuff like this definetly isn't cheap. 

"Don't worry, I only booked them for half an hour" he says making me laugh at his ways of trying to explain away how much he's spent on me the entire day as he's bought me almost everything I've so much glanced at, even when I asked him not to. 

I turn around and take a couple steps closer to the table and see the candles just waiting to be lit accompanied by my drink of choice on ice. 

"You-" I start off, turning around to face him but notice he's holding a white gift box wrapped with a white satin bow. "Jungkook" I scold, remembering how I told him to stop buying things for me already. "This is the last thing I promise" he says and I give him a warning glance before tugging on the ribbon and opening the lid and what I see inside really makes me want to cry this time. 

"I don't deserve all this" I say, tears welling up in my eyes and he panics and places the box on the table. "Please don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry" he says, pulling me closer and placing a kiss on the crown of my head. 

"You've been treating me like a princess this whole day and then you not only do that but then plan all of this as well? Even down to the smallest details" I say, pulling away from him and reaching back into the box to pull out the beautifully, intricately designed pure white masquerade mask. 

"Well I did want to give you your own Cinderella Story for your birthday since I know it's your comfort movie. You do deserve this darling, and so much more" he say, wiping a stray tear off my cheek. "You even had us get breakfast at a diner this morning too" I chuckle and he does so right along with me. 

"What's wrong with that? Sam worked at a dinner in the movie right?" he asks and I nod my head in confirmation. "I should've known something was up when I saw roller skates" I say, joining along in his laughter. 

"You're just lucky I didn't try to get Hillary Duff over here to take your order" he teases poking me in the side which gains him a wack in the arm that he so dramatically responds to by faking a wince. "I would've preferred Jennifer Coolidge. She was so mean to Sam in that movie I would've loved to see her slip and fall in roller skates again" I wink and he continues laughing at my devious words. 

"You know she's like 60 years old now right? She could fall and break her hip" he says and I wave him off. "She's 62, she's not that old. If you're talking like that about her then you better start counting your years grandpa" I say patting him twice on the same bicep I hit earlier. 

"You're a little trouble maker you know you" he says, and tries to corner me. "Yes, yes I do. Don't get ahead of yourself though Daddy, we have company" I say, nodding towards the four who have been giving us a backing track to our nonsensical interaction. 

"Careful Bunny, you shouldn't be throwing words like that out in the open. I'm not opposed to bending you over that little table" he threatens and I visibly gulp, having forgotten exactly who I'm dealing with. "You know" I squeak out before clearing my throat, "You know you still haven't asked me to dance" I say and he smirks and steps back, giving me some breathing room and grabs the mask. 

"May I" he asks, holding it up so he can put it on me and I respond by turning my back to him so he can tie it. Once he's done his hands trail down my body and rest on my waist while he leans in and places some feather light kisses along my neck.

"Jungkook" I breathe out, trying but failing at adding a sterner tone to it. "Yes darling?" he asks, running his nose along the column of my neck. "A dance, just a dance" I say regrettably, lost in the feeling of him touching me like this but too embarrassed to let any of this go any further. 

He sighs against my skin before placing one more kiss this time under my ear and then twirling me around before dipping me into a low heated kiss. 

He stands back up and steadies me on my feet, still feeling a little woozy from the unexpected motion. He laughs and keeps a hold of my waist so I don't stumble before pulling me close and into that dance that I had mentioned. 

"You still didn't ask me" I grumble and he chuckles before pulling away, doing exactly as Austin Ames had done with his princely bow. "May I have this dance?" he questions and I wait a moment as if contemplating it and when he cocks his brow at me I immediately take his hand and he whisks me off my feet and twirls us about the small space. 

"Jungkook put me down!" I giggle and he slow his turns to a stop and places me back on my feet. "Are you trying to make me sick or something?" I ask in reference to all of the dipping and twirling and his casual efforts that just continue to take my breath away. 

"Not unless it's lovesick" he chuckles, placing a kiss on my forever pouted lips and walking over to pull out my chair. 

We continue the night with a candle lit dinner and his continued efforts to make me laugh and it's at that moment that I truly, with my entire heart hope that we will spend the rest of our lives together... 

And maybe in the next one too if he's lucky. 

Series Masterlist 

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @coralmusicblaze @whoa-jo @00frenchfries00 @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater Taglist continued in reblogs on my second blog @ahgasegotarmy116recs

Join my Taglist!

Feel free to fill out the form or just comment on any of my fics to be added :)

[themongrelcatcamehome-blog]

welcome to the party. try the punch.

Synopsys: A new type of trafficking begins to take place in Zaun. Commander Caitlyn Kiramman plans to attend the party where the trade agreement will be celebrated. But something – or someone – wasn’t part of her plans.

tags: smut, thigh riding, strap, switch and i don't know how this works it's my very first fanfic.

Caitlyn had read the full report. She found out that Baroness Velveteen's party would take place that night. She quickly came up with a plan and decided it would be a two-person mission.  

She called Officer Maddie, who wasn’t her brightest soldier, but she was the most passionate, and that would suffice.  

The plan was to enter the party wearing masks and accessories that would cover any very obvious features. Maddie’s orange hair and freckles were well known to the criminals of Zaun. And Caitlyn’s black-blue hair would attract attention from some.  

With the plan more or less complete and Maddie on standby, Caitlyn dressed in a way she normally wouldn’t.  

Many months earlier, she had traveled to the Bilgewater. The idea was to negotiate military weapons with the local police. At the time, Caitlyn was determined to live a little more outside of the police force, so she frequented some bars and tried the famous Bilgewater rum. In one of those bars, she saw a woman dressed in a way she would never forget. It was that kind of impact Caitlyn wanted to create at the Zaunite party. Seducing the right baroness would be the shortest path to achieving the mission’s objective: to arrest the person responsible for illegal alcohol trafficking and crack down on any facilitators of international trafficking of drugs.

Caitlyn told Maddie that they wouldn’t be going together and that they wouldn’t speak during the party. Her clear instruction to the young soldier was: if my tracker stops sending a signal to your receiver or if I stop moving for more than ten minutes, call in your troops and search for me.  

Maddie was aware and ready for the mission.  

Caitlyn took a long bath, washed her hair, and moisturized her skin as best as she could. She brushed her hair back and braided it into a long fishtail braid.  

The mask she chose was one that mimicked a mythical artifact called Lyandre. It looked like something out of a play: white with green and red details.  

For her outfit, Caitlyn decided to wear a red dress with a traditional Ionian cut: it cinched at the waist, had buttons all the way up to the neck, and reached halfway down her thighs. She chose not to wear any stockings. Her holster was across her chest, and her two smaller pistols were equipped.  

For shoes, she wore short and extravagant boots. The perfect excuse to wear footwear suitable for running, if necessary.  

The lingerie Caitlyn chose was a simple but elegant black lace set.

Caitlyn was ready.  

Upon arriving at the party—slightly late, which was part of the disguise— the commander already smelled like Zaun. She had stopped by a bar beforehand and sat on some old sofas to drink two beers. She took the opportunity to inform Maddie that, from that moment on, her location would need to be monitored. Maddie was already at the party.

At the entrance, she was greeted by a woman dressed in feathers. Her entire face was covered in very bright stones. She asked Caitlyn: "Guest of someone?"  

Caitlyn was prepared. She responded:

- Don't insult me. Move.

Immediately, the woman moved to the left and nodded to Caitlyn.  

Inside, there were people from all corners of Runeterra. Yordles, Vastaya, humanoids... Most using shimmer. That alone would have been enough to arrest quite a few people, but the Piltover police had bigger concerns than the recreational use of a cheap drug.  

Caitlyn ordered a drink at the bar, and the bartender said, "The special tab is upstairs. Here, we only serve the usual."  

Caitlyn thanked him with a nod. Her outfit was working. She looked like she was from Ionia.  

Upon reaching the stairs to the mezzanine, a Vastaya guard asked, "Guest of someone?"  

And Caitlyn needed a more convincing answer this time. She was quick.  

- When the star of the party arrives, tell her she's my guest.

The young man twitched his ears, widened his eyes, and handed Caitlyn a card for consumption in the second booth of the mezzanine.  

Vi was in the seventh booth. Dressed in a simple yet elegant suit, her role at the party was to ensure that Madame Babette wouldn’t be disturbed by anything.  

The party was a celebration of the success of the Bilgewater rum brought by Velveteen, her business partner. Vi didn’t care about any moral implications. She was only interested in payment and having fun.  

Since Velveteen hadn’t yet arrived, Vi was acting like a regular guest: drinking, smoking a few cigarettes, and flirting with half the women in the mezzanine.  

One of them, very young and wearing a mask that covered her entire head, asked Vi if there was any drink she would suggest, something lighter. Vi called over the humanoid waitress and ordered a drink for the young woman. The waitress didn’t seem happy but nodded and brought the drink. It was a mimosa made with a citrus fruit from Bandlecity. The woman took the drink from the tray and took a sip.  

“Very tasty, really different!”  

The waitress shot a piercing look at Vi and said, "She should try the punch," as she left, in a bad mood.

The young woman asked:  

- What was that about?   - You know, we have a history.   - A history that involves punches or the wine punch?

Vi straightened up and scratched the back of her neck with her right hand. As she did, the opening of her suit at chest level widened, revealing that Vi wasn’t wearing anything under her suit.  

The woman blushed beneath her mask, her face heating up with every second she stared at Vi’s chest, and Vi said:  

- Want to find out?

Before any more words could be exchanged between them, Vi heard a noise coming from booth 7.  

There was no time to say goodbye to the young woman. Vi ran toward the entrance, only to realize it was just a Yordle popping a champagne bottle.  

When she returned to the mezzanine corridor, the woman she had been flirting with had vanished.  

Caitlyn had stiffened at the noise but soon relaxed. Her booth was enormous, featuring a half-moon-shaped velvet sofa that was extremely comfortable. Everything was impeccably clean. In the center  was a table with a built-in fridge and various types of drinks. The booth was enclosed, like a mini private lounge, and the curtains could be moved with a button next to the sofa. It felt strange to be in a closed space inside a nightclub, but Caitlyn understood that the patrons here valued privacy for committing their crimes—and other things.

Caitlyn left the mezzanine door open because the heat was getting almost uncomfortable, and she had already undone two buttons on her dress. The same waitress moved between the booths and approached Caitlyn.

- Madame, would you like something from our tobacco selection?

The woman held out three containers: one with a glimmering substance in a golden pipe, another with a bluish herb, and the third was a pack of cigarettes. Caitlyn declined all three and requested a glass of ice.

The waitress shrugged and went to fetch the order. Just past the door of the booth, she stopped to chat with someone. Caitlyn ignored it until she heard a familiar voice.

- Are you sure she’s foreign?

Vi asked.

- Of course. She speaks differently, denied all the stash and asked for ice. Who in their right mind drinks ice from Zaun?

Caitlyn grew anxious at the conversation, unfsure if this would catch Vi’s attention or if her cover was on the verge of being blown. She continued sitting, sipping Bilgewater rum, and watching the party below.

Before she could dwell further on the implications of the conversation, a loud noise erupted directly beneath her booth.

It was applause. Velveteen had arrived.

Caitlyn prepared to go down and complete the second part of her mission: to find a way to get close to the baroness in a friendly manner. Caitlyn knew of her preferences for foreigners, so she intended to use her disguise to her advantage. She spotted Velveteen heading toward the mezzanine entrance, but before she could continue observing the baroness, she felt her feet leave the ground, a sudden movement towards her back and her entire body moving toward the velvet couch.

“You think you’re clever, Cupcake?”

Vi was holding Caitlyn by the neck, having taken her down with a single move. She patted Caitlyn’s torso, searching for weapons, and removed her pistols, stuffing them into the fridge. Caitlyn grunted, struggling to free herself from Vi’s chokehold, but before she could think of screaming, the DJ started his set.

Vi loosened her grip slightly—just enough for Caitlyn to speak without coughing. Caitlyn raised her hands in surrender and said, “I don’t want anything to do with you or your psycho sister. I’m here for Velveteen.”

- I know. But Velveteen is a guest of my employer, and well, Cupcake, that’s not going to happen. - If you don’t stop calling me Cupcake, we’re going to have a problem. - Oh, really, commander? And what exactly can you do from there?

Vi tightened her chokehold again, crossing her legs over Caitlyn’s thighs. “I could easily kill you now, and they’d only know when I wanted them to.”

- Violet, Violet… If you haven’t moved on, we can talk about it.

Despite the difficulty in speaking, Caitlyn couldn’t miss the chance to tease her ex-lover.

- Come on, Violet. Admit you’ve missed me.

Vi released the chokehold and yanked off Caitlyn’s mask. Looking at the commander, she saw that Caitlyn was smiling and mocking the situation. Caitlyn adjusted herself as best she could in Vi’s lap, taking the chance to massage her own neck, sore from the chokehold.

- I should have just taken you down, but one day I’ll learn.

Vi let go of Caitlyn completely. She retrieved the pistols from the fridge, removed the ammunition, and threw them out the door. The empty pistols went into the trash, leaving Caitlyn defenseless.

