#chances are... it's not a free font but YOU KNOW....

[pionas]

that snowy font that was used in the tracklist..... is so cute i have to do some digging... 🕵️

[sceletaflores]

ghosts, ghouls, goblins, and other things that go bump in the night!

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.5k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, drinking, resident bestie diva wade wilson, matching costumes ofc, established relationship, p in v, semi-public sex (bathroom), rough sex, mirror sex, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, light degradation, light hair pulling, light choking, nasty dirty breeding kink (@guiltyasdave infected me with the breeding kink disease...it's all her fault), 4k words for straight up porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: happy halloween! sort of...i obvi couldn't wait to post this until the actual day cause i have absolutely zero patience so here you go! i thought up this idea in the middle of the night and literally got out of bed to start it. it's a nasty self indulgent mess...hope you love it! kisses <3

cutie divider by icon @saradika-graphics!

you and logan have some fun at wade's halloween party...

Unsurprising to no one, Wade Wilson knows how to throw a party. 

Every year since the two of you became neighbors, you’ve gotten a gaudy invitation decorated with cartoon bats and devils slipped under your door just in time for Halloween.

Of course, it’s always in some cheesy font, red and glittery. A crappy pun about “scaring up some fun with your favorite mercenary” with a return address listed as ‘Hell’s Playground’ inscribed on the front.

It's awful. You haven’t missed one yet.

And not just because you’re a sucker for free booze and cheap decorations. It’s like tradition now, you can't have your perfect attendance streak cut off four years in. That's just bad manners.

Besides, this is the first year you’ve gotten to do a couples costume.

“I look fuckin’ ridiculous,” Logan mutters, deep voice laced with irritation as he messes with the wolf ears perched awkwardly on his head. “Can’t believe I let you drag me to this thing.”

You don’t turn to face him, but you can still see the frown tugging his lips down in your mind. Logan’s never been one for costumes, but his options were either dress up or stay home while you went and had fun without him.

He was dead set on staying at home for most of the day.

One look at the frilly white bloomers that came with your costume and he changed his tune.

“Quit being such a baby,” you toss over your shoulder, pouring your second cup of whatever Wade mixed together in the mini cauldron sitting on his bar. “You look great, babe.”

He really shouldn’t complain, his costume is barely a costume. An old flannel with the sleeves ripped off and some mangy jeans.

The fake ears and tail were a struggle and a half to get him on board with, but Logan’s all bark and no bite. He was more than willing to roll over and show you his belly after enough begging.

Logan scoffs, big hand pawing at your hip to drag you to his side. “You owe me for this,” he rumbles low in your ear, the playful threat sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’ll survive,” you tease, a smug grin spreading across your face as you tug playfully on the tail clipped to his belt loop. “Unless you wanted to switch?”

Logan’s eyes drag over your body shamelessly, all the way from the floppy sheep ears sitting on your head to the lacy white corset and matching bloomers that do little to hide your curves. 

You don’t miss the way his eyes darken, how he runs his tongue along the sharp point of his canines like he wants to sink his teeth into you.

It sends a familiar heat coursing through your veins, warming your insides just as much as the vodka with a hint of mixer you’ve been sipping at.

You start to wish you shelled out for the fake fangs at the party store.

Logan tugs you closer, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smirk. “Not a chance in hell,” he rasps, voice dipping a couple octaves lower. “Looks better on you, baby.”

You hum idly as his arm snakes around your waist, fingers splayed along your lower back, inching dangerously close to the swell of your ass.

“You better behave,” you chastise, though it’s more playful than stern as you look up at him through your lashes. “We’re in public.”

Logan’s grip tightens, a soft grunt leaving him as he leans in, nosing along the side of your face. “Doesn’t seem like much of a party when all I’m thinkin’ about is how fast I can get you outta this damn costume.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, the warm puff of his breath over your skin makes your knees feel weak. You try to keep your cool, but it’s hard when he’s practically radiating heat and that intoxicating scent of leather and pine fills your senses. 

Before you can respond, a loud call of your name grabs your attention. 

"There you are!" Wade shouts from across the room, already making his way towards you.

All six foot two and half inches of him is wrapped in blue and white lace, paired with a matching hoop skirt that bounces with every step he takes. His shepherd's staff thuds against the floor when he comes to a stop in front of you. “Fashionably late, I see.”

“We’ve been here for thirty minutes,” you point out, brow cocked as you take in his costume. “Where’ve you been?”

“I’m the hostess with the mostest, honey bunny,” he says, throwing his arm out to gesture towards all the dressed up guests crammed into his living room. “Can’t spread myself too thin.”

He eyes Logan's wolf ears and fake tail, then turns back to you, wiggling his brows suggestively. 

"Kinky,” he comments, flicking the little gold bell hanging from the choker around your neck. “You two just couldn’t resist a little predator-prey roleplay, huh? Should I be worried about you getting all ‘Animal Planet’ on my couch?”

Logan’s grip on your waist tightens, his mouth brushing your ear as he mutters, “I’m gonna kill him before midnight.”

“Now, now, big bad wolf, no need to huff and puff and blow my skirt up. We’re all here to have a howl of a time!” Wade continues, undeterred. “Plus, if you behave, I might just let you keep your sheep when the night’s over.”

You can practically feel Logan’s eye twitch, but you snicker, leaning into him just a little more. “Play nice, Wade,” you say, trying to smother your laugh. “The wolf might eat you first.”

“Please,’ Wade snorts, twirling his shepherd's staff deftly in his hand. “If that’s on the table, I’ll lay out the fucking fine china.”

Logan lets out a huff of air, dropping his hold on you and brushing past Wade with a grunt. "I'm gettin' another beer."

“Try not to stab anyone!” Wade shouts after him, loud enough to be heard over the Monster Mash blaring from the speakers. “Al might blow the whole complex if any more blood gets on the linoleum!”

Logan throws a middle finger over his shoulder as he disappears into the kitchen. 

You watch him go, a grin plastered to your face at the way the tail swings with every step he takes. Something warm and fuzzy settles in your chest, blooming in the empty space of your ribcage.

You know Logan hates this–the people, the lights, the music, the costumes.

But he’s here anyway, for you.

Here wearing the stupid wolf costume you bought for him, surrounded by drunk people in inflatable dinosaur costumes and witches with dollar-store broomsticks. And despite all the grumbling, he hasn’t bolted for the door once.

All for you. And that makes your heart thump a little harder in your chest, your smirk softening into something sweeter.

"You’ve got him whipped," Wade deadpans, crossing his arms, the lace of his sleeves rustling as he does. “It’s really disgusting.”

You snort, shaking your head softly. "More like he's got a soft spot."

Wade eyes you skeptically. "Same thing, toots."

You hum noncommittally, turning back to him. “Cute outfit,” you comment, eyeing the white bonnet secured by a neat little bow under his chin.

“You like it?” Wade does a quick twirl, the blonde curls of his wig nearly slap you across the face as he does. “The guy at party city kept giving me weird looks, but I think he was just jealous of how well I fill in the blouse.”

You rake your gaze over him slowly, taking another slow sip from your cup. “The stockings are a nice touch, but don’t you think running around as Little Bo Peep will send some confusing messages.”

“Well, duh. That’s only the whole point, Sherlock.” Wade snorts, shaking his head like it’s obvious. “I’m way too emotionally invested in this relationship to not try and wiggle my way into throuple territory.”

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. “A throuple? Hate to break it to you, Peep, but Logan doesn’t really strike me as the sharing type.”

Wade leans in conspiratorially, cupping a hand around his mouth like he’s letting you in on a secret. “That’s why I’m playing the long game. Gotta wear him down with my irresistible charm, and when he finally snaps, I’ll swoop in with a bottle of Jack and a promise of no strings attached.”

You shake your head, chuckling into your drink. “You’ve got it all figured out, don't you?”

“Oh, honey,” Wade purrs, winking at you with a dramatic flutter of his lashes, “I've got a five-year plan.”

You roll your head to the side lazily, sheep ears swaying as you do. “I’ll give you points for persistence.”

"Damn straight," he says with a grin, straightening his bonnet proudly. “This level of commitment takes stamina. And by the way, I’ve got great stamina. My record is thirteen.”

You raise your brow, intrigued. “Thirteen what? Rounds? Hours?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” he scoffs indignantly, rolling his eyes. “I’m more than just a pretty face in a killer dress, thank you very much.”

You groan, giving him a light push. "You’re impossible."

Wade grins, leaning closer to throw an arm around your shoulders. “I’m just pulling your tail, Wooly. You know I’d never come between you and your beefy boy toy. I mean, look at him. He’s practically pacing the kitchen like a caged animal just looking at you in your slutty nursery rhyme getup. How pathetic.”

You turn to steal a glance at Logan, who’s leaned against the counter scanning the room from behind his beer bottle. You feel a thrill at the idea that he’s watching over you like a hawk, making sure no one gets too close, slowly working himself up over the mere sight of you. 

But more than that, it’s the slight reluctant smirk tugging at his lips as he takes in the party. You can tell he’s managing to find some enjoyment in all this, even if he’d never admit it.

“Well,” Wade starts, dragging the word out slowly. “Since you’re all cozy over here with your alpha male, I’m gonna go find someone to share these…”

He holds up two shot glasses filled with some unidentifiable neon liquid, “…artisanal beverages with. Maybe that guy dressed like a merman. I’ve always wanted to see what's going on under those tails.”

You snort, raising your own cup to your lips. "You're awful."

“Only on the outside, sugar,” he says leaning down to kiss your cheek with a wet smack before flouncing away into the crowd, his skirt swishing as he goes. “Don’t fuck in my house without at least inviting me to watch!”

You laugh to yourself, watching as Wade fades into the crowd of gyrating bodies. You take another long sip, relishing in the familiar burn as it slips down your throat.

The laughter, the music, the chaotic energy of the party—it’s all intoxicating in its own right, but it’s nothing compared to the way Logan’s eyes are boring a hole through the back of your head.

You can feel his gaze like a tangible force, wrapping around you and drawing you in. Logan’s not just watching; he’s assessing, hungry for something that goes far beyond the Halloween festivities surrounding you.

The heat radiating from his gaze only intensifies your already buzzing anticipation, mixing dangerously with the two drinks swirling in your stomach, making you bolder.

You throw back the rest of your drink, setting the empty cup on the bar and making your way across the room. You weave through the crowd seamlessly, the music pulses around you, drowning out the laughter and chatter.

You feel a daring grin spread across your face as you saunter closer, reveling in the way Logan tracks your every move like a predator zeroing in on its prey. 

When you’re finally standing in front of him, you lean against the counter, giving him a good view of the way your corset dips lower. The fabric hugs you in all the right places, teasing him with glimpses of your skin beneath the delicate lace. 

"Looks like Little Bo Peep lost his sheep," he mutters, voice like gravel drenched in honey.

You smirk, tilting your head to the side innocently as you step around the counter. “Maybe I was already planning to run away, to go looking for a big bad wolf to play with.”

You slip two fingers through the belt loop at the front of his jeans, tugging him closer with a rough yank.

Logan’s goes willingly, taking a step closer. His breath hitches as he does, the hazel of his eyes darkening as you press your body against his, not letting an inch of space between you.

“You're really pushin it,” he warns lowly, hands finding your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to send a shiver cascading down your spine. "Makin’ me watch you run around in this fuckin’ thing.”

“Am I?” you reply coyly, fingers toying with the button of his jeans. “I’m just—” you start, but the words are swallowed by the thumping bass of the music as Logan’s lips crash against yours, silencing you with a hungry kiss.

His mouth moves against yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless, and you can’t help but melt into him, feeling the world around you fade away.

The taste of beer mingles with the vodka on your tongue as you sink into the kiss, his hands tightening around you as he pulls you even closer.

“You have no fuckin’ idea how hard it is keepin’ my hands to myself,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. 

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” you tease, biting your lip as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. You can see the fire smoldering in his eyes, the predatory glint that makes your stomach flutter with excitement. “But maybe you could show me just how hard it really is.”

Logan lets out a low growl, and before you can blink, he’s snatching your wrist up and dragging you through the kitchen. 

Laughter bubbles out from your chest as you trip over your own feet in an attempt to keep up with him. Adrenaline pulses through your veins, the warmth in your stomach dipping lower to leak sticky and wet between your thighs.

He’s not rushing, but there’s an undeniable urgency in his step, a raw need that makes your pulse race in sync with his heavy stride. Weaving you through the crowd and out into the hallway until the noise of the party gets lower and lower. 

You’re familiar enough with the layout of Wade’s place to know where Logan’s taking you, the bathroom.

The door is hardly shut before Logan’s spinning you around and crowding you against the sink. His lips are on you before you can even catch your breath, rough and possessive, as if he’s been starving for this all night. 

The kiss is rougher than before, dirty and all consuming as he claims your mouth. A mess of teeth and tongue and spit that sends your head spinning, body arching off the counter and into his instinctively. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he growls, trailing his lips down your neck, kissing and biting his way to your collarbone. “Drivin’ me so crazy, baby.”

You bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his calloused fingers trace over the swell of your breasts, kneading the soft flesh with a possessive grip that makes your breath hitch. 

Your arms circle his neck, dragging him down for more filthy kisses. The thick length of his cock pressing against your stomach insistently has you keening, a hard plane of scalding warmth even through the thick material of his jeans.

You let out a soft whimper as his fingers brush against your inner thigh, and he grins at your reaction.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Bet you’re already soaked for me, aren’t you?" His voice drops even lower, a filthy rasp that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

You don’t answer, can’t answer, because Logan’s already got his hand between your thighs, fingers teasing over the soft fabric of your bloomers.

His touch is feather-light, but it’s enough to have you gasping, head lolling back to expose even more of your neck to his fever hot lips.

He groans when he feels how soaked you are, his breath coming out in a rough exhale.

“Figures,” he grunts, his fingers pressing harder, rubbing slow circles over the slick fabric. “Could smell it on you from across the room. You’re fuckin’ drippin’ for me, baby.”

You whine, high in the back of your throat, chest heaving with every quick breath. Your legs spread, thighs widening like you can’t help it. His words send a wave of heat straight to your core, fanning the fire of need festering inside you. 

“Next year we’ll get you in a skirt,” he says, nipping at your bottom lip teasingly. His fingers slip under your bloomers, running through your slick folds teasingly. “Easy access.”

You let out a breathless moan, your hips bucking against his hand, begging for more.

“Logan,” you whimper, but he just smirks, applying more pressure with his palm as he leans in closer, his mouth hovering over your ear.

“You like that, don’t you?” Logan rasps, his voice thick with desire. Dark tone laced with satisfaction as he dips one finger inside you, making your breath catch in your throat. “Look at you, drippin’ down my hand. You want more, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you nod frantically, your breath coming in shallow pants as he continues working you with skilled, relentless touches.

Two thick fingers plunged in your aching pussy, his thumb rubbing over your swollen clit. "Please," you whimper, gripping the edge of the sink so tight your knuckles turn with it, needing more, needing him to ruin you. 

“Please what, honey?” he rasps, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You gotta be more specific.”

You grind against his hand faster, desperate for any kind of relief from the unbearable heat building between your legs. “I need you,” you breathe out, your voice trembling. “Need you to fuck me.”

Logan’s response is immediate. A low growl tearing its way from his throat as he gives your bottoms a rough tug, letting them fall down the length of your legs to pool at your ankles.

He slips his fingers out of you, ignoring your displeased whine and spinning you around to face the mirror, hands gripping your hips as he roughly bends you over the sink.

You find his eyes in the reflection, and the hunger there makes your pulse quicken. His lips are swollen, red and slick just like your own. Hazel eyes blown out and stormy, as he meets your gaze.

The fake whiskers and nose you drew on him before the party using an old eyeliner pen are smudged across the lower half of his face along with the red remnants of your lipstick. You have matching black marks scuffed along your cheeks.

"You’re gonna watch while I fuck you," he growls, popping the button of his jeans and pulling them down just enough to free his cock. He strokes himself once, twice, before lining up behind you, dragging the blunt head along your soaked entrance. "Don’t take your eyes off the mirror, baby. I want you to see what you do to me, what I get to see every fuckin’ time."

You nod breathlessly, eyes locked on his in the mirror as he pushes into you with one hard thrust. You gasp at the stretch, head falling to your chin at the pleasant burn of his cock.

"Fuck," Logan groans, his eyes glued to your reflection as he bottoms out inside you, the sheer size of him making your body tremble.

"Tight little fuckin’ pussy," he mutters, his grip on your hips tightening as he starts to move, setting a brutal, unrelenting pace. "You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to take my cock."

You can’t stop the moans that fall from your slack lips, pathetic little uh uh uh sounds that get punched out of you with every sharp thrust of his hips.

“Take me so fuckin’ well,” he growls, one hand coming up to grip around your throat, tugging meanly at the bell of your choker that rings as he pounds into you, each thrust harder than the last. “Such a good little sheep, lettin’ your mean old wolf fuck you like this.”

 "Fuck," you moan, the sound broken and desperate as he drives deeper, the thick length of him hitting that spot that has your knees buckling beneath you. “God, Logan…”

“Look,” Logan commands softly, reverently. His lips brushing your shoulder with every word as he tilts your head back up to the mirror, making yourself watch as you take his cock. “Look at how fuckin’ pretty you are getting wrecked on my cock.”

Your reflection in the mirror is a mess—flushed cheeks, eyes glassy with lust, your lips parted in a constant stream of breathless moans. You feel embarrassment mixing with the arousal swirling through your stomach, thighs shaking wildly from the onslaught of pleasure.

The loud slap of skin on skin rings through the tiny bathroom, underscored by the wet gush of your pussy around him each time he buries himself in you.

If anyone were to walk by, they’d surely hear it. They’d know someone was getting fucked, really taking it. The thought alone has you tightening around Logan’s cock, velvety walls clenching around him desperately. 

Logan notices, because of course he does, clever eyes picking up on the way your own drift to the door, lingering.

He threads his fingers through your hair, meanly yanking your head back to the mirror, a feral grin stretching across his face as he watches the way you fall apart for him. 

“Want me to howl for you, baby?” he teases, breath hot against the shell of your ear. You can feel the way his lips curve into an evil grin at the pathetic whine that bursts from your lips, at the feel of your pussy drooling around him even more than before.  

“She likes that, huh?” he chuckles darkly, his thumb finds your throbbing clit, rubbing tight circles as his hips speed up impossibly faster. “Dirty fuckin’ girl, you want everyone to know how good I’m givin’ it to you?”

You whimper, overwhelmed by the raw intensity of his words and the rhythm of his thrusts. Your thighs are trembling, barely able to hold you up as Logan takes you apart, piece by piece, with every deep, punishing stroke.

"Answer me," he growls, voice dripping with dominance as his hips snap against you, the head of his cock slamming into that perfect spot inside you again and again. "You want everyone to hear what a dirty little slut you are for me, huh? You want them to know how much you love being fucked like this?"

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice shaky and breathless as pleasure floods your system. "Yes, Logan, fuck—ah! Just—just don’t stop."

Logan growls, low and feral deep in his chest. It shakes through your body, rattling your bones just as much as the heavy smack of his metal laced pelvis against the raw skin of your ass.

“Greedy fuckin’ pussy, I can feel the way she’s sucking me in, baby,” he grits out, hips stuttering slightly. “She want my come, darlin’?"

You’re a mess of gasps and whimpers, nodding frantically as his words push you closer to the edge. Throwing your hips back to meet his thrusts as the spring inside you coils tighter and tighter, a hair's breadth away from snapping.

"Yes, please, Logan," you moan, your fingers digging into the counter as you brace yourself for the relentless onslaught of his cock. "I want it, want you to come inside me." 

Logan’s hips stutter as he slams into you, his cock buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s splitting you in half. He’s close, his breath coming out in ragged pants as his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pressing against your pulse just hard enough to make you dizzy.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he growls, heavy balls slapping against your ass lewdly. “Gonna come all over my cock, aren’t you? And then I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna fuck my come so deep inside you, you’ll be beggin’ me to give you more.”

That’s all it takes for the coil in your belly to snap, pleasure surging through you in hot, uncontrollable waves. You cry out, your vision blurring as your body clenches around him, and Logan lets out a rough growl, driving into you harder, faster. 

