#but not every kind of item counts and the order you put them in kind of matters too

[funforahermit]

so anyway i'm v excited about all my new rhys darby related shirts and hoodies and i hope they'll arrive soon 😌

[munsonsmixtapes]

Backseat

older!rich!Eddie x younger!fem!reader

summary: Eddie is a regular at the store where you work and flirts with you every chance he gets

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) oral (f receiving) Eddie had a degradation kink, Eddie ties reader up, use of the word whore, age gap (reader is 25 and Eddie is 40)

Based on a comment on this post by @n0t-even-try1ng-2

You watched Eddie enter the store as you folded a shirt and put it on the table with the others that were just like it. He had come in very regularly and you wondered just what he did to his clothing in order to need a new shirt every week.

He made a beeline for you with a bright smile. He was dressed in his usual suit so you assumed he just got off work. You didn’t know what he did, but you assumed that it was important considering that he wore a suit everyday. Maybe he was a lawyer or something along those lines. His long hair was perfect, not a single hair out of place and you found yourself wanting to run your fingers through it. It just looked so soft and pretty.

“Hey, stranger,” he greeted with his million dollar smile.

“Hello, Eddie,” you nodded. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” It wasn’t like you were counting or anything. Okay, maybe you were.

“Yeah, work’s been kind of busy,” he shrugged. “I’ve been getting off after you close, which is a huge disappointment because I missed you-I mean, you guys.” Nice save.

“Well, we have some new stuff in if you’re interested.” You led Eddie to the rack where the new clothing items were located and he stood behind you. He reached up and grabbed onto a blue button up shirt and you didn’t miss the way his hand rested on your hip as he did so.

You looked down at his hand and slowly brought your hand up to rest on top of his. You had been wanting him to touch you for months, maybe in a more inappropriate way, but you were going to take whatever you could get.

You had been crushing on him for months and you knew that a relationship between the two of you would be inappropriate, but you couldn't help but fantasize about it. He was so hot and older and knowing that you probably shouldn't have been interested in him only made you want him more.

"What do you think?" He asked as he held the shirt up to his chest. The color complimented him perfectly, making his brown eyes pop.

"I like it. You should try it on." Eddie began to unbutton his shirt and you put your hands on top of his. "Not here, silly!" You giggled. "In the dressing room."

"I think I need some help. These buttons are awfully tricky," he winked and grabbed you by the hand, pulling you to the nearest dressing room.

He pulled the door open and dragged you inside before slamming it closed. As soon as you were out of the view of the cameras, your hands immediately went to Eddie’s shirt, unbuttoning it as slowly as possible. 

Once it was unbuttoned, you eyes the tattoos that were all over his torso, curious about them and what they meant. Maybe you could have asked him later. He put the other one on and you buttoned it up, moving even slower as a way to tease him and he was playing right into your hand, falling for it so easily. 

He then turned to the mirror, moving this way and that to see how it looked and he immediately decided that he liked it. He wanted to buy it with the intention of having you rip it off him, the buttons flying everywhere as you did so. And then he’d buy another for work because he really did think that it suited him. 

“What do you think?” He asked as he turned to face you and you studied him, wondering how he looked good in every single color. It was honestly unfair. 

“Very handsome,” you replied, moving your hands up to fix the collar that had gotten moved when he had put the shirt on. Your fingers brushed his neck as you pulled the collar down and he felt his cheeks burn as thought about what they would feel wrapped around his neck, giving it a little squeeze. He just wanted you to do the most filthy things to him and he just knew that you’d enjoy it just as much as he would. 

“I’ll take two,” he said before leaning down so that his lips were right by your ear. “One for work and one for you to rip to shreds,” his hot breath on your skin mixed with his filthy words was making a mess of your cunt. “I don’t want it to even look like a shirt when you’re done with it.” 

He pulled back to look at you and the sexual tension between the both of you was palpable. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and Eddie slowly brought his thumb up to remove it. Once it was free from your teeth, he ran his thumb along it slowly, removing some of your lipstick, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind at all. In fact, you wanted nothing more than for him to kiss you so roughly that it smeared all over both of your faces.

Before you could register what he was doing, he grabbed hold of your hips and pushed you up against the door. He pressed his lips to yours roughly and you responded quickly by wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible. His lips moved down to your neck and he peppered the spot with kisses before giving it a rough suck. You let out a loud moan and quickly covered your mouth, suddenly remembering that you were at work. You pushed him off of you and fixed your shirt, looking at yourself in the mirror to make sure that you looked presentable. You definitely didn’t with your hair all messed up and your lipstick smeared all over your face.

“Let me clock out really fast,” you told him as you checked the time on your phone to make sure that it was okay for you to do so. You pulled Eddie over to the register and checked him out before shooing him out of the store. He stole another kiss before heading out to his car to wait for you while you finished closing up. 

You did your duties as quickly as you could, but still made sure that they were done correctly as you occasionally turned to the car that was in front of the store. The very handsome man was sitting in the driver’s seat, his eyes looking at you hungrily.

You usually took your sweet time to lock up so you’d get a little extra cash for staying later, but not tonight. Tonight, you had something waiting for you and it was worth losing the few extra dollars if it meant he was going to fuck you senseless. 

You locked the doors as quickly as possible before getting into the passenger seat of Eddie’s very nice, very expensive car. You turned to him and he was already looking at you, lust filling his eyes. Without a word, his hand moved to the back of your head and he pulled your face to his, your lips crashing together. He took no time to lick into your mouth, trying to speed up the process since he was already very hard and getting even more so by the second. 

His hands moved up your top and he quickly removed it from you, wanting to see just what kind of bra you were wearing. It was black and lacy and he wondered why you were wearing something so scandalous to work. 

“This is pretty,” he complimented as his free hand ran over the lace, his cold fingers brushing along your skin causing a shiver to run up your spine. “You wear it for me, sweetheart?” He joked. 

“Yes,” you breathed, completely serious. 

“Did you think you’d get lucky?”

“I was hoping.”

“Yeah?” He asked as he unhooked your bra and tossed it into the backseat. “Been dreaming about this, hm?” His hand moved to your tit and he began to massage your nipple with the pad of his thumb. “Been dreaming about all the things I’d do to you?”

“Yes,” you moaned and Eddie put on a devilish smirk, loving that he had you exactly where he wanted you. 

“Good,” he moved his hand to the other nipple. “Because I’ve been dreaming about it too. Christ, you’ve been torturing me every damn day. Did you know that? It’s like you’ve been wearing those skimpy tops on purpose.”

“Maybe I have.” You bat your eyelashes and that was the final straw. Eddie pressed his lip to your chest and gave it a rough suck, causing you to moan loudly. Music to his ears. He licked and sucked all over, wanting to hear more of those delicious sounds. 

He moved his way down to one of your tits and brought your nipple into his mouth, moving his tongue back and forth along it, teasing you a bit before going in for the main event. He gave the sensitive spot a rough suck and you whined in response, wanting even more than he was giving. You were getting needy and he was eating it up. 

Just as your vision was going hazy, Eddie brought the thing between his teeth and nibbled on it, giving you a little taste, wanting you to bed for the full thing. He needed to hear the words fall from your lips, wanting to hear you whine for him. 

“More, Eddie,” you whimpered and he did as you asked, biting down a little harder. “Harder.” Your whines were getting pathetic and he was getting super hard. He bit down as hard as he could without actually breaking the skin and you screamed his name as you reached your first climax. Eddie pulled away with another smirk, convinced that was the fastest he had ever made a girl cum. Less than twenty minutes and you were already a fucking mess. 

He looked down at his creation of hickeys all along your chest and smiled to himself, thinking that was his best work. He then pressed his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth again, swirling his tongue around it, wanting to taste every inch of it. 

You pulled away and started to move to the backseat, pulling Eddie with you by his tie that you hadn’t noticed he had put back on until now. He followed you eagerly and as soon as you were both seated, you started to remove his tie. Once it was off, you handed it to him, your eyes going dark. 

“Tie me up,” you commanded and Eddie blinked at you, almost as if he didn’t understand you. 

“Wh-”

“I said tie me up,” you commanded and Eddie nodded furiously, wanting to obey. 

“Need you to take my shirt off first, sweetheart, then I promise that I’ll tie you up.” Your hands went to his shirt and you unbuttoned it as fast as you could, desperate for him to actually get inside you. You couldn’t wait any longer and swore that your pussy was aching from how long you had been longing for his cock. 

As soon as his shirt was discarded, he grabbed your wrists firmly and lifted them over your head. He then looped the tie through the handle that was connected to the side of the door and tied it tight, looking down at your face to see that flirty look that always drove him crazy. 

Once he was done, he lowered himself down onto you and licked and sucked on your stomach, slowly but surely making his way down to your jeans, hearing your pathetic little whines as you begged for him. 

“Eddie, please,” you begged. “Need you so fucking bad.” He looked up at you as he slowly unbuttoned your pants, taking his time sliding the zipper down. He then practically ripped your jeans off of you as he slid them quickly down your legs. He then discarded them before removing your underwear, spreading your legs wide to get a good look at your cunt. 

It was sopping wet and he licked his lips as he thought about what you tasted like. But that would have to wait. He wanted to fill you up first and lap up the combination of his cum mixed with your slick, just knowing that it was going to taste heavenly. That you would taste heavenly. 

“Shit, sweetheart. Is this all for me?” He asked, not taking his eyes off your cunt. 

“Who else would it be for?” You asked, your tone a little angry since he seemed to be taking his time. 

“Don't take that tone with me,” he commanded. “Or else I’ll have to punish you.”

“Maybe I want to be punished,” you replied. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “You asked for it.” He unbuckled his belt and quickly pulled his pants along with his underwear, letting his massive cock spring free. 

He rolled a condom onto it and before you realized what was happening, he pounded it into you, causing you to let out a loud moan. He gripped your hips, digging his fingers into your skin as he thrusted in and out. 

You looked up at him, watching his chest move as his breathing became labored. He was looking down at your with a devilish smirk and you didn’t like how he knew just how much you were enjoying yourself. Like he had you all figured out. By the end of the night, you’d know him like the back of your hand. You intended on it. 

“Oh my god,” you mewled. “So good.” 

“Look at you,” he said as his hands moved to your ass, his fingers digging into the skin so hard that they were definitely going to leave marks. “Taking it like such a good whore.” 

“If anyone’s the whore,” you said through labored breaths. “It’s you.” And he was. You knew he had a reputation around town and he was definitely living up the hype. So many women had talked about how good he was in bed and they were definitely right. Maybe if you were lucky, next time he’d actually invite you into his bed instead of the back of his car. 

Eddie was loving the way your were speaking to him. It always seemed like women just did what he wanted just because he was asking. But he loved that you spoke your mind and weren’t afraid to give it back to him. 

He gave your ass a rough slap and you gasped, but had to admit that you loved the sting. He somehow knew exactly how you liked being fucked and he didn’t even have to ask. 

“What did I tell you about talking back?” He asked, giving your ass another hard slap. He pounded into you again and again, your sounds becoming music to his ears. He had fucked more women than he could count, but you were definitely becoming his favorite. 

“You didn’t say anything.” And he hadn’t. He had just told you that he didn’t like your tone. He retaliated by thrusting all of him inside of you and your vision went hazy for the second time as you felt another orgasm building. 

“Eddie,” you whined. “I think I’m gonna-” your words were cut off by a loud scream escaping your mouth. 

“That’s right, princess,” he cooed. “Let it out. God, look so fucking pretty on my cock.” His thrusts continued until he let out a scream of his own before slowing down. He then pulled out and disposed of the condom before untying you. 

“You wanna know where else I’d look pretty?” You asked, batting your eyelashes again. 

“Where?” He was trying to piece it together, but he couldn’t figure out what you were referring to. 

“On your face,” you replied, pushing him down so that his back was to the seat. 

“Fuck, okay,” he nodded enthusiastically as you hovered over him. You placed a messy kiss on his lips then he helped you place yourself onto his face. Your legs were spread wide so he had total access to your cunt and he could feel your slick all over his face, fully prepared to lick up every last drop once he was done. 

You held onto the handle that hung on the roof as his tongue moved back and forth across your slit. Moans already falling from your lips at the small action. He licked and sucked on the spot, moving you lower down his face just slightly so he could see just how undone you were becoming with just the movement of his tongue. 

“Eddie, shit,” you moaned and he saw that as an invitation to continue, moving his hands to your ass once more, digging his fingers into your cheeks.

His teeth grazed your cunt and you knew you were done for. The pressure on the sensitive spot was driving you absolutely wild and you would have been happy with him doing just that the whole night. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he shoved his tongue inside you, swirling it around until he hit just the right spot. 

“Fuck,” you mewled, throwing your head back as ecstasy rolling through you. You were feeling almost drunk, but you weren’t ready to give up just yet. Not when it was just getting good. 

Another scream fell from your lips and now your throat was feeling raw, but you still wanted to keep going. Especially when it felt so good. 

Eddie removed his tongue from you and went back to licking and sucking, wanting to lap up every last bit of your slick. You tasted absolutely divine, so much so that he could have eaten you out for hours. All the sounds you had made in response were all just a bonus. 

He brought his teeth back in again and you reached yet another orgasm, another scream tearing through you. This one was more intense than the others, taking every last bit of strength you had with it. You were suddenly feeling so tired and limp. 

Once he could see just how tired you were, he decided to call it quits. He helped you off of him then took some napkins from his glove compartment, cleaning the both of you up before getting you both dressed. 

He then helped you into the passenger seat, knowing that you were in no position to drive at the moment. You were too blissed out to even speak properly. God, he wished he could make you feel like that every night. 

“Do you want me to take you home?” He asked. “Or we could go back to my place. Whichever you prefer.” 

“Your place,” you responded a little too quickly. “For sure.” 

“Good,” he nodded, placing his hand on your thigh as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Because that’s what I was hoping.” And he was. He was looking forward to letting you borrow some of his pajamas and snuggling with you in his bed. And in the morning, he was going to make you a big breakfast complete with everything you could have ever wanted. He was going to absolutely spoil you and you were going to eat it up. 

[goldsbitch]

My name

Busy schedules don't allow Y/N and her boyfriend Lando Norris much down time to chill with her friends. But missing a wedding is a no go.

fluffy fluff, wedding, one shot, for the vibes only

It was almost a stroke of luck that Y/N's friends managed to pick a date for their wedding on a day that Lando could attend. This was a rare opportunity, while she accompanied him often during his events or outings, more than often he was unable to be there as her partner on her personal affairs.

Missed family gatherings, friends birthdays and grill parties. She accepted that part of their relationship, with the hope that in the future, it might come to change. They'd been dating for two years now - if she had to pick the brightest days of her life so far, it would in this time frame.

There was lot of excitement in the late summer air. One of her best friends was marrying a guy she became good buddy with over the years. And Lando would finally be joining her, as her partner. No more half smiles following the question "Would Lando join us this time?". These two friends marrying each other were a nice inspiration for the kind of relationship Y/N strived for. And Lando was that for her - a partner, lover, friend and the one to always make her laugh. But some of the people in her life were not convinced that he was good for her, mainly for the lack of his presence. She did not want the opinions of other to spoil their relationship. However, it would be a lie to say that her heart wasn't jumping around with happiness at the prospect of having him join them.

Her friends organized their dream wedding in a lovely estate somewhere in South of France. Small village remote from any city, safe from any prying eyes. It was refreshing from the flashing lights of racing tracks. Eighty people, all mostly friends with each other.

Y/N came in earlier with the main couple, in order to help them put everything in place. Two days of hard work navigating typical struggled of wedding organizing, with tomorrow being the big day. Regular guest were coming in, but she was only waiting for him, counting every minute.

Those prep days were packed with dealing with logistics and all this wedding usually concern. Going back and forth and trying to make everything perfect for the main event. But, she manages to find a moment of solutide to take in the beauty, the smell of late harvest, sun kissed valleys and heavy summer air, that set everything in. Having the bottom of your dress shiver with light breeze is the epitome of bliss. Life was good. And for the main part, she would get to experience all this with her love around her arm.

//

The two getting married? They were something else.

"Babe, what the fuck are these glasses?" said the bride to be as she watched the caterers setting up table for an evening dinner buffet.

"Well, you said yes, to them, remember? Back in May," was how the groom replied hastily. Y/N watched, knowing well enough that the strange looking glasses that were too big for her friends small hands were definitely not what the bride would have picked. She smirked as she watched them bicker playfully.

"They look like some futuristic ashtrays," the bride continued, shooting arrows playfully at he soon to be husband.

"Hm. Isn't that cool?" he said, trying to talk himself out of it. They were both strong opinionated people, so this was not a rare debate.

"No? How do you think this suits our late summer garden vibe?" she said, pointing around to the fields.

"You said yes to them, I remember specifically..." he defended without a beat.

"My mom's going to think we smoke."

"Well...we could use them as ashtrays," he said, inspecting the items.

The bride threw her hands up, not believing the game her "soon to be" was playing. "Babe, we don't smoke!"

He mimicked her hand gesture ironically. "We could start!"

"Just admit you've made a fuck up, honey, and we're good."

"That will never happen. This is all part of the plan."

Y/N observed and chucked, knowing well enough that the best thing to do was to stay out of their way.

A small quiet whisper came from behind Y/N. "Is this how they always act?" Shiver down her spine. She smiled, because she could recognize that voice anywhere. Heard it thousand times in the morning, in the middle of a busy day and on too many late night phone call to count. She turned her head slightly only to find him standing right behind her, his head now resting on her shoulder.

"Hi, muppet," he continued as he wrapped his hands around her, hugging her from behind. "I'm sorry I am a little late. Turbulences held us up."

The two stood there, as young lovers would. Completely wrapped in their own world.

"Did they? I completely lost track, as you see, big problems over here," she said and pointed inconspicuously to the couple still bickering about glasses. It wasn't technically true, she managed to get her phone out every other minute as they were unpacking stuff. But that was too embarrassing to admit.

She finally turned around to give him a welcome kiss, a much needed physical contact after not seeing him for almost three weeks. "Do you think we could take a walk around the garden? I would to get my head clear before facing other people," he said sheepishly. The last few race weekends had been very tough on him.

"I would be more than happy," she replied with a smile.