Vi opened a beer from the minibar, leaned back comfortably on the sofa, and began to drink. Caitlyn said:

- If you want to act like my guest, at least sit properly

Vi sat with her legs spread, beer in her right hand and her left resting on her knee.

- I’m thinking, Cait. - About what? - You weren’t supposed to be here. I didn’t plan on seeing you today. - I don’t think about you enough to keep you out of my plans, but it’s nice to know you’re alive, Violet. - And they say you have no sense of humor…

The waitress stopped in front of the mezzanine and asked if she could come in. Vi stood, took the glass of ice from the tray, and said, “Thanks.” The waitress had no time to react.

Watching Vi standing, Caitlyn noticed that Vi was well dressed, but something about her outfit caught her attention. Vi had her back turned as she briefly interacted with the waitress, and Caitlyn saw two straps crossed across the back of Vi's waist. Her muscular butt was showing in the silhouette of her pants.

- Did you come to work or to have fun? - They’re the same to me. Work can be fun, but you know nothing about that.

Vi turned toward Caitlyn, she was sweating from the brief fight, her pants weren't tight, but Cait knew what Vi was wearing.

Caitlyn tried to shake off the thoughts running through her mind. She needed to stay focused on the mission.

Vi set the beer on the table and leaned toward Caitlyn.

- Cupcake, I’m closing the door.

Caitlyn tried to stand quickly but wobbled to the side, grabbing the edge of the sofa. The chokehold and drink had affected her body, and she was still recovering from the dizziness. She sat back down on the sofa and undid another button of her dress.

Standing, Vi approached Caitlyn and placed her cold hand on the commander’s forehead. Caitlyn felt a chill run through her whole body, unsure if it was from the cold or…

- Come on, Cait. I didn’t even squeeze that hard. It was almost like foreplay… - Shut up, Violet. You caught me off guard, that’s all. Is already passing.

And it was true. Caitlyn was hot for a different reason now.

- Cupcake, I’m on the clock. And as much as you love my company, I need to work.

Vi adjusted her pants, pulling the waistband up to her bellybutton. As she did, her strap became visible against her pants. Caitlyn gulped. Vi adjusted the lapel of her suit jacket and said, “When my shift ends, I’ll decide if I’ll come back here.”

Caitlyn didn’t give Vi a chance to react. When Vi leaned down to press the door button, Caitlyn grabbed her arm and twisted her into a perfect arm lock. Vi let out a loud grunt.

- Your shift just started, Violet.

Caitlyn remained seated almost comfortably on the couch. As she tried to sit Vi between her legs on the floor, the sofa seemed to expand a little. Vi's hair smelled of smoke, alcohol, and shampoo. She was wearing a light fragrance, probably some kind of body lotion. Her sweat blended perfectly with all the scents, and Caitlyn felt she might get dizzy again.

She continued pressing her back against the backrest, tightening the arm lock without realizing.

- Damn it! Are you trying to break my arm?!

Caitlyn released the hold. Vi immediately began massaging her shoulder and part of her back. As she did it, her scent grew stronger and Caitlyn caught a glimpse of a small part of her back. Caitlyn was kneeling behind Vi to apply more force to the hold she had been using. As she saw Vi’s back muscles tense under the suit, she sat with her legs around Vi’s hips. She held Vi’s right arm close to her own chest and whispered in her ear,“Did you miss me, Violet?”

Vi felt a shiver run through her entire body, stopping at her neck. She touched Caitlyn’s hand with her free hand.

- Oh, Cait. You don’t want to do this.

Caitlyn didn't let Vi finish her sentence. She pressed her face into Vi's neck, kissing and biting her ear. Vi squirmed a bit but made no sound. Caitlyn started kissing the other side of her neck and bit Vi's ear harder. As she kissed her neck, Caitlyn held Vi's chin with one hand and slid the other across her chest. Vi's suit was damp with sweat, which only turned Caitlyn on even more. As she nibbled, she felt Vi's nipple harden under her touch, and Vi finally let out a moan. Caitlyn released Vi's chin and moved her hand to her neck.

- Not so tough now, are you?

Caitlyn put her hand on Vi's neck, a gentle but firm grip. Vi took a deep breath. With her free hand, Caitlyn unbuttoned the suit and slid her hand down to her stomach, it was firm and had a perfect six-pack. Vi started moving her hips, trying to reach Caitlyn’s hand.

"Take off your pants," Caitlyn ordered.

Vi unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down to her knees. She was wearing black boxer-style underwear. The shape of her strap was visible, and her toned abs glistened with sweat.

Caitlyn continued watching over Vi’s shoulders. Now with both hands, she slid them over her chest, stomach, and the waistband of her underwear. Vi moaned, trying to guide Caitlyn's right hand toward her inner thigh. Caitlyn then began running her hands down Vi's thighs. Her nails moved lightly, sending chills over Vi's skin. She dug her nail into her right thigh, scratching her smooth skin a little. Vi's thigh turned slightly red, and Caitlyn caressed it for a while longer.

"Cait, please...", moaned Vi.

Caitlyn slipped her right hand into Vi's underwear, gently tugging it down to reveal the strap. Then she nudged the strap slightly aside to reach Vi's wetness.

- Is that all for me, Violet?

Vi moaned a “Yes” without even realizing she was speaking. But Caitlyn didn't stay too long there. 

Caitlyn ran two fingers over Vi's entrance and brought them to her mouth. Vi licked the commander’s fingers, gently biting the tips. Caitlyn brushed the same fingers over Vi's nipples, causing her to shiver as if a wave of electricity was coursing through her body. Vi squirmed, her hips moving rhythmically. Her thick, muscular thigh was becoming increasingly tense. Caitlyn ran her fingers again on Vi’s clit in a gentle circular motion, sliding her fingers down to the entrance and gathering some of Vi's wetness. She then proceeded to put the same two fingers in Vi’s mouth again, prompting Vi to suck them. As the pink-haired started suckling her fingers, Caitlyn started rubbing her pussy on Vi’s back. As her breathing rhythm increased, she tapped Vi’s mouth and grabbed her left breast with a firm grip. 

Caitlyn rose from her position and moved in front of Vi. She pushed Vi onto the couch, telling her to keep watching.

Caitlyn unbuttoned the rest of her dress and slipped off her shoes. Vi was almost completely undressed. She tried to reach out and pull Caitlyn toward her, but Caitlyn dodged her grasp.

Caitlyn knelt in front of Vi. Vi sat back on the sofa, gently touching Caitlyn's face and pulling her closer. They shared an urgent, sloppy kiss and Caitlyn let out a moan as she tasted Vi’s cum on her mouth. She realized she was salivating, and a bit of it dripped onto Vi's abdomen.

“Don't waste it there,” Vi murmured.

Caitlyn began licking and kissing Vi's abdomen, moving up to her chest, lingering on her hardened nipples as she teased them with her tongue. Circular motions, up and down, biting and kissing them.  Vi closed her eyes, moaning softly, her hands caressing Caitlyn's shoulders as she opened Cait's bra and messed her braid.

Caitlyn felt Vi's strap pressing against her breasts, trying to keep herself composed. She resumed licking along Vi's stomach, hesitating at her inner thigh before trailing her tongue over Vi’s legs. Rising up, she held Vi’s chin, teasing her, bringing her face close to her cunt, as if to spark her desire even more. Vi tried to kiss it, but Caitlyn held back.

Caitlyn pulled her own underwear aside and lowered herself onto Vi's thigh.

- Violet, I'm so…

Vi secretly enjoyed hearing Caitlyn say her full name. Something about her accent made everything even more thrilling, and the commanding tone just made Vi want her more.

As Caitlyn rode Vi's thigh, Vi held her back with her left hand and used her right hand to grip Caitlyn’s ass, pressing her body down closer against her thigh. Caitlyn’s entire body moved rhythmically. By now, her hair was loose, and she tried to tuck it behind her ear as she moved. 

- Leave it. You look so beautiful.

And Caitlyn kissed Vi like her mouth was the last thing she’d ever experience. She kissed, moaned, and panted against Vi’s lips, biting them each time Vi squeezed her harder. Vi lifted her leg slightly, pressing even more against the commander's cunt. She started kissing and sucking Caitlyn's breasts. Caitlyn threw her head back and moaned Vi’s name. Vi started moving her thigh, her muscles rubbing against the commander's pussy. Noticing Caitlyn’s movements speeding up, Vi knew her climax was near. So, she intentionally eased up on the pressure, and Caitlyn turned to her with a mix of frustration and longing.

- Don’t stop!

"Look at me." Said Vi, as she pressed her thigh harder this time, steady and slow, adjusting Caitlyn’s panties aside a bit more. Her thigh was so wet that Caitlyn slid even more easily. The friction against Caitlyn’s clit and Vi’s thigh muscles along with the steady rhythm was driving them wild. Caitlyn braced both hands on Vi’s shoulders, sliding a few more times before settling onto her strap.

Vi leaned back on her elbows to watch Caitlyn ride. Their bodies were hot, almost igniting from the heat between them. Caitlyn held her panties to the side, her other hand resting on Vi’s thigh as she leaned back. Cait had to wipe her hand on her own thigh, since Vi's thigh was slippery. The way she moved, her hips rocking forward and back, even lightly brushing against Vi’s sensitive spot left Vi barely able to contain herself… But she had plans for later.

Vi took over holding Caitlyn’s nearly-torn panties, flexing her own hips to thrust deeper. Caitlyn leaned forward, her hands on Vi's abs and breasts. Her mind swirled as she moved faster, her climax drawing near. Vi was mesmerized, watching Caitlyn’s hips, her body moving forward. She couldn’t take her eyes off her pussy. Caitlyn’s head fell back as she started to climax on Vi’s strap, moving so fast that Vi had to hold the strap in place. Caitlyn’s body tensed, arching forward as she moaned, locking eyes with Vi. When her body relaxed, she collapsed onto Vi’s chest and said:

- Stay inside me a little longer.

Vi kissed Caitlyn’s head, inhaling her scent, fighting the urge to jerk herself off on Caitlyn's body. As Caitlyn’s heartbeat slowed, she gently pulled the strap out and adjusted her underwear. Vi chuckled, giving Caitlyn’s ass one last squeeze.

Caitlyn moved to the center of the room, searching for water and ended up taking a swig from Vi’s beer.

Vi finished removing her pants and as she was about to unstrap herself, Caitlyn pulled the straps, tightening them against Vi's skin. When Cait saw the muscles in Vi's hip bulging from the pressure of the straps, she loosened them slightly so Vi could feel the bite she was about to give. Vi tried to hold steady, but her balance was starting to falter. When she finished unstrapping Vi, Caitlyn stood up to kiss her. Their bodies stayed close, Caitlyn feeling each muscle in Vi’s back, running her hands over her arms, whispering compliments as they held each other tightly. As Cait touched Vi's ass, she felt the pink-haired leaning towards her as she rubbed her cunt on Cait.

Cait then proceeds to kiss Vi's neck, mouth, breasts, circling her tongue on her nipples and going back to her mouth.

As they kissed, Caitlyn pulled Vi's hair and whisper in her ear:

- I want you to cum in my mouth.

Vi felt her vision blur, seeing colorful flashes even with her eyes closed. A growing wave of nervousness surged up her temples. She felt her face flush and couldn’t help but let out a subtle hiss. Something shifted inside and she was so horny that even a gentle movement on her sensitive spot could trigger an orgasm. She exasperated and tried to control herself. 

Vi tried to lay on the couch, but Cait grabbed her waist and said with a smirk:

"I want you to stand up," Caitlyn commanded, running her fingers teasingly along Vi’s folds but skipping her clit, just enough to ignite her. Vi's legs began to falter, trembling under Caitlyn’s touch.

Vi pulled Caitlyn’s hair, locking eyes with her. "Stop torturing me. And don’t waste a drop."

Caitlyn laughed; she was so wet. She slid her fingers along Vi's folds again, then brought them to her mouth biting her cheeks gently as Vi tasted herself.

Caitlyn hastily tied her hair up, kissed and sucked Vi’s nipples, then worked her way down to her abs, licking and kissing along her toned stomach before kneeling in front of her.

Vi couldn't control her reactions, shivers coursing through her body, her legs still shaky. She tried to steady herself against the couch, but it was too low. Caitlyn noticed and pushed her back against the wall, adjusting her hair as she looked up at Vi with an eager, heated gaze.

Vi placed one hand on her stomach and the other on Caitlyn's face. Seeing Piltover's most stuck-up commander on her knees was driving her wild. When Vi tried to pull Caitlyn’s face closer to her pussy, Caitlyn playfully bit her hand. Then, without further delay, Caitlyn’s mouth finally met Vi’s clit, drawing a deep moan from her. Caitlyn alternated between licking and sucking as Vi pushed her head closer to go deeper. Caitlyn resisted the urge to smile, not wanting to break the rhythm.

She spreaded Vi’s folds gently with her fingers and buried her mouth on Vi's clit once more. She felt Vi's body tense against the wall and knew it wasn’t fair that the wall got to feel all of Vi’s spasms. Pulling her slightly forward, Caitlyn placed a hand on Vi’s ass, feeling her muscles contract as Vi thrust her hips forward. Her other hand rested on Vi's thigh.