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, dragging out every last second of your orgasm until you’re shaking, your voice hoarse from how loud you’re moaning.

“Goddamn, baby,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust as he keeps fucking into your trembling body. “You’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight—gonna come so deep in you.”

Your breath is coming in short, desperate gasps, your entire body still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. But Logan isn’t finished. He used the fistful of your hair still trapped in his hand, tugging your head back to meet his wild gaze in the mirror. 

“Eyes on me,” he commands, his pace growing erratic. “You want me to fill you up? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?”

“Yes, Logan,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely a whisper. “Please—I need it.”

With a deep, broken groan of your name, Logan slams into you one last time, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, hot and thick. His fingers tighten on your throat, and you moan at the feeling of his cock pulsing, filling you up to the brim. 

You can’t stop the whine that falls from your lips at the feel of his come spraying your insides, completely drenching you with it. So much that it just has to take.

A shudder runs through you at the idea, pussy clenching around his spent cock weakly.

Logan sighs contently, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder as he catches his breath, hands falling to your waist like it's the only anchor keeping him from floating away entirely.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are your ragged breaths and the faint thump of the music outside bleeding through the walls.

Logan tips his head back up, meeting your hazy eyes in the fogged up glass of the mirror with a shit-eating grin. “Happy fuckin’ Halloween,” he says smugly, dropping a kiss to the sweaty skin of your shoulder. 

You huff, rolling your eyes with a reluctant fondness. The thought of walking back out there makes your stomach turn, nerves and arousal churning together at the chance that everyone knows what you two were doing after disappearing for so long.

You only hope the white fabric of your bloomers is good enough at hiding the come already leaking from your pussy.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[megalony]

It's Yours

This is a new Evan Buckley imagine, based on an anon request. I hope you will all like it. Any feedback is always much appreciated and thank you for all the lovely requests I'm trying to work my way through them.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz

911 Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) breaks up with her abusive boyfriend, and finds a lot more than she bargained for with Evan, the guy at the bar who takes her home.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pushing her glass across the bar, (Y/n) stretched her arms out in font of her and leaned her head forward. Her lips curved into a small, tepid smile and she nodded at the bartender to refill her empty glass. She wanted her fourth drink and she wanted to feel a buzz. Now.

Usually cocktails gave a very strong buzz despite tasting nothing like alcohol and feeling more like orange juice. (Y/n) wasn't feeling anything tonight.

Her fingers curled around the long neck of the cocktail glass and she rolled the glass between her finger and thumb so she could remove the edging of sugar all around the rim of the glass. Once each fleck of sugar was gone, (Y/n) downed the drink all in one go.

She watched the bartender disappear to the other end of the bar and lazily pushed the glass away from her again. He would know to refill it once he came back this way.

When she felt her phone vibrate next to her arm, she twisted her arm to try and reach for it. The cocktails must have started to have an effect as her hand knocked her phone off the edge of the bar rather than reaching to grab it. At least it landed on a carpeted floor. No chance of having a broken screen to finish off a horribly rough night.

(Y/n) leaned down over the side of the bar stool and grabbed her phone, but as she reeled back up again, the back of her head bashed into something.

A gasp burned at the back of her throat and her free hand moved to cradle the back of her head, letting go of the edge of the bar that she had gripped to keep her balance. Before (Y/n) even started to sway or wobble, a hand curled firmly around her elbow and her temple pressed into someone's abdomen.

"I- I'm so sorry!" Words tumbled from the stranger's lips like a waterfall.

The hand that was around her elbow effortlessly took her weight and lifted her back up so she was sitting upright in her seat again like she weighed nothing more than a feather.

No words left (Y/n)'s lips when she looked up.

He was handsome. The striped black and white shirt he wore seemed two sizes too small for him. It made his shoulders bulge out against the material and the short cuffs over his biceps looked like they were digging into his muscle like a turniquet trying to cut off his circulation. He had a broad, hard chest and high-waisted black trousers pulled tight over his hips.

His hair was the colour of brown sugar and formed soft waves that were swept to the back of his head.

Those eyes were the deepest shade of blue (Y/n) had ever seen and they looked glossed over as if they were crafted out of clay and paint that hadn't had chance to dry. His lips were a dark shade of rouge and when he darted his tongue out over his lower lip, (Y/n) found herself taking a sharp breath.

"Are you alright?" Concern pooled in his enlarged pupils and she realised his hand was still holding onto her elbow. While his other hand was clenched tight around a beer bottle that was meshed up into his shirt.

"I'm okay," Her voice came out quiet and weak and (Y/n) internally cringed at her tone. Why did she sound so childish?

She dropped her hand from the back of her head before she trailed her palm over the back of her neck and down between her shoulders. She must have clocked her head into his elbow and spilt his drink. His bottle was half-empty but (Y/n) could see beige droplets coating his hand and down the neck of the bottle. Some of the beer had gone down the back of her cardigan and through to her shirt.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't looking, uh… can I buy you a drink, to say sorry?"

His hand finally dropped from her elbow and (Y/n) suddenly felt lonesome and cold, but she tried to brush off the feeling.

Evan watched the way her eyes darted down to the bottle in his hand before she looked back up at him. The way she bit her lip made his chest tighten and he could do nothing but watch the way she brushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.

"I spilt your drink, I think I owe you a drink." When he motioned towards the vacant stool next to her, (Y/n) wordlessly nodded and turned to face the bar again. She dropped her phone on the counter and waved her hand to grab the bartender's attention. "What'll it be?"

"Whatever you're having."

"Two more please, keep them coming." (Y/n) slid her glass over the counter before she rolled her neck and shivered. She could feel the beer soaking into the back of her top and it made her skin prickle.

Her arms reached down behind her and she shimmied her black cardigan off her shoulders and let it pool on the floor, curved around the legs of the stool. At least her shirt didn't feel like it was soaked in beer, not a lot had spilled on her, thankfully. And the bar was starting to get crowded, all the bodies meshed together pushing into the bar, mulling around for a table and the people dancing in the far corner were creating a lot of heat. The AC didn't seem to be working either which wasn't helping.

Evan felt his breath hitching in his throat when she let her jacket drop down to the floor. It made her hair fan across her shoulders that were exposed to his eyes and he let his eyes wander down her frame despite everything in him telling him not to oogle.

She was wearing a dark navy blue shirt that hung off both her shoulders with thin straps and the bottom of her shirt was tucked into her jeans that cut off just before her ankles. He could see her foot swaying back and forth, rocking and shimmying the small black heels on her feet like she was waving daggers around for protection.

He could feel his teeth sinking into his lip until his eyes trailed down her arms.

Bruises.

She had fresh bruising pooling on her lower left forearm that was closest to him and markings and scratches around her wrist. When Evan trailed his eyes back along her exposed skin, he noticed a deep red scratch along her neck starting just beneath her ear.

When their eyes locked, Evan forced his lips to curve into a smile and he kept hs eyes trained on her face so she wouldn't think he was staring at her oddly.

"I'm Evan, but everyone calls me Buck."

"(Y/n)."

She nodded her head at him and slid a glass his way and her smile made Evan's stomach flip. He could see her sinking her teeth into her lip to stop her smile from becoming too wide as if she thought smiling somehow ruined her features or would push him away.

He took the glass and clinked it against hers before taking a large gulp. "What brings you here?"

(Y/n) tried to pace herself and only drink half her glass instead of throwing the whole drink back in one. She didn't want to embarrass herself or push away the handsome stranger who had decided to talk to her tonight. Her finger moved to swirl around the rim of her glass and she slowly collected the tiny cubes of sugar before she bit down on her finger and let the sugar dissolve on her tongue.

"Bad night… what about you?" It had been a bad night for (Y/n). One of the worser nights she had spent and the only solace she could find was drowning herself in alcohol to try and make the panic dwindle away.

Marcus had no right to speak to her the way he had done tonight.

Every time he threw a fist at her, (Y/n) walked away. He was starting to become dangerous. For the last four or five months, (Y/n) must have walked out on him over seven times already. When he tried to hit her, she left. When he grabbed her and tossed her onto the sofa, she smacked him and walked out, promising herself she wouldn't go back.

It was harder than she thought when he turned up on her doorstep, refusing to leave. It felt easier to let him worm his way back into her life with sordid excuses and feeble promises of never being that cruel or rude or hateful again. She had been with him for two and a half years. It was hard to throw that time away and call it quits.

Especially when no one else seemed to want to be around her and all she could hear in the back of her head was Marcus's voice telling her she couldn't do any better than him. No one else was going to put up with her or want to be around her and if she truly loved him and knew he loved her, she didn't have the right to walk away.

"I've just pulled a triple shift and… I don't know, didn't fancy going home to an empty place, I guess."

Evan hadn't been home in over two days and this afternoon when he finally finished his long shift and was able to go home, something told him not to. He showered and changed at the station, left his jeep in the station car park and made his way into town.

Something told Evan to wander into a bar and have a drink. Going home to an empty apartment wasn't appealing. He and Taylor had broken up; he couldn't be dealing with someone who wasn't willing to put him first and who could so easily break his trust without thinking it was a problem.

And when the rest of the team were going home to their families, Evan suddenly felt lonelier than ever and he wasn't going home to cement that fact in his mind. At least not unless he was drunk and able to cope with his loneliness.

"What do you do?"

"I work for the fire department. You?"

"Oh wow. I'm a book editor, nothing as exciting or strenuous as you I'm afraid." (Y/n) finished the rest of her drink and something within her told her to prepare for Evan to leave. After all, what would a fireman be doing talking to a little book worm like her?

But surprise flooded her face and parted her lips when he pushed their empty glasses across the bar and asked for a round of shots. Was he really going to stay and talk to her? Why was someone like him sitting with someone like her? If he thought he had to stay out of pity (Y/n) would correct him. He didn't have to hang around for her benefit, he could go home with anyone in the whole place or chat up someone else.

He wouldn't want to spend the rest of his night boring himself to death talking to her… would he?

He stayed. (Y/n) wasn't sure how long they had been sat at the bar, but it was long enough for the bartender to switch shifts with someone else and for the music on the dance floor to get even louder to accomodate everyone piling in the bar.

Glasses lined the bar in front of her and Evan and she could tell he was getting tipsy now whereas she finally started to feel that drunken buzz that made her head swim and her muscles to loosen up and feel relaxed.

She loved the way Evan leaned his head on his arm and grinned over at her. He suddenly looked so childish and carefree and overall charming, even after however many drinks they had downed during the evening.

She didn't want to tear her gaze away from him, but she looked to the right when her phone started to vibrate and jump on the bar.

It was Marcus.

Without thinking, (Y/n) double clicked the side button and cut the call. She wasn't giving him the time of day. Not when the call disappeared and she could see flashes of all the texts he had sent since she walked out the door.

'Where are you?' 'Where the fuck did you go?' 'You need to come home. Now. We have to talk.' 'Why do you always do this to me?' '(Y/n) ANSWER ME!'

Blocking his number didn't work. Marcus would just change his number and turn up on her doorstep and make her unblock his phone. He never seemed to let her go and (Y/n) always let him back in.

Not this time. Not after he'd gone so far as to try and grab her neck. If she hadn't of swung her fist out and clamped him round the side of the head, she knew he would of strangled her. It was why her neck now burned with a large scratch and why he had tried to grab her and twist her wrist to prevent her from leaving. She wasn't going back to his place anymore. She wasn't going to let him back into her apartment or let him walk all over her and get controlling again.

They were finished and Marcus had to understand that. He had to know he couldn't have anymore control over (Y/n).

"All good?" Even in his drunken state, Evan noticed the shiver that rolled down (Y/n)'s arms and the way she delicately brushed her fingertips absentmindedly over the mark on her neck.

But when she looked back at him, her lips curved into a smile. A genuine, dazzling curve of her lips that was nothing like how she had tried to smile at the start of the night. He watched her push her phone away and turn on the stool until she was facing him and her knees bumped into his.

"All good," She repeated with a drunken nod of her head.

Evan wasn't sure where the sudden burst of adrenaline came from, but he pushed up so he was sitting straight and he leaned across until he could just about nudge the end of his nose against hers. His left arm stayed slumped on the bar while his right hand reached out to cup her jaw.

He brushed his thumb across her jaw and gently swiped it across her lower lip that he couldn't stop staring at.

He stole all the air from her lungs when he kissed her.

(Y/n) reached her hand out to cup the wrist that was near her chin and she held onto him for dear life, as if letting go would cause her to fall and never land. She felt his tongue prodding at her lips, asking for entrance while his fingers curled around the side of her jaw, but Evan's touch was so much softer and more reaffirming than what she was used to or expecting.

When he pulled back, (Y/n) tipped her forehead against his and heaved to catch her breath back. She could feel his breaths fanning against her lips and his lower lip started to swell from where she had sank her teeth down into it.

There was a hooded look in his eyes and his lips curved up into a widespread grin that felt infectious.

"Wanna get out of here?"

(Y/n) leaned over until her free hand could slide over Evan's knee and shift along his thigh while her lips captured his. She felt his leg jump when she squeezed his upper thigh and leaned closer until she was about to fall off her chair and directly onto his lap. He had stolen the words right out her mouth.

She did want to leave. She wanted to get out of this crowded bar and she wanted him to take her somewhere. Anywhere. As long as he took her with him.

"Definitely."

***

"Can we talk?"

'You're not the one I need to talk to.' Those words hung on the tip of (Y/n)'s tongue but she couldn't bring herself to say them. She couldn't say something that would rile him up and provoke him, that was the last thing she needed right now.

(Y/n) curved her arms around her chest, binding them tight to see if it would do anything to reduce the panic swarming through her chest or make her think of him. Of Evan. If she closed her eyes and squeezed tight enough, it might make her feel like she had him wrapped around her.

She wanted to feel that sense of security he gave her.

Her head tilted back against the brick wall and she dropped her eyes to her feet, not wanting to give Marcus the satisfaction of looking him in the eye.

She had gone almost three months without seeing him or bumping into him. This was the first time she had properly managed to break up with him and stay away from him for good. She didn't go back and ask to smooth things over. She didn't have him banging on her apartment door at one in the morning because he knew she would have to let him in or risk neighbours calling the police.

He hadn't turned up at her place of work- until today, for near on three months.

(Y/n) had finally started to move away from him and move on and she had found someone who she had suddenly become attached to.

Sleeping with Evan the first night she met him hadn't been something (Y/n) planned to do, but it happened nonetheless. Waking up in his bed had been a shock for both of them, but not a bad one.

She left for work the next morning before realising she didn't get Evan's number. When she closed her eyes, she could imagine that second time she saw him.

* She was being silly. It was probably a one-night stand for him. He most likely didn't give her his number for a reason. He didn't want to see her again or call her or text her. She was just a distant memory that could already have faded from his mind for all (Y/n) knew. She was the bookworm he picked up two weeks ago at a bar. He could have picked her up and brought her home to win a bet.

Would he really have brought her home if he only wanted one night with her? Why not ask to go back to her place instead of his? Why let her see his home and know where he lived and let her stay the night if all he wanted was sex that could be forgotten in the morning?

Why would he-

Her breath caught like a lump in the back of her throat and her arms bound around her chest so her hands could scrunch up in her shirt when her eyes locked on him.

He was home. The last two times (Y/n) had tried to visit and see if he was home, he wasn't in and she could only guess that he was out at work.

She watched the way his hand tightened around the door and his jaw slacked and for a horrible moment, (Y/n) thought he was going to slam the door shut in her face. She thought he was going to roll his eyes or sigh or plainly tell her to leave. But he didn't.

"(Y/n)." Her name fell from his lips like an angel falling from grace and before she could move, Evan was suddenly reaching out for her. "Finally."

Evan's last word caught her by surprise but he didn't give her the chance to question what he meant by that. His arm swooped around her waist and he reeled her inside like she had been stood out in the rain for far too long. Her hands found his shoulders to steady herself before she tripped and she wanted to smile but she couldn't.

His lips devoured hers before she could grin or say hello or ask him how he was.

She let him lean down and plaster his chest up against hers and she almost melted when his hand pressed up against her lower back to keep her close. (Y/n) had been thinking of what to say if he ever opened the door to her when she dropped by.

When she left for work after their night together, he'd asked her to call him and she promised she would. But she walked out the door and picked up Evan's keys by mistake and then realised when she got to work that she didn't even have his number saved in her phone.

She could of slid the keys beneath his apartment door and said no more about it, but she held onto them for the chance that he would be home when she came by. And she needed her keys back. She was using her spare set of keys to get in and out her apartment.

When he pulled back for air, Evan pulled (Y/n) inside and nudged the door shut. He let his temple press down into hers and he couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. He didn't have any way to get hold of her after she left. He didn't have her number, he didn't know where she lived or where she worked. All he had was the bar they met in and that wasn't much help.

He had been praying she would come back to his place and after two weeks, his wishes had finally paid off.

He kept both his hands clamped down on her hips as if needing to make sure she wasn't about to break free from his arms and try to disappear on him again. He could barely register the way she pulled out his keychain from her pocket and jingled it in front of him.

"Thanks," He breathed quietly against her lips as he moved one hand from her waist to grab the keys. He tossed them onto the side unit near the door and leaned down until his hands cupped the back of (Y/n)'s thighs.

He felt the way her hands slid round from his shoulders to cup the back of his neck and she let him lift her up so her legs could hook around his torso.

The feeling of his lips attaching back to hers made (Y/n) feel lightheaded and she dug her nails into the back of his neck to try and ground herself. But it earned a guttural groan to vibrate up through Evan's chest and the sound only made her press her lips down harder onto his. She sunk her teeth into his llip and gave a sharp tug while he turned and started to walk into the apartment.

And she was sure she heard him mutter "I'm getting your number this time," against her lips. *

"Can we talk?" Marcus's voice came out a lot sterner and colder this time and it made (Y/n) grimace as she pulled herself out of a memory and back to the present.

She juggled her bag higher on her shoulder and nodded. Her arms stayed wrapped around her waist for comfort more than anything else and she pushed off the wall and started walking. He could follow her this time. Marcus could follow her head and her instructions and realise they were doing things by her rules.

He wasn't grabbing her and dragging her away, he wasn't picking where they went and he wasn't going to steer the conversation his way.

(Y/n) needed to talk to him. She needed to make sure he understood that the last three months had been the best of her life because she had been away from him. They were broken up this time, for good, and she wasn't going back to him.

She had had two one-night stands and a date with Evan and that was what (Y/n) wanted. She wanted to try and make something with Evan and forget Marcus was ever in her life.

(Y/n) led him round the corner, away from her work and to the nearest cafe. When Marcus tried to reach out to hold her arm, she shook him off and added a safe amount of distance between them so not even their arms could accidentally brush together.

"What do you want to talk about?" Her voice was cold and indifferent and she found a table in the corner of the cafe, out the way of everyone else. It was a strange coincidence that Marcus had found her today. Right when she knew she had to talk to him to make sure things were ironed out between the, before she had to talk to Evan.

She slumped into a seat and dropped her bag beneath the table by her feet while Marcus moved to sit opposite her.

He dragged his hand through his hair, brushing the loose, greasy curls away from his eyes and behind his ears. He pressed both his elbows down into the table and kept one hand curled around the back of his neck like he was holding his head up as if his neck had suddenly been broken.

"Us."

(Y/n) couldn't refrain from rolling her eyes and she let herself sink back into the uncomfortable wooden chair with her arms still crossed over her chest.

"This is the longest you've held out on me. When are you gonna come home?" He always seemed to think referring to his place as home would soften (Y/n) up and make her want to go back with him.

She had moved out of her old apartment and moved in with Marcus after being together a few months. But last year after he grabbed her by her hair in public, (Y/n) moved out. She got her own apartment and left him. It didn't stop Marcus from coming back time and time again and (Y/n) usually went back to him. Their turbulent relationship had been on and off again for over a year now, but (Y/n) always kept her apartment and never went back to living with Marcus.

She would stay with him from time to time, but she never lived with him. It wasn't safe. And she didn't want to be in a relationship with him anymore.

"Being with you isn't my home Marcus, and you know it." She could feel panic rocketing through her chest when Marcus suddenly sat forward and leaned over the table. But whatever he wanted to retaliate with, he swallowed down because a waitress came over to ask for their order.

