#but there's also been thought about goody gardens!!

[smile-files]

it seems ur slipping out of ur clover / ii fixation ( < assumption! ) what r u rotating in ur brain currently

ah i am still into ii and clover!! maybe not as obsessively as i was for the past few months though haha. i still love my dear clover, of course, but right now i'm really into welcome home!! :) but have no fear, i am still clover's #1 fan!!!! <3

[cherry-titz]

Hi friends! @1800titz here. This is my contribution to the collaboration, and I’d like to start off by saying that I am so, so, so beyond excited to work with the immensely talented @cherryjuiceblues!! Thank you for working with me Soph :’)

We have loads of goodies planned, and we’d like to kick things off with Mr. Hitchhikerry. (Sidenote: he’s a little late to the party, this WAS supposed to be a spooky piece for Halloween but SHDJDJCJDJD don’t worry about it. Life got in the way a bit, but he’s finally HERE so WOOOO). A little idea based on this reddit post. This one has great big warnings. DARK HARRY. VERY DARK HARRY. With a piece like this, I want to really emphasize: this is purely for entertainment purposes, and there is 0 correlation intended to the real Harry Styles <3 just a spooky faceclaim.

With that disclaimer out of the way, here’s some content warnings: dom/sub themes, choking, (light) spanking, degradation (and praise!) ((some good ol’ LET’S PLAY SIMON SAYS)). THE WOOF WOOF is for humiliation purposes only <3 GREAT BIG WARNING FOR A DISTURBING CONFESSION OF INTENT TO HARM.

Also, I writhe in my seat as I write, wanting to put in lengthy context of prediscussion and safewords and aftercare and everything important I always talk about, BUT. You’ll see. He’s an …interesting character and I tried to keep hitchhikerry true to himself.

PLEASE DON’T HOOK UP WITH STRANGE MEN YOU PICK UP ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. PLEASE DON’T PICK UP STRANGE MEN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. Enjoy ٩(◕‿◕)۶ (WC is 11K)

She doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

Not figuratively, not literally. 

Y/N was raised outside of the scope of the seventies, post-Bundy and his hitchhiking antics, and since the evolution of serial-killer lore, she’s never been fond of a stranger hopping into her passenger seat and then cutting her up into itsy-bitsy parts to hang around his back garden like string-lights, or something. An ear there, a palm with crooked fingers there. Morbid stuff. 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, but she doesn’t think about that, hurtling down some back-country road, a poorly lit vale through a field of tall, boundless grass. It’s not the first thought budding behind her skull when she sees his silhouette through the shone of her pearly brights — a blip by the line of tall shrubbery — even a good distance away. And from her distance, he’s just a little blip in a cream, hoodless sweatshirt, feet planted into a bed of patchy grass. Her first sane thought, as she squints through her windshield, has to do with why someone would be out on this road, at this time of night, with no feasible form of transportation, and how. As her Honda nears and passes some fork off, a dirt bend of clearing into the winding field of nature, the man’s hitchhiking, signature thumb morphs into a wave of his arms, and his foot steps out, toying at the edge of the road. It doesn’t quite breach the threshold, but her speedometer decreases enough for her to catch baggy denim, distressed at the knees, and a slow wave of his arms, raised. He doesn’t launch at her car, forlorn, as she passes — thank Christ. But even then, his frame swishes by, out of sight, coated by darkness. She casts her gaze to the rear-view, and the image of him scrubbing over his face with an exasperated palm shrinks in size the further she gets. 

The young woman gets about a hundred feet before she nudges the break with her foot to a halt, sighing as the car settles with a subtle lurch. She makes another glance to the rear-view. Now, she can’t see him, not in the shroud of night, but she squeezes her eyes shut for a second, and then twists the wheel until the car curves. A tire slips off onto gravel and grass with the U-turn, but she steers herself back onto the road and drives into the same direction she’s just come from. 

He looks surprised to see her reverse, form pivoted toward the same headlights that’d just passed him with a crease over his brow bone. Y/N slows and breaks as she nears, absent-mindedly pressing a fingertip over the lock button on her door. TV Girl is still playing quietly from her car speakers when she cracks the window, stopped beside him across the road, and beckons with her chin raised just enough for her cadence to seep through the opening, “Do you need help?” 

“Yes, yeah, I—“ the man makes a quick glance towards the side of the road where vehicles would be incoming, a sharp turn of his chin, and then a step towards her parted window as Y/N twists over the volume toggle. “I just— my car broke down,” he raises an arm and points towards the dirt clearing that slips into the field, “I was coming this way, and my phone’s died—“ 

He pauses, shaking his head down at his converse, his voice a baritone croon with charming, foreign dialect, “I know this is so odd, and you probably don’t want a stranger in your car. But f’you could just order an uber or something, I could give you the cash for it?” the girl watches his ring-clad palm disappear into the front pocket of his denim hastily, only to retrieve a wallet, “—If that’s alright?” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

And still, her pupils rove over the charming stranger, trailing from his soft dark curls, swiping over his lashes as his head ducks, down the slope of his nose, to the cushiony pink of his lips. Irises graze down his neck and catch a white tee under the collar of his cream pull-over, and they brush down his denim, to his battered, white converse. The young woman watches his hand stretch out, cautiously, a wad of neatly folded cash cupped by pads of fingers with short, yellow-lacquered nails. 

“No, don’t— …I can give you a ride,” Y/N tells him, her tone soft as her gaze wanders over his frame. 

A downward shift plucks at the corner of his plush mouth and his jaw flexes, a hesitant look shaping over his features, “It’s— I couldn’t— s’like a thirty minute drive, and I don’t wanna take you out of the way…”  

His large hand is still stretched out toward her, and she admires the cross inked over the back of his hand, on the fleshy area between his thumb and forefinger. Her brows pinch together, and the window whirs as the glass partition sinks. The girl raises her hand and points back with her thumb. 

“Are you going in that direction?” 

Wordlessly, the attractive stranger nods — a single dip of his chin. 

“I’m going that way, too. I can give you a lift.” 

Another look of hesitancy flits over the curly-haired stranger’s face, a soft, dubious touch to his facial features. He purses his strawberry mouth. 

“If you’re sure.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

And still, she slips her hand over the unlock button, and the doors click to signal unshuttering as the man culls his wallet and stuffs the cash back in, sticking that back into his jeans. She watches him wind around her car, his gait trailing behind, and her eyes follow his side profile, bathed in the red of the brake lights, through the rear-view. The passenger door slips open. She rolls her window the rest of the way up. 

“Thank you,” the man tells her in his low baritone, raking fingers through his curls as he slides into the seat beside her and shuts the door. 

He smells heady and fresh — expensive. But it’s not overpowering, by any means. A blend of tantalizing notes; cologne blotted in increments that mesh well with his natural musk. The pleasant scent is the first thing she notices when he climbs into her vehicle. The second is the sculpt of his side profile — lengthy lashes over the crest of his cheekbones, his nose, a plush, pink mouth, a stray curl splayed over his forehead. He’s a little older than her, at least by a handful of years; there’s this innate, aged quality to him, and she can witness it in the shape of his features, in the soft dusting of stubble over his jawline. Y/N catches glimpses of his side profile discretely as the music track shifts, eyeing the bob of his Adam's apple as he cranes his neck back against the headrest. The screen over the center console reads 1:02 AM. 

“Long night?” 

It’s a shit attempt at small talk, but the young woman turns the wheel in her palms, hopeful that the man is interested in something more than an awkward silence, sparsely filled with the mellow keys of electronic-indie leaking from the speakers. She heard him expel a breath more than she sees it in her peripherals, and as the car embarks on another U-turn, he tells her, with laughter suffusing his cadence, “Yeah. Yeah, s’been a long night.”

She does make out that he pivots a bit towards her, and his tone is earnest when he says, “But it’d be a little longer without you, I think. Thank you, again. Feels like I can’t say it enough.” 

Her mouth quirks softly. The young woman keeps a haphazard left hand on the wheel, vision bouncing from the poorly illuminated road ahead and the phone in the cupholder. The LED display lights alive as she swipes her thumb over the lockscreen and toggles onto the maps app, cueing him by nudging the electronic in his direction. 

“Um. If you could just type in the directions— I’m sort of shit in these parts, to be honest.” 

She casts a brief gaze toward him and sees a soft divot pinch into his cheek as the corners of his mouth crook up. His fingertips, warm and rough — calloused — brush over the back of her hand with the handoff, and then his thumbs are working over the screen before an address and a winding blue line of directions with an eta of thirty-four minutes teems the screen. 

“Hi, by the way,” the man says in his honey-smooth cadence, “My name’s Harry.” 

“Hi,” Y/N grins, shooting a bashful glance into the attractive stranger — Harry’s — direction, before fixing her irises up ahead. “I’m Y/N.” 

“Y/N,” the man parrots — God. She could listen to him drone on about the most monotonous topics in that voice. He doesn’t. Instead, he uses that same timbre again to say, “S’a pretty name.” And she has to ignore the flurry of butterflies that swarm her innards at the entirely innocuous compliment and the heat that suffuses her cheeks. “Are you from around here?” 

“Ish. Sort of,” she slows at a curve through the field. Her brows pinch, “I mean, I’ve lived here for a bit now, but I moved from Oregon.” 

“Oregon? That’s sick. Any particular motive?” 

Y/N lifts a subtle shoulder, because there isn’t. She pauses before she answers. “Dunno. Just needed a change of scenery.” 

Harry twists the ring over his pinky and nods down at the motion, lips pursed with intrigue, “Adventurous.”

The young woman’s mouth crooks, because he’s, evidently, from the opposite hemisphere.  

“That’s admirable,” the man motions with his chin. 

Her mouth is still smiley when she rounds another curve, in the opposite direction, and mirrors his dialogue, “What about you? Any motive?” 

“My motive?” his inflection is cheeky and playful, “You don’t think I’m a native?” 

The girl makes a wry sound of amusement; an obvious inclination of disagreement. The handsome man grins, all raspberry-tinted lips and friendly teeth. “Just …visited, and never wanted to leave,” he declares with little expansion on the topic. Simple, short, sufficing. 

There’s a little moment of lull between them when she straightens the car out and the track slips into the chorus. 

Harry shifts in the passenger seat and asks, in that same deep timbre she could sink into and drown in, “Where are you headed from?” 

Where is she headed from? Y/N blinks at the road ahead, digits flexing over the steering wheel. Truth be told, it’s a late hour to be out and about, especially in this deserted neck of the woods. Every cozy little farmhouse in these plains, distant beyond the fields of grass, has lights off. No other car passes. 

“I was on a …date,” the young woman tells him. 

Harry nods and swivels in his seat to face her a bit. “Good date?” 

Y/N pauses, the fragments of the story rolling around behind her skull. And truth be told, …it wasn’t a very good date. But it wasn’t a date to begin with. In all honesty, she’s not about to tell this attractive stranger that she’d driven forty minutes for a routine hook-up with an old tinder match, only to be stood up outside his door. 

He was a character whose path happened to cross with hers for purely carnal purposes, and their flings were like rolls through seasons, rendezvous blotted into her timeline where either had a smidge to make room. She’s not going to talk about that. It’s piteous, basically. The young woman doesn’t risk side-eyeing him. This man seems like he’s well off in that department, and she doesn’t want to discuss her shit intimate life and the way that Cody decided, last minute, that he was more interested in going out for miller lites with his buddies than entertaining the idea of sleeping with her. 

He didn’t even have that impressive of dick game anyways — that’s the brutal candor. It wasn’t that he had this particular lack of satisfaction guarantee, but the sex was okay. It didn’t tick all the boxes or leave her fulfilled, not in the real sense, but it was sex, and it was decent. Maybe the most brutal part is the way she’d driven all the way to see him, even knowing that the sex wasn’t going to be top notch. 

Apparently, her silence stretches too long, and the pause gives away the answer she mulls tactics over hiding. 

“Bad date,” the girl hears from beside her — it’s in this thoughtful sort of way, like Harry’s slotting puzzle pieces together in the lull.   

Y/N shifts her fingers over the wheel, the sound of skin sliding over leather meshing with the starting notes of a Cage the Elephant track. Her thumb toggles over a button on the wheel. She skips it. 

“No,” the girl responds, eventually, but she doesn’t even sound fully convincing to her own ears. There’s this high note to her cadence, and she hears it in her own waver of honesty. She wants to cringe up, a little, at the sound. “Not …bad. Just. Well, you know. What about you?” 

For the first time since she’d gotten back onto the road, Y/N casts her gaze to him. A glimpse, a twist of her chin, enough to take in his side-profile for a smidge of a second, more in a way to incite switching the topic and pivoting the point of conversation than the inconspicuous stare she’d made appreciating his features. The corner of his plush mouth curves up, and he makes a little sound; a puff of air through his nostrils like he’s bridling mirth. 

“Was my date bad?” Harry says, in this playful sort of way. Like he’s teasing her. 

“No— your— whatever you—” 

Y/N huffs. She rolls her shoulders back against the seat, a heat teeming over her cheeks. Why was she so nervous? Why did he make her so nervous? Harry makes another sound of amusement, the cushion of his lips unsealing to display straight white teeth. 

“I was at a friend’s,” Harry expands, opting to stop drawing out the teasing, enough for Y/N’s shoulders (that’d grown rigid) to relax a little against the seat. “Was actually having a good night, believe it or not. And then, you know.” 

Unfortunately, she does know. He’s sitting in her car, after all. 

“Do you know what went wrong with it?” she ponders. 

“Well,” Harry the pads of his fingers over the door, and it takes every fiber in her not to sneak a glance at the motion, not to admire the yellow polish, washed with darkness, dim in the car, “the check engine light was on for a bit, to be honest. But— no,” the man pauses with a little simper, shooting her a glance, “Cars aren’t my specialty.” 

They talk about loads of things — she learns all about his friends and the sort of outing they’d had (game night it’d been, Uno, and he’d beckoned her opinion on a debate that’d arisen — whether a draw four could be stacked onto a draw two). That had spawned another conversation on card games —

(“Is it like Go Fish, then?” 

“No,” she snorts, “not at all.” 

“Not at all?” 

“There’s a board and it’s— more complicated.” 

“There’s a board,” Harry parrots, shifting with his elbow brace on the center console like an armrest, “And it’s just, like. Cards, like, in a deck of cards?” 

“You’ve never played cribbage?” Y/N repeats in disbelief.)

She learns about his job, and his cat, and his collection of vintage vinyls. He’s amiable, and he answers every question she directs his way with this smooth sort of charm. He’s easy to talk to, and the span of the drive cuts shorter and shorter through intriguing conversation. But she leads the way for the majority of the inquiries. 

It’s not until they’re at the halfway mark before he asks his own, rather than redirecting one of hers. 

“Can I ask you something?” Harry drums his fingertips over the plush of his mouth, and Y/N struggles to fix her eyes back onto the road once she’s spared him a glance. 

It takes her a second to hum out an agreement, too. 

“It was a bad date, wasn’t it?” 

The girl expels a breath and drums her fingers over the wheel, casting her gaze onto the screen of directions. 

“It wasn’t even a date,” she confesses, “he was like—“ she blinks, lashes fluttering as exasperation at the reminder leaks through, “A tinder hook up, and we didn’t even end up hooking up.” 

Before he can interject, Y/N tacks on, begrudged, “He wanted to hit the bars with his posse of Mag-con wannabes, instead.”

And then there’s this sort of pause that has Y/N thinking that maybe she’s overshared. The man with the sun-polished nails isn’t an old friend she’s having a gab with, catching up on the phone — he’s a stray man she’s plucked up off some deserted road, and if he judged her for her choices, it’d kind of be justified. Namely, the one where she’d driven out in the middle of the night for impromptu cock. 

And anyways, this all feels a bit surreal — the beginnings of a therapy session with a stranger who’d hopped into her sedan for a lift, filling the void of a psychologist in a great, big leather armchair.  

Except Harry sounds earnestly disbelieving when he says, “You’re kidding.” 

She purses her mouth and readjusts her fingers over the steering wheel. “He sort of …canceled when I was already at his door? Forgot to text me that the plans changed. That’s what he said.” 

“What a dickhead.” 

“Mm,” Y/N hums. 

“He’s a moron for passing up the opportunity,” Harry tells her. It’s not in an awkward way, or anything creepy, either. He’s got this air to him, she finds — an ability to make a comment like with effortless delivery of charm. He’s not even looking at her when he says it, only risking her a brief glance that she catches in her peripherals. She still side-eyes him from her seat in surprise, the edges of her mouth curling up bashfully. 

“M’serious,” Harry says, dimples pinching into place beside the upturned-curl of his plush mouth. 

And the thing is, Harry is so friendly. He’s kind, and interesting, and despite the way Y/N had assumed allowing for his presence in her car would be the world’s greatest chore, she’s pleased to be in his company. 

That’s why she lifts a wry shoulder and tells him, “The sex was bad anyways.” 

The man’s face pivots to face her, then. “Yeah?” he coaxes for expansion in his molasses-slow croon of a timbre. 

“It was just a little boring.”

“Boring?” 

“Not— maybe not boring. Just, you know. There was nothing…” Y/N drums digits over the steering wheel, “I don’t know.”

The man beside her clears his throat. 

“Was he a missionary in the dark type of bloke, then?” 

“Yes,” she responds, almost instantly. Because missionary in the dark is, perhaps, the best way to describe Cody’s sexual nature. Down to the T, practically. She can’t fathom how many times she’d lay there, hoping he’d switch up into something different, something where his hands weren’t resting shallowly on the bed sheets beside her shoulders, something where his face wasn’t tucked into the crook of her neck, his mouth biting back everything but soft hisses of air as his hips rocked at an mediocrely slow pace. 

Harry’s mouth quirks. 

“But not even that, it’s like. He wasn’t bad at foreplay, or anything. It wasn’t the best. But, you know. It was all sort of… plain.” 

The young woman pauses before she continues with an apathetic, one-shouldered shrug, “And there’s nothing wrong with plain. It gets the job done, and, you know. That’s what some people like.” 

There’s a shift in energy, from there. It’s subtle, but Y/N can feel it, and she wonders whether the morph is a one-sided experience. It happens with the honesty of the context, with the way she swears jade winds over her figure from beside, with the rasp of his voice beckoning something playful. 

“But that’s not what you like.” 