Knowing she wouldn’t last much longer, Vi spread her legs a bit wider, gripping Caitlyn’s hair and guiding her head firmly against her clit, each movement faster. As her orgasm approached, she relaxed her muscles, letting Caitlyn feel the wetness, drawing out the last seconds of her buildup. Glancing down, she saw Caitlyn’s eyes: they were wide open and focused on Vi’s gaze. Caitlyn pulled her head back briefly, a proud smirk tugging at her lips, a line of cum coming off Vi's pussy. She remained looking at Vi’s eyes. The fluid now on her lips only. Cait’s lips were gleaming. She licked it away, swallowed, and resumed. Moments later, Vi’s body tensed, her back pressing into the wall as she gasped, "Oh my god… Cait…"

Vi pushed Cait's head deeper, trying to enjoy every second of it. She felt when Caitlyn opened her mouth and moved her jaw a little bit lower and started tasting her warm, freshly released cum.

Caitlyn couldn’t contain her pride, thrilled to have made Vi come so intensely. Her chin was drenched, and she took in every drop of Vi’s release.

Standing, she kissed Vi deeply. Vi, still catching her breath, ran her hands over Caitlyn’s back as she kissed her back.

"We could stay here all night," Vi murmured.

"I’d stay here as long as you’d have me, Violet."

They both knew it was different between them, that no other woman could compare to what they shared. But they were also aware of the differences and baggage that stood in their way.

"We can stay a while longer. Then you can punch me, and life will go back to normal, Cupcake."

As Caitlyn relished the softness of Vi’s embrace, an urgent knock on her door interrupted them.

"Who is it?" Caitlyn asked.

"Commander Kiramman? Reinforcements are here!”

[jumpingjoltiks]

I want sugar daddy submas but a date with emmet. I feel like after a fancy lunch. They went to buy luxury furniture. And emmet asks the reader to decorate their house or room in ways that she wants it to be. And when the reader is choosing what sofa goes best in the living room (or her room) Emmett is just imaging all the kinds of things he can do with you on that sofa (and whether that sofa is good for sexy time.) when looking at all the mirror he just thinks about how he can f you in front of the mirror and see all the angle

Anon, I am so unbelievably sorry that this took so long to answer, but it has been eating at my brain for the entire time it's been sitting in my inbox and I really wanted to get it right. I hope what I finally came up was worth the wait!

Luxuries

Summery: Emmet takes you furniture shopping for the twin's summer house. Certain unspoken presumptions and misunderstandings in your relationship with the twins come to light. A little angst with a happy ending 💕

Pairings: Sugar Daddy!Emmet x Reader (GN), Implied Sugar Daddy!Ingo x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content (Minors Begone!), Sugar Daddy-esque relationship (and the consequences and implications of such), smut, dirty fantasies, personal and financial insecurities.

After a wonderful morning of trying on clothes and being spoiled to death by Ingo, Emmet meets both of you at a small diner. You’ve never even heard of this place but the atmosphere here is incredibly cozy.

The whole interior is a beautiful, solid hardwood, and each covered table is set up against a curtained window that lets in the light. The booths, far from the cheap vinyl you're used to in diners, are instead actual loveseats made with real leather. The tile floor below you is a lovely dark green, which makes the isle in between tables look like an emerald sea.

“I didn’t think you’d like a place like this. It’s very vintage.” And fancy. You think. This is like no diner you've ever been to.

“That’s because it’s been in business for nearly a century.” Ingo says as he takes the seat across from you, “We’ve been coming here since we first started at Gear Station.”

He sets a small bag under the table. It contains a wonderfully soft cardigan you'd found on a sale rack on your way out of the tailor's. Its price tag could have fed you for two weeks, but Ingo insisted on buying it for you anyway.

It's absurd to feel weird over a cardigan, you tell yourself, especially when it was the cheapest thing bought for you today. You put on a brave face at the tailor’s, mostly because there was someone else already there, but you’re really not used to having so much money to use on whatever you want.

Maybe that was it. The rest of the beautiful, beautiful clothes could be excused as a business expense, like a uniform for a job. But the cardigan, that was for you only. There was no getting around that.

Emmet's voice startles you out of your thoughts, and all of a sudden you're back in the diner.

“Yup yup! This building used to be the dining carriage on the luxury cross-regional line.” Emmet explains, sliding in next to you. His whole expression is aglow with happiness. You’ve come to understand that different smiles mean different things with him. This one shines with warmth. “They have done a lot of work to preserve and recreate as much as they can. These are even the same kind of chairs and tables they used back then!”

“I never even knew this was here…” You take a moment to marvel at the intricate wallpaper and polished wooden walls and try very hard not to think about how much has already been spent today.

“It’s a real gem, don’t you think?” Ingo’s eyes are sparkling. He looks so happy just to share this with you. “Everything here is wonderful as well. Please take a look at the menu and order whatever you’d like. It’s on us.”

~~~

If the twin’s choice of lunch surprised you, Emmet’s choice of where to take you on a date shocks you even more.

“Is this… a furniture store?”

“Mhmm!” Emmet watches your expression carefully. “I know it is unusual. But I want your help picking out some pieces for my and Ingo’s summer house. We have to host a bunch of parties this year. You’ll be spending a lot of time there with us and we want you to be comfortable.”

To his credit, Emmet doesn’t mention a thing about wanting to buy furniture for your place. He’s never been inside (truthfully, he doesn’t even know where you live), but judging from what Elesa’s told him about your lifestyle, it could probably use something nicer. And he would love to give it to you.

“But shouldn’t Ingo be here for that too?”

“Hmmmm, no. We have verrry similar tastes. And we both trust your sense of style, so he agreed to let us go together.”

“Oh. Okay then.” You still look unsure, but Emmet doesn’t seem to notice. He takes you by the hand and your heart flutters inside your chest.

“Full steam ahead!”

~~~

Calling the store massive is an understatement. Even in a city like Nimbasa, you've never seen anything like this.

It's like a labyrinth in here. Every way you turn is a new room full of a setup of furniture. Some of them are kitchens with huge sinks and granite countertops. Others are elaborate dining rooms with tables set for fifty. The ones Emmet most wants to explore are the living rooms.

Maybe this can be a good opportunity to get to know him after all. While browsing a whole wall full of chairs, you ask about his decorating style and preferences.

"Ingo and I like a modern look. It fits with our professional image, so it’s good for places we have to host in." His expression seems reserved, despite his smile.

You think back to how much they loved the old, vintage dining car, and wonder if sticking to a modern 'professional image' can be joined with what they actually like in practice.

Your eyes scan over the chairs, and you find a dark brown, almost black leather piece toward the center. It's traditional, in that the upholstery is very classic, but the lines are crisp and sharp, modern. You don't think it would look out of place in either scenario. You point it out.

"What about that one?"

Emmet brings a hand to his chin, considering, silent. You're worried you may have made a mistake until he quite suddenly turns around and marches across the room. He stops in front of a matched pair of very modern, round side tables, one black and one white, accented with marble tops and gold trim.

"A pair of those chairs with these tables could fill a nook by one of the windows." He says. "Verrry nice. An excellent combination!"

"That would be so cozy! It would be a nice place to sit and talk for a while." You say, excited that he's on board. "A rug under them all would help mark the space as its own little area.”

"Yes!" He puts a hand on your shoulder. “Let's mark these down and remember to look at rugs later. For now, couches."

~~~

There are almost as many couches in this place as there are chairs.

At one point, Emmet grabs your hand and pulls you down onto a loveseat with him to test it out. It's very comfy. Comfier still with you cuddled up under his arm.

Across from you both is a mirror on a large wall. It’s beautiful, with golden leaves and flowers surrounding the frame. In it, Emmet can see you curled into his side. He sees your reflection turn and gaze up at him. The look in your eyes is like he hung the stars. He wants you to always look at him like that.

How easy would it be, to turn his head and kiss you? His lips would fit against yours perfectly. He’s thought about it so many times already. In the dead of night. In the quiet morning. In the dull monotony of the work day. He wonders how you would react. Would you swoon against him, melt into him like he was made for you? His hand has already found its way to your waist. One quick tug, and you'd fall right into his lap - where you belong.

You'd sigh as his lips ghost their way down your neck. He'd trail kisses across your shoulders like rain. You’d gasp at the rough texture of his sideburns against your sweet, soft skin. He’d nip, maybe even bite. Ingo had gotten you those clothes in black… he’d have to mark you in other ways. In places only he could see.

Emmet thinks of his hand slipping across your neck to give a gentle squeeze. You’d shudder in his arms and your eyes would slip closed. His hand would slide down across your chest. Lower. Lower. He feels you breathe against him. The fluttering of your heartbeat. Lower. To the waist of your pants. He’d stop, rubbing his thumb against the line where clothing meets skin, until your hand wraps around his and shows him exactly what you want.

He’d look up from where he sucks dark bruises onto your shoulder. Silver eyes blown dark with lust would meet yours through the reflection. You’d watch yourself become the very image of desperation as he worked you. You would see how he took you apart piece by piece and built you back together with only his touch. The jerking of your hips against his hand. The friction driving you to a squirming mess against him. You’d be laid out before him in the mirror like a feast.

"Emmet..." Your voice is like honey to his ears. A voice on the breeze that whispers, begs for more. He’d give you anything. Everything. "Emmet..."

…

"Emmet, are you there?"

He snaps out of his trance. Just like that, the dream is gone. He's back in the furniture store with you sitting next to him.

"I am Emmet. I was lost on a train of thought. What were you saying?"

“This chair is nice, but I don’t know about the color. I wanted to know what you think.”

“I think we should get this mirror.”

“The mirror?” You look baffled, and turn to make a face at your reflection. It doesn’t really seem like his style, “Why?”

“I like the view I’m seeing in it.”

~~~

Emmet circles a huge sectional. It’s been presented with a luxurious, dark grey fabric. His hands sweep across the back and he notes that even the top is cushioned. There’s so much room, he could fuck you in a different position on it every day for a month and still have opportunities for more. The prospect has merit…

He shakes himself out of it. Any more daydreaming, and you’ll start to get worried about him. Besides, as much as he wants it to be, your relationship isn’t like that with them. Not yet.

“What about this couch?” He asks as you take a seat. You bounce as you plop down, and his fingers tighten indistinguishably on the upholstery.

Its humiliating for you to think about how this couch wouldn't even fit in your apartment. It’s lovely, really. And very nice to sit on. It's even softer than your bed! But it’s far too big for your little studio, (if you could even call a space so small a studio. You’re pretty sure Elesa's closet is bigger than your apartment).

“It’s really comfy! Will it work in your summer house?”

“It might be a little small…” He thinks aloud, coming around the side to drop next to you. Emmet leans back, putting his feet up onto the ottoman in front. “We could add a few more sections to it. It would look nice in the conversation pit. Or…”

He turns to you with a look on his face that’s clearly trying to be nonchalant.

“We could always get it for your place.”

You nearly choke. “My place?” You look away, trying to control your expression. There’s no way that would work. It couldn’t even fit it through the door. You try to keep your voice measured, throw in a small laugh, “I don’t know about that…”

“If you do not like it, there are lots of other things here. We could always find something else.”

Emmet says it like buying something like this for you is nothing. And for him, maybe it is. It occurs to you that you don’t really know much about their lives at all, or how well off they actually are. Maybe they really did go through life not even thinking about what it cost them.

Meanwhile, your funds have been so low that you haven’t even thought about replacing the ratty old futon you’ve had since college. There are a million other things that you’re more concerned about than your comfort - like fixing your car, or paying off your school debts, or how until recently, you struggled to afford just surviving from one month to another.

“Um.. maybe. Why don’t we take a look in the next room.”

