#i also shadowed a job and they said they were gonna call me with my pay and then just. didn’t. AND THEY WERE UNDERSTAFFED TOO????

[p0th]

why is it so normalized for jobs to just. waste your time when you apply to them. like, why am i forced to watch a video and do a whole ass personality quiz for a chance at working at A RETAIL JOB FOR MINIMUM WAGE!!!!

[welcometohellfilm]

Hi! I recently saw W2H2 part 1 and I must say it’s pretty amazing! Even better then the first one (which I loved btw), I know you anticipated that it wouldn’t have been full done, but I still wished the animation and the coloring were completed, like the first short. Nevertheless It has its charm anyway so good job, still amazing as always ! I just wanted to ask a few questions about Mephistopheles:

1) Is Mephistopheles actually capable of being evil and doing evil things as well ? Is he the type of guy that is usually pretty chill but can get REALLY angry if you piss him off? At the end of the first act, he said to Sock that he would fired him if he didn’t complete the job… did he mean literally “to fire him” (like burn or hurt him), or just meant “fired from the job” without causing him any harm? I am very curious about this character, I find him pretty charming and interesting! (I also love his character design)

2) How long will it be before the second and third parts of W2H2 release more or less (Months, years…)? And how long each part will be? Don’t wanna put preassure on you ofc , I’m just curious but I will be patient if that’s the case!

Thank you for this amazing little cartoon! I really love the plot and the characters and I look foward to see more! I hope you’ll reply soon and thank u again <33 (also sorry for my bad english but I am Italian eheh)

haha... yeah I'm getting that comment from a lot of people. But idk, when I look at the first short it looks pretty incomplete to me! Like to me, I think having better animation and less color is a decent trade-off, but I guess for a lot of people the color really did a lot of heavy-lifting. Anyway, I know it's a little disappointing, but my options were "call it good enough and post it", or "drive myself crazy working on it until I die", I know that sounds dramatic, and maybe I could've forced myself to finish at least throwing color on it, but I don't know, I didn't want to start resenting the thing I'm supposed to be passionate about. I kinda put myself between a rock and a hard place, didn't I? Sorry for the rant! I'm glad you enjoyed it anyway, haha. UHHH on to questions! 1. Mephistopheles is complicated. Or at least, I think he is, and I'm trying to figure out what that balance is. (I have an entire wordpad file full of notes/thoughts on Mephistopheles from one of my friends who's given a surprising amount of thought to the morality of the character that I'm gonna have to reference moving forward, haha). But as for my original thoughts on the character--- I don't consider him evil, but I think he's capable of doing things we would call 'evil', just like any human is. And like humans, he can be motivated by flawed, negative thoughts and feelings; spite, revenge, jealousy, whatever. But unlike humans he exists outside of space and time, and he's not a human himself, so his perception of morality is just different. The "you're fired" comment is meant to be a little confusing... like, you come to expect these stupid hell jokes from him, but then he clarifies "that wasn't a pun". And he's the devil, so maybe he's not joking. He COULD condemn Sock to hell. So that's the stakes of the story! If Meph is serious, Sock could be in a lot of trouble. We're not sure exactly how lenient he's going to be, or how trust-worthy he is. He's the devil! Toying with people is kind of his whole thing! haha. 2. It's not gonna' be another 10 years, that's for sure!!! Most of Part 2 is already rough animated (at least as much as Part 1 has been). There's still... one or two scenes that need more animation, and pretty much every shot of Shadow!Jonathan still needs to be done. It also needs more backgrounds, but there's FEWER backgrounds in Part 2 (Hell is just a re-usable Shadow-Realmy-y void), and a lot of the stuff from Jonathan's house can be re-used with different lighting. I'll have a better idea of the timeline once I sit down and crack it open again... and it's about to get kind of busy with the holidays and all, but it should be finished some time next year! Hopefully in the first half of 2025! I'll try to keep everyone posted. Anyway thanks for your questions! Hope this helped!