Y/N takes a second to answer. “No.” 

“What do you like?” 

Maybe that phrase is where it hits her. Where she recognizes that the subtle shift in energy is not one-sided. Not by any means.

Y/N risks a haphazard glance into his direction. 

“Not …that,” the girl laughs. It’s a nervous, giggly kind of sound, but it’s not because of him.  

It’s different now, she thinks. He’d been so timid at first — all bashful gazes through lashes glimmering under the beam of headlights, hesitancy shaping his features. Friendly dialogue — alluring, but curt in anything beyond friendly. This is different. This is blunt and forward. This is his eyes raking over her, this is his tongue swiping out over the plush of his pink mouth, this is his dimples peeking as the corners edge up.

“What do you like?” Harry asks again, a note of flirty, lighthearted amusement to his smooth cadence.  

Y/N sighs, the corners of her mouth tipping up. “I don’t know. Oh my God. Why are you interrogating me?”

Harry laughs. His brows rise, and he tips his chin down so the green sparkles at her. “You don’t know what you like?” 

“I don’t know,” she huffs, good natured. And then she gives. “Something… rough. Something exciting. I don’t know, pull my hair, make it hurt a little. Don’t… lay there in the dark and…” her speech morphs into giggles, “Groan into my ear about how tight I am while I’m laying there like a dead fish.”

Y/N doesn’t know how she ends up pulled over in some deserted parking lot. She doesn’t know how her headlights end up off, how the stranger’s hands sew into her hair, how his lips mesh softly with hers, hungrily. Well. She does know, but she doesn’t care about the details in between. Because he’s hot, and he tastes of mint, and the tips of his fingers press into her scalp and tug a little when they brush through, when he slips a palm over the nape of her neck through the work of his cushiony mouth. It’s thrilling, and it’s sexy, and it’s dangerous, she thinks, but that thought becomes clouded and pushed back to the dells of her mind. 

“Such a pretty little thing,” Harry murmurs when they disconnect, fingers splaying over her cheeks. Her heart hammers in her chest, and his irises trail after the motion of his thumb, bumpily dragging over the side of her lips, all the way to her cupid's bow. That same pad of his thumb pauses and tugs, drawing her bottom lip down to show the slightly parted seal of her teeth. 

And then he’s taking his thumb away and nudging the tips of his index and middle finger, coaxing, “Open your mouth, open your mouth.” 

The pads of his digits meet the tip of her tongue and prod in, brushing over her taste buds, until he’s tapping onto the center of the muscle and crooning, “Stick it out. Tongue out for me.” 

A little hum escapes her, plucking at her vocal chords when she complies, only for him to trace further with his fingertips and nudge until he strokes the back. He holds them there and makes a little motion with his chin and a soft tut when her irises stay pinned on him, glazing with a sheen of watery protest at the depth of the intrusion. 

“Ah— don’t you gag,” he tells her softly, every syllable of every word coated with these notes of dominance that almost seem …innate — like the headspace is a pair of shoes for him to slip into with ease. 

It’s filthy, it’s so filthy — this stranger’s fingers in her mouth, this man she’s never seen a day in her life, a complete, nameless stranger, not even an hour prior, prodding into the warm wetness behind her lips. And her, following his aimless direction, just to please him. She doesn’t gag through the way his fingers crook, her tongue twitching and her throat bobbing, her sight growing blurry with the coating of sheen. It’s worth it, immensely, when Harry hisses out a soft curse and groans softly, his brows pinched. 

It’s worth it when he takes his fingers away, and Y/N’s jaw is coated with her drool, when her tongue is still out, when Harry says, in this soft, strained voice, like it’s praise, “Christ, you’re a filthy thing.” 

She finds that this impromptu rendezvous sort of gives her whiplash. She’s parked in some empty parking lot with her lights off, and an alluring stranger’s just untucked his fingers from her mouth. Maybe someone would deem this a new low — having a shag with some hitchhiker she’s scooped off the side of a back-country road. But he’s eyeing her like she’s prey, and he rolls from one action like pages flitting and flipping in a book, and every detail keeps her on her toes. She can’t keep up. Y/N pants wetly, like she’s not sure whether to slip her tongue back into her strawberry mouth, because she’s not. 

Not until he swipes another thumb over the tip of the lax, twitching muscle and beckons, like he’s a little amused, “Aren’t you?” 

Slowly, her tongue retreats, and that’s when his hand slips and cups over her throat, and that’s—

Her pulse thunders like it’s straining to beat out from below her skin, and Harry adjusts his grip, that same, wet thumb drawing short, slow lines over the point like he wants to test the race of her heart, like he wants to know that the pattern has skyrocketed since his palm has made homage over her windpipe. The man hums, pupils trailing and lingering slowly. 

“Tell me—“ Y/N shifts in her seat, spine straightening out against the cushion, and something wracks down every individual knob when his blown gaze pins her the same way his palm pins over her neck, “Tell me you’re my filthy plaything.” 

The press of his hand isn’t harsh by any extent, not until she parts her lips to answer — that’s when he nudges a little firmer. A little harder. He cocks his head at her in this condescending way — like her stifled sound of surprise entertains him, like the subtle, almost unnoticeable jolt of her eyelids, widening, pleases him. Judging by the slight quirk at the edges of Harry’s plush mouth, it does. 

Her tummy coils with unanticipated desire. This feels almost scary. This feels like traipsing over a rope, like teetering over dangerous territory, and the sudden spike of adrenaline only has her thighs clenching together harder. Because this is sweet Harry, the friendly hitchhiker, in his cream sweater with his nice smile, and his charming dimples, and his loose, clean curls, with his warm palm cupped over her throat and the pad of his thumb digging into her pulse. He looks fucking hungry. 

“I’m—“ her statement’s muzzled by the press of his hand, an increase in only a slight increment. It’s enough to wrest a garbled sound from the back of her throat. He tips his head. 

“What’s that?” 

“I’m your…” she pauses when he presses harder, again, and this time’s enough to have her feeling lightheaded, her bleary eyes wandering over his face and every muscle of her face battling the light flutter of her lashes. She thinks a dimple peeks from his cheek. Harry lets up.

Y/N siphons breaths like her lungs have been deprived for ages, and not just partly for the timespan of a short fifteen seconds. Still, his palm is glued over the front of her neck — just there. His thumb strokes over her pulse gently. 

“I’m your …filthy plaything,” the young woman confesses in this pathetic little voice that’d have her ashamed in every other setting. But in this one, it doesn’t. 

Arousal creeps through every fiber of being, instead, crawling through her arteries and settling into her veins like a twisted, dark goo. It thrums through her and sinks through to the trench of her tummy, frothing as chills teem down her back. He’s got this glint in his eye, like a dance around a bonfire in the deep of the night — but it’s just a stray street light that casts its shone as a spotlight when he ducks forward a tad, just enough for it to. When he tips forward, his gaze growing half-lidded, lower and lower the closer he gets, it feels like he starts to siphon every breath from her own mouth as his cushiony lips ghost over her cupid’s bow. Even for the smidge of the second it takes for their mouths to mesh again, it feels like the movement is in ultra slow motion. 

The mold of their mouths together, this time, feels a lot less like she’s got her hands on the wheel — the first time had been almost testing, sweet — something soft that’d shifted into something headier, something firmer. This feels like something he guides, something he takes the clear lead in, from the pace of his hungry lips to the exploratory nudge of his tongue against the seam of her own mouth. Her fingers flex over the center console aimlessly, palm straying, and fingertips catching on a part of his cotton sweatshirt. They twist into the fabric softly when Harry’s tongue strokes over her own. A hand settles onto her thigh. It’s not her own.

“Get in the backseat,” he hums into her open mouth, squeezing over her flesh when she doesn’t immediately comply. He’s got this way of dulling her reflexes, crumbling the semblance of her mind to mush, and Y/N is convinced it has more to do with his touch than it has with the time of night, despite the way exhaustion wears at her tired muscles. “Get in the fuckin’ backseat.” 

When her arms strays and she reaches for the door handle, though, he squeezes at her thigh again, and hums out a displeased note of disagreement. “Not like that.” 

Bemused, Y/N shifts in her seat. A glint of something playful glows in the jade when Harry tells her, “You can find another way, can’t you, pet? Go on.” 

Y/N sits in confused silence for all of three seconds before the man sits back a tad and cocks his head, irises flashing towards the backseat with a playful, little grin quirking at his lips. Like he’s suggesting. 

It takes her longer than three seconds to clamber into the back from the driver’s seat, through the slot over the center console, but it satisfies Harry, evidently, judging by the way he palms over the globes of her backside through her stretchy mini-skirt. It’s not very graceful, and if she was less aroused she’d probably find it in her somewhere to be a bit embarrassed, but. She doesn’t. She wriggles over the cushion, instead, settling back. 

Harry has smarter ideas. He toggles the gear on the side of the passenger seat and sets the whole top of it back, like a makeshift day-bed, and scoots into the back of the sedan through the opening. And there’s not much leg room — not for the two of them, not with the whole back of the seat splayed — and there’s not much room for their heads, either, but they manage to squeeze back, and he’s gripping onto her shoulders and twisting her on his own whim before the young woman has a chance to shift around, herself. 

“Get—“ the way Harry manhandles her with a grip on her hips, (once he’s got her slumped, at least somewhat) — with ease, like he’s flipping a page in a book rather than rearranging her whole position in the cramped space of a sedan backseat — that lights something fiery in the pit of her belly. “Hands and knees, baby,” Harry tells her, grunting softly while her limbs scrabble over the pleather. He pulls her back into him, by the hips as she’s physically molded into it, parroting, quieter, “hands and knees.” 

“Itsy bitsy skirt… so easy to just—” Harry hums, this sort of mischief to his cadence — and it becomes blatantly obvious, the reason for it, when his digits creep under, from behind, and his colossal palms hitch it up, “Oops.” 

She’s wearing tights under it. They’re not the fleece-lined kind, despite the bite of chill in the air outside, but they are there, and Harry spans the pads of his fingers over the barrier like he doesn’t have plans to discard them the practical way. 

He doesn’t. The man stripes a fingertip down her core, from behind, over the fabric and the faint hue of cheeky purple that peeks through, and makes this devious sound of mirth when her whole body twitches. And then he draws the same fingertip back up, in the same line, and nudges a bit. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” Harry coos. The third, slow drag has her arching her hips back. “Hm? What am I gonna do?” He takes almost a thoughtful second, tongue peeking out to swipe out over the cushion of his pink bottom lip, before Harry splays his palms over her bum, “Pretty girl… pretty arse…”

And it’s so calm — he’s so calm, so casual, so nonchalant — Y/N doesn’t even sense it coming until he sighs, and then he’s digging the tips of his digits into the nylon, stretching it from her core, and just tearing. Casually. Nonchalantly. The sound of fabric ripping apart coaxes her jaw to slip open, and her pupils stick to the inside of the door, unblinking, as he just tears, and tears, and tears. 

And she’s not even upset, is the thing. She’s not irritated that this stranger’s just torn the crotch of her tights apart — she can’t be, not when he hums devilishly and strokes over her core, a layer closer. Maybe that’s pitiful. Maybe that’s sad, that she’s so fucking horny that she doesn’t care that her tights have been split open with no prior discourse on the topic, but this direction of impulse — the way she’s not even able to try and guess his next move, it kindles something hot and hungry. 

And if she ever has Cody to thank for anything, Y/N thinks maybe it’d be that he’d inspired her to shave and slip on a pair of decently attractive underthings. 

“These are pretty, too,” Harry tells her, thumbing at the crotch of the thong, just over one side. The young woman gives this dreamy little sigh and arches back up into him further. “What d’you want, sweetheart? Want me to give some attention …here—“

Her spine jolts when he nudges the pad of his index right up against her clit, lightly, over the purple fabric, “Maybe? Is that it? Eager girl.”

He draws a featherlight circle over it, and then another, and another until her thighs are trembling. The tip of his digit taps. She nudges back, and he takes it away altogether. An amused sound slips from his mouth.  

“Say please,” Harry demands. 

Y/N jumps as his fingertips trail to her inner thigh, crooking and tickling in the line they draw. 

“Please.” 

Again, he makes a disapproving tut, and Y/N rolls her cheek onto on a forearm, tucked over the seat. 

His eyebrows climb up his forehead, and his fingertips drift up and down the back of her thigh, drawing closer and closer where she needs him most with every lap. Each word is covered with notes of firm dominance. “Not like that. Like you mean it — like you’re pleading.”

Y/N mulls over the words, her heart thundering. 

“How d’you beg?” 

It takes a second for his words to sink in, but then when they do, she croons out, softer, more desperate, “Please.” 

There’s a soft sound of a breath being expelled, the seat crinkling quietly as, she assumes, Harry sits back on his haunches, head ducked. Like it’s not good enough. Her tongue traces out over her lips and she beckons, “Please, please,” each plea prompting a spiral of unfamiliar humiliation — glazed with arousal — to unfurl. 

“Please, please, please—“ each word emphasized with a rock back of her hips. And finally, he touches her. 

His palm cradles a cheek, and he doesn’t sound even slightly impressed. Instead, his voice comes out exasperated when he tells her, “That’s not convincing. You’re desperate. You want something — you need it, you’re pleading.”

“Please— please—“

“Louder,” he scoffs, “Beg. Beg.” 

“Please,” she tries, desperation creasing her voice strained on the syllable, and Harry drags fingertips, airy, across her inner thigh, from bottom to top. “Please, please, please—“

And finally, something clicks. Something slots together, at some point, when she ditches the inhibitions and her cadence starts to border on a delirious sort of desperation. Finally, something works. 

“That’s better,” Harry says softly, swiping his thumb over her clit, “Much better.” 

She doesn’t pick up on that, though, and she’s still begging, pleading, quietly. Quieter, quieter, quieter — the words growing more sparse the longer he spends time honing on her clit, the firmer his touch becomes. 

“Good girl,” Harry coos, his fingertips latching up under the hem at the crotch of her panties, before he tugs, “Good girl. You ask nicely, and I’ll give it to you. S’that easy.”  

He slips a thumb against her gushing entrance and drags it down, tracing careful shapes over the bud of nerves, before he tugs down on the hood and emphasizes on the new exposure by reigniting the touch with the thumb on his opposite hand. Two hand task — very dedicated. 

“S’this all for me?” the man teases, pinching her clit, lightly, between the pad of his thumb and the side of his index. He sounds a little self-satisfied when he declares, quietly, “I’m flattered.” 

Her lips part as a silent, breathy moan wrests from the back of her throat. It happens when the pad of his long middle digit prods at her entrance and nudges in. The thumb on his other hand sweeps, side to side, over where she’d most sensitive, and he stuffs into her further. And they are lengthy — his fingers. She’d seen them drumming over the center console, and smush over the raspberry tint of his lips, felt them coat her tongue, and felt them press against her throat. They can reach further than her own, crooking against her spongy walls, curling when he adds a second before straightening out and scissoring for the stretch. 

“Christ, you’re gushing,” Harry says, and as if on cue, the pornographic squelch of his fingers working crowds the cramped space, “Jesus— d’you hear that?” 

Y/N buries her face in her arms to muzzle the little sounds of bliss that he pries from her mouth. It’s not until he’s proper fucking into her with his digits, the pad of his thumb dragging tight, little circles over her clit, that those sounds escape her. And when they start, they pour in a flood. Because he works so expertly, so deftly — from the pace, to the angle, to the way he hones on her clit with his other hand, and the filthy dialogue he spews in his honey-smooth baritone. It’s everything, everything, and it prompts the coil in her belly to circle and squeeze, tighter, tighter — a telltale prior to its inevitable snap. She clenches over his fingers helplessly.

But then he just— stops. 

The nudge of his digits skirts to a stand-still within her, and his thumb stops drawing circles, and Y/N just squeezes over him like a silent plea. He makes this sound — this mirthy, deviously pleased hum, like her displeasure at his pause amuses him. It’s pure sadism. 

It’s not until she rocks her hips a bit, a shallow, desperate kind of back and forth, that the amusement seems to slip from his tone. 

“Don’t—“ Harry tuts sharply, taking his thumb off her clit altogether to grip at her hip harshly, “Stay still. Naughty, little minx.”

And she does. She stays still when his voice gets hard like that. There’s a bit of quiet between his snap and the subtle freeze-up of her rocking. Soft breaths sew through the lull, but then he talks again, his tone a little nicer. 

“We’re gonna play a little game, yeah?” 

That’s …intriguing. Y/N shifts over the cushion. His grasp over her hip has softened considerably, but there’s still this humiliating heat that swarms her face at the fact that the crotch of her panties is still tucked against her skin, that everything’s out in the open, that Harry’s practically ogling in lieu of touching her. 

“It’s a bit like Simon Says. Except, when you play Simon Says, you hesitate a little, right?”

The man’s thumb presses back to her clit, and she buries her face in her folded arms. 

“And I don’t want you to hesitate. I’ll tell you something to do, and—“ 

His fingers sink into her, and her shoulders grow tense from the bliss. Y/N muzzles her groan. 

“You’ll do it. Sounds easy enough?” 

It does. It’s easy enough instructions, and when Harry pats at the same hip he’d been clutching over and beckons, “Hands back here,” Y/N obliges easily enough. 

Her cheek presses to the cushion, cool against the warmth teeming beneath her skin, and she lets him manhandle and move her splayed fingers to his liking, arms stretched behind. 

“That’s good,” Harry croons in his low timbre, the warm, lewd praise of it drawing chills up the nape of her neck, “Now spread a bit for me.” 

Y/N does that, too. Her finger pads nudge and press into her flesh, coated with the tights, and her digits crook as the tips dig in to splay — to follow his direction, to please him. And it’s shameful, a pinch in her shoulders as her arms reach back, fingers twitchy, imprinting into her own backside with little divots as she opens herself up for him to do nothing. But his satisfied little hum sends an unfamiliar sense of accomplishment spiraling through her veins. The way his warm palm rests on and pets over the back of her thigh along with it feeds something new and starving. 

“Good girl. There you go. See? S’easy.” 

Y/N makes a little sound into the seat, and her fingers flex as Harry pumps his own digits, a steady rhythm of in and out, paired with a hum from him that sounds absolutely pornographic. 

“Such a good girl,” the man tells her, fingers crooking, but the praise isn’t enough to muffle the bemusement that wracks her when he says in this devious hush, “Let’s try another. Bark.” 