Anything to get away from this couch.

~~~

Emmet’s warm smile has fallen. His lips are pursed and there’s a furrow in his brow, like how he looks when trying to come up with battle strategies. You pick at your cuticles. Silence stretches out in between you two like an impassible river. Emmet has always been quieter than his brother, but it’s never been like this before.

“You said you have a conversation pit in your summer home?” You ask, trying to kickstart the conversation again. He’d also said you’d be spending time there, so… “When will I get to visit?”

And you pray the answer is still soon.

Some tension seems to leave him as he answers, “We usually host two parties for the season. Ingo and I would love you to be there for both,”

“I’d like that!” You answer, a little too quickly. But he seems to take it well. He almost looks relieved, and that comforts you as well.

Once you’ve broken the ice, conversation flows easily between you two once more. In fact, you’re both doing really well together! Your chatter is lighthearted, sometimes even boldly teasing, and though you have to hustle to keep up with his long legs and purposeful stride, you find he keeps looking toward you, like he wants to make sure you’re still with him. It’s endearing.

Until he tries to buy you another couch. Another wave of shame crests over you – it’s so powerful that you can’t think of what to do or how to save this moment without losing it. And it was going so well, too!

“Emmet, please stop. I’m sorry, but I don’t think you should buy this.”

“What, why?” He seems baffled, like he can’t figure out what you mean, “Is the color wrong? You shouldn’t worry. We can get it redone to fit your tastes.”

“I- no. That’s not- I just wouldn’t be comfortable with it.”

“But… it’s very comfortable?” Emmet looks confused, “The cushions are plenty soft. You just said so.”

“No, no. I mean, I don’t feel comfortable with you buying something like this for me!”

"But that’s why we're here. You deserve to be comfortable."

He pauses for a moment, as if struck by something.

"Are you not comfortable? With Ingo and I buying you things?"

You pause. Today has been a lot, with Ingo taking you to such a fancy, expensive tailor and Emmet wanting to buy you all of this new furniture. It’s so much money. More than you’ve ever had to spend on your own. But truthfully, it’s nice too. To be able to look at something and not have to worry about what it cost. To just decide you can have it, no matter what it was.

And it was nice, SO nice, to have people who wanted to give it to you.

"It's been really nice. But…" You sit down on the nearest couch, eyes facing downward as you try to put together the words to express how you’re feeling without choking.

But at what cost? You’re not naive. You know that this relationship is transactional. Every debt will have to be paid eventually. Once it’s all wrung up, what will the price on your shoulders be?

You’re scared that soon the spell will be broken. The debt collector will come knocking and demand something you can’t give. What will you do then, stuck with a price you can’t bear to pay and no way to back out? It’s terrifying. Would Ingo and Emmet do that to you? You’ve known them long enough to think that they probably wouldn’t, but how can you really be sure? How can you be sure of anything?

Emmet carefully sits across from you, patiently waiting for your next words.

“I don’t know why you’re both… It’s all so much, and I don’t know what you’re expecting from me in exchange for all of this.” Your expression is worried, almost scared.

Emmet feels his veins turn to ice. He suddenly feels like how he did as a child, making a rookie mistake in a battle and finding out how quickly and badly things could backfire on him. This was the last impression he or Ingo ever wanted to give.

"We are not buying you things because we want something from you. We wanted to do this for you because we like seeing you happy. You should have nice things." Your eyes are watery. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to you. “We only want you to be happy. Is that hard to believe?”

Emmet knows now that the game is almost up. The three of you are going to have to sit down and talk about your relationship – it’s all too quickly growing out of the convenient agreement it started as and into something more. They want to give you more, but Emmet realizes that they shouldn’t have assumed you’d just accept without talking it through first. You were so much more than what you could give to them. Yet somewhere along the way he and Ingo had both failed to consider how you might make assumptions about their intentions.

And then there’s the matter of their attraction to you. Emmet likes you. Wants you. They both do. But they can’t stand the idea of you thinking they’re buying you. Love that is an obligation is not what they want. It is so much more than that for them.

“I am Emmet. And I am sorry. I should have known it was too much to offer.” He says as you wipe your eyes. “I am serious though. Neither Ingo or I would ever expect anything like that.”

“I-” You take a deep breath, “Thank you. I’m sorry too. I should have told you how I was feeling sooner.”

Emmet reaches out and takes your hand in his. This time, you don’t pull away.

“Do you think we could start our date over?” He asks. You look at him and know that if you said no right now, he would take you home and everything would still be okay. “What if we just did something fun together instead? The amusement park is still open.”

You laugh through the last of your tears. “I’d like that. Can we ride the ferris wheel?”

He rubs a thumb over your knuckles.

“That sounds perfect.”

~~~

Thanks for reading! 💕

If you liked this fic, there is now a direct sequel!

[endereies]

DECORATING LOVE - MS

No Nut November - Day 18

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ You and Matt decorate each other as cookies

The bell dinged lightly as he walked in, the sweet vanilla smell filling his nose. It was something about this place that felt so comforting. With the soft melody satisfying the silence, he took his gaze to the line-up of baked goods behind the counter. Dozens of bread rolls and cake slices were being preserved with tiles and glass covers, making them look as if they were just drawn out the heated oven.

“I’m sorry we are closed at the m- oh, hey Matt!” Both of your hands untied the bow behind your back before glancing up to see your boyfriend. After discarding the apron, he met you with a smile. “Hey pretty girl. You got room back there for one more?”

With a quick nod, you pull the side door open allowing him to walk through. “What are you doing, working here so late?” Looking around the back kitchen shows your previous efforts. Piping bags of icing stood in a line, circling some gingerbread men.

“Just icing, these have to set before I display them tomorrow but…I think I made a few too many cookies.” Matt followed your gaze to see two dozen extra cookies on their own tray. The amount of icing already made was clearly just for a couple batches. He’d seen you make these a million times and the thought of you accidentally making too many became humorous.

“is there anything wrong with them?” His hand reached over to pick one up. “Nope, they are all fine and with the same recipe, I just made too many. I don’t sell this much, especially during the week.” It wasn’t a crisis that you made too many, merely an inconvenience. You had all the resources to finish them all, but if they wouldn’t sell, why let them go to waste.

“It’s not the end of the world, baby. We could decorate a few, for ourselves. Nick and Chris may want some if you don’t want them to just go stale.” His mouth crunched into the leg of a gingerbread man. He sighed as the classic taste melted across his tongue. “Besides I’d be more than happy to finish these for you.”

A small giggle passed your lips as he spoke, watching him gather the few crumbs that fell from his lips. “You’d make gingerbread men, like decorate them?” Matt was hasty to nod.

“Obviously, I love watching you create things, I’d love to join in. Consider it a date night if you will. We could attempt to recreate the other person the best, plus we get a shit ton of sugar in our systems.”

“No complains from me.” The few trays that were decorated previous to Matt’s arrival were placed in the counter, covered and protected by the glass while you grabbed all the cheap icings and the homemade batch. The dining room table became full of sweet substances and half a dozen cookies. They were decently sized which gave both of you a chance to have accurate portraits.

You knew matt had a competitive streak and it showed. He was taking his time, looking up to study your face. He even grabbed your chin so you could face him while he matched the perfect shade for your eyes. He was beaming, adoring over both versions of you.

You were using a few spare tools lying about as well as a toothpick to flatten the icing as you laid it on the cookie. With a few years of training, the decorations end up with a cute brunette sitting on top the biscuit. However, Matt’s was a little messier, a few globs dotted for designs.

“I think you have to win that one baby” You giggled at the cute outfit he put you in, a black skirt and a baby pink top which was covered by an apron. Your hair was a mix of a few colours and you could’ve sworn there was a green tint to it.

“You taste good too” He bit the side of your head off savouring the ginger taste before clicking his tongue. “Fuck, too much icing.”

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03 @slutf4rmatt @spaghetti835928383 @flouvela

© ENDEREIES 2024

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #7: AGGRANDICIZE

(also on spotify!)

There's no other way to intro this song - TAKE IT AWAY, TIKTOK VOICE

---

It's a hot and muggy night in Texas, mid-July of 2022.

In my dream, I am somewhere else entirely - A room in the city of Chicago, nestled somewhere high up amongst a countless number of high-rises, aesthetically somewhere between an upscale apartment, an art gallery, and a concert hall. Wide-open windows reveal the landscape of glass and steel spires, light bouncing between reflective surfaces indiscriminately and ultimately making it into the space I'd found myself in.

A good few souls were gathered here, many in suits holding notepads and handheld recorders, others in the flamboyantly-casual wear you might expect from a rock star invited to a press event. A song was playing at modest volume over an unseen sound system, an achingly familiar arrangement steadily ticking away at mid-tempo, drums striking with exacting precision upon each downbeat.

I held in my hand a phone, open to a familiar looking website. I don't recall most the actual words - it was a dream, there likely weren't any - but I recall it in broad strokes, with one specific detail, so I'll do my best to recreate the experience below.

i don't know if any of these shapes actually mean anything i just scribbled things down because i remember there being a row of Something there

"Some might bemoan this newest foray into glossy, baroque art pop as being simply a cheap Kate Bush impersonation," our dream reviewer wrote. "For Jamie, though, I believe she'd take this as a compliment."

And yes, I would. That's the kind of artist you're grateful to be mentioned in the same breath as! That being said, like, huh? That's not even how you spell aggrandize. What?

I woke up with a singular mission.

---

In this day and age, "being a star" is a strangely democratized concept. Everyone is a celebrity, with a brand image to maintain and an audience to cater to and a compelling story arc to be followed. Fandom manifests in all its beautiful and nightmarish aspects even in amounts of tens of people.

Maybe it's my boomer dadrock-loving parents, or my childhood obsession with the game Rock Band, or some chemical imbalance, or simply some toxic nostalgia manifest, but part of me couldn't help but crave it.

I wanted it to be true!! The romantic idea of the musician, touring nonstop in beatup vans across entire continents, pouring their heart out on stage and in recording booths, seeing their name up in lights and embossed in gilded vinyl records, finding constant companionship secondhand. Obviously, reality is so much messier than that, but honestly, it's a dream I've never really been able to let go of - being a star.

I shouldn't have to tell you how out of touch with reality that ideal is. That doesn't stop the dreams from coming.

The subject Aggrandicize is written for, that the lyrics are addressed to, is fame itself. To be wanted, to be dissected, to be bleached and recycled ad infinitum, to be subject to the churning violent machine of fame; To be forever just out of sight, to lack the luck, to bleed and bleed and bleed until you're nothing and not even get a single inch closer to that goal because it's impossible and it's not even what you want. Doesn't it sound like paradise? To tower over reality itself, a redwood tree amongst bushes and ferns? To take this image and stretch, to grow so big gravity revolves around you? To be more brand than body? To be a star?

I don't need that. I don't want that, even if I think I do. Maybe I want to want you to want me, but it is an ideal destined to rot me from the inside out and drain me for every ounce of blood. I just want to make music! And honestly, the path I've gone down has proven that I can have my cake and eat it, too - Playing live at Digital Stars earlier this year was one of the most gratifying and fulfilling experiences I've ever had in my life. I can make better memories by following where my art takes me, memories without 'fame' and 'fortune', memories of light and connection and getting in a room with a bunch of people who know the lyrics and singing my fucking heart out alongside them.

...

Basically, I own a TikTok account, but it'll be a cold day in hell before I ever use it.

---

This song, like many others I've written, was created primarily through assembling a bunch of piecemeal ideas I'd amassed over a couple years of demos. In particular, it borrows a lot from On Fire, a song I wrote for a song jam hosted by Fourth Strike Records back in 2021! I couldn't really tell you why, but I just keep returning to this song over and over - first with Encore, and now with this... Thankfully, I think I've exhausted this font of ideas at this point.

Aggrandicize, somewhat fittingly, is also the song that gave me the most technical trouble on this entire release - I think I genuinely went back and reworked the mix some fifty-odd times before finally giving up and just sending it as-is. I'm still somewhat unhappy with the final result, but hey, the only difference between a work-in-progress and a finished piece is what you call it, I guess.

This is another song I've had a lot of MV ideas for, and that may very well still see a video if I decide to go that route! There's a couple concepts that I've floated, including possibly an animated/animatic type video, but the original concept was to do a whole shitload of fake brainrot tiktoks and film them playing off a phone synced up to the music. That idea never took off, mostly because I couldn't bring myself to do all that, but there's exactly one remnant I'd like to share.

That's it for today!! If you have any questions, I'll gladly answer them below, but otherwise, I'll be back tomorrow to talk about women who love other women with Liaison!

[jaylaxies]

hiiii ilysmm!!!!💗💗

wb enha hyung line's reaction on catching you watching porn?

heeseung would probably have a clue and he won’t care much but deep inside, he finds it annoying that you have to resort to porn videos when you’ve got a whole lee heeseung to pleasure your body. he’s gonna use that as an excuse to fuck you, “watching porn? do i not fuck you good enough?” he’d groan, hitting that one good spot that has you rolling your eyes.

jay was caught off guard when he heard moans coming out of your room but when he saw you watching porn straight on tv then he scoffed, because you could have called him to fuck you senseless. punishment? he’d simply gonna watch you rub your cunt while sitting next to you, not once touching you even if you cry. you need to overstimulate yourself and he won’t have it any other way.

jake would take this as an opportunity to propose that you guys watch filthy and cheap porn and get off to it together (he’s also into those milfs being fucked by lanky guys kinda porn) and he would ask you to roleplay or recreate some such scenes, which would get you both off even better than usual, he might also see the girl squirting in the video and then he’d be hellbent on making sure you do the same.

sunghoon is gonna peep in from the slightly ajar door of your room to see you all spread out and naked. he’s been having dreams about fucking you from so long and he takes this as the perfect opportunity to act clueless and stumble into the room, acting best as if he didn’t know what you were up to and then he’s nonchalantly gonna ask if he can join. hint: it’s gonna end up with his cock inside you.

[marigold-hills]

Oh I am so jumping in here.

Can you give us a dreamy summer wolfstar first kiss/get together, but put it in YOUR nostalgic summer. Like whatever that means for you. Where are they? What are they eating/drinking? What is the air like? The lighting? The smells and sounds?

I humbly bow before your altar take my compliments on your prose and pacing and metaphors as my offering 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Hey! Loved this ask. It completely run away from me. Hope you enjoy it! (Also you said altar and offering and well. Those words clearly stayed with me.)

It’s wine and bread, a fancy cheese selection from Tesco’s. A little plastic pot of olives. No blanket, because they’re not tourists and don’t mind a bit of sand as seasoning.