"Coffee." He grumbled while he clenched his hands together in front of him and pressed his knuckles against his lips.

"Iced tea please," (Y/n) pulled her sleeves down over her hands and dropped her arms so her hands were left on her lap.

"(Y/n), come on. You always come back. We're good together, you're supposed to be with me and you need to come home. I've forgiven you."

(Y/n) face dropped and she sat upright with a scoff. She could feel tears bubbling over in her eyes already and she tried her best to bite them back and control herself. How dare he. Why was he trying to pin this on her? Who could she kid, he always made it seem like it was her fault. If he hit her, she provoked him. If he shouted, it was because she argued with him first. If she left, it was because she was being petty and stupid. Nothing was his fault. Ever.

"You- you've forgiven me… what for? You were the one who attacked me-"

"I didn't attack you, stop exaggerating." He snapped his jaw like a crocodile and slammed his hands down when the waitress brought their drinks over. He made the poor girl jump back and spill some of the iced tea down her hand, but neither of them dared say anything until she walked away.

"I was the one with the bruises! You tried to grab my throat, why the Hell would you need to forgive me when I had every right to leave?"

Anger riled through (Y/n) and she suddenly didn't want her drink anymore. She reached out for the straw and started to prod and poke at the ice cubes clinking together in the tall glass. She had nothing to apologise for.

When Evan asked where the bruises on her arms came from and the scratch on her neck, (Y/n) didn't see the point in hiding it. She found herself being suddenly open and honest with Evan and she wasn't sure why. He made her feel safe. She felt able to tell him that Marcus had a flaring temper that made him aggressive and sometimes, (Y/n) didn't know what set him off.

Evan hastened to tell her she didn't do anything. None of this was her doing and she had no reason to apologise to Marcus now.

"Just come home-"

"No. Marcus… please, listen to me now." (Y/n) pushed her drink to one side and stretched her hands out to plant them on the table. "This has to stop. I don't want to be with you, I'm done with you. With everything, it's finished. So you need to start leaving me alone, for good."

He laughed. He had the nerve to sit there and laugh as if she was telling him a silly joke or as if this was all a game and he thought he was winning.

"Why would you say something so stupid? You do this routine every time we have a fight, (Y/n). You come crawling back, always have and always will-"

"I'm pregnant."

She spoke before she lost her nerve.

(Y/n) had to tell Marcus because she was ninety percent sure that her dates weren't mixed up and that this couldn't be his baby. They used protection whereas (Y/n) knew she didn't when she was with Evan. A rookie mistake, but it made her sure this was Evan's baby and not Marcus's.

But she needed to tell him because she wanted him to stay away from her. If he knew she had moved on and slept with someone else, he would be jealous but he might just stay away from her now. And he would do the math in his head and try to work out for them both and make sure this wasn't his child. (Y/n) couldn't have a baby with him. She couldn't have that attachment to Marcus for the rest of her life or she would never be free of him.

"You're joking me, right?" His lips quirked up to one side and he folded his arms over his chest like he thought this was some sort of test.

"No. I'm about eleven weeks-"

"You can't be."

"What?" Her shoulders dropped and she sighed. If he wanted evidence she would take the test out of her bag and show him the results from her trip to the doctors. That would be enough to prove to him that she was having a baby and he had to give up and leave her alone now.

"I can't have kids (Y/n). I'm infertile, so you can't be pregnant. Stop trying to fuck about and twist everything, if you want me back you don't have to come up with this lame excuse."

He couldn't see the relief in her eyes. Marcus couldn't sense the adrenaline fluttering around in (Y/n)'s stomach as she sank back in her chair and threw her head back. Her eyes fell closed before her head started to swim and she found herself grinning very slightly.

It was Evan's.

If Marcus couldn't have kids, it had to be Evan's baby just like she predicted it would be. Now she thought about it, (Y/n) was sure when she first got with Marcus, she remembered him saying something along the lines of 'you don't have to worry about that' when she asked if he had protection. She paid no mind to it, she didn't give it a second thought.

But he was adamant, he was being serious. (Y/n) could see it in his eyes and it made her happy beyond words. She would never have something that attached her to Marcus for the rest of her life. If she wanted to cut him from her life, she had every right and every chance now. It just left Evan for her to worry about.

"(Y/n)!"

A bolt of pain shot through her knee when Marcus slammed his foot into her leg but she bit down her cry and jolted to look back at him. Her hands fumbled to grab her bag beneath the table and she pulled out the positive pregnancy test so she could slide it across the table.

"How can you-"

"Because it's not yours, Marcus. So you need to stay away from me now, I'm through with you."

He really was slow sometimes. It didn't dawn on him that when they separated, (Y/n) might find someone else or sleep with someone else for a one night stand. He thought she moped around her flat, waiting for him to call or come back and ask her to come home. He thought (Y/n)'s world revolved solely around him and that showed how shallow he really was.

"Well then who the fuck's is it?" His voice suddenly boomed around the cafe and (Y/n) shivered, sinking down in her seat when heads started to turn in their direction.

This was why she wanted to talk in public. She had been planning to call and ask to talk but she wanted to be somewhere with witnesses. (Y/n) was through with being alone in a secluded flat with Marcus and not having any way to prove how he treated her when he lost his temper.

"Who have you been whoring around with? Do you even know his name? Who have you slept with?"

A scream burst past (Y/n)'s lips and her shoulders hunched inwards as she leaned towards the wall on her left when Marcus lashed out. He grabbed her glass of iced tea that was in the middle of the table and launched it her way, narrowly missing her head by half a centimetre.

She could feel the ice cubes hitting her arms before they clattered to the floor and a whole load of the cold tea drenched her neck and her right arm, soaking through her shoulder and into her waist and made her shiver. Glass sprinkled against the wall behind her and (Y/n) stayed deathly still with her eyes closed, waiting for the atmosphere and the glass to settle before she dared move.

Her trembling hands planted down on the table and she tried to stand up, she wanted to leave now.

Marcus was causing a scene and (Y/n) hated being around when he did something like this. She didn't want the attention falling on her and right now, people were getting up from their seats and trying to approach them. She wanted to go home.

"Please don't do this-"

"You think I'm letting you get away with this little stunt? Tell me his name!"

(Y/n) scraped her chair back and stumbled but she couldn't move quick enough before Marcus latched his fingers into her hair and wrenched her towards him. Her nails scratched into his wrist as she screamed, closing her eyes as tightly as she could when he pushed her down to her knees.

She could feel the broken glass and soggy tea soaking into her knees and it felt like blisters had suddenly sweltered onto her skin when the sharp, jagged pieces tore through her leggings and into her skin.

No one dared move closer when one of the waiter's approached and Marcus threw a chair in his direction.

(Y/n) pinned her hands over her head and tried to take deep breaths. Her blood was pounding in her ears and her stomach was churning, but she could just about make out a frightened woman say she was dialling 911.

She didn't have the strength or the energy to try and get up when Marcus leaned back over her again. She kept her eyes tightly closed but she could hear the cafe door opening and the few people inside were starting to rush out onto the street. No one was going to come near Marcus when there was a knife on the table next to him and is eyes kept going back to it.

He would attack anyone who came near.

Her body shuddered and she cried out when Marcus gripped her chin and tilted her head up, shaking her head until she groaned and finally looked up at him.

"What's the fucker's name?" His voice turned oddly calm and serene and it made (Y/n) shiver down to her shoes.

(Y/n) tilted her head to the side to pull out of his grasp and she held her head high when Marcus crouched down in front of her. His elbows rested on his knees and he laced his fingers together between his thighs while he waited somewhat patiently for an answer. His chest was heaving, spit was dribbling down the corner of his chin and his eyes were wild. (Y/n) had never seen such a frightening, rabid look in his eyes before.

She didn't answer. Instead, (Y/n) lifted her head so they were level and spat in his face.

Her head reeled to the right when he slapped her. The back of his hand lashed out against her face and she knew he'd managed to cut her cheek with the sharp edge of his ring. The pain countered out with adrenaline after half a second and all (Y/n) could feel was panic bubbling up in her chest like a pot about to boil over on the stove.

She couldn't remember the last time Marcus had been like this with her in public. He always kept their fights behind closed doors, he knew how to play the situation in public. He knew how to pretend to be clingy or sweet or act a gentleman and then throw his fists when they got home. The news had clearly derranged Marcus today.

"His name."

"Why? Do you want him to give you some pointers?"

When he reeled back to slap her again, (Y/n) thrust her arms out and rammed them into his chest to knock him off balance. The moment he fell onto his back, (Y/n) used the nearest table as leverage to get herself up onto trembling legs. She stumbled over Marcus and aimed for the door while she heard him roar and slam his hands and feet into the floor to try and get up.

A ragged, breathless scream left (Y/n)'s lips when she felt Marcus behind her and she curled her hand around the door and yanked it open. She flung the door open as fast as she could while she ducked down to the right.

Marcus's hand went straight through the glass pane. His fist burst through the glass which imbedded into his forearm and scratched down his wrist. But the window pane didn't completely shatter. (Y/n) had unintentionally trapped Marcus's arm in the door and it was her chance. She crawled through the small open gap in the door and stumbled into the doorway.

Her legs gave way and she slumped down onto her knees, moving to sit down with her back up against the wall as she heaved each breath through bubbling cries.

The sound of sirens overpowered the sound of Marcus screaming as he tried to drag his hand back through the window.

A fire truck pulled up. They must have been the closest emergency service available when that woman called 911. The police had to be on their way soon, they needed to take Marcus into custody and keep him as far away from (Y/n) as possible.

"LAFD, what's the situation here?"

(Y/n) watched the older man climb down from the truck and leave his helmet on the side of the pavement. He had a red label in the centre of his helmet that read Captain. He was in charge. He made his way towards one of the waitresses but when the rest of his crew started to climb down from the truck, (Y/n) felt lightheaded.

Evan.

Oh God. This was his station department. This was the team he told her about, the people he worked with.

Why did he of all people have to come to this call out? What if Marcus said something and Evan caught on? She didn't want to have this conversation with Evan now. He wasn't going to be happy when he learned the girl he slept with was now pregnant. The girl he barely knew. The girl with a troublesome ex hovering in the background.

More tears streamed down (Y/n)'s face when Evan's eyes locked on her and she saw the panic bubbling up inside of them. She saw the panic written across his face and the way he picked up the pace to rush towards her.

"We're not finished-"

"No!" (Y/n) scraped her palms against the floor until they started to give her cuts and scratches. She pushed herself to her feet and stumbled out into the street as Marcus freed his arm from the door and flung it wide open to try and grab her again.

Her body started to flag but (Y/n) ran, flinging her arm out at the captain who tried to grab her to calm her down. She wasn't aiming for him.

"S-stop him! Make h-him stop- please!" Words flew past her lips in a fluster as she made a beeline for Evan.

Her hands scratched deeply into his bicep and she used his arm as leverage to swing herself around and move behind him. Her face pressed between his shoulder blades and her hands scrunched up around his arm. Evan could feel how badly she was shaking when she started to make him jitter back and forth on the spot. He reached his left arm behind him and clamped his hand down on (Y/n)'s hip to keep her safe and secured behind him like he was a human shield.

It didn't take much for him to gather that this had to be her ex.

"Get back." The words seethed past Evan's lips while he reached his right hand out and slammed his palm into the man's chest. He gave him a forceful shove backwards while he walked back into (Y/n) and nudged her to move a few paces away. He needed to keep a safe distance between them all.

"Sir- that's enough. Stand over here so you can be assessed or we'll have to restrain you."

Bobby and Eddie grabbed one of Marcus's arms each and dragged him towards the doorway of the cafe. They slumped him down onto the floor with one of Bobby's hands pinned into his chest while Eddie held his damaged arm to try and take a look. They had the right to restrain him if he was going to try and attack someone in public.

The police were on their way to this scene now anyway, he would be arrested once he was patched up and given the all clear.

A deep sigh burned past Evan's lips before he released his hand from (Y/n)'s hip and turned around to face her. He could see the shaking rattling through her body and tears were streaming down her face although she did look a little calmer now than when they first pulled up.

"Are you alright… did he hurt you?"

(Y/n) rubbed her hands together, trying to flick off the grit and gravel stuck to her palms. She had a few little cuts on her hands but nothing substancial.

She stayed quiet when Evan held her wrists and pulled her hands up so he could inspect them for himself. But when he tilted his head to the side and looked down, his shoulders sagged and he bit down on the corner of his lip. Her knees were bleeding. Shards of glass were poking out through her leggings and blood was trickling down towards her ankles.

"Let's sit down, I'll take a look at that for you," He motioned down towards her knees but he turned to look over his shoulder when (Y/n) shuddered. Her eyes were focused on the scene behind him.

"Sir-"

"Marcus!"

"Alright. Marcus, let's put it this way. You try again to attack her, we restrain you and you'll be arrested. What is this argument about?" Bobby was getting tired. He was tired of trying to push Marcus down and make him stay sat down on the floor in front of the cafe.

He must realise that he and the other girl needed to be checked over and he couldn't try to keep attacking her in public like this. They had to be kept separate for their own sakes and he needed to let Eddie treat his arm that was cut up and still had shards of glass imbedded in it.

"Ask her! Ask her whose it is." Marcus flung his right arm out towards (Y/n) who visibly flinched and took a step back. "Go on. Whose bastard child is it, 'cos it sure as Hell ain't mine!"

A groan tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips before she brought her hands up to smother her face.

Why wouldn't he stop? Couldn't he for once, just leave her alone and stop causing a mess of everything? It didn't make things any easier that Evan was here and (Y/n) knew for certain that he had just heard what Marcus had said. He wasn't stupid. He could put two and two together and make four. He was going to find out and this wasn't how (Y/n) wanted to have this conversation with him.

It wasn't fair.

Panic radiated through (Y/n)'s system when she dared to move her hands down to cover her mouth and nose, allowing her eyes to be visible.

Evan had gone deathly pale. His hands were held halfway out between them like he wanted to reach for her but didn't know what to do or how he was supposed to act now. His eyes had gone suddenly blank even though his pupils had blown wide and his jaw slacked but he still didn't say anything.

Turning on her heels, (Y/n) stumbled away and moved as close to the fire truck as she could. She needed to be away from them all. She didn't want Evan to stand and look at her like that and she didn't want to be anywhere near Marcus. She didn't want to hear his threats or see those horrible, beady eyes glaring daggers into her. Being around him made her a target because he wasn't calming down at all.

Her body jumped when familiar hands clamped down on her arms and stopped her before she could walk any further.

Her back slumped down into a familiar chest and (Y/n) stayed still and silent, allowing Evan to gently turn her to the right. He moved her over until she could sit down on the step at the back of the fire truck.

(Y/n) rubbed her hands up and down her thighs while Evan stood in front of her, his knees almost touching hers with how close he stood. He had one hand on his hip and the other was dragging slowly through his hair until the waves were disgruntled and flopping about on his head.

"What did he mean? Is- are you- God, are you pregnant?"

(Y/n) rolled her lips together and kept her head tilted down, but she managed to lift her gaze just enough to look up at Evan through her lashes. She couldn't find any words. All the air was stuck in the back of her throat creating a blockage that was making her lungs quiver and tense in her chest. The only right answer was yes but (Y/n) couldn't bring herself to say it so she simply nodded her head.

"Is it mine?" His voice suddenly turned soft like he was melting before her and it made (Y/n)'s eyes narrow on him.

He wasn't shouting at her. He wasn't riling up, getting ready to start a fight with her or argue or say how much of a shitty situation this was. He wasn't even frowning at her. He was just… looking at her. Staring down with those soft blue eyes and those ruby red lips that were pressed together in a thin line.

"It's yours. I, I wasn't gonna tell you like this I swear." (Y/n) found her voice but it was meek and fast-paced until she was tripping over her words. And her hands were digging into her thighs to try and calm herself sown.

A quiet hum vibrated past Evan's lips before he moved to crouch down in front of her. His eyes trailed back along her knees that he would have to assess soon and try to patch them up. He moved his hands to her thighs and carefully parted them so he could kneel between her legs, feeling her trembling knees dig comfortably into his waist.

"Are you mad?"

"Mad?" Evan couldn't stop his lips from quirking up into a lopsided smile and he squeezed her thigh until she gathered the strength to move her hand and cup his wrist. "Why would I be mad? This might not be the ideal situation, but it's not a bad one either."

(Y/n) had played on Evan's mind since the moment they met. He couldn't think of anything or anyone else except her. She was the only thing playing on Evan's mind and he felt intoxicated by her; addicted to her.

This wasn't how he would have chosen for things to play out, this wasn't the perfect order for things to go. But this was the situation they found themselves in and they would have to make the most of it and see where it led them. Evan had always wanted kids, he knew that from the off. And now it seemed fate had decided this was the moment he started to have kids and something told him this was a good thing. Something told Evan that this was going to work out just fine.

"Really?" (Y/n) leaned forward until she was close enough to cup Evan's face in her hands. Her thumb brushed across his cheek and she leaned her forehead against his when a brighter smile broke out on his face.

"Yeah… I guess we've just done things in a different order to everyone else, huh?"

(Y/n) could barely comprehend his words when his lips pressed against hers. Maybe things were going to work out after all.

[holylulusworld]

Dinner for three

Summary: You and your husband eat together to celebrate something special  

Pairing: AU!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, pregnant reader

Catch up here: Dinner for two

Dinner for … masterlist

“The usual?” The hostess chuckles at the insider joke. “Your table is ready, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.” She guides you toward your table. “I hope you’ll like our new menu. We have a few new desserts.”

“New desserts,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll try something new tonight. What do you recommend?” 

Bucky chuckles next to you. He knows you’ve got a sweet tooth when it comes to desserts. 

“Oh, I’d recommend the new tiramisu with cherries. Not everyone likes it, but it tastes like heaven. It’s alcohol-free too if you do not like your tiramisu with alcohol.” 

Bucky pulls the chair for you, still smiling as you keep on talking to the hostess. He pecks your cheek and whispers something only you can hear.

“I love cherries,” you exclaim. “And it’s a plus that the dessert is alcohol-free. I do not like alcohol in a dessert.”

“We already decided on the dessert then,” he says and sits down to have a look at the menu. “What about the main course, doll? Salmon maybe or lasagna?”

You grin. “The usual please, Clarice,” you say before Bucky gets the chance to decide on what to eat. I’ll take the chicken parmesan and my husband will take the usual.”

“You know me so well,” he grins and closes the menu. Bucky gently grabs your hand to bring it to his lips. “It’s been five years since we first met here. I can’t believe I met the love of my life by chance at my favorite restaurant after I got stood up.”

“Mr. Barnes are you trying to seduce me with your charm and pretty smile,” you chuckle. “You know we are already married, right?”

“This doesn’t mean that I’ll stop complimenting you, Y/N,” he flashes you a smile. “I got a surprise for you too, baby doll. I want to celebrate our anniversary.”

“I want to celebrate something too, baby. It’s a surprise,” you return his smile and bat your eyelashes. “I think this is the perfect moment. But let’s eat first. I’m starving.”

“What? No…you can’t just do things like that and leave me hanging, Y/N,” he pouts, making your resolve crumble. “Please tell me.” Bucky is giddy like a child when you refuse to tell him about the surprise.

You will take your time and wait for the perfect moment. For now, you are damn hungry and want to enjoy dinner with the man you love.

“…and then you just sat down and had dinner with me and my bear,” you giggle at the memory. “If you think about it, I should’ve thanked my unfaithful ex for cheating on me. If he wasn’t such a horrid person, we’d never met.”

“I’ll send him a gift hamper,” Bucky smirks and dips his head to watch you get something out of your bag, “but instead of confect or wine, he’ll get a turd, so he knows he’s a piece of shit.” He whispers the last part. 

“James Buchanan Barnes!” You raise your index finger. “You won’t poop into a gift hamper. That’s not…” You struggle not to laugh. “We should stop talking about my ex. I have a surprise I wanted to share with you.”

“Before dessert?” He asks. 

You open your hand to reveal a business card with his name on it. Bucky cocks a brow when you place the card on the table and shove it toward him. “What’s this?”

