#god i love local venues

[illarian-rambling]

The flu shot + two hours of straight moshing wombo combo is not hitting pretty, let me tell you

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, abortion, alcohol, drug consumption.

MASTERLIST

You never spent much time on The Cut, unless you were being dragged by duty, mostly charity events for the local populations, fundraisers for their schools usually.

You always showed up in something tasteful but subtly expensive—pearls, understated Louboutin heels, and a blazer that whispered wealth without screaming it. 

Your mother taught you that.

Now, you sat in Poguelandia, doing god knows what.

The name alone sounded like some bad beach-themed party game. But you kept the snark to yourself—mostly. Sarah swore to you this was her new "thing," her big redemption arc, and who were you to judge? It wasn’t where you pictured spending any afternoon, yet there you were.

Pregnant. On The Cut. Drinking—well, holding—a very flat ginger ale out of a plastic cup.

You smoothed your dress for the hundredth time, light linen in a neutral tone that looked effortless but cost more than most people’s rent, while pretending not to notice Pope and Cleo staring like you were a rare bird that had wandered into the wrong habitat. 

Were they always this... intense? Did people on this side of the island not know how to look away when someone made eye contact? Your mother’s voice echoed in your head. They’re not staring at you, dear; they’re staring at themselves in relation to you. 

Whatever that meant. 

To their credit, they weren’t mean about it. Just... curious, as if you’d wandered in from a wildlife documentary called Kooks in the Wild.

You moved your weight around in your seat, hyper-aware of every grain of sand sticking to your hérmes sandals. Every time you shifted, you felt the grains grinding between the straps and your skin.

Should’ve worn the espadrilles, you thought ruefully, but even then, this wasn’t the world’s most glamorous venue. Sarah had begged you to stop by, though, and you owed her. It was also good for you to leave the house instead of being cupped up inside all alone.

“Okay, seriously, what’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face? Is my makeup smudged? Be honest.”

Cleo snorted. “No, you’re fine, princess. We’re just surprised to see you.”

You were still holding your sad little plastic cup. “Just thought I’d participate in—whatever this is.” You gestured vaguely at the mismatched chairs and string lights that looked like they’d been stolen from someone’s backyard wedding. “Community service?”

It was supposed to come off as witty. You weren’t sure it did.

Pope choked on his drink—sweet tea? soda?—and Cleo chuckled outright. “You’re funny,” she said, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she meant it.

“Thanks?” It came out like a question, and you wanted to die just a little bit inside.

Pope grinned, leaning forward with a chip in his hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who hangs out in The Cut, that’s all.”

You blinked, feigning shock. “You don’t think I spend my weekends in—what is this, a glorified surf shack? I’m crushed.”

Cleo laughed again, which—fine—made you feel a little better.

“Nah, it’s just... you’re different up close. Not like, scary kook different. Just human. Y’know?”

“Great. That’s exactly what I was going for today.”

Pope gestured to the bar. “You want a snack? Chips? Cookies? We have...three options.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

Food. Your stomach growled loudly, as if it had been cued by a stage director. “What kind of cookies?”

He blinked, not expecting you to care. “Uh... chocolate chip? Maybe oatmeal raisin?”

“And the chips?” You pressed, leaning forward now.

“Salt and vinegar,” Cleo piped up, eyeing you curiously. “Barbecue too, I think. Why?”

“Okay, shit, great.” You clapped your hands together decisively. “I’ll have all of it. All the chips, both kinds of cookies. Do you have anything else? Pretzels? Popcorn? Random condiments? I’m not picky.”

Cleo stared at you, her mouth slightly open. “Everything?”

“Yes, everything. Is that a problem?”

She blinked, her eyes darting to Pope like he had an explanation. He shrugged helplessly.

“Woman” she muttered under her breath. “Did you not eat for a week, or...?”

The salt and vinegar chips were divine, borderline transcendent, as you shoved another handful into your mouth. The truth was, you weren’t just hungry—you were still terrified. Every bite, every easy conversation with other people that weren’t Sarah, was a game of jenga to you. One wrong move, one offhand comment, and your secret could be out in the open.

Six more days until this would all be... over. Until the secret growing inside you—the one you’d barely admitted to yourself most mornings—would be gone.

The past three days had been the best you’d felt in ages, cravings and all, thanks to Sarah. She’d slept over, stayed up late talking with you, making you laugh, distracting you from the endless pit what-ifs and why-mes.

It was the longest you’d gone without crying in three months. The longest you’d lived without feeling like you could suffocate at any given moment. With her help, it had been easier to forget—to pretend that things were still okay.

But Sarah wasn’t there, she’d left earlier with John B, something about helping him with a tour.

“You good, princess?” Cleo’s voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked at her, realizing you’d been crushing the chip bag in your hands like a stress ball. “What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to fight that bag of chips,” Pope said, grinning.

You forced a laugh, leaning back and tossing the bag onto the table. “No fighting. Just... intense snacking."

You reached for the chocolate chip cookies he had offered earlier, focusing on the sweetness, the comfort of food that tasted good for once. Sweet, crumbly, safe. If only the rest of you life felt like that.

Pope and Cleo knew something was up, they all did, probably.

Sarah had been glued to your side, and it wasn’t exactly subtle.

Her sudden move to “stay over” at your place had obviously raised eyebrows, especially since you two hadn’t had a proper conversation in months before all this. And there was the beach clean-up, Kie and JJ had been there when you felt ill, and while you’d been too disoriented to keep up with the cover story once Rafe drove you away, Sarah had stepped in later to handle it.

Heat exhaustion. Overworked. Totally fine.

Still, to your relief, neither Pope nor Cleo seemed inclined to pry, perhaps it was pity, or maybe they were just decent enough to let you keep the little shred of privacy you had left. Either way, you were grateful.

“So,” Pope said, leaning back on his elbows and flashing you an easy grin, “How are you finding our place? I mean, other than our fine selection of snacks.”

You swallowed a bite of cookie, forcing a smile. “It’s...charming. Rustic. A real je ne sais quoi vibe.” You waved your hand vaguely, trying to mimic the way your mother used to describe terrible restaurants we’d never go back to.

Cleo snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“It’s cute,” You offered, looking around, “I can tell you guys put your heart into it.”

Pope smirked, lifting a brow. "That's nice of you to say."

You gave a small shrug, feigning nonchalance, but you meant it.

For all the mismatched chairs and questionable decoration, there was something undeniably warm about the place. You weren't used to that—spaces filled with love instead of decorators and florists, it wasn’t bad. Just different.

“I mean it,” you said, brushing crumbs from your lap. “It’s very authentic. ‘Pogue Chic’ or something.”

Cleo laughed, loud and genuine, her grin lighting up her face. “Pogue Chic?"

Pope chimed in, “Hey, don’t knock it. We’re trendsetters. Ahead of its time.”

You smiled, but your mind was already falling back to the sand clinging to your dress and the ginger ale that tasted like disappointment. You’d never say it out loud, but you admired them, that ability to make joy out of scraps. It was something you didn’t quite know how to do. Not yet, anyway.

Cleo leaned forward, her elbows resting on the makeshift table. “So, are we going to see you around more? Or is this just a one-time royal visit?”

You hesitated, twirling the rim of your cup between your fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe. If Sarah keeps dragging me here, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it, the tone he used, or just your hormones fucking you up, but suddenly there were tears in your eye sockets. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head back slightly and praying that the tears stayed put.

These kids, all of them, sitting here like they hadn’t spent their lives scraping by, like they hadn’t been hurt or abandoned or let down a hundred times over by people they loved and trusted. Yet somehow, they were still full of hope, full of life.

You envied that.

You wished you could bottle it, whatever it was that kept them laughing and fighting and welcoming someone like you—a result of privilege and mistakes and heartbreak—into their home. It was humbling in a way that made your chest hurt.

“Does that mean I can choose to order better snacks next time? Maybe some sparkling water? Flat ginger ale is a crime against humanity.”

Cleo snorted, still not fooled by your deflection, but she let it slide.

“Good luck with that, princess. Our snack budget’s about three bucks and whatever we can steal from Kie’s pantry.”

Pope chuckled, tossing a chip in his mouth. “And you’re welcome to contribute if you’re so concerned about the menu.”

It surprised you, how easy it was to talk to them.

On paper, you had nothing in common. They were younger, grew up in a completely different world, and you were used to the polished conversations of country club luncheons and charity galas. 

Here, things were different.

They didn’t seem to care if you stumbled over your words, if your jokes were awkward or if you occasionally sounded like a walking trust fund catalog. They didn’t care about your last name, your family’s money, or any other things that had weighed you down for years.

That was disarming.

You’d spent your entire life around people who mirrored your upbringing—kids who summered in the Hamptons or Barbados, adults who measured their worth in stock portfolios and vacation homes. Now, you were here, in this cobbled-together haven with salt-stained cushions, sitting with people who’d grown up struggling for things you took for granted.

You thought it would feel more awkward or forced, but it didn’t.

It was easy.

Pope sat on the counter, gesturing with a half-eaten chip. “Serious question. How do you even survive on Figure Eight? Do they hand you iced lattes and designer handbags when you’re born, or do you have to work your way up to that?”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, absolutely. The moment you’re born, they issue you a monogrammed diaper bag and a gold-plated pacifier. It’s very exclusive.”

Cleo nearly choked on her drink. “See, this is why we can’t take you seriously.”

Your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with your cousins name, interrupting the fun. You sighed, rolling your eyes before picking it up. “Yes, Top?”

Topper’s slightly whiny tone spilled into your ear. “Can you believe Mom’s threatening to rent out the beach house for the summer? Actual strangers, staying there. What’s next? Turning it into a hostel?”

“Tragic,” you deadpanned, resting your chin in your hand. “Truly, a devastating blow for humanity.”

Pope fake-coughed, mumbling “white rich privilege problems,” while Cleo mouthed, “Hostel!” and shook her head, laughing silently.

“I know. Anyway, I’m coming over later.”

“Where’s your invitation?”

You heard him scoffing, “I’m family, I don’t need one.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Top, you can’t just announce you’re coming over. I might have plans.”

“Yeah, and I’m your family, so those plans now include me,” Topper said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Besides, I’ll bring food.”

Across from you, Pope was already gagging dramatically, holding his stomach as if the mere sound of Topper’s voice made him physically ill. 

“I don’t know if—”

“See you at noon,” he interrupted. “Later!”

The call ended before you could even argue, and you set your phone down with a resigned sigh. 

“Looks like I’m hosting a one-man Topper pity party,” you said, crossing your arms and slumping back in your chair.

Pope clutched his chest. “Will you survive?”

You only left once the sun dipped lower into the horizon, you gathered your things promising Sarah you’d drive safely and talk to her tomorrow.

Cleo, Pope and John B were mid-argument about the best way to fix something in the shack. You felt lighter than you had in weeks.

With a few more quips exchanged and goodbyes said, you walked back to your car. That night, the ache in your chest wasn’t completly unbearable. You weren’t okay, but you weren’t drowning, either.

You’d been terrified of this afternoon all day, worried you’d stick out like a sore thumb or say the wrong thing.

But the Pogues hadn’t cared about your awkwardness, your polished self, or even the giant invisible cloud you carried everywhere these days. They let you just be.

The drive home was quiet, but this time you even hummed along to a song on the radio, which was strange because you couldn’t remember the last time you cared about music or even turning on that thing. When you pulled into the driveway and stepped into your house, it didn’t feel as cold and empty as it did last week.

You set your bag down on the entryway table and kick off your sandals, the floors cool beneath your feet. Heading to the kitchen, you decided to see if there was anything decent for tonight’s impromptu early dinner with Topper. The fridge greeted you with a sad bag of lettuce, half a bottle of sparkling water, and a single container of leftover pasta you weren’t sure was still edible.

“Great,” you muttered, closing the door and moving to the pantry.

The situation there wasn’t much better. Sarah’s latest health-kick contributions—a bag of chia seeds and some organic trail mix—laughed at you from the top shelf. You frowned, pushing them aside to reveal a dusty box of crackers and a jar of Nutella.

“Guess we’re going shopping tomorrow,” you murmured, grabbing the crackers and Nutella to snack on now.

You placed them on the counter and glanced around. The sink held a few dishes from earlier —a couple of coffee mugs, a bowl, a plate.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves, might as well get this out of the way.

Normally, you’d have had someone else to take care of this—stocking the pantry, cleaning the dishes, even deciding on the menu for your lunches. But lately, you’d been scaling back. You hadn’t let anyone go, of course. You could never do that; the staff had been with your family for years, and many of them felt more like extended family than employees. Still, you’d quietly rearranged their schedules, giving them more time off.

They didn’t question it—probably thought it was some new phase, another eccentricity of a bored, privileged young woman.

Truth was, you liked doing these things.

Focusing on something small, tangible, gave your brain a break from drilling itself into a million dark corners. Folding laundry, washing dishes, even the routine of chopping vegetables—it kept your hands busy and your thoughts manageable enough. It wasn’t that you’d suddenly become a domestic goddess or anything. Most of the time, you’d forget to pick up groceries or burn whatever you tried to cook.

It wasn’t about being good at it. It was about doing something.

You looked around the kitchen, noting the little imperfections you wouldn’t have noticed before. A small water stain on the counter from where your glass had sat too long, the scuff marks on the cabinets where your chair scraped when you leaned back. They weren’t problems to be fixed—they were just signs of life.

And right now at that very moment, life felt…okay.

The house didn’t seem as cold or empty when you were doing things for yourself, even if it was mundane work. You finish up wiping down the counters, glance at the time—definitely cutting it close—and head toward the dining room to tidy up a bit.

Topper was not the type to notice if the place is spotless, but you always liked things to look... presentable, yourself included.

You heard the doorbell ring in the distance, he was early as usual, probably checking his watch just to make sure he wasn't a second late.

"Of course he’s early," you muttered to yourself, a little smirk pulling at your lips.

You walked towards the front door, ready to greet him, but when you opened it, your eyes immediately locked onto the large takeout bag in his hand. It smelled... amazing.

Topper grinned at you, an exaggerated flourish as he held up the bag.

“Guess what I brought?”

“You brought... Korean chicken wings? Really?”

“Hell yeah, I did!” He stepped inside, completely ignoring any formalities and heading straight toward the kitchen, “They just opened.”

He placed the bag on the counter with the confidence of a man who knew he’s just won “Best Dinner Host” without even trying. You peeked inside, the crispy wings drenched in a glossy, sweet-spicy sauce that looked downright delicious.

Topper laughed and took a seat, pulling out the wings, not even bothering with plates. “You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes but sat next to him, picking up a wing, the heat of it still making your fingers tingle. The crispy exterior cracked open with a satisfying crunch as you bit into it. It was everything you'd hoped for—tangy, spicy, perfectly cooked. You nearly moaned in pleasure, not even caring that your cousin was watching you with that cocky grin on his face.

“You look like you’ve seen the light,” He teased, leaning back in his chair as he grabbed a wing of his own.

“I mean,” you said, savoring another bite, “this might make up for you barging in uninvited.”

“Barging?” He clutched his chest dramatically, mock offense radiating from every inch of him. “I'm saving you from a night of sad dinners, and this is the thanks I get?”

You gave him a pointed look, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself.

“Fine. Thank you, Topper. You’re the hero of the day. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, grinning as he reached for another wing. “What’s new? Still slumming it with my ex and the Pogues?”

“First of all,” you said, wiping your fingers on a napkin, “slumming it implies I’m suffering, which I’m not. And second, Sarah’s not a pogue. She’s pogue-adjacent.”

“Pogue-adjacent?” He snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time over there.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back. “You basically live at Kildare Brewing these days. That’s like, one pogue away from full assimilation.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then stopped, realizing you had a point. “Okay, fair. But only because they have good beer."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up, but curiosity got the better of you. You hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you knew by experience, that was never a good thing.

“So... Ruthie,” you started, watching him over the rim of your glass as you took a sip.

Topper paused mid-chew, looking up at you like he wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation. “What about her?”

“I mean, you two are still together, aren’t you?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “We’re… not talking right now.”

You tried not to look pleased, but a rush of vindication bloomed in your chest. You'd grown to hate her, plain and simple. Her recent proximity to your cousin had always baffled you. He wasn’t perfect, but surely, he could do better. 

“I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, reaching for another wing. But then he stopped, like whatever he was thinking was messing with his head.

“What happened?” You asked, trying to sound more curious, concerned, than nosy.

You weren’t sure if he’d tell you, but the look on his face made it clear something big had gone down.

He hesitated, debating whether to answer. Finally, he sighed. “She... started a rumor about you.”

Your head jerked back in surprise. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced like he’d swallowed something sour. “She said you passed out at the beach cleanup and decided to spread some bullshit about you doing drugs.”

You just stared at him. “She what?”

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised.

You knew what she was capable better than anyone, especially when she was bored out of her mind.

“I didn’t believe it,” he added quickly, his tone defensive, as if that made it better. “I told her to shut the fuck up about it, but you know how she is. She thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” Your voice was sharp now, “She thought it was funny to spread lies about me? About drugs? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it’s so messed up. That’s why I’m not talking to her. I told her if she couldn’t act like a fucking decent human being, we were done.”

You blinked, stunned.

You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the fact that Ruthie had stooped so low or that Topper had finally stood up to her. You shook your head, biting back another nasty comment about how awful she was. You’d been saying it for months, and he hadn’t listened.

No point in beating a dead horse now.

“It’s about time you saw what she’s really like. She’s really bad fuckin’ news, Top. Always has been.”

He gave a low grunt, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “Yeah. Took me long enough, huh?”

You didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow and sipped your water.

“She’s always been weird about Sarah,” Topper muttered, almost to himself. “Even when we were together, she’d find these ways to dig at her. Like that one time at Midsummers—”

“—When she ‘accidentally’ spilled her drink on Sarah’s dress,” you finished, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I remember. She’s always had this thing about trying to one-up her. Honestly, it’s so pathetic. But you never listen to me, so.”

“Okay, ouch.” He threw a crumpled napkin at you, which you easily dodged. “I listen to you sometimes.”

“Do you, though?” You gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah, I do!” Topper protested, though the whine in his voice made him sound more like the teenager he used to be, back when he’d follow you around during family holidays like a puppy. “Just… selectively.”

“Selective listening isn’t listening, dumbass. You’re just proving my point.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but didn’t answer, reaching for another wing instead. He took a bite, chewing dramatically, as if the exaggerated crunch would somehow end the conversation.

“Look, I’ve been saying for months that Ruthie’s bad news. Since she showed up at last year’s Christmas party wearing a dress identical to Sarah’s, just in a different color. You thought that was a coincidence?”

Topper groaned, dropping the wing. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Are you happy now? Can you stop rubbing it in?”

You grinned, propping your chin on your hand.

“Oh, I could. But what kind of older cousin would I be if I didn’t remind you how often you’re wrong?”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

You shrugged. “Old enough to know better than to date someone that awful.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. I get it.” He looked over at you again, his gaze softer, this time, “But seriously, you’ve been off lately. If there’s something going on, you can tell me, y’know? We’re family, even if I don’t listen to you half the time,” he added with a small smile, though his eyes were searching, hoping you’d let him in.

It would be so easy to tell him the truth—that you were pregnant, scheduled for an abortion in six days, and drowning in uncertainty and dread.

But he was still Rafe’s best friend, and the risk of this ever reaching him was too high. Instead, you forced a lightness into your voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle. And right now, I desperately need the bathroom.”

He looked at you skeptically, not fooled for a second.

“You’re really okay?” he pressed, his voice dropping to a level that told you he wasn’t going to let this go easily, "I texted and called before, you didn't answer. Thought you were resting from the scare."

You’d been having such a calm, easy time with Sarah, you almost forgot about everything else. The thought of picking up the phone, letting all that anxiety and worry back in, just wasn’t appealing—so you’d ignored his calls, but not on purpose. You were doing him a favor.

You plastered on a smile and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as you passed. “I promise, I’m fine. Just felt a little light-headed and needed some peace."

His eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. “That’s all?”

You forced a giggle, hoping it would sound more genuine than it felt. “Yes, Dr. Thornton. Just needed to eat more or drink water or whatever the fuck it is you’re always telling me to do.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing his arms, watching you closely. “Because you’ve never just fainted before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything. Besides, don’t you think I’d tell you if something serious was wrong?”

It took everything to maintain eye contact, your stomach twisting at the lie. He was family, and you wanted to trust him, to let him help you. But you couldn’t. He hadn’t even told you about Rafe and Sofia until you found out by yourself. 

Topper tilted his head, considering you, then sighed and gave a reluctant nod. “Alright, fine.”

“Okay, if you’re done being weird,” You pushed back from the counter, grabbing your glass. “I gotta pee,” you announced casually, as if this was the most normal interjection in the world. The wings were good, but running away was tempting. And also, the pregnancy had made your bladder a ticking time bomb, and you really didn’t want to risk any accidents. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You offered him one last smile, hoping it was convincing enough. He whined some sarcastic comment about your water consumption as you hurried away, but you barely heard him.

All you thought about was the blessed relief that awaited on the other side of that door.

You didn’t usually spend this much time with Top nowadays—your own tendency to avoid “close” family drama—but tonight had been oddly… nice.

Even if you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck half the time. Even if you hated lying to him. If he’d just pushed a little harder, maybe you would’ve folded, let it all spill right there in the kitchen.

Every time you thought you’d come to a decision, another doubt would take over you, leaving you back at square one. You knew what you wanted, so why was this so hard? 

Topper had looked at you with such genuine concern back there. The “if you need me, I’m here” sentiment was the same one you’d grown up with, the kind of care only a cousin, practically a sibling, could have.

This was hard.

When you came back into the kitchen after taking your sweet time in the bathroom you immediately noticed something was off.

Topper was by the counter, staring at the half-eaten pile of wings by the table like they’d personally offended him. He looked paler, too—almost like he’d seen a ghost.

“Uh…” You stopped mid-step, furrowing your brow. “What’s with the stupid face? Did the wings betray you or something?”

He jolted slightly, as if he hadn’t even heard you come in. “What? No. No, the wings are fine. Great. Amazing, even.”

“Okay…” You gave him a skeptical look, setting your glass down and crossing your arms. 

Topper laughed, but it was this oddly nervous, stilted sound. He glanced at his phone, tapping the screen for no real reason, then shoved it into his pocket.

“You know what, though? I totally forgot—I have something planned. Like, super important. In about… ten minutes.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “You forgot you had plans? Sounds fake, but okay.”

“So unlike me!” He got up from his chair with such sudden energy that it made you take a step back. “Anyway, I should really get going. Don’t want to be late. Uh, thanks for… hanging out. And for, uh, letting me use your wings as a form of therapy. Yeah. Later!”

And with that, he was sprinting for the door.

“Topper!” you called after him, confused and mildly annoyed. “What the hell is going on? You’re acting fuckin’ weird!”