[vllergy]

strawberry scones

s/tar/d/ew v/alley, 2.6 k, s/am allergy fic my farmer has the fetish because i said so, sam/seb/farmer are some kind of polycule also because i said so sorry to call u out directly but just want to note the text messages and dynamics are directly inspired from @bestwhumpist's fics because i'm obsessed with the way you write the 'one partner with the kink and everyone else around them' dynamic and you inspire me xoxoxoxoxoxoxo ty

goblin destroyer + milo abigail: r we still practicing today?? seb: we were supposed to…. abigail: ???  seb: sam might still be dying sam: IM GOOD! IM FINE! i took my allergy meds sam: we’re still on >:|  seb: uh huh sam: im serious! im much better sam: 4pm at my place be there or be lame sam: milo, you in? c: 

The glare from the sun made the surface of his phone near impossible to read at first. Angling his hat forward, Milo let the brim cast a shadow over the screen until the group chat became legible. And when it did, his throat immediately went dry. Nervous heat fluttered in his chest despite the still crisp early spring air and his thumbs became clumsy as they hurried to type back a response. 

milo: you know it!!! i’ll bring snacks

He was about to pocket his phone and resume tending to the bed of soil in front of him when another message came through. A private one, outside the group chat. Milo swiped back to read it and his heart dropped into his stomach.

sebastian: ur so fucked lol 

Upon first arriving, it seemed as though Sam’s insistence on his own well-being was actually genuine. He greeted Milo at the door with clear eyes and a beaming, slightly crooked smile. Feeling like a delinquent for doing so, Milo gave a cursory glance at his nose and found it not even the slightest bit red or raw looking. He tried to temper his disappointment in favor of relief. This was good, actually. If Sam’s allergy meds really were doing their job, this was going to be a lot easier for him to sit through.

Sam threw a lean, muscled arm around Milo’s shoulders and guided him inside. He smelled like fresh laundry and sunshine and was already talking a mile a minute. 

“I think you’re really gonna like the new stuff, Sebastian’s been working on some lyrics that really brought the whole ting together--” he glanced at the tote Milo had clutched under his arm, “Oh shit, you really did bring snacks! I could kiss you, dude.”

They entered Sam’s room—always surprisingly clean for a man so full of boundless energy—and Abigail snorted. 

“Ugh, save it for when I leave,” she muttered, “The three of you can make out on your own time.”

Milo blushed dark red, the freckles on his cheeks nearly dissolving into the pools of color as the heat crawled up his face. Just as his step faltered, Sebastian appeared at his side and snaked an arm around his waist. He pulled Milo free of Sam’s golden aura and cocooned him in his own: velvety and dark and every bit as distracting.

“It was a figure of speech, jeez,” Sam’s cheeks went a little pink too, much to Milo’s delight. The blonde palmed the back of his neck sheepishly while he kicked off his shoes. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Milo caught Sebastian smirking. He never quite knew where the lines between them all existed. He and Sebastian were dating, he was pretty sure of that. But Sam and Sebastian had a thing all of their own too. And for their part, Milo and Sam always seemed to get tongue-tied around one another, a phenomenon Sebastian relentlessly encouraged. 

The only one who could clock all of them from a mile away seemed to be Abigail, who rolled her eyes and snatched the tote away from Milo before retreating back to the couch with it. Cracking open the lid made the room fill with the sweet scent of fresh baked scones. Abigail’s eyes went wide.

“Milo, you outdid yourself,” she gasped.

Milo, who’d just stopped blushing started right up again, and raked a hand through his dark curls.  

“It’s a new recipe.”

“Oh hell yes! Gimme one!” 

Sam darted past and snatched one out of the bin, jamming nearly half of a scone into his mouth with glee. Both Sebastian and Abigail rolled their eyes, but Milo merely watched with unmasked affection. Sam never did anything elegantly. It was all wide-toothed grins, exaggerated movements and unapologetic mirth.

By contrast, Sebastian was more delicate about the whole ordeal. Taking a scone for himself, he held it between his long, pale fingers and inspected the glaze. His dark eyes flickered to Milo.

“Strawberry?” he asked.

Milo nodded, “Picked this morning.” 

Sam had already demolished his first and was onto his second as he stooped down to his guitar case. Scone in mouth, he snapped the latches with his hands and shook hair out of his face like a dog. Milo’s chest squeezed. So cute.