“I made your new business cards,” you casually say. “Why don’t you read it? I chose a nice font, and the paper is eco-friendly. Maybe you should read your new title first.”

“New font, huh?” Bucky wonders aloud as he looks at the business card. “Hmm…James Buchanan Barnes, best soon-to-be dad in the world.” He swallows audibly. “Is this real?”

“I got to know this morning,” You get a tiny shirt saying Daddy luvs me out. “I didn’t feel well over the last days, and I was overdue.” You lick your lips. Bucky and you talked about having children, but now you are a little nervous. “I was seeing my gynecologist and they confirmed that I’m five weeks pregnant.”

“I-“ he looks at the tiny shirt. “Really?” Bucky hiccups. “You are not joking?” He jumps up, knocking his chair over to pounce on you. Bucky wraps you in his arms and whispers your name.

“Buck, are you happy? I know this is sudden and—” Bucky cups your face and presses his lips.

“More than happy, baby doll,” he smiles, and tears are in his eyes. “I guess this means we are having dinner for three soon.”

“We already have dinner for three, baby. They are with us, and enjoyed every bite,” he laughs and kisses you again.

“Dinner for three,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to tell them our story…”

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[whumpthemusical]

Whump: The Musical Prompts!!

As stated before, this challenge will run from March 1- March 31, 2024. All fandoms are welcome to participate despite it being prompts based off of musicals. Once again, all types of media are allowed. This challenge has the standard "choose one for the day" style, but feel free to do all three prompts if that's what you want to do!! All types of whump are allowed, but please be respectful to your fellow audience members and properly tag it!! Some of these prompts are sensitive, so make sure you warn your readers correctly! There will be an ao3 collection and an FAQ post coming soon, so if you have any further questions or comments about this challenge, feel free to drop me a line. Happy writing, my beautiful ingénues, and enjoy the show :)))

The prompts will be listed under the cut for those who have difficulty reading fonts!!

Cats- Sabotage • Second Chances • "I Can Dream Of The Old Days."

Wicked- Mob Mentality • Propaganda • "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished."

Jesus Christ Superstar- Whipping • Betrayal • "Then I Was Inspired, Now I'm Sad And Tired."

Les Mis- Survivor's Guilt • Failure • "Drink With Me To Days Gone By."

Heathers- Poison • Reluctant Whumper • "Wanna fight for me?"

Newsies- Chronic Pain • Exploitation • "Let 'Em Laugh In My Face, I Don't Care."

The Last Five Years- Infidelity • Gaslighting • "I Will Not Lose Because You Can't WIn."

Hadestown- Deals • Doomed Narrative • "Doubt Comes In."

Sweeney Todd- False Imprisonment • Razors • "Have You Decided It's Safer In Cages?"

Rent- Substance Abuse • Poverty • "Feels Too Much Damn Like Home."

Bare: A Pop Opera- Outing • Religious Trauma • "Please, See Me."

Waitress- Unplanned Pregnancy • Abuse • "She Is Broken And Won't Ask For Help."

Tick Tick Boom- Atychiphobia • Working To Exhaustion • "Is This Real Life?"

Dear Evan Hansen- Deception • Broken Bone • "Words Fail."

West Side Story- Star-Crossed Lovers • Prejudices • "A Boy Who Kills Cannot Love."

Come From Away- Stranded • Aftermath • "Blankets And Bedding And Maybe Some Food."

Spring Awakening- Withheld Information • Suicide  • "I Don't Scream, Though I Know It's Wrong."

Hamilton- Hurricane  • Dueling • "I Will Kill Your Friends And Family To Remind You Of My Love."

Falsettos- Sickness • Identity Issues • "Death Is Not A Friend."

Into The Woods- Blame • Lost • "Nothing But A Vast Midnight."

The Great Comet- Abduction • Letters • "Did You Love That Bad Man?"

In The Heights- Grief • Homesickness • "I Know That I'm Letting You Down."

Be More Chill- Mind Manipulation • Panic Attack • "Everything About Me Makes Me Want To Die."

Moulin Rouge- Class Differences • Sex Work • "Come What May."

Chicago- Cold Blood • Trial • "He Had It Coming."

Six- Execution • Trauma Bonding • "Playtime's Over."

Ride The Cyclone- Unexpected Tragedy • Forgotten Whumpee • "I Hear The Anguish Of The Street."

The Rocky Horror Show- Obsession • Wrong Place, Wrong Time • "I've Seen Blue Skies Through The Tears."

Nerdy Prudes Must Die- Bullying • Ritual • "Who Will Pray For You?"

Jekyll And Hyde- Duality • Good Vs Evil • "If I Die, You'll Die."

Phantom Of The Opera- Disfiguration • Shunned • "My Power Over You Grows Stronger Yet."

[mazikeenhyde]

Less than a minute...

(Ive decided to be brave, I always wanted to try my hand at writing fan fiction so here we go! If i got anything wrong, like warnings for example please let me know so i can fix it! )

WARNING – 

A Poly!Judgment-Day fanfiction containing themes and mentions of DEPRESSION, LONLINESS, SOME SMUT, ANGST, SADNESS, ALCOHOL etc 

Overall, I’m just trying to make you all cry… 

READER X JUDGMENT DAY/POLY! – Rhea, Damien, Finn, Dominik x READER- Written in first person with Y/N (Reader Female)  

Italic font – flashback, speech or memories

Less than a minute 

The hotel room was quiet, the cheap TV fixed to the wall showing Monday night Raw on a low volume mixed in with the sounds of footsteps in the corridor, each sound filling the hot humid air. Outside the rain lashed down, heavy rainclouds hung low in the night sky blocking out the starlight, yet the full moon powered through, illuminating the streets, reflecting in the puddles that ran along the gutter line. 

 It was late, most of these anonymous guests rushing around just outside our door would be returning from busy work days to catch up on sleep or be heading out for a fun night on the town.  A blissful life for most, a chance to escape their homes and stay in a bed with room service, maids to clean up after you and a reception for any assistance required! I hated it though; it wasn’t my choice but when you are on the road traveling for what felt like 300 days of the year with your partners there isn’t much of an option. A different country every month, a different state every week, Christ a different town every night. I longed for those one-off days where we were all free to do nothing. Something many people take for granted is the ability to do nothing, and I missed it. 

Life felt far too chaotic, and despite being in a 5-way Polyamory relationship, I’d never felt so alone. I longed to go home, back to our own little house, we had been away for so long now. I could picture it, the front room shelves filled up high with my collection of books. My own little library I had spent a lifetime building now just collecting dust. The cabinets filled with Dominik’s board games that had bought about so many nights of endless laughter and equally some rather extreme arguments over winners, losers, cheaters and a half empty liquor cabinet that had been drained dry after a game of Scrabble. I still laugh now thinking back to when Rhea would demand the Alexa to define a word, we were sure Dominik had made up. Still, you could always rely on Finn to settle the score with a round of tequila shots and an accidental knock of the board. 

“Oh no!” Finn would laugh as he ‘accidently’ kicked the board off and onto the floor. 

“The board fell… guess we will have to play something else aye lass” he stated sarcastically, winking at me as he passed over one of the shot glasses. 

“I wouldn’t say No to a game of Twister” Damien suggested, raising his eyebrows as he took his shot and ran his fingers down my back. I swear that man would give me goosebumps from the top of my head to the center of my core with just a passing look and that fiendish glint in his eye! 

Rhea was quick to move herself over towards us resting her head in my lap, turning her view point to a more favored position. “I’ll second that” she smiled gently kissing the inner of my thigh, my breath was hitched, excited and on edge all at once. 

“Well I’m calling it!  I won..” Dominik stated with a huff as he began to pick the letter tiles up off the floor. Smirking over at him we each adorned a loveable gleam towards the boy. A little brat at the best and worst of times, but we wouldn’t have changed him for the world. 

Moving Rheas head onto Damien’s lap where the two of them began their own little make out session I crawled my way round to Dom, helping collect the remaining tiles off the floor and boxing his board game up. 

Smiling into his eye line I whispered ‘Never change who you are Dom Dom, We will always be here and we will always love you”

“What about when they break us up though?” he asked, I could hear the anxiety in his voice, his eyes. “I have to turn on Rhea and…and..” 

I held him close, his hands holding tightly to my back and I could hear his gentle muffled cries. 

“You’ll never be alone Dom, I love you so much. Even if I’m not always there to hold your hand, ill never be far away” I whispered in his ear. 

“Less than a minuite?” he smiled. 

-----

I couldn’t deny how much love I felt for each of them, work life had been tough for the four of them after the WWE had stated they would be splitting the group up to start a new storyline involving the likes of Liv Morgan, JD & Carlito. It didn’t stop the love we had for each other, but it certainly made traveling together difficult! I often reminded them that unlike myself none of them exactly blended into a crowd. 

Sitting in the middle of this king size bed I pulled my knees up to my chest, I had stolen Damien’s hoodie and a pair of rhea’s gym shorts in the hopes of being comfortable enough to focus while I studied my textbooks, but alas tonight my mind was elsewhere. I had been studying Law for some time, it had always been such a passion of mine and thankfully no matter where we slept I could bring my books and get my head down while my partners entertained the world. It also came in quite handy when certain members of the group had one too many drinks on a night out and needed some help in escaping the police without legal prosecution. Dominik can tell the world he did hard time in jail all he likes, but it was me that got the little brat released early after a dramatic night with Rhea at his parents’ house on thanksgiving. 

The WWE had offered me a position on their legal team once I had passed all my exams, yet that was over a year ago. I had deferred my exam date twice already, I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me but I didn’t feel the love, the passion or the joy I had done surrounding myself in plans for my future dream career, I was starting to worry I had wasted all these years for nothing.

Finn was always the voice of reason; he would often sit and help me revise while Rhea and Dom would shower together after the gym and Damien would take a nap. He was the voice of reason in the group, the glue that held us all together when things got tough. It was Finn that supported us all the most when our relationship went public, none of us had wanted to hide how we felt and the WWE were supportive, but that didn’t stop the online hate. The four of them were use to random strangers throwing insults due to the nature of their job, and thankfully I wasn’t of much interest to the fans. We had done our best to keep me away from the public eye, almost everyone just assumed I was part of the WWE teams supporting the group. There were a few fan speculation pages online who loved to play the guessing game but the majority saw me as nothing, as no one. 

Finn always knew when something was wrong, he hadn’t wanted to leave me this evening but I had persuaded them all to go on the promise when they returned we could order in and cuddle up to watch a new release on tv if we connected Damien’s laptop. 

“Chicken tenders! Ooh and nuggies?” Dom said, looking around the room in minor disbelief as we all looked at him with smiles. “What?” he asked. 

“Really Dom? Chicken tenders, I’d never have guessed that bro. There’s me thinking you’d want Sushi!” Damien stated sarcastically with a smirk as he zipped up his duffel bag. 

“Ew, raw fish? Bleugh! That’s gross!” Dom was genuinely disgusted at the idea. 

“Hey! Don’t knock Sushi you little squinnie! Just because the rest of us have some foodie culture, your mother should have had you expand your pallet better!” I replied as I walked over and flicked Dom on the head. He was quick to wrestle me up and onto his shoulder, spinning me round onto the bed where he climbed on to pin me down. 

“Uh Excuse me! I think you’ll find…Mami! has expanded my pallet just fine hermosa!” He stated, daring his lips closer to mine. 

“Oh I bet..” I whispered to him closing the gap between us, our lips aching to touch. “Your pallet has had its fair share of tasting sessions aye Dom Dom” 

Before he could respond Damien wrapped his arms around Dominik’s waste pulling him off me and planting him back down to earth, ruffling his hair upon release. 

“Alright you two, break it off!” Damien patted Dom on the chest as he tossed over his rucksack from the chair. I bought my chest up leaning back on my hands winking at Dom as he scowled at me with a mix of frustration and cheek. 

Rhea walked out from the bathroom with Finn following in tow, slapping Dom on the ass and wrapping her arm around his neck. 

“Behave yourself Dom Dom” Rhea said before looking over at me on the bed, “You too Bunny, Brats be warned there will always be consequences.” She laughed and pulled Dom towards the hotel door blowing me a kiss as the two of them headed out to work. Damien followed suit leaning down on the bed to kiss my forehead. 

“Te amo, Hermosa” he held the back of my neck touching foreheads before following Rhea and Dom. 

“Ill catch up with you three downstairs” Finn said and Damien gave him a thumbs up as he headed out the hotel room door and closed it behind them. 

Finn took a seat next to me on the bed as I sat up properly and moved to the edge, adorning one of those fake convincing smiles that had worked so many times before. 

“A night of studying then? We won’t be back too late I promise, you can pick the film tonight. I dread another of Rheas slasher films aye. We will be up all night watching the door” Finn said with a gentle nudge to my shoulder. I just nodded, unsure of how to respond. It was strange, I could hide myself in the love and laughter I felt for them all, the never ending flirting and sexual frustration that would build when we were in a room. But a reminder of the real world, of the real life we were living was enough to shatter my dreams back to reality. Every day was blending into one, the repetitive endeavors were tearing my soul apart. Tears began to fill the corners of my eyes as I was quick to stand and rub them away taking a sharp breath. I knew inside I was breaking, I was like a ticking time bomb and I needed to protect them all. Finn leapt up to his feet spin me around and face him.

“Y/N, listen to me lass, you know we all love you. No matter what, no matter how hard it all gets, whether you sit the exams and pass or fail.” Finn held his hands to my face cupping my cheeks. 

Finn had suspected something was wrong for a while, he and Rhea had sat down with me before to talk. They knew about my past, the scars I had whilst silver and faded now were a window into a past life I had battled for so long to break free from, always terrified it would find me again. I was like a rabbit in headlights when it all got to much, I would freeze in fear of my mind running away with my sanity. Hence the nickname Bunny. 

“I don’t know what is wrong with me..” My voice was fragile, broken. 

Finn held me in a close hug, his warm embrace relighting the fire inside my chest, a willing to keep going forward. The serenity was quickly broken by a car horn beeping outside followed by a text alert on Finns phone. 

BRAT NO.2  -

“Oi! Save some of her for the rest of us Finn >_< get your ass down here! We’re gonna be late!”  

Finn shook his head, “That boy tests my patience to its limit at the best of times, ive a good mind to put him over my knee’ 

I laughed wiping my eyes with my sleeves “Only if you let me watch” 

He smiled and held me close, “I can stay, if that’s what you need?” 

I shook my head and released him from the hug, “No. its okay, you go kick ass! I’m gonna jump in the shower and try to get in a quick nap before I crack on with those books, can’t defer the exam forever!” 

“We will be back before you know it” Finn said softly 

“Less than a minute?” I half smiled

“Less than a minute” He returned the all too familiar phrase. Finn kissed my forehead before getting his bag of the chair and reaching into his pocket to get his phone that had started to ring. He answered the call whilst slumping his bag over his shoulder and nodding his head goodbye to me before heading out the door. 

“Dominik, I am telling you now! I swear to god if you don’t…” Finns voice faded out as he continued down the hotel hallway, the door closing behind him. 

Taking a deep breath I shook off the heavy emotional cloak weighing me down and headed for the shower. 

4 HOURS LATER   - 

Looking around the rather large hotel room we had booked for the night I came to wonder; anyone would have thought we would have been used to this horrendous decor by now. No matter where we stayed every room felt much the same, whether it was the dismal wall art, low pressure shower heads or dull painted walls that felt like they were closing in. Though I knew the others were not fazed by it, they very rarely spent a lot of time in these rooms, aside from catching up on missed sleep or dancing the devils tango with any sparing energy the four of them would be in the gym or at the WWE training centers for live shows or TV. 

Sitting here I couldn’t steady my mind, I felt lost, lonely, empty even. It wasn’t their fault, they showered me in affection, I could want for nothing but more time with them. Yet it wasn’t that either, no amount of time in the arms of Rhea could fix the damage, she was the only woman I could love with the entirety of my heart, but as incredible as she was, even Rhea Bloody Ripley couldn’t fight off the demons inside me. 

The deeper I looked the more the world felt wrong. It all felt alien, uneasy, I wondered if it was just me, was I the problem? I checked the time, just after 10pm, they would be back soon enough, why did that bring about such panic, an anxiety drowning my heart, my breathe hitched and I felt it. You just know don’t you, it could have been years, weeks, days, hours or minutes that you had been fighting the voices in your head, the devil on your shoulder, but I was so lost in it all I just wanted to be alone. 

Slipping  off the bed I pulled on my socks and trainers and headed for the door. Pausing in the doorway I felt my heart sink a little, maybe this was it, maybe I wasn’t what I had promised I would be. 

A single tear fell down my cheek as I closed the hotel room door behind me, leaving my phone and keys on the nightstand. I needed to break free, only time would tell how long for, but I needed to feel. I needed to escape the War inside my head and the only way I knew how to do that, was to run. 

1 HOUR LATER   - 

Rhea and Dom walked through the carpark with his arm wrapped around her waist as they headed towards the rental car. It had been a hard night for them and all they wanted was to climb into bed with their girl and sleep. Damien followed just behind the both of them carrying the groups bags. Finn bringing up the rear of the group was locked into his phone, his face filled with concern for their girl who hadn’t responded to a single text all evening. They had received a message from the WWE management team that they could leave early to limit fan interaction ahead of SummerSlam. 

Climbing into the rental car Dom, Rhea and Damien waited for Finn. 

“Maybe she fell asleep studying?” Dom asked as Finn sat in the back passenger seat. 

Rhea had her phone up to her ear listening to a never ending ringing on the other end, Voicemail again. “Bunny? please call me back.” She ended the call and looked up to Damien in the drives seat. 

“Priest, Floor it!” 

--------

Reaching the hotel all four of them raced from the car inside, adrenaline fed through them as they reached the hotel room. 

Hands shaking Rhea swiped the card multiple times before holding it still long enough to enter. The realization. The Silence. It was deafening.

Damien rushed in to check the bathroom as Finn scrambled around the room with Dom, looking for something, for someone they knew wasn’t there. Rhea stood frozen in the doorway, in silence, her eyes locked in. 

“Rhea?” Dom hastily rushed over, hand on her shoulder as he turned to her eye line. There it was, on the bedside table. 

Finn edged his way over to the bedside as Damien came back into the room. Hands shaking nervously Finn reached down and picked up Y/N phone and hotel keycard. 

They all shared a look between each other, a look of fear and confusion. What were they meant to do now? Where did Y/N go? 

“I shouldn’t of left her…” Finn held the phone tightly pacing the same two steps over. “I could see it, I saw it, I shouldn’t of left her…” Finn repeated again. 

“Finn?” Dom hesitantly questioned his actions. 

Rheas demeanor quickly turned and she slammed her hand against the doorframe and rushed out followed by Finn and Damien desperate to find their girl. 

“Dom stay here! In case she comes back!” Damien yelled, he paused in the hall before rushing back to the room and holding Dominick’s face in his hands. “We will find her, I promise, we will all be back before you know it” Damien kissed his forehead before turning and running back out the door. 

Dom was frozen on the spot, he couldn’t move, he looked around the room at abandoned study books, half unpacked suitcases and clothing discarded on the floor. He felt smaller than ever before, his heartbeat felt cold, his chest filled with butterflies and his hands cold to touch. 

Walking over to the window that stood from floor to ceiling he held his hand to his chest tearing up at the rain lashing down outside . “Less than a minute?” 

[seethesin]

rotaries and roses

pairing: Tattoo Artist!Corky x Florist!F!Reader

tags/warnings: modern au, tattoo artist/florist trope, first time tattoos, suggestive themes, cursing, teasing

a/n: requested by anonymous here. this was my biggest challenge yet because... this is smut free and i don't have tattoos 😭 i hope you guys don't mind how many liberties i took with this! as there are no gif hunts of gina as corky, this will have a gifless format. enjoy! 🥰

You found yourself at Corky's by the recommendation of a close friend. Every time you mentioned your desire for a tattoo, they would practically beg you to give the tattoo shop a chance before pulling up their Instagram page. The first thing you noticed was the address. The tattoo shop was on the same street as your flower shop; how you hadn't noticed it sooner was beyond you.

Your friend was right. You needed to take your ass over there. And now, there was no excuse not to.