“Nope, not weird! Just busy!” he shot back over his shoulder, not even looking at you as he opened the door.

You didn’t have time to yell at him before he disappeared out the door, the sound of his Jeep starting up echoing from the driveway a moment later. You stood there bewildered, staring at the now-empty doorway.

Something was definitely up. He was many things—dramatic, stubborn, occasionally insufferable—but shifty wasn’t usually one of them.

You went back to the kitchen, glancing at the counter, ready to brush off his weird exit as just another of his dramatics, when your eyes landed on a random envelope— the one you’d been using to scribble down everything lately. 

Extra small grocery lists, reminders, and, unfortunately, the number for the abortion clinic.

Rafe’s fingers curled loosely around the tumbler of bourbon, eyes set on nothing in particular. The lunch rush was winding down, country club regulars filing out.

He’d been there for over an hour—first, the meeting, listening to those finance guys ramble on about numbers, projections, all that bullshit he usually liked to hear. 

He’d faked his interest well enough, but his mind had been miles away. Mostly thinking about you. And the company, of course, because that was his priority right now. Or, it should be.

The whole thing with you, three days ago, it was a slow-mind-burning headache he couldn’t ignore, even if he wanted to. And he had wanted to, tried to, in fact.

He took another slow sip, hardly tasting the bourbon. Across the room, Sofia was working between tables, balancing trays and forcing her best country club smile.

All he saw when he looked at her was you, it only made him force down another swallow, running his thumb over the rim of the glass, mind somewhere between the company projections and the mess he’d made of things with you. 

It was ridiculous that you were still in his head. He should be thinking about that deal, about locking down his place in the Cameron empire. 

Rafe pushed the glass aside, signaling for the check when something caught his ear—a conversation from a nearby table.

“Yeah, she actually passed out the other day. Pathetic.” The voice was loud, sneering.

A dude’s voice followed, fake sympathy dripping from his tone. “I heard she was a fuckin’ mess after the whole breakup.”

“Oh, totally.” A different girl laughed, high-pitched and cruel. “She’s probably on something. Can you blame her? I’d be desperate too if he dumped me.”

It didn’t take a fucking genius to know who they were talking about. Small town and all, of course, things got around, mostly turning into half-truths and petty rumors.

He stopped all his movements, jaw clenching. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, the only thing keeping him from breaking something, preferably bones.

They were talking about you. 

About some made-up version of you, the fact that these spoiled, airheaded brats thought they could shit talk about you like that, rip you apart for fun just because you weren’t there to defend yourself made him sick.

He pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the room with long strides. He didn’t care about the eyes following him as he walked up to their table, the laughter stopping the moment they looked up and saw the look on his face.

“What did you just say?”

The girl who’d been laughing, a petite brunette with too much makeup and a self-satisfied smirk, blinked up at him, her smile faltering.

“Oh, Rafe! We didn’t see you there. We were just…joking around,” she stammered, trying to backpedal.

“Joking?” He laughed, the sound making them flinch. “That what you call it? Spreading some bullshit rumor because it’s all your pathetic little lives have to offer?”

The brunette’s face went red. “I mean, we all heard about it. I’m just saying what everyone’s already thinking—”

His fists clenched and his patience, already thin, snapped the second he heard the guy—one of those trust fund preps with an overdone tan and a too-tight polo—chime in.

“Oh, come on, dude,” the guy smirked, leaning back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like she’s worth all that trouble, is she?”

His entire body went rigid, and before he registered it, he was leaning down, letting them feel the weight of his glare.

“Say that shit again,” Rafe taunted him, something almost amused twisting at the edge of his mouth, daring him to keep talking. “I’d love to hear you repeat yourself.”

“Relax, man—”

He didn’t even let him finish, eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a near whisper, more dangerous than shouting ever could be.

“You think it’s funny? Talking about someone who’s not even here to defend herself?”

The guy’s face paled, and Rafe swore he was seconds away from landing a punch, from wiping that smug grin off his face. Just as he prepared his fist, ready to make good on his threat, he felt a hand on his arm, a small, insistent tug. 

“Rafe,” a soft voice hissed. Sofia. He barely glanced at her, shrugging off her grip.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharp, dismissive.

He kept his eyes on the guy, who looked more uncomfortable by the second, squirming in his seat.

Sofia’s hand still hovering near his arm, cautious now. “Rafe, come on, this isn’t worth it. You’re better than this.”

She looked scared. Scared of him, scared of the situation. He wasn’t better than this.

He’d never been, and he’d been good enough at lying and pretending for her even to think that.

You would’ve known better.

Fuck, you wouldn’t have wasted time talking.

You would’ve yanked him back by his collar, shoved yourself between him and the guy, shot him that warning glare, daring him to keep pushing you so you’d have to drag him out by force. You always knew when he’d get like this, that edge in his voice, that look in his eye that told you he was seconds away from snapping. You knew better than anyone how to pull him back when he hit that switch.

But you’d never bothered with gentle.

Sofia’s eyes darted around the room, clearly embarrassed, maybe even afraid of drawing attention. He knew this wasn’t fair to her, that she hadn’t signed up for this part of him—the anger, the unpredictability. It wasn’t in his nature to stay silent, to ignore things and walk away. 

He could almost see it—feel it, like a familiar bruise under his skin. You’d shove him hard enough that he’d stumble back, half-pissed and half-shocked. You’d get in his face, not even close to scared, cutting through his spiral. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe? You wanna end up in jail over some loser? Grow up.”

If you’d been here, you wouldn’t have given him a choice. You’d have grabbed his arm and dragged him away, kept a grip on him until he’d snapped out of whatever dark place he’d dropped into. You’d push him until he finally let go, forced him to come down from that blinding fury and face the mess he’d just caused. It was the only way he’d ever been able to listen—when you pushed him to wake up, forced him to look at himself and see just how reckless, just how stupid he was about to be.

But Sofia? She had no idea. 

She thought saying “you’re better than this” was going to do anything, that with a light touch and some empty words, he’d suddenly be calm, reasonable, soft. 

But he’d never been that way, never with you, never with anyone.

She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d just seen the version of him he’d wanted her to see. The version he’d put together, patched up and polished, all so he could convince himself he was something he wasn’t.

With her, it was easy to pretend. He could smooth his sharp edges, show her just enough of himself to keep her interested without letting her close enough to see the mess underneath.

He’d let her believe he was the kind of guy who could just calm down, let things slide. The kind of guy who’d listen. He’d wanted her to believe he was controlled, calm. Sofia’s softness had appealed to him, but now, it only highlighted the differences between them.

With you, he’d never had the luxury of pretending.

You’d seen through him from the start, never let him get away with putting on some act.

You hadn’t let him pretend to be better than he was, hadn’t let him off easy when he’d tried to brush things off or shut down. You knew every side of him, even the ones he’d rather ignore. You’d always known exactly who he was, who he wasn’t, and you’d never been afraid to remind him.

He didn’t want to let it go, didn’t want to give the guy an inch of leeway to think he’d won this. Rafe sighed and released his grip, his hand falling from the table as he finally stepped back. Sofia relaxed, giving him a relieved smile, but it only made him feel emptier. 

“You talk about her again and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?” 

The guy sputtered, looking down, embarrassed and shaken. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like an apology, but Rafe didn’t care enough to hear it.

Sofia’s hand was still on his tail when he left, and as soon as he walked out of earshot of the table, she followed him, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed with an expression he’d never seen from her —disbelief. 

“What was that?”

Everything.

Rafe didn’t speak. He was staring past her, back at the group, mind far from the confrontation and miles away with thoughts of you. She seemed to notice, her lips pressing together.

“I can’t believe you did that. You threatened to kill him, Rafe. Over what, a stupid rumor?”

A stupid rumor? She was making him feel like he was out of control, irrational—even though he couldn’t explain why this mattered so much.

“You wouldn’t get it. It’s not your problem.”

She flinched a little, her face falling, but to her credit, she didn’t look away. “You’re right. I don’t get it. Tell me.”

He wanted to believe that it could work with Sofia.

Nice girl, pretty too. She laughed at his jokes, and she didn’t call him out on his bullshit, because she didn’t even know that side of him existed. On paper, she was perfect. But she wasn't you.

He looked back at her, her worried eyes scanning his face.

It was frustrating—seeing the fear, feeling her judgment when she didn’t even know what she was judging.

To her, this was just some meaningless outburst, something he could turn on and off at will. This wasn’t her fault. He knew that. He hated how this wasn’t something he couldn't put into words, not in any way that would make sense to her.

“Forget it, alright?” his tone was harsher than he meant.

Sofia shook her head, clearly not willing to let it drop this time.

“Why would you get so worked up over something like this?"

To her, that’s all this was—just noise, harmless, inconsequential. 

She looked up at him expectantly, her brows furrowed in confusion, waiting for some reasonable answer.

And it pissed him off, how she kept waiting, expecting him to offer some calm, measured response when he didn’t even understand it himself.

Sofia’s eyes softened, but it only irritated him further.

“She’s nice,” Her words drifted out casually like she didn’t know she’d just cracked him open. “She defended me, last week, when I was serving brunch.”

He couldn’t stop the self-loathing.

You had always been that way—ready to defend anyone, even when you were the one hurting. Rafe winced, hating himself for it, hating that you could still be so good even after everything. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression blank.

“Did she?” he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

“Yeah,” Sofia replied, watching his reaction with mild curiosity. “Guess I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, that familiar hurt in his chest.

His mind was already conjuring all the times you’d jumped in, backed people up, and called out anyone who crossed a line. Even when it came to people you barely knew.

It made him feel like the worst person in the world, knowing that you’d been there for Sofia of all people, that you’d shown her that same loyalty. It made him hate himself even more.

His phone buzzed, saving him from the inevitable conversation, his hand brushed the side of his face as he glanced down at the unknown number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate, before swiping the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cameron, this is Dr. Harris from the hospital,” the voice on the other end said. “We’ve been trying to reach Miss Thornton about the blood work results from her visit three days ago. Unfortunately, there’s been an issue with our system and a few patient’s data has been deleted, except for the emergency contact information.”

Rafe’s stomach dropped.

He was still your emergency contact, not by choice probably. The hospital was calling about your blood work.

Was something wrong?

His blood ran cold. “Is she okay? Did something happen?” The urgency in his tone made Sofia’s eyes widen again, her confusion growing.

“We’re concerned about a possible infection. We need to run more tests to rule it out, but the symptoms suggest it could be more complicated. We must check thoroughly to be sure.”

“An infection?”

“Yes, but it could be nothing serious. We just need her to come in as soon as possible for a follow-up,” Dr. Harris explained.

There was a pause as if he expected Rafe to say something reassuring or offer to pass on the message. 

Sofia’s brows knitted together as she watched him. “Rafe?” 

“I’ll tell her,” he said, the words cracked in his throat. The doctor thanked him and hung up.

He stared at the phone waiting for it to ring again with more news, a reassurance that this wasn’t as serious as it sounded. 

You probably hadn’t changed your emergency contact because it slipped your mind.

He couldn’t stand the idea that something could be wrong, and he was not the one you called when you needed someone. All he’d ever done was mess things up between you.

“What’s going on?”

How the fuck was he going to tell you when you'd blocked him everywhere?

He couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t even show up unannounced without risking the usual argument that would end with you screaming at him to get out, or worse, you looking at him with that unforgiving stare.

He knew you’d locked every door, bolted every window to keep him out, and he deserved it. 

“It’s nothing,” he said, the lie slipping out automatically. He could feel her studying him, waiting for another explanation he also didn’t have the patience to give.

Maybe Topper could help.

The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d given your cousin the mission of checking in on you, playing the careful messenger while Rafe kept his distance. That was supposed to be him.

But the reality was you hated him now, hated him enough that Topper was a safer option and yet, the private information still landed on his lap. As if he still had the right to be in your orbit, let alone the person trusted with this kind of news.

It felt wrong.

He knew you were going to hate him even more for still having access to your private details. It wasn’t really his fault—the hospital called him. He should have hung up the moment the hospital mentioned your name, told them they had the wrong guy. But he didn’t. He listened. 

“If you need to go—” she started, trailing off when he didn’t answer. Her voice softened, tentative. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he looked away, out at the horizon where the sun was setting.  “Yeah,” he muttered, not bothering to lie this time.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. He typed something out, then deleted it, then typed again.

Finally, he just went with the simplest thing he could think of and hit send.

Can we meet up? Tannyhill in 30. I think I know what’s wrong.

He half-expected some lame excuse or joke from Topper. Instead, the text he got made the deep lines across his forehead make an appearance.

Shit, you do???

Did the fucker already know?

Did he suspect? Or was this just the kind of baited question someone asked when they thought they were the last to know something big?

He frowned, gripping the phone tighter.

If Topper did know, why hadn’t he said anything?

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[unsteddie]

Rockstar Eddie getting absolutely blazed after a show with the local crew. He's been really well behaved since his last dumb shit incident so no one's really watching him. A mistake.

He just walks out of the venue, somehow missing fans and crew and finds his way to a diner. The band and crew only know about it because pictures are already surfacing on Twitter (OMG modern day au oops). Pictures of eddie hunched over a plate shoveling food into his mouth like a raccoon.

The memes are already live.

They send someone to go get him but he's not there, cue a city wide man hunt (low stakes), where thier tour manager (is that a thing?) Hooper is losing his shit because he hasn't been this hard to find in a WHILE.

The next morning Eddie wakes up in Steve's apartment, covered in a blanket but otherwise naked, and groans to himself, saying out loud "God who the fuck did I hook up with in this hick town?"

Cue Steve from the bathroom shouting "no one! You just didn't wanna wear pants anymore, you said they were like prisons for your legs."

Steve has no clue who he is, but thinks he's real cute when he's high. It's his diner and he couldn't leave some adorable guy to wander the city on his own. So he took him home to babysit him (of course).

That's all I've got so far, but they're soooooo in love

[coolancientstuff]

The Temple of Venus in Baalbek (Heliopolis), Lebanon was built in the 200s CE to honor the goddess of love, sex and fertility. Venus was derived by the Romans from the Greek goddess Aphrodite, who herself was inspired by the Near Eastern goddess Astarte. This temple's cult likely incorporated elements of both Roman Venus and the local Astarte.

The temple itself has many novel and unique features found nowhere else in Classical architecture. Five semicircular exedrae run along the outer wall, framing arched niches decorated with carved doves and seashells that probably contained statues in ancient times. Above each niche a festoon of leaves and fruit hangs, symbolizing fertility. The pentagonal column bases are without parallel in antiquity, and no other examples are known. The interior is less well preserved, but it can be safely assumed by the lavishness of the construction that it was once sumptuously decorated with paintings, statues, colored marbles and golden ornaments.

The temple has an eventful history, being also a site of persecutions of early Christians under Julian the Apostate, the last pagan emperor of Rome. Sozomen, a late antique historian, says in his Ecclesiatical Histories:

The inhabitants of Heliopolis, near Mount Libanus, and of Arethusa in Syria, seem to have surpassed them in excess of cruelty. The former were guilty of an act of barbarity which could scarcely be credited, had it not been corroborated by the testimony of those who witnessed it. They stripped the holy virgins, who had never been looked upon by the multitude, of their garments, and exposed them in a state of nudity as a public spectacle and objects of insult. After numerous other inflictions they at last shaved them, ripped them open, and concealed in their viscera the food usually given to pigs; and since the swine could not distinguish, but were impelled by the need of their customary food, they also tore in pieces the human flesh.

I am convinced that the citizens of Heliopolis perpetrated this barbarity against the holy virgins on account of the prohibition of the ancient custom of yielding up virgins to prostitution with any chance comer before being united in marriage to their betrothed. This custom was prohibited by a law enacted by Constantine, after he had destroyed the temple of Venus at Heliopolis, and erected a church upon its ruins."

Whether Sozomen's account is an exaggeration or not, there is archaeological evidence that the temple was indeed converted into a church, dedicated to Saint Barbara. According to the (comparatively late) Christian legend, Barbara was the daughter of a Heliopolitan dignitary, Dioscorus, who still worshipped the old gods. When he learned that she had been baptized, he killed Barbara and was immediately struck by lightning. Up til the present day, Saint Barbara is invoked if people want to be protected against lightning.

Because the monument continued to be in use, the temple of Venus is comparatively well-preserved. Unbroken religious activity has continued on almost the same site since antiquity, and there's still a small mosque next to the temple of Venus. The Greek-Orthodox church of Baalbek, which is close by, is still dedicated to Saint Barbara.

[hellfirecvnt]

Hallelujah, What a Payday

Baby Billy Freeman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Baby Billy's on the search for his next co-star.

Warnings: Sex with that weird, old man (at the very end.) Religious trauma but with zero detail at all. If I refer to anything as "nonsense" or whatever, that's not about any religion and is only about the silly Gemstone activities.

Notes: Tiffany just doesn't exist here. I love her too much to write that she got left or something. This should've been two parts, but I promised we were gonna fuck him, so. We're also gonna ignore the Baby Billy body-double pp they show in the first episode. Don't even fucking act like that dastardly old man isn't packing.

"Five minutes, Y/N!" The angry stage manager screams backstage. You perfect your lipstick in the mirror and stand to straighten up your ensemble. You sing a few nights a week at a local lounge/venue for extra money. You're a local hit and it pays the bills.

Across the entire building, a man pays his way inside, tired after days of wasted effort. He sighs as he takes a seat, alone in a VIP booth. They're not cheap, but even if he hadn't sat there, anyone can tell he has money just from the way he dresses.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight's entertainment." A smooth voice vibrates over the intercom. You gracefully file out onto the small stage, illuminated well by a single spotlight amongst the mood lighting throughout the lounge. The tired man taps a finger on his table, watching with boredom as he waits for his drink to arrive.

"I'm all out of hope. One more bad dream could bring a fall..." Your voice rings through the air like honey sweetens tea. The lone man at the VIP booth nearly gives himself whiplash with the rate at which he turns to face the source of the illustrious talent. You continue to sing your cover, and slowly he begins to recognize the song.

Your eyes meet his, as you do at every show to engage with the audience.

"It's easy to deceive. It's easy to tease," you slide your hands down your sides, swaying back and forth sensually for this verse. "But hard to get release."

The pianist serves as backup vocals, delivering the iconic lyrics: "Les yeux sans visage."

"Eyes without a face; got no human grace. You're eyes without a face." Your vocals swell and the man stares at you, inspired. His mouth hangs agape with a hopeful smile.

After you finish your set of five songs, you take a small bow and excuse yourself to the bar. The well-dressed man all but trips over himself as he scrambles to meet you over there.

"Double vodka cran, please, Henry." You tell the bartender and he nods, starting your order.

"That's some voice you got there, darlin'." The man appears next to you, smiling a large, white, evangelical grin.

"Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed the show."

"Well, I more than enjoyed it. You got yourself a gift, now." The man extends his hand. "I'm Baby Billy."

"Baby?" You look at him, perplexed. He explains his backstory a little, insisting you should at least know who his sister is.

"You ain't never heard of Aimee-Leigh Gemstone?"

"Of course I have, I just don't listen to a lot of gospel." You shrug, truthfully hoping the conversation could end there.

"Well, darlin', do you ever sing gospel?" His eyes twinkle in the dimly lit bar area.

"I don't think that'd fare well for me here. This place looks fancy, it's costly to get in, but it's just a bar at the end of the day. No one wants to be preached to." You take a sip of your drink and he watches you closely, noting the pout of your lips as you press them to the glass.

"No, not here. Here." He lies a pamphlet out in front of you, sliding it closer along the bar. "I'm the head preacher at the new church in Locust Grove. Opens in a month."

"A man of God, huh?" You mumble as you skim over the pamphlet. "Does this gig pay?"

"God never asked us to exploit our talents for free." Baby Billy grins. You look him up and down. He's a walking red flag, but it's clear he's got money and as a broke woman on your own, you can never have enough.

"I'm free on weekends. I'll adjust my availability when I know you're serious." You say, stone-faced. Baby Billy hands you his card, passing it smoothly between his index and middle finger. You take it and stand from the bar, walking away, and disappearing into the green room to prepare for another set in an hour. He watches you, still sporting a wide smile as you stand. His eyebrows twitch in short-lived confusion. He pushes all that aside, only one thing matters now. He has his co-star.

Friday afternoon rolls around and Baby Billy attends your show, beaming at you from his expensive, empty VIP booth. He's practically got dollar signs for pupils.

"Friday is a weekday, Billy." You call over your shoulder as you excuse yourself to the bar.

"Baby Billy," he corrects, clinging to his childhood fame with all he has. "It's a brand, now. And who said I'm here for work? Can't a man just enjoy the show?" He follows you to the bar, taking a seat next to you.

"Well, did you enjoy it?" You turn to him with an amused smile. "The show?"

"It was even better the second time around."

"Thank you, Baby Billy," you say, with a knowing emphasis on 'baby.' "I guess I'll be calling you tomorrow, then."

"I'll be ready when you are, darlin'." He smiles warmly and you begin to wonder if you'll ever see him without that goofy, toothy grin stretched across his face.

Saturday morning, you're up, bright and early. You think nothing of the process of getting ready, throwing on a T-shirt and jeans along with various accessories you only get to wear on your days off, so you take every chance.

"This ain't a repeat of that... Lost soul you brought in last time, is it?" Eli settles back in his seat. He's sitting in one of the thousands of seats in the Gemstone Auditorium along with his three children, Judy, Jesse, and Kelvin. Baby Billy stands before them.

"No, damn, Eli. She's perfect for the job. She's got the face, she's got the voice, and most importantly, she's got stage presence." Baby Billy makes a grand case, convincing the Gemstone family that he's found an angel on Earth. Which is why it's all the more shocking when you walk in looking like an entirely different person than the woman he met at the lounge.

Everyone falls silent, they turn to face you as you walk through the door. The second you come into clear view, Judy Gemstone does a poor job of stifling a hateful chortle. Baby Billy meets you halfway, keeping you off to the side before you're front and center in front of everyone.

"The fuck you look like that for?" He asks with a peculiar sense of genuine confusion/ curiosity.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think it'd be a dress rehearsal." You narrow your eyes, placing a hand on your hip.

"When you called me this morning I thought I made it clear what kind of... Environment you might find yourself in." He waves his hands around as he says this.

"Is this an audition or did you scout me out?" You ask with a smirk, looking him up and down.

"Well, hear me out, now. Because if it were up to me, you're hired. But you need to hop up on there and prove to these assholes that I know what I'm doing."

"Playing dress up costs extra," You whisper. Without leaving time for him to respond, you walk ahead of him and confidently offer a handshake to Eli. The two of you become acquainted and he welcomes you to the stage.

As you step out onto the grand platform, it's awkwardly empty. You find yourself almost nervous, which is out of character for you. You've been performing since you were young.

"What am I singing for you today, Dr. Gemstone?" You ask, sensing a little bit of decorum could go a long way here.