Bark. 

It takes a second for the command to register past the immediate threshold of the pleasure curling in her belly as he strokes at her spongy walls. And when it does click together, his word settling past the membrane of bliss, her initial thought is that she’s definitely misheard him. Because that’s …sort of a ludicrous request. The young woman sounds strewn between groggy and muzzled when she cranes her neck a bit over the cushion and beckons with a confused hum. 

“Bark,” Harry repeats, “like a dog.” Simple and nonchalant. 

Bark like a dog. She’s midway through creased brows, a strained raise of her head, and a baffled what, before the man stills his fingers and takes a grip over her wrist, sliding her hand away. 

And then he smacks her, hard, with his palm on one side, in the same place where her digits had dug in to spread herself open. 

It’s loud, and it stings, and it sends a shockwave through her nervous system, strong enough to have everything buzzing on alert as her forehead pastes to the seat and the parted gap of her mouth struggles to mute a gasp. Maybe the most surprising part is that the hurt feels good, that the sting morphs into something else as it fizzles and ebs, that the hammer of her heart spikes this famished, unfamiliar arousal coursing through her when he doesn’t even bother stroking over the bruised skin. It’s definitely hard enough to leave a ruddy mark under the tights, and Y/N blinks down at the faux leather, wordless and a little gobsmacked. 

And then Harry sighs in this way that’s so …disappointed. And the calmness of his inflection, grouped with the irony of the harsh hit… that has a chill climbing up her spine. 

“That’s not how you play the game, pet.”

He says it in this eerily nonchalant note of disdain, like he’s not just casually tattooed the shape of his hand onto her backside with a blow. Like he expected better. Like it’s a little mishap they’ll gloss over. She doesn’t even realize she’s still got a vice clamped over his fingers until he shifts the digits in her, coaxing her core to flutter around him. Harry sighs again. 

“Did you forget the rules, baby?” he asks, cadence soft and basked in condescension. The man strokes over the heated skin, the same spot where Y/N is sure a subtle welt has peaked to the surface below the thin veil of the sheer tights, “I tell you to do something and you do it, right?” 

Her knees are starting to ache a little, a soreness settling into the joints, but she doesn’t even mind it when his fingers pump again, slowly. 

“That’s how the game goes. Right? I need an answer.” 

She makes a soft sound. A little sound that’s not protest. A little sound that’s not outright agreement. It’s a whimper into a void, but everything about him and his touch lights something alive in her. And she wants more. She’s dizzy off of it when she manages out a breathless, “Yes.” It’s a short word that comes out in a breath, like she’d been holding the air in her lungs. 

Maybe that’s why she’s dizzy. 

“Are we on the same page? Let’s try again, then. Bark.” 

Y/N shifts over the seat. The hand he’d moved has splayed helplessly to her side, and the fingers curl and uncurl as the weight of the suggestion hits her. Because that’s— it’s humiliating. It’s demeaning, and it’s strange, and the fact that he demands it has the tips of a fire licking up at her insides. The young woman makes an uncharacteristically pathetic noise. 

Harry sighs. 

The split second of hesitation is enough, apparently, for another slap, just as hard, in the same spot. It has her rocking forward and clenching over his digits again. Harry’s quick to correct her posture with a hand on her hip, guiding her back in a way that lacks gentleness. 

“I said, bark.” 

This time his voice is harder. Meaner. Y/N gives. 

She gives because the tips of his fingers prod at this heavenly spot inside her, because her skin smarts in a way that has her practically drooling, because she’s dizzy, and hungry, and desperate. Her thighs are quivering when she gets out a half-hearted woof, her lips shaping over the word like the task is a chore to get out. 

“Better—“ another slap, aimed lower onto the back of her thigh, has her hips jutting and the straight line of her spine twisting up, “—but not what I’m looking for. Try again.” 

She doesn’t even aim to please, is the thing, when her yelp overlaps with another smack. But it morphs into something surprised and deliciously pained, and evidently, it’s enough, judging by the way his touch smooths over the stinging skin.

“Oh, baby,” Harry tells her, his fingers stroking like he’s smudging the pink-tinge of bruising, “That’s pathetic.” 

And it dawns on her then, that there’s no winning with this game. When he tuts and tells her, absolutely patronizingly, “So desperate for it, she’s barking like a stray.” 

It dawns on her that she doesn’t want to win. She doesn’t care, because his filthy dialogue, as demeaning as it is, just draws her wetter and closer. As if to highlight on it, Harry crooks his fingers and tacks on, “You’re leaking all over the seats, pet.” 

And she is, she’s sure. It’s a dirty game he plays, and she loves every part of it and more. It has her writhing when he draws circles over her clit, it has her aching for more when he guides her hand back to her backside with a squeeze and a wordless coax to keep spreading. 

“Gonna let me fuck you?” Harry pulls the digits out, dirtying what’s left of her tights and smearing sticky wetness over the back of her thigh, “Hm? Gonna let me—“ his belt clinks as he unbuckles it, and then comes the soft sound of a zipper, its teeth unlatching, “—fill you up?” 

“Glovebox,” Y/N mumbles, hips shifting back when he pets at her thigh. 

His pupils flit, sticking to the back of her head, before they jump back down to his handiwork. Harry’s tone sounds absent-minded and mirthy when he asks, “What’s that?” 

“There’s condoms in the glovebox,” she expands, a little louder than her prior murmur, bracing on her forearms to cast her gaze back at him over her shoulder. 

And he looks rugged in this boyish, youthful way, then, is the thing. The corner of his mouth jolts, lopsided, and a stray tendril has flopped over his forehead. His hands are on the undone buckle of his belt, and his fly’s down, and he sounds absolutely amused when he says, “Are there?” 

There are. 

“You’ve prepared for this, then, have you?” Harry sets a palm onto her hip, squeezing as a dimple pinches into his cheek, “Condoms in your glovebox …like a proper dirty whore?” 

Coyly, she blinks, cheek nuzzled to the seat, and she watches him stretch his arm out for the glovebox as he knees away. 

“I’m always prepared,” Y/N settles on, softly.

The glovebox slips open. There’s rummaging — his torso turns to face it entirely, and then he gleans a shining, golden little packet, tucked between the pads of his digits. The young woman wriggles her hips. There’s this glint of fiery …something. Something playful, something lewd, something hungry in the jade, when he clambers back over, steadying himself with a palm on her tailbone. It coaxes her spine into a pretty, sharper arch.

“You do this a lot, do you?” Harry teases, “Pick up strange men, let them fuck you?” 

She hums in agreement as the man takes the little gold square, snug between his teeth, fingers working quickly, pushing buttons through slots and tugging his cock out. 

“Maybe I do.” 

He tears at the wrapper with his teeth. She knows, because his next words come out a little muffled. 

“Is that right?” 

It’s not. It’s so out of the norm, so far from the usual, but Y/N would be a masochist to string out the arousal that’d built between her thighs in lieu of letting Harry span his palms over the globes of her ass in the backseat. Harry, with his cheeky smile and his sunshine, short-trimmed nails. Harry, with his denim-tethered bulge dragging over the back of her thigh and his filthy tongue shaping crude dialogue.  

She doesn’t see him as he tuts from behind, but she can picture it; his palm cupped over the base of his shaft as he rolls the condom over and then presses the tip against her teasingly. 

“Wanted to be fucked like a dirty whore, is that it?”

Her “yes” stretches and ebs and splinters into a whispery hiss when Harry nudges forward and stretches her out. And then he’s beckoning for her hands, one hand splayed over her hip and the opposite coaxing at her shoulder, tugging and jolting in gentle nudges, mouth shaping over firm, “Hands, hands, give me your hands — behind your back— that’s— just like that.” 

Barred from scratching at the seats with his firm, warm grip binding the joints hostage, Y/N presses her cheek to the cushion. She slumps into his willpower, gives into him, the smush of her face sweaty on the cushion, jolting with every rock forward. The young woman clenches over him helplessly. Soft sounds slip past her lips, pried out by the nudges of his hips, over and over, again and again. Her fingers stiffen and flex, and the arch in her spine shifts when the head of his cock bumps that delicious ridge so deep in her — and it’s like Harry senses it, the way her entire body grows taut like a string. He goes at that too, prodding, again and again, until a whine plucks at her vocal chords. Every shallow jolt of his hips sends waves of paralyzing bliss licking over her insides. Every nudge forward has her slumping more. And when he talks, Y/N barely registers it over the rush of blood in her own head. 

There’s been little things that fall from his mouth — soft curses and hisses as he slides in, hums and groans when he bottoms out, readjusting his grasp over her wrists. Words, though — now he’s saying words. They’re still in that gentle baritone, this sort of luring croon. 

“Come on, baby. Come on — got a stranger’s cock in your pretty, little pussy—“ Harry’s voice catches on a strained note as he pulls out—

…A sigh as he rocks back in, “—and …you’re not gonna struggle?” 

A warmth stems from his grasp, behind her back, and as if on reflex, her digits crook and flex. The danger of the words don’t even register. Because, yeah, he’s right. She’s got a stranger holding her restrained, rocking up against her, and all that peaks in her at the filthy dialogue is a bud of deranged arousal. She doesn’t shoulder forward though, doesn’t try to pull her hands apart, doesn’t sag forward, not even a little, too concerned that even a minute shift will alter the delicious intensity of the angle. 

“Not even a little bit?” Harry tuts, grinding forward, one more time, slow, and then he squeezes over her wrists hard and picks up in pace. Just until he settles into a hard tempo of short, deep thrusts, and her shoulders are aching from the way he pulls her arms back. 

His words blanket her with this patronizing sort of humiliation — the kind that has her spongy walls pulsing over his length and chills erupting from the nape of her neck to the creases between her shoulder blades. “You make it so easy.”

So easy for a stranger to fuck her — so easy, pulling over in some desolate parking lot. So easy, letting him wrap a palm over her throat and stick his fingers past her lips. So easy, following his every command for the reward of his hips pummeling against her own. 

And it’s easy to get close with the way he works into her, tip bumping into a spot that sends waves of pleasure coursing through every millimeter of her nervous system. The kind that has every muscle stiffening to stone until the wave ebs. It’s so easy to lurch higher and higher, closer and closer, when his touch digs into her joints, rendering her helpless to his crude affections. When strained grunts and sordid words fall from his mouth, when his other hand slips from her hip and knots into the hair, at the roots, on the back of her scalp, only smushing her cheek into the seat with more pressure. 

“Fuck,” Harry groans, the pace of his thrusts stuttering as he picks up the tempo into something merciless, his digits flexing into her hair and his body weight sagging onto her frame. 

Every time his balls slap against her clit, teasing where she wants that attention the most, she feels the spring draw tighter, lips smushed to and gaping against the seat. And then he readjusts his grip, lets one of her hands free while he keeps the other pinned, and he coaxes, “Touch your pretty clit, baby. Make yourself cum all over my cock.” 

Y/N makes it to the crest before he does. It’s her fingertips sloppily winding loose shapes over the bud of nerves, it’s his cock hammering down into her, it’s the pinch in her shoulder, and the way Harry’s grip grows harsher over the hand he still has pinned, the closer he gets himself. The way his digits are still flexed at the roots of her scalp, the way his moans and curses are garbled with pleasure with each pump. The way her helpless fluttering, when she tips over the peak, draws this long, sordid groan from him as he cranes his neck back. And then he slows, ducking his chin to watch below through slow thrusts. 

“Dirty girl, cumming all over a stranger’s cock,” Harry swipes with a thumb where the mesh, toying at the seam of her hole when he goes deeper, again, slow. 

And then his grip on her wrist gets hard again as his fingers flex, and he holds onto her hip and guides her in a steady-paced, back and forth bounce over cock. He chases his own releases, every motion rough, and full of control, and so brimmed with this unfamiliar hunger. She’s mush by the time his head tips back, and he gushes ribbon after ribbon into the condom. She’s mush when his grasp over her wrist grows lax, when he knees back clumsily on his knees, when he discards the condom, wrapping it into the confines of its wrapper, when he fixes her purple panties back over her crotch and strokes over the back of her thigh with an amused huff. 

“Alright?” Y/N vaguely hears Harry say from behind when she doesn’t instantly sit up, his voice bordering on amused. 

That’s. Yeah, Y/N thinks. She’s great. There’s still this rush of blood in her ears, and an ache in her joints that interweaves with the soreness of her muscles, but it’s all in such a good way. She makes a barely coherent hum of agreement and rolls her shoulder forward, planting her palms onto the seat to sit up and glance at the time over the display in the front of the car. It’s nearly three in the morning now, and it hits her then, that she’s so tired. She’s so tired, she feels like every piece of her energy had been strewn up and pulled tight on a rope, and now it’s all wasted away. 

Harry gets it. Or he seems to, at least. Sleep beckons her with a whispery croon and a soft touch. The corners of his mouth crook up, and he pats at her hip. 

“Hop up, pet. D’you want me to drive the rest of the way? S’just a little bit, now.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. She doesn’t let strangers into her car in the middle of the night from some empty road, she doesn’t fuck them in the backseat, and she certainly doesn’t let strange men drive her car to some unfamiliar location, only lacking being undisclosed from its visible street name on the GPS. Y/N doesn’t do any of that. But she nods weakly and lets their roles flip. She’s mid-raising the back of the passenger seat by the time Harry jogs around to the driver’s seat and slips in. 

In the rear-view, her reflection greets with her unshed tears and bloodshot eyes, mascara smudged below. He turns to face her and strokes a hand down her thigh. He picks the same hand up and sets it onto the gear-shift. Switches to reverse. 

The first thing he says from the front of the car, strawberry mouth quirking as his eyes direct to the back-up camera, is, “I’m sorry about your tights. I hope that was alright.” 

When they pull up to the motel, Y/N doesn’t ask questions. There’s only been a span of, maybe, ten minutes passed between the parking lot and their final stop of the night before Harry pulls into a parking spot and shuts the car off. 

He tells her, “This is my stop.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, and exhaustion wracks at every sinew of muscle in her body. She half-expects him to wordlessly hop out of the car. He doesn’t. The man fixes her with a smile, and says, “Could I get your number, maybe?” 

It’s not an odd request by any means, but if she weren’t so tired, maybe she’d ask more questions. Her pupils would wend over the shoddy motel sign, and the shit cars parked beside them, and she’d wonder what the hell they were doing parked in front of some abandoned-looking motel. She’d ask why this was his stop, and not a home. Instead, she pulls a napkin from her glovebox and digs for a pen. She scribbles her digits and hands them off. In the brush of the cool air, from the night, when she clambers out to swap spots with him, she wraps her arms about herself. When she takes a seat into the driver’s side, she expects him to walk away. He doesn’t do that either. Instead, she rolls her window down when he beckons, and Harry leans onto the car and tells her, “Get home alright, yeah?” 

It’s a miracle when she hobbles up the steps of her apartment complex, when she pries open the front door and crashes into her sheets. The blankets envelop her like a warm hug, and she doesn’t even bother pulling off her tights. 

It’s a week before she gets a phone call. There’s no texts, and the morning after, when she’s greeted with radio-silence, she thinks that maybe she’d dreamt the whole thing. 

Her tights, ripped at the crotch, prove otherwise. 

She’s in bed, days later, when her screen lights up with a call. It’s an unfamiliar number, and curiosity peaks before she swipes over the answer toggle. 

“Hello?” 

A gap of silence, a breath, and a familiar, smooth baritone on the other end of the line. 

“Y/N.” 

There’s a little sound of the bedsheets stirring as she freezes up. He’s caught her off guard. A little laugh plucks at his vocal chords, tinny on the other end of the line, like he’s amused by the stretch of lull. Her lips part, the corners of her mouth inching up as she hears a sigh from him that seeps in all the way to her eardrum. But she doesn’t have time to contemplate what to say or how to say it, because he doesn’t let her get a word in before he’s talking again. 

And his next words are not a playful jest at her lack of response, or anything friendly, really. In fact, the confession, said so nonchalantly, causes chills to erupt down her arms. 

“I was going to kill you that night.” 

The chills aren’t the initial reaction. The initial reflex is the crook of her mouth to morph bemused, the pinch between her eyebrows, and this sullen feeling of dread that twists up in her stomach. A laugh bubbles in her chest, because, what the fuck? 

But then he keeps talking. 

“Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down,” the voice on the other end sighs, and it’s got this sort of …reminiscent quality to it. Like he’s tracing the steps of the night back to its starting point. Reliving it when he tells her, “It’s such a thrill, you know. Taking that from someone. So intimate.” 

The young woman doesn’t make any sounds, kind of appalled by the sick joke. Because it is sick, it’s disturbing, and it’s a twisted way, at the least, to strike up a conversation if he’s …looking to do what they did again. This isn’t the Harry she’d met on that night. This isn’t the same one who’d worn the cream sweatshirt, and talked all friendly with this smooth, wholesome charm — this wasn’t the man she’d let into her car, this wasn’t the man she’d let do all those filthy things to her, in the backseat of her sedan. This doesn’t feel like the same man at all, and she wishes she’d been aware of the sick sense of humor to his character before she’d let him …violate her. Y/N’s just about to budge in with a disgusted comment, tell him off for calling her so late at night to mess with her, but he beats her to the edge of the gap, yet again. 

Except this time, he sounds sort of frustrated, and the phrase comes out like a scolding, the tone of his cadence firm and irate. “Didn’t your mum ever tell you not to talk to strangers? …Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to trust strange men on the side of the road? S’just …bloody stupid.” 

He laughs. It’s this soft sort of chortle she’d been so charmed by that night — it’s identical, except then, it was this sweet sound full of wholesome mirth. Now, it feels cold. Odd and detached. Surreal.

“But you… you made it so easy,” Y/N listens to every word that comes through the line, hanging onto every syllable of the empty threat as dread churns her stomach. His words from that night crowd behind her skull. You make it so easy. “So friendly, so sweet. Just wanted to chat on and on. I was going to kill you, and you wanted to have a shag—” 

Harry tuts. Her heart hammers behind her ribcage, and she only realizes that her breathing has slowed and that her grip on the smartphone’s grown white-knuckled when it shakes against her cheek. She’d let him drive her car. She’d let him get into her car, she’d let him lure her into pit-stopping in a deserted parking lot, she’d locked the doors, and dimmed the lights, and let him open her up with his fingers and his cock. And then she’d let him drive her car, and take down her number. There’s a moment of mortifying silence.