Out of all the artists featured, the owner, Corky, had your favorite designs. Her Neo-Traditional style blew you away, and it was the post featuring a canvas with an array of roses that sealed the deal. They had always been your favorite flower, regardless of the stereotypical label they held. Every bouquet of roses that leaves your shop always receives your special attention. They never fail to bring a smile to your face, regardless of the color, quantity, or occasion. To have them on your body felt right to you and you wanted them in Corky's signature style.

You spent the rest of that evening mulling over what you wanted. It took you a few more days, but finally, you came to a decision. You wanted a ram surrounded by Corky's roses. A ribbon would wind around the portrait of the ram with the phrase: My will is sturdy inscribed on it. The design was perfect and you knew Corky would do your vision justice.

Your consultation was the first time you meant Corky outside of emailing her. A studded leather jacket was haphazardly thrown over her white tank top. You couldn't tell what brand of jeans she wore, but they did wonders for her legs. Her steel-toed boots clicked on the hardwood floor as she came to greet you. You accepted her offered hand into a shake and couldn't stop yourself from memorizing the callouses on her palm within those few, fleeting seconds. Her brown hair was perfectly unkempt and a permanent, knowing smirk was glued onto her face.

"I'm Corky."

She was hot. You were fucked.

After your initial greetings, she brought you to the back where her desk was so you both could work through your design. You found as many references as possible, including the same array of roses you saw on her shop's Instagram page. Corky chuckled fondly as she examined the canvas, lips quirking into a genuine smile.

"This is some of my older work," she mused as if she was warning you. Her gaze flickered through her lashes, brow quirked inquisitively at you.

"It's one of my favorites," you admit and Corky's smile only grows at your confession.

The close proximity allows you to catch onto her scent: fresh smoke and citrus. You want her to tattoo it into your lungs.

"Give me an hour and I'll have something nice for you. I'll call you when I'm finished."

One phone call later and you were back in her shop. Unsure of proper etiquette in the tattooing world, you had brought back coffee for both yourself and Corky. You needed a pick me up and it felt strange not to share with her. Shyly, you offered her a cup which she graciously accepted. Your guess of Corky taking her coffee black was right; you swallow a smile at the thought. She leads you back to her desk so she can present you her work.

It's overwhelming how beautiful Corky's art is. Everything about it is perfect and truly, you can't think of anything else to add, remove, or change. The roses woven through the ram's horns, the brilliant blue outline, and the delicate font she chose for the banner were small details you would have never considered on your own.

Your lack of a verbal response makes Corky laugh, leaning in closer.

"Stunned ya speechless, huh?" she teased and you can't help but laugh with her.

"It's gorgeous, Corky."

There's something on Corky's tongue as she pauses. Silently, you watch her shake whatever thought it was away before refocusing on you.

"Where do you want this?"

You pause to think.

"I think my thigh would be the best. I've read that it's one of the better places to get your first tattoo."

This information slaps a smile back on her face.

"You read right. That works for me."

Soon after, you discuss the rest of the housekeeping tasks regarding your tattoo. Once you put an initial deposit down, you decide on a date a month later. You bid Corky goodbye and return to your flower shop to close up for the night. Before you retire to bed, you start working on a custom rose bouquet for one of your clients.

The roses are beautifully crimson, just like the ones Corky drew for you.

"I'll be with ya in a moment!" A disembodied voice calls from the next room over at the sound of the doorbell. You nod—more to yourself—before shutting the door behind you.

A month blew by quicker than you anticipated. Tonight, you found yourself awkwardly stationed at the front door of Corky’s tattoo shop with a cup of coffee in each hand. On her recommendation, you came well-fed, hydrated, and with eight hours of sleep under your belt. You donned a loose, simple dress, figuring it would make Corky's job tonight easier.

What you didn't realize was that she booked you as her closer tonight. The shop was empty and immediately, you felt yourself sweating. Silently, you asked whatever higher powers existed to refrain from making you out into a fool tonight.

Shifting on your heels, you visibly brighten at the sound of Corky's boots thundering towards you. She appears from the backroom, grinning ear to ear as she walks towards you. She's clad in another plain white tank top and dark jeans, revealing the complex sleeves her leather jacket hid. The most notable tattoo is of a labrys on her upper arm.

"Hey stranger," she greets, raising her brows as you offer her a coffee cup. "You spoil me; thank you."

You don't miss the way her eyes drag down your frame.

Corky's fingers slide against yours as she takes the coffee from you. Her touch is electric and you hold back from shivering. If something so innocuous got to you, you don't know how you'll last tonight.

"My pleasure." You don't mean to sound so breathless, but you were currently recovering from her touch. Corky merely smiles and beckons you to follow her. You do so wordlessly, stepping up and over to her workstation.

She sifts through her desk before pulling out the stencil of your tattoo. Turning on her heel, she presents it to you and you nearly choke on your coffee.

It’s perfect.

Every detail from her initial artwork has been transcribed onto the stencil. You find yourself hypnotized as you lean in closer. It needs to be on your body now.

"Corky," you start and she laughs, gesturing for you to sit in the chair. You do so quickly, placing your belongings on an empty side table out of the way.

"Don't go worshipping me yet," she teases, easily picking up on the dreaminess laced in your voice.

She drags over a small, wheeled cart, completely set up for your session. You're unfamiliar with everything on it, but you watch carefully as she sets up her rotary machine. After checking to make sure you didn't have a latex allergy, Corky puts on a pair of black, single-use gloves.

"I still gotta tattoo it."

Pulling her stool over, her gloved hand goes to your thigh. The edge of her thumb grazes the hem of your dress and tenderly—so tenderly you might faint—she pushes the skirt up. You meet her in the middle, pulling it the rest of the way so it settles just over your hips. Cool air immediately rushes between your thighs and you've never felt more exposed. Corky guides your leg towards her and the thought of her face buried in your cunt flashes in your mind. Swiftly, you shake it away.

You allow her to position you as she sees fit while she preps your skin. Once satisfied, she presses the stencil to your skin to transfer the design. It takes all of your restraint to stay still and on the chair. How were you going to make it through a two hour session?

"Go check it out in the mirror." Corky points her thumb behind her and her voice sucks you back from your reverie.

Holding your dress skirt up, you walk to the wall mirror and examine the design. Turning to her, you hold a thumb up as she stares intensely at the exposed flesh. She hums in approval and you hurry back onto the chair. You get comfortable and again, Corky's hands are on your thigh. She's readjusting you and your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning.

"Are you ready?"

You nod.

"Let's begin."

The first ten minutes are relatively quiet. The buzz of the rotary is the only thing distracting you from the dull pain in your thigh. Well, that and the fact that her other hand is gripping your thigh in a way that makes your head spin. Corky pipes up first over the noise.

"What do you do?"

You beam; you adore answering this question.

"I'm a florist!" You watch as Corky's brows raise in interest, her gaze intensely fixed on your leg as she works. "I actually own the flower shop just up the street."

The buzzing stops completely and her eyes are glued to your face, lips parted in surprise.

"You own Fern & Flora?"

You nod proudly, practically glowing from the recognition.

"No shit; one of my girls, Sue, is there every two weeks buying flowers for her girlfriend."

Corky's machine whirs back to life and the prickly pain on your thigh returns. You hum to yourself, going over a mental list of your regulars and who could fit the profile Corky described.

"She's always going on about how her girlfriend likes the—"

"Violets." You finish thoughtfully, unable to stop the genuine smile growing across your face. "Margaret's favorite flowers are violets and Sue never lets me forget it."

You watch the way Corky's face softens as you speak. Her thumb presses against your inner thigh and your breath hitches quietly in your throat.

"What's your favorite flower?"

Staring down at her in disbelief, a chuckle pushes from your throat. You gesture to the tattoo she was currently working on, hoping to highlight the array of roses she was getting ready to outline.

"Do you even have to ask?"

Corky's shoulders raise into a shrug, glancing up at you quickly before refocusing on your thigh.

"Hey, forgive me for making small talk." The smile in her voice is evident and you find yourself grinning along with her.

"What's your favorite flower?" You toss the question back to Corky, ready to take her answer and brand it into the back of your mind.

She takes a moment to think about your question. If it wasn't obvious already, you could tell that this was something Corky hadn't previously thought about.

"I think I'm going to have to swing by your shop at some point to answer that question."

You can't help but blush. Was she flirting with you?

"I'd like that," you admit, fiddling with your fingernails.

Corky doesn't respond, instead reabsorbing herself back into her work. But a sly smirk plays on her lips and you have to stare up at the ceiling to keep your thoughts at bay.

"I think you'd like cornflowers." You finally state after a minute of silence. The cool colors and perky petals reminded you of Corky's persona. The bouquets that you crafted with them were some of your favorites so far.

"I think I'd like anything you recommend."

Okay, she's definitely flirting with you. Brazenly, you reply with: "Then I recommend you visit me sooner rather than later."

"Oh yeah?" There's a teasing edge in Corky's voice and you feel the warmth rise to your cheeks. Her voice drops an octave lower and you've completely disregarded the pain in your thigh. "And why's that?"

In that moment, you’ve forgotten everything about yourself. The only things you could comprehend were Corky’s hands groping your flesh and the irritating whizzing of the rotary. You suddenly feel hot and the idea of stripping your dress off grows more attractive with each passing second.

“I want to make a bouquet for you.” The sentence is rushed from your own nervousness, but you mean every word. “The sooner you stop by, the better of a selection I’ll still have for the season.”

Caught off guard, Corky sputters out a cough. However, she doesn’t stop working. The machine is still on as she finishes the outline of your tattoo without issue. You glance down curiously and witness her face flush crimson. A delighted giggle squeezes from your throat and you swear Corky blushes deeper than before.

“I’ll come by tomorrow.”

Your laughter is replaced with a kind smile. “Promise?”

She nods.

The rest of your session goes swiftly. Corky works like a machine: detailed, efficient, and insanely accurate. Your small talk comes and goes in waves, more so that she can focus on her work above all else. With a final wipe of her towel, your tattoo is finished two hours later. She grins eagerly before looking up at you.

"Wanna check it out?"

You don't miss a beat: "Uh, of course!"

You practically spring off the chair, stretching your legs as you scurry over to the mirror. The hem of your dress is still bawled in your fists as you stare at your thigh. You can hear Corky snickering at you while you fawn over her work.

"Holy shit..." You are awestruck and you turn to her, gaping before turning back to the mirror.

"It looks incredible," she agrees, discarding her gloves before pulling the rolling cart over to the side and out of the way. She goes to her workstation, pulls a few documents out, and scribbles something down as you continue to gape and stare at your new tattoo.

You return to Corky's workstation, gathering your belongings as you ready your wallet. She turns to face you again, handing you paperwork and guidance on how to maintain your new tattoo. You listen to her instructions carefully, unable to stop yourself from staring at her chapped lips every few moments.

"Do you have any questions?" You shake your head, averting your gaze to the papers she gave you. It essentially regurgitated what she said aloud, but you were thankful to have something written to refer to. Corky had also included her business card that you examined, noting the handwritten number just below her professional contact information.

"Actually, I do have a question," you start, not looking up from the papers in your hands. "Do you give all of your clients your personal number?"

Turning the documents to Corky, you point at the handwritten digits just below her work email. She flushes briefly before clearing her throat.

"Well no," she starts and a grin is already curling on your lips, watching as she gathers her thoughts. "But I figured it would make sense to give it to you. For tomorrow."

You hum thoughtfully, glancing over at her workstation before looking at her.

"Can I borrow that?" You gesture at a Sharpie marker on the side and she snatches it up before handing it to you.

"Give me your arm."

Corky stares at you, bewildered by your demand, but obediently offers her right arm to you. Your fingers clasp her wrist, outstretching it so that her fingertips just barely graze the top of your chest.

You miss the sharp inhale Corky takes.

Carefully, you jot your phone number down, making sure to avoid writing over the pinup girl tattoo facing you. Once finished, you push the cap back on and place the marker in her open palm.

"For tomorrow," you parrot, giddily watching the flustered look wash over Corky's face. She nods quickly, clutching the marker before stammering for you to follow her so she can take the rest of your payment. You trail behind her, already working out flower combinations in your mind for Corky's bouquet.

Out of all the ones you can think of, cornflowers and roses are the most fitting.

🦇 tag list: @crvptidsmain, @astroph1les, @uraesthete

[greeneyed-thestral]

I MET MICHAEL SHEEN. 16/03/24, National Theatre

So, if you've read my post about booking tickets to see Michael, you know all about my what-ifs. But the day was finally here.

I arrived at the National Theatre, followed all the Nye signs and here's the Olivier Theatre. I made my sister buy me the show's programme, hoping I would be able to get it signed.

I find my seat, I'm not in the centre but the stage still feels very close and you can see everything (amphitheatres are always the best).

Lights out. The audience is in religious silence. Can't believe I'm actually here, this is happening.

[skip this part in smaller font, if you want to avoid spoilers] In the words of Staged, he really loses himself in his roles. First of all, it's great to hear him speak in a Welsh accent.

But then we also see him turning back into a child, and you can totally believe he's young and innocent again. His stutter feels so real, his struggle and sadness too. The entire ensamble is great during the classroom scene, where they all help Nye against their bullying teacher (using those big canes to make him look scary really works). Hearing young Nye confessing that at times he thinks he 'shouldn't exist' because of who he is was a gut punch; Michael's delivery of that whole part is incredible, in that moment he really becomes a little boy that allows himself to feel vulnerable and says something dark to a friend. The way he jumps while saying "I can visualise and enunciate!" made me wanna jump too, he was ready to give up and then he found the solution through books, it's the joy and relief you feel when you realise that there is another way and your life is not over.

Now, I've watched musicals all my life and let me tell you that man is meant to be in one. He opened his mouth and all I could see was someone that had been waiting a long time for the occasion to show his talent, truly showstopping. He was so free and happy and confident, singing and dancing spectacularly. I couldn't stop smiling and giggling, we all clapped.

It's clear he means every word he says, and when he points and shouts his political arguments at the audience, those who feel called out must be shaking; I thought 'This is how people in Ancient Greece must have felt everytime they went to the theatre'. His Nye is inspiring, passionate, someone you'd want to follow, he stands up for what he believes in and lets nothing get in his way.

We get to watch him flirt, on all fours, waggling his 'tail'; everytime we think we've seen all he's capable of, he does something like this and surprises us.

But most of all, we see him being scared, first of having to do something, and then of not being able to do enough for all of us. At one point everyone has requests for Nye and I was expecting him to shout "Heal yourselves!" like Jesus in JCS, it totally conveyed what it must have been like to be in his role at the time, overwhelmed with daunting responsibilities.

In general, I appreciated the fact that it wasn't a linear biography, they chose life moments that have universal situations everyone can relate too, like they do in bio-musicals. I loved the staging. The colour palette is so recognisable; the curtains and the beds are used in many different ways so everything is explored at its full potential.

He is on stage basically all the time for more than two hours (sometimes twice a day, can you imagine?). Also barefoot and in his pajamas from start to finish, he looks like a teddy bear you just want to hug and protect.

He bows, looks at Nye's achievements, then leaves the stage.

Standing ovation, applause. I go back to the theatre lobby, I was supposed to wait for my sister, but she's late. Meanwhile, a fan asks me how to get to the Stage Door. I start too fear that I'm going to miss my chance if I keep waiting inside, so I decide to go on my own. After no more than 5 minutes, he's outside with us. Forget Nye, I am living my fever dream. He has just finished his second show of the day and yet he's smiling and listening to each and every one, signing and taking pictures. I know many have said this, but he really is an angel.

My sister arrives, and as soon as I'm sure she has the camera ready, I make my way to him. The two girls next to me who were speaking to him needed a pen and I lent them my sharpie, so I got my chance to look generous in front of him.

And suddently it was my turn. This is as much as my scrambled mind allows me to remember: I tell him I'm Francesca and I'm from Italy, he asks me how long I am going to stay, I confess that I had arrived that morning and just to see him, that I would be leaving already the following morning. I can't even focus while he's signing my programme, I just want to find the right words. I manage to say how I enjoyed seeing his passion, all these different sides of him and how watching him sing and dance has been the highlight of my evening. We take a picture together, I feel his hand on my shoulder and I realise my arm is around the waist of this person I love. I had to thank him again, telling him that he only deserves good things and that we are so lucky to have him. He wishes me a safe trip home, and I melt. I leave and I can't stop trembling. On my way back to the hotel I hold on tight to my signed programme and the sharpie that was in his hands just moments earlier. Only later I will realise that he's also written 'Ciao!', 'love' and 'X', without me asking for it or anything! Seeing him act live was a big gift already, but what followed outside was beyond my dreams. I can't look at the photos without blushing, the way he looks at me in the video and then also strokes my arm for a moment, I mean pinch me now.

The more I think about it, the more I can't believe it happened.

I want to thank everyone that under my first post pushed me and encouraged me to see the pros of doing this, I share this beautiful moment of my life with all of you. <3

[traegorn]

So when I do finish this book I am writing (speaking it into existence bc adhd is a BITCH) Like what's your experience with publishing? How much does it usually cost? What kinda income does one get? I don't really care about making money but it would be super neat to make something since I cannot work. How do taxes work on that also? Google is confusing me

So far i have an idea and half a first chapter with thrilling notes such as " add a cat" and "insert spell here"

So I self publish, so that's the world I know. If you want to find a traditional publisher, you'll need to query agents and do a bunch of other stuff. My only advice for traditional publishing is that when going that route, money should always flow towards the author. If they're asking you to pay for something, they aren't a traditional publisher and there's a good chance it's a grift.

So let's talk about what I do know.

(And this turned out to be long as hell, so I'm putting in a "keep reading")

When you self publish, you are effectively acting as the publisher. If you want someone to do edits? You'll have to hire an editor. If you want someone to do the book layouts? You'll have to hire someone to do it if you can't do it yourself. You need a cover? You get the idea.

Now I don't pay an editor, so I can't really give you a price range on how much they cost off the top of my head. I do know they can get expensive though.

I also do all my own interiors, but I have a graphic design background and have been doing print layouts for decades. If you want to hire someone to do the interiors, that can run you $100-500, so I recommend just... learning to do it yourself.

Frankly, it's not terribly hard. I do mine in Apple Pages on my Mac for my paperbacks and Amazon has a free program for formatting eBooks (which you can export both as the Kindle format OR the more universal ePub format). With your print version, you just want to make sure you get your margins right, along with using a standard font like Times New Roman.

Like, literally just pick up a book and study the layout. Look at the front matter (copyright page, title page, etc) of a handful of books and mimic what you find there. I don't know why so many self published authors get that bit wrong. It's a book. Format it like a book.

Now the cover... this is where you'll probably end up spending something. I do my own covers for my comics, but hire out for my novels because I can't do the kind of covers expected of my genre. And you do want to match your genre, because you want a potential reader to know what they're getting into. I've seen so many self published books with terrible covers and it drives me nuts.

Cover design can run you anywhere from $35-$400 depending on who you choose to contract, and this is where I recommend you spend your money. On the cheap end you have companies like GetCovers. Now they primarily do covers made from edited stock photos, and I've honestly been pretty satisfied with their work... but you have to hold their hand and be very clear with what you want.

GetCovers is a part of Mibl Group, and it's pretty much all of their most inexperienced employees. The whole point of it is to get them the experience to work on bigger projects down the road. They have cheaper packages, but for their best work you'll probably only spend like $35-$45. If you're working in a genre that mainly uses stock images, that's who you want.

I often end up retouching the covers they do though, because I'm impatient. Like there are edits to The Witch and the Rose and Shadowcasting I made after they handed me the completed files. You're going to have to be very specific with what you want. The first version of the Bloody Damn Rite cover they did... was awful. But they did the revisions I asked for, and the version they delivered in the end was great.

Now if you want, like, original art or just more complicated, custom stuff? You're looking at at least $250 on the cheap end, but sometimes you end up in the ballpark of $700-$1000. Like on their regular site (just to use the same company as GetCovers for comparison), the Mibl group charges like $300 for a more complicated stock photo based cover (that requires more complicated edits) and at least $700 for covers that require digital painting, 3d modeling, etc.

There are a wide range of prices depending on what you're asking for. But, y'know, you're paying that once for a commercial piece of graphic design.