"Looks like she's about to start blasting Rob fuckin' Zombie," Jesse, the oldest Gemstone son, quips under his breath. You narrow your eyes at him, clocking his appearance on the spot.

"I think I know what you wanna hear," you smile politely, pointing directly at Jesse. After a quick speed walk to the sound tech, you queue up the track for the song you've chosen. The music starts, and the two youngest Gemstone siblings burst into laughter. Even Eli chuckles.

"Hello, Darlin'. Nice to see you," you start. "It's been a long time, you're just as lovely as you used to be." The joke about Jesse's appearance quickly fizzles away as the Gemstones take in your voice. Baby Billy stands off to the side, gauging their reaction, absolutely elated.

"I told you he was trying to be Conway fuckin' Twitty," Judy whispers to Kelvin.

"Come back Darlin'. I'll be waiting for you..." You finish your song and take an unserious bow. You secure the job, and Eli even commends Baby Billy for finding you. After researching the Gemstones a little bit the night before, you quickly begin to realize how much money you could potentially make here.

"That was fantastic! That old fucker didn't think I could do it," Baby Billy gushes.

"And what did you do, just now?" You side-eye him.

"I found a star." He emphasizes his words with his hands. He's a charismatic and handsome man even given his older age.

"What's next? I'm sure this next month will be pretty busy with rehearsals." You laugh, already contemplating quitting your recurring lounge gig.

"Well, sure. We'll put in the work and all, but," he looks at you expectantly.

"What?" You ask, but he only gestures with his hand as if you should've caught on by now. "Oh, Baby Billy. I don't know if I'll be attending church tomorrow. I'm um, not a Christian."

"Huh," he says, dryly. You scrunch your nose, awaiting an uncomfortable lecture. "You work in this industry for so long, you forget some people aren't religious." He shrugs and you feel a sense of relief.

"I'm not busy today. Care to show me around the Locust Grove church? It's nice to know what I'm going into." He holds the door for you as you step out into the bright parking lot.

"I'd love nothing more." He grins.

At the Locust Grove location, you're wowed by the remodeled mall-turned-megachurch. He gives you the grand tour, specifying that you'd have your own area to get ready before each service.

"This is... A lot," you laugh.

"You're about to make it much more, darlin'." He ushers you up to the stage with him. "Let's give it a go, see how we sound together."

"What song are you thinking?"

"You don't know any gospel?" He peeks over his glasses at you.

"Not really," you shrug. "Well, I know Angel Band and I know Down to The River to Pray from that movie I like."

"Good fuckin' God." He sighs. "Down to The River." He counts off and starts the first verse. His voice is southern, crisp, and clear. You quickly decide in your head what fashion of singing would best compliment his. The chorus approaches and you ready your breath.

"Oh, sisters, let's go down. Let's go down, come on down," your voices melt together pleasingly. You can tell by the look on his face that he likes what he hears. The song ends for the two of you after that first chorus, that's all he needed to hear.

"It's about time something worked out for ol' Baby Billy," he shakes his head. "Now, the next matter to discuss is... Wardrobe."

"Yeah, I figured 'sunday best' would cut it, right?"

"Well, not quite." He leads you to a room past the storage area full of broken, useless mannequins. He walks up to a large armoire and pulls it open. Inside is one dress. It's wrapped in a layer of protective plastic that's done wonders to preserve it. It's campy and dated, though you can tell it was high dollar fashion for its time.

"Baby Billy, I'm not wearing this." You look at him, as if hoping he'll tell you he's joking.

"What? Why not? Now that was Aimee-Leigh's favorite dress," he glances back and forth from you and the dress.

"Okay and it's beautiful, but it looks like it's a hundred years old." You look at the striking piece of clothing again. "This is helpful, though. If this is the kind of look you wanna go for, I think I can make it work."

The two of you spend the rest of your time in the unopened church getting acquainted. You find him charming and entertaining. He finds you beautiful and unintentionally hilarious. You make him laugh often. It's like his own personal ray of sunshine on his shoulder.

It's late when you head to leave. You hardly noticed how long you'd been there. As you open the door to the dark parking lot, you turn to bid Baby Billy goodbye.

"Well, hold on, now, darlin'. Let me walk you to your car." He follows you out the door and to your vehicle. You roll the window down to thank him for the job, pulling your seatbelt over your head.

"I'll see you...?" You wait for him to tell you what day he plans to start practice.

"Monday afternoon, if you can make it." He places a hand on the roof of your car. "Now, listen. I know you ain't the religious type-"

"I will see you Monday, Baby Billy." You interrupt before he has the chance to invite you to church tomorrow. He shrugs, waving to you as you drive off.

That night, as you shower, you wonder if you were too rude with your rejection of his invitation. After all, you grew up going to church. Certainly not a mega church, but a church regardless. It's not a chapter of your youth and adolescence that you hold dear, hence your inclination to stay away from it all.

You set an alarm and wake up early Sunday morning... To get ready for church. You take this outing as a chance to demonstrate to Baby Billy and all the Gemstones that while your personal style may not mesh with their vibe, you've always had a way of blending in.

You put on a white dress with statement sleeves. Something to play off of the whole "voice of an angel" shtick. After perfecting the rest of the look, you leave with a satisfied smile.

You walk through the large double doors to the "Gemstone Worship Center" and look around. It's needlessly gigantic and overwhelming to take in.

"Y/N, is that you, darlin'?" Baby Billy's voice grounds you back on Earth. You turn to face him and he raises his eyebrows, shocked by your range of appearances. "Don't you look pretty this morning?" He grins, admiring your pearly glow in the white garment. He's elated to see you there. Not because he thinks you need church, but because he wanted to see you.

He introduces you to a few colleagues, and even Eli Gemstone reintroduces himself, shocked to learn you're the same woman from yesterday.

"Who is this with you today?" A tall, bald man with a thick African accent asks with a warm smile.

"Now, this is my girl, Y/N," Baby Billy gestures to you like a grand prize. Something about the title "his girl" makes your stomach flip, and you're not sure how you feel about that. "She'll be performing with me at Locust Grove."

The theatrical, pretentious service is long, loud, and feels uncomfortable the entire time, so it's hard to keep your mind and eye from wandering to anything else. Often, you glance at Baby Billy. He's brought you to his seats in the front area, so it's hard to drown the music out entirely, but everything does seem to muffle when you're staring down the white-haired enigma of a man before you.

After service, Baby Billy invites you to join the family at a restaurant called Jason's. You're hesitant at first, but Eli insists. When you arrive, the Gemstones are escorted to a level above the restaurant to a private section for their own VIP dining experience. It's frivolous to you, but it's nice to do something different for once.

After church lunch, the entire group congregates in the parking lot, saying their goodbyes and making promises to see each other next week. You smile politely, though a bit awkward, as you don't really know anyone besides Baby Billy.

"Nice get up, Rob Zombie." Judy Gemstone appears beside you, seemingly complimenting you, but she's just as confused as you are.

"Thank you, Judy. I just wanted to show that I know how to fit into a crowd."

"Yeah, well. You're not so bad, up there, on stage." Her tone sounds like she's accosting you, but her words sound genuine. As if she's not sure how to... Just be nice without intimidation tactics. "Singer to singer, don't let Uncle Baby Billy ride your coattails too hard." She struts off, linking arms with her husband and loading up into their lavish vehicles.

You feel a sense of comfort now, knowing Judy is just like that. It's nice to know you have another woman in the mix that you can look to as an acquaintance. Slowly, but surely, you find yourself melding into the atmosphere that follows people like Baby Billy around. You begin to feel more comfortable around the rest of the church leaders, though you realize rather quickly that there isn't much talk about God. It's nice.

As the weeks go by, you meet up with Baby Billy for practice every day. It's not the schedule you meant to give him, you just find yourself wanting to see him more and more. You delight in the strange way he talks and his charming mannerisms. You also think it's really funny when something goes wrong and he's suddenly not grandpa sunshine anymore, and he's kicking a speaker calling it a dick.

As the rehearsal window comes to a close, you and your co-star are inseparably close. On more than one occasion, one of you has slipped up and gotten a little too comfortable.

"Baby Billy, why does the mirror say something about washing my hands keeping me safe from Satan?" You ask, returning from the restrooms.

"That was song lyrics from back in mine and Aimee-Leigh's day," he laughs.

"Well, how do clean hands keep me safe in the eyes of the Lord?" You furrow your brow, in disbelief that anyone could believe this. Baby Billy is tinkering with the stage lights as they two of you converse.

"Well," he says, still messing with the light. "Just like those hands can commit sins, they can be washed clean by his mercy." He chuckles as if he already knows he's going to overstep. "Those look like sinner hands to me, darlin'." He winks.

"Sinner hands?"

"Ain't you ever done anything with those hands? Something the Lord might not smile upon?" He continues with his back to you, finally flicking on the light after his adjustments. Your face is hot and red with the realization of what he meant.

"Oh, yeah. I guess so." You shrug. Baby Billy turns to face you, taking a few steps closer. He's a good deal taller than you, so his lanky frame looms over you in a way that makes your stomach flip. He's barely a foot away, smiling down at you.

"You guess so," he repeats, tilting his head and grinning, letting the silence thicken for a moment. You give up on trying to fight back the blush in your cheeks, there is no way around it.

"Well, I guess let's get back to it," you clap your hands once in front of you as if to break up this moment and you take your position. Baby Billy just laughs and leaves you with a lingering confusion. The rest of the day, you can't seem to keep your head clear. A flip has switched and you find yourself lusting after this televangelist old man.

The two of you wrap up rehearsals for the day, but instead of leaving, you linger behind a little longer. You're unsure if it's nerves telling you to practice more, or if it's just you wanting to be around him.

"Next week is opening day," Baby Billy grins. The excitement is clear on his face with that brilliant, big smile. He takes a seat next to you and you both face the large, beautifully lit and decorated stage.

"That fast, huh?" You chuckle, trying to laugh away the knot in your throat so you don't have to swallow it.

"You're gonna be great up there," he says, catching you off guard. He seems to have mistaken your unexpected attraction as pre-show nerves. "Right next to ol' Baby Billy Freeman. This is a big break for you."

"Oh, it is?" You laugh.

"Look, I'm serious, now. The right ears hear us and we're signed and touring," he snaps his fingers. "Like that!"

"You sure you could handle being on the road with me? I'm kind of a diva," you joke. "If I don't get my beauty sleep, I look like a dead bug and I'll hit someone." Baby Billy bursts into laughter.

"I don't think a lack of sleep or even a semi-truck could deter what you've got goin', sweetheart."

"What do you mean?" You ask through a laugh.

"You're a looker, darlin'. You walk into a room and draw everybody's eye." His hands are animated as he speaks.

"Oh, yes. Flattery will get you everywhere," you laugh, lightly shoving his arm playfully.

"I mean it, now. You the prettiest girl I know." He shrugs.

"You're not so bad yourself." You smirk, leaning closer to him than you realized. He notices the closing gap and can't help himself, he leans toward you as well. Time seems to slow down just for a moment as you two share this closeness.

He glances at your lips, and then back up to your eyes. Your heart begins to race before the sudden, loud crash of the stage light Baby Billy messed with hitting the stage with great weight. You both sit up, startled by the sound, jumping away from the close quarters you'd just been in.

"Oh, uh," you regain your grip, realizing what poor business practice has just nearly taken place. You've fucked your boss before. You know it doesn't end well... "I should get going."

You stand and readjust your skirt, smiling nervously as you start toward the door. Baby Billy stands too, hopelessly searching for his next sentence, but for the first time in his life, he seems unable to find the words.

"Same time tomorrow, darlin'," he calls out to you as you step out the door. He takes a step over to the stage, sitting down and exhaling a big breath. What an old fool he'd have to be to think you'd want anything to do with him when you're so young-spirited and beautiful? Will that stop him? No. It won't.

The last few days leading up to the grand opening are full of those small, close encounters. One day, you tripped during dance practice and practically landed in his arms. You two locked eyes and it would've been done for right then if a janitor hadn't walked through the stage door. Another time, you were high up on a ladder, making Baby Billy hold it steady out of fear. The entire time you're above him in your dress rehearsal skirt, he can't seem to fight the perverted urge to glance up. When he does, he nearly loses his bearings. His face ignites red and he can't help but smile ear to ear.

It's no secret to either of you that some kind of tension has been brewing. Even the Gemstone siblings share a look of confusion when they see you two forget anyone else is in the room. Neither of you seems to notice how long your eye will linger on the other.

The Sunday of the Church's debut sneaks up on you after the last few days of having nothing but Baby Billy on the brain. You're less nervous about performing and more nervous about seeing him again. It's as if every time you two come together, the palpable tension in the air becomes thicker. You're certain you'll lose the ability to breathe the air around you if it gets any worse.

"You ready to make some magic, darlin'?" An excited Baby Billy startles you as he intrusively enters your dressing room.

"My God, don't you knock? I could've been naked," you laugh, perfecting your makeup in the mirror.

"I don't think you'd hear any protest from me, sweetheart." He winks and makes a quick getaway. To be honest, he wasn't quite meaning to say that part out loud. You're left red-faced and pleasantly shocked. The comments between the two of you have been growing more bold by the day, but that one takes the cake... So far.

You get dressed in your opening night outfit. It's a bit different than the one you wore to rehearsals. It's nicer, fancier, flashier, without all the dated glitz of Aimee-Leigh's 80's-esque dress that Baby Billy attempted to lend you.

It hadn't occurred to you that Baby Billy hadn't seen this outfit of yours. But his beaming, smiling face when the two of you step out in front of the crowd from opposite ends of the stage gives you a needed stroke of your ego. He holds an arm out to you, inviting you to his side as he introduces you and himself. It was established early in the arrangement that he'd do most of the talking, so you put on your best "quiet and pretty" act. You clap when the crowd claps, and you throw your hands up in "praise" when it seems appropriate.

Anyone who'd met you before this performance is genuinely confused by who they're watching right now. They expected you to give a hell of a singing show, they didn't expect you to play the full part so well. As you told them, you know how to blend in. The surge of energy that comes with any performance this in-depth carries you throughout the whole service.

With each song you sing, with or without Baby Billy, you cannot stop yourself from looking at him, over and over. Fuck the tension, something is building up inside of you and the adrenaline of the stage is only making it worse, for both of you.

Baby Billy bids the crowd farewell and you give a gentle wave as the two of you exit the stage, arm in pining arm. The very second the stage exit door closes behind you, muffling the sounds of the cheering and dispersing crowd, you and Baby Billy fall still, silent, and stare at each other for barely one breathless second and then your lips are on his. You both stumble for a moment before he steadies you, pressing you up against the nearest wall.

"God damn, Y/N," he whispers between hungry kisses. You pull away for just a second, just enough time to ask a question.

"My dressing room or yours?" Baby Billy answers that inquiry by reconnecting his lips to yours and guiding your intertwined bodies to his dressing room. It's the closest. The two of you stumble through the door and straight to the lengthy couch meant to make the room look more glamorous. He lies you back on the cushions and his two careful hands begin to wander.

"Darlin, you look incredible in this get-up," he huffs. "But I can't wait till I get it off of you." He quickly unfastens the buttons of your blouse and groans roughly just at the sight of your lacey bra-clad breasts. Soft, breathy moans escape your lips over and over as he gropes at you and grinds against you. "Now, you don't mind where this is goin', do ya?"

"No, shut up," you chuckle, pulling his mouth back to yours. Your hands rake through his hair and find their way down to his expensive, flashy belt buckle. He sits back on the couch, legs hanging off with his Italian leather shoes resting on the floor. He spreads his knees and you take your position between them. You're breathless with excitement as you free his erection from his slacks. The moment you wrap a hand around his shaft, you feel him still growing harder in your hand.

"God damn it," he sighs, tossing his head back against the couch. He wraps one hand in your hair, guiding your lips toward the head of his cock. "Come on, now. Don't make me beg for it." You chuckle at his eagerness, but you do as he says, wrapping your lips around his tip. Baby Billy sighs with relief as you slowly welcome him into your mouth. He gasps as you press your nose to his waist, taking his full length in your throat.

You bob your head up and down, still riding an adrenaline high that's enough to power through even the worst of neck cramps. He calls out small exclamations and whispers sensual praise, all of which makes the heat between your thighs burn hotter.

His moans become more and more vocal until he roughly pulls your head away, jerking you by the hair. You gasp at the pain, but it only fuels your fire.

"Get on up here, now. Let an ol' man get his kicks," he quips, helping you out of the floor before you take your place, lying before him on the couch. He buries his face in your neck, kissing away up and down your flesh as he continues undressing you. He unfastens the rest of the buttons on your blouse, slipping a hand under your bra and squeezing your breast eagerly.

"Come on, don't make me beg for it," you mimic his words, sliding your skirt up your legs, and exposing your panties. They're wet with arousal and he grins at the sight.

"I might just like to hear a pretty young thing like you beg to get fucked by the pastor." He grins deviously, pressing a gentle hand to your clit over the panties. "All this for me?" He chuckles, basking in the effect he has on you. After what feels like ages of teasing and edging, he slips the drenched underwear from your legs. The white-haired man stares in awe at your throbbing core, extending a hand to play with you.

He slips one digit inside you, earning a filthy, needy moan from your chest. Your mouth hangs agape with a gasp as he pumps his finger in and out of you, staring deeply into your shining eyes. He shakes his head, amused by his power over you and also in disbelief at the position he's in at this moment. Just a month ago you were a stranger with a beautiful voice on a stage he'd never taken a second look at. Since then, you've been the object of all his desires. How could he ever imagine you'd feel the same?

"Oh, my God! Please," you whine, arching your back as he fingers you. He chuckles, unsure how he's holding himself back. It must be how much he's enjoying the show.

"Shhh," he whispers, adding another finger. Guttural moans of heated pleasure pour from your lips like a waterfall. He eats up every second of it.

"You're doin' real good, now, darlin'." He positions his twitching erection at your aching entrance, playing with your arousal with the head of his cock. "Keep being good for me," he says as he slips himself inside. A long, needy cry escapes you as he slowly sinks to his hilt.

You stare up at him, locking eyes as his mouth hangs slightly open. He's breathless as your tightness squeezes him just right.

"Aw, damn, sweetheart," he groans, pulling back only to quickly slide back in. "You're somethin' else." He grunts and moans as he thrusts in and out of you, hastily picking up his pace. For an older man, he's incredibly virile. He fucks you for what feels like hours but is surely only a handful of steamy minutes. You squirm and whine beneath him as he steadily guides you to your climax.

"I- I'm-" you try to speak, but it's too late, he's fucking you into oblivion, riding out your high with a bright white, goofy smile on his face. He loves watching your face contort as you soak him with your orgasm.

"I hope you ain't done yet, sweetheart," he chuckles, sliding out of you. "Flip on over, now, darlin'. Let me get a look at that perfect ass you got." His praise ignites a wave of goosebumps across your skin. You do as he says, turning over and assuming a position on all fours, presenting yourself to him perfectly. He releases a breathy laugh, slapping both hands down on each ass cheek.

Baby Billy tightens his grip on your glutes and fervently tugs at you until you're lined up with his swollen cock. He slips inside you again, thrusting away at maximum pace. Your ass jiggles as he slams into you and he's hypnotized by the sight. His goofy grin has fallen to a serious expression as he chases his climax. He mumbles curse words and praise under his breath while pressing your back downward to amplify your arch.

"God damn, just look at you," he huffs, coming closer and closer to completion. "Whatever you want, Y/N, just say the word," he grunts between heavy breaths. "And it's yours, darlin'." You laugh at the way he offers you the world just from how good he feels inside you. It's a high compliment.

"B- Ba-!" You attempt to beg for mercy, but he's quick to cut you off.

"Shh, shh, now, sweetheart. Just... A little more," he groans, quickening his thrusts as he ends his sentence. He slams into you impossibly hard, incredibly fast, with both hands hooked around your waist. You release sensual cries of pleasure as he chases and finally catches his climax.

He withdraws from you, breathless and sweating. A string of lusty moans drips from his lips as he strokes himself until he finishes all over your ass. He stutters out a grunt before collapsing back on the couch. You're breathless, fucked out with your face buried in the cushion. The two of you fall silent for a moment as you catch your breath.

"Baby Billy?" You break the silence.

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"Could you pass me, um, a towel?"

"Oh!" He scrambles to his feet, tucking away his softening length. His unfastened belt jingles as he makes his way across his dressing room and grabs a towel from the neat, little stack of hand towels. "Allow me," he whispers, still catching his breath, as he wipes your skin clean, allowing you to comfortably collapse as well. He joins you on the couch, buckling his belt and straightening up his suit.

"That was... Amazing..." You sigh, somehow a little shocked at how well he just fucked you.

"It certainly was, Y/N. It certainly was." He lies back on the couch, allowing his eyes to fall shut. A hand reaches up to fix his disheveled hair. "Let's get them drawers back on you, now. We're late for Church Lunch."

You regain your composure and fix your clothes, sliding your panties back up under your skirt. After fixing your hair and your smudged makeup, you're ready to head to Jason's. You and Baby Billy arrive a few minutes after everyone else, and you take your seats next to each other. The table seems to grow quiet when you two join.

"Don't everybody start talkin' at once, now." Baby Billy looks up and down to both ends of the table. "What'd we miss?"

"From the sound of it, you didn't miss anything, Uncle Baby Billy," Judy scoffs. Baby Billy gives you a knowing look, grinning at you sweetly.

"No, Judy, I did not." He beams, proudly, placing an arm around your shoulder and planting a kiss on the side of your forehead.

•••••

Taglist: @justme12200 //

[unalivejournal]

imagine a tumblr simulator set in the velvet goldmine universe lmfao

2 notes

🎹 wilderatz Follow

DNI if you still support br*an sl*de after the shooting hoax. what he did was fucking unacceptable and pathetic. the panic and heartbreak on the dashboard that day was absolutely traumatizing. and the fact that it was all for cheap publicity makes it even more despicable. if you HAVE to listen to his records the least you could do is buy them secondhand

#so glad curt never cut that record with him

186 notes

⭐️ glittersisgay

i got new boots! seeing the flaming creatures tonight :-) life is good

4 notes

👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏼 wildemons Follow

sorry but the sladewild narrative is CRAAAAZY. like imagine you start off as a nobody performer and becoming enthralled by this rockstar after he shows up your act and you end up becoming famous by being inspired by his stage presence AND YOU BECOME FAMOUS ENOIGH TO GO TO AMERICA AND MEET THIS GUY AND YOUR LABELS START FABRICATING A RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN U TWO TO GENERATE PUBLICITY FOR YOUR NEW ALBUM BUT THEN YOU ACTUALLY FALL IN LOVE AND HAVE TO KEEP IT A SECRET BUT THEN THE PAPARAZZI FINDS OUT AND YOU HAVE A HUGE FALLING OUT BUT THEN A FEW WEEKS LATER YOURE SPOTTED IN THE CROWD AT THE DEATH TO GLITTER SHOW

♻️ 🦷 roxytunes Follow

lmfao WHAT are you talking about. swear to god i’m sick of you invasive freaks trying to make things up about real peoples lives. the part about the labels trying to market slade and wild as a couple isn’t even true. yes they were heavily publicized as close friends but they never admitted to being in a relationship. also receipts on brian being at the death to glitter show???? stop spreading false information

♻️ 👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏼 wildemons Follow

anyways watch out for my new sladewild maxwell demon tour era fic that will be published in my next zine 💋

#my mutual was literally next to him in the crowd.