The scenery was too good to be true. Never ending fields of trees, heavy air sitting on the top of everyone trying to breathe and smell of hot soil and dried leaves cut though it all. They walked hand in hand in silence for a while, the sound of cracking branches accompanying them with every step. These two had spoken a lot in the past few weeks, every day it was either a phone call of few videos shared mapping their separate days. Texting was not good enough for these two. Lando was pretty much touch starved. Even though he was touched by random people more than an average person would be, as some fans felt like it was ok to do so. It made him miss the consensual touch he shared with his girlfriend more than ever. Girlfriend was an interesting word, felt outdated for the feelings he had for her. A small box had been accompanying him whenever he saw her for a while now. But he figured that highjacking someone else's wedding with his own proposal was a bit rude and selfish. He was grateful that this time he did not bring the box with him, as he was not sure he'd be able to resist proposing when he saw how the light reflected from her hair made it all shine, like a fresh jar of honey. A white dress would definitely suit her and his last name as well. He knew she'd want to keep her maiden name too and was more than fine with that. But to add "Norris" behind it was his ultimate goal.

"You seem more quiet than usual," she asked after a moment, being more than capable of reading his face. He was slowly letting go of his stress from the races.

"I'm loosing myself in the thoughts about your dress," he replied cheekily, letting her think he is talking about the teal summer dress she was wearing at the moment.

"Are you, now?" she winked and pulled her dress up slightly, only stopping at her bikini line.

"Oh, you can't do that to me," he said, defeated.

"You sure?" She stopped walking, came closer to him and put her arms around his neck. "But it's been so long since you've touched me," she added, knowing this will set him off. Teasing and seducing him was like a second language to her. She got real close and rubbed her core against his crotch.

"You're asking for trouble, Ms....Y/L/N," he gulped, nearly having a Freudian slip there. He panicked slightly and decided to kiss her immediately. She didn't seem to notice. Once he calmed down a bit he slid his hand down to he legs and the went back up to cup her ass and pulling her dress up again. "I would have you right here and now," he mumbled into their kiss and she smiled. Absolutely in love.

"We'll have to wait until the evening, we have a very nice room..."

"I don't care about that, I want to cum into you right here and now," he continued and bit her upper lip lightly.

"Anyone could walk by," she kept resisting.

"As if I care."

She laughed and broke their kiss. "We have to go now. I still have to help the poor bride with the decorations."

He signed overly dramatically. "You are making my life a living hell, Y/N."

"You can punish me later," she ended and got out of his embrace and started heading back to the estate. "Come on," she instructed as Lando watched her ass as she walked away. Norris. It's going to suit her.

//

Evening marked shared laughter, catching up with many friends, local wine with cheese and hands held under the table. Only once it was really happening did Y/N started to notice how much she needed this. Being able to "show" Lando off to her friends for longer than a short appearance. They got to finally know him, not only listen to stories about him. Oh and he was marvelous that evening. Charming, funny, criminally handsome - and always by her side. He was happy to be there. One of the reason being finally able to listen to the people she spoke about, but also to let loose and not have to think about what he says. These were no sponsors, interviewers or teammates. He loved that they cared about her more than him. It was a nice change. And he was on board with that, enjoying the fact that she was the star and not him.

//

The wedding day had swung by in a blur and suddenly, Y/N and Lando were sitting in a small local chapel, watching her friends making a mark on their relationship.

But Lando was not watching them. He was watching his now girlfriend. With the sight he had in the corner of his eye, the thoughts hanging in the back of his mind were getting louder and louder.

The ceremony was a non serious and cheerful one, the priest making many jokes while still keeping the atmosphere together. As far as ceremonies go, this was an honest one. The only thing to bring people out the holy romantic vibe this gave off was an unapologetically explicit kiss the bride and groom shared as they got wed. It was more like watching drunk teenagers make out. Some people laughed, some people cheered and the rest were slightly mortified. Y/N was one of the people to turn their heads away from the sight, she had known this girl ever since they were kids, this was a little too much. Lando found her reaction amusing, as he had heard many stories of her and her friend to know that she'd witnessed way more extreme things. "Look at you, prude," he whispered to her ear as he watched the bride and groom fight with their tongues.

"I refuse to accept this," Y/N said, keeping it up with the grandmas in the room.

"Well, if this repulses you, then I'm afraid you're going to die of embarrassment at our wedding," he said as if it was no big deal. But to Y/N it was. They had joked about marriage few times, but Lando used a different tone of voice this time. But she had been secretly dreaming about it for a while now.

"You're going to have tie me down if you're planning on doing that," she said, pointing at the pair, not quite sure how to process that he was probably thinking about their marriage too.

"So far, you've never said no to my plans," he winked at her.

Y/N smiled and turned her eyes to the ground. If someone had asked why she smiled so much, she'd say it was because of her friend's wedding. Though it would only be one half of the truth. She held his hand, as they walked out of the church. For some reason, it almost felt like a rehearsal.

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

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

[MDNI, Mention of Suicide, Smoking, Non-consensual Choking, Alcohol Consumption]

[6.6k words] 🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 9 "The Glass"

Good things never lasted.

You were going to get a bitter reminder of that little fact by the end of the day and looking back, you wished you’d just died the night before when you were happy.

Cooper had left before sunrise, rasped a few commands to stay put and that he wouldn’t be long, to talk to Mitzi if you needed anything and put it on his tab. You’d been too drowsy to consider the anomaly, him leaving you to your leisure, out of his sight for more than a few moments. Your answer had been barely coherent, muffled into the pillow as your body lay squished between the mattress and the ghoul. Sloppy palms had given your plushy hips a few squeezes, a brash peck or two to your shoulder and he was gone.

You awoke properly a few hours later, late into the morning. The bleary memories flooded back, but the warm sunlight and the clinking and buzz of life stirring from the main floor kept the dread from sinking too deep.

He’d be back, you weren’t abandoned, the leathery bandolier discarded on the couch said as much, it eased your uncertainty the moment you’d spotted it behind a curtain of messy hair. And until then, Mitzi would be your consolation. Harmless naivety had you imagining serving customers and clearing up tables while indulging in idle chatter together, counting caps and scribbling orders while immersed in a lighthearted repartee.  

After a prolonged yawn and a thorough stretch that earned a few satisfying pops from your back, you slid from beneath the heavy, woolen comforter. Your boots are neatly set on the floor beside the foot of the bed, tights stuffed inside one of them while your socks occupy the other; you fiddle with them, pull them on, and tie them securely.

A peculiar, but not unfamiliar symphony catches your attention and you peek out the window curiously. The huddled, snoozing brahmin from last night are now serenely moping around the front yard, grazing at the scarce weeds that sprout around the vegetable garden or sunbathing on the powdery ground. There’s a person tending the plants, clad in a large straw hat and baggy clothes, ankles deep in mud and with an empty bucket on their hip along with a pair of rusty sheers.

Fingers comb through your hair and pat it down to a barely presentable state before you rub the sleep out of your eyes and roll the stiffness out of your shoulders. Standing, you shake the numbness off and tap the tip of your shoes into the floor to set them in place.

The smell of coffee lingers, sharp and bitter, it leads you through the mouldering corridor and down the creaky stairs, into the bar. The music still plays and the shadowy figures are now nothing more than brooding travelers nurturing either a hangover or sleeplessness. Daytime is less kind to the appearance of the guesthouse, specs of dust can be spotted in the brash sunrays flooding through the windows, the time-touched signs on every bit of furniture are obvious now. The omnicity and furtiveness have vanished, all is mundane and regular; the cigarette smog yet persists, rivaled only by the stench of old grease being reheated to prepare the breakfast items from the menu.

“Cooper’s runt.”

Your head snaps to the bar and there stands a beefy woman who would easily beat most if not all her clientele in arm wrestling. A stick-and-poke tattoo of a cupid is proudly displayed on her shoulder, a mane of curly black hair is tied back into a low ponytail, beady eyes are eating you up like a snack and you instinctively straighten out some of the less defined creases in your dress.

“Uh…Good morning?” you bear an uneasy smile, hoping that her comment was one of bluntness and not hostility.

The gold in her mouth glints as she beckons you closer with a canine grin.

“Indeed a good mornin’. Not a single raider got cooked on the fence yesterday and m’ dogs didn’t stir all night!” leaving the pile of caps for later, she rests an elbow on the counter and extends a hand to you. “I’m guessing Mitzie was too hyper to give me a proper introduction. Happens sometimes when unfamiliar faces stop by, don’t mind ‘er.” you shake her hand with hesitancy and pull away too hastily for someone who’s trying to mask their intimidation. She scoffs at your skittish nature. “M’ name’s Monique, owner of this fine establishment.”

As if on cue with you sitting on one of the bar stools, a strikingly large hound pokes its head from behind the mass of stained coffee cups yet to be cleared for washing and greets you with a bellowing bark. You start with a choked cry and recoil as the furless beast strains forward with a twitching snout, eager to give you a good sniff.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Bucky, down!” Monique is quick to scold the dog and its once perked ears lower, the energetic whining, however, doesn’t waver. “What I tell you ‘bout scaring customers? You ain’t a pup no more.”

She pushes down on his massive head until he’s out of sight, but the visually grotesque mutt is far from discouraged. Carrying the heart of a Labrador, he’s set to complete his innocent mission of establishing a new friendship and add it to his vast collection.

You hear the patter of clawed paws and soon he reappears, having circled the counter and now eagerly sat beside your chair, beaming up at you while his curious nose pokes at the side of your thigh. Your first instinct is to stiffen, Bucky isn’t the only mongrel you’ve seen, but the rest had all been rabid and out for blood, driven mad by both homelessness and radiation.

“He don’t bite.”

You vaguely register his owner’s quip, attention glued to the shiny slobber being happily spread over your tights.

There are dogs like Cujo and dogs like Lassie and your caution was founded, but it was doing Bucky a disservice. Poor bud was pleading for a pat and a good belly rub. Gathering enough courage to still the shakiness of your fingers, you plant them gently over the pooch’s wrinkled forehead and let them rest there to see his reaction. He’s delighted, the stump of a tail on his butt almost vibrating when you reach to scratch behind his chewed-up ear.

“Good pup.” you mirror his doggy grin, lovingly assaulting him with both hands now and he’s happily melting against your leg, snout stuffed into your dress and dampening it with open mouthed, hot huffs. “He’s lovely.”

“Of course!” Monique shrugs with a prideful snort. “I trained ‘em.” she’s back to counting yesterday’s profit while comparing separate piles to the list of orders.

Once Bucky has melted into a satisfied puddle on the floor you’re left to awkwardly eye the place while mulling over what to say next or if you should at all. Without Cooper standing between you and the world, it became difficult to find your courage and be your own entity. You’d never been apart, you’d grown co-dependent and not only on his marvelous gunslinging but on his presence as a whole. Starting from him being your only means of familiarity and safety, to you clinging to him now as your single source of comfort. You relied on him for everything. If that bit of info had been obscured before, pushed to the back of your mind due to bigger problems needing solving, now it was blatantly obvious.

 The bartender was no danger, she was great albeit a little rough around the edges, and her pet being this friendly spoke more than words ever could. Still, a mental barrier prevented your voice from showing. You were mute and bolted to the stool until an event requiring a change happened.

“So you here to chat or can I getcha anything?”

Monique, the absolute angel of a woman, had finished up her daily counting of caps and was expectantly staring you down. You doubted she was aware of her kind act, but were grateful regardless because if she hadn’t spoken up you never would have, not for a while at least.

“Is there coffee?” you perk up at the offer, display the sweetest smile you can make up, and drown the dreary train of thought that had been on its way to ruin your day.

“Mitzie! Cup o’ coffee for Doe Eyes!” she leans back to holler at the kitchen door, then turns to you. “Ten caps.”

You had a nickname already, how quaint.

“Actually, can you put it on C –”

“– I’ll pay.” your second favorite ghoul steps out of the kitchen with a tray in hand and you were expecting her to be just as cheery as the previous night if not more, but she’s anything but. “You can make it up to me with a good chat, yeah?”

She’s looking at you with incomprehensible unease which sparks worry in your gut. There’s a weight to her movements, something fowl plaguing her that can’t be blamed on just lack of sleep, but by her droopy eyes, you can tell that’s also a factor.

“…Sure?” is all you manage before she sits beside you and pushes the steaming mug towards you.

“Ma, I’m sorry. Can you please serve breakfast for me? I’ll take over after this, just…” she doesn’t finish, the rest of the words between her and Monique are exchanged non-verbally and the stout woman flares up.

You expect her to say something by the way her jaw tightens and her beady eyes narrow, she doesn’t. Instead, she spares you a glance that lingers too long for it to be anything but disheartening and leaves. You follow her until she’s out of sight, made anxious by their queer exchange and vaguely acknowledging the unbearably scalding cup of coffee in your hands.

“Right…Before I say anything I want you to at least consider my words, okay?” there’s an urgency to her voice, she’s drumming her fingers over the counter, and her baby blues turned ghostly grey are glued to you to make sure your attention is solely centered on her. “This isn’t just me spouting shit to scare you off or stir trouble.”

It’s unnerving, Mitzie’s shift of character is turning your friendliness into apprehensiveness. You’d be empathetic to her perturbed state, but all emotion is overwhelmed by the incessant foreboding forming a lump in your throat.

“What?” you blurt while nervously tracing the edge of the cup. Shifting more comfortably into your stool, you lower until you’re nearly lying on the bar with ears strained and a whirring mind. “Mitzie, what’s going – ”

 “ – Promise me.”

There is nothing subtle about the way you’re etching closer to her, anyone with one good eye would spot the direness in your conversation. What you wished for was to know why there were such macabre undertones to her speech. A night had passed since you’d last seen each other. What could have possibly happened for her to look as though she was about to attend a funeral?

With the way she’s positioned, body directly facing you and her head slightly rolled to the side, she can easily switch from watching you to checking the entrance of the guesthouse. She does just that, gaze darting back and forth and waiting for something, anticipating. It’s nerve-wracking, makes your stomach coil.

What the hell is going on?

“I…Sure, okay. I promise.” you answer, obliging her in the hopes that it eases some of her worries. “What’s going on?”

She nudges you to drink before your coffee gets cold, then combats your question with her own.

“How long have you known Cooper?”

“Couple months…Why?” your best efforts to keep an even, soft tone fail and your reply comes out curt and snappy.

“What do you know about him?” she gives you no room to breathe, fires another inquiry even with your apparent skepticism towards the conversation.

The music and simmering liveliness are drowned out by the steadily increasing beat of your heart. Your surroundings fade, blocked from your peripherals until it’s only you, Mitzie and Bucky as he soundly snoozes in your feet. You envy him and his ignorance.

Her question does more damage than intended.

Truthfully, you know nothing of your short-tempered companion, you wouldn’t even know his name if it hadn’t been for the slip-up in Tillburry. You’d based his adamance of keeping you uninformed on his lack of trust, but by the incredulous way Mitzie had asked, you began doubting that excuse. You’d traversed enough land and shared countless nights huddled together, sharing a meal, sharing everything, watching each other’s backs. Surely by now, you’d earned the right to know at least his age, yet he’d revealed nothing to you. You light up the conniving musing with the scalding heat of your drink and let simmer away as you respond.

“I mean…Not much, but –”

“– Fucking typical…” she snarls, doesn’t let you finish, already knowing the answer, her gaunt features turn malignant, and the grimace she bears is bone-chilling. Mitzie checks the horizon beyond the freshly wiped windows, shifts uncomfortably, as if ladened by her uniform, and continues with urgency. “Listen to me, I know his words probably outweigh mine, I mean, we’re not really friends you and I. And you don’t have to believe me…but for your own sake I hope you do.”

She’s gesturing down with her hand, palms spread and visible to soothe your hastily dissipating patience. Your prickliness doesn’t wane and the more she tries to tame it while spouting gibberish the worse it gets. You cross both legs and arms, barricading your tumultuous heart from the trepidatious babbling and letting go of the politeness keeping the bubbling vulgar words out of your vocabulary.

To hell with manners and formalities if you were going to be interrogated without being given a reason why.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He’s not a good man.” she whispers while cupping her mouth and it’s low, but with enough certainty for you to hear perfectly. “Cooper. He’s bad…real fucking bad.”

“You aren’t telling me anything new.” you shake your head with a series of blinks, unmoved. Her deciding to sit you down and work you up for a serious conversation to tell you this while Cooper is away instead of simplifying it to a passing comment while she’s working is more of a surprise than the information itself.

Was this fiasco truly about the bounty hunter’s moral compass? Really?

“You don’t get it…” she clasps a hand over her forehead with a pained expression and a groan, then lets it slide down to rub her eyes. “He doesn’t care about anybody. He sure as fuck doesn’t care about you. You just can’t see it yet.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?” you deflect with a half-frown. “I mean, sure. He’s not great, but he’s been patient with me, he’s a good friend. He’s kept me alive so far when he could have left me behind plenty of times.”

“Yeah? Good friend?” there’s mockery hanging off every word, then Mitzie pauses as if debating whether she should say more. For a moment she’s mournful, regretful that she’s burdened with ripping apart the delusion you’ve lived in thus far. “So did he tell you he has a family?”

The world stops, you falter.

“What?”

To behold a human break from the utterance of so few words is a sad imagery.

“Told me one night when he was high off his ass.” her words cut deep, slice through your cool demeanor until you’re left bare before the raw turmoil that beats you down until you’re physically doubling over. She grips your hand as a reminder that she’s still there and not hurting you out of spite. “A daughter and a wife. He’s looking for them, Honeybee. He isn’t making friends with you, he’s using you.”

You look at her hand over yours. It reminds you of his.

“That’s not…”

Unlike her who is high on alert and jumping at every creak or shuffle, you’re far away. Ripped out of your body as her truths knock on your skull and try to sink it, you’re scrambling to regain feeling in your legs, fighting to remember how to move your lips to form a coherent sentence. Heat rises from the bowels of your stomach to the peak of your neck, nips at your ears until you’re conscious of their existence, and submerged in an almost deafening screeching.

“His daughter’s name is Janey. Ask em yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Searing pinches assault your scalp, you scratch them away, but more appear and you’re left pulling at fistfuls of hair to ease some of the pulsing tension rendering your vision doubled. You have to grip the counter before you tumble off the chair, any sign of balance or proper motor function is gone, overshadowed by that screaming that’s tormenting your hearing and making your teeth ache.

A daughter…a wife…

You’d had your tongue ravaging the mouth of someone’s husband. What the actual fuck. You would have let him take you if he’d so wished.

Cooper falls in your eyes then, his pedestal – desecrated, his value – diminished. You hoped the love would die, that your affection would flee just as fast as the shame had settled. But it doesn’t, he’d made damn sure you’d stay a loyal bitch, had worked your cogs from the start until you were enamored.

You felt disgusting, wanted to crawl out of your skin.