I'm cheap and can do some of the work myself, so I go for the $35 cover. I also figure out what fonts they used for the covers, so I can go buy my own commercial license for them and replicate a similar logo on my title page. You don't need to do that bit, I'm just finicky.

Actually publishing the book is easy. You'll want to use a self publishing platform like Kindle Direct Publishing or IngramSpark (or, if you're like me, both). I sell KDP books on Amazon, but all other distribution is through IngramSpark. You make more money on Amazon by using KDP, but even though they offer distribution, no book store will ever order through them. So I turn that option off, and then I take the same book and I make it available through IngramSpark.

On amazon I make a little more than $2 on a $3 ebook, and about $4.00 on a $12.99 paperback. When a bookstore buys an IngramSpark version, I make about $2.50 on a $14.99 book (if you wondered by my books cost more when not buying it through Amazon... that's why). Now if you buy yourself author copies, they cost way less -- in the end I think I can get them for like $5 a book? So when I sell them in person, my margins are much higher.

But, y'know, you have to actually sell them.

Because that's the hard part. When self publishing, you only have you to market it. I don't know how many books I'd be selling if I didn't have a pre-existing audience -- and even then it's not a huge amount. I've sold about 200 books this year? Which isn't nothing, and I appreciate every single person who's purchased one of my titles, but it's obviously not enough to quit my day job for, y'know?

That said, I've known people who do sell enough to make a steady living. So it's possible for sure.

But it's not going to happen overnight, and it won't be easy.

As for taxes, you'll need a 1099 and do stuff with the Schedule C. I always forget exactly what until I'm actually doing them, but it's not super hard, just annoying.

[curtsycream]

Baxter Radic Blurb

Finally finished season two of surviving summer and I love Bax’s character. He also deserved better so I’m giving him better. I’m giving him you babes <3

“How about that one?”

Looking down at his hand he looked over the tattoo she was pointing at. The slim reddish pink lollipop tattoo with small font along the white stick. Smiling at her he shook his head, “it’s just something small…I’ve always had it.”

Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head in return. “You didn’t have it before you left Queensland.”

Baxter bit back the chance to tease her for being so observant with his body. He held back as he tried to think about something to say to distract her. Nothing came to mind and he knew she wouldn’t buy into a lie.

“It’s new, got it my first week here,” he finally admitted to her.

The Queensland surfer smiled at him, “I’m loving this honesty streak. I’m guessing that Summer girl really got through to you, huh?”

“It wasn’t Summer,” he mumbled.

She craned her head back to look up at him in her seated position. “Then—then who? Or what? You’ve never been so open before,” she trailed off.

“Maybe, I don’t need to explain myself.”

She frowned grabbing his hand, “don’t do that. You always pull back when things feel tough for you. I’m sick of it, why can’t you just tell me the reason? Are you worried I’ll laugh or something? You know me better than—“

“It’s not that!” He exclaimed looking down at her. Running his free hand through his pink hair he shakes his head. “I know you wouldn’t do that, you’re too nice for that. Too nice for me,” he whispered.

“Don’t say that, you’re an amazing guy Bax…not many are like you. You don’t have to tell me about the tattoo just please don’t shut me out. It’s like ever since you moved to Shorehaven you’ve been reluctant to even message me.”

The way in which she was pouring her heart out to him left a sour taste in his mouth. Sitting beside him was the girl he grew to like quite a lot before having to leave. Tweaking his ear with his fingers he looks anywhere but at her. “I—it’s not your fault. I just thought if I avoided you it would make things easier.”

“Make what easier?”

“The fact that I like you and even if I were to tell you I’d find a way to fuck it up like I do everything else.”

The confession made the air around them feel heavy. It wasn’t like him to openly admit his feelings. But then again he had changed since moving away from Queensland. “Bax. Actually listen to me, I want you to know that what happened wasn’t your fault. You were drunk, we were all raging and someone dared you to do it. What you did wasn’t the reason you all had to leave, you know this. I don’t blame you and neither do the others. You’re a great guy,” she spoke calmly as she still held onto his hand.

Looking at her he let out a sigh, “I know that but it still feels like I had a part to play. Even if it wasn’t my fault I still fucked up. The second I got here I messed things up for my new team. I just think I’m causing myself problems.”

“You only think that because you’re so used to taking the blame. I promise you, you’re not at fault and it may take you a while to believe that. But trust me I’ll never blame you for things I know you didn’t mean to do.”

Leaning forward slightly his forehead rests against hers. His bright blue eyes searching her eyes for a hint of falsity. He found none but still he inquired, “promise?”

Raising his pinky he holds it out for her, keeping her forehead to his she locks hers around his. “I promise.”

Moving away from her he smiles keeping his pinky hooked with hers.

“Oh and Bax, I like you.”

[hansensgirl]

summary. | Your favourite bookstore turns out to be the one place you’re trying to escape.

prompts. | Andy Barber + bookstore AU + “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” + kidnapping, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!bookstore owner!Andy Barber x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, kidnapping, obsession, captivity, chasing, mild violence (andy tackles the reader), perversion? (andy gets a hard-on), age gap, lying/deceit, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

You don’t run through the aisles—you know better than that. The store is closed, and he'll find you in no time if he hears your feet thumping on the carpet floors. Your goal is to get to the front doors.

It’s such a shame that in the large bookstore, you still weren’t able to evade its owner’s attention. You love reading too much, and the proximity of the building tempts you almost daily. You were his best customer—but now, Andy insists that the books are yours, for free. You don’t even have to put them back on the shelves.

It sounds like a bookworm’s dream, but to you, it’s a nightmare. 

“Honey? Where are you?” he calls out, voice loud. He is also taking his sweet time, which terrifies you. You can’t help but feel shameful—it was your own naivety that got you in this predicament.

Andy said he needed help unloading a box and promised that a book you were looking forward to reading would be inside. You followed him—stupidly—and didn’t even have a chance to scream when he shut the door and locked you inside the storage room.

He left you there, listening with a heavy heart as you pounded against the door and screamed at him. Eventually, your adrenaline left your body, and you grew tired. When you woke up, you were in a soft bed with the older man cuddling you.

You stayed quiet and tried your hardest not to wake him up—not out of kindest, but fear. He roused from his sleep when he heard the door slam shut behind you, and now here you are, running for dear life.

“Don’t be like that, sweetie. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, and you want to laugh at his attempt to get you to say something and reveal yourself. “No, I didn’t think so. Don’t be like that—don’t make it worse for yourself.”

The threat hangs in the air as you weave through the self-help section, trying to reach the staircase that would take you to the main floor.

You read all genres—as much as you can, at least. Andy once appeared to be just like the romance heroes, but now, he’s all too similar to the antagonists who either get away with their crimes or are punished forever.

The thought makes you wince. Who would’ve thought? Certainly not you.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he laughs, and as he says this, you reach the stairs. You descend them quickly, careful not to trip or make any noise. This is it—you’re so close!

You can see the entrance with the flipped font and bell at the top. The oak wood is a sight you never thought you’d end up loving. 

Just as you reach the last few steps, you go tumbling down. A strong force tackles you before saving your fall from being too nasty. 

You let a sob out from defeat, shock, and pain.

“Gotcha,” Andy whispers, large arms wrapped around your body. He holds you close, and you realize that he’s hard. You grimace, yet you still try to fight your way out of his grip. “Nuh-uh-uh. You’re not going anywhere, honey.”

You don’t care—you continue fighting. 

“You can try as much as you’d like, but you’re with me forever. Whether you like it or not.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

get ya thinkin' (that you need me)

Fandom: Twisters Rating: T Word Count: 6028

Summary: Kate, Javi, Tyler, Lily, Dexter, Dani, and Boone—they're all one crew now, and they need funding. Trying to look more responsible on a grant application, they come up with an unconventional solution: two of them should get married. But which two? Javi and Tyler prompt Kate to consider what her friendships could become.

“I know it was me,” Tyler prefaces. “I know I’m the one who said our crew didn’t need PhDs, but…”

“But it might be nice to have one right about now?” Lily guesses.

There’s a collective sigh as they all stare at the screen together. Javi, controlling the touchpad, scrolls down and back up again, like the words might have changed, like this grant application isn’t punishingly particular and hopelessly intimidating.

“If we type it up in the wrong font it gets rejected?” Lily checks, jabbing a finger at the line she picks out of the blur.

Boone shifts and turns to Kate. “You’re doing your PhD, right? How soon you gonna be done?”

Kate gives him a look that asks if he’s shitting her. “Not by next Monday, which is when this application’s due.”

“Fuck,” Javi groans, rubbing his forehead.

“Well, hey, you gotta be good at this kinda thing, Storm Par,” Tyler reasons. “Your old crew had money comin’ out its eyeballs.”

“That was from investors. Highly unethical investors,” he clarifies, with a glance at Kate, who frowns sympathetically. “Private money. We never held a government grant.”

“We need more time,” Kate declares, like just saying that could possibly extend the deadline.

She shoves herself up and away from the motel bed they’re all gathered on the end of. If any of them were responsible adults, they’d be able to admit that they don’t need the deadline to be later, they need to have started working on this sooner. A lot sooner. The trouble is, they’re the furthest thing possible from responsible—at least, not in any way a government grant application would define the term (and, Jesus, does this application ever love defining terms—Definition of Terms is a whole section of the instructions, right at the top). They’re storm-chasers, risk-takers, and no, no one has yet seen fit to bestow upon them large amounts of money to fund their research, so it’s tough to prove they’re a safe bet, a good call, a fast horse.

“The only aspect we may be able to exploit,” Dexter pipes up, “is format.”

“It’s all online, I thought,” Dani says, seated beside him.

“Most of it is, but… could you scroll back up?” he requests of Javi. “Right… there. In the research proposal section, there’s an option for delivery method.”

“Thirty minutes or it’s free?” Boone quips.

Lily rolls her eyes at him.

“No,” Kate says, pacing. “No, it means we might have a better chance if we submit an audio recording of us explaining our research, maybe Javi talking through the data to make the significance really clear. Or we make a slideshow, or film a video.” She pauses to smile. “You guys would be great at that. The point is—”

“The point is,” Tyler picks up, meeting her eyes, “we could convince them on our own terms. No PhD necessary.”

“Though we’d still have to seem stable,” Kate stresses. Everyone nods back at her. “Professional.”

“Who says we’re not professional?” Javi demands.

“Do I need to bring up the pants thing?”

“…No.”

“Everybody in this room knows their shit,” Tyler says.

“Right,” Dani says slowly, “but you can’t say we aren’t… slightly erratic. Not that it’s a bad thing, for what we do. But Kate did say ‘stable.’”

“To be clear,” Kate says, “I’m not telling anybody to quit driving like a total jackass, or making up catchphrases that promote reckless behaviour—”

“Or shooting fireworks into a tornado,” Javi contributes.

“These non-criticisms feel oddly specific,” Tyler says tightly.

“Our roster’s not even stable,” Lily points out. She folds her legs on top of the bland coverlet and the mattress’s springs shriek. “Kate’s only been part of the crew a couple days longer than Javi, and that hasn’t been very long.”

“That is a valid point,” Dexter says.

Kate sighs. “It is. So, I’m asking honestly,” she finishes. “What can we do, by next Monday, to convince some government committee”—she slaps the back of one hand into the palm of the other as she lists criteria—“we are sane, we are stable, we are going to go the distance with this research?”

Into the silence that follows, Javi says, “We could get married.”

There’s another second of absolute quiet before Tyler asks, “Was that an open proposal, or is there a happy couple you had in mind?”

What Kate thinks they’ve probably all been enjoying about the new (or just newly expanded) crew is the lack of awkwardness. Javi’s Storm Par crew was rife with it. While having zero members with a PhD is sometimes a challenge, Kate saw how too many PhDs could be even worse; there was a hierarchy amongst those guys, and if anyone dared offer a suggestion, the rest of them would throw sidelong glances at one another. Kate figured a few of them could straight-up go to hell (particularly Scott), but she still doesn’t know how Javi stood it.

But even that awkwardness was clearly power-based. Javi’s suggestion is different, more personal, and definitely more awkward.

The vibe in the motel room is immediately screwed up. Some people look like they want to laugh, others are frowning in contemplation, and Javi’s just blushing, not looking anyone in the eye. Still, because he’s Javi, he doesn’t chicken out. He tries to make his case.

“You guys heard of Jo Harding?”

“Fuck yeah, I’ve heard of Jo Harding,” Dani announces. “Who in the tornado game hasn’t?”

“Well, she’s an Oklahoma girl, so I was just checking.” Javi shrugs. “Her husband was her partner when she chased.”

“Yeah, but she had a whole crew,” Boone says.

“Yeah, but she also had a husband.”

“Stop mansplaining Jo Harding,” Lily complains, flinging herself backwards on the bed.

“It’s not like having a husband made her a good scientist, or a good storm-chaser,” Dani says.

“I’m not saying that!” Javi protests.

“Yeah, dude, Jo’s husband isn’t the most interesting thing about her,” Boone adds.

“I can’t believe we’ve now spent more time talking about Jo Harding’s husband than Jo Harding,” Lily groans.

“They won the grant!” Javi bursts out. “They won the fucking grant!”

Tyler, who’s mostly just been observing the crew with amusement up to this point, looks at Javi and cocks an eyebrow. “This grant?”

“Yes! This grant! I’m just trying to say they’re a powerful team. Formidable. I’ve read, like, every article ever done on them—”

“Woah, woah, woah. You have? That’s intense.”

Kate glances at Tyler and explains, “He had a crush.”

“Sounds more like an obsession.”

“I admired their work,” Javi says defensively.

“Oh, is that what you were admiring in that one article where you cut across the text and just kept the photo of Jo?” Kate checks, smirking.

“What have I done to you, Kate? Goddamn.”

“Finish your point,” she prompts.

Javi sighs and braces his hands behind him, leaning back carefully so the laptop doesn’t slide from his lap.

“They always talk about how they make each other better. Not that the other person is why they’re good at their job in the first place,” he clarifies, shooting glances at Lily, Boone, and Dani, “but that they look out for each other, stop each other from making stupid decisions, keep each other safe. And yeah, a crew can do that too. A good crew. But a married couple just sells devotion and, and conviction in a different way. All I’m saying is it’s something to try.”

“It’s not an unreasonable proposition,” Dexter allows when it’s clear that Javi’s done. Dexter’s calm, steady voice giving the idea his tentative approval strengthens its merit for everyone in the room. Kate can see it. She exhales.

“Alright,” she says. “Well, we don’t have a lot of time to mull this over before the deadline, but let’s give Javi’s suggestion some thought. And any other ideas you guys come up with. Maybe reconvene on this tomorrow?”

There are nods and murmurs of approval.

The room they’re in is Lily and Dani’s, so the crewmembers not hanging around to chill file out onto the sidewalk that lines the motel. Kate’s just thinking about going back to her own room—well, hers and Javi’s, with matching twin beds in baby-blue coverlets that make her think of the Shining twins—and getting some sleep. They chased yesterday, then stayed up late last night going over the data. They’ve all been eating at weird hours, and now with the stress of the grant application… Kate runs a hand over her face. She can hear Javi and Tyler talking behind her, but she doesn’t think anything of it until she’s unlocked the motel room door and Tyler follows her and Javi inside.

“We need to talk,” Tyler states the second the door’s closed.

“‘We could get married,’” Kate quotes. (Sarcastically, but yeah, she’s beat.) “‘We need to talk.’ You’re both so dramatic today.”

“That’s what we need to talk about,” Tyler says, ignoring her sarcasm.

“What?”

“Getting married.”

Kate gives him a slow blink.

“We just did,” she says. “That’s what that conversation was.” She points in the direction of the other motel room.

“But we need to decide,” Javi says.

“We will. Everyone needs some time to think.”

“No, they don’t,” Tyler says.

“Uh, yes, they do. If they’d either thought it was the best solution or a total flop, they would’ve said right after Javi explained.”

“I know our crew better than you do, Sapulpa—just a fact. Trust me, they had an opinion.”

“Then how come nobody said anything?” Kate asks skeptically.

“Because it isn’t about them,” Javi says.

“What? Of course it is! The grant is for the team. We can put it towards a new drone for Lily and get Boone some more—”

“Not the grant. The marriage.”

“The marriage would be for the grant.” Kate has a bad feeling that she’s started talking to Javi like he’s an idiot, but she’s seriously just not getting it. Why isn’t he just saying what he means? She’s tired.

Tyler laughs. He laughs! She stares at him.

“Come on,” he says, “you have to know why they all clammed up.”

Kate looks to Javi. Javi, the guy she basically ghosted until he showed up at her workplace to drag her back here. Javi, who’s still her best friend, no matter what. Javi, who she really needs to make sense right now.

“They didn’t ask any questions,” Javi says gently.

“Most importantly,” Tyler cuts in, “nobody asked who this hypothetical marriage would be between. You catch that?”

“That’s just because we need to decide whether or not we’re doing it first,” Kate says, crossing her arms.

“You really think that’s why? And not that it’s because of the way Storm Par here looks at you, or the fact that he’s the one who suggested getting hitched? It’s not just a grant application, Kate. There are other stakes here.”

Kate flushes lightly, and when she chances a look at Javi, he is too. Tyler’s not exactly wrong, but he isn’t quite right either; she and Javi go back a long way. They care about one another—which is natural, especially after what they survived. Kate would also be lying if she tried to tell Tyler she hasn’t noticed those looks of Javi’s, that she’s blind to the way his steady brown eyes linger on her when she speaks, find her when she’s still, working out the math for their next planned chase. She doesn’t hate it, that way he has of looking at her.

Javi temporarily saves her from responding. Once he’s made his point, she’s not entirely grateful.

"Me?" he says to Tyler. “Those guys aren’t keeping their opinions to themselves because of some obvious claim I was staking on Kate. I’m subtle.”

The remark is so pointed that it’s no wonder Tyler reacts to it, even as Kate has a private, silent panic.

“I never staked a claim on Kate,” Tyler assures him.

“Sure you did,” Javi argues. “You stayed at her house. You met her mom. You basically poached her from Storm Par.”

“I didn’t need to poach her. She came willingly. And I bet you’ve stayed at her house and met her mom! You’ve known each other, what? Forever? That about right?”

“Well, what about you two?” Kate interrupts, gesturing between the men. “Old rivals, new allies. Some unresolved tension from chasing the same storms, maybe? How do you know the crew weren’t picturing you at the altar?”

While this seems to genuinely bewilder Javi, Tyler hitches his jeans and shrugs. “Wouldn’t be my first rodeo.”

“I just don’t think anybody’s thinking anything.”

“They might not all be thinking the same thing,” Tyler allows her, “but they’re all thinkin’ something. The two people getting married to give us a shot at this grant are standing in this room right now. I guarantee it.”

The three of them eye each other.

“If there’s going to be a marriage,” Javi says.

“Oh, there is,” Tyler says. “You made too good a case for it. Whole lotta money on the line. Seems too logical not to try.”

“Nothing about this is logical,” Kate decides, and goes to brush her teeth in the tiny bathroom.

When she comes back out, Tyler’s gone. She cedes the bathroom to Javi so he can get ready for bed too. They exchange a look as he passes her, but she waves him on, pats his shoulder as he passes. They can talk when he’s ready. Well, maybe not ready, but ready for bed. She goes to her squeaky twin and sits down to wait.

“It’s insane,” Kate says a little later.

They’re lying down, facing each other across the divide between their narrow beds. There’s an old movie playing on the perhaps equally old TV that sits against the opposite wall; they’ve turned the sound way down. The screen’s glow provides the only light. Kate thumps her pillow for emphasis rather than elaborating. She just doesn’t have anything smart left to say on this topic.

“It’s also not,” Javi counters. He’s run out of more sophisticated arguments too.

“So, two of us are really going to get married?”

“Hey, we do crazier shit literally every day. And it’s not, like, real. Whether or not it helps us get the grant, the marriage can be annulled, or they can get divorced, or whatever. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

Kate laughs, and then Javi laughs too. She likes watching him laugh; his smile hangs on for such a long time after he stops. It’s sweet.

“Who do you think it should be?” she wonders.

“I mean, I would do it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I suggested it, right? Gotta put my… I don’t know, my vows where my mouth is.”