58 notes

🪩 girlboydragdemon

at the Sombrero Club with the glamrocktuals YAYYYY

♻️ 🪩 girlboydragdemon

Hangover.

#we may have made. mistakes. #also we think brian slade’s former manager was in the booth behind us

11 notes

🌟 venusinpurrs

♻️ 🎸 balladofmaxwellsemen Follow

WHY ARE WE PITTING THREE BAD BITCHES AGAINST EACH OTHER

♻️🌟 venusinpurrs

better question WHY ARE VENUS IN FURS LOSING GUYS CMON ITS OBVIOUSLY THE RATS

♻️🌟 venusinpurrs

do you people hate dykes

244 notes

💋 jack-fairy-fan51 Follow

Anyone else feel like this Tommy stone guy showed up out of nowhere?

6 notes

❇️ 20th-cxntury-bxy

Well…. it’s been a fun time on the road with Malcolm & co. (@/theflamingcreatures) but in the months following the hoax and the death to glitter tribute I’ve been feeling more and more inclined to move on. idk. i know there’s still an active tumblr community but in the real life scene it feels like everyone’s just…. given up. I’ll be starting a new job soon and won’t have a lot of time to post. Might delete this blog in the near future. remember to support local shows and keep being yourself

#a.journal

0 notes

👨‍🎤 lipstickkissedelbowglove

word on the street is that mandy slade divorced brian???? lmao get his ass

♻️👨‍🎤 lipstickkissedelbowglove

[#finally i have a chance with her]

you’re funny if you think any of us on this site have an inkling of a chance with her

2,658 notes

🎸 balladofmaxwellsemen Follow

Just found this on the sidewalk. does anyone know what it is?

7 notes

[mask131]

Everybody loves to consider Greek mythology as a world of clear-cut deities with specific roles and defined limits between them, but it isn't true - and looking at how the deities changed, evolved and mixed together throughout the times is always a deeply rewarding experience.

One example I can give you are the "alternate Aphrodites". Aphrodite was one of the main and most important goddesses of Greek religion - as such she existed with many local variations, specific epithets and alternate cults. But many of these alternate deities ended up actually fusing Aphrodite with or having her replace other gods - a confusion between deities reflected by their very myths and legends.

The most famous case is the "Aphroditos" that was honored in Chypria: the "phallic Venus", the "bearded Aphrodite", an Aphrodite with male and female attributes honoring a mix of both female and male sexualities - and which according to records was linked to rituals of genders exchanging clothes, and other ritual crossdressing. It has been attested and confirmed that the "male Aphrodite", "Aphroditos" was the source of "prototype" for the figure of Hermaphrodite, the source of "hermaphrodism", and the male-female androgyne born in legends of the union of Hermes and Aphrodite - while also acting himself as an alternate form of Hermes in some places.

Hermes isn't the only lover of Aphrodite the goddess ended up confused with. Everybody likes to talk of "Aphrodite Areia", "Aphrodite of war", "Aphrodite in arms", the Aphrodite bearing weapons honored in more war-like cities and cultures of Ancient Greece, notably Sparta. This Aphrodite was usually coupled or paired with Ares, and legend does notoriously point out how the two were lovers. But in some areas, Aphrodite Areia was more than just the companion of Ares or an "Ares-influenced Aphrodite" - she was LITERALY the female version of Ares, replacing him. One same idea of a deity, for two genders.

And a last example I will point out is the Aphrodite Thalassa, or Aphrodite Pontia. "Aphrodite from the sea". We all know Aphrodite has a strong connection to the sea, since in the Hesiodic version she is supposed to be born out of it, and in religion she was considered a protector of sailors and ships. But further than that, you can see how deep her connection goes due to how in Greek religious (or non-religious) art, Aphrodite was often paired with Poseidon. It is something attested (you can check the book "The Twelve Gods of Greece and Rome", which studies the various depictions of the Twelve Olympians) - among the Olympians, when Aphrodite isn't depicted paired with either Hephaistos or Ares, she was usually paired with Poseidon - and when Aphrodite wasn't among the Twelve, she was replaced by Amphitrite, Poseidon's wife and queen. To the point that in many depictions it is hard to tell them apart - if they weren't fused in one...

Aphrodite's alternate self and "combo fusions" can even go in unexpected ways. Take the local cult, at the Hermione town, of Aphrodite "Nymphia" - Aphrodite the Bride, an Aphrodite of weddings and wives honored both by maiden virgins who were to lose their virginity upon their marriage night, or by widows who prepared themselves for a second union. This marital Aphrodite is the first step in the existence of another alternate self usually described as... "Aphrodite-Hera". And if you recall, back in The Iliad, Homer himself talked of how Aphrodite shared with Hera her belt of seduction to awaken the desire of Zeus... (Plus the fact that Aphrodite was said in the Homeric tradition to be the daughter of Zeus and Dione - Dione herself being literaly just a female verson/counterpart of Zeus ; and by extension later some people called Aphrodite herself "Dione" in reference to her mother, the same Helios in the Homeric traditon is also called "Hyperion" despite Hesiod splitting them in a father-and-son duo)

So yeah, sorry all of you who like neat classifications and little boxes that never get mixed up - but by the real facts, while Greek mythology as quite stable, it was also more fluid than you'd think, and the gods did have a tendency to fuse together...

(Cut to a long post about how Selene, Hekate and Artemis ended up all fused into the "Diana triformis" and the "Triple Moon" by Roman times)

[callsignvulture]

141 + Graves Music Headcannons‼️🎶

This is based off of a conversation I had with my roommate and boyfriend months ago. Idc if these are accurate- these were just our headcanons! This took me all damn day to write, so I hope it’s…at least decently good!:]

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

Bands: Shinedown, Theory Of A Deadman, Seether, Three Days Grace, Saving Abel, Avenged Sevenfold, Disturbed, Drowning Pool.

Top 5 listened to songs: Rx(Medicate), 45 , Just Like You , The Vengeful One, California Dreaming

In his younger years, he definitely would have joined in mosh pits at concerts. If he tried that now? God he’d be leaving out of that venue with a headache, body pains and more bruises and scars on him than when he arrived there. Because of this, he prefers to sit a fair bit away from the stage, but in the middle so he can see the whole stage.

Soap makes fun of him for it, making comments like it, “Ah cannae decide if ye're tryin' tae be somebody's faither, or if ye're just actin' like Price. Come on, LT, get wi' the times. Ye're no an auld man like Price just yet.”

But don’t let that fool you- Ghost has definitely influenced Soap’s music taste. Soap just won’t admit it.

Bonus!: Ghost would listen to…well, Ghost. Why? “‘S my name, ain’t it?”

John “Soap” MacTavish:

Bands: Twenty One Pilots, One Republic, System Of A Down, Måneskin, Limp Bizkit, Green Day, Blink-182, Weezer, Fall Out Boy, The Offspring, Games We Play.

Top 5 most listened to songs: Coffee’s For Closers, Get A Job, Fairly Local , Beverly Hills , What’s My Age Again?

Had a pop punk phase he never grew out of, and was definitely a teenage dirtbag(🥁).

His whole reality breaks when he overhears a recruit call any of the late 2000s/early 2010s bands he listens to “vintage”.(Price and Ghost just laugh and tell me he’s too young to feel that way.)

Really fun at concerts surprisingly. He always tries to be in the pit at the concerts for his favorite bands, and goes WILD if he gets noticed by an artist he really likes.

Price, Ghost and Gaz don’t really understand why he likes the music that he does.

Bonus!: When Gaz listens to Kanye, he’ll blast Taylor Swift just to fuck with him. He doesn’t like Taylor Swift, he just likes to see Gaz get frustrated. “You know she’s only popular ‘cause of ‘im, right Soap?” “Ah dinnae care. Ah juist like te disturb yer peace, Gaz.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

Bands: Arctic Monkeys, Rihanna, The Neighborhood, Kanye West, The Weeknd, Shaggy, Dr.Dre, Kendrick Lamar, Hozier, The Cardigans, Beyoncé.

Top 5 most listened to songs: It Wasn’t Me, Reflections, Love The Way You Lie, Knee Socks, Dark Times

God he’s a certified lover boy AGH-

Imagine: Gaz waking up in the early hours of the morning, sunlight on his skin, looking fine as hell…and “It Wasn’t Me” is playing on the radio AAAAAA-💕(like a damn scene straight out of a movie I swear-)

Gaz likes going to concerts and like Soap, will try to be front and center, but he’s not nearly as energetic and wild. He’d more than likely mellow out with some fruity drink.

Before Gaz joined 141, back when he was an officer, he would definitely make whoever was his ride along listen to Rihanna or Beyoncé in the early hours of his shift. Now when he’s on missions with 141 and he’s in control of the radio, he’s more likely to play Kendrick Lamar or Kanye West, much to Ghost and Price’s annoyance. Soap is the only one who doesn’t complain.

Bonus!: Surprisingly, Gaz is open to listening to any kind of music, even if he doesn’t like. Once sat down with Ghost in the common room and let Ghost show him the music he listened to. Obviously, he wasn’t a fan of it, but he appreciated it nonetheless. “Sorry, ‘s just not my style. But thanks anyways, Lieutenant.”

Captain John Price:

Bands/Artists: Guns ‘N Roses, Metallica, Kiss, AC/DC, Twisted Sister, Ozzy Osbourne, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Rolling Stones, Mötley Crüe, Ramones, Post Malone(there’s a reason for this, stick with me-)

Top 5 Most Listened To Songs: Seek & Destroy, Rock You Like A Hurricane, Dr.Feelgood, Sunflower, Street Fighting Man

Headcanon(Thanks to my boyfriend): 141 had a movie night. Soap and Gaz wanted to watch Into The Spiderverse, which Ghost and Price agreed too(reluctantly). Price really liked the song Sunflower, and after the movie, Gaz and Soap sat down with Price and showed him more of Post Malone’s music. He’s not a huge fan of the rest of his music, but he does really like that song.

Price’s music taste hasn’t changed since he was younger, still listening to the same bands he listened to in the 80s. Definitely gets somewhat upset when he sees someone his age wearing a shirt of the band but can’t tell him any songs by the artist.

Doesn’t go to concerts anymore unless the team wants to go. Would prefer to go to a bar and listen to music while getting drinks with his mates.

Bonus!: Price is the type of guy to look at people who don’t listen to his kind of music and ask, “Oi, lads, who sings this?” “Eh...Ah havnae a clue...Guns N Roses?” “Metallica, Cap’in?” “No, ‘s definitely Kiss.”In reality, he already knows who’s singing it, and they’re all wrong.

Commander Phillip Graves:

Bands/Artist: Morgan Wallen, Tim McGraw, Blake Shelton, Bruce Springsteen, Florida Georgia Line, Carrie Underwood, Luke Bryan, Big & Rich, Jason Aldean, Sam Hunt, Luke Combs, Toby Keith, Alabama, Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Top 5 most listened to songs: God’s Country, Save A Horse(Ride A Cowboy), She’s Country, Dirt On My Boots, Should’ve Been A Cowboy.

What can I say? Southern man loves country music.

He’s not allowed to go to concerts anymore due to the fact that he has gotten drunk on several occasions & had to be escorted out:(

He had a crush on Miranda Lambert and Carrie Underwood at some point in his life and I won’t explain how I know that.

Makes the Shadows listen to his playlist when out on missions to the point where most of them could easily identify what country artist is who.

Bonus!: Absolutely hates any non-country artist who tries to make country music. Like when Beyoncé released Texas Hold ‘Em, he was absolutely livid.

[anthemofgvf]

Groupie Love: Jake Kiszka x Reader Fanfiction

"you're in the bar, playing guitar, i'm trying not to let the crowd next to me. it's so hard sometimes with a star, when you have to share him with everybody." description: being jake’s groupie was heaven on earth, yet sinful in every desirable way. while the world reveled in his public, entrancing persona, you reveled in the boundaries of reality and fantasy intertwining in secrecy.

word count: 6.9k+

trope: groupie! reader x jake

taglist for future fics

warnings after cut…

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

warnings: good amount of plot, mentions of drinking, alcohol, smut (18+ minors dni), swearing, unprotected sex, hardcore dom! jake, choking, spitting, praise/begging/degrading kink, rough sex, spanking, fingering, oral (male and fem! receiving), bit of fluff, some aftercare

disclaimer: this does not follow the real events of the starcatcher tour for the sake of the plot. thanks!

a/n: would also like to mention that yes, this IS based off of the Lana Del Rey song with the same title. As soon as I heard it, I immediately thought of Jake and writing a fic based off of it. If you haven't listened to the song, now is the perfect time to do so! hope you all enjoy :) <3

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

There was something so addictive about secrecy. To share such vulnerability with someone where no one's eyes could witness, but only you and another alone. To know each other by touch alone if every sense was stripped away, yet hiding the true reason why you could pick them apart in a crowd from that feeling. And while you two were friends with one another publicly, behind closed doors, you were both fucking like animals. There was no better way to describe your relationship with Jake. You were just one of his secrets, hidden in a closet, and you had accepted that.

You had met him after one of Greta Van Fleet's shows when their careers were just about to skyrocket and thank God you were able to catch him then. You hadn't really listened to their music before or even heard of them, but local concerts under 30 bucks as a fun night out with friends was always on the table. If it weren't for their small fanbase and lack of fame, you were positive you wouldn't have become Jake's personal groupie.

After hooking up with him in the venue's bathroom, twice, Jake simply couldn't have enough of you. And you, you were entranced by him and his sexual drive. You both also enjoyed each other's company in the short period of time you knew one another, so, you and he exchanged numbers and kept in contact. Whenever he was in town, you'd be next to him, and when he was gone, you were with someone else. More often than not, you two were spending time with one another purely for sex, but it was rare for you to leave immediately after. After all, Jake cared about you regardless of the label of your relationship with him, and you were enjoyable to be around.

There was no discussion of monogamy, so it was mutually decided that seeing other people was no issue. Sure, no one compared to the guitarist, but there was always someone to run down your time in the day when boredom struck, and you were unable to be at Jake's beckoning call. Even though Jake would always call you his, it was words that withheld no meaning. Only in moments where you and Jake were together alone did they obtain meaning, but you knew never to take him seriously.

Jealousy is a bitch, though, and it possessed you. It rotted you to your unchaste core. You could easily pretend it didn't bother you that other girls have had Jake the way you have or have even looked at him in that manner. Of course, you'd be lying to yourself if you said there wasn't a single sliver of selfishness towards him. How many girls Jake had been with next to you was a mysterious number, but you didn't choose to spend your time thinking about how many girls he's said the same things to as you. But, rather, feel empowered that there were fans in their crowds at shows that desperately wanted your place. Fans that screamed his name, made signs and t-shirts for him, dreamed of being more than just a fan in the crowd. That was something you had over them. That's what made you special. That's what gave you your title of a so-called 'groupie'.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

They had closed their most recent tour with a show in Nashville, and of course you were in attendance. Jake had even asked if you'd be there, knowing well enough that there was no way in hell you'd be skipping out on it, because you knew where the night would take you. Besides, you hadn't seen him in months. You hadn't been with him in months. You had grown a sense of longing for him after a short period of time away from the guitarist.

Before Greta Van Fleet had a larger fanbase, you were able to sit in the seats and get escorted backstage to Jake so you could watch as a fan. But, due to suspicious speculation amongst fans, and you and Jake wanting to continue the secrecy and keep the reputation of "just friends," you were granted a backstage pass and allowed to come into the arena or venue they'd be performing at before fans would arrive. Every place was different, so the execution of reaching him was always tweaked, but no matter what, you and him both knew you'd see one another after the show. You preferred to hang in the sound booth rather than backstage, anyways.

Rarely did you come early to be in attendance for soundcheck. Sure, there would be absolutely nothing wrong with it, but you always enjoyed watching him look for you amongst the fans, and his eyes light up in the slightest that had your heart stopping only for a second at the sign of recognition, feeling as though your breath had been taken from you and forcing your body to freeze. It never got old feeling his eyes latch onto you.

And you never got tired of watching him perform on stage. Now, with the new introduction of 'Mirador,' you got to watch him nearly twice as long. And, God, you never knew he could sing that well. That certainly was a turn on for you. Now your mind was wandering off to the thought of him singing in your ear.

You rarely tore your eyes from him while he was on stage, and he knew that he was hypnotic. He liked knowing that there were people who only cared to watch him and come to Greta Van Fleet's shows to be in his presence. Thrusting into his guitar as he spoke to himself and the crowd, hairs sticking to his cheeks with the accumulated sweat and still breathlessly giving his performance his all. You kept your eyes locked on his stomach and watched as the sweat beads dripped down his tender skin, and his hair whipping around and throwing his head back as he skillfully played on his instrument, exposing his Adam's apple to the fans that kept their eyes glued on his every move while he struck the next few chords of the song. You'd always convince yourself while swinging to the music that he was performing more theatrically for you, but you'd never been proven right nor wrong yet. He was entrancing to watch, and sometimes you found it unfathomable that you were a person in his life. A person who knew things that most didn't, a person who saw things most people didn't.

Your adrenaline always arose as soon as the four boys left the stage, and the lights illuminated the venue. Hearing different conversations from a multitude of fans that surrounded you, shuffling of feet and complaints of exhaustion. But there you were, hanging out in the sound booth waiting for security to come to your aid to escort you to backstage.

You wore a silver halter top that accentuated your chest, with a pair of velvet-blue flared leggings and converse. Thankfully, your shoes weren't shown due to the coverage of your pants, and it truly did not matter what clothes were on your body. They would be thrown on some floor in less than an hour, and that's all you cared about.

Eventually two men from Greta Van Fleet's team made their way to you once the venue was near empty from fans and began leading you backstage to the green room. You always loved that feeling in the pit of your stomach; it excitingly tumbled and twisted with each step closer you were to him. The awkward silence never faltered while the security guards guided you to backstage, but that gave you enough time to collect yourself before seeing Jake.

Your eyes were first met with Sam cracking open a beer, chatting with his girlfriend and keeping to themselves. When they saw you, they smiled without a word, and allowed you to keep moving. While you and Jake became "friends" the more you two saw each other, you had been brought around the band from time to time. More likely than not, it was for some sort of party, large gathering, or simply catching the boys after the show - uncommonly anything intimate. They knew what your purpose was, but they never questioned you. Either they simply didn't care, or they didn't want to ask questions they did not want answers to.

Danny was nowhere to be found, most likely in his dressing room, but the twins were walking into the green room, laughter erupting from Josh as he cracked his large, infamous smile that put his perfect teeth on display. His presence always soothed you when eyes seemed to be peering down your neck from your presence. Both were still in their stage attire, which was usual when you'd come so soon after the show had ended.

Josh had noticed you first, closing his mouth to a smirk that raised with the right corner of lips and pierced his cheek to reveal his dimple. Once Jake laid his eyes upon you, they were already following down your body, finally greeting you with a crack of a smile that told you his mind was already somewhere else.

"Y/n! It's so good to see you again," Josh greeted you with a tight hug, "nice seeing your face after so long." He patted your back and pulled away with a grin still plastered on his face.

"It has been long enough," you huffed a laugh. "Tour was good?" You flicked your eyes to Jake.

He gave you a slow, steady nod. "Was great. I'm sure you'd love to hear all about it, huh?"

"I wouldn't want anything else." You huffed a laugh, sticking your tongue in your cheek at his light sarcasm.

"I expect you'll be sticking around to celebrate the end of Starcatcher with us?" Josh said as he began to walk away. You followed his movements with your eyes as he walked over to a small fridge, turning to Jake who gave you a blank stare. Josh wasn't hinting at your intentions with Jake, but rather what would occur after-the-fact. He shrugged at you suggestively, but you couldn't depict what his choice was.

You chose to be safe. "We'll see, Josh," you directed your attention to him for a moment, "if I don't, I'll be sure to say goodbye to you before I head home."

He sauntered over to you with a beer in hand and patted your back with a soft smile. "Always a pleasure, y/n."

Leaving you and his twin alone, Jake ran his hand to your side and found the small of your back, pressing light enough to signal movement forward and follow him to his dressing room. You dared to look at him, to examine the light sheen of sweat that resided on his forehead that he forgot to wipe away once he exited the stage. And you knew he could feel your eyes lingering upon him, but he liked to be looked at. He liked the attention.

His dressing room door was already open, welcoming your entrance and waiting for your arrival. You eagerly stepped into the neatly decorated room and scanned the area for familiar artifacts of his scattered about: sunglasses, bracelets, necklaces, and his attire to be thrown on after his stage wear was stripped from his body.

He turned his back to you quickly and closed the door, locking it swiftly behind him. And once he turned around, he was wearing a softly cracked smile. It was always so intimidatingly perfect, how his eyes rested into a look that only told you that he was going to devour you.

"Barely said a word to me since I've arrived," you said innocently with your hands behind your back, "what's with the shyness, Jake?" You began to slip off your shoes as his eyes faltered from your own to do the same.

He took slow steps towards you to increase the intensity of your heartbeat in anticipation. He knew you craved the taste of his lips, the feeling of his hands on your figure. He always remembered what made your heart bang against your chest and your face flush into a pink hue.

His index finger cradled your jaw as he focused your eyes on him intently. "Was it so wrong of me to want a more private 'welcome home' from you?" His voice was coarse with the words slipping off his tongue smoothly like butter. Close to a whisper - the tone of intimacy.

You flicked your eyes to his coy smirk, then back to his dark brown eyes that peered at you so attentively. He was always so patient in these moments for an answer back.

"All this is, is private. Doesn't mean I don't enjoy the gesture, though." You wrapped your arms around his neck after motioning your pointer finger back and forth between the two of you, and in return, he pulled you into his chest and squeezed you against his body tightly.

And there he was, breathing softly down the side of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent, and feeling the figure and warmth of your body in an embrace. You buried your face into the crook of his neck that you made room for with your arm to feel the skin that rested there to remember how it feels to be so close to Jake once again.

"You're a good singer, Jake," you said lowly into his ear, "better than I had expected."

You felt him chuckle against you, but his laughter came out in small breaths. He was amused by your playful banter and humbling words that he knew were harmless.

He unwrapped himself from you but kept the close proximity between the both of you. His tongue darted out and ran across the middle of his bottom lip, cracking a coy grin as he looked down at you with half-hooded eyes. He was effortlessly seductive.

"You're lucky I like you, y/n." His hand raised to the side of your face as he slowly began to caress it, watching the motions of his fingers as they began from your temple and journeyed to your jaw. "Because if I hadn't known better, I'd think you were disrespecting me." He gave you a playful, lazy glare.