Harry sounds deadly serious when he tells her, “Don’t you ever pick up another hitchhiker.”

The line goes dead. 

Y/N calls back. The number she reaches belongs to a payphone, unanswered.

[chukys-mouthguard]

kinda tempting pt 4

part 3

4.6k words

genre: angst, with a drop of fluff

featuring: mat barzal x female reader x matthew rempe

note: to the anon who predicted the exact plot of part 4…was it that predictable? Hahaha 🫣🙈

To say you were stressed was an understatement. On top of trying to plan a destination wedding for this summer, you were also stressing over not just the Rangers but the Islanders fighting for a playoff spot.

Despite having worked through playoff hockey before, this year seemed much harder on you. The longer hours, stricter deadlines, on top of just hoping and praying your boyfriend fiance managed to make the playoffs, or else he’d be off enjoying summer early while you might still be working. Which wouldn’t be ideal if you’re trying to get married this summer.

Though you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t once thought about postponing the wedding, or even possibly eloping. The idea of trying to plan a destination wedding in another country was actually making you insane. Mat was dead set on Italy for your wedding, but with how crazy busy you both had been, there was very little planning taking place. Trying to convince Mat to postpone seemed like an even bigger challenge at this point, one you were afraid to even attempt.

There really wasn’t any rush to get married in your eyes, but you understood Mat just wanted to call you his wife. To not be engaged for long, because what’s the fun in that. Which is why you’d figured to just elope, then later down the line you could have a wedding. But this summer seemed too soon, and you were sick trying to juggle it all.

“Mat, what is all of this?”

Walking into your kitchen you found Mat standing proud with a counter covered in various snacks and goodies.

“Well, you said you haven’t been feeling well. And I figured I could try my best to help! So, I got you chicken soup because who can say no to that. Some cookies from the bakery down the street, since I wasn’t sure if maybe it was your period. And, to be honest this last bit I stole from tik tok when I searched gifts for girls. And everyone said you can’t go wrong with a throw blanket and some fuzzy socks.” He shrugged as he held up the two items, making you giggle as you kissed his cheek.

“Well thank you babe, I thought it was my period, but that still hasn’t started yet this month. Though I will still gladly accept these delicious looking cookies. I really appreciate all this.”

Taking a seat at the counter, you watched as Mat heated up the soup for you before sliding it to you with a spoon.

“Do you think maybe you should lay low today? I mean, with the schedule getting crazier for you, and I’m sure the wedding planning is also not helping. I just don’t want you to burn out or anything.”

Nodding your head as you heard his concerns you sipped your soup. “Well, I might swing by one of those like Minute Clinics at the drugstore. Just to maybe see if I need anything stronger than over the counter meds. I don’t think it’s anything serious, I have my suspicions. But at least I’ll have some answers after doing that.”

He simply nodded, not wanting to tell you what to do or how to take care of yourself. Though he couldn’t help but feel like you were downplaying things, or potentially keeping something from him. Not to mention how guilty he felt for bailing on the wedding planning with the Isles trying to make the playoffs. But if something serious was going on, he wanted to know. Though you would hopefully have your answer today, you weren’t sure how you’d feel when you go it.

-

It had been a few days since you’d gone to the doctor to figure out what was going on, and while you got your answer, it was the one you weren’t hoping for despite expecting it.

Mat had asked how it went, to which you simply responded that it was nothing serious. Hoping to drop the conversation until you found a way to tell him the real answer. Needing a few days to think it through.

As you drove to Madison Square Garden for yet another Rangers home game, you knew your news needed to be shared with Matthew sooner rather than later. Though you two hadn’t spoken since he found out you’d said yes to Mat, and despite him sending the congratulatory text that he did, you were sure he still wasn’t too thrilled about it all. This news definitely not going to make things any better.

After you’d gotten settled in at the rink, having a bit of down time, you shot a text to Matthew. To your surprise you didn’t appear to be blocked anymore. Maybe he’d gotten over his anger towards you, either way, you were thankful for it.

“Can we talk?”

You stared at the screen, waiting to see that he’d read the message, then waiting for the bubble to appear and signal that he was typing a response.

“The usual spot, I’ll be there in 5.”

Those 5 minutes of waiting felt like 50. You had no clue how you were going to tell Matthew your news, figuring it was maybe best to start with small talk and gauge his mood.

A soft smile on your face as he walked up to you, a more stern look on his. He offered a hug to you, feeling it was only right after the argument you two had. He never meant to say the things he did, no matter if they were his true feelings or not.

“So? What’s up?”

Playing with the hem of your jacket you started down the hall, Matthew instinctually following at your side.

“Mat read me the text you sent him the other day, that was really nice of you. Thanks.”

“You called me out here for that?” His tone was a mix of annoyance and sarcasm, making you question even more if this was a good idea or not. But you knew it was best for him to hear things from you this time, not his teammates, social media, or anyone else.

“No, I didn’t. Um, I wanted you to hear this from me. Especially after last time. But, I went to the doctor the other day because I haven’t been feeling well. I thought it was stress with the season gearing up for playoffs possibly. For Mat and for the Rangers. Not to mention trying to plan a wedding in Italy for the summer. But, it’s definitely not just stress.”

A look of concern washing over him as he looked down at you, unsure of where this was going. Nervously cracking his knuckles as he waited for you to continue.

“I, god I haven’t even told Mat and I can’t believe I’m telling you first. But, I’m, I’m pregnant.”

Matthew scoffed, a slight chuckle following as he bit his cheek, his demeanor completely changing as he shook his head.

“Wow, that’s…why the fuck do I need to know this? You just wanted to rub more shit in my face or what? You had me scared that something was really wrong y/n! Did you just tell me to get another half hearted congratulations from me?”

He tried to walk away, not caring to hear anything further, his heart hurting all over again knowing that now you truly were out of his reach for good. But you stopped him, grabbing his hand as you pulled him back to look at you. Tears in your eyes as you tried to explain.

“What!”

Matthew’s voice echoing through the hall as he stared at you, his expression quickly changing from cold to soft as he could see right through you. Seeing the nervousness in your eyes as you tried to pull yourself together.

“You, you don’t know if it’s his, do you?”

As you looked to the floor, that told him all he needed to know. Wrapping you in a hug, he didn’t know what to say. His own emotions running wild at the thought that you were pregnant with his child. But he tried not to get his hopes up, on the off chance it wasn’t his. Plus you were technically still engaged and planning to marry Mat as far as he was concerned.

“Well, you have to tell him. Regardless if it’s mine or his, he needs to know.”

“Oh like that’s easy? To tell the man I’m supposed to be marrying this summer that I’m pregnant, but don’t get your hopes up cause it might not be yours.” You sniffled as you wiped away the few tears that had fallen, letting out a sigh as you didn’t feel relieved at all. Feeling even worse now that you’d told Matthew the news.

“But if the baby isn’t his, he has a right to know. Shit I have a right to know if it’s mine!”

You quickly threw your hand up, covering his mouth in an attempt to quiet him. Not wanting anyone to possibly overhear your conversation.

“Sorry, but, I’m not okay with you pretending like I’m not a part of this now. You want to just not tell him? And then what? Especially if this baby is mine y/n, I’m not okay with you living life like everything is normal just to save your fucking relationship. Think back to how you felt that night. How he made you feel. I get you think it was wrong, yeah you technically cheated on him. But to sweep this under the rug, just because you don’t want to ruin what you two have worked on and fixed. That’s not the solution.”

You knew Matthew was right, but you couldn’t fathom what this news would do to Mat. He’d worked so hard to be a better man, and this is how you repay him? You needed to tell him, of course you did. But you didn’t know how you could do it in a way that wouldn’t risk losing your relationship with him.

“Look, I get it. You’re not wrong, but unfortunately this is not your decision or your news to share. Just, please, let me figure out how to tell him and what I’m gonna say.”

Matthew knew you were right, and it was your decision to make, he couldn’t help but feel like you were going to try your best to hide this from Mat, possibly play it off that the baby was his if it actually wasn’t. He’d try his best to trust you’d do the right thing, needing not to stress and focus on the game he was about to play.

As he left to get dressed, you immediately pulled out your phone, sending a text to Mat. Hoping he wouldn’t see it until after his game, not wanting to worry him or stress him out.

“Can you come over tonight? I have something to tell you.”

-

Pacing the floor of your apartment, you knew Mat would walk through the door at any moment. Your text had scared him to death, immediately assuming you lied to him about your trip to the doctor being nothing serious. He told you he’d cut his post game media time short to be able to get to you, knowing traffic would have already make his drive a lengthy one.

Finally you heard the key turning in the deadbolt, your heart practically sinking to your stomach and you felt like you were going to puke and pee your pants all at once.

“Baby, I didn’t expect you to be up waiting. Come here.”

He dropped his bag and ran to you, arms wrapping around you as he pulled close. Pressing a kiss to your lips before he took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for whatever the conversation was set to be.

“Are, are you okay? I’ve been a nervous wreck. Please tell me you’re okay!”

You softly chuckled, trying to hold back the tears you could already feel welling in your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

He looked at you concerned as he took your hands in his, thumbs brushing over your skin as he tried to search your eyes for a sign, but nothing could prepare him for the words you were about to say.

“Mat, I’m pregnant.”

Mat’s eyes grew wide as his jaw slightly dropped, hands leaving yours to grab at his hair. In complete shock he didn’t know what to say or do, settling on questioning whether or not you were lying, to which you told him no you were not.

“Baby! This is amazing!”

Spinning you around the living room before he kissed you, tears now in his eyes as he was overcome with emotion. His reaction only hurting your heart as the idea of possibly telling him the baby wasn’t his still very present in your mind.

“Is this why you wanted to postpone the wedding? Because of the baby?”

His hands now resting on your stomach as he smiled down at them, you unsure of what to say as you were still processing the news yourself.

“Um, kind of.”

He could hear uncertainty in your voice. Tucking some hair behind your ear, he left a hand to caress your cheek.

“Everything okay? You don’t seem excited.”

Resting your hand on his you flashed him a smile, nodding your head to convince him you were fine.

“Of course, it’s just, a lot to take in you know?”

“I completely understand babe, it’s definitely some big news that’s for sure.”

He pulled you in for one last hug, before picking you up once again as he couldn’t contain his excitement. Screaming in excitement as he peppered you with kisses.

“Ahh, I just can’t believe I’m gonna be a dad!”

-

“You’re kidding me. You haven’t told him yet?”

Matthew shook his head as he paced the hallway outside the locker room.

The Rangers were set to play the Islanders, one of the last games before the playoffs, and the last thing you needed was both Matthew and Mat under one roof.

“I told him, just not, everything. I mean, you should’ve seen how fucking excited he got at the idea of him being a dad. How was I supposed to crush him in that moment?”

“Yeah and what about me?”

It wasn’t that you didn’t think about Matthew’s feelings in all of this, you just tried your best to convince yourself that things weren’t going to come to you having to tell Mat about anything that happened behind his back.

“You think I haven’t been excited thinking that baby could be mine?”

His voice now more of a whisper, not needing anyone around to overhear and word to spread. You could see in his eyes that he was hurt, torn, confused. And you knew you had to set the record straight, not just to him, but to Mat as well. Though you weren’t ready for the repercussions that would come with that.

“I, I know you have. I can imagine you losing sleep, your mind running rampant with so many thoughts. And you’re not wrong for that. Trust me, I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to deal with the job of telling one of you the bad news.”

He took your hand, trying to calm himself as he didn’t mean to be angry with you. Trying to imagine what you must be going through with all of this, he felt bad for raising his voice and pressuring you to say or do anything.

“You really don’t have any idea? I mean, you can’t let things go on much longer without knowing. It’s only going to make it that much harder.”

Looking to the floor you took a deep breath, realizing that what you were about to say, would change everything. Your relationship, your future, everything would surely change now. But you had no choice, Matthew was right. It would only be harder the longer you waited.

“That’s just it, I do know. And that is what’s making this so much fucking harder. I just can’t bring myself to say it and hurt someone like that.”

Matthew immediately knew from your words, but while he understood you being afraid to admit you’d cheated. He couldn’t understand you being ashamed of it when Mat pushed you to it. The way you were made to feel, you were sure your relationship was over. And while sure, he’s worked on himself to step up and be a better man to you, it didn’t change everything he’d done before to push you to the point that you’d decided to sleep with someone else. To go to someone else for the things he wasn’t giving you.

“Well, then maybe you don’t have to tell him. Look, I really gotta head in and start getting ready. But, we can talk after okay?”

Matthew gave you a quick hug before heading off to the locker room. Leaving you to gather yourself and get ready for the game. Hoping it would be a good distraction, even if only for a few hours.

-

Warmups had started, and you were in better spirits. The guys goofing off for the camera putting a smile on your face easily.

You watched as Matthew skated over to Mat while he stretched by the red line, wishing you could have been a fly on the wall for whatever they said. Mat instantly having an angered look on his face, shaking his head as he began spitting words back at Matthew. He flashed a cocky grin as he stared down at Mat, shrugging his shoulders as you could see him mouth the words “we can go no problem.”

His statement making Mat rise to his feet, now staring at Matthew blocking your view to know what had been said next. Soon enough, their teammates coming over to separate them and tell them to save it for the game. Matthew skating around a bit as he caught your eye, simply smirking over at you, letting you know that he had definitely stirred up some trouble.

From the drop of the puck, tensions were high. Despite Matthew not getting many shifts, any time he was out there it seemed like the Islanders had his number. Taking cheap shots along the boards, getting in his face after the whistles.

As Matthew stepped onto the ice your eyes flew to Mat, who was screaming at his teammate to change, the look in his eyes one that you’d rarely seen. And you knew he was going right after Matthew. His skates hitting the ice and his path already determined, heading straight towards him before slamming him into the boards just a few feet away from where you stood. Mat standing over him as he taunted him, begging him to get up and fight him.

The crowd erupting as Matthew stood up, throwing his gloves to the ice, the two boys now ready to trade shots. You knew this was a stupid move for Mat, he wasn’t a fighter. And Matthew was surely going to beat his ass.

They exchanged blows, the fight seemed to last forever as they both were bloody. Matthew landing the final punch as they fell to the ice, Mat not letting go and continuing to throw blows as it took two of the referees to pull him off.

As they skated to the box their bickering continued, screaming at one another from opposite sides as they sat their respective five minutes each.

The game continued on in a similar fashion, multiple fights and player ejections, all to end in a thrilling shoutout where the Rangers took home the win. You’d gotten access to the locker room to film the awarding of the post game accolades, noticing Matthew in the corner, his hands resting under ice bags, a black eye already forming on his face.

Shaking your head you were in shock, that two grown men had just beat the shit out of each other, most likely over you because what else would they have fought over. Though you couldn’t be sure, not having any clue what Matthew said on the ice to get Mat fired up the way he did. As you left the locker room, you were shocked to find Mat heading your way. Not yet showered, clearly having just wrapped up his media availability, his expression not happy to see you.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Looking at him confused you tried pulling him to the side, not needing him to make a scene with everyone around.

“Babe, what are you talking about?”

“Don’t fucking babe me!”

His shout causing you to jump, Mat clearly angry though you were still unsure why.

“That fucking kid comes up to me during warmups. Pretends to congratulate me on the baby, then asks me if I know for sure that it’s mine? What the fuck is he talking about?”

A look of shock washing over you as you couldn’t believe Matthew had done that. Whether or not he was right, he had no reason to do that. It was your news to tell.

The shouting had earned some looks of concern from Rangers staff, soon enough a few players had poked their heads out of the locker room. Matthew eventually emerged, Mat immediately turning his attention to him.

“Oh just fucking perfect, yeah come on over and try to save the day Rempe. Haven’t you caused enough issues?”

“Everything okay y/n?”

“Why would you do that? Tell him he needs to be sure the baby is actually his?”

Matthew laughed as he bit his lip, shaking his head as he looked at you. His somewhat cocky attitude not one that you appreciated in this moment. “Really? Y/n, come on. You said it yourself you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt him like that. I tried starting the conversation, so it’s time to just tell him.”

Glaring at Matthew, you couldn’t bear to look at Mat. Tears welling in your eyes as you could feel your world crumbling around you.

“Y/n, tell me what?”

You shook your head as you tried your best to hold it together, Matthew wrapping an arm around your shoulder to comfort you as he looked at Mat, his words coming out stern but apologetic.

“It’s, it’s not your baby Mat.”

Immediately you interjected, feeling the need to try and salvage some type of conversation. “Mat, please, let me explain. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, I didn’t know he was going to say that stuff to you on the ice. Please just-“

“You’re fucking kidding me. Rempe? Of all people, you fucked him? When?”

Shaking Matthew’s arm from your shoulder you tried to pull Mat aside to explain, but he didn’t want to hear a word you had to say. Doing his best to not make too much of a scene with everyone around.

“This is why you wanted to postpone the wedding, you knew. Didn’t you?”

“No! I didn’t know! Please, just let me explain!”

Your hands moved to caress his face to get him to look at you, but he took a step back.

“Just tell me the truth. Is the baby mine, or his?”

Taking a deep breath, you knew that your answer was going to change everything the moment it left your lips. But it had to happen, he deserved that much.

Sliding your engagement ring from your finger, knowing there wasn’t going to be a wedding after you gave him his answer, you placed it in his hand.

“I’m so sorry. I’m really fucking sorry.”

Mat looked at the ring, shaking his head as he glanced from you to Matthew. A smirk coming across his lips, though you knew it wasn’t a happy one.

“I hope it was fucking worth it. See how this works out when he’s out of the league in two years.”

Mat walked away as you fell to the floor, sobbing as you felt the weight of the world crash onto you. Matthew trying to pick you up and comfort you as best he could, but you quickly pushed him away.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you do that? If you care about me you’ve got a weird fucking way of showing it pulling a stunt like that. I told you to let me handle it!”

Matthew looked at you confused, “He needed to know! You said it yourself, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it and hurt him.”

“And so you decided to do that for me? That wasn’t for you to do! I don’t care if it’s your baby or not, that wasn’t your decision to make!”

Matthew didn’t bother arguing, letting you take out your frustrations on him before you hurried past him. Hoping none of the other guys were listening to what had all just transpired. Gathering your things and heading to your car, needing to go home and take the night to try and wrap your head around what just happened.