“Mitzie…” sullen, destroyed, humiliated, still you defend him, still you fight against the stinging reality that burrows into your flesh and writhes until you’re close to hurling. Still, you try to keep the halo above his head from completely cracking while gathering the pieces of your scattered mind, alone, of course, because you know he’d never do what you do for him. “That’s none of my business, neither yours.”

Preserving his reputation while yours crumbles away, pathetic. Have you no self-respect? No. Not when it comes to him.

“Yes it is!” she exclaims, spills too much too brashly in her frustration. “I saw you through the keyhole…last night.”

Her vigor fades at the repulsion plastered on your face. You rip away from her, refusing all contact except that of your hardened eyes burning into hers for answers.

“You were spying on us?”

The bridge she’d built between you was burnt, the gates to your impressionable mind shut before her. The trust she’d earned was stomped and left to rot. That single jumble of a confession thrown in the hopes of convincing you further tore apart any ounce of tolerance you had left.

With a slack jaw, she watches your lids close over guttural anguish and your mouth twitch into a thin line as you hold back the bitter betrayal from surfacing.

“Enough…”

Your voice is unrecognizable.

Fuck her. Fuck him! Fuck everything…

You should have never stopped at this damnable place.

“Wait…Wait, please, wait, wait, wait.” she clings to your arm before you’ve walked too far, baby blues dashing around random spots in search of a proper expression. “I was scared for you.” she confesses over hoarseness due to either a dry throat or uncontrollable emotions. She’s shaking you, desperate to make you understand and giving no fucks about how stupid the pair of you look or how much attention she draws. “You can’t trust him, please listen to me! He’s leading you to slaughter!”

“I don’t trust rats.”

Glistening with stifled tears at the absolute hatred in your snarl, Mitzie loosens her hold and her head dips. Too kind to push her away and leave, too hurt to accept her accusations as the truth, you’re stuck in a limbo of numbness and hollow pain. You’d urge her to cry if she’s so riled up, would have lent a shoulder and cried with her. But there is only so much a person can take.

Blow after blow, you’re left too stunted to express anything despite everything inside you twisting.

“There’s…a place.” she murmurs while tugging you to the stairs where shadows reign to hide both of you from curious onlookers and save you the trouble. “It’s half a day away from here. Super Duper Mart. It’s…It’s an organ harvesting business.”

“I’m not…Get to the fucking point.” you command, but your tone wavers and your mouth shuts before an unsolicited sob escapes.

“Please, let me go…Please…I can’t anymore…”

“Ghouls need a certain substance to stay sane. All of us do. Super Duper Mart sells it. Usually, we sell a kidney to get a few vials, it grows back in a day or two. Or a ton of caps, but not a lot of people can afford that.” she swallows something vile, and rearranges her next words in a way that doesn’t outright spit at everything you’ve known to be your existence so far, your false reality. “Or, we sell someone else’s organs.”

You shudder, lean against the railing before your knees give out, and suck in a shaky breath as the ice licks your spine raw.

“Please don’t…”

“Let me live a lie. Let me die happy.”

“He only stops here when he’s going there.”

“Mitzie.” your warning falls on deaf ears.

“You’re a product, not a person.” she chokes you with harsh facts, steers the reins of your sanity towards a meltdown and it doesn’t take long for your mouth to drip with blood from biting open wounds into your bottom lip. “Not to him.” she catches you when you wobble, blows at your face because you’ve turned ghostly pale. “You need to get the hell out of whatever shit he’s gotten you into. Leave before it’s too late.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to go? I don’t know shit about surviving alone…I depend on him for everything.” you croak and taste bile on your tongue.

“You could stay here…” she mumbles, salving over the gashes she caused. “Could always use another pair of hands, if you’re willing to pay for your supper in labor.” she pats your head, brushes the hair to expose dead eyes staring right through her, but that doesn’t stop her from playing hero. “I talked with ma already, and Cooper isn’t stupid, he wouldn’t pull a gun here. Just tell him you don’t wanna travel with him anymore when he’s back. Or I can do it, I don’t mind.” she’s so kind, a sweet deformed woman, a sisterly guide trying to save you from the jaws of the reaper. “You have a choice. You have a chance. Please…”

But you don’t want her. You want him.

You wave a deathly calm hand and draw an end to her verbal molestation. Whisked away by the last burst of energy available, your back greets her as you ascend the stairs, leave her and everything she’s thrown at you behind. Trapped into the premises of your head, you forget speech and hearing as she meagerly calls to you for an answer.

Uncaring for your mental limitations as she is, Mitzie doesn’t pursue. Maybe it’s best you contemplate your next actions in solitude.

Tear-stained vision leads you to the safety of your room before you crumble to the floor, looming over the toilet as you lurch spit and air. You wish to be rid of this entire experience, throw up everything you’ve heard and said.

Nothing comes out.

The ringing subsides along with all worldly sensations just a moment later as you lie limp inside the bathroom with eyes rolled into the back of your head. Darkness has consumed both thought and feeling, lulling you into still nothingness. Steady breaths cast a sheet of vapor over the cool tiles.

Woe is you, weak, pathetic thing, dreaming of adventure and independence, freedom and love. Here is your independence now, your freedom, your love, your pleas were answered. Take them. You’ve wanted them for so long… Take them now.

It’s the scratching that pulls you out of unconsciousness. Fingers twitch to life first, then your senses return albeit groggy and dull. You’ve no interest in company, but the single needy whine amidst the determined scraping makes you overturn that decision.

With no recollection of when you’d fainted or for how long, you’re whimpering and nurturing a heavy migraine.

Bucky, your savior, lets himself in happily when you manage to crawl to the door and open it. The mere sight of him, so glad to see you again and wagging that stump of a tail, draws the last straw of your composure. You claw at him until he’s sitting between your legs, resting a slobbering snout against your shoulder as you weep into his thick neck, possessed by ugly sobs that shake your entire being.

He snaps his jaws a few times, a gentle brute, as you hug him close and suffocate in despair and loathing until you’re spent. He stays with you when you stand on wonky feet and pop a Rad-X before taking a shower that lasts long enough to count for two. Ever loyal and eager, you bathe him as well while he tries to bite the water current.

A clean boy, the goodest of boys, the crutch to your broken self. He licks the droplets off your calves as you let your dress dry you off and don’t bother to towel your hair.

Nobody told you drinking on an empty stomach is a death sentence, but you’re desperate to quiet down your wounded soul and racing imagination so the outcome would have been the same. The bourbon is sweet against your throat, doesn’t burn one but this time and Bucky is a warm, soft pillow to your floating head once it becomes too heavy for your shoulders to bear. Tucked into the couch and comforted by nasal puffs as your companion drifts in and out of sleep, you’re too exhausted to keep crying but the dry, infrequent sobs persist.

An eternity passes before the dog’s ears perk up and you’re woefully unprepared for the discussion that is to come.

The light from the corridor is blinding. The ghoul is standing at the door, a dark silhouette whose shadow stretches far into the room and almost reaches you. A hand comes up to shield your eyes as you groan.

“Well, well, well.” he sneers and switches the lamp on for you to see the demeaning smirk. His expression as a whole is not kind, Bucky, the wonderful boy, is currently in his spot and Cooper isn’t one for sharing. “See you’ve replaced me already.” he gestures towards the exit, holding the door open, and spits a harsh command. “Get!”

You don’t want to be left alone with this man, preferring to leave along with the dog and it shows by the anxiety burdening your features. The alcohol lingers still, makes your limbs feel like stone as you sit up and rub at your reddened, puffy lids.

Your pulse is already picking up speed when he slumps in the chair opposite to you and lights a cigarette before tilting his head back. The question is readied on the tip of your tongue and you’re irritated because it’s so damnably difficult to voice it. You press an attentive hand to your neck to encourage something to come out while the other sinks into your thigh until the flesh changes color.

“Are you gonna sell me, Mister?” you shoot in between plans on how to approach the matter and let loose a curt breath, relieved that it’s out of your system.

The casual swaying of his knee stops.

He straightens up, abandoning his nonchalant posture to give you a good once-over with the smoke secured between his lips.

You’re an unmistakably macabre sight even under the weak glare of the dying lightbulb. Bloodshot orbs nestled into a saggy face, sucked-in lips framing a ghost of a frown, he couldn’t see how contorted your body was from behind the table, but by the hung shoulders and lowered neck it’s obvious the rest of you isn’t pretty.

There’s a great amount of bourbon missing when he decides to pour himself a glass midway through his examination.

But all those factors can’t compete with the title you’d used to address him.

Mister.

You hadn’t used that since you’d learned his name and it was the first red flag he’d picked up, a warning that something was terribly amiss, that something vital had occurred while he’d been gone and now it’s his turn to have a taste of it.

“I’ve entertained the thought.” he scoffs through a meager smirk. You give him a look that washes away all hues of jokingness, the tiny hint of concern he displays would have been comforting, but you’ve been disturbed to where his crumbs of affection are useless. His hat is tipped to one side, guarding his shifting expression as he asks: “Was goin’ on, Darlin’?”

You want to scream. Yell all that you’ve been told and beg him to assure you none of it is true because, for God’s sake, he’d kissed you the night before and now you know he has a family waiting for him somewhere. You want Mitzie to be the villain who’s causing mischief for the sake of it because he’s your hero and he’s supposed to save the day. Deep down, you know your wishes will go unanswered and maybe that’s why you don’t completely break down before him.

He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve anything.

“Are you going to sell me?” you repeat with more force and less uncertainty, fueling yourself with enough malice to keep you from backing out of the confrontation. You won’t falter, you refuse.

“Who you been talkin’ to?”

He’s evasive and it’s tugging at your nerves. Despite your desperation for answers, you decide to at least respond properly, you’re weakhearted unlike him, you’re prone to show sympathy.

“Mitzie.” a hand comes up to rub away the goosebumps on your upper arm and your gaze steers away from his. You’re not keen on putting Mitzie in the spotlight, but you’d rather be truthful, maybe it will push him towards reciprocating. Guilt sprouts in your chest before you curtly remind yourself that you’re not the bad guy here. “She told me a few things…”

His apprehensive visage turns vicious, lanky limbs become taut, and his clothes squeak in strain as he settles into a less open posture. If he’d had any intent on taking down walls to let you in, it had died by the utterance of that name. His lips are pulled back in a nasty snarl.

“Should’a stuffed a bullet down ‘er throat long time ago.”

It’s an insult to you and your intelligence, he’s painted you as gullible while dismissing Mitzie’s credibility without even giving a reason. He doesn’t need to defend his stance, either you believe him or you don’t and you have for the longest time, but when so much information has been thrown at your face regarding him and he can’t even refute the claims, you’re left second-guessing.

“You’d rather kill her than answer my question?” you’re revolted at his savage revelation and it shows in the twisted way your tone lowers. But you're empathetic even to the undeserving and watching him lash out like a cornered animal causes you to soften. “You know I’d trust your word over anyone else’s.” your attempt at reaching past the acidic, gruff exterior he’s hidden behind fails, he’s not interested in being vulnerable or deepening your bond, he’d rather stay a feral simpleton. Another insult, another stab at what you’d thought was a connection in the making. You swallow through a tight gullet, pained beyond belief. “You’re despicable.”

“Watch yer mouth, Missy.” he spits back.

He dares to scold you when he’s in the center of the dilemma. He demands respect when he’s the cause of the anguish poisoning your once hallowed spirit. He’s the problem and he has the audacity to treat you like a misbehaving child.

Angry tears weigh on your lashes, you grit your teeth to strangle a sob that threatens to rob you of all the authority and composure you’ve built.

“You never answered my question.”

The lamp flickers in an ominous prediction of his next words.

“And what if I do?” detached, cold; not a human, but a creature made of melted skin and unfathomable disregard for other beings speaks to you. A spiteful, ugly man who you’d grown to cherish so passionately is throwing bile at you because he’s not the misunderstood morally grey Superman you’d hoped for, he’s just a pile of shit and the best you could do is walk away. He’s terrible and he lets you know by continuing to belittle you and all the love you’d shown him. “Gonna snap outta your teenage dotin’ ‘nd see me the way I am?” with a cruel smile, he shrugs. “Told you I’m rotten, Sweetheart. Didn’t listen, did ya?”

You don’t regret what slips off your tongue next.

He deserves all the despair you’ve felt, the betrayal. You’ve long since drowned in hopelessness, submerged in scenarios of how you’ll go on without him as chances were – he’d probably leave after all this, his persona was unmasked, he had no reason to stick around anymore. He should at least be ashamed of his actions, but to do that one needs to have a conscience and so far he’s not shown signs of any.

You don’t mean to stoop to his level, but his ridicule is just that contagious.

“Janey?” a palpable pause, so thick with dread. You don’t leave it there; you plunge the knife deeper. “Is that really your daughter’s name?”

He’s on you in an instant.

Having lunged out of his chair, he’s squeezing your throat so ferociously you choke. He’s ready to kill and by the way his pupils shrink, he just might.

Demonic above you, forcing you down onto the sofa, he looks like he’ll rip you apart.

“Never say that name again. Ever!”

He’s a nightmare. His devastating grimace will forever stay burned into your memory. But for once you’re ready to fight back and you do so with vigorous hatred.

“Don’t touch me you fucking freak!”

You manage to slide your knees between your bodies and kick him with all your might. For the first time, your actions have an effect, he stumbles back, nearly knocks the table over. You’d thrown him off with such force it surprises both of you. Delicate things can also be fierce. But were you delicate? Not anymore, not like before. The wasteland had taken its toll on you, he had as well. Stripping you of all your beauty, now you were just like the rest of them – cruel, gross, burdened, haunted.

“Don’t ever touch me you manipulative, disgusting, vile – ” you jut a shaky finger at him, longing to berate him all night, but your voice cracks and you shut your mouth as if he hadn’t already seen how shattered you are.

You suck in a tattered breath and stand. The barrel of his pistol points at you as you lean closer, he cocks it without hesitation, but you don’t flinch, instead grabbing for the matches and box of cigarettes he’d left next to his now spilled drink. Maneuvering sluggishly, you sit on the windowsill, facing away as he audibly plops back in the chair and slams his glass into the table before pouring another batch of bourbon. Like drowning in alcohol could fix all this shit…

Typical for him, you’re not surprised.

Never in your life have you lit a match, but you’d rather waste his entire box than ask him for help. You pinch a smoke between your lips, your first and hopefully last, strike the match and it flares to life.

Bitter and chalky, leaves your tongue dry and your head light, a physical manifestation of death, you like the taste and the suffocating fumes that circle your nose despite the open window. You’re supposed to cough and recoil, throw it away because it’s suicide wrapped in paper, instead, you look back and toss the two little boxes to their owner, hoping to hit him.

The night is cold, the chill is pleasant against your skin, it sweeps away a part of the haze you’d been engrossed in during the day.

“You never told me you had a family.” it’s more of a shared thought than a statement; you stare up at the sky, dangling one bare foot into the air until the steady breeze numbs your toes. “Never told me you were looking for them.” your battle zest dissipates as you continue mumbling out the decrepit sorrowful melody of your heart. “Never told me fucking anything…”

“My family ain’t none o’ your concern.” comes a hiss from behind you to deter your scornful moping. You scoff at that, shake your head at your stupid, unwavering faith in him rather than his reply.

You’re still trying to find a spec of goodness after all this, it’s laughable.

“I thought we were friends…or…or partners.” you toss the cigarette bud when the flame scalds your fingers, let the smoke exit your lungs through a heave. “You’re supposed to share with me!” hands obscure your face from the world as you suffer through a few sobs and swallow mouthfuls of tears. “I care for you so much…I’d do anything for you. But you’re just – ”

He’s cruel though, whether screaming and kicking or on your knees crying, it makes no difference to him. He doesn’t care. Did he ever?

“We ain’t no friends.” he states it as the fact it is. “We ain’t nothin’.”

“You’re right…” you nod, giggle even as you wipe your cheeks dry. “Friends don’t sell each other for organ harvesting.”

You never heard the new batch of vials clinking in his coat pocket, didn’t see the freshly stitched scar in the middle of his back, where his kidney used to be. How were you supposed to know when he never told you anything?

So it comes as a surprise when he throws the spare glass and it shatters next to your head and makes you wince. His sudden burst of anger is a mystery and it’s his own fault.

For once he’d been good, for once he’d put someone else before himself and this is what he got.

 “You know what’s really pathetic?” you let go of a bitter laugh, wet and putrid, but it’s shortlived, you return to curling up and mumbling because he doesn’t deserve to know how precious he is to you, but you want to let it all out and be done with this. “The only reason why I’d be sad if you sold me is that I’d be away from you.”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that…”

A blip of something other than rage or mock, but he’s too late to the party. You’ve already dedicated to demolishing all that he’s poisoned with his touch, all his self-control and stoicism.

“I’d rather die by your hand than be taken away.” you glimpse down at the shards scattered next to your thigh to find your reflection in much the same state - broken. “I’m a coward, I guess. I never wanted this life…but I’m too scared to end it myself.”

Crack

Crack

The glass shatters in his hand, the only reminder left of the paradise from the night before, he’d broken both of them, first yours, then his. The pieces spread, deftly falling to the floor as the bourbon drips from the edge of the table.

 “Good night, Mister.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

<<< Chapter 8

Chapter 10 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Masterlist

Tag list: @bountydroid @windierhades @ultimatreality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x

@fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead @robin-the-enby @savanahc @whatthefuckkrichard

@rockst4rkitty @lisnamavka @lomlbillieeilish @itsyellow @cloudroomblog

@skykaykay @i-just-like-to-read @landlockedmermaid77 @enaelyork @maeplaysbass

@sgt-barnesveins @alastorsw1f3 @villainofmyownstory @thatcutewerewolf

[garb-rage]

Going Thrift Shopping with the main 4 (Hcs)

🛼- Summary - Head cannons about your experience thrift shopping with the boys!

- Pairing(s)- (SEPARATE) Kenny McCormick, Kyle Broflovski, Stan Marsh, and Eric Cartman x gn!Reader

🛼- Reader info - gn!reader and established relationship

- Warnings - none! (Unless you count swearing ig lmao)

………………………………………………………

🐀 - Kenny McCormick -

He’s so down, he’s SEEN all the ice cold shit you’ve found, and wants in on the action asap

Kenny had known about thrifting for a while, but hadn’t put too much thought into it due to money being tight and all, but according to YOU

“You just have to know where to look”

“Trust me I know a spot” “trust me this is where the heat is”

And trust you he did, because after taking him to some fun spots, there was no going back.