You gave him a small smile, allowing your fingers to focus on toying with the silver jewelry that hung dangerously low on his exposed skin.

"Well, you and I both know that you love to play that game." You said softly to yourself. Loud enough for him to hear, but quiet enough to showcase your lack of desire for a response.

You took the opportunity to run your hands onto his chest, letting them reach to the waistband of his trousers, and looking to him innocently with a smile. And he smiled back at you softly, waiting patiently for you to be finished reveling in his presence and this moment.

You placed your hands onto his neck, thumbing at the skin and looking at him for direction, for initiation. So, he cupped your jaw and placed a gentle, longing kiss onto your lips. You practically melted into his mouth and encouraged his tongue to begin roaming around the inside of your mouth as you began to dance your own in his. The kiss grew deeper quickly, and you both remembered the addictive taste of each other. The swift routine of throwing each other clothes began, where you're tugging down Jake's pants to leave him in his boxers, and he's tossing off his cropped, black jacket to land onto the ground.

Your hands traveled into his damp hair and tugged him deeper into your lips as his fingers played at the waistband of your leggings. The muscles at your stomach began to tense up at the sensation of the pads of his fingers toying at the idea of diving down into your underwear and satisfying you.

His mouth pulled from yours for a moment to throw off your top, which you assisted him in doing, and allowed it to fall wherever it landed. As soon as he got the sight of your bare breasts, he encapsulated his mouth onto yours, and massaged one in his hand, while the other hand held its place at your waist.

You snaked your hands in between your glued bodies and cupped his hard cock with a light squeeze, eliciting a deep, rumbling groan from his throat and into your mouth.

"God, how I've missed you." He said into your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip. His lips began to travel to your neck, pressing rough, sloppy kisses onto the skin. You contemplated telling him how much you missed him, but you knew that he knew you did - you were like putty under his touch.

Your head titled back to allow Jake more access to your neck. One of his hands ditched your body and tugged at your hair to gain dominance, keeping your neck bent back as far as possible so he could taste your skin. His other hand traveled to the small of your back to keep you on your feet, and you swore you would've fallen to your knees if it weren't for Jake holding you up. With your eyes shut, you tuned into the feeling of his wet tongue trailing its way up your neck and to your jaw, then suckling down to your collarbone. His mouth always felt like a beautiful curse against your skin, while compelling, still so unbelievably relieving.

Your hands stuck onto his hair, tugging and pulling as his lips trapped your right nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirled circles around it, with his index and thumb massaging the other with the movements. Soft moans escaped your mouth, but you were sure to monitor any sound out of you.

His eyes peered up at you as he removed his mouth from your body and grabbed your face with his hands clasped at your jaw.

"Pants off, now." He instructed lowly, and while you slipped off your underwear with your velvet flares, he was throwing off his boxers and revealing his throbbing cock. You could hardly focus on anything other than him inside of you at this moment, with your head dizzy at the thought of his length filling you up to the hilt.

He never got sick of the sight of you naked, running his hands down your waist and to your hips while a deep sigh escaped his mouth. You watched his eyes focus in on your clit, with his thumb dancing around the area and causing your knees to grow weaker and weaker. Your hips bucked forward, and your motion only caused a light snicker to come from his mouth.

"Get on your fucking knees." He demanded as he pushed you down by your shoulder, although you were quick to follow his instructions and obey.

His length rested onto your left check, and his hand reached down to lift your chin to look up to him. He loved how submissive you looked before him. The way your eyes lit up to the sight of him bare in front of you, along with his devilish grin that captivated you.

He held your eyes with his own. "Good to know you're still such a good girl for me." That sentence had sent a shiver down your spine, with how intimidatingly dominant Jake was. There was something about his small, cracked smile, and the light squint in his eyes that always had you feeling shy and overexposed. Yet, you were always so comfortable being vulnerable around him.

He tapped at your jaw, which signaled for your mouth to open, and you allowed his thumb to travel onto your tongue, sliding the finger out and dragging your bottom lip down with the motion. You slid your hands over his thighs, kissing the head of his cock and slicing your tongue onto it. He groaned at the sensation and landed his hand on the back of your head in preparation.

And you grabbed his length, wrapping your lips around it and beginning to bob your head up and down at a slow pace. You took all of him for a moment to elicit a harsh groan - a response you craved hearing from Jake and pulled off his cock to purse your lips and spit onto his tip with your hand aiding you in coating him.

You immediately resumed bobbing your head up and down, while your hand at the base of him began working slowly with a twist of your wrist. He deeply sighed, looking down at you to see his cock disappear into your mouth. You were irresistible to him with the way you took him into your mouth so effortlessly.

"Fuck, just like that, y/n." He winced lightly as your tongue swirled around his tip. His mouth was slightly hung open as he admired the view of you below him. Hearing your name had never sounded better coming from someone's mouth.

The unoccupied hand of his landed at the side of your face with his thumb caressing at your cheek. He was being gentler with you than usual, which could only mean he intended to be rougher with you later on. You didn't mind the lack of degrading, though. It was good to soothe into things after being away from him for so long.

His breathing was deep, and the muscles at his stomach were tensed up as you quickened the pace of your mouth and hand. Your other hand massaged his balls lightly, which evoked a deep sigh from him. Hushed slurs drew from his lips as you worked your way up and down him, spit dribbling down your chin. The back of your throat fought against taking his whole length, but as long as he felt good, you could care less about your own pleasure. You loved to feel as though you belonged to him and were the only one making him feel this good.

His head was thrown back, while the hand that tousled with your hair on the back of your head had a harsher grip. It was as if he was innocently guiding you, but really, it was to steady himself as he cautiously bucked his hips into your movements. Jake had his bottom lip tucked behind his teeth, fighting against his own release so quickly.

He grabbed your hair and held it back for you, tugging you off of his cock and raising you up to your knees by the pad of his index finger resting under your chin.

"Think you deserve something in return, huh?" He said as his hands relaxed from their places and found your waist. The rhetorical question had you pressing your thighs tightly together with a whine trapped behind your closed mouth.

He was slow with his hands, letting them fall down to your hips, then scooping you off of the ground whilst you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you over to the long table that sat before a mirror, setting you down and immediately forcing your legs open for him. He was quick to step in between your legs and place a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on your lips as his fingers traveled down your stomach and to your heat.

His right hand rested at the inner of your thigh, his thumb at your pubic bone and mere inches from your clit. He rested his forehead upon yours and listened intently to your unsteady, choked breaths, while he traced his index fingers and middle up and down your pussy agonizingly slow. Your back arched into him with a whine, closing your thighs together cautiously in hopes his fingers would caress you. But instead, he forced your thighs back open, and removed his forehead from yours with enough space to just barely see the entirety of your face.

"Don't. Fucking. Move. Be a good girl for me, yeah?" He glared at you, practically spitting in your face at your small movements in a silent plea to have him touch you. But you nodded vigorously. "If you want me to touch you, you're going to have to beg for it. Don't act like you have forgotten how this works."

The way he was looking at you was sending butterflies into the pit of your stomach, and it was nearly overwhelming to you how lust-filled his eyes were.

You threw your head back, sliding your right hand onto his bicep and sighing heavily with shut eyes. "Jake," you whined out, "please."

"Please what, y/n?" He urged you further. He loved playing this game.

You brought your head back up and looked at him in mere agony, desperately saying, "please touch me."

A devilish smirk twisted onto his lips as he flicked his eyes down to your pussy, leaning down and pursing his lips to allow spit to dribble from his mouth and onto your folds. As soon as the spit hit your pussy, he was gathering it onto middle and ring finger and locking his eyes onto yours. He captivated your attention just to mimic the way your mouth fell open as his fingers eased themselves into your entrance. He even repeated your deep exhales as his fingers curled inside of you and began to pump in and out of your entrance. You couldn't contain your moans and allowed them to fall out of your mouth while Jake admired your breathless state.

His calloused fingers added an extra layer of sensation to what you were feeling. He began kissing at your neck, humming onto the skin and trailing his mouth to your ear.

"Feel good, y/n?" He asked in a pitiful, mocking tone. He knew the answer, yet he wanted to hear you say it. Just another thing he did to control you and what you said.

"Yes, yes Jake." You moaned. "Please, don't stop."

He tugged at your earlobe and said, "so we do remember our manners, hm?" in a teasing tone.

Your hand reached for the back of his head as he continued to suck at your neck and travel down to your jugular. Your other hand was gripped tightly against the edge of the table to keep yourself upright while Jake meticulously drew every sound possible from you by his touch. His tongue flattened against the skin and slid its way up to your jaw. You never realized how deeply you missed Jake until you were finally with him.

You had your eyes shut with furrowed brows as you allowed your head to hang back. Every movement Jake made with his fingers, his mouth, his hand that found its way to your breast and massaged it - you were in euphoria. Only did he make you feel this good, and you made it known with your lack of words and preferred usage of pleasured sounds.

Then your eyes were shooting open and your fingers gripping harder at Jake's hair as you felt his tongue circle at your clit. You looked down at the sight, seeing him kneeled down before you as he devoured at your pussy. He hummed in satisfaction of the taste of you - sweet like honey, and your mouth hung open in an "O" shape, unable to utter a sound. Finally, an exaggerated groan rolled off of your tongue, and your head was able to be thrown back with your head fuzzy in ecstasy.

Your hand that rested at the back of his head landed back onto the table, clenching and unclenching, which Jake was quick to notice. His hand immediately found yours and folded his fingers into your own, giving you something to squeeze onto you. The small note of intimacy made you crack a small smile, but quickly allowing it to fade away as Jake grasped harshly onto your hip to keep you in place and reminding you where your focus should be.

He lapped at your folds as he kept a steady pace in and out of your pussy while your thighs squeezed tightly around his head. He switched between sucking at your clit and allowing his tongue to do all the work. You were grinding your hips to the motions of his tongue, and while normally you were ridiculed by him with a slap at your thigh, he allowed it after being away from one another so long.

You were clenching around his fingers, which elicited a pleased hum from him. He could tell you were close to your release, and that's exactly where he wanted you to be before stripping it away from you so suddenly. The tightened knot in the pit of your stomach completely dissolving, not unraveling, always had you whining in annoyance.

He flattened his tongue once more and dragged it up your pussy, then pushed himself up by slapping his hands on the tops of your thighs and levering himself that way.

You encapsulated your mouth onto his by bringing him with your hands harshly slapping against his face. He groaned into your lips with satisfaction, while you wrapped your hand around his length and began stroking it. At some points in moments like these, you felt like you just barely had some sort of dominance over Jake, and he was submitting to the pleasure you were granting him. He found it harder to kiss you back, resting his forehead against your own with eyes squeezed shut. As if anything you had asked him to do, he would without hesitation. And his face even showed how resistless he had become under your touch, contorting and softening with his eyebrows pulled in and mouth parted open.

You kept your eyes open to see the way his face shifted emotions, watching him grow restless with your position of being in charge. He wrapped his hand around your own and stopped your motions, looking down at his cock and focusing on lining himself up with your entrance. You quickly propped one of your legs up onto the table to allow easier access for him and impatiently waited. As spit dribbled down from his pursed lips and onto his cock, with a few more strokes, he was easing himself into you and resting his forehead onto your shoulder.

"Fuck, y/n," he drew out in a long breath as he was fully rested inside of you. He was slow pulling himself out, but quick to slam into you.

He raised his head off of your shoulder and met your eyes, seeing yours with the lids of them resting halfway, mouth opened in an 'O' shape with eyebrows softened. You made it known to him that you were all his - and always will be, but in this moment, you were whatever you needed him to be. Through your lust-filled brain you imprinted the memory of how perfect Jake feels inside of you, how he knows exactly where his fingers need to dance onto your skin, or where his hands should rest. He was wickedly talented at the art of pleasure, and he knew what made your body tick. He was in tune with your body, which he oh-so adored, and wasn't going to go anywhere until he felt satisfied enough.

You had one hand sprawled behind your back onto the table and the other on Jake's shoulder, throwing your head back as he slammed into you and rattled the items that lay astray on the tabletop. If anything were to fall, neither of you paid mind to it. What mattered was the sensations that ran throughout your entire being, your heartbeat increasing with every second, and your body accumulating a sweat that began at your hairline.

His breaths were heavy, daring to look at you while his pace increased. The corner of his lips curled into a malicious smirk, forcing your lips onto his by pushing your head towards him after landing the back of his hand in your damp hair. His other hand was placed beside your thigh to keep him up, but every once and a while, it would travel to the outer of your thigh and squeeze tightly.

Your kiss shared with him was a sloppy mess, with both of you breathing into each other's mouth and unable to contain your moans from sputtering out from your lips. His tongue danced alongst your own, toying with it before resting his back in his mouth and pulling from your lips to kiss your cheek. He reached your ear with his lips, tugging at your earlobe, and allowing you to hear his restless, guttural groans that tore at your core with pleasure.

"You're all mine, you know that?" He groaned to you. "Your pussy is for my pleasure only - no one else's. You understand?" He continued his fast-paced thrusts while borderline whispering these words to you.

You swallowed harshly, breathing out a small, "yes," as you were unable to utter anything else. It was already a battle enough to keep yourself quiet to minimize the noise anyone in the green room could hear, but yet, they all knew why you were with Jake. And frankly, Jake didn't care about the noise. In fact, he encouraged your cries of ecstasy. He demanded it from you.

He wrapped his hand around your neck tightly, forcing you to look at him as he withheld your breath.

"Say you understand, y/n. Say that you understand that no one else can have you but I." He breathed, lessening his tight grip around your neck to allow you to speak for him.

"I understand, Jake," you said as your eyes rolled back from the way Jake was thrusting into you, "I'm all yours."

You didn't have to refocus your eyes on him to know he was smirking - you could just hear his lips curl. Now he was quickly pulling himself out of you, and in a swift motion, lifting you off from the table and barely giving you time to land on your feet before turning you around and bending you over. You were face to face with yourself, seeing how your makeup had run, and your lips were swollen and darker tinted than normal.

But then you saw him, and how he looked from behind you. His eyes landed on your ass, and in a near second, you saw his hand raise and swat against the skin. You jumped with a light whimper trapping itself behind your lips as you bit down on your bottom lip. His eyes met yours, and there he was, giving you the smallest hint of a smile, and forcefully pushing himself all the way inside of you.

One of his hands rested at your hip with a harsh grip, and the other was at your shoulder while he watched the movement of your ass each time it hit against his stomach. He was entranced by the way your body moved, how good it felt to be inside of you, how perfect you looked fully exposed to him.

He whispered something near incoherent, but you were able to pick it up.

"Good, good fucking girl. That's it, baby." He said as he kept his eyes locked on your rear. You watched his lips drop open, his hair moving with his motions and his eyebrows softening and furrowing with each sensation that drove through his body. He grabbed at your ass once more, giving you another swat to make sure he would leave his mark on you as if the bruises caused by his mouth weren't already stained onto your body.

You moaned his name, begging him not to stop as he was hitting the spot you craved to be caressed the most. You dared to reach your fingers down to your clit to reach your orgasm, but as your hand began to make its way there, Jake immediately caught on, and grabbed ahold of your hair and tugged you far back enough to where your back arched away from his chest.

"Greedy now, are we?" His hand from your hair released itself to forcefully grasp your throat with his pointer finger and thumb harshly pressed at your jaw to look towards him. You didn't know what to respond with, other than to rest your hands onto the edge of the table and allowing your knuckles to turn white.

You dared to hold eye contact with him, and he squeezed your cheeks with the intent of forcing your mouth open and spitting onto your tongue. You swallowed the substance without thought, looking at him as you raised one hand to hold onto the side of his face. And the grip he had onto your face wasn't harsh enough, because you felt your head turn forward and lean back with a loud moan as your orgasm grew closer, and the pads of his fingers rubbed vigorous circles onto your clit.

"Greedy little whore." He whispered into your ear, looking at you through the mirror. He watched the way your breasts bounced, how your body twitched, how you were nearly unresponsive with the amount of pleasure you were receiving. You truly were all his.

"Jake, please," you begged quietly. There were more words you wanted to say, but they had fizzled and left your mind, and you could only focus on the way Jake was pumping in and out of you at a quickened pace.

Strands of his hair began to stick to his cheeks, and his silver necklaces that he had on left a cold sting onto your back as they would barely graze the skin. Every single sense in your body had become heightened and intensified, along with your entire body tensing up that had your entire body running hot. All you could do was chase your release, to tune into the intoxicating sensation of Jake delivering as much pleasure to you as possible.

"God, I'm gonna cum." He warned as his thrusts became inconsistent, yet perfectly paced to reach his high. "Gonna cum with me?"

There was only one answer to that question, and he knew that. But hearing you say it helped send him over the edge. It helped him feel more in control of your orgasm. Hell, you were surprised your release hadn't overtaken you yet.

"Yes, Jake, just please, don't stop." You moaned.

And as you felt the tight knot unravel in your stomach, you began to fall forward with your legs trembling, and Jake coming to your aid by bracing his arm across your chest as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“That’s it darling,” he soothed, “there you go.”

His head fell forward as he finished inside of you, draining himself fully and leaving himself with a heaving chest. His arm fell from your chest and landed his hand on top of yours on the edge of the table, with the other hand teasing at your sensitive clit once more just to feel you twitch a final time around him.

After you nearly grabbed his wrist to move it away from the overstimulation, he landed his hand onto your waist, and stayed inside of you for a moment. His eyes found yours in the mirror, and he pressed a soft, long kiss onto your cheek.

"You okay?" He said to you.

"Yes, yes I'm okay," you giggled, "more than okay."

He chuckled at your statement. "Just making sure." He said as he looked at you.

His lips traveled onto your neck with soft, relaxed kisses, reaching to the end of your shoulder and stopping there as he pulled himself from you. You tried to turn around to face him, but as he saw your legs nearly give out, he came to wrap his hands around your waist, and keep you on your feet. If it weren't for the warm liquid dripping down onto the insides of your thighs, you would have forgotten that Jake had finished inside of you.

After seeing that animalistic side of him, you had nearly forgotten how caring he was, and how important it was to him to tend to you after practically using your body. And while one hand stayed at the small at your back, the other raised to your cheek, and his thumb softly swiped against it in a back-and-forth motion.

You two allowed each other to catch your breaths, keeping your eyes locked onto his and smiling at him softly in your hazed state.

"Do you want to stay after for a bit before you head off?" He said to you, finally having his breathing under control.

"Don't want me to stay over for the night, or are you already sick of me?" You said to him with a knowing grin.

He chuckled at your response and placed a soft kiss onto your lips. "Go on and get dressed and we'll head back to mine when you're ready to, alright?"

You nodded at him and began to clean yourself up, which he helped with, then aiding him, and getting dressed to make yourself presentable to walk out of the dressing room and accept the stares from the rest of the band and any of their team members who witnessed the sounds that erupted from Jake's dressing room.

But they all knew why you were there. After all, you were Jake's personal groupie. And you enjoyed the lifestyle. You enjoyed Jake, and he enjoyed you.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

taglist:

@hollyco @songbirds-sweet @ageofhearingloss @sacredjake @mountain-in-springtime @ignite-my-fire @gvfsstardust @jakesguitarsolo @gold-mines-melting @digitalcalamity @demolitionndann @lipstickitty @bluee07 @lexii-nv-c @joopsworld @gvfgal @gvfpal @hellowgoodbye @writingcold @stardustcatcher @absolutely--mental @hippievanfleet @gretasfallingsky @dont-go-home-without-me @threadthatssacred @indigofallingsky @audgeppp @sinarainbows @brujamagik @bowievanfleet @laneygvf @idontlikelizards @josh-iamyour-mama @starshine-wagner @lyndz2names @jaketswine @jjwasneverhere @mulberrimouse @starcatcher-jake @lallisonl @jordie-gvf @peaceloveunitygvf

[roses-r-rosie3]

Wallflower

Jason Todd x M!Reader

Warnings: sort of angst, but mostly fluff ig, mentions of a breakup, reader not taking care of themselves

Summary: After a tough breakup, the reader’s friends force him to go to a concert to make him feel a little better. But little would the reader know, he would meet the love of his life at that concert

Quote: “Have you ever had someone paint you before”

✁ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your now ex boyfriend broke up with you, for reasons you don’t know. But one thing both you and your friends knew, was that you were devastated. You wouldn’t leave your room for weeks and you refused to talk to anyone. You just laid in bed, thinking about what you did wrong, why would he breakup with you? Why? Why would this happen to you? You were lying in bed once again when you heard a knock on your door.

“Y/n? I’m worried for you, you haven’t left your room in god knows how long, I know you loved him, but you need to come out of there” your roommate said.

“Go away” you mumbled.

“Y/n, please, open the door” your roommate spoke softly.

You knew your roommate would bother you all day if you didn’t open the door, so you grumbled something before opening the door. When you did though, your roommate was there with her boyfriend, but they were dressed to go out.

“Ok y/n, we got tickets for a local band, including you, and you’re coming with us, I can’t stand to see you like this, so go get ready” your roommate said.

God you hated your roommate for this, she knew that if she bought a ticket for you, you would be forced to go, because you would’ve felt bad for making her spend her money on you, even if the tickets cost a few cents. So you finally took a shower after weeks of just staying in your room.

After you were done showering, you changed and walked out to your roommate and her boyfriend, who both looked like proud parents.

“Don’t you look handsome? Who knows you might meet someone new at the venue” your roommate winked.

When you guys finally arrived, you noticed that the venue was very small and the crowd was very small, but hey, what would you expect from a local band? You were still moody though, I mean you were being a third wheel just a few weeks after you and your ex broke up.

“Come on y/n! Turn your frown upside down and enjoy yourself!” Your roommate’s boyfriend smiled.

You faked a smile before your roommate handed you a beer and she started to talk to her boyfriend about the venue and the band. The band, in your opinion, wasn’t bad, but they weren’t anything special. They both tried to drag you into conversation, but you didn’t want to talk, you still wanted to sulk about your ex boyfriend, you missed him.

You quickly excused yourself to the restroom to sulk, but on your way there, a guy suddenly turned and spilled his beer over your shirt.

“Oh my god i’m so sorry I didn’t see you there” the guy apologized profusely as he tried wiping your shirt with a tissue he pulled from his pockets.

“It’s fine, I didn’t really like the shirt anyway, my ex boyfriend got it from me” you said, earning you a little chuckle from the other guy.

When you made eye contact with the guy, his eyes were like the warmest melty chocolate brown and his heavenly gaze made your cheeks feel hot. He was attractive in a way that you couldn’t describe, he was attractive in a way that was completely different to how you found your ex boyfriend attractive.

“My name’s Jason by the way” the guy smiled.

“Y/n” you smiled back.

“So what brings you here?” You asked.

“My brother’s dragged me along, but if I’m being honest the band isn’t exactly my style” Jason laughed.

“What about you?” He asked.