-

As you got back to your apartment you couldn't help but pack up some of Mat’s things he’d kept at your place. Figuring it was best to get that out of the way now as you were still coming down from the emotions of things officially ending.

Putting the last of his things in a box, you carried it to your front door. A few soft knocks catching you off guard as you checked the time.

Opening the door you revealed Matthew standing there, duffle bag in hand as he smiled down at you.

“I’m sorry, can I come in?”

Stepping aside, you reluctantly let him in. Despite your frustrations, he was going to be the father of your child. You couldn’t shut him out completely. As he set his bag down, he wrapped you in a hug as he kissed your head.

“You’re right. It wasn’t my place to do any of that, and I’m sorry that I fucked everything up for you. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now. I’m sure you want to punch me in the face. But, I’m not going to leave you to deal with this alone. The breakup and the baby. I’m gonna be here. Whether we end up together, or simply co-parent. I’m not going to walk out on you or leave to deal with this by yourself.”

Smiling up at him you nodded, accepting his apology as you were simply too tired to be bothered with being frustrated or angry at him. Appreciating his willingness to be there for you, for the baby. You knew you were going to need his support through the process. Not even wanting to think about the field day the Rangers organization were going to have with this situation.

Heading down the hall and back to your room, you climbed into bed, desperately needing sleep. Matthew followed behind, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you get comfortable. Your eyes catching his with a chuckle.

“What?”

“Just figured I’d make sure you get to sleep okay.”

“Or you could come to bed too, I don’t really want to be alone after everything that went down tonight.”

Pulling back the covers you scooted to the other side of the bed, making space for Matthew as he joined you. The two of you facing one another as he could see you were drained.

“Matt, if I’m being honest, I’m scared.”

Your eyes fixated on your fingers as you played with the sheets, not trying to get worked up again.

“I know, but I told you, I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna be here for you and our baby.”

[proxylynn]

My theory of Hazbin Hotel's main plot.

[This may just be a hot take or me whimsically spitballing headcanon, but I have thought about this and, while I don't have all the puzzle's pieces, I think I have enough to make out a decent picture. So bear with me as I unload the insanity that has been in my head since entering the Hellaverse.]

Starting things off, I think the main villain/antagonist of HH's plot is the obvious elephant in the room...Roo aka The Root of ALL Evil.

According to Vivziepop, Roo is a "looming threat in the distance", possibly hinting toward her being a future antagonist and she mentioned that there is no character that she is more excited to get into than Roo, but, she also mentioned that it's "gonna be a long time". So likely we won't see her properly till season three but get hints throughout season two and teased at the end. I will make no claim that "defeating" Roo solves everything in the universe because that's nonsense. There is no good without evil. So you can't just off Roo who's been there since the beginning. And I mean THE beginning. I'm talking the creation of EVERYTHING.

"Angels that worshiped good and shielded all from evil."

Evil exists at the start before Lucifer does anything, this is a fact. So where am I going with this? Let's continue down the line. To the one driving my train of thought...Lilith.

For someone who didn't eat the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, Lilith was very aware of certain things and had independent free will. But humanity didn't get this autonomy till after the fruit fiasco, so what happened? Why did Lilith have magic main character self-awareness? Well, let's think about this...Why was there such a tree in Eden in the first place? The Angels are making this a paradise and keeping evil out of Earth. So why place a tree in there that would fuck it all up? This was why they didn't want Lucifer making shit because they were worried his ideas would be too risky and bad could happen. So again, why was this tree here? What if...The Angels didn't make it.

I propose, as her name so implies, that Roo sprouted the tree up without the Angels knowing in the hopes the fruit would be eaten and allow evil to taint the world. Lilith might have gotten a hint of what the tree granted and what simple veil that clouded her eyes was lifted enough to make her reject Adam and flee the garden. It's even said that "together" she and Lucifer share the gift of free will with Eve, but Lilith seems to take this stand back and watch approach when Lucifer gives her the fruit, almost like she's uncertain what eating it will do so she keeps her distance. This again, also hints that Lilith has had free will from the start and didn't eat the fruit because it was only when Eve ate the fruit did evil finally break the seal to enter Earth.

"As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucifer and his love into the dark pit he had created."

Now here's where it gets a bit more headcanony because this line could mean nothing or everything. Lucifer and Lilith are banished to the newly made Hell. I repeat...Heaven cast Lucifer and Lilith into Hell. Nowhere does it say she died. So...We have the first human woman who didn't eat the fruit and never died. By technically, Lilith still has her immortality. She's the oldest human alive. It's also stated Lucifer shares his power with her (and Charlie), which makes sense if she's just some dull human. So, now imbued with this mix of angel/demon rizz, Lilith becomes even more OP and Hell's mary sue Queen that dominates like the bad boss bitch she is.

"Lilith thrived, empowering demonkind with her voice and her songs. And as the numbers of Hell grew, so did its power."

Lilith as a character has a surprisingly decent amount of info to work with considering we only saw her for the smallest moment. So here's some goodies I've collected from the wiki that are of note.

{According to Vivziepop, Lilith is the "big, slowburn mystery" of the show, adding that we are going to slowly start getting answers over the course of the "next couple seasons", and that season two gives some more pieces to it.}

{When asked about what Lilith was like, Faustisse described Lilith as graceful, regal, and politically charged. Lilith is someone who is exceptionally equanimous. This was implied in "Overture" as in the "Story of Hell" book she is depicted helping Hell thrive over the years using her voice and her songs.}

{When asked about Lilith and Lucifer's dynamic, Faustisse believed their relationship could be summed up with the phrase, "Behind every man is a greater woman", and that they love each other very much. They describe Lilith and Lucifer as "passionate, cheesy lovers". They are of the opinion that Lilith "wears the pants" in her family, but they think both Lilith and Lucifer are switches within their intimate life.}

{When asked about Lilith's powers, Faustisse declined to answer, citing possible spoilers for the main series. They did, however, state that they did not think Lilith had wings like Charlie and Lucifer, although saw no reason why she wouldn't be able to manifest them if she wished. According to Faustisse, Lilith can change the shape of her horns, but it's unlikely this will be shown in practice in the series as it would apparently be difficult to show that kind of constant change over consecutive scenes.}

{When asked if the Eden family have some connection to the royal family as well, Vivziepop declined to answer one way or the other.}

{Due to her origins as a former human, it is likewise unclear if Lilith is connected to the Sinners, who are deceased humans and became demons after death; as Lilith was alive when she was banished to Hell, her transition between human and demon is ambiguous.}

{Faustisse has suggested that she is somewhat good with children}

{Lilith disappeared seven years prior to the series for reasons unknown, never responding to any of her daughter's attempts to call her. Curiously, she was missing the same amount of years as Alastor. Lilith was later revealed to be in Heaven in "The Show Must Go On". Although the exact reasons remain unknown, it was heavily alluded to that she had made a deal with Adam at some point.}

You might look at all this and be like "Lynn, you dummy, we know all this. This is just random stuff". Oh, I think not. Because in just these bits we get so much. Let's begin with the character setup for diving into my main theory.

I think Lilith does love her family. She has a loving and amazing husband in Lucifer and in Charlotte (aka Charlie) the most adorable and kindhearted daughter any mother could ask for. As Queen, she took charge and made Hell less of a pit to wallow and suffer in, and more like a new home to begin anew. So then...What happened? Why would she suddenly leave and cut all communications? Here is where we dig into the meat of it all. My theory of why Lilith left.

Remember how I said Lilith didn't eat the fruit and still had free will then pounded that over and over into you? Well, going on what I said about her getting "a hint of what the tree granted", Roo could've infected Lilith and gifted her awareness while in Eden. Now in Hell where Roo is arguably stronger due to all the sin and sickness that permeates the realm, her influence on Lilith would increase. Lilith, being the big brain that she is, probably felt something was amiss when she got pregnant. Nine months is a long time to plan things out, and maybe doing a few concerts to warn others of impending danger subtlety might've worked...but only for so long. She needed something. A safety. And that safety was her family. Lucifer likely could've been useful but his depression was beginning to take hold with each failure and the worsening sinners as years passed. So...plan B...Charlie. She would instill in her daughter everything she knew and give her a "destiny".

"But Lilith's hope remained. And her dream passed down to their precious daughter, the Princess of Hell."

With Charlie, Lilith instilled that the people were important. But never explained in what way. As she continued to prepare her daughter, Lilith would come to understand this reason. Power. Roo thrives on the tainted evil that seeps from the sinners. So just as she finishes schooling Charlie, she sets up another backup plan to still Roo's intake long enough for her daughter to figure out a way of her own...And this is where Adam comes in.

"Adam is dead. Your deal is done and I'm in charge now. Your brat is threatening the very foundation of Heaven. And if you want to stay here, you're going down there, and stopping that bitch. You understand me…Lilith?"

Feeling Roo's corruptive influence getting worse because sinners just keep coming, Lilith contacts Adam. Now Adam is still salty but hears his first wife out as she caters to his ego. But Adam is wiser after millennia and knows she's not being innocent here. He bluntly gets her to just spill the beans to which she does, she needs out of Hell. Adam grabs this opportunity and says he can sneak her into Heaven but it'll cost her. He knows how much her precious people mean to her so, vindictively, he says he'll take her in if he can go into Hell and kill demons. Little does he know he's playing into her trap. She "reluctantly" agrees so long as no Hellborn are harmed, only sinners. Adam is all for it, even makes a cover story to tell Sera later how killing sinners in Hell will keep Heaven safe, and Lilith then goes about doing the hardest thing she's ever done. She tells Lucifer of some details of this new Heavenly Extermination thing and that she'll have to go away for a long time, promising to return but unsure when. Heartbroken, Lucifer watches as his love leaves him, their daughter, and their kingdom.

"Hey, mom. I know I keep calling and you must be busy... Really busy... But, um, the interview didn't go well, and... I don't know if I'm ever going to make a difference. I don't know what I'm doing. I could really use some advice, mom. I... I think dad was right about me... Ahah, oof. Eh, anyway... I'll stop talking before this gets long. Love you, bye..."

"Don't worry, Mom. I'll make you proud."

Vaggie: Did you hear from your mom?

*Charlie shakes her head in dismay.*

Vaggie: Oof… how long has it been now?

Charlie: Not that long, only…seven….years, off doing something important, I'm sure! But, this kingdom was something she really cared about. Something I care about.

This is what I think it's all been leading to. Lilith having made Charlie into someone for the people and wanting to save souls in a, as funny as it is, maintaining the very balance that got fucked up way back in the garden sort of redeeming way. Restoring order by allowing the good to go where it should've gone in the first place and keeping Roo weak. Maybe Lilith can even get her own redemption, being partially responsible for allowing Roo into our world in the first place. The only added weight I have left to give to my silly little "infected Lilith" idea is how she looks at season one's ending.

She looks pissed and upset, which we can say for a few reasons like how Lute just straight-up calls Charlie a bitch to her face. Like, dude, dick move. But, with Adam dead and seemingly no progress from Charlie (that she knows of), Lute is forcing her to go back to Hell where Roo's influence can grip her once more. I'm not entirely sure just what that could mean but for the sake of the Alastor/Lilith theory fans, let's say when Roo is strong she can puppet Lilith into infecting others via demonic deals. She might have done this countless times with mixed results, only to have full success in Alastor. But Mr deer is a bit too successful a test subject and thus gets his powers leashed. Now we have Alastor trying to force his way out of this mixed-up double-power deal by roping in Charlie, the one kink in this chain that could cause everything to break if forced too much.

It would explain his latching onto Charlie and seeking a deal since the very first time they met. She's a means to an end. The key to unlocking his proverbial collar. It even explains his out-of-nowhere instant disdain for Lucifer. Of course he'd be hostel to the husband of the bitch that metaphorically screwed him and poses a threat to his current plan of using his daughter for his own means.

Well, this was a long as fuck rambling. I hope even a shred of this made sense. Now to sit back and wait for season two to come along and either be like "I got something right" or "Wow I was dead wrong on so many levels". I wonder how long that will take?

"In an interview posted on February 2, 2024, Vivziepop thought that the production of season two might take about one-and-a-half to two years, roughly the same production time season one had."

Oh...um...Looks like we have some time. So, we can expect the new episodes to land in late 2025 at the earliest. *sets up chair* I can wait.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Death? Not Today F*ck You!

Next

Author's Note: Karlsor's debut in Mermay and Poor Unfortante souls.

Warnings: Karlsor swears a lot, some hints of violence. Also NIGHT LORD. Let me know if I need to add more

Summary: Karlsor lands on Terra and finds a Budding Blight Garden, not that he knows what that is. And makes the decision to not go near it.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @kit-williams, @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Tagged Again: @sleepyfan-blog and @whorety-k

Karlsor is a Proud Night Lord, and one of the lucky, or unlucky bastards with enough Psyker abilities that were noticed early enough that he was dragged into training by the Libarius before the Heresy. He'd barely finished his training as a Librarian, their training exacting, harsh, demanded and with each step forward, sacrifice of blood, pain, sweat, tears, and mental health (whatever the fuck that is) was demanded of him. He's no coward, never has been, to have survived the Hell that is Nostramo, and to have been...

Either Lucky or Unlucky enough to have been grabbed by the Night Lords to be flung into a cage with a bunch of other boys around his age, some older, some younger, and then dragged into the Hell that was being an Aspirant of the Night Lords. He had never been the kindest of souls, being born and growing, surviving the fucked up hell that is Nostramo killed the weak, and beat the kindness and every good thing out of a person, until just the pure, raw, naked desire and need for Survival was all that was thought of.

Even when Lord of the Eigth Legion and the Imperium had fully taken over Nostramo, things have still been shit. There was just more technology and shit for the people to fight over. At least that's what he'd heard from the old folks who's complain and hiss about things. Fighting against the uppity Ultramarines as Father had decided to attack the holier-than-thou Primarch of the 13th legion had been a lot of fun, waking up after what had felt like had been a killing blow had been both pleasantly and unpleasantly surprise.

Pleasant, because he still is alive, unpleasant because his ribs really fucking hurt and he's in agony and likely in a cell with uppity Ultramarines ready with snide words and smug bastard-y words to lord over his failure. His tail lashes out in rage as he looks around frowning. Where the fuck his he? He's not on McCragge. Oh fuck shit. As he's dying he's getting a vision. Or something. Goody. Or he's hallucinating a Nicer Thing as he dies? What the fuck is this shit. He slowly starts moving, activating his ability to swim through the air, which is infinitely safer than trying to crawl back to the waters. Seriously.

Which fucking planet is he on? This is planet has pollution, he can smell it, but it's not the worst planet he's been on. It's almost pretty, but pretty things often hide something worse underneath. Finding the ocean took several hours of swimming through the air. At least there's only one sun in the sky, even if the sunlight is way to fucking bright in his opinion. He prefers the darkness and shadows, where the light doesn't burn his skin and eyes. Even with being an Astartes with a tougher body, he burns like a whore in church after a few minutes in the sun.

Which is going to be so delightful to feel once he's back in the water. At least he's alive to recover from his injuries and the sun trying to fuck him over more. He is really glad to get into the ocean waters, which is salinized and he almost bites through his tongue trying not to scream as his skin protests being in the ocean while being sunburnt enough that his regenerative abilities has yet to heal it and he's entirely red from where his armor doesn't protect his scales.

He swims in the ocean, healing and trying to hunt for something to eat, easily hunting a school of fish and eating the wriggling creatures whole. He has some nutri-paste but he needs to supplement it with organic matter, which is a damned pain. He also needs to figure out where the fuck he is and where some of his brothers are, as much as they are a pain in his ass and are more than half likely to try to murder him, either through straight up stabbing him or being more circumspect about it.

Psykers are viewed as being super unstable and mistrusted in the legion. Honestly, he'd commented before that it's like calling water wet, they are all unstable, lunatic murderers. The younger members of his legion are... not kinder, no one is ever really kind in the Eighth legion, but are more stupid, and ignorant, since they are younger and haven't been through as much fucked up shit as the older ones have. Getting older can be hard, especially with how much fighting they do, against the enemies of the Emperium, and at times, each other.

Still, he's glad that he's alive, in general, and its better than not being alive. That damned Ultramarine only nearly killed him. Which reminds him, he's going to find that Ultramarine and make him suffer for his failure. He hears something and slowly starts swim-stalking and he carefully stalks whatever is making noise and tilts his head from one side to another. That is the ugliest and weirdest looking reef system that Karlsor has ever seen in his life. It looks really sick and fucked up.

And there is something about it that screams WRONG at his Psyker senses. He hears demented echoing giggling. Which is. Fucking Fantastic. He's not going anywhere near the fucked up reef system, it looks cursed as fuck. While he's got an Astartes Immune system, he's not going to tempt whatever the fuck is going on with that to go after him. He's no Apothecary or specialist in Environments, but he knows that is Super Fucked and Warp-craft went into fucking it up and continuing to fuck it up. So yeah, as a trained Psyker and since no one has asked for his help, either way, and he doesn't want to go near it any way, he's going avoid that creepy ass dying reef and go somewhere hopefully a lot healthier. It's a shame, the biodiversity of the oceans of this primitive planet are almost beautiful and he's totally not stared at the plethora of vibrant colored fish swim past him in schools of hundreds.

[hanmaitani]

Of Rain and Flowers

PAIRING - Faerie Prince!Kita Shinsuke x Wingless Faerie!Reader WC - 2.3K GENRE - Fluff CW - pining, really just fluff

PREV PART | MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

Heeding your predictions, the spring rain picked up quickly. Shinsuke had only finished the repairs on your house two days before the rain started. It poured for the first week, your usual adventures ruined by the downpour outside.

Shinsuke had still come to visit anyway. He’d shown up at your door, just like always, basket in hand filled with goodies from the kingdom.

This time, however, he’d had a large leaf held over his head to keep him dry from the rain. You couldn’t help but smile as he stood there, dry but with his wings folded as close to his body as they could go. His whole body shook but he beamed at you nonetheless.

Shinsuke’s inner court had begun to take Shinsuke’s protection details instead of leaving them to the guards, intent on keeping their prince’s secret but also on gathering more information on his new relationship. (read as: spying on their prince’s private life.)

The rain, however, was not something they thought their prince would have the conviction to go out in. Patrols were usually cut shorter when there was rain, faeries fearing their wings getting wet and rendering them flightless until they dry.