Thrifting buddy 24/7, just LOVES looking at the old clothes and pretending to be an old geezer with you, it makes him giggle

Fr makes up stories about shit he finds, probably forced you to wear it and purposely make you feel silly

“THIS old sweater was worn in the trenches of Mexico alongside my great great grandpa” 💀💀 and it’s a Star Wars T-shirt

Purposely finds good and bad clothes for you and him (he has pretty good fashion sense so you KNOW when hes got a shit eating grin)

If the shop has changing rooms, expect long ass fashion shows, the man spends WAY too much time looking at himself. He probably won’t even buy anything 98% of the time!! He’s just having fun with you!

Honestly, neither of you fucking knew that South Park had so many little shops like that!! Small towns DECEIVE!

The both of you almost always get coffee after a haul, it just feels right

And showing up to Tweek Bros. In the new shirt/sweater/etc, he feels like royalty ngl

Overall Kenny really enjoys the time spent with you, and the small moments between showing each other items or clothes really makes him feel momentarily flushed (he sees this sparkle in your eyes and he can’t help but melt)

Probably calls you a Cougar if you’re wearing something he deems “old” smh 😔

Also expect lots of “this reminded me of you”s and its the ugliest t-shirt you’ve ever seen

🧤 - Kyle Broflovski -

Ok he probably didn’t understand it at first and got kind of worried like

Is this your last resort 😔😔 he wouldn’t mind getting you something nice if you wanted 😔😔😔

You had to explain its a THING for you, like, it’s fun and you can find some pretty cool and cute things if you look hard enough!

Whatever, he wants to join in order to understand, and he surprisingly has good luck with good finds?? You’ll definitely force him to try at least ONE thing

Listen. This boy dresses himself like his mom still picks out his clothes ok. Button-ups, polos, nice jackets, Kyle’s a smartass and he wants to dress the part (😍) so for some reason it’s SO new to him, and he’s worried he’ll find something stupid and he won’t even know

Just wants your approval (he’s a sweaty nerd)

SURPRISINGLY, FINDS THE COOLEST THINGS! EVERY TIME!

Ok not every time but the matching old ass Terrance And Phillip shirts are a huge flex to him so hes happy

You’ll probably buy most of the things he shows you (they become your favorite and you wear them constantly)

Kyle and you are the same.like. “Oh this? Kyle found this necklace when we went thrifting together 🙄🙄”

And he’s constantly letting everyone know “Yeah this is a 1986 original Terrance And Phillip T-shirt matching with my partner 🙄🙄”

Everyone’s sick of it

You’ll go home with him after thrifting and Ike will TOTALLY make fun of you guys

Kyle, poor boy so In love, gets extremely giddy when you’re wearing something he found for you (blushing mess tbh)

Melts even more when you get some old stuffed animal for Ike and Ike ends up ADORING it (bonus brownie points from Sheila and Gerald)

He still doesn’t understand the whole thrift thing, I mean, newer clothes just last longer and fit his style more!! What!!

He enjoys going with you anyways and lovingly watches you get excited over small things like that <3

🎸 - Stan Marsh -

Crazy not so crazy, he’s actually gone a few times, really likes it too if it’s a good day

This, of course, makes you SUPER happy and you’re instantly dragging him to every spot South Park has

When he was with the goth kids, he remembered them talking about it, tried it for himself and was slightly obsessed for a bit

Indifferent about most of it, just likes going for the old band shirts or something with a funny graphic on it

Maybe a jacket or two as well

ACTUALLY he goes insane if there’s a cool looking varsity jacket or some jerseys yet to be worn

Although,,,,,,he has the worst luck with everything he cannot find anything good or something he likes,,,,

It’s either got shit stains or beer stains or god forbid SHARPIE or PAINT like WHY are these here

You gotta step in and hand him some of your luck, he wants his punk rock t-shirts or whatever 🙄 (he’s eternally grateful)

Thinks you look super cute in anything you’ve found, but gets slightly impatient if you’re taking too long in a dressing room or looking In the same section for too long

If there’s a certain band shirt you’re both looking for? He’s going to the ends of the earth (Just in South Park) to find it for you

Naturally, you’ll both have a blast just talking about where things have come from or chuckling over something funny looking

You’ll dress each other up in jackets too big for each other, it’s sweet and innocent 😭😭✊

Shelley caught wind of you two going thrifting every so often, she’ll kick out Stan and just wanna go with you 💀💀

Spoiler alert Shelley has TOO much fun with you and it becomes a thing (much to Stan’s dismay)

You’ll MOST LIKELY find stupid shit with her and constantly “hahaha Stan would look fucking STUPID in this”

“I know right!!”

Randy saw you wearing something you had found with Stan, thought it was Sharon’s for a while and was super confused 🤨🤨🤨

Overall, super fun chill time with the Marsh boy you love him, go get Ice cream with him after a haul ✊✊

🦝 - Eric Cartman -

“What the fuck are you wearing”

“It’s a cardigan I found doesn’t it look good!”

“Found where 💀💀💀”

ALSO DIDNT understand it and probably heard “shoplifting” instead of the former

You have to FORCE him to join you tbh and he suggested robbing Stan’s mom would get the job done faster, whatever

Pretends to be SUUUUPER bored and uninterested, like ugh he’s shopping? Says it’s totally gay

(SECRETLY LOVES SEEING YOU HAPPY 🥶)

Probably wouldn’t look around, just tag along while pretending to hate the entire experience (you know he doesn’t, you see his eyes go towards cool looking things in the shops)

Gets pretty impatient if he’s somewhere for too long, unless you REALLY beg him and find something that “meets his standards”

HATED thrifting until you found him a shirt without sleeves, looked corny as hell, had some bootleg graphic and inspirational quote and shit

Eric FELL IN LOVE WITH IT 😭😭 it showed off his muscles of course

You just HAD to get it for him, doesn’t stop wearing it, claims he found it until you give him the side eye

“We found it together 😍🙏”

“🤨”

You won’t go as often with him, but when you do (and when he’s not bitching about how boring it is), it’s actually a really fun time and he’ll make you crack tf up with snarky comments about things

He’s rude-funny and you are in love with it, especially when it’s towards something you like, you KNOW he doesn’t mean that bs towards you

Liane just HAD to mention that thrifting gets quite a lot of business in South Park, his con-man instincts went wild

Eric just wanted to start a business with you!! Resell items and clothes as if they were worth it! (They are not) fake stories galore!

Stop him before it’s too late please

DAMN WRITING FOR THEM HIS DIFFICULT, HOPE ITS IN CHARACTER, FIRST POST YALL 💀🙏

[feral-ffa]

Ever wondered how those instagram foodie account girls stay skinny even though they're eating 5 items from a different trendy restaurant every day?

You had idly wondered that, but most of all you just couldn't believe your luck when you finally sealed the deal with a cute and sweet rising star foodie.

The first time the two of you went out for a content shooting dinner, it was to a nice fusion sit down place. She told you she'd mostly just talk to her tripod. All you had to do was get some close up shots of crispy crusts and cheese pulls and then just not eat till she had all the footage she needed. Easy trade off for a free dinner with a beautiful girl!

When the waiter came around, she rattled off an order of two house cocktails, two apps, and three entrees, before turning to you and asking you to pick your favorite entree too. You obliged, ordering pineapple fried rice.

When the food came out, she started taking pictures and recording, and she was still working on the appetizers when the 4 big entrees came to the table. You did your best suppressing your hunger and helping her get the perfect shot of her sampling each dish. When she was done and told you to dig in, you both started devouring the still-warm food. But you had to state the obvious. "There's no way we can finish all this."

She waved you off. "We'll take the rest in to-go boxes. Not like it's going to waste."

Still, it seemed like a shame to not have the food hot and fresh out of the kitchen. She got full shortly, but you plugged on, finishing the entirety of the lettuce wraps and spring roll appetizers, both desserts she ordered, and the sweet and saucy pork adobo. It felt like you barely put a dent in the other dishes, so you got to go boxes.

As full as you felt leaving, the siren call of leftovers lured you to the fridge twice more that night.

~~~~~~~

And so it went, your girlfriend taking you to snack joints and restaurants to help film, and you doing your best to clean the plates after. You never truly could though, always bested by her choice of rich cuisines or gimmicky posts ranking every kind of cronut or rice dog a place offered.

Until you all went to a fancy prix fixe place she had fought to get reservations for. You each got five modest portions of perfectly cooked food and you cleaned yours up no problem. She had started to get winded by the meat course and only had half of her dessert.

"Finally a member of the clean plate club, huh?" she teased as she snapped a picture of the receipt.

"Well they give you those small fancy portions," you protested. "Two bites of quail. Two bites of steak. Three raviolis. Tastes good though."

She just laughed and gave you an affectionate pat on the tummy.

~~~~~~~

You did find yourself having to size up your clothes as the seasons changed, but again, you considered it a reasonable tradeoff for the pampered life you were now living.

"I hope you're ready for this," your girlfriend chided you on the way to the state fair in the summer. She was partnering with them for a series of 'everything I ate at the state fair' videos, which of course was actually going to be everything you ate.

You faithfully videoed her taking the first bite of what felt like a million little snacks, making sure to capture her reaction. Wide eyes at the cheese pull from a mozzarella stick, unimpressed at a dry turkey leg, laughing as she got a good angle to chomp down on tornado fries, smiling in pleasure at cherry topped funnel cake.

Soon as she was satisfied with the footage, she would pass the greasy treat off to you and drag you to the next line. You lost count of all the fair food you hurriedly plowed through that day, the hand dipped corn dogs, berry shortcakes, bbq sandwiches, and fried oreos.

The shoot ended with you finishing off a huge fresh squeezed cold lemonade she had taken one (1) sip of. It was the only thing you had room for, and you felt it filling in the gaps in your already food-stuffed gut. You waddled after her to the petting zoo, where she wanted to treat herself to some baby animal cuddles as a reward for getting all the footage and b-roll she needed before sundown.

Before you sat on the bench outside for a breather, you noticed your stuffed belly peeking out of your shirt. Sure you just ate nearly everything the fair had to offer, but this was a new XXL shirt! You glanced at her inside the pen, scratching a piglet behind the ears.

"The pigs are my favorite."

"Yeah, I bet."

~~~~~~~

You went ahead and bought new shirts and pants again. As time passed you got better at eating as much of your girlfriend's orders as possible in one sitting. You especially looked forward to when she did collab videos with her friends. They'd reserve a long table and it would be laden with over a dozen meals. You got to try everything, eat as much as you wanted of your favorites, and there would still be leftovers.

One night before going out to film at a sushi restaurant, she warned you, "this is a hand roll place and i booked us the omakase menu, it's $250 for 6 small bites."

You helped her get pics and enjoyed the delicious savory raw seafood, but she caught the downcast look on your face and the hand on your belly after you left.

"Don't tell me you're still hungry?"

"You aren't?"

"No, I actually finished every course. Even the miso soup."

"Well I'm used to cleaning up after you don't finish every course!" You wrapped your arms around her, and pulled her in close to whisper in her ear. "You always pick where we go, can I choose somewhere just this once?"

"Let me guess," she said as she leaned into your soft belly. "You want to stop at mcdonalds?"

So the two of you stopped at the drive thru, chatting and laughing in the car as you worked your way through a big bag of burgers and fries.

~~~~~~~

You continued to feel grateful for this lifestyle, but you were especially excited when your girlfriend told you she booked a reservation at Pina's Table, a new Italian restaurant that was already getting lots of buzz on the socials.

When you arrived for your reservation, both in nicer clothes for the opening weekend, you were shown to a intimate booth near the back. You felt a little nervous sliding in, as you could just barely fit. But before long you were more focused on the menu. After she ordered her usual sampler spread of two apps, two cocktails and three entrees, the waiter turned to you for your selection, and you decided to be bolder today.

"How about the chicken marsala. And the baked ziti."

Both of your selections looked so good when they arrived, you could barely stop drooling while filming her slicing open a burrata and tasting the spaghetti all'amatriciana. It felt like a million years passed before she gave you the OK to dig in.

You started off sampling a little bit of everything, and it was of course just as good as expected. You were enjoying a mouthful of ziti when the flash from her phone went off. Startled, you looked up. Had she forgotten to get a picture of something?

"Sorry," she blushed, putting her phone back down. "You're enjoying yourself so much, I just wanted to save it to remember."

You laughed. "If that's good, just wait till after I'm done."

You dug into the warm food, savoring the light burrata and tomato salad and the heavier mushroom ravioli and amatriciana. You ate with relish for what seemed like ages until you started to feel the table pushing into your swollen stomach.

Exhausted, you leaned back, against the soft booth, your fullness finally catching up to you. You subtly opened the top button of your pants, letting your belly flow out to bump the table again. There was still so much of each entree left....

You were spared from the eternal dilemma by the chef, a young and energetic guy, coming to the table to drop off a sampling of cannoli and gelato. Your girlfriend jumped up excitedly to shake his hand and take selfies, and passed the phone to you to you could take a couple pictures of them... after you struggled to haul yourself to your feet.

"Thank you so much for helping get the word out," she chef thanked her profusely. "Pina's Table is my baby. I'm thrilled how many people turned out for it."

"Thank you so much for inviting us!" Your girlfriend chirped in reply. "Everything was delicious."

"I'm thrilled you enjoyed it! It's a labor of love." The chef clapped her on the shoulder before turning to you. "And of course your seal approval means just as much too! Seems like you enjoyed, huh?" He gave your belly a playful poke.

"I wouldn't be where I am now without the belly behind the account," your girlfriend agreed, reaching over to give your tummy another squeeze, jostling out a small burp.

The pair of them shared another laugh and selfie before the chef left to go gladhand some other tables.

"Should we get the to-go boxes?" she asked, patting you gently on the butt as you squeezed yourself back into the booth.

"I think I have a little room left."

You pulled the plate of ravioli in front of you and started working on it again as she took a short video of the desserts.

'The belly behind the account,' huh? You could get used to that.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Rook Hunt - New Year's Attire Vignette

"Come now, tell me everything...!"

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Diasomnia Student: Let go! I touched this last remaining limited edition collaboration T-shirt first!

Heartslabyul Student: No way! I was just a bit faster! You should be the one to let go!

Rook: Non! Please calm down, both of you.

Rook: If you continue to struggle so… Your precious shirt will stretch and everyone will be at a loss!

Jade: This may be presumptuous of me, but… From where I stood, it seemed as though the other customer was a tad faster at claiming the product.

Diasomnia Student: See! Even he says so. Now, take your hand off, I must go to the register.

Heartslabyul Student: Dammit! I'll definitely get the next one, you can count on it!

Jade: There seems to be at least one dispute like this every day now.

Jade: Those two earlier were clashing just the other day as well… Amazing how they don't tire of it.

Rook: During this sale, there are limited stock of rare items available that rotate daily.

Rook: While it may be a wondrous thing that customers come in to purchase these more valuable products, it is also a shame that they resort to in-fighting.

Jade: Perhaps we need to devise a way in order to sell these limited-time products better.

Jade: At the moment it is first-come, first-serve, but what if we were to implement a lottery system for these products?

Jade: It may greatly reduce the conflict between customers, as well as any other displeasure with the ongoing sale.

Rook: With regards to dealing with the frantic scramble for our products, I think that's a superb idea!

Rook: However… That will also result in customers who will be saddened by their lack of luck.

Rook: I'd like it if all those who came to our sale were able to leave happy.

Rook: If only we could have every customer of the Mystery Shop be happy as a clam.

Jade: I see. So you wish to see a solution that would bring satisfaction to all.

Jade: I admit that is a very you thing to say, but would that not be tricky to implement?

Rook: You may be right… But here's what I think. Conflict happens because the heart yearns.

Rook: Therefore, the best course of action would be to give them something to satisfy that yearning.

Rook: For example, let me think…

Rook: What if we were to transform the inside of this shop into something beautiful that'll bring joy into people's hearts?

Jade: You mean you wish to decorate this shop?

Rook: That's right! Anybody and everybody will feel satisfied once they look upon something gorgeous.

Rook: Up until this point, I have attended many plays that would be considered top tier.

Rook: Venues that perform these first-rate plays have a way of moving the hearts of those who have come to watch before the curtain has even been raised.

Rook: For example, if there were to be extravagantly beautiful decorations in the entrance hall…

Rook: Each person who came in through those doors would instantly be swept up into a wondrous new universe… Or the like.

Jade: I see. It would make sense that a refined theater would also make sure to be surrounded by magnificence.

Jade: Regardless of whether we would be able to do something to that degree, that may be a fine point to start from.

Rook: This is the best chance for me to put to good use my own experience of witnessing countless works that artists have poured their heart and soul into!

Jade: There are many students in Pomefiore who excel at having an artistic sense.

Jade: To be able to see just what kind of decoration you are thinking of as the Vice Housewarden of said dorm, Rook-san… I must admit that my own curiosity has been piqued.

Rook: I'm touched by your kind words. Now, we should go right away to ask Sam-san for permission to decorate the shop.

Sam: ―So, you'd like to increase the shop's decorations in order to appease the hearts of our customers who keep squabbling over the products, hm.

Sam: Please, go ahead and try it. Of course I'd like for it to settle the arguments, but I especially am hopeful that it will increase sales.

Rook: Merci, Monsieur Mysterious! I begin preparations right away.

Jade: I will do my best as your team mate as well, so please let me know what I may do to help.

Rook: A fantastic offer! I'll absolutely take you up on that, Monsieur Prémédité.

Rook: ―With all of the knowledge and experience I've accumulated, I'll absolutely be able to transform this space into something beautiful.

Rook: In order to quell those heart-wrenching arguments… I'll bring forth a beautifully decorated shop that'll soothe their souls!

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

―A few hours later

Rook: Mayhaps this colorful lamp would be best suited placed against this monotone-colored wall.

Rook: It's quite a difficult task to determine where things should go to keep a good balance in the room. Fufu… And yet that is what makes this even more worthwhile.

Jade: As you've requested, I've finished preparing the decorations you need.

Rook: Merci, Monsieur Prémédité! You've been a huge help.

Jade: Not at all, this was a simple task.

Jade: We've been able to put up some quick decorations here and there, but this may be the extent that we can do now during the day.

Rook: You're probably right. The two of us can finish the rest of what needs to be done after the shop closes for the night.

Jade: Indeed. Incidentally, these decorations you've brought in are quite fabulous, Rook-san.

Jade: And you've brought such a surprisingly large quantity, as well… How could you have possibly procured all of these during your rather short break?