The storm is coming in.

They can see it, across the vastness of water, darkening the horizon and stretching through the sky like spilled ink.

Recreating exactly how it was the first time, years ago:

Remus had said there’s a storm tonight. We should go and watch it.

On the beach? Sirius had asked, a bit bewildered. The wind was already picking up, and the logistics of sitting out in the open during a downpour didn’t enamour him.

Remus, undeterred, prepared a backpack. I know a place, he said, we’ll be hidden from the rain. Trust me?

And Sirius did: with his life, with his time. Followed him off the main promenade and across the dunes until they reached a hidden spot of sand: a bay, of sorts, with a railway bridge backed into the cliff side. The arches of its support beams only faced open towards the water, secluded otherwise by brick and clay.

“Used to come here with da, when I was a kid,” Remus told him: “there are fossils in the clay if you know where to look. Come out after heavy rain best, maybe we’ll find something tomorrow.”

They set up under one of the arches. Remus built a stone circle at the mouth of it, stacked it with sticks and driftwood he’d collected on their way. Set a crumpled wad of receipts from his pocket on fire and used it as kindling.

“Impressing me with your caveman skills here, Moony.” Sirius had known, of course, that wild streak within Remus, seen it shine through sometimes when he let his guard down, but this was something new. Large hands stoking the flame as it slowly engulfed the given wood, eyes alight with its reflection. Sirius felt a pull at his navel like a fishhook: handle me like this, the pull said.

He’d made a mistake, maybe, following Moony back to his parents’ house for the summer after their graduation. A miscalculation of how much he could stand watching him, in the summer heat, with sea breeze curling his hair.

Red wine, a couple paper cups. Sirius didn’t like it then yet: not like he pretended to, and it was a cheap bottle from the middle shelf. The aftertaste was sharp, it stayed on his tongue and the insides of his cheeks - dry, clinging.

Cheeses Remus had cut into cubes. Pungent Stilton with dark blue veins, Brie, white skin coating the creamy interior, fruity Wensleydale filled with cranberries.

They sat side by side by the fire as the storm hit. The rain a heavy curtain in front of them, the wind making their fire dance erratically. Sirius had never seen it like this, surprised by the intensity of the smell of salt in the air. Despite the cover, a thin mist of spray hit his face when the wind blew just right.

Remus had made him a canapé of sorts, spread a chutney on a finger-torn piece of sourdough and topped it with the Stilton. He ate it in one bite. Asked for another, just like it, the taste round and warming, somehow.

“It’s the chutney,” Remus said. “There’s chilli in it. Try an olive.”

A new thing, this, being presented with food like offerings. Remus watched each bite Sirius took with an intent, as if they were eating something rare and costly. Like this, with the storm above them and the fire in Moony’s eyes, Sirius felt each mouth full was something precious, something to be cherished. A worship, and he wasn’t sure if he was the god being praised or the offering on the altar.

They’d almost finished the bottle when Remus asked want to swim? With such wonderful abandon that Sirius didn’t even hesitate. Yes, he said, and they took off their trousers and shirts and walked hand in hand into the water.

The first crack of thunder rang out when they were knee deep. Remus laughed, free and loud like a curlew, head thrown back into the falling rain. The sky turned white with the lightning and Sirius thought it’s you, that needs to be worshipped.

Moments like this, though, something Sirius didn’t know: it’s too easy, for thoughts to be said aloud.

Remus turned to him like a trap closing. “Is that right?”

“You look like a god of the sea.”

(Another break of thunder, a wave sweeping into them, rough with the storm but soft like a touch.)

Remus took his hand, pulled him further into the water. There were raindrops caught in his eyelashes, and Sirius realised I’m close enough to touch them. He did, shaky fingers, as lighting lit them up. The water made Remus’ curls heavy and darker, sat on his skin in a fine sheen. “I want to lay you out onto the sand,” Sirius thought-said, “trace the path of every raindrop.”

“You’ll be at it for hours.”

“As long as you’ll let me.”

The first time they kissed, Remus tasted like salt.

NOTES:

I feel compelled to point out: everyone. Please don’t drink and swim! Don’t swim in the storm! Especially not in the sea.

I don’t know how I didn’t realise before you’re the person who wrote The Homecoming of Sirius Black??? I LOVED it. Honestly the fact that you enjoy my writing feels like such a massive compliment.

[sketchy-angel]

Custom Hualian dolls

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

I started this project in February 2022. I originally made a Puqi Shrine diorama out of an old cardboard box. I still have it and I'll post it soon after I make some minor alterations. I just really wanted to share these 2 since I spent so much effort on them.

Back then, I purchased 2 Obitsu 11cm dolls. I bought them on Aliexpress but judging by the packaging and the fact they were around $15 each I'm pretty sure they're legit.

In this blog I'll talk a bit about the process for those unfamiliar with doll customizing and everyone else who is interested in the process. I'm a doll collector but my customizing skills are very rudimentary and mostly rely on winging it and hoping for the best.

And my motto during this process was "nobody's gonna see the back."

I made the prototype clothes back in 2022 and the stitching was ass. And it took me until last week to gather enough courage to start working on the wigs. I originally purchased very cheap doll hair but it refused to cooperate and I decided to use felt instead.

. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊ . 𓇢𓆸

⋆｡˚ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His clothes were already basically done when I started over. I added the red ribbon details, added the flower nail charm, the red string and I made the wig, of course.

These outfits are by no means historically or cannonically accurate. I had to modify them to accommodate the scale and my subpar sewing skills. I've gotten much better at sewing since then so don't look at those shoulder seams...

And I still don't know what's going on with the back of his red robes. I think I ran out of fabric :-|

The braid is made using a string of black yarn. The vambraces are actually fake adjustable ear cuffs.

I'll show the wig making process more in Xie Lian's section since Hua Cheng's was easier to make. I just slapped a bunch of felt pieces on the wigcap with glue and voilà!

And E'Ming was made using pencils and gel polish on a piece of cardboard and Xie Lian's butterfly was made with the help of a nail sticker and magnetic cat eye polish. In the finished photo you can see a red gem sticker on E'Ming's eye. I don't know how I feel about it. Do your prefer the design without it? I can easily take it off.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ˚｡⋆

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.˚⊹.

𔓘｡˚ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Xie Lian's outfit and hair was a bit of a challenge but it was fun. I was inspired by several designs and decided to just wing it and make my own outfit instead of recreating an existing one in its entirety.

Also, as you can tell, these dolls have many articulation points that allow for so much posability. I sewed the clothes onto them to keep it in place so they have limited range of movement, especially Hua Cheng, but I'm fine with it. They can still pose nicely.

Instead of making inner and outer robes I decided to make one pair of robes and the second pair that's folded over the shoulders stops at the waist and is hidden by the belt/sash(?) idk English forgive me.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ˚｡𔓘

𔓘｡˚ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I tried to make the "main robes" fold over at the waist but I misplaced the rest of that white fabric 2 years ago so I just extended the edges on 3 sides with the sheer fabric from an old curtain and hoped for the best.

Oh, and the shoes are also from Aliexpress. I try not to purchase often from them but I could not find any alternatives...

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ˚｡𔓘

𔓘｡˚ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The wig making process was... Interesting. I won't show the entire wigcap by itself to spare your eyes so here's balding Xie Lian lol.

The bun was made by rolling felt into a little roll. I then stuck two bigger felt circles onto one side and glued the edges after I cut the outer edges like you would cut a pizza. Does this make sense? Probably not.

Basically, make a rose type thing.

And if you're wondering, the wigs are removable and kind of posable as well.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

And that's basically it <3

I wanted to include better quality pics but it won't allow me to post more than 10 at once so I had to stuff them into collages.

Forgot to mute the video so if you hear my cat wreaking havoc in the background no you didn't.

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

I may or may not be working on another project centered around Beefleaf...

When I was a kid, I couldn't afford good quality dolls so I played with small doll-like keychains that had knitted dresses, arms and legs made of string, heads made of painted wooden beads and little beanies on their heads.

I have similar beads laying around so I plan to make similar keychains that look like fem Beefleaf.

Of course, I gotta finish that damn Puqi Shrine and hope my cat doesn't cause it to collapse. Maybe one day I'll make keychain versions of other TGCF characters as well!

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

[jinkiezzsstuff]

I absolutely loved the Emily and Charlie ideas you wrote so I was hoping to request another Charlie x male reader with some smut (but not the main focus). Idea being everyone going out for an evening with Charlie staying at the hotel to work, secretly wanting some company but telling everyone to have fun anyway. Reader didn't go out and found her later in the evening (maybe can tell how she's feeling) so offers some company/someone to cuddle. The main smut I'd like to include would be her leaving some scratch or kiss marks and her being quite touchy/hands on.

I’m so glad you enjoyed the others teehee i tried my best with this so i hope you enjoy it but im not too happy with how it turned out tbh, idk why, i guess it could be because i didn’t feel like during the smut scenes i did charlie justice, lmk what you think.

Charlie x male!reader

After Party

warnings: creampie, biting, scratching, kinda rushed smut, angsty charlie, possibly ooc charlie but i can’t tell, charlie n vaggie are friends, im not sure if there’s anything else, oh swearing, NOT PROOFREAD beware of errors.

word count: 2K

Charlie was tired. Between her father disbelieving in her, Alastor picking a fight with him, the failed meeting with Adam, and finding out Vaggie was an angel? She was over and exhausted. She tried to keep up her mood but she just couldn’t stop the spiralling thought process of handling everything on her own. It seemed like every step forward she had to take four steps back, nobody believed or respected her.

“Cmon, we needa little par-tay.” Angel whined pushing himself over the back of the couch dramatically. Charlie hummed, barely listening as the crowd of sinners lingered in the little living room-like area. “We don’t need anymore fuckin parties, spider.” Husk muttered before taking a big swig of his drink. “I don’t know, I think a little bit of recreational activity could really brighten the spirits!” Alastor exclaimed, and as much as Charlie would like to join the fun, if she didn’t finish up the work she had she knew it would only stress her out further, but she knew the others worked hard too and deserved a little treat.

Reaching into her pocket she pulled out some cash and beckoned over Alastor. “Here, why don’t you take everyone out to relax?” She said softly, despite her desire for company and hope that one of the few would stay back to assist. “Aren’tcha comin’ toots?” Angel who jumped up the moment Charlie pulled out money asked, putting one of his hands on her shoulder. “Oh no, i’ve got sooo much to do here, you guys go on without me! Bond a little!” She smiled as brightly as she could, although anyone with a keen eye could tell it was forced. In the back of her mind she was hoping for more punch back, more of her friends to beg her to come out with them, but instead they shrugged her off and left rather quickly.

Sighing Charlie rung her hands together and walked up the stairs slowly, vacant and alone, the hotel now seemed so eerie. She made her way to an office one that had been used by the whole team she had, so herself, Vaggie and Alastor. She plopped herself lazily on the ripped leather office chair, air slowly escaping the cheap foam as she did. Charlie couldn’t help the bitter feelings stirring around in her; she was always happy to help her friends and wanted them to have fun and relax, she just wished maybe they cared a little more about her? It was a confusing sensation, she knew Vaggie cared, but at times she felt more like a personal body guard rather than friend, and Alastor, she knew deep down, didn’t actually care.

Opening her phone she decided to try and ease her mind before sorting out the paperwork she had piling, unfortunately the universe wasn’t kind to her. Opening Sinstagram the first sight she was greeted with was Angels varying posts and stories which included all the crew members piled into a booth enjoying their drink of choice. It made a scorned yucky feeling of jealousy tangle within her stomach. Groaning she pulled open a drawer and stuck her phone in it, slamming it shut after. “It’s better to just work.” The princess mumble pulling the first stack of papers near her; the billing’s for their failed comercial.

After an hour of word Charlie sat back in her seat and messaged her sore neck. Pulling her phone from the drawer she checked the time. 23:48. Having no idea when the others would get back, she shuffled from the office to the second story balcony for some air. “Oh sorry I didn’t know you were here!” Charlie exclaimed, seeing you leant over the balcony railing. Looking over your shoulder you gave the little devil a warm smile. “You can join.” You say beckoning her forward, with a sigh and a forced smile Charlie came up alongside you, mimicking your stance. “What’re you still doing here?” Charlie questioned eyeing you from her peripheral. Your brow quirked and your face turned to confusion, with a quick hum you replied. “Just relaxing..?” The statement came out uncertain and wobbly, but you weren’t quite sure what she meant.

“No, i mean why didn’t you go out with the others?” Your head tilted back as you let out an ‘ah’, now understanding what she meant. “I just, well, this is the only time i get free yknow, always gotta be doing something so it’s nice to be alone, but i also want to have fun with them, but that drains me yknow?” Charlie quickly nodded her head at that completely understanding where you were coming from. “Yeah i know what you mean. I wish somebody stayed back with me.” Nudging yourself lightly into her, she met your eyes with curiosity floating in her own. “Well I stayed back, why don’t we relax together?” You suggest warmly, smiling fondly down at her. Charlie momentarily stuttered, blushing at the way her mind wandered to naughty places.