Shinsuke, however, was willing to risk it for you. To risk anything for you.

Your days of adventuring were turned into days that Shinsuke and you found solitude in your little home, the fire running to keep you both warm.

Shinsuke had discovered your love of reading, little scraps of papers piled in your home that you found and tried to read. His baskets now included reading for you, books from his own library, enjoying how he could watch you curl up to read.

Shinsuke also turned it into his little duty to learn more about you during this time he was given. Any information about you that he could get you to divulge about yourself, he compiled and filed it away in the corner of his mind.

Shinsuke’s flowers in the kingdom kept growing, rows upon rows of them. Too many for most to keep up with, but he made sure to always tend to them, little reminders of you.

They become his little guide when it comes to the matters of you. They become what he turns to in order to ask what he should do.

Kita Shinsuke doesn’t listen to his friends insisting that you enjoy his company every day. He let’s the possibility that you don’t enjoy his company fester inside of him and takes it out on his flowers.

The first time he did it, he didn’t mean to. Mindlessly plucking at the petals of one of the flowers in his basket as he wandered through the garden. Debating if he should bring some to you for your home.

I should bring her flowers. I should not. I should. I should not.

The flower had deemed he had, and he listened. He appeared the next day with a glass vase and a handful of flowers for you. He had never seen you smile so brightly. It was then that he decided he should listen to his flowers.

His flowers always gave him definitive answers. Yes or no.

Not like Aran’s “I haven’t met her, but do you think that she has an interest in you?”

Or Atsumu’s “well if I was her I wouldn’ta kept ya ‘round ‘less I liked ya.”

His flowers gave him answers, not questions.

It becomes common for one of them to enter Shinsuke’s room and to find his floor covered in flower petals of all sorts. His court never seems to be able to reach through to him. Shinsuke is adamant that the flowers are never wrong, and the flowers have yet to tell him that you feel the way he does.

If you were to ask even a single member of Shinsuke’s inner court, they’re exasperated with him. He’s so lovesick that he’s driving them insane.

It takes Shinsuke a few days to get worried about the baskets overflowing with petals drawing attention. It takes him half the time to realize what he wants to do with them.

He’s been meticulous with them, keeping them organized by flower. It makes it easier when he’s decided he’s going to use the little reminders of you to make gifts for you.

He starts with teas. Drying out the petals and mixing the right extra ingredients. He asks the kitchen staff for help, refusing to answer any of their questions about his sudden interest in tea.

You’d nearly convinced yourself, that week of pouring rain, that maybe Shinsuke was a tea maker. A sommelier, is what Shinsuke had told you it was called, laughing as he denied that he was one. He could have fooled you.

He’d used the time you’d been stuck in your home for the two of you to try the teas. You’d laughed along with him, picking out which flowers had made the best teas and crinkling your nose up at the ones you didn’t like.

He thought it was cute, the way you would squeeze your eyebrows together and your tongue poked out in disgust when you didn’t like the taste. He committed the face to memory, matching it in his head to the flowers not to make teas out of anymore.

He filled your crooked shelves with little jars filled with teas that you did like. Always keeping an eye on the ones that dipped lower faster to make sure he brought extra the next time.

Shinsuke loved giving you gifts. Seeing you get excited every time he placed something new in your hands. So he continued his endeavors to find more ways to give you gifts.

When he realized which flower petals he couldn’t turn into teas he tried to find other things to do with them. It took him a whole night without sleeping to figure out something to do and to start.

A personal opinion of thinking you would look good in a particular color. He spent all night designing a dress for you, and another whole night meticulously hand-sewing petals together for the dress.

It was what he presented to you today, a hand-sewn dress made of flower petals he’d plucked in hopes that you loved him how he loved you. Today, the first day with a clear sky in over a week. Your giggles could be heard out across the pond as you took the dress from his hands.

“Wait, wait!” You laughed, taking the dress and shutting the door, disappearing back into your home.

He was left on the front porch, blinking at your door confused, basket still held gently in his hands, filled with new sweets and teas, with books and trinkets for you. You were still giggling when you opened the door again.

He froze, seeing what you’d done. Heat crept up to his cheeks as he took you in. You were laughing, spinning a demonstration circle of his dress. It was soft against your skin as you stood there beaming up at him.

“So?”

He cleared his throat, trying to ground himself again, trying to pretend like he’d not been staring with an open mouth. Like he hadn't fallen for you all over again in just a moment. “It looks good on you.” He mumbled, dazedly as he stepped into your home.

“I’ve never had something so pretty, Shin.” You smiled softly at him and he felt his heart skip a bit.

He wanted to give you everything you’d never had. Everything that he had had. He swallowed the little lump in his throat that was telling him to confess to you, his thoughts swarming around the possibilities it would open, allowing him to spoil you even more.

“So how did you swing it?”

The question brought him back down to reality. You didn’t know who he was, how he had access to things that you could only dream of.

“I know a few people.” He chuckled a bit, biting the confession and keeping it between his teeth, holding it for another time.

You smiled softly at him, letting him keep his secrets. “It’s sunny today.” He hummed in acknowledgement as you dutifully put away the things he’d brought you. “Would you like to go on a picnic maybe?”

He couldn’t deny you, a soft smile on his face as he helped you repack his baskets with a lunch and some drinks for the two of you to take out. His eyes were trained on your face as you worked together, letting you direct him with what to do and handing him things as you came across them.

It was a small lunch and quite the feat for the two of you to trek out to your usual meadow. It had been a while and you’d gotten used to the comfort of your own home, but the sunshine felt nice on your skin. The dress Shinsuke had brought you, warming your insides as you convinced him to spin with you in the grass. He couldn’t help the permanent smile on his lips as he watched you.

Your spontaneous plans were how you wound up in an unexpected predicament.

You were too busy laughing and enjoying the sound of Shinsuke’s accompanying one to notice. Shinsuke was too busy watching the way your body moved in his present to realize until it was too late. He’d rushed to pack everything into the basket once he did, barely making it in time to pull a large leaf over your head when the rain started.

You were giggling now. Despite holding the basket close to your chest and the goosebumps that covered your frame from the cold, you couldn’t stop.

Shinsuke was dutifully holding the large leaf over both of your heads as you walked, perfectly matching your pace so as to ensure not a single drop got on you. It warmed your heart. Warmed every bit of you, actually, it felt like your skin was on fire from how close the two of you were walking to stay under the small shelter together.

Shinsuke was looking down at you with utter adoration, the feeling that your laugh rewarded him with was something that he could feel through his whole body.

It was a lightness, an airiness that rivaled the feeling of actual flying. It started in his toes and went all the way to the tops of his ears, even down to the tips of his wings. His wings, which were now soaked.

You hadn’t noticed yet and he was doing his best to keep it that way.

The leaf was large, but not quite large enough to completely cover both your and his bodies, and his wings. He didn’t mind, seeing you so happy walking with him made it worth it to him. But he was sure that you would feel terrible.

He was right.

It was when you were walking up the path to your house that you finally fully turned to him. Seeing the water dripping off his wings, your smile immediately dropped.

“Shinsuke! Your wings!” Your eyes widened, your lips falling open in dread.

Shinsuke knew it was wrong, but he let out a small laugh at your worry. “I’m alright.” He ensured you, his hands guiding you the rest of the way to your front door where you would be safe from the water.

His wings were heavy on his back, a weight he wasn’t used to, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not even when thinking about how heavy his whole body would feel once he reached home, knowing that he would have to walk the whole way, even if the rain did clear up.

“I wanted to make sure that you didn’t go off getting yourself sick.”

Your features softened, a fuzzy feeling settling in your chest as you looked at the man standing before you. “I’m still really sorry I didn’t even notice.” But he smiled, admiring the small pout on your lips. “Will you be okay getting home?”

He thinks, having you worry about him like this, must be one of the best feelings in the world, but he doesn’t quite trust his voice so he nods his agreement.

You sigh, then, fighting your urge to ask him to stay, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to even if he tried. “Be safe please.” You mumble the words quickly as you lean towards him, planting your kiss on his cheek softly.

You happen to miss the way that Shinsuke’s face went a few shades darker, heat settling under his skin, like the small touch of your lips was its own sun, burning every fiber of his being.

“I will… see you tomorrow.” It was stuck somewhere between a statement and a question but you nodded your head along anyways, agreeing.

Your own cheeks were burning when you let yourself into your home, back pressed against the door. You were dizzy from the care that Shinsuke showed you, never having felt something like it before in your life. You couldn’t place the way that he felt about you, never having been close to someone like this before, but you couldn’t help the giddy feeling that filled you up.

You were sure that this feeling was the closest thing you’d ever felt to flying.

On the other side of the door, Shinsuke’s fingers were grazing his cheek, a smile creeping onto his lips as he turned to direct himself back home. It was a smile that didn’t leave his lips the whole night, his cheeks retaining their heat as he replayed your small gesture over and over again. A feeling that made him feel light despite the wet heaviness in his wings and body.

It was a blush that finally caught the eye of the Queen Regent. She’d heard whispers of her grandson’s disappearances, but it was then that she knew for sure that her grandson, the crown prince of Inarizaki, was surely hiding something important from her.

TAGLIST - OPEN @all-in-the-fandoms @pearl-blue-musings

[the-littlest-raindrop]

BG3 Holiday Fluffle 2023 Drabble One- Twinkling Lights, featuring Dammon!

Presenting the first of my offerings for the fluffle. Link to AO3 above, or if you prefer, find the whole thing below! Suitable for all audiences <3

As the days grow shorter, and the winds grow cooler, you’ve found that your house feels… dark. There’s an almost empty feeling to it, me that not even a roaring fire seems to fix.

At least it’s not a hardship you have to live through alone; not with Dammon by your side.

That man could brighten up the most dingy of hovels with his smile, or break through a gloom with those beautiful eyes of his. Living with him, after all the hardships you’ve been through, is the happy ending you never thought you’d get. It’s everything, and it means that even your dark house feels like the grandest of homes.

However, that doesn’t mean you’re not going to do anything about the state of your home. That’s why you’ve been out today to buy up as many candles as you can, planning to fight off the gloom with them. You’ve bought your new light sources not a moment too soon, either; the sun had set long before your shopping trip concluded.

So, with your pack laden with waxen goodies, you let yourself into your shared abode, your eyes slow to adjust to the darkness. ‘Dammon?’ The chances of him being home when the fire hasn’t even been lit are slim, but that doesn’t stop you from hoping; after a busy day out in the cold, you long for his warm embrace.

A soft voice calls out to you, coming from your balcony. ‘Up here, love.’ One advantage of your fame- and the wealth you’d accrued through your journey- is that you’d been able to buy a house in one of the nicer parts of the city, which has served not only the purpose of getting Dammon better paying clients, but also granted you the closest thing to a garden anyone can hope for in the city; a balcony, large enough to set a small table and chair upon.

Yet as you make your way upstairs, and dump your belongings onto your bed, you notice that said furniture is now inside the house, rather than outside. No sooner have you processed this do you see your lover sitting alone on the balcony, a checkered blanket layed down upon the hard floor.

As you slide open the door, Dammon looks up at you, his teeth gleaming slightly in the dim light of evening. ‘There you are, love. I was worried about you. Come and sit with me a while. I made us dinner.’ He gestures to a wicker basket behind him as you take a seat next to him, looking above the balcony’s bannister and into the night sky. Even in the city, the stars still shine, like precious jewels sewn into the fabric of the night itself.

Looking down at your dinner, you can see Dammon has been busy. Sandwiches, cakes, mini pies… he’s really gone all out tonight. You aren’t quite sure why though, since there is no anniversary to be observed tonight, unless he’s decided that there’s an occasion worthy of celebration.

Dammon finishes laying out your food, only to produce a few candles from the bag, carefully placing them around your blanket before lighting them with a match. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate the surprise, but what gives? You’ve never done anything like this before.’ Not that he isn’t a romantic- far from it. You’ve just never come home to a sight like this before. Some days, you’re lucky if he finishes up at his forge in time for dinner.

The tips of Dammon’s ears grow darker, though you’re not sure if that’s from embarrassment or cold. ‘I just wanted to surprise you, that’s all. Besides, I think spending an evening with the woman I love is occasion enough. We just need the wine-‘ He looks behind him then, only to look back at you with a frown. ‘That I left in the kitchen. Shit…’ You notice he’s not in his work apron, a rare sight indeed. Still, you’d be lying if you said it was a bad surprise; you love the way his tunic clings to his well-honed muscles, a delightful benefit to him having such a demanding craft.

You wave off his concerns, picking up a pie. ‘We don’t need it. I’m starving, and these look delightful.’ Taking a bite of your food, you try not to wince, the taste not at all what you were expecting. For all of his talents, it seems your lover isn’t a particularly skilled baker…

Dammon doesn’t notice your discomfort, helping himself to a sandwich. ‘Even still, I wanted this evening to be perfect. Romantic. A quiet moment, just for the two of us. I know there have been precious few of those lately, and I’m sorry. I’m just trying my hardest to establish myself here, for both our sakes.’ He seems preoccupied with something, his eyes slightly unfocused as he shoves his food into his mouth.

Putting your pie down, you reach out to him, his hand still warm despite the cold air. ‘You’re doing amazing, my love, but don’t feel like you need to push yourself. I fell in love with you when all you had to your name were the clothes on your back and the hammer in your hand. You’re everything to me.’ You give him a reassuring squeeze, trying to let him know everything is okay.

Instead of looking at you, Dammon looks to the sky, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. ‘I’ve always loved how the sky looks this time of year. The darkness always makes the stars shine brighter. When Elturel fell, I feared I’d never see them again. Now, I get to share them with you.’ The candles around you flicker as the wind picks up, threatening to extinguish them.

You lean into Dammon, kissing his cheek. ‘I suppose it is the best time of year to really appreciate them. Maybe one day we could go to an astrologer, and find out what they mean?’ That could be a fun date idea, if he’s up for it. You’re certain there will be someone in Baldur’s Gate that could teach you both.

Dammon chuckles, shaking his head. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d like to come up with my own meanings. We could make the stars tell any story we wish, if you think about it.’ That’s… you’ve never really thought about it that way, but he’s right. Who’s to say that the constellations have to be followed. You should be free to connect the stars as you see fit.

Taking Dammon’s words to heart, you trace over a few of them, trying to make a heart shape. ‘I think I can see my love for you in them. What do you see?’ Knowing Dammon, he’ll probably say the day you met, or the time you were reunited, citing you as a flicker of light against the shadow curse.

Your lover doesn’t reach towards the sky, slipping his hand into his pocket instead. ‘I see the night you agreed to marry me, under the watchful gaze of the stars.’ Your eyes snap towards him just in time to see him pull a ring from his trousers, presenting it to you with a nervous smile on his face.

You don’t hesitate for a moment, wrapping your arms around your lover. ‘I accept, though it will be hard to see the stars through my tears of joy.’ Already you feel them welling in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

Dammon sighs in relief. ‘Then forget them for now, and just let me hold you.’ You’re happy to agree to that, all but crawling into his lap. The idea of spending the rest of your life with the man you love is enough to make your very soul sing with joy, your heart soaring as your mind is filled with one single certainty;

Your future with Dammon will shine brighter than any star ever could.

[thegeminisage]

as someone who wasn't around in 2014....can you tell me what it was like? (stucky) can you give me a taste of the gardens of babylon etc

what was it like...this is such a fun question i want you to know i gave serious thought to my answer and also discussed it at length with my 2014 friend last night and i know already it's gonna be so long. sorry that i answered your ask at fuck o clock in the morning i am scheduling it to go up later and also at the time you sent the ask in to make sure you see it

ok so like. i mean, you're on the fandom website, right, so i assume youve been in fandoms. idk if youve ever been in a really, REALLY big fandom, at the same time that said fandom was also producing content (even if the source material was not). think d*stiel post nov 5, or undert*le circa late 2015/early 2016, or z*lda after totk came out, or h*rry p*tter as the seventh book was being released. (i'm censoring to avoid a false positive of anybody's blacklist except in the case of the last one, which i am censoring out of <3 disrespect.) like there's something REALLY luxurious about being in ANY large and active fandom and it's mostly the power of crowdsourcing. st*r tr*k 2009's tarsus iv headcanons. the storm trooper lore re: the f*rce awakens before the second two movies came out. everyone just kind of agreeing that dean w*nchester was a teenage hooker. you know?

like, that's "just fanon," sure, but part of the beauty of it is that no one person makes up fanon, we all gather in the biggest writing group in the world and collectively go insane and bat ideas back and forth. there are a hundred THOUSAND fics about bucky barnes on ao3 and that's just the people who were writing, not even counting artists and gifmakers and meta-writers and people who just reblog stuff. i can't possibly begin to put an accurate number to how many people are in any given fandom at any given time, but imagine (on the low end, i'm sure) there are THOUSANDS, perhaps tens of thousands, of people going nuts about stevebucky at all times. tens of THOUSANDS people doing "yes and" with each other on the internet 24 hours a day seven days a week. it's just like being in any fandom, you log on to your dash and see what the mewchies posted while you were gone, but in a fandom so huge and so active you were getting bombarded with idea after idea after idea every single second, so if you don't like one you're spoiled for choice in what you engage with next. it didn't even matter that cap3 was two years away or that it sucked when it finally got here because we collectively wrote cap3 a million times over. like, genuinely, it was a mass creative exercise. it's the biggest writing group in the world. for better or worse, we were shaping our own version of that universe, without any input from or regard to the people who actually created the characters and movie, in a way that compelled most strongly to our own tastes and demographic.

what made this particular movie/fandom special though was a few things. firstly i still genuinely believe it was ahead of its time...marvel shit pre disney was allowed to be political in ways it is ABSOLUTELY not now. like, cap2 could say "the government is secretly full of nazis and they all need to burn" in 2014 two years before the 2016 election and 7 years before jan 6. like you just couldn't say that now. "war bad" is an oldie but goodie, but "our entire government is corrupt and needs to be torn into flaming pieces and cast into the potomac" is um. pretty radical. so is, by the way, "men as victims" and "men having emotions" etcetc. like, not in fandom, fandom all but invented that shit, but as far as dumb superhero movies go. i can't tell you the number of metas i read AND WROTE discussing steve rogers and masculinity and how all that was portrayed, intentionally or not, in that fucking film. i had entire separate universes built up in my head for steve who was born a cis girl and steve who decided later in life that "nonbinary" or "trans woman" was a better fit and then steve who was born as a cis boy and remained a man his whole life but felt weird and different ways about being queer which clashed with the weird and different ways BARNES felt about being queer. i'm not saying the film (or the fandom! good lord) was perfect, it was a product of its time, but it was also WAY ahead of its time too. it was weird to expect the next film to come out and actually, like, be good. it wasnt, but we fully believed it would be and that wasn't delusional behavior because the last one had been. i would never have that kind of faith in a marvel project now because they've been bought by disney.