Rook: All the interior items I've brought to be used as decorations inside the shop came from the Pomefiore storage room or borrowed from various students.

Rook: Some are donations from former students, and others are personal items from current students.

Jade: I see. It is astounding that one dormitory is able to amass a collection this wonderful…

Jade: I should expect nothing less from Pomefiore and your adherence to the spirit of the Fairest Queen.

Rook: Isn't it just? My beloved Pomefiore dormitory is overflowing with beautiful things.

Jade: Yes, I have come to understand that. However, I believe the most spectacular thing of all is…

Jade: Your ability in being able to choose decorations that would complement this shop well in that short amount of time, as well as your ability to negotiate borrowing them.

Rook: Oh my, I'm honored to hear you praise me like that. Thank you, Jade-kun!

Jade: Not at all. However… Will the simple act of decorating the shop truly abate these arguments?

Rook: Truthfully, I have prepared something special.

Rook: Once my plan is set in motion, it should allow for everyone to be soothed and forget about their infighting.

Jade: A "special something," you say… I cannot wait.

Rook: Fufu, as for what it is, you shall have to wait for its time in the spotlight.

Rook: Tomorrow, this Mystery Shop will become an even more beauté establishment― That I can definitely promise!

―The next morning

Scarabia Student: Alright, today I'll buy some of the ingredients on sale… HUH, WHAT'S ALL THIS!?

Scarabia Student: THE SHOP'S INTERIOR… IS EVEN MORE EXTRAVAGANTLY DECORATED!

Octavinelle Student: You're right. It's almost like it's not our school store!

Trey: There's fancy lamps, paintings and other interior decorations here and there…

Trey: They've been arranged so as to not bother the Eastern decorations that were already put up, but instead they actually work well with them. The shop feels completely different.

Ortho: This is amazing! Is this all your doing, Rook-san and Jade-san?

Rook: Oui! It may have almost taken us until dawn, but I'm pleased with how it turned out.

Rook: The theme was "the theater."

Rook: To transport all who step through the threshold into a whole new world, just as a theater presenting a high-class play would…

Rook: That was the purpose behind this design.

Jade: Rook-san's aesthetical sense is, in a word, fantastic.

Jade: I may have contributed a helping hand, but everything was done according to his guidance.

Trey: Regardless, this is really well done.

Trey: Looks like me and Ortho can't just dilly-dally if we want that special bonus.

Trey: Anyway, good work, Rook, Jade. You two didn't sleep much last night, right?

Trey: You can leave the shop to us, go ahead and get some rest.

Rook: Fufu, I appreciate your consideration, Chevalier des Roses! But there's no need to concern yourself, as you can see, we are fit as a fiddle.

Jade: Indeed. Moreover, if we were to take a break here, we may be passed up by our rivals.

Trey: Haha, didn't think you'd fall for that one.

Ortho: Tooooo bad. ―Ah, Trey-san. Looks like there's a customer waiting to pay.

Trey: Oops, we should get back to work. See you two later.

Jade: …Well, then. It seems as though our customers are taking well to the new decorations so far…

Rook: The most crucial thing now is to determine if it will help reduce the arguments between our customers.

Rook: Based on the product lineup we have today… It is highly probable that those two who were fighting over that shirt yesterday will come once more.

Rook: Furthermore, we've only the one pair of the limited-edition shoes today.

Rook: What a sad fate that only one of them will be able to claim their prized item…

Rook: Yet, would their clamorous hearts be quelled much like our other customers? This is what I have worked towards.

Jade: At noon, our special limited products will be on sale. It is almost time.

Rook: Oh, speaking of which.

Diasomnia Student: YOOO!! I'M DEFINITELLY GONNA GRAB THOSE LIMITED-EDITION SHOES TOO!

Heartslabyul Student: I'M GOING TO PURCHASE THOSE SPECIAL SHOES! NO WAY I'M GOING TO LET ANYONE ELSE HAVE THEM!

Rook: Looks like they've arrived.

Rook: Now… It's time to put to the test whether my little production will pull at your heartstrings.

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Diasomnia Student: I ENTERED THE SHOP FIRST, AND I TOUCHED IT FIRST!

Heartslabyul Student: YOU GOTTA BE JOKING! STOP TRYING TO STEAL MY STUFF!

Jade: We seem to be in the same dispute as yesterday…

Jade: It seems as though it truly was a hard sell to quell their fighting with only distracting decorations.

Rook: Fufu, it's too early to come to that conclusion, Monsieur Prémédité.

Jade: Hm?

Rook: ―NOW, IT'S SHOW TIME!

[spotlight shines upon the students]

Students: !?

Diasomnia Student: WOAH, THAT'S BLINDING! WHAT'S GOING ON!?

Heartslabyul Student: M-My eyes… I'm seeing spots…!

Jade: That's… a spotlight? Those two have frozen in surprise from being suddenly lit up.

Rook: Oui! I borrowed one from the Film Research Club with Vil's permission and installed it in the shop.

Jade: Well, it's completely stopped their argument in its tracks. I see, so was this blinding tactic your "special something"?

Rook: Non, non. This is only the beginning.

Rook: The heart-throbbing thrill starts now! Take a look at the wall over there.

Heartslabyul Student: Just as I felt I was getting used to the light… Now the lamps along the wall are blinking.

Diasomnia Student: Not only that, but the light is reflecting off the other decorations and it's making the shop look even more glamorous… This is more than magical, it's…

Students: Beautiful…

Rook: Fufu, it looks like our customers have calmed down a tad.

Rook: We made it so that all the lamps set up around the shop would turn on remotely, what do you think? Do you like it?

Heartslabyul Student: Y-Yeah… Now that I take a better look, are all these decorations different from what was up yesterday?

Rook: Seems as though you've finally become aware of the changes brought about in the shop.

Rook: That must mean you were so preoccupied by your desired item that you failed to notice said changes.

Rook: I find your determination and persistence for your special item to be rather fascinating!

Rook: Would you please tell me what exactly it is about that item that has you under its thrall?

Jade: From what I have been able to glean from my own research, it seems these shoes are high-end and quite rare.

Jade: It is a replica of the same model worn by a legendary basketball player early in their career.

Jade: These were sold out in a blink of one eye on release, and currently fetch a premium price.

Rook: I see. A legendary player wore them, which makes this a legendary pair of shoes.

Rook: Is it because it is worth so much that you are adamant to acquire them?

Heartslabyul Student: It's more that I admire the guy. I am a huge fan of that basketball player.

Heartslabyul Student: Yesterday's shirt is also of the same as their favorite design.

Heartslabyul Student: Who wouldn't want to get their hands on something that the person they admire also owns!?

Jade: I see, you admire them.

Jade: Many of the limited-edition articles here, including the shoes, are products that aren't readily found for purchase.

Jade: Sam-san must have procured them by using some proprietary routes.

Rook: Which means, if you were to let this opportunity pass you by, it may never come again.

Rook: Your determination to pursue your goals is just… BRAVO! YOU'VE EARNED MY ADMIRATION.

Rook: Now, you're up next. Tell me why you wanted the shoes.

Diasomnia Student: I'm a huge fan of the designer of this sports brand, and I've collected a ton of their stuff.

Diasomnia Student: The same designer made the shirt from yesterday, too. These shoes today are considered their best work from their early years!

Rook: That desire of yours to collect beautiful things… That is just as fantastic! A wonderful reason!

Rook: I must know more about your interest in these shoes.

Rook: What was it about that legendary basketball player that drew you to them?

Heartslabyul Student: Eh?

Rook: What other products has your favorite designer also made?

Diasomnia Student: Uhh…

Rook: Did they have some sort of flashy play style? Did they have some special skill?

Rook: If they were a world-class designer, then I'm sure they had some sticking principles. Could you perhaps elaborate on what those might have been?

Rook: I desperately want to know what makes your heart pound, what ignites your passion!

Rook: Yes! Tell me all of your feelings!

Rook: COME NOW, TELL ME EVERYTHING…!

Diasomnia Student: Th-This is a little…

Heartslabyul Student: WHAT'S WITH THIS CRAZY PRESSURE…!!!

Heartslabyul Student: But, also, like… When some guy's just being real insistent like this, somehow that just helps my own head clear…

Jade: People tend to come to their senses when they witness another's antics. I think it is a phenomenon that most people have experienced.

Diasomnia Student: I guess it's pretty lame of us to be fighting in this decked out shop… Plus, it's New Year's…

Diasomnia Student: …Alright.

Diasomnia Student: I was able to buy the shirt yesterday, and shoes are a big deal for you basketball fans, right? I'll let you take the win this time.

Heartslabyul Student: Really? I owe you one!

Jade: …It seems they've resolved their dispute.

Jade: However, that was much more peaceful than I was expecting. Perhaps he did not covet the product to that extent.

Rook: No, I'm certain he did. I mentioned this when I proposed the decorations for the store…

Rook: "People will feel happy and satisfied when they look upon something gorgeous."

Rook: Just as the quarrel have sprouted thorns in their hearts, the beauty has softly untangled them from it…

Jade: In other words, it cooled their tempers.

Rook: You could say that. At any rate, beauty itself was the resolution for this conflict.

Jade: I see… Although, I suppose I could see another major cause in their resolution.

Rook: Hm? And what is that?

Jade: While the customers were taken in by the shop's decoration, you pulled them in further with your own conversation.

Jade: Your urgent pressing for their responses was spectacular. Had you calculated that into your considerations from the start?

Rook: Non. I only wished to know what made their resolve so strong that they could not help but argue over it…

Rook: That's all.

Jade: Hm. Then perhaps they felt under siege from your innocently curious questions.

Rook: Ahh… How wonderful it was to be able to quell their arguments and see them both satisfied.

Rook: Beautiful things will always bring joy to people's hearts, yes.

Rook: Fufu… It is a fantastical feeling to know that our decorations were able to soothe their aching hearts.

Requested by @pomefiwhore.

[on-partiality]

The Basics Of American Revolutionary War Uniforms:

Basic descriptions I wrote of each layer of a Continental Army soldier's uniform in order of what you'd put on first to what you'd put on last, starting with:

Shirts:

In the 18th century, a man with a shirt was considered naked, so the shirt was a part of every outfit (although it was often covered in other layers of clothing). The shirts worn by the soldiers in the revolution were designed to be as comfortable as humanly possible, so they were very long, often stopping mid-thigh or just below the knee, loose and flowy, and had lots of ruffles at the top. Shirts also had long, puffy sleeves. The shirts were so comfortable that they would function as nightgowns too. All a man had to do to get ready for bed was take off all of the other layers of his uniform. The shirts were plain white or a yellowish colour, depending on how many times they'd been worn. Collars were high but not as high as collars in the 1790s, and sleeve cuffs were either closed by cuff links (little button things) or they'd just have cute lace at the end. Contrary to some ridiculous but funny assumptions I've heard from people who don't study historical fashion, shirts were not hard to put on, and they were simply pulled over the wearer's head like you would put on any other shirt. Shirts were closed together using buttons (a favourite of mine), linen, thread ties, or different combinations of the forementioned. Buttons tended to be small and made out of either thread, horn, leather, or even leather. Because the shirts were made out of soft, thin materials such as linen, cotton, and light flannel and were worn all the time, they were usually the first clothing items to wear out and break. Due to supply problems, there were periods of time during the revolution where men had to wear their breaking shirts and couldn't replace them. Another thing about shirts that I read somewhere (can not find the source for the life of me) is that Washington told his soldiers to wear hunting shirts because he felt that they were practical in every kind of weather. However, the site did say that they only wore them towards the start of the war and in certain regiments.

Neck accessories (for lack of a better term):

Like I briefly mentioned with the shirts, people in the 18th century had a really weird idea of what counts as naked, and they believed that a man without any kind of neck covering over his shirt was still naked. Cravats and neck stocks were two commonly worn neck garments during the revolution. Cravats were made out of silk, linen, or cotton and could be put on in a range of different ways. When they were untied, they were simply long strips of fabric. There are many ways to tie a cravat. I'm not very good at explaining things, so if you need to figure out how to tie an 18th-century cravat, I recommend looking up a YouTube tutorial. Cravats could also be accessorised with cute brooches and such. There were two different, commonly worn in the continental army, types of neckstock in the 18th century. Number 1 was made of the same materials and had the same colour as a cravat, but number 2 was dark in colour and made of leather. The biggest difference between neckstocks and cravats is how you put them on. Neckstocks aren't meant to be tied like cravats; they have a buckle on one end, so they're meant to be put on more like a belt. Oh, and in case you're wondering, the buckle always goes at the back.

Stockings:

Oh my god, I could talk about revolutionary war stockings forever. They're actually so adorable and cutesy, and I just love them. So the stockings are the pretty little white tights that the 18th century seems to be known for, and they were mainly made via knitting and were made out of either wool, cotton, linen, silk, or a fabric blend of any of the aforementioned. Stockings were usually made using knitting machines, but there were still plenty of people who made them by hand. Stockings in the 18th century were not at all short either; they went above the knee (so basically thigh highs). One of my favourite parts about 18th-century stockings is the garters that secure them into place. The garters were belt things that would wrap around their legs to make sure the stockings wouldn't fall down, and they were usually made out of leather, cloth, lace, or a ribbon tied into a bow. I physically cannot speak of these things without saying aww in my mind.

Culottes:

Also known as knee-breeches, but lets be honest, culottes sound cooler. The culottes worn by 18th-century soldiers were a bit different; instead of having a line of visible buttons at the crotch area to put the culottes on like jeans, they had fewer buttons—usually about 1 or 2—at the top of the culottes, and those buttons would be hidden by the waistcoat. Culottes in the Revolutionary War had a much higher waistband; most culottes in the 18th century had a low waistband, but culottes of the Continental Army had a waistband that went just above the soldiers actual waist. And culottes never stopped lower than the shinbone (to show off the stockings). Culottes were white or off white and were made of either buckskin, elk, sheepskin, wool, linen, velvet, silk, or fabric blends of any of the aforementioned. Culottes were very tight because they were worn so that when the soldiers were riding their horses, which they did a lot, the horse needed to feel every movement of the leg so that it could understand what the rider wanted it to do, and that was much harder if the rider was wearing super loose, flowy pants. Culottes were closed at the side of the knee with more small buttons or ties. Buttons on culottes were usually made of either metal, leather, or horn and covered in cloth or wrapped in thread.

Waistcoats: 

Although waistcoats with sleeves did exist in the 18th century, they weren't as popular as waistcoats without sleeves. Going back to the weird 18th century undestanding of what is nude, a man wearing breeches, a shirt, a cravat or neckstock, and an unsleeved waistcoat would still be counted as naked. This is one of the things I see a lot of period dramas get wrong. I understand the overcoat-less look looks cool and attractive, but in the 18th century, that would be like a man going outside wearing no clothes. Oh, and another thing that a lot of period dramas mess up on is that men did not show their shirt sleeves in public; that was considered crude and abnormal; it wasn't illegal, just something you'd get judged for. There were two sub-types of waistcoats: double-breasted and single-breasted. These sub-types actually have nothing to do with breasts at all. In fact, the sub-types are about buttons. Double-breasted means a waistcoat with two rows of buttons, and single-breasted means a waistcoat with one row of buttons. Back to the uniform of the continental army, at the start of the revolution, soldiers wore single-breasted waistcoats in the most popular style of the 1750s and 1760s, but by the end of the revolution, they'd switched to wearing the 1770s style waistcoat, just going by a general pattern I've seen in changes to parts of the uniform. I'm assuming that the switch would have happened in 1779. In case you're wondering, the difference between the 1750s–1760s style and the 1770s style is their length; the former stopped mid-thigh, the latter stopped just below the hip. Waistcoats were usually made of linen, wool, velvet, silk, or a fabric blend of any of the aforementioned. They were made with all different colours and patterns, but in the continental army, they wore beige and off-white waistcoats. The waistcoat buttons were made of horn, metal, or leather and were sometimes wrapped in thread or fabric to make them the same colour as the waistcoat.

Sashes:

Sashes are a detail of the continental army uniform that I see a lot of people (and sites explaining the layers of the uniform) skip over. Continental army sashes were very important because they showed the wearer's position in the army. Green means the wearer is an aide-de-camp or brigade major; pink means the wearer is a brigadier general or a major general; and finally, blue means the wearer is a commander-in-chief. This system was made by Washington in 1775 and was used by the army throughout the war. The sashes were likely made using silk or wool. There was another, separate system with sashes; colonels, lieutenant colonels, majors, captains, sub-alterns, serjeants, and corporals could wear a red sash around their waist. However, this system was likely an optional thing because I've seen many portraits of men in those ranks from 1775–1779—they ditched the system in 1779—and I've seen only one of them where the person is wearing one of the red waist sashes.

Overcoats:

At this point, you are no longer considered naked; congratulations. So there were two kinds of overcoats in the 18th century: frock coats and dress coats. Dress coats were for super-rich people, and frock coats were for everyone else. Dress coats didn't have functional pockets, and the only reason why people thought that they were better than a frock coat was that they were expensive and sometimes prettier. Frock coats had a double-breasted front (same definition as with the waistcoats), functional pockets, and a high, round neckline. You can probably guess what kind of coat the soldiers of the Continental Army wore. They wore blue wool and linen frock coats with large gold or silver metal buttons on the cuffs and facings. George Washington and his officers wore buff-coloured facings with thick buff-coloured cuffs, and most other officers wore red facings with red cuffs. The coats had coattails and stopped midthigh, but the whole button and facing thing stopped just below the hip. The overcoats had this interesting triangle coat tail design thing at the back that I tried to figure out how to describe, but I couldn't. Here's a picture of what I mean by the two different kinds of frock coats worn by the soldiers that I mentioned in this paragraph: the one on the left is the one worn by Washington and his officers, and the one on the right is the other one:

[image credit, Samson Historical and Common Threads: Army]

I have just been told the name of the triangle things, they're called vents and they're to make sure the soldiers could ride horses without messing up their uniform. :)

Epaulettes:

The epaulettes serve the same purpose as the sashes: to declare the wearers rank; however, epaulettes are much more confusing because the epaulette system changed halfway through the war. So, the epaulette system for 1776–1779 goes like this: commanders, major-generals, brigadier generals, colonels, lieutenant-colonels, and majors wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder; captains wore a single gold epaulette on their right shoulder; sub-alterns wore a single gold epaulette on their left shoulder; serjeants wore a red epaulette made of cloth on their right shoulder; and corporals wore a green epaulette made of cloth on their left shoulder. The system from 1779-1784 goes like this, commanders wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 3 silver stars, major-generals wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 2 silver stars, brigadier-generals wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 1 silver star, colonels, lieutenant colonels and majors wore a gold epaulette with no stars on each shoulder, captains wore a gold epaulette on their right shoulder, sub-alterns wore an epaulette on their left shoulder, senior non-commisioned officers wore a red epaulette made of cloth and adorned with a crescent moon shape made of brass on each shoulder, sergeants wore a red epaulette made of cloth on the right shoulder, corporals wore a green epaulette made of cloth on their right shoulder and lastly, privates wore no epaulettes.