“Ahem, uh, sure! Yes! Let’s do that!” The princess fumbled, pushing herself away from your hold. You could tell she was flustered as she walked off leading you to whatever part of the hotel she’d choose to relax in, you felt a little voice in the back of your head egging you on to tease her, and who were you to deny your great mind. “Alrighty this it my room! Uhhh, why don’t we watch a movie or something..?” Charlie trailed off leading you into her bedroom.

You took a quick look around enjoying the aesthetic her room held. Charlie kicked her shoes off and pulled her jacket from her shoulders. “You can lounge on the bed if you want, i totally don’t mind!” You grinned and got onto the bed, watching as she frantically ran around “Calm down hun, you look real stressed.” You urged her frantic pacing causing loose hairs to tangle and fly out from her ponytail. “Ugh, i know!” Sighing she finally plopped on the bed beside you and laid back hands folded on her stomach and eyes closed. Leaning over slightly to look down on her, you observed her somewhat relaxed face as you watched her slow her breathing down. Assumably trying to cease the slow crawling panic that was clawing at her. “It may be a little forward but I heard compression and hugs can help stress, you wanna cuddle or some shit?” Your voice came out slightly tight a little unsure of how to go about the request. Charlie’s eyes fluttered opened and blinked toward you, after a moment of silent contemplation Charlie sighed happily opening her arms. With a huff and a smile you scooted down, wrapping your arms around her while laying beside her.

She scooted up into your side, her right hand sliding up your chest and around your shoulder. It sent shivers down your spine, and blood straight to your dick, embarrassingly so. Ignoring the sensation, your hand gently traced shapes into Charlie’s side where your arm was placed. Charlie’s head slowly lifted and shifted from the bed to your chest, tucking herself under your chin. Her hair tickled at your nose and chin, you could smell her shampoo and the perfume she’d used. You tightened your grip subtly, enjoying the warmth she let off, and with a hum she swung one of her legs over your hips, twisting her body entirely against you.

You took a deep breath attempting to calm your heart and the tightening sensation in your pants. Like the devil spawn she is, Charlie began tracing your chest, flattening her palm against your chest and trailing down from your neck, to the hem of your jeans, and back up to your neck again. Taking a deep breath you brought your hand up to you with her hair in attempts to distract you.

“Thanks for this.” She mumbled nuzzling her face further into your chest. You hummed eyes lazily dancing around shapes your eyes made up on the canopy above. “Any time.” You replied after a moment. The two of you laid there silently, softly the two of you let your hands drift across eachother innocently. It wasn’t until charlie’s hand ducted under your shirt to touch your bare chest that the air in the room got thick and heated. Breath hitching you zeroed in on her claws softly scratching down your chest. “Charlie,” You warned as her claw nicked the waistband of your jeans. Charlie knew good and well what she was doing, could you blame her? You’ve always been so attentive to her feelings and emotional state, the first to check on her after a stressful situation and give her the best advice you could.

With sudden need shooting through Charlie she straddled your waist bracing herself against your chest. Your hands reflexively went to her hips, eyes shooting up to meet her own attempting to figure out what the hell she was doing. She traced her claws down your tshirt covered chest, and when she made it to the bottom her hands wiggled underneath the fabric to paw at your warm skin. As she did you traced circles on her hips, and quirked a questioning brow at her. “Whatcha up to princess?” Charlie smiled shyly, trying to hide her face in her shoulder. “I just want to repay you for your kindness towards me.”

Your face twisted with worry, abruptly you sat up, making her gasp and tucked your hands behind her back to keep her from falling. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me,” You quickly say, however Charlie pushed you back down, shushing you as she did. “It’s more then just that, i think you know they though. Let’s relax, desttress.” With that being said, you tossed aside your tshirt while Charlie eagerly undid your pants, hands shaking as she did. Your hands decided not to diddly saddle and undo her pants simultaneously, needing to feel her speedily.

You were already achingly hard, precum dripping down your shaft as Charlie shakily gripped you giving your head a soft squeeze. Pulling her hand away Charlie kicked off the pants that clung underneath her knees, and readied herself against you. You hummed out in pleasure relaxing into the mattress as she sunk down onto you, above you Charlie whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut, clenching onto every vein and ridge. It was delectable, she couldn’t understand why she’d never gone for this before. Bottoming out, Charlie’s legs shook, her body would involuntarily convulse every now and again as she attempted to adjust to the size of you. Falling forward unable to keep herself up she sunk her nails into your chest making you groan deeply, bucking your hips up into hers.

Nuzzling herself into your neck as you took the reigns, thrusting up into her at a steady pace, she began to leave teeth marks and hickies along your neck, desperate moans broken out between nips and bites. Your arms encased her pulling her near as you roughly fucked up into her at a brutal pace, her juices dripping down you. Erotic, loud slapping noises were all that you could hear in the room accompanied by Charlie’s whimpers and please. “Fuckkk, yknow how long i’ve waited for this? They don’t know what their missing not staying around someone like you.” You say splaying your fingers through her hair as you do, at this point Charlie’s body laid limp atop your own, your knees up and angled to continue your rapid pace.

“Please,” Charlie begged clenching tightly around you, you huffed out a moan that you attempted to cover and slid your hands down to squeeze her ass. Groaning loudly, you pushed her over, still inside you hovered over her, pulling her legs up over your shoulders to gain new access. With this angle you were able to hit different areas making Charlie squeal. “Oh fuck Charlie,” You groaned as your balls slapped against her ass, finally you felt the band snapping and slowly you filled her with cum, pumping all of what you had inside her. Charlie cried out clenching, and convulsing against you. She tried to inch away screaming your name loudly as she road out her high against you. When the two of you had finished, catching your breaths, you laid beside her, pulling her into your chest.

She rolled her head from one side to face you, her eyes glazed over barely seeming like she was there. “Didja mean what you said about wanting this for so long?” You nodded at her, the softness in her voice was music to your ears and made goosebumps crawl against your skin. “Yeah, since i got here, you’ve had my eye.” Humming softly the princess said nothing, but buried her head in your chest.

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

Old Scars (Part 5)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏

Part 5 -

After brushing his teeth, he roughly tossed a towel in my direction. The fact he even owned a toothbrush surprised me given that his teeth honestly looked yellow, but then again, the amount of chain smoking he was doing probably had something to do with that. Plus, red lipstick was notorious for making stained teeth look worse - I guess red paint was no different.

He seemed to find it amusing that I dragged a chair from the kitchen into the bathroom to jam under the door handle. I didn't care what he thought of it; I wasn't crazy enough to trust him. Not one bit. What if he took it upon himself to faithfully recreate the iconic shower scene from psycho? I didn't want my blood spiralling down the plughole as I breathed my last.

Once I was barricaded in the bathroom and under the hot water, my tense muscles began to relax a little. My black eye still stung, tinged purple and the edges turning sickly yellow as my body began trying to heal it. Thankfully my scraped up feet were faring much better, one of the few positives of being stuck here was that I hadn't been on them much as they were healing. I let the water wash over my body, seeping into my scalp and over my face. It felt as though it might wash off some of the strangeness of the last couple of days. I closed my eyes and imagined this was all just some sort of break from reality, one that I could snap out of and be back in my own apartment. Maybe I was just in the shower before going to work - but then again, part of me was still relieved that wasn't the case. Nothing could make me miss that job.

I grabbed the cheap 3-in-1 bodywash, shampoo, and conditioner, laughing a little to myself at the ridiculousness of men's shower products being like this. I missed my own separate counterparts, but at this stage anything would do. Despite the havoc it would probably wreak on my hair, it did at least smell nice. I did my best to comb it through with my hands and rinse it all out.

Finally satisfied with my efforts, I turned off the water and stepped out into the cold. Hurriedly drying myself down and getting dressed again, feeling very vulnerable in my nakedness, I threw my head forward and gathered my hair up into the towel. I twisted it and tucked it in. Then I pulled my socks and boots back on, my feet already feeling the cold. At least there had been hot water. Removing the chair and stepping out of the cloud of steam, I made my way back into the main living space.

I was met by the sight of J hunched over a mirror at the table. His back was to me as I approached and I coughed to announce my presence. He turned in his seat, revealing his half painted face for a moment. His surprisingly tanned skin was peppered with patches of white paint.

Part of me felt disappointed to see his real face vanishing. Although, maybe to him, this was his real face now... I approached the table slowly, chair still tucked under my arm. I set it down and sat on it facing the wrong way - so that the back of it was against my torso, and my arms folded against the top. Propping up my head with one hand I watched him as he continued to rub the white paint onto his face.

"You need something?" He grumbled.

"No, I'm just observing. I figure no one else sees this..." I gestured.

He gave me a look, which I found difficult to read (maybe that was part of why he put the makeup on in the first place.)

I couldn't deny the part of me that felt drawn in by the spectacle. I knew it was fucked up, but it was like morbid fascination again. I watched his every move as he put down the white and picked up the black. How fitting that the smile would be the last part... He was using his fingers and a grubby little paintbrush to apply it all, leaving white and grey smudges on his hands. In a sort of trance-like desire for understanding I reached out a hand for the cracked white paint. The logo of any brand had long since rubbed off, leaving a broken disc of chalky paint with a cracked lid. I absent-mindedly traced the cracks with my finger tips, not realising I was now the one being watched.

I became aware of it when he reached out and his fingertips brushed against my temple - the place where the metal plate was holding my skull together. Involuntarily, I recoiled at him touching such a vulnerable spot.

"Sorry," he muttered.

This shocked me more than anything else had yet and I blinked in confusion. Had he just... apologised to me?

"It's just a reflex," I responded flatly.

He said nothing as he continued to black out his eyes. I carried on tracing the broken mosaic of the white paint.

"You know..." I began, "in Japan there's a long history of repairing broken pottery with precious metals..."

I put the white paint down and carried on my little monologue.

"I'm pretty sure that they used medical grade titanium on me, and given what that's done to my health insurance prices, it may as well be a precious metal," I chuckled a little under my breath.

"Mhm, and why'd they do that?"

"I think, because they find new beauty in it. The pot is changed forever, and instead of tossing it out, they embrace it. The metal really highlights the cracks. I like the idea."

He turned to face me.

"I meant why did they put a metal plate in your head, and why does that mean you pay more to live? Don't you see, that's crazy..." He said slowly.

"Oh." I blushed feeling kind of stupid.

He grinned.

"But, I like the other thing," he said, leaning forward with the black paint brush.

He began to apply paint to my face, tracing my scars. Despite his animated body language, he had a surprisingly steady hand - something which was probably useful when you dealt with explosives, I thought. It was strange to see his face, so close to my own, and missing the signiature splash of red. His dark eyes looking down the bridge of his nose at his handiwork, his tonge sticking out a little in the left corner of his mouth... If I didn't know who he was, I would have found it endearing.

He leaned back in his chair with a pensive hum in that rumbling voice which had become so familiar to me now. I couldn't see what the result of his artistic exploit was, and was a little afraid to find out. He manually turned my head to the side as he returned with the paint brush.

"You know you could just ask rather than cranking my head around like that. I'd like to keep it attached," I muttered, a little pissed off.

He found this very humourous, bouncing around in his seat with laughter.

"Stop it, I'm serious!" I snapped, irritation rising.

He stopped laughing fairly abruptly - becoming very still in a way that raised the hair on the back of my neck.

"You should never be serious, doll, it's so boring."

Before I could come up with a response, he put down the brush and turned the mirror towards me. My eyes fell on my reflection and the web of black cracks he had highlighted for me. My reaction was visceral, a mixture of self-loathing and yet, somewhere in there, an appreciation for the artistic look it gave. It really did make it look like a fork of lightning.

The idea of drawing attention to something I so often tried to hide, or at least shrink, to blazenly emphasise something I attempted to distract from, often for other peoples' comfort more than my own... I felt a surge of emotion and my eyes stung with tears. He watched my body language intently.

"You don't like it?" He asked.

"I, I don't know how I feel about it..." I shook my head.

"I think, it makes you even more beautiful... And you are beautiful," he urged with an intensity that scared and thrilled me in equal measure.

No one had ever really told me that, not even before the accident. I always thought I was unremarkable, in every way. I felt overlooked for my intellect and any asethetic value I did have. It felt just as gut-wrenching as when the kind shop girl had said she thought I was pretty.

My world was so quiet these days, and so devoid of any kind of praise. Hot tears begin to brim in my eyes. It was hard sometimes not to feel so angry at the way people treated me. Sometimes I felt like i'd died that day, the me I knew certainly had. As much as I'd struggled to like whoever that girl was, I wasn't sure who I was anymore. I felt like a ghost. No one even knew I was here, and that was painful... but also oddly liberating.

I laughed a little hysterically, as I picked up the red paint pot. The negative words of my co-workers, people on the bus, random men in the street, all flickered through my mind. Ordinary people could be so cruel it astonished me sometimes. And here I was. Sat opposite a man who was supposed to represent the worst of the worst. And he was telling me I was beautiful. It's a funny world we live in...

He watched me with a kind of intense fascination as I wrestled my inner thoughts. It struck me that perhaps I was hard for him to read.