oh yeah and that's the other thing too like. speaking of queer people. gay marriage wasn't legal in the US on a federal level until 2015, and you couldn't just flip on your TV and see them whenever you wanted. ten years doesn't seem like that long ago in the grand scheme of things but like, we lived on glee and cw/mtv queerbait (disclaimer that i personally only participated in cw queerbait) and that was it. we had crumbs. and like when people write gay characters theyre Just Gay, but if you decide to be crazy stupid in a slash fandom you can decide these layered characters are gay and that's even better rep than um whatever was going on in other pieces of media. these guys are both so lonely and out of step with time and lack other people with "shared life experiences" (girl what the hell was that) and their connection w each other keeps them afloat in a world that doesn't want them so like of COURSE it seems like it's supposed to be romantic. and like, i could and did make myself and my tumblr buds crrrazy (and got made crazy by them) thinking about:

how steve's size when small and again when big interacted w his gender identity and his sexuality and how that sexuality manifested. barnes's identity As A Man hinging on his ability to go to war for his country bc Thats What Men Did but now he's no longer fit because theres worms in his brain. loss of bodily autonomy which usually happens to women and natasha being later in that journey than steve and bucky are and so close to being at peace with it but not there yet. stigmatization of seeking treatment for mental health issues lessened by the presence of sam who could have been a Macho Tough Guy but actually gives off strong Talk About Our Feelings And Be Soft vibes. don't even get me started on the relationship (predatory) between steve and rumlow and how it parallels the one between barnes and pierce (and if any of you motherfuckers BREATHE a word of that h*dra tr*sh p*rty shit in my direction i will END you) and the stigma that comes from being preyed on when vulnerable As Men. steve's depression and ptsd and him getting triggered by, yes, the fucking ALS ice bucket challenge. the collective belief that he was conscious when he was frozen even though nobody said that so that he and barnes could have that in common too. the headcanon about barnes having roma heritage - shoutout to not easily conquered my beloved, and the 14k smut coda i wrote for it✌ speaking of smut, i would be remiss also not to mention there was a STRONG element of collective lust involved. i'm immune to 99% of it bc im ace but the winter soldier was uh. VERY graceful. you know? i didn't write 14k of porn because i was uncompelled. we were on one. we went fucking crazy. fandom in general but especially big fandoms have a kind of nonstop endless well of creative energy born from obsession that is the absolute envy of people like my mortal enemy grrm. we NEVER quit.

also, HISTORY (and other vaguely educational subjects). we were all so desperate to know how steve and bucky would have lived in the years we couldn't see them it sparked a sitewide interest in 1940s american history. there was a thing about bananas tasting different now because of a plague. m&ms being invented as wartime candy. stuff about how shoebox apartments looked and how rations worked. 1940s recipes and radio shows. the 1940s queer movement and how it interacted with ballroom dancing and private drag get-togethers. how amputations work and how prosthetic limbs work in real life so we could extrapolate it to fantasy. how to hand-draw that fucking arm in photoshop. why soldiers are trained to say their serial numbers when captured. what ww2 was like. what dog tags are for. what did they get in the ration packs. what brand of cigarettes did they smoke. what brand (and i am being so serious, i STILL own a tube) of LIPSTICK did peggy carter use. caloric intake of someone with a 4x speed metabolism and how much famine peanut butter he'd need to eat daily to keep from starving to death. oppression of irish immigrants and their children/grandchildren back in the 1940s. the difference between conservatives and fascists, back when there was a difference. what activities generally took place on these mysterious but ever-present new york city docks. just exactly HOW many terrible movies and tv shows has sebastian stan been in ranked by his resemblance to james buchanan barnes in each one. (i personally went through his entire imdb list at the time and then made a venn diagram.) electroswing! teachers and professors would have killed for their classes to have the kind of enthusiasm a bunch of mentally ill teenagers and 20-somethings on tunglr dot edu were showing about this one very specific set of subjects. this film also sparked my love of fight scenes. if you've read this fic or this fic and liked the Big Fight Scenes in them, you can thank cap2 for leading me down that path.

and then yes there was also discourse. my personal most hated thing was the above mentioned h*dra tr*sh p*rty (DO NOT GOOGLE THAT, i will just tell you it's nazi rape porn🤢 and i hope everyone involved is having a bad day today) and also the fact that SOME FUCKING PEOPLE can't understand "don't be shitheads about a fanfic where the author can see you doing it." but then ofc people were also sexist about nat and racist about sam and minimalizing those guys (and every other character besides tony really but sometimes him too) for the two white male leads was a whole thing. and on the funnier side of things you had (justifiably, i suppose) bitter st*ny fans who HATED what those two got in avengers and got real mad when stucky started outpacing them on ao3. and people complaining about the characters being too uwu soft. and then other people arguing whether or not barnes counted as disabled when he was missing a Whole arm. and THEN discourse about was it ethical to remove the arm and build him a new one ESPECIALLY without his consent (if people don't know they're being ableist in their fanfics hypothetically is it still ok to kill them with hammers?) and why was tony doing it if that guy killed his parents and is it ok that we keep making tony not that mad about his dead parents is it not enough that barnes stole his limelight as the guy who gets shipped with steve but what if all three of them fucked but can you really fuck the guy who offed your folks but ACTUALLY isn't it cringe to like tony anyway since RDJ and gwenyth paltrow are bad people and who says chris evans are sebastian stan are such good people etcetcetc. and let us not even get started on the plausibility of the avengers tower fanon after age of ultron came out and it turns out nobody became friends and they all still hated and mistrusted each other. and whether or not the avengers could be considered found family if the other characters were constantly getting shafted into being barnes's little support animals. and then ofc every once in awhile one of the actors of people involved creatively would say something ranging from mildly controversial to absolutely horrible on the internet and we'd all fight about THAT for awhile like a dog with a bone. i mean. typical infighting of any fandom tbh.

but i was very happy. it was all the most enormous thought experiment and creative endeavor (and semi-educational adventure??) that we all participated in daily for like two-ish years without stopping ever. i loved doing it. AND, when you click with a piece of media like that, you also click with other people who clicked with that same piece of media, so in addition to the sheer level of dopamine going into my brain at all times i also formed decade-long friendships that will certainly last the entirety of my lifetime, and when we're in our 90s in nursing homes i will be able to say, "we are friends because i wrote 14k of smut for your fanfic" or "we are friends because i couldn't get enough of your gifsets" or whatever because you know, we quite literally went to stucky together.

[toomuchracket]

sweetheart! George def offers to sneak girly into a bar/smoke her out or smth for helping him get a good grade on his project!! I hc that she’s not a total goody two shoes but just v focused on school & devotes a lot of free time to that rather than partying yk. and then maybe if he does well on a final then he takes her to a sweet romantic dinner & pulls out all the stops in order to thank her properly

agree with you about girly!! so convinced that george - being the thoughtful respectful boy that he is - would wait until exam season is fully over before asking you out BUT just before exams begin, george has like a little not-really-a-party party at his house one friday night. you, him, the boys, some of your friends... quite a small crowd, but fun! and a few days pre-gaff, george is like "look i was gonna get some weed for myself for the party and i'll get some for you if you want?? no pressure, and if not i'll get you something else, but i want to thank you for all your help and i figured it might be a nice way to relax before exams", and you're like omg he's so cute and you agree. it starts with the two of you chilling in george's garden on this nice early summer evening. and then - because i'm me and i'm obsessed with it - i reckon george would probably shotgun you with the joint a few times before he passes it to you to smoke. and pretty soon you're nicely high alongside everyone else at the party, lying on the grass with george just looking up at the sky contentedly. but then you get restless (me) and have a wander around the house - maybe you end up in george's room just staring at the drum kit in fascination, and he finds you and giggles at how intently you're scrutinising the snare before promising he'll teach you how to play them at some point. and then you get the munchies so he takes you to the kitchen where someone (probs matty) is making toast - george steals you some, and just sits patiently with you as you come down. sweet boy!

in terms of the romantic dinner... i think that's something george would maybe do a little bit further into the relationship rather than at this point - to me, he's so sweetly tentative with you initially, and i think your first date thingy would literally be like him taking you for a drive and a little picnic (thanks to the council @throughthepostmodernlens for that suggestion!). you've both been cooped up indoors studying, and when he suggests it you literally jump at the chance to spend time with him in the sunshine. he picks you up, looking all cute, and then takes you to the shop to grab some food you like; it's your first time being all domestic together, and george is so smitten with you, especially when you make disgusted faces and side-eye the people next to you in the aisles for buying disgusting things (scotch eggs, definitely) but then smile at him immediately after. he absolutely pays for everything when you get to the checkout, which you're annoyed at because he wouldn't take petrol money off you either, but you get around it by saying "fine, my turn to buy things next time the two of us go out, yeah?" - george agrees because oh my god you want to go on a date-like thing with him again?? he would literally do anything for that. bless him. anyway, you guys probably end up chilling in a nice park somewhere - george was so conscious that he wanted to take you somewhere nice and sort-of quiet but also not secluded enough that you would think he was trying to put the moves on you in his car - with your little picnic, eating and chatting and giggling and watching the ducks on the pond. and you're down horrendous for him, seeing him all relaxed and sweet and sunlit and HOT; he's wearing a t-shirt and, even at 17, his biceps are a thing of beauty. george thinks you're beautiful, in your little t-shirt dress and sandals, and he just can't stop looking at you. that comes in handy, though, as the afternoon turns to evening and the air gets cooler - he notices you're getting goosebumps before you do, and hands you the hoodie from his bag before you can even admit to being chilly. and you both go a little bit insane when you wear it, because oh my god you are wearing george's clothes - it smells like him, but it takes on a hint of your perfume too. and you're still wearing it when george drops you back home that night and walks you to your door - he's too distracted by the little peck on the cheek (precariously close to his lips) that you give him before saying goodnight and heading inside to mention it. although he would have told you to keep it anyway - it's yours now, and so is he <3

[nn1895]

A Year of Moments Optimus/Elita Drabbles - July

Enemies to Lovers

“Fraggit – move your shoulder!”

“I am trying not to crush your legs.  Hold on –“

“I can’t hold on!  Your stupid plating in smoother than a zero-friction track!  Who the slag does your waxing?”

“Are–are you complaining that I am too well polished?”

“Yes!”

“You weren’t complaining a few minutes ago when it was all, ‘Yes, Optimus, yes!’ and complimenting my –“

“Shut-up-shut-up-shut-up!  I heard someone!  If anyone finds out I clanged Goody-Two-Pedes himself in a closet –“

“The Global Peace Initiative would not be happy to find out about this either.  Not after your speech on space-mounted missiles.”

 Vacation Together

Primes…couldn’t go to public beaches.  Or amusement parks.  Or even nice, slightly out of budget restaurants.  There wasn’t a great deal of time either.

He still wanted to.

“Do you – do you like it?” he asked as soon as Elita-1 walked in.  

It wasn’t much – he’d bartered for the beach soundtrack and bribed Mirage for the fancy fuel.  Jazz had hung the mini-holoprojectors to mimic twilight in the Crystal Gardens and Prowl had lent his tabletop garden.

“I thought, since it’s our anniversary and we –“

He offlined his optics as she stepped into the circle of his arms.

“Yes.”

 Power Swap

But Optimus wasn’t here.  She stared out at the wide, fearful optics – the civilian optics – and her engine stalled.

“I’m sure you are all –“ a sparkling wailed, a rough voice hushed it – “I mean, it’s been…”

Stir up a fervor in new soldiers?  Done.  This…

Lend me your magic words for a klik, Orion.  

A flash of memory rose up– a late cycle, a stubborn rust infection, bills racking up, Orion’s servos –

“I know you are tired and empty and scared.  Lean on each other - we can carry more weight together. I promise you – everyone’s going home tonight.”

 “Batman won’t like this”

“Batman won’t like this.”

“Stop calling Prowl Batman.”

 Stars

“Coming!”  Elita punched the button and put on her ‘greeting fans’ smile as the door slide open.

“What can I sign for –“ she started and realized she was talking to a chestplate.  

“Um, it’s to, ah, Optimus?” the chestplate rumbled hesitantly and she looked up into the stunningly blue optics of the Prime, his Holiness, the Sacred Conduit.

He was holding out a holo of her in one of her sparkling movies – The Little Merformer.

“Of course!”  She fumbled the holo.  “Sure…yes!”

“It’s,” his voice dropped and he glanced at the bodyguard to his right, “it’s my favorite movie.”

 Coffee Shop

This wasn’t the cozy energon café she’d been envisioning most of the war.  The only space she could afford was between a Real-estate Agent and a steel manufacturer. The cobalt paint she’d thought was so pretty looked like the inside of a dirty cube.  The delay of the sign meant the shop still claimed to sell novelty horns.

She had also burned every cube of energon she’d made.

Currently, the only customer was an addled librarian who came in like clockwork because it was “on his way in.”

What an idiot.  The Archive was in the opposite direction of –

Oh.

[geraniumplant]

. ₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ℍ𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕪 ℕ𝕖𝕨 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣!! . ₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Hohoho! It's that time of year, friends! The man in red is here to give out some gifts.

...Oh, you thought I meant Santa? No, I'm talking about this handsome devil right here.

Vash pulls out a large bag of presents. "Let's get started!"

Of course, I have to mention my lovely band of Woowoos. ( @adventures-written, @curseisms, @nothinglikegod, @crosspunisher ) thank you boys for putting up with my Vash.

"Of course, you get a new pack of cigarettes!" Vash tosses them each their own as well as a knit sweater with a pattern of pine trees. "To keep you fellas warm." He picked them out himself. Vash reaches into the bag again & pulls out... a pair of red lace underwear?? "Ahhh-forget you saw that!!" He stuffs it back into the bag. "That's a present for later, eheheheh!"

"Oh! You'll like this!" The Wolfwoods are also given a bottle of bourbon. "Drink up, my guys! You mean the world to me!" ❤️ Because nothing says I love you like,

Next is my dear Meryl ( @adventures-written ). Vash hands her an oversized sweater; dark blue with polar bears. "This will keep you nice a warm. Thank you for always busting me out of trouble." A delicate kiss is planted on Meryl's cheek by Vash, followed by tickles down her sides. ❤️

Looks like there's a little something for my friendly Livio: ( @bone-pile-rp ) "This is a gift from both Wolfwood & I," Vash proudly states, placing a new leather hat onto Livio's head. "You look great! Hope you enjoy it, Buddy." ❤️

Now, we can't forget my fellow Vash brethren. DONUTS FOR ALL OF YOU!! ( @melpcmene, @surevive, @needlenxggin )

"You boys..." SNIFF! "...Have been through so much. We deserve it, yeah?"

@needlenxggin - Gets a matching red scarf & hat from big brother Spikey. "Don't get into too much trouble this year, little bro."

@surevive - Gets a golden pocket watch from Blondie. Engraved on the cover is an outline of a geranium. "I will chase you through time & space. Always." ~ reads the card. Blondie might seek out Hemlock later for a little alone time.

@melpcmene - This is from Wolfwood. The card reads, "Try to stay out of trouble, Needle Noggin. You can always count on me to find you & kick your ass." Aww! & there's a metal glasses case & lens wipe. Very fancy looking. He must have saved up quite a lot of money for you.

We can't forget my precious Hakkais! ( @shouga-nai, @melpcmene ) Vash digs around in his bag for their presents. "It's from Sanzo! It's a..." he stares. "A back scratcher."

"..."

"WHAT A THOUGHTFUL GIFT! It must mean something important, right?" Unknown to Vash, Sanzo worked very hard to find the perfect back scratcher. He tested many.

& let's not forget my lovely Gokus. ( @ofdraiocht, @worldly-diversity ) "Looks like Sanzo has left you a box of steamed dumplings. You boys must have been good this year." Vash chuckles. "Oh, & there seems to be a card attached. It reads, "'To Goku, these should last you for a few hours so don't even think about bugging me. With love, Sanzo.'" Vash may have added in the "with love" part.

"What beautiful fatherly-love." sniff!

Last but not least, lets give a shout-out to some awesome OCs!

@healingbrews - Is gifted a basket of goodies from none other than Vash. He'd never forget his Onee-san. Wolfwood gifts her a warm sweater dress. It's a nice burgundy color to match Hinoka's hair. Sanzo gives her another beaded protection bracelet. Not that she needs it, but you can never be too careful. Lastly is a present from Konzen. It's a vase of flowers from the Garden of Heaven. & there seems to be a nice little love poem written in his handwriting. Goku must have slipped that in there.

@strywoven - Verona is gifted a golden comb by her devoted Plant twins. A pattern of flowers & a deer is engraved on the handle. Kaen is gifted a hunter-green sweater with patterns of trees embroidered across its center. Vash may have dragged Nai along for them both to pick out the softest material to sew together. Only the best for their darling friend!

& that concludes our little gift-giving New Year post! I hope you all have a safe & happy new year!

-- Wolf & muses ❤️

[itsukismoon]

Event Story - Chapter 12 (Epilogue) (Grateful Days)

The Midnight Festival is about to come to an end, and Emma is together with the ambassadors in the garden near the venue. Everyone congratulates Emma for winning the Best guildkeeper award, Adel and Kuchen tease her saying she should have won the “Workaholic Award”.

Emma: I don’t want to hear that from you…

Kuchen & Adel: Huh?

Emma: Nothing!

The other meisters keep coming up with wild names for awards Emma should have won, and in the meantime Adel steps away to sit on a bench and sighs. Emma approaches him, thanking him for the dress. He answers that regardless she’ll pay him back with her hard work from now onwards; she should be thanking Jin more than anyone. She turns to thank all the black fairies: Rindou, Caprice, Jin, Himmel, etc. In particular, Navi and Evan have a hard time reciprocating her thanks and act like tsunderes. Emma gives a deep speech on how the Fairies have always helped her, and that handling the Festival together with everyone was so much fun; she also asks for their continued support.