Hats:

Tricorn, bicorn and round were a must. Round hats were hats that were cocked on one side, bicorn hats were hats that were cocked on two sides and tricorn hats were hats that were cocked on three sides. Most of the time Continental army soldiers pinned them and folded them on the sides. Soldiers carrying muskets wore the hat in a different way to normal civillians, civillians would have the hat the normal way, center point forward but when carrying a musket over their shoulder, soldiers would turn their hat so that the left part was facing forward. In this position, the two sides of the hat would be almost flat so they could sling their muskets over their shoulders without having to worry about knocking their hat off. The hats white edges were made using worsted wool braid and the hat itself if expensive was made of beaver felt or camel's down painted black and if it was cheap it was just made of black wool felt. Hats were not always worn, I'd say they were more of a formality because I have seen very few portraits of soldiers wearing them.

Hat Cockades:

Hat cockades were made of ribbon or wool and were a sort of decoration to be pinned to the wearer's hat. They were like sashes and epaulettes; they indicated the wearer's rank in the continental army. And the system changed in 1779. So the system before 1779 worked like this: subalterns wore a green hat cockade, captains wore a yellow hat cockade, majors and brigade majors wore a red hat cockade, colonels wore a pink hat cockade, and lieutenant colonels wore a green hat cockade. In 1779, they changed it to honour and celebrate America's military alliance with France, so the colourful insignia were removed, and instead every soldier, regardless of rank, wore a plain black and white hat cockade. French soldiers had a cockade with black in the middle, surrounded by white, and American soldiers had a cockade with white in the middle, surrounded by black. Later on, in 1783, the black and white cockades were named the union cockades and were to be worn on the left breast, close to the heart.

Shoes:

There were actually a few periods of time during the war where some of the soldiers didn't have shoes, such as during the Christmas Day crossing and the winter of 1777–1778. But when they were supplied with shoes (most of the time they were), they wore one of two styles. The classic 'little lad' shoes, as I call them, and riding boots 'Little lad' shoes were shoes made with black leather and secured with a buckle. Little lad shoes had a small heel bit at the bottom, likely meant to make the wearer look taller because, despite tall people being considered the most attractive, most people in the 18th century were very short. Riding boots had an even higher heel and a part at the top of the boots that could be rolled down to fit the wearer. When rolled down, they just look like normal riding boots but with brown cuffs at the top. Interesting shoe-related fact that I thought would be cool to put here: in the 18th century, they didn't make right or left shoes; they made what they called straights, and you were meant to switch which foot you wore them on every day to 'wear them off evenly'. Riding boots were made with leather and were black on the outside and brown on the inside. Riding boots were very tall (they went under soldiers' kneecaps) and worn for the same reason as culottes, to make horse riding easier. It's meant to prevent saddle pinching, have a sturdy toe to protect feet while on the ground, and have a big heel to prevent slipping through stirrups.

Hair:

Originally I planned on not mentioning it on this list because it's not something that you can wear but there were uniform rules about hair in the continental army so I guess it is technically part of the uniform. In the 18th century they viewed men with facial hair was considered wrong and unusual in normal day-to-day life so if course it wasn't acceptable in a military setting. In the continental army they had a rule that men needed to shave every three days. They went against this rule a few times but only when they were desperate. Now on the topic of hair as in, not facial hair, the hair on their head was usually tied into a low ponytail with a blue ribbon or - for some men - cut short. 18th century men LOVED their long hair and did not want to cut their hair short even though they were told it should prevent lice. Wigs and hair powder were fashionable in the 18th century but not many men could afford wigs and it's not like they had a ridiculous supply of hair powder so most of the time they had their natural hair colour showing.

It's important to note that this is just the standard uniform that most men wore; each regiment had its own unique uniform, so if your project has anything to do with a specific regiment, either do your own research or ask me about it in the comments or my asks. This is also post-1775 because 1775 had no uniform. If I have gotten anything wrong, please do not feel afraid to correct me in the comments, and I'll edit the post.

Sources:

https://historyofmassachusetts.org/uniforms-revolutionary-war-soldiers/

https://www.srcalifornia.com/flags/revuniforms1.htm

https://www.bostonteapartyship.com/uniforms-of-the-american-revolution

https://ufpro.com/blog/american-revolutionary-war-study-military-uniforms-across-battlefield

https://www.washingtoncrossingpark.org/continental-army-clothing/#:~:text=Over%20their%20shirts%2C%20soldiers%20would,unit%20a%20soldier%20belonged%20to.

https://www.crazycrow.com/site/tricorn-hat-history/

https://www.si.edu/object/george-washingtons-uniform%3Anmah_434863#:~:text=This%20blue%20wool%20coat%20is,buff%20wool%2C%20with%20gilt%20buttons.

http://www.colonialuniforms.com/revolutionary-war-coats.html

https://www.berkleyhistorical.org/revolutionary-war-uniform

https://www.samsonhistorical.com/en-ca/products/mens-riding-boots

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riding_boot

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Hi hi!

I saw you open for request and I want to drop something for our donut/ mochi man kata.

We all know his scarf in the anime but how did he get it? So I was thinking if you could maaaaaybe make something that his girlfriend gave it to him, seeing how his Former one being >loved<, but is between happy and sad.

Sad, that He has to hide his face but happy, knowing she is the only one allowed to see?

That would be so sweet 🥰🥰

Yes, I'm still currently open for requests. As a note, there is a bit of crack/comedy towards the end. I thought it would be fun and it would tie up the ending nicely. I hope it's okay.

Warnings: WCI spoilers, Brulee getting hurt, minor crack

Word Count: 1220

     It had been years ago that he’d first put the scarf on, so long that most people didn’t remember what he looked like under it. Some of the few people who remembered were Brulee, Oven, Daifuku, and Perospero. There were a few others in his family that remembered, but not many. There was, however, one person outside his family that remembered what he looked like. A little girl, about his age, who’d had a crush on him. Most people mocked him for his ‘eel-like’ mouth. His mouth that could stretch, his sharp teeth and scars. But he hadn’t cared, hadn’t cared until they’d hurt Brulee. The bullies had gotten revenge on him by hurting his sister.

     Running up to a young, 9-year-old Katakuri, you smiled. As with every morning, you held out a box of homemade donuts for him. Your parents ran a bakery so every morning, no matter what the day looked like, you would give him a box of 6 donuts. It’s how the two of you had met. He’d heard of your parents’ bakery and decided to see what all the hype was about. It had been well worth the trip, finding that the donuts were some of the most delicious he’d ever had. When he’d walked up to the counter to tell your parents, they’d just smiled and called you in. It had been your first ever batch. Granted, you’d gotten a lot of help from your parents in making the dough, shaping it correctly and, of course, frying it, but you’d still been so proud of yourself. Being so young, you hadn’t cared what he looked like as you ran over and hugged him. You’d been 7 and he’d been 8. From that day on, he visited as often as possible until you started bringing them to him every morning. But more importantly, you were always the one who’d made the ones he ate.

     Whenever he was free, he spent time with you. As the second son of Big Mom, there were certain expectations of him, but he saw you as often as possible. You’d also gotten to know his little sister, Brulee. You loved the little girl, often hugging her whenever you saw her. Your crush on him grew and grew, even as a little girl, finding that he was particularly kind to you. While he could be cold or even mean to others, he was always kind to you. When you’d heard about what had happened to Brulee, you’d been horrified, instantly running to the girl to see how she was doing. She’d been laying in a hospital bed, her face bandaged, but still smiling. It was a sad, pained smile, but she was clearly trying to be strong. 

     Once you’d found out about who had done it, you’d approached Katakuri. He’d been furious. So much so that he’d very nearly hit you as you approached him, stopping at the last second as he realized it was you. He told you about how he wanted to protect his family from now on, about how he needed to get stronger, how he needed to find a way to make sure that the bullies didn’t attack his family in order to attack him. His only solution was to hide his face. They’d attacked Brulee to get back at Katakuri, they’d wanted to get back at Katakuri for beating them up. They’d only harassed Katakuri for his mouth, meaning his mouth was the problem. You’d disagreed, but knew you couldn’t change his mind, so you’d asked him to give you 2 weeks. For the entire 2 weeks, you’d done nothing but work on the item. You didn’t make donuts, you only left the house to check on Brulee, all you did was sit there working on it. Finally, you’d presented him with the gift. A scarf, black with white fur lining. Wrapping it around him, it covered his mouth, hiding it away. 

     You hated that he was intent on hiding his face away, that he wouldn’t ever show his face to anybody ever again, but it was okay. It was okay because it meant that you could give him the most meaningful gift you’d ever given anyone. Hours and hours of sewing by hand, making sure each and every stitch was perfect, that each centimeter of the scarf was perfect. That was the day he’d first shown you how he felt about you. He’d pulled down the scarf just enough to show his mouth, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek before pulling the scarf back up. You soon became the only one allowed to see his full face.

     At first, his meriendas were taken in his room, the both of you locked away in his room as he enjoyed his treats. You’d nibble on a single donut that he always gave you, being the only person he’d ever share a donut with and you’d let him lay his head in your lap, making his meriendas all the more enjoyable. If he wasn’t in the middle of singing it, you’d often hum his donut song while nibbling on your own donut, bringing him more peace and contentment. While you were still sad that he had to wear the scarf, it was made better by the knowledge that you were the only one who got to see his face. As he got older, grew in size, you’d make him a new scarf to fit him properly as needed and each time it was just as special as the first. Every scarf you’d ever made him was carefully hung in his closet, hidden away from the world, just like his mouth, but kept close to his heart. He’d asked you out on a date a couple of years after you gave him the scarf, becoming your actual boyfriend. He’d made a special house of mochi, the first time he’d successfully done so, and had the chefs bring in a fine dinner. The two of you had enjoyed a sweet dinner together. 

     It soon became a rumor that he didn’t relax even during his meriendas, that Katakuri used it as ‘intense concentration’ and ‘nutritional intake’. At first it had taken everything you had to not laugh, knowing how Katakuri truly spent his time. You’d been asked a few times what it was like to join Katakuri during his meriendas, to be allowed to witness such a sacred moment. You’d thought it would be funny to further the rumor, saying that he communed with the gods of battle, that it was such a divine moment that even the heavens bathed him in a holy glow!... Katakuri hadn’t been amused. While you’d never thought of Katakuri as petty, he’d managed to get his payback. Saying that the time was sacred to you both. That you had been blessed by the gods of battle, that you were his oracle and blessed icon. From then on, you both spent his meriendas together, not that you minded. You were more than happy to join him during such a ‘sacred moment’ as his ‘holy idol’. More than happy to be the only one to see his handsome face, to see him truly enjoying himself. It was sad that he couldn’t show his face, but it was okay, because it was a special, rare, and ‘sacred’ moment meant only for you.

[a-dragons-journal]

Howdy Roshan! A few questions, so feel free to split up the answers:

- What things are considered sacred in Mithraism? What things are taboo?

- What myths are there about Mithras?

- What do other vampires, ghouls, and mortals think of Mithraism?

- What sects, heresies, and/or other internal theological disagreements about it are there?

-- @caninecorundum

>< :D Oh, these are excellent questions.

What things are considered sacred in Mithraism? What things are taboo?

As far as sacred items go, gold is the big one. Mithraics are big on gold jewelry - often fake, for reasons of Expensive, but a lot of us try to carry at least one item of real gold (vermeil gold or gold filled, but not gold plated, are acceptable as "real gold") that's been blessed and consecrated on us at all times, myself included. I am so mad we-the-system don't even have the money to justify something vermeil gold or gold filled. Sacred symbols include the sun (obviously), the tauroctony (see below), bulls and cattle in general, and torches (especially in pairs, one pointed up and one pointed down). More philosophically, since Mithras is the god of covenants, a solemn oath is extremely sacred to us - a casual statement may not be true (though one should never lie to a fellow Mithraic, that doesn't necessarily extend to outsiders), but a solemn oath should never under any circumstances be broken unless it violates your oath to Cult and clan.

Taboos... well, lying to a fellow Mithraic, like I mentioned, or worse, actively harming a fellow Mithraic. I'm not sure if "failing to enact justice" counts as a taboo, but I'll put it on the list; one of the duties of a Mithraic is to be the arm of justice whenever necessary, both in reward and in punishment. I'm... not sure if there's much beyond that? No dietary restrictions that I recall, no clothing restrictions I recall (unless you count the jewelry thing, but that's not strictly required, it's just very very popular and weird if you don't)... no, I think that's about it.

What myths are there about Mithras?

So, I am dead certain there are myths about Mithras outside of this, but the ones I remember are the ones we've been able to jog my memory on with referencing this world's mithraism. This world's mithraism isn't very well documented, sadly, but there's a few myths that we know of at least vaguely - Mithras being born from a stone, striking a stone with an arrow and causing water to spring forth, and of course the tauroctony. The tauroctony is kind of the central myth of mithraism; there's a carving or painting of it at the front of every mithraeum, and many Mithraics have smaller, more portable versions at home or carried with them. The tauroctony is the myth of Mithras hunting down a wild bull that was tearing up the countryside, vaulting onto its back and riding it until it exhausted itself, then riding, driving, or carrying it to a cave and ritually slaughtering it. He then cooked a meal of its meat and Sol, either the literal representation of the sun or an older god of the sun depending who you ask, came down to share it with him, finally kneeling to Mithras to show submission to him and then passing the power of the sun to him by shaking his hand.

(A thing about this myth that does not appear to have been preserved in this world's mithraism: we often forget in the modern day just how dangerous and destructive cattle can be. This may have even been an aurochs, a true wild bull; they were still around when the myth arose. Even if it was a domestic bull, a bull that was injured, diseased, or possibly even supernatural could have done a lot of property damage and injured or killed a lot of people. This isn't a story about Mithras hunting down and killing an animal arbitrarily; this is a story about Mithras doing a deed of immense danger to himself in order to protect the community.)

My gut says there are myths specifically related to each of the aspects of Mithras - justice and oaths/covenants are the ones missing from the list so far - but I don't remember what they are. The myth related to the aspect of justice is probably something about Mithras arbitrating a dispute that seems impossible and finding a solution fair to all parties? (Though one must remember that justice is not always merciful and not always kind; it is always fair, but sometimes justice is meted out by the sword.)

What do other vampires, ghouls, and mortals think of Mithraism?

Oh, the other vampires and ghouls think we're freaks. They largely view us as annoying at best and insufferable at worst. They have their own ideas about where vampirism came from, and most of them think the whole idea of Mithras cursing vampires for being backstabby little bastards is insane. Personally, I think they also don't like the fact that we have an extremely firm moral code that we expect people to adhere to, when a lot of vampires kind of... give up on having solid morals when they get Embraced. There's also another clan that thinks they're gods, so you can imagine how well they get along with us.

The general mortal public doesn't know we exist. Vampires work very hard to keep ourselves secret from the public - that's what "the Masquerade" refers to.

What sects, heresies, and/or other internal theological disagreements about it are there?

Oh, boy, I'm sure there are some. Hmm.

Well, here's one: what exactly was Mithras to begin with? Options include:

The origin story is at least partially symbolic: Mortal man who became the first vampire and also a god (or these are the same thing, given how powerful first-generation vampires presumably are) (this has the interesting implication that the literal sun created vampires)

The origin story is entirely literal: Mithras was a god or spirit literally born from a stone, which became the god of the sun after growing sufficiently in power and then created vampires as his "childer", but never literally Embraced anyone (implies that there may be multiple first-generation vampires that are Mithras's direct "childer", which doesn't make a lot of sense)

The heresy: Mithras wasn't the first-generation vampire, but was actually the Cult of Mithras's Antediluvian (that is, the third-generation vampire from which the clan derives), and either a) wasn't a real god at all (this will get you shot on sight) or b) Antediluvians are on a level powerful enough to qualify as "gods" (this will not get you physically attacked but probably will get you kicked out of your temple, especially since it implies that the other clans' Antediluvians are on the same level as Mithras and could reasonably be revered the same way)

...Actually, while trying to think of more, I may have just unlocked something: I have a gut instinct there is an extremist faction basing themself around the concept of the "sword of justice" that I've mentioned a couple times now. Like, "taking justice into our own hands (and we have a very harsh idea of justice)" kind of deal - punishing those who break the tenets of Mithras regardless of how minor the infraction, etc. etc. I may have to bring that one up to our Storytellers and get their thoughts on it, actually. Hmm.

Well, hey, noema unlocked! Fucked-Up Extremist Factions In Your Area Clan

--Roshan (fae/faer)

[quinloki]

Positively Victorian Again

Sabo x afab reader

Cw: oral, fingering, glove kink, implied power dynamics, noble Sabo tones, ~ unedited, apologies for any major errors.

Notes: Not really a part two to Positively Victorian, but kind of a part two xD idk I need to just make this vibe a full on story at some point.

It’s a reward for both of us. His words rang in your head as you saw the state of the seat you were to take.

Plush and beautiful, rich hand carved wood, everything you could expect down to the small details of a seat meant for a noble to use during a long opera.

Except for the small fact that most of the seat was missing. Barely enough for your ass honestly. There was almost no back to it, but it was obvious both from the design and your outfit that your skirts were meant to go around it.

Aside from the required items to keep the shape and style of your layered, expensive dress, you has nothing else on beneath it. At Sabo’s request, of course, but when he had invited you to the opera, you had expected him only to tease you during the hours long production.

With words.

Moving the skirts with practiced ease you settled onto the strangely comfortable seat. You had to place your legs on the sides of the chair, in order to put yourself in a comfortable position, and you were acutely aware of how bare you were beneath it all.

“This box,” Sabo begins, sitting down beside you, and keeping his voice low. “Is a bit of a tragedy. The acoustics are almost as good as those from the stage. Normal conversation carries down to the seats below quite easily.”

He leans closer, speaking quietly into your ear. “It would be imprudent for me to nap on your skirts, my sweet dove, so when i find rest beneath them, do keep your… complaints quiet.”

You can feel your heart race at the implications, and take a minutes to calm yourself before replying.