“So rational,” Kate notes, sort of joking, though she does also admire Javi’s pragmatism. He’s thinking of the crew, how to look out for them, both by securing this grant and by sparing them the need to enter into this plan which is—regardless of what he says—a little insane. When she thinks of it that way… “I guess I would too.”

“You would get married?”

“Why not? Since it has to be somebody. You’re my best friend, anyway,” she says, sending him a soft smile. “It wouldn’t be like marrying a stranger. Besides, nothing would really change.”

“You don’t think so?” Javi asks earnestly. Which is not the easiest question to answer. But Javi has more to say before he’ll let her try. “You know… I mean, I told you…”

“That you would’ve done anything for me, back then,” Kate fills in. She sees Javi nod against his pillow. She exhales slowly. “Yeah. I didn’t really pick up on that. I just thought we were friends.”

“We were friends. We are. I just felt a little more for you than that. Not that I ever would’ve done anything. You and Jeb were great together. I wouldn’t have been dumb enough to try to come between you, and I didn’t want to. I just sort of quietly…” Javi grins like he can’t help it. “…had this thing for you.”

Kate returns his grin, amused because it’s easier to feel amused than to feel sad. She wants to be able to talk about Jeb, hasn’t let herself in so long, putting herself more than a thousand miles away from anyone else who knew him. Now, it feels so good to hear Jeb’s name in the mouth of somebody who cared about him too. With Javi, Jeb will never be forgotten. Kate will never lose the opportunity to talk about Jeb, to reminisce. Javi will be as respectful now as he apparently was then, keeping his own wants reined in so Jeb and Kate could be happy with each other. Who should she—should either of them—allow to make her happy now? With his caring, trusting eyes trained on her as the light from the TV flashes and shifts, Javi seems like a pretty good choice.

“It’d be more than practical for you,” she acknowledges.

“It would.” Javi sighs. “I thought you’d better have all the facts.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And now you can admit it,” he prompts.

“What?”

“That you got the hots for me too.”

They share another laugh. But Kate can only laugh so long as a reaction to his teasing tone, because, yeah, she kind of has started to think of him in that way since being back here in Oklahoma. She’s been trying to wait it out a little. Part of that’s fear; Jeb was her last serious attachment. She hasn’t been able to love somebody like that again (she hasn’t even really tried to date), too scared that something awful will happen. With Javi, it’s a real possibility that he could meet Jeb’s exact same fate, and there’s no place in the whole world Kate could move to that could get her far enough away from here if that happened.

The other reason she’s waited is that coming back, coming home, has provoked a swirling mess of feelings in her—an emotional tornado, if she’s honest, and it has taken honesty to let herself be hit by the force of those feelings instead of retreating to the mental bunker where she’s spent the last five years. Those winds are still calming. In the meantime, Kate hasn’t wanted to confuse the feeling of being home with a desire to be more than friends with Javi.

“Not then,” he says kindly, when she doesn’t reply right away. “I know you didn’t then.”

“Coming back,” Kate starts, her gaze drifting, “hasn’t been totally what I thought it would be. I’d be lying if I said you weren’t part of that. You’re the same as you were then, but different too. I’d never seen you lead a team before.”

“You surprised those guys listened to me?”

“No, I guess I just wasn’t expecting the way you made room for me. I saw that you were still on my side…

“I always have been.”

“I know,” she promises, meeting his eye. “And you trusted me again, immediately—”

“No reason not to,” Javi says easily.

“There were reasons not to,” she insists. Does she need to remind him of their first chase after she arrived? How she panicked? How she was the reason they didn’t get the third scanner set up and so couldn’t collect data that day? “But you vouched for me. Last time, with our team, you trusted me because I was the head of the project. It felt like you trusted me just as fully this time, even though it meant committing all those other people and all your resources.”

She’s surprised, while she’s being this sincere, that Javi laughs at her.

“I never trusted you just because you were the head of the project,” he explains. “I trusted you because you were you. You’re still you. You’re so you that Tyler’s ready to marry you too, and you’ve known each other less than a month.”

Kate makes a dismissive sound.

“You know there’s something between you,” Javi says. “That man is crazy about you.”

“I think he might just be crazy. It’s well-documented on the internet.”

“He’s always close to you.”

“So are you.”

“Exactly,” Javi agrees. “So I can speak to his motives.”

“We survived an EF4 together. He sheltered me with his body in the bottom of a swimming pool. Maybe we just shared an intense, near-death experience.”

“Is that all?”

Kate deflates.

“No. He is pretty hot.”

“That’s what I thought,” Javi says triumphantly.

There’s more to it than that, but Javi can obviously tell that already, so it doesn’t seem worth saying. Kate folds her pillow in half so she can sit up a little higher.

“Well, can we talk about the look on your face?”

“When?”

“‘Wouldn’t be my first rodeo,’” Kate quotes, badly mimicking Tyler’s voice.

“As if he meant anything by that.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s Tyler Owens! He just says shit for dramatic effect!”

Kate crosses her arms and stares at her friend with amusement.

“Probably!” Javi adds weakly.

“I could see you two married. Fake-married.”

“He is good at what he does,” Javi concedes, “when he’s not being a total jackass.”

“Is that all?” she teases.

She hears Javi’s deep sigh.

“I’ve watched a few of his YouTube videos,” Javi confesses. “He takes off his shirt sometimes.”

Kate sinks back down into bed after that. At some point, half-asleep, she hears Javi get up to use the bathroom. He switches off the TV on his way past, and the light quits flickering across Kate’s closed eyelids.

—

They aren’t chasing the next day, so they decide to stay in town for breakfast at the little diner. Because they’re together so much—hunched over the same screens, crammed into the same vehicles, bunked in the same motel rooms—it isn’t unusual for them to not eat together. Four of them practically feels like a family reunion, but Kate’s glad of the company. She, Javi, Tyler, and Boone grab a booth and flap open their cracked plastic menus.

Javi, seated opposite her and next to Boone, keeps looking at her. Kate can feel it without returning his gaze. When she relents and looks back at him while they’re eating, she sees (as she suspected she would) that he isn’t making eyes at her over his pancakes—he’s watching her with Tyler. She makes a face at Javi. There’s nothing to see! Tyler might be sitting beside her, but he’s intent on dipping his bacon into the yolks of his eggs, laughing across the table at something Boone’s telling him he captured in recent footage of the crew goofing around. Tyler and Kate aren’t looking at one another. They aren’t even touching. Yeah, maybe she can feel the heat of him because their thighs are almost close enough to touch on the seat, but it doesn’t mean any more today that it did yesterday. Javi’s just trying to make it weird, because of their conversation last night.

I could make it weird too, she threatens with her eyes. That makes Javi smile and go back to his pancakes.

After they’ve finished though, when Boone and Javi get into a discussion that quickly becomes so focused that it shuts out the other side of the table, Tyler nudges Kate’s arm with his elbow and jerks his head towards the door.

Outside, Kate takes a breath that doesn’t feel deep enough. It’s dry today. A field borders one side of the diner parking lot, and the wheat rustles crisply. Taking it all in is second nature, requires no thought at all. There’s the windspeed she can guess at when a breeze strokes across her arm; there’s wind direction, determined when a slightly stronger gush sweeps a strand of hair loose from her ponytail; she judges the atmospheric pressure with her sinuses; and she gathers all of this without even looking at the sky. When she does, it’s cloudless, flat as a blue tablecloth.

She looks at Tyler. He’s studying her.

“Just trying to pick up some tips,” he says, before she can say anything.

“And? What’ve you learned?”

Tyler just smiles mysteriously.

“You guys talk last night?”

“Me and Javi?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure,” Kate says. She knows it’s a vague answer, but Tyler will be bold enough to ask for the information he really wants. She’d bet on it.

She turns to face him fully, crosses her arms expectantly.

“Did you decide anything?” Tyler asks. He has his cowboy hat on, but the morning light slants low, making him squint when he looks at her. She circles him a little so he’s not staring into the sun.

“It shouldn’t really be a unilateral decision, should it?”

“Typically, yeah, it is just one person who decides to propose.”

“This isn’t about just one person,” Kate reminds him. “It’s about the crew.”

“I’m aware.”

“Well…”

“Well. Are you guys waiting on a group vote then?” he inquires facetiously.

“I didn’t say Javi and I agreed to get married,” she says, frowning.

“You didn’t say you didn’t either.”

She sighs at how frustrating Tyler’s being. He shifts his feet, making the gravel crunch under his boots. There’s a grit to him too—in how he only seems like he’s going along with this but obviously has something he feels he still has to say, something he hasn’t yet given up on. But Kate has a hard time with waiting. She likes making decisions quickly. Somehow, this—the prospect of marriage—is an exception. More complicated than it should be, if it’s just about securing the funding.

(It’s not. She knows it’s not, especially after talking to Javi last night.)

“I’m better at running,” Kate says quickly. “Lately.”

“What?”

“Than chasing.” She offers a weak shrug, not sure what to do with herself, with her body. Tyler’s so solid, standing here in front of her. So steady in his eyes.

“Do you wanna chase me?” He doesn’t sound surprised, exactly, but his words are less than a challenge.

“Seems like it’s my turn. You followed me to New York and all.”

“I didn’t follow you. Your flight got delayed and I had time to buy a ticket. I went with you.”

It’s true, he did. First, they waited out the delay together. The weather didn’t turn into what it might’ve, so it was only an extra hour. Tyler had time to call Boone about coming to get the truck, and Kate had time to call Javi about the storm warning. Javi hadn’t left the airport yet. Initially, he came inside. A tornado was about the only thing that could excuse there now being two trucks parked in the Drop-off Only zone outside. (That poor man.) They sat together in the chairs by the check-in desk, Kate and Tyler on either side of Javi as the three of them studied the weather data on his laptop, the hard-edged coloured shapes that scudded across dark county lines. As soon as they knew it was nothing, Javi said he’d drive back to get Boone himself, then bring him to the airport to collect the truck. Tyler said he didn’t have to. When Javi insisted, Tyler gave way. That surprised all of them. It was maybe the start of the new team.

In New York, Kate let Tyler come to work with her. Her coworkers were the weather-geek demographic Tyler appeared to have never even dreamed of; many of them were familiar with his YouTube channel. One of them asked if Dani was single. Kate grinned as she stood back and watched Tyler lean into his persona for the fans, into his accent—just the same as she had leaned away from her accent when she moved up here, not wanting questions about where she was from. Not wanting to think too often of home. She stood and watched, and then she went to her boss’s office and quit with as much grace as she could manage after taking a week off on almost no notice. Tyler urged the whole place into his trademark call and response on their way out the door.

“That’ll numb any hard feelings for a while,” he assured her as they took the elevator down to the lobby.

“What hard feelings?”

Tyler frowned at her.

“About losing you. They’re gonna miss the hell outta you, Sapulpa.”

“Too bad,” she said. She didn’t think it was true.

“Too bad is right. You belong to the South, and we’re takin’ you back.”

She wouldn’t let him help her pack up her apartment. What had once seemed fresh to her—the white walls and clean lines of starting over—now seemed barren and sad. She found she was glad to leave it. She didn’t want Tyler to see.

He spent his time in other ways. Took a ferry out to Liberty Island. Ate pizza in Brooklyn, pastrami on the Lower East Side. He got up to the Bronx to watch a baseball game at Yankee Stadium. Kate didn’t know how he managed it all. They were in New York for three and a half days. Tyler just beamed and told her his feet were killing him. He still helped her carry all her boxes down the stairs of her walk-up while the train rattled by.

They drove back to Oklahoma in a rental truck. Somehow, Tyler made it take four days, when they probably could’ve done it in two. He bought her an ice cream in St. Louis, laughed as it melted so fast that it ran down her hand.

She guesses this, now, standing in a diner parking lot, is overdue. Even though, like Javi said, she and Tyler have known each other less than a month. It doesn’t feel like it.

“What about you and Javi?” she asks bluntly.

“That could be fun,” Tyler allows. “There are a few more buttons there I wouldn’t mind pushing. Think he’d go for ‘Javi Owens’?”

A laugh bursts from Kate.

“I think you’d be taking your life in your hands if you asked him.”

When Tyler smiles at her, pleased but gentle, she gets it. She got it from them both: they’d get married for the application, probably even find it a lark, but it wouldn’t mean much more than that. There’d be less danger in it. That should be a good thing—a reason for Tyler and Javi to be the ones—but Kate knows it’s also the thing that’s making them all hold their breath. They’re used to this type of crossroad, the three of them, used to tilting their faces to the sky to check the conditions. In the end, they’ll always pick the road that leads them into danger, not away from it.

They both want Kate.

“You don’t have to chase me just because you think you should,” Tyler says sternly. “You don’t have to chase me at all.” His face softens. “I’m standing still.”

She laughs and, incredulous, asks, “Since when?”

“You,” he says simply. “I like Javi, Kate. I do.” But I want it to be me, his eyes say when his mouth stops.

“Yeah.” She knows. She can see that he does.

She and Tyler leave it there, because Boone and Javi are coming out of the diner now. They came in two vehicles and Kate goes with Javi because she knows he’ll let her think.

It’s officially not about the grant anymore. It’s not even about getting married. This is bigger and smaller than that. Kate puts the passenger-side window of Javi’s truck down (an older truck, no Storm Par logo) and leans into the onrush of air. The marriage would be strategic, but a relationship with either Tyler or Javi would be completely real. Real feelings, real expectations, real mess if it fell apart and they kept working together. Which they would; they all love this job too much.

For just a second, Kate shuts her eyes and wishes this wasn’t happening to her. Then she feels silly because, after Jeb, ever falling for another human being seemed astronomically unlikely. She stuck to storms. Had crushes on cloud formations. Made lovesick eyes at the sky when it turned a spooky shade of green. That Javi and Tyler are both ready to be with her seems like a miracle. She’s grateful. She just doesn’t know how to choose.

Javi leaves her alone for the entirety of the short drive. They pull into the motel lot behind Tyler and Boone and drive to the end where the doors of the crew’s motel rooms stand in a line. Dexter, Dani, and Lily are there as they pull in. They’re excited about something; Lily’s practically dancing on the sidewalk and Dani says something to Boone that makes him yank her into a hug.

Kate and Javi spill out of his truck.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

Lily springs towards her, raising her hand to show off a ring that’s slightly too big, slipping up and down her finger as Kate tries to look. Kate’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Dani and I got married!”

“Congratulations,” Tyler says, butting in before Kate can blurt out another What? or When?

“It’s just for the grant,” Lily reminds him, laughing and waving off his sincerity.

“Never thought I’d say somebody married me for the money,” Dani remarks wryly. She’s wearing a ring too. Hers fits better. Kate wonders where they got them, and assumes the tiny antique store on the main strip.

Lily blows Dani a kiss.

“I went as a witness,” Dexter says.

“This just happened?” Javi asks, looking at each of the three conspirators in turn.

Lily shrugs and says, “Yeah.”

“You didn’t talk to the rest of us about it,” Tyler says. Kate doesn’t think it’s quite a complaint, but he seems thrown to have been left out of the loop.

“Oh, like the three of you let us in on whatever you’ve been planning?” Dani demands, pointing out Tyler, Kate, and Javi.

Tyler looks a little sheepish after that.

“Haste was the order of the day,” Dexter says. “It seemed efficient. We can move forward with our application now.”

“Yeah,” Kate agrees, still a little stunned. “For sure. Efficient. Thanks for taking one for the team, you guys.”

“No problem,” Lily says, and pulls her into a hug.

It’s not until later, out at a bar to celebrate the wedding (or the marriage, or their hopes to deceive the government for financial gain, or just their crew, really, who delight in one another’s exploits), that Kate, Javi, and Tyler find themselves at the same table. As if it’s a coincidence. Kate presses the rim of her bottle of beer into her smile.

“Lived to fight another day,” Tyler says over the vibrant twang of music, staring at the rest of their crew as they line dance to and fro across the floor.

It’s so typically dramatic of him that Kate and Javi glance at one another, and Kate has to pinch her nose shut so beer doesn’t shoot out of it when she laughs.

“Owens, I saw you talking to Kate outside the diner this morning,” Javi reveals. “Didn’t look like you were pleading to be spared.”

“You were spying on us?” Kate demands, rounding on Javi. She gives his shoulder a half-hearted shove as he laughs.

“Hey! I wanted to see how things were gonna turn out!”

“I’m pretty curious about how things are gonna turn out myself,” Tyler asserts, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He gives Kate a significant look. She dodges it, ducking her head with a smile. She can feel the both of them watching her.

Javi reads her right:  “Too soon to say, huh, Kate?”

She looks up, letting her eyes slide from one face to the other, incredibly fond of them both. Slowly, she grins.

“Guess you’ll just have to keep watching the weather,” she tells them.

Kate slaps her hands on the table and rises to join the others on the floor.

[shygirl4991]

Mario's Mysteries (Cause im weak)

So it begins ready everyone its show time and i think we are the main characters. Spoilers Theory (at end) and thought of episode

The first show is here and our stars is SMG4 and Mario while i love the idea of tarot cards movie/TV posters work.

seems that whatever the Adware is doing is increasing negative traits of our heroes, I mean we know how scary SMG4 can be when mad but what gets me is the font color i could be over thinking it but usually when Four is feeling intense emotions his text isn't so dark

another show on how this program is increasing SMG4 aggression mostly at Mario, we know that they are best friends but even so Mario can be a bit much making the crew feel irritated at him. This episode seems to really make Four want Mario dead even tho we know if Mario dies the world ends.

Hell yeah its TV time lets dance as puzzle vision isnt brainwashing us at all! You can see at the end of the song Meggy, Tari, clench, and SMG3 are in the void screaming with Bob missing. Given we dont see bob in the weird TV break maybe bob is the next actor for our line up?

THIS BITCH LOOKED AT US HE KNOWS WE ARE TRYING TO FIGURE HIS SHIT OUT!! Guys i have many emotions from this the adware knows we are watching it makes me wonder if the movie will have to do with us, since he is doing it for the entertainment and he was the one that gave us control of wotfi 2023 from the looks of the room we were in at the end. Im just screaming

we are still in the basement we never left we are still there arent we? Is Puzzle vision making the crew see themself in a show but in fact they are being puppets to put on a show for our entertainment?

so we get a link and are able to rate the episode every go check it out and rate this might be important like wotfi lets just hope its not a trap from the adware. I put the link on the photo if you guys haven't left a rating! Alright everyone i now take my break im thinking of taking a week off so i might be back for next episode idk but i will see you guys next time later!!!

Theory The adware knows we are watching it makes me wonder if the movie will have to do with us, since he is doing it for the entertainment and he was the one that gave us control of wotfi 2023 from the looks of the room we were in at the end. So it makes me wonder if he is using us to power up with the rating system and shit since he is TV and his power is all about entertainment what if us giving the love makes Four loose his channel at the end and Four learns that losing his channel he still has his friends and together can beat the adware that be good growth for four and helps three see that the two of them are equals and are friends since he has doubts given how famous four is. Another thought also what if the only way to beat puzzle vision is THE PERFECT VIDEO!!! it has three and four meme powers in it and it wasn't touched by the adware and it's still there in the hole with peach castle. What if the final fight takes them there and three finds it or four. what if the channel then becomes SMG3 and 4 channel and they together run it! another thought im thinking smg3 has to be the one to break free he has been main focus and not to mention three doesn't belong here, he is the king of the graveyard he was never meant to be a character here but we the viewers broke that rule by getting the good ending maybe by getting that good ending we gave the crew a better fighting chance given Three is a stronger guardian since its shown how three uses his powers so causal without a second thought

[genericpuff]

This is stupid, but you know those new LO hoodies the Webtoon shop has? I know the font they're using. It's Eckmannpsych which is an Adobe font.