Suddenly, something clicked. I let go of my panic and confusion, resigning myself to acting on impulse instead. I didn't weigh up the risks for once: constant calculation was exhausting. Sometimes I wanted to just do things - I decided I could deal with the potential fallout later.

I grasped my hand under his jaw and forcibly turned him to face me. His eyes flashed with a kind of fire, though whether it was rage at me returning the favour of manhandling him like that, or something else, I couldn't tell. I wasn't sure I needed to know which.

I dipped a finger into the red paint and began to put the missing smile back on his face. Turning him this way and that, I felt giddy with the feeling of power it gave me, however fragile that power might be. Somehow, knowing just how dangerous he was only heightened the feeling...

As I covered the last of his scars with the red, I moved my finger to his lips. His eyes fluttered shut as I carefully applied that part more like I would my own lipstick, keeping it neater and mostly within the lines. I felt him let out a little rumble of approval, the vibration of his voice through his lips against my index finger.

I withdrew and looked him over, smudging out both his smile and the dark circles with my other hand.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Blending is your friend," I joked in a sing-songy voice.

A strange kind of smirk crept into his features.

"You surprise me," he purred.

"I know," I said back, with a smirk of my own. It was true, I had worked out that much.

When I was satisfied at the job well done, I wiped my hands on some paper towel, removing the worst of the paint residue. He was still watching me intently, like he might burn a hole right through me.

"You got a staring problem?" I chided, crossing over to the kitchen area.

I opened the cupboard which I had found the vodka bottle in and perused the various other old dusty bottles. I pulled a couple out and set them on the counter trying to read what they were.

"What are you doing?"

"Well I figure, since i'm stuck here... and shit is getting increasingly weird, I'm gonna need a drink," I shot back.

Some of the bottles weren't even labelled.

"What is this... moonshine? Drain cleaner?" I chuckled.

"Well, you could always do a taste test: everything is drinkable... some things only once," He erupted into laughter.

As much as I hated to admit it, he'd made me laugh too. I opened one of the bottles without a label. The smell was so strong I wondered if it was pure ethanol.

"Whoah, I feel like this one could burn my eyeballs out just with the fumes," I exclaimed.

I picked up another bottle, this time one with a label in Russian. He grabbed the bottle from my hand and held it up in the light.

"Overproof, not legal but, uh," he gestured melodramatically to the various other less-than-legal apparatus strewn about the place.

"It's not even open, I wonder why," I said sarcastically.

With a flourish, he pulled out a butterfly knife, cut the metal foil from the neck of the bottle, and popped the stopper.

"Are you actually going to drink that?" I asked in horror.

He sniffed it and screwed up his face immediately.

"No."

I took the bottle from him and felt my eyes water at the vapour. Overcome with impulsive curiosity I put it to my lips and took a swig. J's eyes widened in amusement and anticipation.

For a split second I thought it would be fine, and then it started to really burn. I coughed and choked for a moment before managing to regain a little of my composure. My face was red hot. It definitely was vodka, the strongest I'd ever tasted.

"I think you might have a few screws loose, doll," he grinned.

"Maybe," I spluttered out, between more coughing.

"Careful, they might ship you off to Arkham," he teased.

"Well, I think you could use that as drain cleaner, even if it's not meant to be," I said finally as I drank cold water straight from the kitchen faucet in a desperate attempt to stop the burning.

He laughed again at my antics.

When I had recovered I stood up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. My stomach growled, reminding me again how hungry for some proper food I was. I decided to test the boundaries of the little bond we seemed to have made.

"I'd like some real food, and a toothbrush," I blurted out.

"Oh you would? Is that a demand or a request?" He asked placing a hand in his pocket.

For a moment I thought i'd fucked up and he might be reaching for the knife, but much to my relief he pulled out a mobile phone.

"A request. Please, I need a square meal and something other than vodka for mouthwash," I urged.

He looked me up and down for a moment, that calculating look on his face again. I was being scrutinised and shifted a little on the spot. His gaze was so intense at times it was almost like I could physically feel it.

Finally he punched in some numbers and let the phone ring. When the line clicked and someone answered he turned away and paced by the window. I couldn't make out the conversation other than the odd snippet on our end. I took a seat at the table.

"No,"

"Don't ask why, just do as I tell ya,"

"Just get some different options..."

"Oh and I want a toothbrush."

"Are you hard of hearing?" He growled the final line as the guy on the other end seemed to be asking too many questions. After hanging up he sat down opposite me, elbows resting on the table and his hands forming a steeple.

I was looking again at my face in the mirror with the same mixture of conflicting emotions as before. I was starting to feel a little sad and it showed in the eyes of the girl staring back out at me.

Suddenly, a deafening crack rang out and the mirror exploded into a pile of fragments. An involuntary shriek escaped my mouth. He had six shooter a pistol in one hand. I was frozen in shock and fear for a moment, trying to get to grips with what had just happened.

"You... shot the mirror?!"

"We have a winner" he said mockingly.

"But, why?"

He rolled his eyes as though it should be obvious to me.

"It made you frown, problem solved".

"What the fuck? You could have hit me! I thought you said you didn't want to kill me!"

My heart rate was still pounding away in my ears and chest.

"I'm a very good shot," He said, waving the gun around all too casually.

I was dumbfounded, with nothing else to say as my brain scrambled to keep up.

"You don't trust me?" He urged, leaning across the table.

The habit he had of his tongue flicking out to the corner of his lip made me think of a serpent. Even when he seemed docile, there was always the threat of a strike. I still couldn't find the words.

"Doll, I didn't shoot you. Have I harmed a single hair on your pretty little head?"

"Well no, not since I got to the apartment, but -"

"See?" He cut me off, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head as if to say 'I rest my case'.

"Well... won't someone have heard that? What if they call the cops?"

"On this side of town? No. Besides, pretty much this entire neighbourhood is abandoned," he shrugged.

I frowned, still returning slowly from the startle response.

"Look," he slid the gun across the table to me, "you can shoot that in here and nobody will know."

He was testing me again.

I shakily reached out a hand to touch the gun. I felt like it had to be some kind of desperate hallucination but no - I grasped it and slid my finger over the trigger. It was cold to the touch. There was no way he would have handed me a loaded gun, I had to see for myself and checked for bullets.

"You... you just handed me a gun with three bullets in it?" I scoffed in disbelief.

"Mm-hm. Question is, what are you going to do with it?

Could I shoot him? Maybe non-fatally? And make a run for it? My head was reeling. If I did it, I could finally get out of here.

He watched eagerly, soaking up the moment of crisis I was experiencing.

"This really makes you tick doesn't it?"

"I'm a dealer of simple choices," he grinned.

I felt compelled to talk it through to myself.

"I guess you think i'm either too afraid to shoot you - maybe that I don't have the guts to do it - or, that on the slight chance you've made a terrible miscalculation, I do shoot you, and prove you right about us being the same."

"You're right on the money, I can't deny it."

I snapped the chamber back into position and took aim at him, trying my best to recall what little practice I had with guns. I'd shot a rifle once or twice as a teenager, but only the kind used for sport. I lined things up the best I could, squinting while I did.

I watched his reaction carefully. If he was afraid, it didn't show in the slightest. My finger felt heavy against the trigger as it hovered there.

"So what's it gonna be?"

I figured if the shots were heard and anyone cared, maybe they would send the GCPD to investigate. Or, if no one heard or no one cared, then it didn't matter if I fired the gun. Could I actually shoot another human being though? Even one this twisted? I thought about his unpainted face and at the last second, I let my hand drift so that my mark was less than a metre to his left. With a squeeze of the trigger I fired a shot straight past him and into the wall. I didn't flinch. He did with a laugh.

For good measure, I offloaded the other two bullets into the wall as well: better not to hand him back a loaded weapon. Then I slid the empty gun back across the table. I hoped the point I was making was understood well enough. The point being:

'No. I can't - or I won't - shoot you. Not right now, but that could always change.'

We stayed locked in a stare-off as I waited to see what he would do next.

"Did you mean to miss?" He asked, sounding strangely excited.

"Of course..." I said, trying to sound nonchalant about it rather than pleased I hadn't accidentally fucked up and painted the wall with the contents of his skull.

"Well, consider me grateful you didn't accidentally shoot me then, you don't seem the type to have have had much practice with firearms."

I shrugged, hoping he wasn't secretly holding it against me that I had somewhat endangered his life. In my mind, it was more than fair at this point.

Suddenly the electronic factory setting ringtone of a phone cut through the air and he stood up to answer it, peering out of the window. By now it was rapidly getting dark again, and raining heavily outside. He cut the call and slid up the old sash, latching it in place. Before long, one of his men appeared on the fire escape and handed him through several plastic bags.

"You forget something?" J asked sounding unamused.

"Oh yeah!" He exclaimed, patting down his pockets and withdrawing a packet with a toothbrush inside. He handed it over sheepishly and quickly retreated down the ladder again.

J shut the window again and put the bags on the table, setting the toothbrush down in front of me pointedly.

"Thank you," I said inspecting the toothbrush inside it's little plastic prison.

I began to rip open the plastic bags and was met with the smell of chinese takeout. There was a pretty obscene amount of food in total, but I figured if i'd been the guy tasked with getting it, I'd have gone overboard too - and he was told to 'get some different options'. I decided to turn on the old tv set again, to see if there was anything good on it.

It flickered to life part way through an old movie, which I recognised after a while as Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo. From what little of it I could recall, it was almost at the final sequence. I left it on as we sat and ate. Since he wasn't likely to care, I deliberately abandoned my own table manners.

One thing I could say about his company, was that it drew attention to all the unwritten little rules I followed without question. Maybe there was a less extreme way in which letting some of the rules of 'civilised society' go could be a good thing. So many of the smaller ones were objectively pointless.

The man and woman on the tv screen were locked in a struggle, climbing a bell tower. The man, having found out the woman he loved didn't exist, that the woman opposite him had been impersonating a dead woman all along, was losing it. As old and melodramatic as the film was, I was on the edge of my seat. The tension was almost unbearable.

Eventually she either slipped or jumped from the tower, to her death. I had forgotten about the food in front of me, locked in a stupor watching the action unfold.

"You like this movie?" J asked.

I nodded.

"It's not bad, I've seen it once before, but a long time ago. Do you think she jumped or fell?"

"Hmm, do we know he didn't push her?"

"Mentally sure, but he didn't physically push her, I think she panicked when that nun appeared."

"Why'd you think she panicked?" He asked between chewing.

"I think it was the guilt. She thought the woman she helped to murder was back for blood. I kinda wish that was the case, actually, I love a little bit of poetic justice."

"Isn't that a little... cliché?" He said, hitting me yet again with a raised eyebrow.

"What's so wrong with cliché?" I shot back.

"It's predictable. It's, ah, it's boring," he said, waving his fork around wildly.

"Sometimes, sure, but the way I see it, you need to have your expectations met most of the time - otherwise there would be no surprises when something doesn't play out as expected. The unpredictable would become... predictable," I mused aloud, going back to eating my noodles. He seemed to be chewing on my words for a bit.

"You are right about that. People like the predictable, it makes them feel safe, people are happy when things go according to plan," he said with that wicked sort of half smile.

"Even you and I," I added, "We all have expectations of people. It's hardwired into us I think. Human brains are all about pattern recognition and replication. It's a double edged sword for us all..."

At this he made a kind of excitable sound and pointed across the table to me.

"I like you, I like that I can't always predict what you're gonna do. So many people are just too consistent."

"But see, without the predictability would you feel that way? Can't have one without the other! But that might be the alcohol talking," I chuckled.

I caught myself smiling at him. What was I doing?

Link to other chapters below:

[yaksha-lover]

I'm not sure if you're still taking requests but if you are, do you think you could write a short drabble about Malleus missing Yuu after they've gone home to the point of feeling haunted? Like the feeling is so immense and overwhelming to him that he feels unwell and everything reminds him of them. Just a lot of angst and stuff lol. I hope this ask was clear enough and thank you for taking the time to read it, I really love your writing!

Malleus dreams of you, most nights.

Sometimes of old memories, sometimes of futures that will never come to pass. It’s bittersweet, if not lovely, to distract himself with an illusion.

Sometimes he dreams the two of you aren’t who you are in this world; that maybe in another life you’re born into the same universe and he isn’t destined to be a king. That the two of you live a normal life together, just like anyone else.

He can’t fool himself for long. Something is always off; the specks of colour in your eyes not quite right or your smile vague. It only adds another layer of agony, forcing him to curse his own fallible memory when he realizes he is beginning to forget what you look like.

When he passes by the bench on campus where he’d told you a joke he’d stolen from Lilia and he realizes he can no longer recall the charming sound of your laughter, making his heart flutter almost painfully.

Even the gargoyles around Ramshackle dorm cannot entice him to walk that path again. It’s too much to see your former home, to let himself forget for a moment and knock on your door before remembering you will never be there to open it again.

Time, Lilia tells him. You will be okay. In time.

Even his guardian seems unconvinced by his own words, doing his best to comfort Malleus. He appreciates the sentiment, but the words are empty to him.