“Naps during a show are imprudent on their own.” You tease. “Aren’t you meant to teach me manners, young lord?”

Sabo smiles, bright and charming. “Consider it a test.” He says, taking off his hat and stepping around behind you. “Control of one’s expressions and emotions are paramount.”

“Wait, where are you go- Sabo the play hasn’t even started.” You nearly hiss the words, a little bit of panic as he’s already lifting your skirts to sneak his way under them.

“Do keep your eyes forward,” he admonishes softly, leaning forward and kissing your neck softly and swiftly. “The second act tends to drag a little, and curious eyes will certainly wander during that time.”

“It’s three hours.” You nearly whine, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I’ll count how many times you cum, so just focus on the play.” He promises, disappearing under the seat and your skirts easily.

With a resigned sigh you shift your attention to the stage. You aren’t surprised to feel warm, gloved hands, against your legs. Of all the tricks he would pull to cause you to make noise, surprise wasn’t one of them.

His hands moved against your ankles, calves and thighs like he was mapping them out and committing their every curve to memory. It was pleasurable and relaxing and even as it had you needy for more, it allowed you to focus on the play.

If only a little.

Gloved thumbs slipped over bare labia, waxed smooth from a “punishment” a few days prior. Sabo had warned you about the price for stepping on his shoes while the two of you practiced dancing. The lesson had been useful, but it had also brought your relationship to a new level.

“I think I’ve moved my feet out of the way enough,” he’d said with a reluctant smile. “So do be careful going forward.”

You’d grinned. “I wondered why, no matter how I tried, I still hadn’t stepped on your foot… young lord.”

Sabo had paused the dance to regard you a moment, and you’d taken that chance to purposefully step on his shoe, grinding the toe of your shoe into his, defiant grin on your face.

He’d resumed dancing afterward, voice low and eyes sharp. “If my sweet dove desires punishment, she need only ask.”

You felt the shiver roll through you as he spread your labia apart, breath hot against your soaked folds. His fingers shift, gloved digits moving between your thighs, fingers hungrily pressing and sliding over the hot, slicked, tender intricacies of your vulva.

Your fingers tense, gripping your skirts as you try to keep your focus on the stage. You can feel him keeping you open, exposed, and you’re certain he’s simply staring.

A single finger against your clit pulls a soft shuddering breath from you, and your legs tense as it swirls in a lazy circle. For long minutes he teases you this way, and you can almost move the sensation to the back of your mind to focus on the stage.

Though not much interesting is happening now. A tepid conversation.

As the tension of the conversation builds, the tempo of Sabo’s finger rises, pressing heavier and rubbing you faster. With a little bit of dread you realize this bastard has the play memorized.

When the conversation on stage reaches its grand reveal, his fingers push into your pussy, rushing a soft gasp out of you in time with the surprised gasp of the theater crowd.

And so the play goes. Sabo teases you as the tension in the play builds, pleasing you roughly here and there as there are reveals and other peaks within the story. He edges you as the characters experience frustrations, and buries his face into your cunt suddenly, sucking and licking your clit as his fingers pump inside you.

The powerful orgasm hits you as the lead soprano’s note fills the theater. Your stifled moan is swallowed by the powerful sound - not that Sabo grants you any mercy afterward. He’s never satisfied with just one, pulling the first rush into a second.

Leaving you to sob with the audience as a sad scene in the third act leaves everyone in tears. Yours are from overstimulation, legs trembling as the third orgasm seems to earn you some small reprieve, Sabo’s tongue licking you clean gently, instead of rushing you to another crescendo.

Two more slowly built up orgasms leave you breathless and exhausted as the play starts to wrap up. Sabo come out from under your skirts, tidying himself a little, and putting his hat back on as he sits down beside you.

His gloves are obviously stained and wet, but he makes no move to take them off as he grips the arm rests of his seat. He gives you a kind, knowing smile, as the curtains fall and helps you stand so you can give the same ovation as the other opera goers.

“Good job, sweet dove.” He says, taking his hat off no using it to shield the both of you from the rest of the theater as he gives you a kiss. “Perhaps we could have an encore on the ride back home, hm?”

[smallestapplin]

Botw/Totk submas au things

Because I can’t sleep. Enjoy. Some spoilers??? Idk, but just in case.

-

- where the hell have you been you silly bitch? It’s been months! You can bet the moment you step foot in the lookout landing, the twins pointed ears perk up and they are sprinting to you, tackling you, crying, and babbling about how worried they were and how much they missed you.

- however, they cannot join you as much this time around, HOWEVER they will be at every stable you go to, or waiting by places you need to go, to guide you to the correct location.

- Emmet loves the thrill of traveling to the sky with you! Ingo is screaming, please put him back in solid ground!

- both of them scream in gut wrenching terror when you dive head first down a chasm. Emmet’s ears are ringing from Ingo’s loud screaming, and Ingo loses his voice for a while he was so loud.

- hate the depths, hate it hate it hate- wow it’s so pretty- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?-

- hate how dark it is, they can’t see where you are or where enemies are.

- Emmet nearly cries when first finding a Frox, he hated it with a passion, but later on he finds it fun to battle and beat!

- they watch it horror as you, in your new odd clothing, fuse items, and go fight a thunder Gleeok without a care in the world.

-you’ve taken years off their lives just jumping off anything and everything.

- Ingo sees the bosses you’ve had to fight in the depths, and just holds you quietly but tightly, so tense and trembling. You fought those things, they easily could’ve lost you more times than he can count, please give him a moment.

-“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?” Is yelled very frequently, and loudly by these two.

-Your new fuse ability is their favorite thing though! This means they are one step closer to that ‘train’ they have been trying to build this whole time!

-they fear tagging along with you, as it’s mostly them having a heart attack because you’re doing something crazy and stupid, or because that’s a new enemy they haven’t seen before.

- the hands? No, no no no no. You find it fun to beat them and get such a FUN surprise that drops some good loot! But they are in a high up tree, refusing to come down, cause “as long as we are up here, those grabby hands can’t get us!”

- they start off skittish, but once they get use to the monsters new and old with upgrades, they are back to being reliable companions, who will help heal you and help protect you.

-you will still have them panicked when you go from sky island to sky island, or just free fall down.

- please, they don’t have enough fairies for the hearts you make them lose with your tricks.

- they love you dearly, and as a result get incredibly snippy or passive aggressive with people who don’t respect you, or who are not kind to you.

- you’ve been through hell and back, bending over backwards for all of hyrule several times, you have been the princess’s work horse, made to do everything, give up everything, and have little to no time for yourself, all because you’re being ordered around and told what to do for everyone else.

So yes, they will defend you, and yes, they will start a fight if someone thinks they can just walk all over you or boss you around.

- they are not big fans of Zelda, and find themselves liking her less and less they more they learn and know you.

[bloom-ribbon22]

Bloom's Dinotrux HUMAN AU infodump: D-Bros + Skrap-itt

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I know I already posted them but I still wanna put em here + front facing D-Structs(unrelated note: don't usually do front faces much, I have tried it probably two times and it either ends up looking weird or just not right but I do like how it turned out this time! hmm maybe I should do more characters front facing).

anyways, I've always wanted to infodump share some bits of lore, facts, info, and other stuff of my human AU version of the Dinotrux and I kind of started with the D-bros + Skrap-itt, why? ngl they're one of the most interesting characters to me. soooooo here you go :)

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D-Stroy:

-when D-Structs was born, D-Stroy looked at his parents while pointing at his new baby sibling and asked "mom, dad.... why does he look so ugly?"

-a very mischievous kid back then. he was the ultimate pranker. he pranks a lotta people that he almost lost count of them but his favourite pranking victim is you guessed it! ya boi D-Structs! oh poor poor young, bratty, selfish D-Structs... always having silly stuff drawn on his face when he was asleep and almost getting scared to death everytime his brother just jumpscares him...I'd list more but this is getting way too long lol.

-hair is l o n g and messy af. you can probably store/hide items in there idk.

-has a high tolerance for spicy food and also enjoys eating it.

-even as a kid, he always gets into fights and still does which results to him always receiving new scars/injuries. almost never minds it because with all honesty he doesn't really give a shit what he looks like. even though he is incredibly strong, he knows his limits and also knows he isn't invincible or indestructible so he tries his best not to overestimate his strength and avoid battles if he knows he can't win it.

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D-Structs:

-was already a selfish guy when he was a bratty little kid and a bit of a snitch too. when he was five and D-Stroy would do something to him, even something that's completely harmless like slightly nudging his arm this left D-Structs no choice but to use a move that every older sibling fears "MAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

-heavily dislikes the taste of sweets. can't really handle it, the taste of sugar and the feeling of it melting into his tongue is just....sickening, maybe even irritating...in fact, it's unbearable....

-similarly to D-Stroy, he often gotten to a lotta fight even as a kid and still does which ends up getting himself new scars/injuries. most of these fights are pretty much his fault as most of the time he's the one that's starting/asking for it.

-"I'd rather live my life all alone until I die" that's what he thought to himself until Skrap-itt came to his life. story between them was kinda similar to the canon. it was so hard for him to tolerate this talkative and dumb lil pipsqueak but as time goes on he kind of started to get used to his company that it feels oddly weird whenever he's alone... sometimes...after all, Skrap-itt was the only one that gives a fuck about him...

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Skrap-itt:

-short king. you can kick him like he's a football or better yet, pick him up like he's some kind of cat and maybe even put him in a box, seal it shut, and deliver it to any random person. "your order is here"

-a cat person. he understands them, he knows they're not just annoying animals always whining for food 24/7, they are loving and caring too! they're not just, y'know, not that playful...at least..most of the time...he would adopt a cat but sadly D-Structs not really a big fan of pets in his home.

-was the weird lonely kid who often gets picked on a lot and many avoided him because, again, a weirdo and thus lived a pretty lonely life. Smash-itt, Break-itt and Lloyd are often the ones picking on him which would explain why Skrap-itt is so bitter to them when he meets them again, worse part is that D-Structs, though completely unaware of their history, """hired""" them.

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that's all for now, there will be plenty more(and I may add more stuff) and of course I'll make some for Ty and the gang :) fun but not needed fact: I started to type all of this with 11 percent battery and now it's 7 percent....dang

anyways I'm coming back to school at January 3 and I'm scared af sidbdiebsisbisbsisjd-

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Hi, I just read a couple of your fics, I love your writing! How do you build suspense or add details into your stories? Do you have any sort of writing tips? Thanks!

Wow, thank you so much! I'll describe some of my thought process behind those elements and a few others below if that helps.

And if anyone wants WIP news, there's some buried in here.

⸻

First, I almost never execute an idea right away since I either don't have the time to, or want to let it incubate for a while. Most of my ideas stay in outline form for months before I execute them, and I add and add certain details over time.

The one exception to this inclination so far has been "In Unrecognition of Rhian..." that I wrote in almost one sitting. In my experience, the pre-thinking, outlining, and Draft Zero (not One—I can explain if you'd like) can sometimes be longer than any of what I consider the "real" writing.

A tip: Carry your phone or a notebook with you everywhere. Sometimes, you have to record something immediately to preserve the wording exactly as you had it then because you can't always reconstruct it from memory.

⸻

If you want to know about the inclusion of details, a lot of the time, I try to make every detail count, so it moves something forward. In fact, one of my greatest wishes in the act of writing is for everything I (consciously) put into the text to have a reason to be there. Though, I imagine not everyone wants that. I'm sure some writers handle randomness and serendipity better than I, so do what you see fit.

Nevertheless, front-loading decisions is usually a method that works out well for me, to pick things apart and question them before I write and well before I think about whether I like the phrasing.

Be outrageously mean and discerning about certain things, like you're a set designer. That way, you'll be forced into thinking about decisions more deliberately and sooner, leaving less work for yourself in the end. If you were working with physical objects, you would probably have less leeway in changing your mind anyway. You might have a deadline or demand to get the furniture arranged so to speak. You can't just change the color of an item you've already bought and may be unable to return. There's only so much manpower you can invest in dying that sofa a new color, and so on. However, this is where you, as a writer, can upstage the hypothetical set designer. If you can't decide or don't want to commit to a decision yet due to gaps in the information/plot, leave yourself a placeholder like this: [COLOR of MATERIAL(?) fabric], [SYNONYM], [FIND BETTER VERB] or [JET STONE or SPINEL - DECIDE ON ONE LATER] and return to fill it in whenever you're ready. You have the ability to change things at any time, unlike the set designer of a film.

Essentially, interrogate the element you chose, to see if it could do more and better. For instance, if the default thing you chose more thoughtlessly at the start was something like a blue sky, ask yourself: Could a different sky or time of day serve the story better? Could it do more than what it's already doing? Or, if you want to keep the blue sky, what precisely do you want it to accomplish?

It can be incredibly fun to be as arrogant as you want about this, by the way. And, this is no lie—you can think of yourself as someone high-up, marshaling and deploying troops to enact your bidding, which is ultimately, telling a striking story with some substance to it.

Anyway, interrogation of some kind sometimes helps me, but that's only because, again, I happen to be a very outline-oriented, front-loading, do-the-heavy-lifting-on-the-front-end-of-things type of writer. I usually start with word vomit or a bare-bones script of a near-complete draft before I do the "real" writing, which is sometimes closer to re-ordering lines or putting thoughts into readable, complete, better sentences, and that is why the "outline" or Draft Zero of my longfic is likely longer than the fic itself will actually be, at something under 260 pages currently.

Possibly, one of the most extreme examples I have of front-loading is how I have one WIP fic I already have the exact start and end sentences pre-written for and (so far) have plans to write to those ends.

I'll share them to illustrate my point (though, unfortunately, there is a reason I can't yet disclose what exactly justifies them being the way they are):

First line:

There the bones lay, sun-bleached and white.

Last line:

Sun-bleached and white, there lay the bones.

Basically, all I'll divulge for now is that I'm trying to write a story that is cyclical in nature, which is why it needs a circular ending, to mirror back with. That is the (currently vague and unspecified) purpose these lines will serve. My ambition is that these lines will impact the reader each time differently. (Hint: The bones aren't the same bones each time. It's two different sets of them, at different points in time.)

I will also add: I love word order, emphasis, and italics, probably because I'm a control freak. Still, it's a really cool feature of language, the way you can assemble a sentence to either spotlight it or overshadow it.

It's all about the importance or weight you have the power to assign. Oftentimes, the last thing in a sequence is the most memorable while something placed in the middle is the least remembered or processed by the mind and the most overlooked—due to the Serial Position Effect in psychology.

Ok, now back to details, whether they be for plot or characterization.

For the characterization details, I try to think of them in terms of: How could this thing I want to convey manifest itself physically, through movements, the surroundings, the overall environment, and the environment's response to the character's action or inaction. In the case of fairy tales, the genre allows for things to be uncanny or overly fitting, for there to be slightly more deliberate cause-and-effect than there would be in reality, which I like to play with (most prominently seen in my whump fic.) These details help me give a sense of something easily, and that's why, for me, it's better not to shoot for absolute realism in descriptions, but more... things (especially adjectives) that are fitting and "too eerily convenient" and "matching pairs" above all.

For example, I once described Rafal's shirt buttons as restrictive, and this, in turn, serves as a tangible signal that alludes to his standards, his rigor, his need for oppressive control over the world and himself. Basically, you have to find a way to translate or transfer over the abstract into the visual, like you're exchanging one medium for another.

That's also why I like to think of myself as writing for density, trying to fit the most I can into the narrowest of crevices, jam-packing the majority of sentences with stuff that, even if a reader happened to overlook it, could (hopefully) make someone's mind click upon closer inspection, in the same way mine does since I already know it's there. The last thing I want my writing to lack is substance.

Everything must serve a purpose, and serving a dual- or triple-purpose is best, your "purposes" here being: character, plot, and setting. (A fourth addition to those could be: interest/intrigue, which is more your call.) Be ruthless. Ask: Is this is accomplishing something for you and has it earned its keep, its right to stay in the text?

Furthermore, as a writer, be more ruthless than you would be as a reader in tolerating the excess. If it does zero of those three things, you must ask yourself: Should it stay? Does it add to a coherent whole? Does it work well with its brothers (the sentences around it)? Is it out of place?

Do not let your manuscript give you guff. At the same time, you can let the so-called "nonsense" stay if you have plans to rework it. No point in deleting something unfinished, when you're still drafting or editing! Also, save everything you scrap. You might need it again.

Then again, about cutting and brevity (something I'm definitely still learning) I love to elaborate and compound things and (at times) overcomplicate them more than they need to be, so use your own subjective judgment, as in everything and anything else besides.

If you're writing for a genre that allows for drama, write like a sensationalist. Use verbs that pull their weight. Don't always fall back on cliches. Go for impact, syllable, and sound at times over simply opting for your favorite word. Sometimes, decisions feel more "objectively" right or fitting if you develop your "internal ear." I don't know what to call it exactly, but since English is my first language and since I often consume ungodly amounts of the written word, even lowbrow stuff more often than higherbrow texts, honestly, I just have a decently developed sense of what flies and what doesn't.

But, consciously, deliberately learning to have a command over language could also help. A lot of the learning process comes down to paying attention and forming insights. Personally, I have a persistent obsession with language and words, so part of that is something I focus on automatically because of my interest. If that doesn't happen to be the first thing that comes to mind for other people, I'm not sure, but you can direct yourself to look for what you want to train, I think.

Accumulate some kind of varied, critical mass of texts, literally just a high enough volume of texts, to let them seep into your brain over time. This could be like what adults tend to tell young children who are reluctant readers: read, read, read.

It doesn't matter what they read as long as it captures their interest and gets them started on reading at that early stage. It usually tends to be later on when critical people start to care about children's highbrow and lowbrow reading choices, I think.

At some point, I think that if people who followed through with this were to continue with this passive "process," I think they would hear others' voices, the "echoes" or the "phantoms," and be able to replicate them. This would function in a similar way as how we can often imagine the speech patterns of people we know well, to a lifelike degree in our internal monologues, like how we may recognize them by their unconscious verbal tics, or otherwise distinctive phrases, not necessarily by the actual sound of their voice but by how they deliver what they say, by the form, not the content.

And then, possibly, the writer's voice could likely emerge as something that's an amalgamation of the others' voices, all reconstructed. Or, that's partly how I see it, because, I feel like in my case, I can't exactly stray as far as I'd like to from some influences I've had, or that at least one of my "voices" formed through imitating fictional narrators, real writers, and registers of speech I liked at different times. Basically, all this is to say: learning voice seems to have a lot to do with observation and imitation.