That's not the stupid part though. The dumb part is the capital H and G in the Eckmannpsych font do not match what is on the hoodies, which would obviously be on the hoodies that have Hera or Goddess on them. So, Rachel looks to have taken the time to hand draw her own H and G to match the font style for those hoodies but did not take any time to make new, better art for the merch, but instead reused ugly panels from the comic. Talk about a strange look into her priorities. She doesn't like how the G and H look on a font? She will remake those to fit what she wants. Rachel when the assignment gives her the chance to make specialized, better designs for those same merch? She can't be bothered to even try. WTF!

for the love of god-

I'm assuming and hoping they had the commercial rights to that font LMAOO But it did kind of make me go 🤨 because while I didn't know the font EXACTLY off the top of my head it still felt... weirdly out of place for something like LO? Why are these hoodies being stylized like they're from Austin Powers LOL

On another note tho, the LO merch is just like... disappointing in how bad it is for what's supposed to be WT's #1 series, which is, btw, a series with so much unique stylization that it shouldn't even be this hard to make merch for it! it just feels very "first attempt at redbubble merch", but unlike genuine first attempts at making merch (which is obviously a learning curve that I wouldn't judge anyone for being new to) this is a company that's sunk shitloads of money into LO so I don't know why they can't get better merch made?? so much of it is just the default drawings taken and slapped onto a tote bag or t-shirt, which like, yeah cool fine you're using art that's recognizable and considering the art is already made, it stands to reason that they should use it for more than just the comic. It's just disappointing to see how lazy it often is and how little effort is put into translating it onto a t-shirt/tote bag/etc. like we can't even have ONE exclusive t-shirt with a unique design that isn't just poorly copy pasted from the comic?

Case in point, those t-shirts that Rachel was advertising a while ago that were actually straight up falsely advertised. I can't find the post about it on my Tumblr (I'm pretty sure I talked about it here) so here's the IG story rundown I did on it ages ago:

Again I'd really like to have benefit of the doubt here that Rachel isn't the one making these designs, usually that's not how the merchandising process goes in these types of deals, so I'm not gonna point the finger at her. But it's just so odd to me that it happened in the first place. And this goes for a lot of LO's merch, so much of it feels cheaply made and rushed off a conveyor belt for the point of making money without much expense. Which yeah, that's a business model for sure, the goal is to profit, but like this?

You can't even argue that it's like people criticizing LO the comic because like, as much as I'll justify what I spend my time doing here in my free time, it's true that at the end of the day I don't have to pay for LO, so really the only thing I'm doing is inflicting psychic damage to myself, it's not like my actual money is on the line LMAO That's why I stopped paying for LO ages ago and only do it when I have a specific episode I need to review (such as the midseason hiatus review series I did). At the very least, if I really want to keep reading LO but don't want to pay for it, I can just avoid FastPassing it and read it for free so I can save the coins for other series I'd rather read. The Webtoons' FP system is very fair that way.

But this is merch explicitly made to generate revenue. It is a product, front to back. You can vote with your money by not buying the thing you don't like, absolutely, but the fact that it's this poorly to begin with is just so indicative of Webtoons' business practices and so shitty for the people who genuinely enjoy this comic and are being advertised and sold shoddy merchandise that doesn't even come looking the same way it's advertised. It's really not a good look for Webtoons, Rachel, or LO that this is what they're selling to people.

Especially for what they're charging, good lord-

Like, okay, they're hoodies and they're gonna be expensive to print and ship so the higher overhead cost makes sense, but jesus christ, with the kind of merch Webtoons has already given the stamp of approval on, would it even show up in decent condition? How bright are those colors gonna be? Are they gonna strip off as soon as I throw it in the wash? I'm half-tempted to buy a hoodie for myself just to do a review on it but I can't justify dropping $75 CAD on a hoodie that only has art on the back. Maybe it's just me living in the hellish lands of Canada where we play with toy money that's the problem, but it's just not a gamble I wanna take LOL If I bought one it would probably be the Hecate or Hermes ones because they're the only ones that are at least somewhat legible and have decent character art that isn't a character looking like they need to poop LMAO

(these are literally the two worst drawings they could have chosen of these two i stg lol the only thing that would have made this worse/funnier is if it was Handsome Hades and Persephone Kidnapping a Baby LMAO)

It has me worried about what the LO figures are gonna look like when they release. Are they gonna have some creative liberty with making them chibi-fied (like a Nendoroid?) or are they gonna try and replicate the art style exactly and wind up making literal blow-up sex doll Persephone? 😭

NGL, if the figures are done well enough and don't cost an arm and a leg, I might consider buying one just for the shelf collection, but again, it depends. If Webtoons released a tarot deck with really good panels from LO (like the Tower 4 scene or Persephone sitting on the rooftop with her comb or Eros flying down into the Mortal Realm) I would buy the shit out of that. I would even just take the Major Arcana if 78 cards was too much to ask :'0 I'm not against Webtoons/Rachel trying to profit off LO merch at all, I just wish it was BETTER- (╥﹏╥)

[jellolegos]

you mentioned that palaeography in hotd can be considered your special interest, yet the only thing i know about it is that it studies writing in historical context

SO please tell me more?? was it high valyrian that sparked the interest? if it was, what moment did? and has grammar changed over the years? does it have an interrelation with cultural events? i will read literally anything you would like to ramble about

genuine curiosity of a linguistics major

and, cannot miss a chance to say, your art is absolutely utterly stunning :)

thank you in advance!

Oh of course! My apologies, I think I may have been misleading, I've mostly been interested in the type of script they are using in the show. Unfortunately I've always been a bit more numerate rather than literate (as I am certain you'll pick up on as you read my writing, it has never been my strong suit) so honestly I haven't a clue about linguistic aspects! But, I believe the creator of the languages in the HotD/GoT universe is actually on here, his blog is: @dedalvs :)

Mostly what I meant by 'Palaeography' is since we have such a lovely opportunity to see book pages in HOTD I've been very much interested in what script model the artist was attempting to imitate.

I, I think like a lot of other hobbyists of niche interests, am always interested to see what gets translated from real life to screen. Just as I'd imagine you're interested in the conlang aspects of HotD! So I've been really interested to see what they're trying to do with the books in HotD. Without futher ado...

Hotd, Palaeography, and a Needlessly Thorough Examination of a Manuscript Page

All manuscripts I talk about here have clickable digitised links, so if you want to take a peep beyond what I talk about, feel free. They are really lovely manuscripts!

Disclaimer before the yapping commences that I am a Pre-Conquest gal and most of what I'll be talking about is Post-Conquest, and also that my research at a graduate/post-graduate level has been more involved with manuscript materiality (which I am again, happy to talk about, just not on this already-overly-wordy ask), rather purely palaeographic pursuits.

I should also say that none of this analysis is significant for any reason relating to the plot; this is just an examination of the prop art!

Also I am definitely NOT an expert in any way, shape, or form, so there are absolutely things I am missing here, there, everywhere... you have been warned.

Onto the yap...

Explaining the Frame

Before I fully get into it I think it is a little bit important to establish why historians study scripts at all. In a modern world, where writing is ubiquitous and literacy rates are high, it can be sometimes hard to understand why scripts are historically consequential (and why Pre-Reaganite/Thatcherite austerity, there were such things as tenured Professors of Palaeography!).

I think the best way to frame this is to use an example:

Above are two paintings. They are depicting the military action and are created with the same tools and by artists living in the same century and a half and in broadly the same geographical location. Now, if I were to say something like 'These are both paintings of military actiom, therefore they are the same', technically I wouldn't be incorrect. But I would be missing a huge component of these pieces!

In other words, just like painting, the form is just as important as the content itself; a scribe does not simply choose to write differently one day to the next but rather scripts, like any other art form, are nuanced and just as worthy of study as the actual text itself. As vehicles of text, how that text is manipulated, displayed and otherwise portrayed, can often tell us (as historians - amateur or not) a great deal about the surrounding historical period.

So something that is important to remember as I describe what is essentially, font analysis, is that the value placed on said font in an academic context is the result of historical weight placed on script that is almost entirely alien to a world where I can easily swap between Arial and Papyrus.

So, what script do they use in the HotD manuscript??

I can tell you its most certainly attempting to imitate a form of textualis. As one of the most profuse (spatially and temporally) script models, I would say it's a great choice. I think it the popular conception of manuscripts (what a manuscript should look like), this is what people would probably choose precisely for that reason! Textualis is/was popular from the thirteenth through the fifteenth centuries across Europe.

MS545 -14thc.

It was developed as a documentary script (aka used for documents, such as charters) but came to be used more often in prestige non-documentary manuscripts (like liturgical volumes, or conceivably, like Nymeria's history).

A charter with the seal intact from Magdalen College, Ox

It comes in different forms called 'grades', what those 'grades' are really depends on which scholar you want to follow. From my teaching, they are precissa, quadrata, semi-quadrata, and rotunda (from highest grade to lowest grade). Without getting into too much detail, different grades of textualis are often determined by the shape of the minims (aka bottom of the letter).

(Clockwise from upper left: Precissa [all letters are terminated neatly at the baseline - MS233 -14thc], Quadrata [all letters have little diamonds at the bottom - MS545 -14thc.] Semi-Quadrata [minims with intermittent attempts at feet - MSStowe17 - 14thc] Rotunda [rounded out minims - MS Add. 2. 263]).

Part of the reason this distinction is made, both between different grades of textualis and also between scripts used for documentary text and those used for non-documentary text is because manuscripts were/are valuable objects. It will obviously take longer for a scribe to diamond off every. single. minim. than it would for them to have letters flow into each other.

Something that is often forgotten in our modern period of relative book ubiquity is that manuscripts were objects subject to market forces as much as they were art pieces or vehicles of text. All things 'manuscript', from the scribes writing it to the pigment and vellum, were subject to various degrees of scarcity and luxury (which is actually what my research is about!). Below is an example of a scribe advertising their different grades of script.

MS e.Mus 198* - 14thc.

A closer look...?

Beyond just going 'yea they kinda look similar!' (deceptively, a lot of what manuscript scholarship is, lol), I can pull out a few things point me in the textualis direction. Let's take a look at the shapes of 'O' 'N' and 'G'. Our 'o' here is distinctively six-sided, which is also present on the main body of the 'g'. The 'n' similarly has a pronounced parallel line shape, with tapering on the curves.

Generally textualis has a very compact look with attention to downstrokes and neat parallel lines creating almost a 'box' effect with the x-height (aka how tall the x's are). I'm not sure how best to explain this but there is a keen dynamism in different parts of the stroke, with drastic differences in width between various parts of the ascenders/descenders in a letterform. The thick and thin elements of a letterform (such as the short corners on the 'o' or the often hairline strokes that connect the upper loop on an 'a' to the bottom loop), are really exaggerated in these scripts in a way you don't see with other earlier or later scripts.

For reference (an oversimplification to be sure, but a helpful one! Note that some of these scripts are geographically restricted, used only in Insular or Continental scribal environs)

^ Here are some real life examples of those same letter forms (L to R - LPL MS209 13thc, LPL MS75 13th c , LPL MS545 14th/15thc,)

While textualis was one of the more popular script models, other scripts were also popular in England at this time (roughly, lol). Anglicana and then Secretary hands rose to prominence, as you can see they look quite a bit different from textualis.

(MS Ashmole 35-15thc.)

These were considered lower grade scripts, used more often for documents as they can be written more quickly (important when you have many things to write!). So if we were able to take a peek at some of those scrolls that are in the Dragonstone Library, maybe we'd be able to find HotD's equivalent.

There is some crossover between these scripts and some sticky stuff about regionality, I know very little beyond surface-level, so I'm just going to point you to the resources I linked at the end.

Am Dipl. Dan LX- 15thc. with some other ones

The broad point is that textualis is most certainly a major mediaeval script, one I believe served as reference for the HotD manuscript, but it was not the only one present during the high middle ages. Now... would this script have been used at all during the succession wars that served as HotD's inspiration...?

Inspiration and Historicity:

If we're going on what scripts would have looked like in the period of the Dance's inspiration (Empress Mathilda), I would say this particular script is a bit late. Textualis reaches its more formalised state beginning at the end of the twelfth century (really, the thirteenth but..), so a little early for Rhaenyra's/Mathilda's 1115. Instead, assuming that this is entirely like our own mediaeval period, we'd be looking at the script that precedes it, called protogothic. Here are some examples:

(MS Digby 83 - 12th c England)

(CC MS 95 -12th c England)

A vernacular hand (aka. non-Latin, here old English), may look a little different. Here's one example, in what I would call Anglo-caroline script. Again, just like our documentary/non-documentary, purpose, and cost factors weigh into the script model chosen for a piece of text, so does the language (although Anglo-caroline was not restricted to vernacular!):

(MS 180, 12th c England)

You can probably see how the more formal textualis is an evolution of protogothic, rendered more professionally as the high middle ages came to pass. There is definitely a lot of interesting discussion about how script models take hold as lay literacy rates increase, as scribal practice begins to move from monasteries and limited courtly settings to 'professional scribes', but I won't get into it here.

The Critique (that no one asked for):

If I had to give an artist who did the HOTD prop a few pointers (my opinion that they definitely didn't ask for + I think they did great overall + mandatory 'script is highly variable, some of these pointers may not apply'), I would say the following:

1. Textualis in the real world, generally but not always, tends to have a two compartment 'a', it retains this from protogothic which in turn stole it from Anglo-caroline. Scripts in England prior to Anglo-caroline (which was a combination Anglo [English/Insular] and caroline [Continental/Carolingian] - see timeline above) more often used single compartment 'a's, so the dual compartment is a bit of a bigger deal.

MS Douce 366- 13thc

2. 'S' letterforms in textualis tend to be very compact. They often come in two shapes, the 'long s' and our more familiar 's' shape. In both forms there is attention to maintaining a compact figure, so when you have an entire page the x-height is strictly adhered to. By having some extra little whirly lines, the page image in the HotD manuscript is less neat overall. One exception tends to be sentence-initial 'S' letterforms, which are exaggerated because they start the sentence.

MS Bodl476- 13thc

Above are three 's' letterforms, spelling 'zacharias. Susci-(tavit-cutoff). We finish 'zacharias' with a familiar s. The next sentence starts with an exaggerated word-initial 's' which is purposefully larger and with significant spurs to signal the start of the sentence. Finally, we also have a 'long' s which looks like an l with an overhang, or an 'f' without the cross. You'll notice that the first 's' does not exceed the height of anything else in the word. Similarly, the 'long' s generally fits with the aspect of the script model, made with a thick downstroke. Only the second 'S', which is the largest, is purposefully flared to start the sentence.

On rewatching, we do get something similar-ish to majuscule letters to start sentences on other pages

It may seem a little silly, but I think the HotD script lacks this same internal logic and the flairs, which aren't technically incorrect, work against the overall appearance of the page, rendering it messier.

3. Some addtl. silly ones: 'i's in textura are not frequently dotted, those marks above letters are abbreviation marks e.g. p(er), domin(us). 'T's are usually crossed at the top rather than the middle until the late mediaeval period (again, carry over from previous scripts). Plausibly, it could look like this one from the lower Rhineland, which is less attached to that compact look overall:

MSDouce 185- 14thc.

But you'll notice a few things. The 'i's are marked with hairline marks (Michelle Brown calls these 'a light serif'), not the big dots we get with the HotD manuscript, and those 't' bars are really pretty high with exception where one letter flows into the next ('noctis' and 'peste' in line 1, 'est' with a long 's' is one I also often see with a high t bar).

A lot of this criticism on the letterforms, which is most certainly very annoying (who really gives a fuck), again just comes down to the fact that all historical scripts had an internal logic to them, and so these tiny tweaks could make the page as a whole look a little better.

4. There appears to be a great deal of space (imo too much) between the lines of text. Vellum is expensive! Even when there is deliberate space left empty in manuscripts, its not generally between the lines of text; the goal is to be relatively economical with your space, keeping significant breaks in text for mostly 1) thematic changes (ends of chapters, verses, etc.) 2) poetry lineation 3) dramatic visual effect.

(MS 52 - 9thc, - notice how space is filled with punctuation and drawn out terminal strokes to keep the diamond shape [dramatic visual effect], MS218 - 10thc. [poetry lineation])

5. Very very annoying but: in my opinion would be very difficult to rip a manuscript the way that Rhaenyra is able to. There is a very good reason why we have so many manuscripts from 1400 years ago, and that is because those things are BEASTS. There's definitely a phenomenon of survivorship bias, but any royal manuscript would be made with a well prepared skin and would be very difficult to tear.

I am aware that the very clear message of the scene is Rhaenyra's disregard for history and norms (literally ripping apart the annals of history with her bare hands), I wonder if we could have the same effect but with Rhaenyra pulling out a pen-knife or the like. She would still be destroying the manuscript, just with the weapons of war rather than with her hands.

Example of embroidery to repair a manuscript (Morgan Library)- Again, absolute beasts compared to modern books.

On manuscript physics...We also see one of the manuscripts have this wild separation between the text block and the spine:

Unlike modern book manufacturing, manuscripts usually have a very solid connection between the text block and the spine. This might be harder to verbalise than it is to show, so...The House of Stopan has lovely videos of the process, which I will be stealing for example here. Pages are sewn together on "cords":

Those cords are then cut short and frayed, then pulled through the book boards (which were usually actual pieces of thin wood, here however he's using a thicker cardboard). They're then glued to the boards.

A piece of leather (or other material), is then draped over and glued to the spine + on the outside of the boards. Those points of elevation on the spine, which I've seen added for purely aesthetic reasons in modern books (such as collector's editions), in manuscripts are actually the leather being smoothed over and shaped to the cords underneath.

The leather/material is prepared specifically so it conforms to the text block beneath. Pieces of thin cardboard or supporting material may be added between the cords on the spine.

If we take a look at this intact 11th c. Greek binding (sorry, only one I could find available!) you can actually still see the cords. In other words, I believe that an entire separation of the text block from the spine wouldn't really be plausible with a high grade manuscript (such as a courtly copy). I am no expert on manuscript manufacture, but within my knowledge of bookmaking, it stood out to me a bit! Happy to be corrected on this one especially :]

MS1175- 11thc

6. If I had to make one final note, so much of the series emphasises the fact that this is 200 years before GoT. There are attempts to archaeise various aspects of the keep and the armour. I would personally choose a script model that is a little older. I think there was probably a choice made about how accessible they wanted the manuscript text to be (so that dweebs like myself could actually read what's on the page), and I think using a slightly older script model like uncial/half-uncial would still reach that benchmark while appearing 'older'.

The Rushworth Gospels- 9thc.

Quite strangely enough Merlin, for all its historical inaccuracy actually does a really good job of hitting most of those notes I mentioned above (two compartment a's, neatly written 's's, etc.). Whether this would've been the actual script model used in Merlin's actual period is a whole different thing... and actually closer to my research interests!

As I mentioned at the beginning, I am not an expert in any sense of the word. For further reading you can check out Guide to Scripts Used in English Writings up to 1500, Cambridge History of the Book in Britain Series, A Guide to Western Historical Scripts from Antiquity to 1600 (although the plates kinda suck ass so beware.. the tragedies of photocopy technology), as really lovely books/series if you are interested! I find them to be very approachable reading for specialists/non-specialists alike and they are written by really the people who actually know about these things.

Scene.

[luvwich]

styled dividers

i made another lil generator for jazzing up your fics on ao3

<hr/> playground ->

it's for making styled <hr/> elements — aka the "horizontal rule" or "thematic break" or "scene separator" or, as i'll call it from here on out, "divider"

like, you know, these guys:

not only can you style them, it's possible to add an ::after in CSS (a "pseudoelement") to add text characters to the divider, which means all manner of fanciness is possible:

the generated styles will work with both light and dark themes out of the box:

how do i use it for my ao3 works?

make a design you like, then paste the CSS into a workskin. now any <hr/> divider in your work text will use that style — including ones that you place using AO3's rich text editor, which means you don't even need to futz around in the HTML editor!

you can exclude the style from any given divider by adding the classname "default," like so:

<hr class="default"/>

okay. why?

i like fancy scene breaks & i wanted to show off some of the possibilities!

plus: i sometimes see authors use a string of characters to divide their scenes, and this technique lets you do that in a way that's more accessible. for example, if you use the text "oOo" as a divider, screen readers will read those characters out loud. this isn't a problem with text placed by an ::after selector!

it's also just a nice way to standardize your scene dividers without having to paste the same thing over and over again !

note: if you use a style with an ::after element, there's a chance it will look a little different on other browsers and systems due to variation in fonts — i tried to make the presets mostly compatible but, you know, buyer beware!

-> the input labeled "URL for this design" will link to whatever you create, so if you make something cute free to comment :3