“My roommate and her boyfriend dragged me along” you said.

You two started to talk about life, and what your hobbies were, he said he liked reading and cooking, while you said you liked to paint a little, to which he said..

“Have you ever had someone paint you before” As he winked.

You could feel yourself burning, and it didn’t help that your roommate and her boyfriend mimicking bedroom activities from the other side of the venue.

“I think my siblings are waiting for me, but do you wanna take my number before I have to go?” Jason smirked.

You froze for a second before you realized what he said.

“Oh, yeah! Of course!” You stuttered.

“I can’t wait to started texting you” Jason winked before strutting back to his brother’s who were looking at you with mischievous looks on their faces.

When you got back to your roommate and her boyfriend, still in a love-drunk daze state.

“Aren’t you glad that you listened to us” your roommate smugly asked.

“Shut up” you mumbled.

[merrybloomwrites]

I Hear Them Calling (Chapter 1)

Story Summary: Alpha Harry Styles and omega Y/N Y/L/N meet under less than ideal circumstances. Overtime their paths will cross and they will be drawn to one another in ways they never expected.

Chapter Summary: Y/N attends her first Harry Styles concert and catches the unwanted attention of a knothead alpha. Luckily Harry and his team are able get to you in time, leading to some confusing thoughts about the popstar.

Previous Chapters: Prologue

CW: Attempted assault (nothing too graphic but it is there)

Word Count: 4.7k

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“What do you mean you can’t go?” You ask incredulously. Going to the concert wasn’t even your idea. It was your friend Rachel’s and now she’s ditching you.

There’s a pause on the other end of the call before Rachel says, “It’s my dog. Well, my family dog that we’ve had since I was in middle school. She’s not doing well, and they think she only has a couple days left so now I have to drive back to Delaware to see her and say goodbye.”

“Oh my god, Rach, I’m so sorry!” And now you feel like a jerk for being mad at her canceling.

“Thanks. We knew it was coming but I hoped we had a few more weeks. Uhm, anyway, I need to finish packing and get on the road.”

“Of course, yea, safe trip home,” you quickly reply.

“You better take some videos of the concert and send them to me. Especially if he does something different for night one at MSG!”  

“Rachel, I’m not gonna have any idea if he’s doing stuff different from his last shows, as I have no idea what his shows are like. But I promise to send you a couple videos, okay?”

“Still can’t believe you haven’t watched any videos from tour. What rock do you live under again?” You laugh at her teasing, mostly cause it’s true. The fact that you’ve made it this far without knowing much about Harry Styles surprises even you. “Have fun for both of us tonight,” Rachel says.

“I will, give your dog a belly rub from me. Love you!”

“Love you too, bye!”

The call ends and you sit for a moment. You don’t really want to go to a concert alone, but that’s what your night now has in store. Rachel had tried calling some other people in your friend group, but they were all busy. You’d also texted your two best friends, Amelia and Violet, but it was too last minute for them to change plans and go with you.

So, alone it is.

You look at the outfit you had planned but decide against it. The leather pants and crop top ensemble isn’t exactly in your comfort zone, but Rachel chose it and wanted the two of you to match. Now that you’re on your own you switch to a pair of jean shorts with tights underneath and a flowy top, something you’re much more comfortable with. Harry’s music plays in the background while you get ready. You’d been studying the setlist to make sure you would know at least some of the songs he’ll perform. You’re happy when you find yourself singing along, showing that listening on repeat had worked.

After getting dressed you do your hair and makeup, then drive to your local train station. Living in north Jersey has its perks, and the quick train ride directly to Madison Square Garden might just be the biggest.

You get off the train and follow the trail of feathers from the boas which leads you directly to the venue. You show your ticket and are led to the entrance for the pit.

Being in the pit had also been Rachel’s idea. You’d never done that before, and you would have preferred somewhere with a seat, and honestly a better view from a higher vantage point. But you’d agreed to pit and in the weeks leading to the show you’d actually become excited to experience something new.

But now that you’re alone, you’re a bit overwhelmed. You’re one of the last people to arrive, since it’s only half an hour before the opener is set to start, so you end up hanging in the back. But even then, the large amount of people around you has you on edge.

Being a single female is hard. Guys are always hitting on women, feeling entitled to your company, not taking no for an answer. But being a single female omega is even harder. The way you see it betas have it easy, especially since they’re the majority. And alphas? Well, what do they have to worry about? They’re bigger, they’re stronger, they have their alpha voices that can command you and take away your free will if they want. Plus, they have an unmatched sense of superiority, thinking they’re so special just because of their secondary gender.

But you’re an omega. Often considered to be the weakest gender. Which is stupid. You’re the gender that gives birth, which takes way more strength than alphas could ever possess. And yet you’re still looked down upon by plenty of people in society.

So, you choose to hide your secondary gender. Only your family members plus Ameila and Violet know the truth. You don’t need anyone judging you based on one little trait.

Going out in public, especially at places as crowded as MSG always gives you anxiety. You never know if a knothead alpha is going to be there and literally sniff you out as an omega. But you trust your suppressants and soothers and, most importantly, your scent blockers, to do their jobs and hide your omega status from the strangers around you.

The pills have never failed in you in the eight years since you started taking them. You have no reason to doubt them now.

And yet, you can’t help but feel uneasy about the attention a certain man in the crowd is giving you. He is undoubtedly an alpha, one that for sure does not use scent blockers. In fact, you’re almost convinced he’s doing something to broadcast his scent, somehow make it even stronger. It’s an unpleasant odor, one that practically burns your nose, but you pretend you can’t smell it. Afterall, a beta wouldn’t be able to notice the scent.

But as much as you try to ignore the scent, going so far as to move to the entire other side of the pit, it still lingers. Because you are most definitely being followed. Seemingly casual glances at the crowd around you shows that the man has moved with you.

Going closer to the stage is the last thing you want to do, but getting deeper in the crowd might be what you need to shake off the man. The girls around you gladly welcome you and make space for you to join. A moment later the opening act starts to play, and you no longer smell the alpha. You’re relieved and get into the music for a few minutes.

Then the girls around you start to move, and you hear them say something about the bathroom. You decide to go with them since you could use a bathroom break and there will be safety in numbers. You keep your head down and casually follow, in hopes that the man won’t see you leaving the crowd.

Only once in the bathroom do you lift your head up. There’s a small line since most people are out listening to the first band. A moment later it’s your turn and you enter the stall. After using the restroom, you notice a large rip in your tights. You look at them, hoping they can be considered fashionably torn, but then you see another hole and decide to give up on them altogether.

It takes you a couple minutes to get rid of them, needing basically to fully undress from the waist down to get them off. Finally, you’re put together again, and you exit the stall, throw out the destroyed tights, and wash your hands. You notice that the group you came with is gone. In fact, the entire bathroom is now empty.

You sigh, disappointed that you’re on your own again, but you suck it up and start making your way back to the pit.

The second you walk out the bathroom door you smell it. Him. That acrid, somehow fishy, definitely revolting scent that alerts you that the alpha is nearby.

Before you even see him you hear him say, “Be quiet, and follow me.”

Shit. That’s an alpha command. You’re aware of that fact, but unable to fight it. You want to run, go back to the crowd, but you have no choice but to follow this man deeper into the back hallways. You want to scream, but every time you open your mouth, no sound comes out.

He leads you to a deserted corner, pushing you so your back is against a wall, and says, “Now stay quiet, and don’t move.”

Again, you do as he says, not only because of the command that you have to follow, but also due to the fear paralyzing you to the spot and rendering you silent.

“What a good little omega,” he says as he walks closer. He leans towards your neck, breath ghosting over your mating spot, and a loud whimper escapes you.

Realizing that you don’t need words to call for help, you begin to let out whines and whimpers as well as release distressed pheromones. Sure, you have scent blockers, but they’re not perfect and fear this strong will surely overpower them. You hope it’s enough to alert any other alphas nearby that there is an omega in danger.

You see the anger cross the man’s face, note the furious pheromones he’s releasing, but before he even reacts, your world goes dark.

***

Harry’s stylist is putting the finishing touches on his hair when there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Harry says.

The door opens and he sees his band standing just outside the room.

“Blood Orange is about to start,” his drummer, Sarah, says. “You coming to watch with us?”

“Yea, of course. I’ll join you in a minute.”

As soon as he’s left alone, Harry takes some calming breaths. Night one of fifteen consecutive sold out shows at Madison Square Garden. He can’t believe how far he’s come in his career. He takes another deep breath, reminding himself that he’s worked hard for this, that he’s completely ready.

After spraying one more dose of scent blockers, he walks out of his room and goes through the hallways to find his band. They’re at the end of one hall, standing at the opening they’ll use later to walk to the stage. Harry joins them, making sure they’re all back far enough that they are still hidden from the fans.

Harry mingles with his band while they wait for the opener to start their set. But after a minute, Harry starts to get an uneasy feeling. He himself isn’t nervous or scared, so he really doesn’t understand where this sudden anxiety is coming from.

Harry looks around and sees a worried look on Sarah’s face. Aside from Harry himself, Sarah is the only other Alpha in the band. So the fact that they both have a sudden bad feeling while the betas around them seem unbothered has Harry on edge.

He begins to look for any type of potential threat. Right away he notices that the two Alpha security guards are scanning the area as well, hinting that they’ve picked up on the same thing. One of them walks away to start looking for anything that could be going wrong.

Blood Orange takes the stage, and that anxious feeling seems to go away. Harry checks with Sarah and she’s feeling better too, so they assume whatever was wrong has been taken care of.

Everyone enjoys the first few songs, and suddenly, the feeling comes back, way stronger than before. Harry’s alpha is immediately alert. He starts moving before he even realizes what he’s doing. He hears footsteps and sees Sarah and a security guard following close behind.

None of them know exactly where the trouble is, they just follow their instincts through the backstage hallways. Suddenly, the feeling of overwhelming terror hits them, and they can faintly hear whimpers coming from a distressed omega.

They start to run in the direction the sounds are coming from. Rounding a corner, they come across a scene that has their blood boiling.

There’s a female omega, seemingly unconscious, being physically held up against a wall by a male alpha.

“Let her go,” Harry growls out using his alpha voice. It’s less effective on the man than it would be on an omega, but his grip on the girl involuntarily loosens. Harry and the security guard move in to pull the alpha off, and Sarah runs forward to catch the girl.

More security guards move in and drag the alpha away to be questioned.

Harry’s focus shifts to the omega now being held in Sarah’s lap on the floor. Adrenaline is still coursing through Harry’s body, but he feels himself relaxing faster than he thought possible. That’s when he realizes Sarah is releasing calming pheromones. He immediately works to do the same, rather than continue to broadcast the anger he’s feeling.

He knows his emotions can affect the vulnerable omega, and the last thing he wants to do is cause her most stress.

His most pressing worry is that she’s dropped. It wouldn’t be all that surprising. Omegas tend to drop during stressful situations. This can be dangerous for a number of reasons, especially if they don’t have a trusted alpha to keep them safe while they’re under.

Not only can they not protect their bodies, but a drop can also be a scary experience mentally. Omegas have described it as feeling untethered, like they’re stuck in darkness, unable to find a way out. There are good drops as well, ones you go into on purpose to give your mind rest. This is always done when there is an alpha there to hold and scent them and keep them safe and grounded throughout.

But if this is a drop, Harry knows it would be a bad one, and they’d need to gently bring her up immediately.

“Sarah?” Harry says to get the other alpha’s attention.

“Yes?” she replies, not taking her eyes off the girl.

“Do you think she’s dropped?”

“No. At least not fully. I can still catch a bit of her scent. If she went fully under it would have disappeared completely.”

There’s movement all around them, members of venue security and Harry’s team all coming and going to ensure everyone is safe. Music and loud cheers can be heard, meaning the opening act if still playing, that the show was not interrupted by what happened backstage.

Harry and Sarah are focused solely on the omega, until they hear a familiar male voice say, “There you guys are. Sarah, you scared the shit out of me running off like that.”

She looks up at her husband, Mitch, and smiles sheepishly before saying, “Sorry, I really didn’t think. We heard her distressed whines and just reacted.”

“Is she okay?” Mitch asks, crouching down to be level with the group on the floor.

“We think so,” Harry answers. “There was an alpha who had her cornered. Not sure what exactly he was planning but it was obviously nothing good. She was unconscious when we got to her. Just wish she’d wake up so we can check that she’s really unharmed.”

“Is she in a drop?” Mitch asks. Being a beta he’s not as knowledgeable about these things but he knows enough to be concerned about the girl.

“No, definitely not a full drop. But I’ve been flooding the area with calming pheromones and she’s still not waking up,” Sarah says worriedly.

“Maybe she just senses unknown alphas around her. Why don’t I try holding her and you guys move away a bit?” He senses how reluctant they are to move away from the omega, but eventually they listen to Mitch.

He settles on the ground and Sarah passes the omega to him before moving to give them space. After another minute the girl begins to stir, groggily at first before her eyes shoot open and she jumps up to move away from all the people around her. They watch cautiously, unsure what to do with the sudden change in the situation.

***

For awhile you’re stuck in the dark. This isn’t a drop, not really. You’ve only ever dropped twice but you can tell there’s a difference this time. You’re still aware of what’s going on around you, even if the details are fuzzy.

The alpha is gone. That you know for sure. The awful smell is gone, replaced by a much more pleasant one. It’s a mix of black tea and maybe the ocean? Whatever it is reminds you of early morning walks on the beach during family vacations. You relax more into this scent, and then notice that fresh laundry smell which always means someone is releasing calming pheromones.

You start to relax, the adrenaline slowly leaving your body. You can still sense multiple alphas, which keeps you a bit on edge. You try to open your eyes, but you’re still in a deep fog, probably due to the mix of intense emotions and the multiple alpha commands you’d been subjected to.

You don’t realize that someone is holding you until they shift and place you in another person’s arms. The alpha scent fades and you know the person now holding you is for sure a beta.

Finally, you manage to open your eyes. It takes a moment for you to get your bearings, but when you do, you’re overwhelmed, and honestly a bit embarrassed. Harry Styles, the Harry Styles, the world-famous popstar you’re here to see, is sitting across the hall from you, studying you closely. Next to him is a woman you recognize as his drummer.

After these discoveries, you fully realize your current position; that you’re being held in someone’s lap. One glance at the man shows it’s Harry’s guitarist. You’re no longer embarrassed. No, now you’re completely mortified. You quickly extract yourself from his hold and stand up, looking at the group, totally speechless.

They slowly stand as well, all looking at you. And not just them, but the other dozen or so people that are still in the hallway. There are so many eyes on you, watching you, and you just want to disappear.

Picking up on your unease, Harry says, “Why don’t we go somewhere less exposed, hm? You can hang in my dressing room and maybe have a medic look you over if that’s alright?”

Without thinking you begin to nod your head, just wanting to get somewhere quiet with less people. He reaches out as though to place his hand on your back and lead you but seems to think again and pulls his arm back. Instead, he walks ahead, and you follow, Mitch and Sarah coming as well.

You arrive at the room, groaning when you see more people waiting there. One’s the medic Harry mentioned, another is obviously a police officer, and the third is a man you don’t recognize.

“Harry, need to you choose your outfit and get dressed. We’ll take care of, uhm, sorry I didn’t catch your name,” says the man.

“Oh, I’m Y/N,” you say immediately, surprised at just how scratchy your voice comes out.

Sarah must pick up on it because she asks you, “Would you like a cup of tea love?”

You can’t help but smile and let out a laugh at that.

“What’s go funny?” she asks, smiling as well.

“It’s just, your scent, it definitely smells like tea. And the first thing you say to me is about tea. Sorry, I know it’s not polite to comment on someone else’s smell,” you finish, head lowering in a new wave of embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not offended,”

“Plus, you’re right,” Harry adds. “Swear I can’t make a cup of tea without thinking of her.”

“Aw, H, you think of me? How sweet,” she says with a joking tone.

“Real sweet,” Mitch says, then adds, “But stay away from my girl.”

You smile watching the easy interaction, happy to be distracted by their banter, sipping on the tea Sarah brings you.

That is until the man, whom you’ve learned is Harry’s manager, Jeff, reminds Harry that he’s supposed to be getting dressed, and the cop and medic walk over to you. There’s a table in one corner of the room and they lead you to it.

“Y/N, I’m Kate, I’m just going to get your vitals and check you over to make sure you’re okay, is that alright with you?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” you reply.

“And I’m Officer Michaels, is it okay if I ask you some questions about the incident tonight?"

“Of course.”

And so, as Kate does a quick exam you tell the whole story to the officer, starting with the uneasy feeling when you first noticed the man, all the way to him using his alpha voice to corner you in a back hallway.

Harry had reentered the room by this point, dressed in his show outfit and looking completely ready to get on stage. But he’s making no moves to leave the room, even though Jeff is reminding him the show is supposed to start in five minutes. Mitch and Sarah leave to finish getting ready themselves.

“Are we all set here?” You ask Kate and Officer Michaels.

“I have everything I need,” he replies. Kate adds, “Everything checks out just fine,” and they both exit the room as well.

This leaves you with just Harry and Jeff.

“Great, so I guess I should go back to the pit then?” You knew you were holding everything up and didn’t want to be more in the way than you already have been.

“Actually, Y/N, it would probably be best if you stay here for the show. Jeff, can you go grab Jada for me?”

The man nods, leaving you alone in the room with Harry. He motions to the couch, inviting you to sit and you do so. He sits on the coffee table facing you.

“I know you want to see the concert, and I know the man is gone, but I have to admit, my alpha is a bit on edge right now. To be completely honest, I don’t know if I could go out there and perform if you’re not completely safe. I would really like it if you stayed in this room and watched the concert on the TV over there. I promise to get you and your friends tickets to another show, alright?”

You’re taken aback by this, surprised by how much he seems to care about you, a random fan he’s never met before. And knowing that his alpha was triggered by what happened to the point where it’s still uneasy is a pretty big deal. That normally doesn’t happen with strangers. Sarah was no longer worried, and the alpha security guards were completely fine the second they caught the man.

So why was Harry’s alpha still calling the shots? It would make sense if you were partners, or at the very least, friends. Maybe Harry does truly care that deeply about all of his fans. That must be it. Because it certainly can’t be you in particular. There’s nothing special about you, other than being a damsel in distress and nearly derailing his show.

He must see the confusion on your face and continues, “Jada will be here in a moment, and she’ll hang out with you. Anything you need, just ask her. I won’t see you after the show, I leave right from the stage, but talk to Jada and Jeff and they’ll make sure you get home safely.”

“Okay, thank you so much for everything,” you reply.

“Of course. It’s the least I can do. Y/N, I am so very sorry something like this happened to you here. I always want this to be a fun, safe place for everyone.”

“It’s not your fault. Please, don’t feel bad. It is completely that knothead’s fault. You guys are the ones that saved me.”

He reaches forward and places his hand on top of yours, just for a second. Your hand tingles as he pulls away, like a bolt of electricity had just gone through it. You meet his eyes, and see he felt it too. You stare at each other, frozen for a moment, until there’s another knock at the door.

Harry stands quickly and introduces you to Jada as she joins you on the couch.

“Okay, I have to go before Jeff kills me. Y/N please give Jada your contact info so we can get those new tickets to you. Get some safe,” he says.

“Thank you, break a leg,” you reply and a second later he’s gone.

You talk to Jada throughout the start of the show, smiling as she lets you in on some behind the scenes info about the tour. After a few songs she asks if there’s anything she can get you.

“I actually have kind of a weird favor. I was supposed to come with a friend, but she couldn’t come at the last minute. I promised to send her videos and she’s going to be suspicious if I don’t have any. Would you be able to take a couple videos from the pit? I just don’t want to have to explain what happened. At least, not yet.”

“Of course, girl, I’ve got you. I’ll go get a couple of the next songs. Are you okay in here? There’s security outside the door so no one will be able to get in.”

“Yea, I’ll be fine,” you reply with a smile.

She walks out and you sink into the couch, grateful for a few minutes alone. Everyone has been so lovely, but it’s been a lot, and you need a minute just to breathe. You close your eyes, relaxing your body, and when you’re fully calm, you smell it.

There’s another alpha scent, but not one of a person nearby. No, it’s in the fabric of the couch. And the blanket next to you. And the shirt draped over the back of the couch.

It’s Harry’s scent. And it’s amazing. So clean, and fresh, with hints of chocolate, and the forest, and something sweet. Maybe roses, you think. Definitely a hint of floral. And once you catch the scent, it’s all you can think about, like it’s wrapped you in a warm hug. You feel better than you have in hours, the stress of the day fully washing away.

Even when Jada comes back, Harry’s smell is what you focus on the most. She notices you’re quieter than before and must assume you’re just tired from everything that has happened. She goes back out towards the end of the show to grab another video and you can’t help yourself. You turn to the side, right where the shirt is, and purposely take a deep breath. It’s almost overwhelming, your omega telling you to steal the shirt so you’ll always have the delicious scent with you.

That snaps you back to reality. You need to get your omega under control. You’re just like every other fan, thirsting for the amazing Harry Styles. Get a grip, you tell your omega. He’ll never be ours, don’t get attached.

Jada comes back, the show ends, and she leads you to a car that will bring you home. She asks for your car keys and ensures someone else will grab it from the station and drop it off at your place. She rides with you back to your home, along with a security guard.

You exchange numbers during the drive and breathe a sigh of relief when your apartment building comes into view. It’s been an exhausting day, and you can’t wait for a hot shower and your comfy bed.

You thank Jada for everything and notice them waiting for you to get safely inside before driving away.

You scorch your skin in the shower, put on your comfiest pajamas, and burrow under your covers.

You fall asleep that night not thinking of the horrible alpha, and the horrors of the day, but rather of green eyes, soft hands on yours, and the delicious scent that can only belong to Harry.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! If you have any questions, comments, concerns, (requests), please let me know!

I hope I got everyone who asked to be added to the taglist. If I didn't get you or you want to me added just leave a comment or a message!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305 @creativelyeva @daphnesutton @selluequestrian @lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely @eversincehs1

[god-has-entered-my-body]

lenaaaaaa god help me I’m so high rn I’m thinking about mpind matty pole dancing ans also giving girlie a lap dance fhis isnt good or my health I think

dont be shy pass the spliff

also mpind comeback after a bunch of wank everyone be happy x

Love me - Matty Healy

A/N: bit wanky, barely spell checked except for @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff 's weird sim reactions to whatever i write. Legend anon i hope this is filthy enough for you my love xx

wc: 4.5k

content warnings: smut, fluff, tw: my shitty comedy, handjobs, strip clubs, its george's birthday!!, begging, teasing, lap dance, matty in lingerie pt. 43, mentions of alcohol, lots of swearing, cumplay, grinding, it gets a bit sappy guys soz, sub!Matty

“A strip club? Are you never scared of being a cliché?” you scoff as the venue comes into view, strobing neon flashing in your face. The summer night is warm, a breeze kissing your skin as the gravel crackles under your feet, your quite high heels still not making you taller than George. 