Additionally, go for an emotional illusion of "truth-ness" over the objective truth. Write for the mood or the sense of conveying what you want to convey, immaterially, instead of writing the literal plot exactly how it went. Sometimes, it may be acceptable to sacrifice complete factual accuracy for the sake of story, depending on what you're dealing with.

If you want to make more conscious, active progress sooner rather than passive progress over time by letting things inculcate themselves, you could always change the "lens" with which you read. Read for more than story. When you see a technique done somewhere else, you can reverse-engineer it and apply it to your own writing. Doing so gradually builds your understanding of what writing is capable of accomplishing, in comparison to other mediums, like screenwriting. Basically, I'll just say: "learn to read like a writer."

⸻

As for suspense, I rely on having a sense of story beats, drop-offs, and shorter sentences at certain pivotal points. There are lead-ups, set-up, pay-off, but those aren't always something that I think about on a conscious level. By a certain point, if you ingest enough of others' fiction, you will likely end up with a sense for it, to know where things slot into place. That's how it appears to me, at least.

Maybe an example from one of my fics could help make it more concrete:

Rafal sighed in relief. He'd served the absurd, seemingly arbitrary punishment the Pen had dealt him and it was now well over with.

Then, the Storian moved.

To my great satisfaction, Rafal is absolutely wrong.

The reader knows there is a false sense of security, and I want the reader to know and anticipate with bated breath that something could go wrong because suspense, by definition, is built on a foundation of anticipation, not jump scares or shock value alone.

This article on suspense versus surprisingness as qualities could also help explain, and this second article has a great example involving a bomb.

One brief digression into what I could call "stream-of-action," specifically: the fewer "interruptions," the better. Do not deviate from that line of suspense you've been building. Action sequences aren't the place for extraneous descriptions. Do not cut into a sequence with those descriptions. You have to hold back and wait for the right moment to include your more content-filled sentences. All you need are clear, unbroken lines of action to go by, so you do not fall into the trap of defusing tension.

Anyway, false beliefs or subversions tend to help, from my experience. You, the reader, knowing more or anticipating more than a character could in their position is of prime importance. We sometimes call that device "dramatic irony" or dread. (If you want a few examples of that, my whump fic, the source of the above excerpt, used it.)

You, as the reader, clearly know more of what's to come, even getting a vague sense of it before Rafal does, which I would hope contributes to the dark humor of it all? Basically, you can lord your superior knowledge over him in a low position right then.

Oftentimes, readers love to feel smarter than a character as long as the character isn't annoying them. (The converse is when a plan is withheld and you get to piece together the machinations in Rafal's head before the plan plays out, to keep with my particular example.)

You can also start with something little and anticlimactic, sometimes, so the reader gets a sense of something being "off" or as being less than they were expecting, essentially, underwhelming in effect before the true flare-up. You can't always go into something with full force, loud and raucous and blaring, with glaring headlights, see? If you start playing an instrument at full volume, to the top of its capacity, then you'll have nowhere louder to go when you want to achieve a crescendo.

I, personally, for action sequences, to sustain the sense of movement (and overlap depending on the number of subjects) like to cram in as many active verb clauses as I possibly can into one sentence, as long as it seems readable.

Then, the shorter moves are brief, brisk and punctuating, like staccato. That's how I view it all.

Pacing is controlled by the speed at which the reader can read. So, shorter, more comprehensible sentences or longer, flowing sentences tend to work best for anything intended to be fast-paced. It also helps to keep verbs closer to their subjects; the fewer intervening phrases there are, the easier something will be to read. Basically, don't divorce the subject from its verb by too far, generally.

Here's one other example from one of my fics that may be of use:

In an instant, the room hushed as the elusive School Master of Evil entered the foyer, appraising Hedadora’s cloud of white hair and pink-rimmed glasses.

He was positively saturnine, Hedadora noted as she saw the sunken shadows beneath his eyes.

Rafal picked up a pitted olive from a dish. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The most build-up occurs in Hedadora's pov, which is why I intentionally chose a somewhat unsympathetic, outsider pov, to generate more emotion than Rafal's pov could reach on his own. His eating an olive instead of doing something grand or impressive is the anticlimax. The sentence in which Rafal acts is the "nothing," the lacking response, before the "everything" that follows shortly after. It's all about timing.

It also helps to picture imagery if you can (I myself don't have fully rendered or vivid images in my mind, but I do have a vague sense of positioning for characters and objects). Events can unfold either in a sequence, or all at once, depending on what fits your purposes. Though, usually, all at once is the more intense option because the reader has to juggle multiple things happening at once in their mind.

And generally, I also love the idea of crescendos for plot structures. I drew a lot of inspiration from this very particular excerpt from a book because it reminds me of my objective to imitate this collision-like sense when I write. The excerpt, taken out of context from How to Stop Time by Matt Haig, is probably the single most memorable, unintentional description of suspense I've ever read, meaning, it's greatly influenced me:

“Life has a strange rhythm. It takes a while to fully be aware of this. Decades. Centuries, even. It's not a simple rhythm. But the rhythm is there. The tempo shifts and fluctuates; there are structures within structures, patterns within patterns. It's baffling. Like when you first hear John Coltrane on the saxophone. But if you stick with it, the elements of familiarity become clear. The current rhythm is speeding up. I am approaching a crescendo. Everything is happening all at once. That is one of the patterns: when nothing is happening, nothing continues to happen, but after a while the lull becomes too much and the drums need to kick in. Something has to happen. Often that need comes from yourself. You make a phone call. You say, 'I can't do this life any more, I need to change.' And one thing happens that you are in control of. And then another happens which you have no say over. Newton's third law of motion. Actions create reactions. When things start to happen, other things start to happen. But sometimes it seems there is no explanation as to why the things are happening—why all the buses are coming along at once—why life's moments of luck and pain arrive in clusters. All we can do is observe the pattern, the rhythm, and then live it."

The fact that luck and pain arrive in clusters could definitely apply to fortune harming or helping characters in the very same moments. If used correctly, I'm fairly sure "busyness" (a.k.a. overlap and subplots) tends to grant you the illusion of complexity.

Honestly, I love reversal-of-fortune tropes. They are some of the best out there, and they're the reason why some longstanding stories like "Cinderella" have withstood the test of time. We get human satisfaction from deserved reversals. (Or, at the very least, I happened to get satisfaction from bringing down and torturing the torturer in my fic.)

If anyone has any more specific questions, I'd be happy to answer them!

If any of this sounds like a lot or like information overload, you certainly don't have to take everything at once or at all. Some things I've attempted to describe kind of become less conscious queries you "sense" while writing.

[affectionate-team]

Phantom thief

October TWST collab with @jade-s-nymph - day 13.

(Riddle × reader fluff)

There was still a week or two left before Halloween, but, punctual as always, the Heartslabyul Housewarden started preparing in advance. Considering this event will gather residents from all over Sage Island, including high-standing individuals and elite of all kinds, putting any less than maximum effort into costumes and decoration is ultimately out of option.

Not like Riddle has ever done anything other than his best. His mother would have had his head on a platter if he had - after all, Mrs. Rosehearts expects only perfect reputation and flawless image from her child.

That means every little detail must be in order. And whatever is happening right now is, in fact, nowhere close to order.

"WHAT?!", rings out an outraged screech, loud enough to crack glass, alarming students from all around.

Riddle was pacing back and forth in the common rooms, leaving a clear circular pattern with heel imprints in the carpet. Deuce sweatdrops, having already regretted coming here. The Housewarden had already been stressed enough on a daily basis, but the shade of red that his face this time around gained was alarming.

Barely a minute ago, he was notified of serial disappearances all around the dorm; Some fiend had apparently thought it would be a great idea to steal all the clock and watches in the entire Heartslabyul! As absurd as it was, the little prank set Riddle, a natural perfectionist, off on a whole another level. His card soldiers always come late as it is, but with all the watches disappearing every day is bound to become a disaster.

The Queen's most trusted soldiers, Trey and Cater, had to go an extra mile to console their dormleader that day. The former even decided on baking extra sweet strawberry tarts just to avoid the younger boy's mental meltdown.

"Just think about it - a phantom thief appearing as if out of nowhere, disrupting peace and urging the detective to unravel the mystery behind their act... It's, like, straight-out-of-a-novel scenario!", Cater exclaims, "Take it easy, consider this a game. Or, eh, a... puzzle of sorts? You like those, right? Leave all the prep work to froshies and go catch the criminal!"

"YOU- You think this a game?! How can I-", the red-haired boy takes a deep breathe. 'Keep calm, breath and count to three...', he repeats to himself. "How am I supposed to 'take it easy' when I have a rulebreaker on a loose? The Queen of Hearts' rule number 53, stolen items must be-"

"He's right, Riddle", Trey chimes in, wiping hands with a towel, "You've been running yourself ragged lately, way more than needed, and Halloween is over a week away." He steps closer to the counter, leaning on it and giving one of his signature smile - warm and reassuring, befitting a typical older brother, "Our dormmates are working extra hard, all of them are excited for the holiday, so they're motivated to do their best; and aren't all these preparations the same we do before unbirthday parties? We got it down to a fine art, nothing bad will happen if you leave the freshmen unattended. At worst, Cater and I can supervise them. Right, Cater?"

The boy in question didn't answer, too occupied with choosing hashtags for his new photo (he switched his attention from one thing to another again...), mumbling under his breath. Trey heaved a sigh, planting hands on his hips like a stern teacher that was forced to deal with a notorious troublemaker.

"Cater.", he said in a harsher tone. Having gotten used to Clover's usual patience and soft voice, both Cater and Riddle shivered.

"Y-YES, sure thing!"

Nobody would ever want to deal with an enraged Trey...

"Why are they so insistent on me doing this personally and, moreover, alone...? These two are acting strange.", Riddle was standing at a balcony overlooking the Gardens, where students of Heartslabyul were working on preparing decorations. Everyone had a task of their own - no slackers in sight. 

The two upperclassmen managed to talk Riddle into stepping away from his duties to focus on investigating. Which was weird, as there was nothing 'fun' about having to fish out troublemakers and give out punishments, at best it only added more stress to his life...

Taking a deep breath, he slid a card out of his back pocket - Seven of Hearts. Deuce said that cards like this one were found in place of every stolen item. Whoever was behind this all was being bold, to leave a piece of evidence on purpose? But why a card; was it a reference to their dorm setting? A mocking in the face of THE Queen of Hearts?

"Unacceptable...", the Housewarden grumbled, "I'll see to it that the rulebreaker receives a suitable punishment."

Another 'surprise' was waiting for him in his own room. The tall Grandfather clock, surprisingly enough, was standing steady in its natural place. Nothing would've been amiss, if not for the lack of clock hands. In their place was pinned another card - seven of Hearts. The floor under the grand clock had faint trails of scratches, as if somebody had tried moving it but, after failing to do so, had decided to put everything back in place. Riddle took a long furious stride towards the clock, heels clicking with each step. Even with the shoes' added height, he finds it difficult to reach the card, which infuriates the boy even further. With a stomp and a 'hmph' Riddle (unwillingly so) goes to fetch a stepping stool.

"I can't believe this petty little-... what does this mean?!"

"Dear Mr. Detective ;) Riddle,

You must've noticed some things missing in Heartslabyul. I hope you don't mind me stealing some of your precious time.

If you want me to return all that has disappeared, I expect to see you tonight, south of the rose maze. Make sure to look your best!

Truly,

Your phantom thief.~♡"

...were they... toying with him? Who would dare to demand an unscheduled audience with him, and in such a bold manner, too?! The audacity them must have to assume he'd just follow their demands blindly!

Late evening rolled around, just an hour before curfew. Even the tough fabric of his school uniform couldn't keep the chilly autumn wind away. Riddle folded his arms, tucking palms into his jacket to preserve warmth. Rose bushes and hedges stretch out far, high and wide.

...He came here out of his own will, not because he had no other option. Of course.

Nobody's in sight. Only crickets' song fills in the cold silence. Whoever had left that note must've played a prank on him to make him out as a fool. That's what he was about to think of, if only he hadn't noticed a faint glow of a candle from behind a bush. Rounding a corner, Riddle notices a path of rose petal leading deeper into the maze, straying from the general path.

Getting into a ready stance with a magic pen in hand, the Housewarden sets off to follow the trail.

A hint of a classical piece, one from his personal collection of favorites, plays from afar, growing louder with every step taken forward.

The petals take him to a clearing. A round table is served with a dainty teapot, a set of matching cups and plates with a colorful flowery pattern. Next to them are fresh tarts and cupcakes that emit mouthwatering aromas and puffs of heat. Fairy lights decorate the area, painting it in a warm pink glow. An old-fashioned gramophone creaks with every spin of the needle, playing a merry tune. This setting doesn't seem hostile.

He only lost his composure for a second, but that was more than enough for the phantom thief to make their appearance without being noticed.

"Do you like this?", they whisper in Riddle's ear, blowing some air and almost making him squeak in fear.

The flustered boy turns around, just to come face to face with the Ramshackle prefect, [Name]. Their figure was covered by a dark coat, the cape falling off their head to reveal a mischievous smirk on the prefect's face. After taking a step closer to Riddle, they take a hold of his hands, placing gentle kisses on knuckles of each with a fond smile.

"Sorry about making you worry and run around all day long...", they mutter out, "...but I just couldn't find a way to keep you from entering the gardens otherwise. I know for a fact that Ace and Deuce wouldn't be able to distract you without spilling everything, and Trey and Cater are already busy."

"Are you saying that they were all in on your scheme?", the boy asks, bewildered. How hasn't he noticed sooner?

"Aha, ma~ybe? It doesn't matter! Now, as a payback for wasting so much of your time today, let me treat you to some tea.", [Name] loops their arm with Riddle's, leading him closer to the table and move a chair out for him.

He hesitates for a while, making prefect furrow their brows in worry.

"You should've already memorized it by now... All stolen things must be replaced. So you better make this worth the time I spent.", he says, turning to look them in the eyes, grabbing them by the collar of their shirt and pressing a kiss on their cheek with a little too much effort, almost making them fall backwards. He takes a seat on his chair with a huff, desperate to mask his growing embarrassment, and hides his blossoming blush with a hand.

[Name] takes a few seconds to process the notion before they erupt in a fit of giggles, taking a sit opposite of the housewarden, happy with the outcome.

This evening date promises to be a pleasant one.

[oceansprompts]

adjust pronouns, names, and details as needed... assorted quotes taken from marvel ultimate alliance 3: the black order. part 1 of ???

❝ Well, that's another planet we'll never be able to visit again.❞

❝ Yeah, well, I don't go to museums to read. I go there to steal. ❞

❝ Anyone else would waited to offend their clients until AFTER they were paid. ❞

❝ I'm not anyone else. I'm one of a kind, baby. ❞

❝ Oh, oh, don't you side with them, you overgrown-- ❞

❝ Cosmic Cubes. Nega-Bands, Asgardian Hammers... You know, the kind of stuff people pay big money for. ❞

❝  If I were hiding an object of immense cosmic power, I would want it to look that way as well. ❞

❝ I was going to say "any survivors." But sure... Treasure is always good, too. ❞

❝ Seriously? No welcoming committee? ❞

❝ Over there! Such a shiny switch is begging to be flipped! ❞

❝ Easy to say for the man with the ridiculous boot jets! ❞

❝ If our plan fails, the blood of every being in this universe will be on your hands. ❞

❝ Idiots! Your stupidity may have doomed the universe! ❞

❝ Wouldn't be the first time, sweetheart. ❞

❝ Danger and chaos! Two of my favorite things! ❞

❝ Don't get too comfy, pal. Final destination's right on the other side of this door. ❞

❝ What the frutak was that?! ❞

❝ If we stop fighting for just a minute, we might be able to find a way to fix this. ❞

❝ You will leave here with nothing. Not even your lives. I have felled worlds. Your pathetic attacks cannot harm me. ❞

❝ We weren't tryin' to hurt ya. Just to distract ya. ❞

❝ I think I'm gonna hurl. Oh, great! You're here! I thought we were dead. We aren't dead, are we? ❞

❝ I have felt death. This...is slightly less pleasant. ❞

❝ We are alive. But we could be anywhere in space or time. The Infinity Stones are not plaything ❞

❝ Hey! I did exactly what you said. I saved the items of insane power from the psycho space lady. ❞

❝ You can? And you just sat there listening to us jabber?! Do it already! Oh, great. We save the universe from disaster, but we're the ones that end up in prison?! ❞

❝ I just grabbed the stone and thought of somewhere safe. ❞

❝ What'd I tell ya? You need cell doors disarmed and opened? I'm your guy! ❞

❝ Been to more prisons in more galaxies than I can count. This? This is new... ❞

❝ Nothin' like a good old-fashioned cellblock brawl to make me feel right at home... ❞

❝ I hear ya, buddy. This sure brings back some memories, don't it? ❞

❝ Earth? Huh. I guess home is still my happy place... ❞

❝ Next time you teleport us across the galaxy, try to think of a beach instead! ❞

❝ Not that I'm complainin' ...but shouldn't a prison have, you know, guards? ❞

❝ You put me here! You buried me in a dark cell for life! Now, I'm gonna burry YOU ...dead or alive! ❞

❝ A teleportin' dog? Is this some kinda joke? ❞

❝ Of all the planets in the universe, for some reason, ours is the one that seems to be under attack frequently. ❞

❝ Why are we talking when we could be smashing? ❞

❝ Figures. Just consider yourself lucky that I've got a team of heroes on speed dial for missions of universal importance like this one. ❞

❝ I guess stopping a super-villain prison break is going to be the easiest part of our day, huh? ❞

❝ Is this the part where you bark orders at us then? ❞

❝ Oh, don't worry, little heroes. I have plenty more toys for you to play with! ❞

❝ Magic isn't for everyone. ❞

❝ Only one of us lives through this. Spoiler. It's me. ❞

❝ Free time is over, punks. Time for lights out. ❞

❝ Aw, come on! You have GOT to be kidding me! Let's make this count. I am NOT doing this a third time! Can we make this quick? ❞

❝ Not cool! This is totally what oppression looks like! I demand a phone call, a lawyer, and a fair trail! ❞

❝ When I get out of here, I'm really gonna let you have it! Just give me, like, ten, fifteen minutes to recover, okay? Thanks! ❞

❝ Sooo... What's new? Other than the fact that I totally just embarrassed myself in front of my idols... ❞

❝ Is "Nameless Villain" a common career choice over here? ❞

❝ Yeah, it may rip the timestream to shreds, but you gotta admit, it's pretty flarkin' hilarious! ❞