Navi: Ah, there it is! Master’s goody-two shoes side!

Evan: ….as carefree as ever.

Navi: “Thank you” is quite a stupid thing to say. There’s no need for words like that, since we’re actually invisible entities. But!

Crow: It feels warm doesn’t it? It’s warm, here lightly punches his chest

All of a sudden, fireworks go off, brightening the entire night sky. Velvet steps in: the Festival isn’t over yet. Furthermore, after the Gratitude Festival, the Park will be open to people all over the world, though some improvements will still have to be made. Although this was one of Velvet’s aims, he also still genuinely wanted to convey his own feelings of gratitude. As Lagoon says, a Meister’s job is to pursue the best version of what they can do. Oscar intervenes in the conversation: thanks to the Park, his guild has managed to create new recipes based on the customer’s reactions.

Kuchen, in big bro mode: that’s all cool but give Cuit’s a break, he’s been serving customers nonstop and he’s not used to do that (not the word for word translation).

Oscar: I told him to take a break but he wont listen; he’s too caught up in research, just like you when you get new ideas

Kai apologises for causing trouble for everyone, and that he’ll talk to Sion to make sure they also improve their own work. Watching everyone getting fired up, makes Crow want to explore, and Emma to work even harder for the future. It’s a matter of being inspired by other people’s dreams. As Emma regards the fireworks with renewed determination, someone pulls at her sleeve.

Navi: …………………Thank you, Master. Thank you for being with me. -Or so you thought! Just kidding!

From now on, and always, to move all together towards big dreams—

One day, some time after the Gratitude Festival, at the Guilds Federation HQs. Lannes informs Emma and Crow that a has a new request for Tsukiwatari has just arrived: a new moonroad towards unexplored lands has appeared. It’s going to be a dangerous job and no one knows what awaits them, are they willing to take it regardless? The two enthusiastically nod simultaneously. The two discuss on what could ever be in the unexplored land and the scenery they’ll be able to witness from there.

“What kind of experiences await us in the future?

My heart beat fast as I set out on the next path to my dream”

END!

[kyndaris]

Sky Garden

After an exhausting day at Universal Studios Japan, bleachpanda and I kept up the momentum by using our last day in Osaka to visit several popular sites in and around the biggest city in the Kansai region. This meant paying a visit to Namba Yasaka shrine bright and early in the morning. Well, technically, it was after 9 AM but after the early start yesterday and the considerable step count bleachpanda and I accrued the day before, I thought it best to give my faithful companion a bit more of a break.

Namba Yasaka shrine is a Shinto shrine that's about a ten minute walk from Namba station. It's known for its very distinctive lion head-shaped buildings and by the time bleachpanda and I arrived, there was already a throng of tourists taking photos of the fierce lion head.

Bleachpanda and I didn't stay long, though. After taking a few snaps of the shrine and skimming through the charms on offer, we headed back to Namba station and took the Midosuji line up to Umeda again. However, unlike the day before, we would not be transferring to Universal City station. Rather, we headed out to the Umeda Sky Building, a two-tower mixed-use skyscaper that had its own observation deck, the Kuchu Teien Observatory.

But my, what a unique design!

The building was originally conceived in 1988 as the "City of Air" project, and was envisioned to have four interconnected towers. However, due to the Japan economic bubble of the 1980s, the plan was scuppered and only two towers were constructed - linked, still, by a sky deck. This sky desk was built on the ground and lifted up through the use of hydraulic elevators.

While one does wonder what Umeda Sky Building would have looked like if it still had four towers, the building we got was still an impressive spectacle.

Once bleachpanda and I reached the top, we were afforded a wide view of Osaka given the excellent weather. It was such a grand view, even bleachpanda was able to appreciate it although she was hankering to start shopping.

After coming down from the skyscraper, bleachpanda and I headed back to Osaka Station and Lucia 100 to visit the Disney Store there. What surprised me, as the two of us were looking at the merchandise, was bleachpanda actually buying a cute mini plushie of Winnie the Pooh and Eeyore. This was despite telling me she hated Disney.

Well, hate is too strong a word. Bleachpanda just never saw the appeal of Disney, especially when it came to the princesses. And true, much of the marketing is focused on fairy tale stories about a princesses finding their one true love BUT there's been a lot of experimental works as well! Look no further than Atlantis: The Lost Empire or Emperor's New Groove! Or, in this case, Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree.

I, on the other hand, couldn't resist the very cute tsum tsums and even got persuaded to buy an Easter-themed Stitch doll! And I don't even typically buy plushies on the regular! But this was Disney, and even though there weren't many things in relation to Star Wars or Marvel, I was in heaven!

Heaven, too, might be too strong a word. I was disappointed a little by the selection available but given the Disney 100 pop-up stores in Australia didn't have many options, the Disney stores here in Japan were far superior and catered a little more to my tastes.

Once I shelled out far too much for Disney merchandise (which was then put into a Duty-Free bag I couldn't open and which also had far too much air in it), I slowly led bleachpanda to the Pokemon Center nearby.

Little did I know there was also a Nintendo Store, Capcom Store and Mugiwara store all nearby. Suffice it to say, many things were purchased before we managed to break free and head to Animate - a 12 minute walk away with several bags full of shopping.

Unfortunately, once we arrived, there was naught for bleachpanda to buy, although I did pick up quite a few goodies for my own personal use. Then it was a short trek to a second Disney store, with a short stop at a Sanrio store nearby (where bleachpanda spent about 9000 Yen on things she thought were cute) before we had a look at the Jump and Marvel store also located within the same department store.

By the end of the day, the two of us were laden down by shopping bags. Despite all the shopping we'd done, bleachpanda still wanted to check out the local Don Quijote at Dotonbori again where she bought several snacks and skincare products. And though we had hoped to ride the ferris wheel to look out over the canal and the many other shops, it was closed due to the large crowds in the area.

[shizuokadivision]

There’s an visitor at your doorstep- a very tired shrine maiden arrives bundled up in several blankets to help try and ward off the chill outside. 

She’s half asleep when you answer the door.

“Happy birthday!”

She’s holding several gifts in her hands, all with fairly decorative wrapping paper.

From Himari you received several hand made gowns- these took her literally months to make. All tailored to fit Reika perfectly thanks to Himaris previous experience fixing Reikas old clothes. Perfect for a night out on the town- or for a night spent indoors killing your husband.

There’s also a note 

“If needed I do dry cleaning- you’re already one of my priority customers so just give me a call. Happy birthday Reika-san!” - MARI

From Rinko you received a few expensive looking bottles of wine, some cheese and some sweets. 

There’s also a note 

“I didn’t know what to get you- im sorry if these seem a little bit informal. Happy birthday Reika-san” - Rinko

From Kyoko you received some jewelry. 

“The locket is normal I promise- see”

Inside the locket is a picture of Kyoko and Reika- it was took the last time Kyoko was in Shizuoka.

Additionally there’s another necklace with a small bottle and a bracelet that has a secret place to hide poison.

“Happy birthday big sis Reika- I mean miss reika…oh who am i kidding it’s no secret” Kyoko giggles “Yeah…i see you like a big sister”

Reika raised an eyebrow. A visitor? Few people ever willingly visited her for good reason. Opening the door Reika smiled brightly at the young girl on the other side. “Kyoko!” Reika greeted happily at the sight of the shrine maiden. Ushering the girl inside and away from the cold. “I wasn't expecting you.”

Gingerly taking the gifts from her, she took a moment to admire all of them before setting them down on the nearby table.

Picking up one of the gowns from Himari, Reika had no doubt that they would fit her perfectly. She expected nothing else from the blonde-haired woman. Placing the stunning gown against her Reika couldn't help but give a little twirl. Unable to hold her laugh as she watched the gown twirl around with her. 

Gently placing the gown down, she made a mental note to properly thank Himari for the gift. 

Moving on to Rinko’s gift, Reika gave a huge smile as she saw the assortment of goodies. Never one to deny her love of food she had spent one too many nights as a child going to bed hungry for that although she made a note to hide the sweets, especially from Kanon. That woman as much as she would never say it had a sweet tooth stronger than some of the children Reika knew. Oh well, Kanon wasn't getting any part of her gift anytime soon.

Setting the gift down with a smile, she went on to the next and last present.

Reika reconzed the photo. It had been taken in her garden where she had been teaching Kyoko some of the tricks of her “trade”. Looking at the other jewelry Reika’s grin could be only described as snake-like as she thought about which poisons would be perfect for the hidden compartment. 

Setting the collection down, Reika turned to the younger girl and gave her a smile. “Thank you for the presents, Kyoko,” It was then that Reika paused at what Kyoko had called her. She was quick to wrap the shrine maiden in a hug. “I don’t mind that you call me big sis,” Reika assured her patting her head.

“Now why don’t you stay for a while, and rest up for a bit, I’ll call Himari and tell her where you are. I have some tea that you might enjoy.”

Thank you for the gift!

[wispwhispers]

Landscapes with Attitude: A Guide to Game Biome Design in Yoniversia

Gather 'Round, Folks! So, me and my kiddos, not to forget my better half, have been cookin' up somethin' real special for over a year now. Yep, you guessed it - we're in the game makin' business! Picture this: a multiplayer, wide-open world game mixin' survival with a dash of good ol' farming. And hey, don't you worry, it's all kid-friendly, spreadin' the gospel of livin' in harmony with nature and keepin' the rough stuff at bay.

Now, here's the kicker: we're all about makin' things look real pretty. Think eye-poppin' visuals, explorin' like it's a grand adventure, and puttin' together the coolest crafts since kindergarten. So, what's the scoop? We're spillin' some beans on what's cookin' in the game pot, and we're all ears for your two cents. Bring on the wisdom, the tips, and if you got any constructive criticism, don't be shy! Let's make this game as awesome as a double rainbow after a summer storm!

Listen up, folks, 'cause we've got a world split into these here biomes, each packin' their own set of fancy game tricks, a bunch of goodies, critters big and small, landscapes that'll make your jaw drop, and a whole heap of gameplay twists. But hold on to your hats 'cause that's not all - these spots are all woven into one big tale with levels of tricky that'll keep you guessing.

Blossom Hollow

First off, let's take a stroll through Blossom Hollow. Yep, you heard me right, it's like a crater from a volcano that had its heyday. But guess what? It's turned into a flower-packed paradise. Now, ain't that somethin'? These ain't just your regular old flowers, mind you. These babies are giant, like 'bout-to-take-over-the-world giant. And they've got this nifty trick up their petals - they give life and, believe it or not, immortality. And guess where our hero pops up? Right smack dab in the middle of one of those massive blooms. Ain't life a bloomin' surprise?

Now, let me tell y'all 'bout Blossom Hollow's guardian angel, a little chit-chattin' raccoon named Eric. This critter's got a bigger ego than a rooster at sunrise, callin' himself the grand poobah, the head honcho, the numero uno of the Scout Squad. Yep, he's the proud founder, the heart and soul, the one and only member of the Guardians of the Garden Club. This guy, he's got a heart as big as his bravado, takin' care of this flowery haven like it's his own.

But hold onto your hats 'cause there's trouble brewin'. Lately, some giant thorny bad boys decided to crash the party. They're like the rude neighbors that move in next door and trash the place. Yep, you guessed it, these prickly fellas are takin' over the joint, givin' the local flora a run for their money.

Heartlands

Alright, now let's mosey on over to the Heartlands, also known as the Central Plains. Picture this: it's like the world's biggest backyard, smack dab in the middle. These open, flat lands are the safest spot in the entire world - we're talkin' secure like a bank vault. Now ain't that a cozy thought?

Here, you'll find all sorts of peace-lovin' critters, just chillin' out and waitin' to be your new best friend. Yep, you heard me, they're all ready for a little taming action.

Now, pay attention, 'cause if you've got dreams of runnin' your own farm, this here's your ticket to paradise. It's like a starter pack for all you future farmers. Easy access to anywhere, thanks to its prime location, and ain't it just perfect for gettin' your hands dirty and plantin' those seeds? Trees are like rare gems, grass taller than your uncle's stories, and hills? Well, they're just scattered around like small talk at a family reunion. Not to mention, a couple of big rivers flowin' through these parts. So saddle up, partner, 'cause the Heartlands are callin' your name!

Bramblewood

Now, gather 'round, 'cause I've got a tale to spin about a forest that's been around since Merlin was a schoolboy. We're talkin' ancient, folks, with magic drippin' off its branches like honey from a comb. Imagine this: thickets so dense they make a haystack look like a lace doily. And hey, there's no shortage of babbling brooks with their fancy fringes, addin' a touch of class to the place.

But here's where it gets juicy - inside this fantastical forest, the secret trails are like a riddle wrapped in a mystery, smothered in thorns. Those prickly bushes hide critters meaner than a rattlesnake with a toothache, just waitin' to pounce on unsuspecting wanderers. You might be strolling, hummin' a tune, and bam! Nature's surprise party comes callin' with teeth and claws.

But hold on tight, 'cause there's a twist in this twist. Hidden deep within these thorny thickets, treasures glint brighter than your Aunt Mabel's prized crystal and artifacts as magical as Uncle Joe's tall tales after a couple of whiskeys. Now, before you waltz into this mystical maze, better pack a mean axe 'cause this place ain't for the faint-hearted. So gear up, sharpen your wits, and let's see if you've got what it takes to face the enchantment of Bramblewood!

"Stonevault Plateau - Where Even the Rocks Are Feeling Airborne

Hold on to your broomsticks, 'cause we're talking about a place where walking just won't cut it. You'll need a dash of flight magic, a sprinkle of water-walking, or a good ol' fashioned aquatic pal to get around this joint.

Now picture this: a plateau that's as stony as your grandpa's one-liners, peppered with all sorts of natural karst bathtubs. It's like Mother Nature decided to treat herself to a spa day and left the tubs behind. But that's not all - the land's like a patchwork quilt of stone, blending seamlessly with nooks, crannies, and secret hidey-holes. And in this one-of-a-kind spot, you'll find creatures that pack a punch, meaner than a bull in a china shop.

Now, let's get practical, 'cause to navigate this wonderland, you'll need some real finesse in the jumping department, or maybe even a smidge of high-level magic to boot. Yeah, you heard me right - all those hours spent leaping over mushroom platforms in your younger days might finally pay off. But here's the kicker, amidst all the danger, this place is like a treasure chest. Rich in resources, and hiding some of the mightiest magic artifacts you've ever seen. So strap on your flight goggles, grab your water wings, or hitch a ride on a trusty swim buddy, 'cause Stonevault Plateau ain't for the faint-hearted, but it sure ain't no dry spell either!"

Coral Shores - Where Sand Meets Secrets

Let me spin you a tale of a sprawling sandy shore, my friends. Once upon a time, this very spot was the ocean's floor, but as time danced on, the waves pulled back their curtain, revealing massive caves sculpted by coral and polyps.

Now, let's talk monsters, and no, I ain't talkin' 'bout your nosy neighbor. Every now and then, colossal creatures come ashore, and trust me, takin' 'em on solo is like tryin' to outdance a tornado. If you're aiming for victory, it's time to call in the reinforcements - that's right, rally your buddies, 'cause teamwork makes the dream work.

But hold onto your controllers, folks, 'cause there's more magic brewin'. These are just a sneak peek of the stops on our game's world tour, and let me tell ya, there's a whole buffet of excitement waitin' ahead. We're ready for your wisdom, your feedback, and if you got any advice to sling our way, bring it on!

P.S. Keep your eyes peeled for the next post, where I'm slicing off the promo bits and diving straight into that "first view" of gameplay. Get ready, 'cause it's gonna be a ride through the basics of game design and balancing that's gonna make your joystick jiggle!

[graemegardenappreciationsociety]

Article from the Liverpool Echo, 21 August 1978

Text reads:

"For the past nine months, Graeme Garden has been busy not writing a play. It has been a time-consuming occupation. Not only has the Goodies goon spent countless hours reading, researching and writing himself notes (which he files verycarefully and occasional re-arranges), but he also suffers from the morning after the write before syndrome in which the brilliant gems of the previous evening's script look like tawdry baubles in the hard light of day.

He admits he is also easily distracted by noises-- the door bell, the telephone, his wife and two children.

But more often the greatest nuisance is.... himself.

'I'm not very good to live with when I'm working because if I can't write I stroll about doing nothing. So my wife tells me 'While you're ups, why don't you go and prune the roses' And I say 'I've got work to do, can't do that. Then I stroll about somewhere else, doing nothing and feeling guilty. But you can't commit yourself to doing anything else like washing up or pruning the roses. That would be an admission of defeat and you'd only be wasting valuable writing time. So all you can do is stroll about.'

The result is that after the title, Lost Causes, all that exists on paper are the words Act One, Scene one.

The idea however, seems a Goodienough reason to persevere.

'Basically, it's about a small charity trying to help in a major disaster which gets more major than they can cope with, and in fact, it spells the end for the charity as well as the country and indeed for the chap who is getting involved with it'

It is not a hatchet job on charities, he insists: That wouldn't be fair.

Lost Causes, Graeme's second play, his first for grown-ups, is due to be produced by the Cambridge Theatre Company early next year.

As with many writers, the guillotine threat of the deadline has encouraged Graeme to get his head down. But at the moment the trouble is finding the time.

He has been writing a hush-hush pilot with Bill Oddie for London Weekend which will hopefully become a series and he is currently recording both a Goodies album of animal songs for the Christmas market and acting in Royce Ryton's death-defying comedy, The Unvarnished Truth.

One reason Graeme Garden accepted the part in The Unvarnished Truth was a feeling of claustrophobia.

'It wasn't that I was getting fed up with the other two, but we'd worked on Goodies television series, Goodies records, and Goodies books for four years solid.'

Now that he has sniffed the greasepaint he is hooked on acting. Not that he is going to hang up the ribbon on his typewriter. But other than wanting to continue to act and write he has, he says, no ambitions.

'I think it's much more fun if something comes up, if opportunities arise and luckily, at the moment, opportunities do arise.

'I should keep a notebook because I suddenly thought the other day, 'Oh, there's an ambition,' and I don't normally have ambitions.

'Can't remember what is was, should have written it down. My ambition, you could say, is to own a notebook.'