His birthday, the big one eight, was today, and his chosen place was of course, a local strip club.

“If that cliché is seeing half naked girls, no.” he sniggers, Matty’s bickering with Ross and Hann faintly heard behind you. You hook your arm into his as you approach the bouncer, the line surprisingly short. 

“I forget you're an actual man sometimes.”

“How can you possibly forget?!” he lets go, flexing his muscles at you as some sort of display of masculinity, making you giggle behind your hand.

Matty takes this ample opportunity to swoop in from behind, pressing the side of his body up against yours. The four of you watch George proudly present his real I.D to the bouncer, a wide smile on his face as he takes it from him. The bloke gives him a weird once-over, waving him and the rest through without a hitch. 

It's bright inside, but not in the way you would assume. Different colored lights strobe around, switching every 20 seconds or so, the heavy bass of the music thrumming through your veins. Matty hangs on your arm as you look around, George immediately booking it to a booth with a stage as the table, wanting the best front row seat to the show. You roll your eyes at his eagerness, but then again, who could blame him? 

Everyone files into the booth, George ending up wedged in the corner of the seating, uncomfortable but glass he could stretch his legs out under the table. 

“Round of pints on me, happy birthday G. '' Everyone cheers, excluding Hann, who glares at Matty from across the table.

“Oh so now you have money? What about last week?” Ross lets out a quiet snigger, liking this turn of events. 

“Shut up you cunt, it's G’s birthday! Lighten up a bit, old man.” 

“Matty when I get my fucking hands on you-” Ross to the rescue, he presses a hand to his mate’s chest, keeping him seated. 

“Alright girls, break it up.” he gives up, mouthing a curt ‘fuck you’ at Matty, rolling his eyes. 

The waitress returns from the bar, bringing a platter of glasses with her. She sets them down, smiling at you before walking away, the neon lights of the club making her eyes shimmer. 

“Cheers, happy 18th mate.” Matty plants a wet kiss on George’s face, making him squirm away in disgust. 

“Get off you grade A wanker, your girl’s right there.” You blow him a kiss as Matty turns to you, licking a fat stripe up the side of your face, from your jaw to your cheekbone. Everyone at the table groans at his odd display of affection, Ross dramatically shielding his eyes and muttering incoherently as Matty finally sits back down, downing the rest of his pint. 

Sure enough, right in the middle of Hann’s interesting story about his last date, a dancer comes over to the table. She climbs up, eyeing George, twirling around the pole a few times before doing this flip you didn't even know was humanly possible. The bralette she’s wearing glimmers in the light, reflecting off and into your eyes, distracting you.  

George stares blatantly, eyes raking up and down her body as she dances, not letting her leave his line of sight. It's so obvious and she smirks at him, turning her body to face his direction before bending over, exposing her cleavage even more.  

“Don't be a knob.” you hiss, not wanting to seem rude.

“She’s fit and it's quite literally her job!” a small laugh escapes the woman as she goes to speak, flattered at the exchange. 

“It’s alright love, look all you want.” 

“See!” George shouts a bit too loudly, proud of his correctness in strip club etiquette.

You sigh, nodding at her as Matty pokes your side. 

“She is fit.” you whisper quietly, gesturing to her. Matty perks up, shoving you in offense.

“I'm fitter, don't forget.” you giggle at the statement, refusing to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him.  

“She’s literally sparkling, I need to know what brand that is.” The rhinestone adorned lingerie set she was wearing captivated everyone at the table, hugging her curves in all the right places.  

“Who’s to say I'm not either?” your eyes widen slightly at the implication, but you brush him off.

“Shut it, don't be a tosser.” his hand grips yours right before he speaks, bringing it down to the waistband of his jeans. “I’m not.”

He uses your fingers to pull it down about an inch, revealing a pretty string of purple under his bottoms. Your breath hitches at the realization, eyes snapping up to meet his. Was he serious? Now?

“It’s George’s birthday.” you state, voice hushed so the others could overhear your conversation. Hann was already off to buy another round, leaving Ross and George to make ‘friendly’ conversation with the dancer, shamelessly staring at her tits the entire time. “He won't mind, just look at him.” 

Sure enough, George is ogling the dancer, lips parted and being such a boy it hurts. She’s clearly enjoying the attention as he leans forward, stuffing a wad of cash into the flimsy waistband of her thong, smirking. 

“He’s already imagining a future with her, look!”

She sets a paper crown on his head with the words ‘birthday boy’ on it, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. A boyish blush spreads onto George’s face as her kiss leaves a mark of lipstick, Ross quickly snapping a photo of him to take the piss when they left.   

“He desperately needs a lay, it's sad.” you comment, knowing it had been ages since his last girlfriend or even hookup, too focused on his coursework and music to go out more than the few times you forced him to. 

“So do I, so I'd prefer it if we didn't drag this out.” 

Matty gets up, climbing over you despite your quite loud protests, announcing his trip to the dance floor. You wait a few moments before following him, the sway of his hips and faint back muscles under his mesh shirt flexing as he walks, convincing you to just go with it, hoping whatever he had planned wasn't totally scandalous and wouldn't get you kicked out of the place. 

He turns right past the dance floor, leading you into a narrow corridor off to the side. You catch up to him, close behind him as he slips a dancer some cash, nodding as he makes his way to the door at the end of the hall. Matty rushes in before you, the door almost slamming in your face. ‘Private room’ flashes back at you in yellow neon, making you raise your eyebrows.

The room is dark for the first few seconds as you hear Matty shuffling. Suddenly, the room lights up, giant mirrors covering the walls and ceiling, reflecting the light back and forth. You glance around, eyes landing on Matty. 

A tall pole is the centerpiece of the room, pink metal running from the floor to the ceiling. Matty leans on it, left hand wrapping around it as he spins, smirking at you as you watch him, something stirring inside of you. 

“Did you plan this?” you ask, a skeptical look on your face.

“Maybe.” his fingers run up his chest, playing with his nipples right in front of you. His voice drips with lust, coating your mind with only a few words, making it difficult to get even semi-coherent sentences out.

“Jesus, you're mental.” you gasp softly as he moves, fluid and sure, captivating you with every change of direction.

“But you love me, now sit.” you listen, not knowing what else you were meant to do in this situation. The chair is soft, cushions letting you settle in comfortably. 

“Everything is so pink.” you mutter, gesturing to the mirror frames and pole, every surface some variation of the same color.

“Sort of the point, yeah? To set the mood.” he smirks, trailing his hands up his waist, letting his nails graze against his skin, mimicking the same thing you do to him. “Mood for what?”

“You’ll see, be patient.” you roll your eyes at his words, the palms of your hands rubbing against the soft pillow of your chair. “That's rich.” 

“Please, for me?” He sounds so sweet, like he was asking you to bring him a glass of water, not to stay still while he touched himself in front of you. 

“We both know I can't deny you.” 

“How true.” he sucks in a deep breath, throwing his head back as he holds eye contact. 

“Watch.” 

“What do I-?” you stutter over your words, your heart beating rapidly against your chest as he feels himself up, fingers ghosting over his tattoos.

“Me, keep your eyes on me.”

He turns his attention back to the pole next to him, strutting around it as the music from the dancefloor dictates his movements, his back pressed to the cool metal. Matty parts his lips as he slides down it, running a hand over his chest performatively, watching your every reaction. 

Your breathing becomes more shallow as he moves, thousands of fantasies running through your mind. He knows the effect he has on you, everything he does is purely to rile you up, make you lose your composure. 

“You’re mad, this is-” he cuts you off with a sly smile.

“Incredibly hot? I’d rather you enjoy the show than talk over it.” you scrunch up your face at the implication that this was a performance, even if you did expect nothing less from Matty. 

“Show?”

He runs a hand through his slightly messed up hair, showing off his neck as you stare at him, biting your lip between your teeth to keep from embarrassing yourself. 

“I hate you.” you mumble as the music changes, some hip-hop song coming on. The faint cheers of the people outside are barely audible, but it serves to remind of just where you were. The guys were still at the table, most likely speculating the reason as to why the two of you have been missing that long, Ross surely already making crude comments that neither Hann nor George wanted to think about.

“You won't if you just wait.” you grip the edge of your seat, blushing profusely as he struts over to you, wrapping his arms around your neck. His breath is hot against your neck, leaning over you as he settles into your lap. You finally clock it.  

“Stay still.” he ‘orders’, attempting to mimic the way you speak to him when he doesn't listen.

“Are you giving me a lap dance?” he frowns at you, shaking his head in disappointment. A chuckle escapes you as the reality of the situation dawns on you. 

“No need to define it darling, let it be abstract.” of course he’d say something like that, try to salvage the ‘artistic’ affair, failing miserably. 

“You’re giving me a fucking lapdance, christ.” it's genuinely amusing. Your heart swells up at the thought of all the effort that went into this. Paying off the dancer with god only knows how much money, turning you on at the table just enough so you’d follow him, and probably even setting up the lighting in the room himself. 

“You're such a bore, let me have my fun.” he kisses you, giggling into your mouth. His lips are warm against yours, your lip gloss rubbing off on him. “Oh, I will.” you promise, letting your hands fall limp as he grips your shoulders, rocking his hips back and forth. His movements are exact, practiced even as he grinds down onto you before lifting his body back up, bringing his hip tattoo up to eye level. 

You don't think, mind clouded with desire and want. His shirt had ridden up a bit, and your rough tongue drags across the inked skin, warm against it as he shudders, feeling his cock twitch in his pants at the sensation. 

“No touching the dancers” he tuts, coming back down on top of you.

“I’m exempt from that rule.” you say, your voice surprisingly steady despite the white hot heat pooling between your legs.

“According to whom?” 

“You.”

You let your hands settle onto his waist, gripping him so hard you were sure there’d be bruises the next day.

“Fuckk, yeah okay,” he groans, the pressure on the front of his jeans increasing as all the blood in his head rushes south, his mind hazy. 

“C’mon baby, finish your little performance.”

He moves to get off, smirking as you let him. You can see indents in his skin where you grabbed him, the sight making your breath hitch. He circles around you like a predator does his prey, wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

His hands trail up your chest, fingers grazing over your exposed collarbones. Your skin flushes under his touch and you let out a soft moan at the feeling, earning a proud smile from Matty. 

“You’re so gorgeous. I have to force myself to not get hard whenever you look at me.” his voice is sultry against your ear, making goosebumps bloom on the skin of your neck. “Oh, way to exaggerate.” you snigger, not quite believing him. 

“Honest truth.” he swears, instinctively doing the ‘scouts honor’ sign with his hand. 

You snort, your little giggling fit interrupted by his mouth trailing sickly sweet kisses up your neck and to your jaw.

It doesn't take him long to make his way back around, your heart skipping a beat when he comes back into view. His chest is glistening with sweat, the warm temperature of the room clearly getting to him. Most notably, you notice the front of his jeans is unbuttoned and unzipped, flaring out on both sides, revealing almost the entirety of the silky, purple panties he had chosen to wear. 

He relishes in your reaction, the attention making his ego grow exponentially as he moves back into your lap. Your hands trail up his chest, doing your best to not immediately pay attention to the underwear. You can't resist, though. 

“These are new.” you toy with the thin straps, silk reflecting the colored light beautifully. You can see a note of pride ripple through him as you admire the material, grazing his cock through it.

“Got them just for you, you like?” The question is so obviously rhetorical. Of course you like, no, love them. “So much.” your words are laced with love, soft and appreciative of all the effort he puts into getting you off, fulfilling your fantasy.

The way he looks at you is sinful, thoughts dancing behind his eyes visible as he stares, waiting for your next move.

He lets out a soft groan when you push him down into your thigh, biting his lip at you provocatively. “You're hard.” you smile as you say the words, his gaze softening when he sees the blissed out look at your face, eyes raking over his body. Even (almost) fully clothed, he was absolutely beautiful. 

“See? Wasn't lying.” he presses a kiss behind your left ear, gently moving your hair out of the way. It’s loving, so honest. “You sure it's not because of the mirror behind me?” you still cant help but tease him, gesturing to the giant mirror your back was facing. He blushes in response, stealing a glance at his reflection. 

“You’re so cruel! I’ll just stop then, seeing as all you see me as is some egotistical deviant.” he threatens, crossing his arms over his chest in retaliation. You bring a hand up to cup his face, stroking his cheek softly, almost patronizing. Your mind swims with the power you have over him. 

“You wont stop, you couldn't if you tried.” For the first time that evening, you call his bluff, the way he reacts to you exquisite as his lips part, no words coming out. Silence fills the room, even the music on the other side of the door seeming to die down. How long have the two of you been here?

“Am i right?” you question, not letting him off the hook like you usually would.  

“..yeah–” his words are small, and you know you have him right where you want him. The lightest, slightest touch could send him hurtling over the edge, his hips rutting desperately into your hand as you palm him through his underwear.

“So pretty for me, doing all of this. Thank you baby.” you whisper into his ear as he gasps under your touch. It's so incredibly intimate that you can't help but drop your facade for a few seconds, kissing him sweetly, his lips moving against yours with desperation.  

“Anything for you.”

“Anything?”

“Mhm.”

You take his cock out of the confines of his underwear, a sigh of relief falling from his parted lips as your fingers ghost over the tip, teasing him. 

“Just stay still, let me make you feel good.” you murmur, feeling him up under his shirt, your nails digging into the skin of his back. He shifts on top of you, his body yearning for your touch.

“Please.”

You reach down to wrap your manicured fingers around his cock, the sight of the pretty colors of your nails around him making his eyes roll back in his head, his mind spinning with all sorts of possibilities, mostly focused on not finishing right in that moment. 

Tugging lazily on his cock, you drag your fingers from the base to the tip, a satisfying whimper spilling from Matty’s lips, the sound spreading through your entire body. His back arches against you and the kiss he presses against your mouth tastes like the cigarettes he chainsmoked on the way to the club, mixing deliciously with the hint of alcohol on his breath. 

“Let go for me, feel it.”

He trembles, the noise he lets out is desperate, filthy, shooting straight to your core. Everything is heightened. You can feel his breath on your cheek as he leans forward into you, chest pressing against yours as you run your fist up and down his cock, small whimpers of pleasure spurring you on. 

“Fuckk, that feels so good–” 

Matty’s words are choked, his effort to hold back a bit obvious. He’s hungry, wanting, evident in the way he ruts into your hand, his fingers digging into the skin of your shoulders, the sharp pain making you sigh, pleased. 

“Be nice and loud for me, let me hear you.” you coo into his ear, your free hand dragging up his back under his shirt, the mesh bunching up. “So good to me, treat me so well, god– shit.”

He twitches as you dig your thumb into his slit, a shiver spreading through his body 

The way he’s not even undressed is obscene, the fabric of his jeans gathering under his hips as he’s perched on top of you, feet planted firmly on the floor for leverage. You watch him, engrossed in pleasure, completely blissed out expression on his face. His head is thrown back, exposing his pale neck, faded hickeys and marks still visible from your last encounter. 

“You're staring” he breathes, your eyes snapping up to meet him. A filthy grin tugs at the corners of his lips, your focus on him and only him. His hair falls over his face, obscuring it slightly, much to your disdain.  

“You're giving me reason to” you brush curls out of his face as your movements still, letting him speak properly, uninterrupted. 

“Yeah, I want you to look at me.”

You smile lovingly, cocking your head slightly to the left as you tease him, one of your fingers twirling his hair. 

“Gets you off, my attention?” he doesn't even try to deny it, knowing it wouldn't get him anywhere. 

“Mhm-m” he nods, panting. His chest heaves with every breath he takes, silently begging you to continue.

His hips stutter as you grip his cock tighter, your other hand stroking his face sweetly as you stare into each other's eyes, his face flush as pornographic moans spill from his lips. His back arches again, your bodies pressed against each other as your hand snakes between the two of you.

“F-fuck, i’m so close, please let me cum, please.” His voice is high-pitched and whiny, tears threatening to spill at the overwhelming pleasure. 

“You beg so nicely, let me hear you baby.” you whisper words of encouragement as his hips buck up into your hand involuntarily, every ounce of self control in him dissipating. 

“I need it so bad, please i've been so good for you.”

He hiccups in a way that almost makes you feel bad, his desperation so obvious. You speed up a bit, just a bit, giving him that sweet, sweet relief he’s been begging for for god knows how long now.

“P-please, oh fuck, yesyesyes fuck.” precum bubbles at the tip of his cock, and you smear it down, coating him in his own arousal. It's unbelievably hot, his entire body twitching at the sight of your fingers on his cock, a sight he desperately tries to commit to memory. 

“You’re leaking all over my hand darling, so filthy.” he whines into your neck, and you lick across his jaw, making him shiver

“Make a mess, c’mon, come for me.” an animalistic groan fills your ears as he rapidly approaches his orgasm, writhing under your touch.

“Y-yeah– fuck thats so good, your hand feels so good, fucking made for me.”

Matty’s possessive nature made your head spin with lust, his eyeliner smudging down his face as he stares into your eyes with such an intensity it felt like he was going to consume you.

His skin glows under the soft pink lighting, making him seem ethereal, like a true angel. His noises are like music to your ears as he spills into your hand, spurts of cum coating your bare stomach, barely missing your (quite expensive) cropped shirt. Matty kisses you immediately after, hands threading through your hair as he drinks you in, stealing your breath straight from your lungs. 

Wordlessly, one of his hands moves down, gathering the remnants of his orgasm onto two fingers, tapping your mouth with the other. You indulge him, parting your lips to let him push his digits past them, the salty taste of him taking over your senses. His pupils are completely blown out in desire, not able to process what was happening in front of him, a loopy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his eyes crinkling in that way that made your heart swell up with love 

“Perfect.” he mumbles as you lick his fingers clean, smiling mischievously at his dazed gaze. Matty pulls you in, holding you close, desperate to not let go.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where were you two?” Ross’s voice is accusatory as the two of you finally return to the booth, the dancer from before having already left. A faint blush spreads onto your cheeks as the memories of not 20 minutes go flash through your mind. Hann doesn't help your situation at all.

“Probably shagging, just look at him.” your head turns, seeing Matty’s blissed out expression, a content smile replacing his usual nasty grin. You elbow him in the ribs, a silent plea to say something, but he promptly ignores your silent begging. 

“Shut up you dickhead, you don't know shit.” 

George points at Matty, now grinning wildly, reminiscing about the events of tonight. He’s oddly calm, which would be concerning if it wasn't for the monstrous case of post-sex hair he currently had 

“Jesus, what did you even do to him?” George is taking the absolute piss out of you, and for good enough reason. 

“I don't kiss and tell.” you attempt to change the conversation topic as you settle back into the booth, commenting on the pint glasses. You're ignored in favor of laughing at you further while matty remains completely unbothered, the glow he emitted so fucking obvious it hurt.  

“Well he sure does, I've heard much more than necessary.” Ross sniggers, pulling a face at the not-so-distant memory of Matty’s sex bonfire-storytelling session that had happened a few weeks prior (not at an actual bonfire, but on the floor of your living room, completely pissed while you were out with your girlfriends.)

“Did you at least wash your hands?” Hann asks, the question directed at Matty, whose hands were loosely wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass. 

“Didn't have to.” he grins, waving his hands in Adam’s face proudly, like it was some sort of achievement. 

“Oh fucking hell, too much info.” George groans, cupping his face in his hands at the mental image of what he thought had just happened. You laugh inwardly, the whole situation absurd. This was the furthest you had ever gotten in discussing anything relating to your relationship with Matty, and it honestly felt weird.

“I’m never touching you again mate, no fucking way.” Ross stated, a disgusted look on his face. “Awwe Ross, how will you do without my touch?” You make grabby hands at him, climbing over George to drape yourself over the booth, touching his hair and face, Matty’s and Hann’s hysterical laughter spurring you on. “GET OFF ME!!” he yells, clawing at you to push you away, absolutely mortified. 

George, slightly more pissed than the rest of you, announces his mission to get the dancers number, swearing up and down that “She had this look in her eye, i’m so fucking serious.” he manages to stumble over his shoes about three times before finally standing up straight, brushing off any ‘dust’ (crisps) that clung to his raggedy band tee. 

“Good luck mate, not that you need it.” Hann tries to be encouraging, knowing just as well as the rest of you how George got when he had a few too many pints. Terribly emotional and impulsive, there was no stopping him once he had his sights set on something, or in this case, someone.

“I definitely don't” he glares at you over his shoulder, strutting across the dance floor in direction of where he’d last seen her. 

As he walks away, Ross sniggers.

“He definitely does.” and you can't help but giggle along as he trips over a stray stair, falling right onto his face. Hann goes to help him up, ignoring your collective jeers to “Stop ruining his chances at true love!”

With an ice pack pressed to his face, George can only roll his eyes at the various comments for the rest of the night, despite it being his birthday.

[adracat]

Law of Casuality Write-Up (Pt.1?)

Warning!!: the following contains self-indulgence to the likes you’ve never seen before

Law of Causality: The proposition that everything in the universe has a cause and is thus an effect of that cause

Happy Sulemio week! Since it’s Fantasy Day, I decided to finally get cracking on this freeform analysis of my G-Witch series— Law of Causality. I’ve mentioned before this may be my favorite thing I’ve ever written. I was in a manic ADHD-fixation trance while writing this series. If you want the literary version of a triple-layer myth cake, this may be for you. I was considering an essay-style dissection but that’s taking too long. So here are my loose insights into this series as a whole!

Art by my friend Tay, or @TaruhtQarineXiV on Twitter

As Above, So Below: Where it all began. I’ve mentioned in the A/Ns that this was spawned from my deep looks into what the show was taking inspiration from (imo). It’s my little love letter to Sulemio and gwitch, which quickly grew into something more.

Queen in White/King in Red—Beyond the alchemy, I wanted titles that sounded fairytale-esque while also hinting toward another mythos. Hastur or the King in Yellow (Signalis and True Detective enjoyers know that name) The initial King in Yellow appears in Haïta the Shepherd as the benevolent god of shepherds; a domain Hastur shares with Mercury. The short story is about the impermanence of happiness and how it can only be found once you stop seeking it. It’s a theme I ran with for the entirety of LoC, particularly Elnora. The later incarnations of Hastur are malicious eldritch figures. Suletta vs Prospera 😊

On Faerytales: LoC is obsessed with cycles and the rhyming of history. To me, fairytales embody that perfectly. The oral traditions of them are never the exact same, flavored with variations throughout the years. It’s how we got mythology to local folklore to Brothers Grimm to Disney renditions. That’s why I used Eros and Psyche and Sleeping Beauty for Suletta and Miorine (I’m convinced the show does this too but ymmv)

The latter is inspired by the former with Psyche placed under a sleeping torpor Eros breaks. In Sleeping Beauty, the offending curse is a spindle and she’s barricaded by a witch in the form of a dragon. The Hawthorn serves as Mio’s ‘spindle’ as she suffers depression and isolation in the wake of her mother’s vanishing. Prospera (coded as witch Satan) is the dragon. Notrette is the fairies bearing gifts. In a twist, Suletta wakes her with Love as Anteros in the place of Eros. Yes I layered this cake excessively. It’s probably still confusing; I’m sorry.