It seems inevitable that there’s something that will never quite be the same again in his world. No one else is you, after all. How can one recreate the exuberant feeling of swimming in the ocean with a mere puddle? The warmth and light of the sun with a campfire? Anything, no, anyone else simply pales in comparison, a cheap imitation which only serves to irritate him.

The others are worried about him, he can tell. Lilia comments when Malleus only picks at his plate during dinner time, trying to joke that he will loose his strength without sustenance. Silver gives his own words of concern, asking Malleus how he is doing. Sebek offers to make him any dish to return his appetite, vowing to do whatever it takes to keep him happy and healthy. For a moment, Malleus thinks of asking if Sebek will bring you home to him.

Sometimes he wonders if he made you up in his head. You were like an angel to him, a being so perfect that he could look at you and spend hours wondering how you were even real. Could it be his lonely imagination conjured some illusion to satiate him? To stop him from falling further and further into the depths of his own mind?

The only ones who seem to share in his grief are Grim and your two Heartslabyul friends. He’d never been the friendliest with them before, beyond basic curtesy, but he sometimes finds himself seeking them out now. It’s a bit comforting for Malleus to see that he is not the only one in the world who remembers you, nor the only one shaken by your absence.

Grim, perhaps, shares in his experience the most. The beast is uncharacteristically solemn, these days. He is the one who answers the door at Ramshackle when Malleus knocks. He supposes they give each other false hope, in that way. Malleus knocks, hoping that you’ll open the door. Grim opens it, hoping it’s you knocking.

He wants to be angry with you. For befriending him, for making him love you, for leaving him behind. But how can he? Falling in love was neither his choice nor your own. As for leaving him…it seems you did not feel the same, and that is not something he can fault you for.

You were his everything, but it seems he was just not worth leaving your own everything behind.

[tremendousgardenernerd]

Just wrote a poolwerine fanfiction and im gonna post on ao3 soon!! Enjoy!

It was a quiet morning in the messy apartment of the two mercenaries. Deadpool was sitting on the couch, playing video games and narrating every move like a world championship commentator. Logan, or rather, Wolverine, was in the kitchen, making something that looked like bacon with whiskey — one of the few combinations he truly enjoyed.

Since they started taking missions together, they had formed an oddly functional partnership. Deadpool was chaos, the guy who jumped in headfirst without thinking twice, while Logan was the brute force and reason, or at least something close to it. The forced cohabitation had become a comfortable routine, maybe too comfortable for Wolverine's liking, as he had lately started noticing something different about Wade.

It was hard to admit to himself, but he began to notice things. Things like the sound of Wade's laugh, which seemed more genuine when he let his guard down. Or the fact that, despite being insufferable, Deadpool always made an effort to protect him in battle, even when Logan clearly didn’t need help — and he even liked waking up to the smell of pancakes drenched in maple syrup that Wade made some mornings.

He didn’t know what to do with these feelings. He wasn’t the type to talk about emotions, not even with friends, and certainly not with himself, not after over 200 years. So Logan simply kept them to himself, swallowing it all down with extra shots of cheap whiskey and ignoring the fact that his heart beat a little faster whenever Wade got close.

The calm was interrupted when they received a new mission. An arms cartel was smuggling something beyond the usual: advanced technology and genetic experiments. The job was simple — get in, wipe out the bad guys, and destroy the operations. For Deadpool, it was just another regular day. For Logan, it was an opportunity to keep his focus away from the thoughts of Wade that had been haunting him.

The invasion started off well. They worked like a finely tuned machine — Deadpool eliminated the enemies with bloody choreography, while Wolverine advanced like an animal, invincible and unstoppable. But something went wrong. In the midst of the chaos, a smoke grenade separated them, and Logan slowly started getting sleepier, his eyes drooping heavier and heavier, until he fell asleep.

When Logan managed to regain his composure, Deadpool had simply disappeared. All he found was Wade's familiar scent and dark stains.

(Wade had been kidnapped by Francis, his former torturer. The man who turned Deadpool into what he was now, destroyed his life, and killed all the friends he'd made while trapped in that abandoned building used for experiments. Francis was obsessed with recreating the experiments that made him immortal, and this time, he planned to use Wade as a guinea pig for a new project.)

Meanwhile, Logan was in silent fury. He knew Wade was hard to kill, but the idea that he might be suffering or, worse, was unbearable. Logan didn’t hesitate. He did what he did best: tracked.

The thought of Wade being gone was hell for Logan. He had faced endless battles, survived wars, and endured inhumane experiments, but nothing prepared him for the emptiness Wade’s absence left behind.

As he searched the mission site, Logan noticed something that chilled him to the bone: a trail of blood on the ground. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to trigger all his instincts. Wade could heal from anything, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel pain.

Logan was never one for constant company. Living alone, with the weight of the world on his shoulders and the constant noise of his own past, was something he knew all too well. And for a while, he thought it was better that way. Until Deadpool appeared at that bar, stepping out of a portal and pointing a gun right at his face.

Wade Wilson was a storm. Chaotic, talkative, irritating, and provoking. However, against all logic, Logan found comfort in that madness. Wade filled the silences that Logan refused to face. Even when he rolled his eyes at Wade’s absurd comments or grumbled about “needing space,” Logan felt like something in his life had begun to pulse again.

It was only when Wade disappeared that he realized the size of that void.

The first days without Deadpool were too quiet. Logan missed the annoying sound of Wade’s voice echoing beside him. When Wade disappeared for a few days in the past, Logan didn’t worry — the man was resilient, almost impossible to kill. But this time, the silence came with a strange feeling in his chest, a tightness that Logan refused to name.

Then came the information: Francis. The same man who had turned Wade into the immortal, masked abomination he was. That son of a bitch was back, and Wade was right in the palm of his hand.

Logan couldn’t allow that.

He followed the trail with the persistence of a predator. His claws sank into bodies and threats until the path became clear. Every night spent chasing Francis, he felt the void grow more real. Wade might be annoying, but he was his. And if something had happened...

Logan didn’t finish that thought. He just kept going, with the determination that had accompanied him through a lifetime of war.

The months Logan had spent living with Wade before this had been difficult and strangely comforting. Wade was walking chaos, but that chaos had brought life back to a man who had given up on everything. The impromptu dinners (with cold tacos and cheap beers), the bad movies Wade insisted on watching, the sarcastic comments about Logan being his “personal Hugh Jackman” — all of that stuck with him more than Logan was willing to admit. He started to notice that he looked forward to Wade’s smile, that his days seemed less dark when the mercenary was around.

Logan began noticing details, like how Wade bit his lip when he was thinking or how his jokes often masked the pain he still carried. And, without meaning to, Logan realized he felt something more than just friendship. Something deep, uncomfortable, and impossible to say out loud.

Logan didn’t believe someone like him could love. He didn’t think anyone could want the love of the worst Wolverine of them all, especially when it came to the best Deadpool across all timelines, the one who, unlike him, saved his world and everyone he loved, even saved his life by bringing him into his world and giving Logan’s life meaning. So he stayed silent. He hid what he felt behind grumbles, drinks, and lingering glances when Wade wasn’t looking.

The job of tracking Francis wasn’t easy. Logan started in the circles of the underworld, visiting informants and intermediaries who might have connections to the genetic experiments. It was a task that required patience — something he didn’t have — but his anger drove him forward.

With every new contact, he pieced together more of the puzzle. Francis was funding illegal operations with a group of renegade scientists, using stolen technology to enhance the experiments he had started on Wade years ago. The problem was that Francis knew Logan was after him, and the bastard was good at hiding.

Logan finally got a break when he found a scientist fleeing from an abandoned warehouse. The man was trembling, too scared to lie, and revealed the location of an underground laboratory where Francis was conducting the experiments.

After days of relentless searching, Logan finally found the laboratory where Francis kept Wade captive. Upon infiltrating the site, he destroyed everything in his path — soldiers, scientists, equipment. It was an unstoppable massacre.

Killing everyone there was easy for an enraged Wolverine, he wiped out everything that came his way, his sole objective to save Wade and fill the emptiness Wade’s absence had left in his heart. He found Francis and stabbed him multiple times in the heart, then in the rest of his lifeless body, making sure he would never return, before going to search for Wade.

After the devastation Logan caused, Francis’ lab was completely destroyed and bloodied, with remains of bodies everywhere.

When Logan finally reached Wade, he was strapped to a machine, visibly weakened but still sarcastic, keeping his smile.

Logan had eyes only for him. He knew him too well and could see that beneath all the sarcasm was an exhausted soul, scared and relieved to have been saved.

“About time, Logan. I thought you were gonna leave me here to become a modern art experiment.”

“Shut up, Wade,” Logan growled, cutting the tubes and pulling him out of the machine. “Let’s get out of here.”

As Logan pulled Wade out, he collapsed against him, visibly weak, weaker than Logan ever imagined.

“Only if you carry me bridal style. I’ve always wanted to be the damsel in distress,” Wade joked about the situation.

Logan worried about Wade but didn’t say anything. He knew Wade hated pity, and he was genuinely worried about him.

With emotion flooding back as he had Wade by his side again, Logan held onto his shoulders and stared deeply into his eyes, wanting to be sure Wade was really there. Wade felt the intensity of Logan’s gaze, leaving him speechless, something rare for someone like Deadpool.

“You almost died,” Logan said, his voice low, almost tearful, filled with a weight Wade couldn’t ignore. “I... I can’t lose you.”

Wade blinked, surprised, his smile wavering for a moment.

“Logan... are you okay? You’re sounding sentimental. Do you want me to call a doctor? Or maybe... a poet?”

But Logan didn’t answer. He pulled Wade firmly into a passionate kiss.

It was intense, almost desperate, as if Logan wanted to pour everything he couldn’t say into that single gesture. Wade froze for a second, VERY surprised, but quickly gave in, holding onto Logan’s shirt tightly, even though weak, as if trying to anchor himself to the moment.

The kiss wasn’t perfect — Logan wasn’t exactly the romantic type, and Wade, with his chaotic humor, probably wasn’t much better. But it was real. It was raw, sincere, full of the bottled-up emotions that now overflowed.

When they finally pulled away, Wade still had a smile on his face, but it was different. It was softer, more genuine.

“Wow... so you really like me, huh? Is this like a ‘maximum level of friends with benefits’ thing?”

Logan rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his lips.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“That’s why you like me. Admitting that must be more painful than getting run over by 34 military tanks.”

Logan shook his head, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he threw an arm under Wade’s shoulders, carrying him in a bridal style as he walked out of the destroyed lab.

“Let’s go, chatterbox. Let’s go home.”

“Look at that, now he’s calling it home. Does marriage come before or after missions?”

And for the first time in days, Logan laughed. It was a quiet laugh, almost imperceptible, but Wade heard it. And in that moment, amidst the smell of destruction and the weight of recent events, everything finally seemed right.

[amyjdewinehouse]

JUST WATCHED THE AMY WINEHOUSE MOVIE

I am going to start by saying that I do NOT think that this movie is made for Amy Winehouse's fans, but rather for people who barely know anything about her life and artistry — and still, the movie falls short in doing Amy even a bit of justice.

Let's start with some of my grievances:

They portray Amy as a very annoying and unlikable person. I think most people are going to leave the theater thinking of how annoying Amy Winehouse was: they portray her as being immature, a homewrecker, not very smart, toxic, disrespectful, and violent. Was Amy like that? Maybe she did have some of those traits (perhaps at the beginning of her career?) but the movie fails miserably in really counterweighting those negative traits with any good ones, making Amy appear so unlikable to the viewer.

The singing is NOT good. Marisa Abela sounds whiny. Some of the songs sound pretty bad, especially "Stronger Than Me," it sounds terrible! The only song that I think sounded pretty decent was Valerie.

Its timeline is very confusing. There are many BIG jumps here. For example, there is only ONE scene between Amy's performance at the Grammys (2008) and hear death (2011). There are three years unaccounted for in Amy's life. They didn't even bother to include Amy's collaboration with Tony Bennett, which was one of Amy's highlights of her career. This is only one example of many confusing jumps throughout the movie. It is very surface level!

Some of the wardrobe is way off. In this movie Amy was wearing Back to Black era clothing during the Frank era. They did a good job of recreating some of her actual dresses, skirts, etc., but implemented them wrong in the movie's timeline. For example, Amy wearing her iconic 2011 Fred Perry argyle long sweater... in 2004?!?! Like, c'mon

There is a nude scene... why?! There is absolutely no reason to have a nude scene in an Amy Winehouse movie. Period.

Now onto the salvageable things about this movie:

I personally think the Glastonbury scene was the best part of this movie. The recreation was quite good and the whole scene added a lot to the movie in terms of showing Amy's feelings towards Blake.

I have very mixed feelings about the last scene because on one hand the end was super rushed. In fact, the entire movie felt rushed but the end, in particular, felt rushed. However, the last scene (hint: Ava flies in paradise) made me quite emotional. I was almost tearing up. I thought it was a beautiful way to the end the movie.

Overall thoughts:

I think this movie shouldn't have been made not because I am opposed to an Amy Winehouse biopic, but because this movie does a disservice to her life and legacy. It is a badly acted and at times it looks cheap. Amy deserved a better dramatization of her life. I hope we'll see that one day in the hands of a good director.

My rating? 3/10