Tldr; I used Sleeping Beauty alongside Greek myth.

Chaos and Night: Paradise Lost twisted into a toxic witch romance. One of the most insane ideas I’ve had, but I adore it to bits. Both Prospera and Notrette are vested to the teeth with mythology and theology.

Notrette: Besides Thelema’s Nuit/Babalon and cuing her as ‘God’, as a being of creation, opposed to the Devil, I fit so much into her character. She’s Lilith, Pandora, Circe, Ceres, Virgin Mary, the Morrigan, Ariadne, a deconstruction of the Mother Goddess from neopaganism, and the capricious Queen of Elphame from folklore.

Another figure I styled her after is White Boann, the Dagda’s mistress and wife to Nechtan (cognate with Nuada or the silver-hand) which is where you get the hazel tree link. Boann names her son Aengus because the Dagda was her ‘one desire’.

Circling back to Paradise Lost, she also plays the willing Eve who falls to Satan’s temptation in place of Miorine. There’s likely things I’m forgetting; I was so normal plotting her character.

Elnora: What can I say about this glorious wreck that wasn’t in the text? Venus, The red dragon Satan, the Beast from revelation, pagan Horned God, Neptune to Ceres, Theseus and Bacchus to Ariadne, Prometheus to Pandora, every Phosphoros, etc I’d be here all day. She’s coded as Orion the hunter who’s undone by Gaia and also the Teumessian fox to Suletta’s Laelaps. I mentioned she’s the riders of the apocalypse at the end too. White Rider is Suletta but her mom fulfills the rest; ‘Riding’ Vim as War, Riding Belmeria as Famine while wielding the ‘scales’ (Notrette as Libra) Finally, she wears the visage of death to bring Pestilence to the kingdom. I squeezed in the other omens of revelation with symbolism such as the crown of wormwood (Revelation 8:11)

When it comes to her role as Prometheus, I coded both Delling and Mio as birds of Venus (swallow and dove respectfully.) It’s meant to symbolize the ‘eagle’ devouring her was primarily herself all along. She was the architect of her ruin, lampshaded by Notrette from the beginning.

Remember Haïta the Shepherd? In the story, there is a maiden whom embodies the ephemeral nature of happiness. Notrette is Elnora’s transformative destruction into cathartic acceptance/happiness. In Paradise Lost, Satan succeeds at banishing Eve and Adam from the garden but similarly fails when he’s turned into a snake. She’s lucky I was more metaphorical.

I liberally used Revelation 12, the woman and the dragon, as well. Look at me shipping crackships from the Bible. This is mostly self-explanatory, ofc Christ is genderbent and a role shared by Sulemio. Mio’s allergy to iron doubles as a nod to this, since she doesn’t take her father’s kingdom in this universe.

There is more, such as Dionysis/Bacchus being a many-faced god with younger and older versions paralleling the Horned God’s dual aspects and the Dagda’s relationship to Aengus which led to me pitting Suletta as a lighter mirror of Elnora. But I’ll leave it here for now.

Writing this all out has me questioning what I was on, and how I can reproduce it. If you got this far, thank you for humoring my unabahed love for this world. Happy Fantasy Day, Sulemios! ❤️

[teawitch]

Classical Correspondences

"Correspondences are just things people made up." various tumblr blogs

Working with a local witch community, one thing I've noticed is that a lot of witches coming from very (sometimes very very) Christian background haven't really been exposed to "Classical" education in the sense of Greek, Roman and Medieval history and thought, except for a sort of biblical overview.

This is the Bible belt and often the question isn't - "Well, you've read Greek mythology, right?" but "were you permitted to read Greek mythology?" Which has left a big gap in the foundational understanding of where some of our witchcraft and broader magical work comes from, including those correspondence lists you see everywhere.

In broad terms, the Egyptians influenced the Greeks who influenced the Romans who influenced the early Christian church and most of medieval Europe. This gives a sort of historical and geographical foundation for our Classical Correspondences. And a lot of other things but right now, let's just look at correspondences.

The periods above give us a long history of men (and sometimes women, but honestly, this was mostly an old boys club) looking at the universe and saying "how does all this fit together?"

In an attempt to answer that question, they started looking at connections between things to try to understand them. Why does valerian smell that way? Why does camomile also make you feel relaxed? Are these two related somehow? Can we find a way to organize them?

Isn't that what botany does? At least for plants?

Yes. And we can see that because both these plants fall under the influence of Jupiter they are kingly, helpful, and aromatic, imparting a feeling of relaxation and expansion.

Umm, Tea, it doesn't say that in my botany textbook.

You have the wrong textbook. You need Culpepers Complete Herbal which is the culmination of all the plant knowledge you'll every need. Says so in the title - Complete. And it was published during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, so you know it's up to date. Queen Elizabeth the First. A time of great scientific progress. (its free on Project Gutenberg)  Though of course Culpeper worked from reliable sources like Aristotle. And  Pliny the Elder, who wanted to categorize everything. (Pliny is probably best known on Tumblr for that elephant religion post that makes it's way around now and then. Pliny is not a reliable source for elephant religion or, well, other topics. But I digress.)

Let's break things down a bit. By Jupiter we mean the planet Jupiter, not the god. (Though Jupiter does fall under Jupiter). The Romans categorized according to the seven ruling planets - Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn - with additional influence from the four Greek elements - earth, air , fire, water as well as the astrological signs. They assigned properties to each of these that fit with their view of that planet/element/sign. Jupiter is kingly, along with other properties.

You take everything - plants, metals, gem stones, colors, parts of the body, emotions - and you figure out which ruling planet they fall under and you have a system of correspondences based on the planetary properties. (Venus for love, Mars for courage and strength, Mercury for speed and communication, etc.)

Tea - you're missing a couple of planets and the sun and moon aren't planets.

These are the 7 classical planets or the 7 wandering stars. These were the seven things that could be seen with the naked eye and didn't follow the fixed pattern of the stars. From the Greek word meaning "to wander". We are standing on earth so obviously it's not wandering around the sky. (We have correspondences for Uranus, Neptune and Pluto that were added later)

Got it. So they developed a system of correspondences using the classical planets and used it for witchcraft?

Of course not. From the Romans onward, witchcraft was generally illegal. (Greece disapproved but the laws were a bit different.) So no one would have developed an expansive system of correspondences for witchcraft and made it public.

These were scientific. And for medicine. And, well, for occult practices that were definitely not witchcraft! (Look up high magic vs low magic but basically, it was an economic difference and being poor was bad.)

The important part was - this was science. It had rules. It had structure. They didn't just randomly assign meanings to plants. They developed an entire system of classification and examined each plant to decide where it fit under that system.  Sometimes plants could fall under multiple planets. Sometimes different parts of a plant fell under a different influence. And when used in medicine, what ruling influences the patient fell under could affect the treatment.

I don't want to use them.

It's hard to avoid them. They come into witchcraft through Western Ceremonial Magic but also through pure practicality. See, some of them work remarkably well, possibly because of the medical aspect of things. In medicine there had to a be a probability of success because if everyone died, no one would use them.

And from a witchcraft perspective - a lot of them make sense to the way we work. Plants with hallucinatory properties are often classified as Lunar and fall under the Moon. Spicy and hot plants fall under Mars. Pretty, sweet smelling flowers fall under Venus. These are already connections most of us have. It's also culturally an open system. Remember, it was considered science and medicine in its day. Anyone can reference and use planetary correspondences in their work.

I think personal correspondences would be stronger.

Possibly, over time and for the person involved. Personal and cultural correspondences  build up a resonance in the cultural or with the person, but that resonance  may not transfer well to others. Planetary correspondences have had a long time to develop that resonance and are broadly used, so that resonance is considered to transfer well to the working of others. They are simply a good base for publicly shared work.  

[nebulacritter]

some manga i've read

I have a LOT of manga in my room, so I thought it would be cool to tell you about some of them!

Mr. Villain's Day Off

I first heard about this series when I saw its anime trailer on YouTube. Coincidentally, I found two books of the original manga in my local Barnes and Noble, so that's why I bought them! I like this series because it's a slice-of-life parody of the sentai genre, and I also appreciate the titular character's love of pandas! I even liked how each of the heroes had backstories.

Favorite Character: Mr. Villain

X-Gender

This book was a great pick because it discusses queer topics in a respectful and informative manner. It is an autobiography about the author's experiences with their gender and sexuality, and if you're wondering what "x-gender" means, it's a Japanese term for being nonbinary.

Favorite Character: N/A

Uramichi Oniisan

Oh my god. This series is HILARIOUS. All of the main characters have a dysfunctional, but harmonious dynamic when they work together on stage. Everything Uramichi does or says makes me cry and laugh at the same time.

Favorite Character: Uramichi Omota

Heaven's Design Team

This is another series that makes me laugh, and I've seen clips of the anime before getting my hands on the manga. It reminds me of those "God creating animals" memes that were popular on Twitter back in the 2010's. It's peak edutainment, and each character has a very eccentric personality!

Favorite Characters: Venus and Yokota

Kirby Manga Mania

I decided to give this one a try, because who doesn't love Kirby? The art style is bubbly and bright, and the humor goes off the walls! I find it weird how Kirby talks normally instead of going "poyo poyo" all the time.

Favorite Characters: Kirby and King Dedede

Precarious Woman Executive Miss Black General

Yeezus, that's a long title. I picked this one out because I thought the art style looked cool. It's a story about a villainess with a crush on Totally-Not-Batman. I enjoyed the slapstick and the amazing character design.

Favorite Character: N/A

Cells at Work!

Here's another edutainment anime. The depictions of each microorganism are really cool, and I liked the scenes where the cells had to fight off against nasty viruses! It even does a good job at explaining how the body works by providing bits and bobs of information throughout the panels.

Favorite Character: N/A

Little Miss P

I've never seen a manga that talks about periods before, and I'm glad it exists. This book is relatable because I hate it when my period arrives, but I understand getting your period is normal. I'm quite fond of the messy art style, too.

Favorite Characters: N/A

Merman in My Tub

I remember cheerily reblogging and liking posts about it last year, and I still love it to this day! All of the characters have vibrant personalities, and I really like the designs of each merman. This series is light-hearted and goofy, so that's why I think it's awesome.

Favorite Characters: Agari and Echizen

I'm gonna make two more parts later on. The second one will be about cats, and the third one will be about horror.

[pynkgothicka]

Ｃａｌｌ Ｏｕｔ Ｍｙ Ｎａｍｅ ＬＪＨ

Pairing - Dark! Drummer! Lee Jihoon (Woozi) x AFAB! Reader

Synopsis- When you attend your friend’s boyfriend’s concert, you end up falling for the drummer.

Featuring - Maude Apatow, Halle Bailey, Dominic Fike

Word Count - 2.6k

Tags and Warnings - Manipulation, Isolation, Abuse, Arguing

Authors Note - Should I write for more things besides bts??

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! These depictions don't pertain to reality. This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

Hanging out with Maude and Halle after finals was one of the most refreshing things you could possibly do. Being cooped up in your dorm became more and more stressful as you surrounded yourself with notes upon notes to study with.

You eyed your figure in the mirror. The beautiful red dress your friend ordered for you perfectly. It formed to your body perfectly, hugging each curve. Maude stood behind you, long brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her pink frilly dress fit perfectly. “We look so good! God and I thought you would hate what I picked out for you.” She comments wrapping her arms on your shoulders.

“To be honest, I was scared. Reds not usually my color. You know me. I love wearing more muted colors.” You replied leaning your head back onto Maude's shoulder. You both laughed and she let go of you, falling onto her bed. You both shared a dorm, not even knowing one another as freshmen. But into your current sophomore year, you, Maude, and Halle were best friends. “I'm guessing Halle is going to be late huh?”

Maude lets out a chuckle, “Yeah, should I just text her to meet us there?” She says picking up her phone. She lays back on the bed calling up your mutual friend. With a nod, You continue to eye yourself in the mirror before sitting at your vanity. You began to do your makeup, powdering on various things. “Okay, she's going to meet us at the venue, apparently she's getting us tickets to a random concert. But hey I don't really care, I just want to honestly do something besides study.”

“I can get on board with that one.”

🕊

As you entered the bar, you met up with Halle and stood together near the stage, eagerly anticipating the start of the concert. "So who is Macabe exactly?" You asked curiously.

"My boyfriend's band," Halle replied, pulling a flyer from her purse and passing it to you and Maude. "Y’all know Dominic right? The fucking dreamboat of a man in the front!” She points to the frontman on the poster.

You eye the poster seeing all the members. “Is Dominic new? I mean yeah he's hot, but they're pretty much all hot. I’m assuming they do like rock or something?”" Maude leaned in to ask Halle, and they began chatting animatedly while your attention wandered back to the stage. That's when you noticed the particularly large female audience, drawn to this local band. You dismiss the thought and refocus on your friends' playful argument.

The entire room dims as it hits the three of you, it becoming clear that the concert is about to begin. “Y'all better cheer so loud Dom!” Halle asks, and you roll your eyes but nod. As the band walks on stage your eyes are drawn in to the drummer.

As the band takes the stage, your attention is immediately drawn to the drummer. Short black hair, chipped black nails, piercing eyes that seem to see right through you, and a toned physique - in your opinion, the most attractive man you've ever seen.

Lost in your admiration, you feel Halle nudge you with her elbow and make a clicking sound. Maude joins in with a quiet "Ooh! Our girl finally likes someone." You playfully shove them back.

The man looks down at you, his gaze studying you. Eyes trailing up and down your form. You push them playfully as the drummer's gaze meets yours, his smirk indicating that he noticed your staring. Halle squealed quietly. “Oh, after this I’m so introducing you to him!”

🕊️

After the show, you and the entire group sat and waited for Dominic to come out. “I texted him and everything, I'm kind of sick of waiting on his ass,” Halle complained, rolling her eyes, head resting on her palm. Maude was at the bar, playing Candy Crush on her phone. You fidgeted with one of your rings, feeling restless.

“Halle! Come on, the boys want to meet you guys!” You heard a voice call from the door opening. Halle's face lights up and she gets up motioning for you and Maude to follow. Both you and her walk backstage and come to sight with a relaxed view of the band. Seeing all of the band resting, lazily, now their eyes on all three of you.

“Okay! Girls introduce yourselves, y'all got mouths!” Halle cheerfully says, walking away to go sit on Dominic's lap. YNervously, both you and Maude introduced yourselves. “Okay get comfortable!!” Halle says already practically tuning both you and Maude out completely.

"Do these men..." Maude began.

"Intimidate you? Yeah, me too." You finished.

Your eyes then reconnect with the drummer. With a hand he makes you come, patting the spot next to you. With a nervous smile, you sit down and greet him. "H-Hi..." Your voice trails off as he smiles back at you, his eyes closing genuinely.

He seemed like such a sincere person.

At least, that's the impression he gave off.

"You're cute," he says in a seductive tone with his charming accent. "I saw you looking at me with those pretty eyes." He lightly touches your chin, directing your gaze towards his own. You enjoy hearing how much he admires you without even knowing you.

"O-Oh! Thank you... no one has ever told me that before," you admit, feeling a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. It was nice to hear someone admire you without even knowing you.

"Don't be so nervous, am I scary or something?" he asks, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Lee Jihoon. Just so I'm not too intimidating." His name rolls off his tongue easily.

You raise your hands in defense. "No no! Nothing like that... well, maybe a little," you confess with a laugh. Your hands fidget with your thighs as you try to ease your nerves. But Jihoon just laughs along with you, his smile warm and inviting.

“Really? How so?” He adds keeping the conversation light-hearted. But why were you so nervous around him? It's not like you were turned off and creeped out by him.

With another shy laugh, you explain, "Well, you're in a band...and just really built. And, well...super hot. Shit, did I just say that?" You cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, nervously rubbing them against each other.

Jihoon chuckles and moves to sit closer to you on the black loveseat. His fingers dance along your shoulder, causing you to jump. "Don't worry, I don't mind," he reassures you with a laugh, resting his head on your shoulder. You can't help but laugh along with him, his laughter making you feel at ease.

Dominic reaches over and taps your shoulder. “Woah, dude barely talks to me and I'm his fuckin’ bandmate.” He comments, Halle, resting on his chest. “Don't let up on him dude needs some.” Jihoon leans over pushing Dominic away.

“He's a dick, don't listen to him gorgeous,” Jihoon whispers into your ear as he plants a gentle kiss on your temple, making your face flush with heat. “I want to talk to you all night.”

“Well, you're lucky, because I can do just that.”

🕊️

And you welcomed it with open arms, grateful for the attention and affection he showed you. That led to you two making it official.

Halle and Maude couldn't be happier for you. Halle and Dominic broke up, but seeing that at least one of the band members seemed genuine made her happy.

Dating Jihoon felt like being in paradise. He was kind and gentle towards you, always treating you with tenderness and care. Currently, you were sprawled across his lap as he worked on his music and that of the band. As you talked, you discovered that Jihoon was not just a talented musician but also a skilled producer who worked on multiple projects simultaneously. "You work so hard," you mumbled, your cheek resting against his thigh.

His hand found its way to your arm, gently lovingly caressing your skin. "Someone has to do it, Dove," he replied with a small smile.

Dove.

That nickname made you feel like an angel in his eyes.

"I suppose you're right," you murmured. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you grab at it.

Maude💄: When R u coming home?? 🤨

You: Whenever Jihoon is heading to bed

You: Sry u know how he is

Jihoon's voice startles you, causing an involuntary jump from your entire body. "Who are you texting?" he demands, his face twisted into a stern expression.

“Maude, she wants to know when I'm going to be home and stuff.” You replied looking back up to your boyfriend. His face is more serious than before, as he seemingly contemplates his next sentence.

He clears his throat before speaking. “I don't like it when you text people when you're around me. It's like you're not focusing on us.”

You stare at him dumbfounded by that statement. If anything you put your all into the relationship, allowing for him to come whenever he wants to, always catching a ride to go visit him. You've always made sacrifices for him, constantly traveling to see him and putting in effort to make things work.

"I'm sorry that I have to let my roommate know when I'll be home. I can't just ignore her," you say, trying to reason with him. But his jaw clenches and he runs his tongue over the side of his cheek in frustration.

He just stared ahead, continuously fiddling and mixing the music. You scoff and lie down on the arm of the couch, facing away from him.

“It's disrespectful. It's like you don't want to be around me or something.” Jihoon says still working. You furrow your brows and continue to stare ahead.

“Yeah, whatever. What, fucking ever.”

In an instant, Jihoon lunges at you and grabs onto your shirt, pulling you towards him so that your faces are inches apart. His grip is tight and painful as he snarls through gritted teeth, "Don't ever talk to me like that again. You got that?"

“Y-Yes! Let go of me please…” You say grabbing at his arm. He lets go and moves to kiss the crown of your head. He finally releases you and moves to kiss the top of your head before pushing you back into his lap. Your body trembles as you try to hold back sobs, gasping for air between sniffles.

"See? Now you've learned your lesson," he says with a sickeningly sweet tone. "I'll let you know when you can leave, alright?" You nod weakly, too frightened to speak up or stand up for yourself.

🕊���

“Leave his ass girl,” Halle said walking into your dorm announced. You look up from your work confused. “You're little boyfriend is the reason Dom broke up with me. He's been talkin’ about how I'm this that and the third.” Your heart races with confusion and anger, not understanding why she would accuse your boyfriend of such terrible things.

Without hesitation, you rushed to defend your boyfriend. “What? No way… He wouldn't do something like that. He's not that type of person.” Quickly closing your notebook, you added, “He doesn't even talk to people.”

Halle stared at you, her face twisted in shock. “Un-fucking-believeable. You're seriously siding with that dick!” She yelled her hands going in the air. Maude walked through the door in shock at the scene. Halle turns around and points at Maude. “You're barely home, and Maude can even agree to that.”

Maude stands there before walking in. “I mean, she's not wrong… you aren't home. You just met him not even two months ago. But you're always with Jihoon, just texting me to say you're staying the night. And don't even get me started on when he pops up just demanding shit.” Maude huffs crossing her arms. She places a hand on her temple, sighing. “You are willingly blinding yourself. Why?”

“What do you mean why?” You stood up and gestured emphatically. “You guys just want to take away the one good thing I have in my life right now. Jihoon hasn't done anything wrong. If he's such a problem, then I'll just leave.” You grabbed your suitcase and began hastily throwing clothes into it without bothering to fold them. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision.

Halle huffs out turning away. “Get the fuck then, go run to that fake ass mother fucker. Then whenever you find out what is, you're gonna be sorry.” She yells walking out of the dorm. Maude stares at the scene letting out another sigh.

“Just call me if things get too rough, okay? I love you so much… But I don't trust him.”

🕊️

Moving in with Jihoon was the best possible thing you could ever do. The night you arrived on his apartment doorstep, having cried to yourself the entire way there, he let you in with open arms. He doted on you with nothing but love.

He showered you with love and attention, buying you new clothes and making you feel special. Just like now, you stood in his living room, doing a twirl in the lingerie he brought you. Red lace adorning your thighs, panties, and bralette. “You love seeing me in red?” You ask hands on your hips.

Jihoon couldn't take his eyes off of you. "You look amazing in red," he said with a smile. You couldn't help but blush at his compliment as you sat down next to him on the couch, placing your hand on top of his.“See? Arent you happier without those friends of yours? They always made you so dreary.”

You give him a look before talking quietly. “Well, It's not like I don't miss them, you can't just say that I’m happier.” You commented sulking away from him. However, he didn't seem to like that statement. Much rather Jihoon closed his own computer.

“Don’t talk back.” He said looking at you, his eyes burning with contempt for your statement. You looked back at him with the same look. “And don’t look at me that way, or I’ll give you a reason to act like this.”

“What is your issue? I’m just saying I don't like you telling me how to think and feel, you have no right to threate-”

But before you could finish your sentence, Jihoon's hand came crashing against the side of your face, causing your head to hit the coffee table and a bright flash to cross your vision. You looked at him through tear-filled eyes and saw a twisted sense of contentment on his face.

He damped at the blood on your forehead, his lips coming to kiss at your temple. “Shh, I’m sorry baby,” He cooed doting on you for just a split second. You started off sniffling and then breaking down into full-on sobs. Jihoon held the side of your face once more. “It’s okay… see you just made me so mad, I’m sorry though, just don’t make me so mad baby okay?” Your eyes drift over to him, Jihoon smiling at you, this twisted look of contemptment.

And you agreed.

All you could do was agree.

You long for Maude and Halle's company, for the freedom to go to class and be out of this damn apartment. But for now, all you can do is play along with Jihoon's game to avoid further punishment.

But you chose this.

You chose to be with a man who buried you away from everyone and the world.

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