En route to the keyboard, Sebastian stopped and placed a soft kiss on Milo’s cheek. “Thanks, farmer.” His hand strayed to his hip as he passed and pinched at the bone playfully. Milo almost yelped but managed to keep his reaction from emerging. 

He whirled an accusing gaze on Sebastian who merely gave a pointed look over at Sam who now held a half-eaten scone in one hand and was furiously rubbing at his nose with his other.

—

Abigail used to joke that Milo was a captive audience for these practice sessions. But the truth was, there was nowhere in the world Milo would rather be. As music filled the room, Milo sank back into the old couch Sam had dragged in and pushed against the wall.

He couldn’t hold a tune to save his life and he’d never learned to play an instrument, so the best he could offer was a pair of listening ears for Goblin Destroyer’s new material. He tended to think everything they did sounded great, but he at least pretend to offer varying opinions. He mostly just liked being a part of it all. Plus, watching both Sebastian and Sam in their element had a kind of hypnotizing power over him. 

Unfortunately, not hypnotizing enough to distract Milo from the losing battle happening before his eyes.

Sam turned his head against his shoulder and rubbed his nose against his shirt. With both hands occupied by his guitar, it seemed to be his only option, and one made effortlessly casual at that. It was over and done with in a second, having not missed a beat for his efforts, and it seemed Milo was the only one who’d noticed. It could have been a fluke. 

But of course it wasn’t. 

A few moments later, Sam sniffed hard. The sound was lost behind the music but Milo could see it happen clear as day. The bridge of his nose crinkled a few times and then the tip wriggled as he tried to assuage an itch without actually scratching it. Milo squirmed on the couch, wondering what it might be like to help him. To reach up and rub his nose for him while he played, or run his fingers along the bridge of his nose to try and coax out— 

Sam sneezed without warning. A tightly controlled thing, just one bob of his head and a brief shuttering of his expression. It was impossible to say if he’d made any sound or not given the volume of the music, but Milo doubted it. For as inelegant as Sam could be, he’d been suffering from his allergies for long enough that he’d gotten good at suppressing them. Normally he didn’t bother, at least not around them, but Milo supposed these were different circumstances. There was a certain veneer of professionalism here.

Sam sniffed hard enough to wrinkle his nose again and continued playing, unbothered. But Milo knew where this was going. And he was certainly bothered. 

Sam’s fingers never missed their mark on the neck of the guitar as his eyes fluttered and his head snapped forward once, twice, and then a third time with completely suppressed sneezes. His mouth was shut in a tight line, his expression pinched. He shook his head after the third as if to clear the sensation and arched his shoulder to wipe under his nose as he played. 

Milo felt the room turning to molasses around him. Heat crawled up his throat. Worse still, Sebastian had caught that last outburst. A tiny smirk played on the keyboardist’s pale features as he continued to play, his eyes flashing almost wickedly as he met Milo’s gaze. 

His expression seemed to say Told you. 

There were a few moments of peace. Milo tried to will himself not to look at Sam again but his eyes were pulled there like a magnet. He could tell the fit was getting away from him. Sam’s eyes closed and this time his hands paused their rhythm on the guitar as the tickle distracted him. He tilted his head toward the light, a lock of blonde hair falling limp across his forehead, and then whipped to the side after a brief pause. 

“—tiiew!” 

Milo only caught the tail end of the sound over the music, and the resounding-undoubtedly wet-sniffle was swallowed up by Sam falling seamlessly back on beat. He blinked a little groggily as he continued playing. Then, he must have noticed Milo staring, because he grinned sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders at him. 

That slight acknowledgement of it all went right to Milo’s dick. He somehow plastered on what he thought was a convincing smile in return and then had to cross his legs. His heart began jackhammering in his chest. Fuck, was he really about to have to sit here while this happened? Maybe he really was a captive audience.

Sam struggled in vain to keep playing but his nose had other ideas. Surrendering to the tickle, his hands went slack against the instrument again and his upper lip curled over his canine. Milo couldn’t hear the uptick of his breath but he could imagine it well enough, watching the plane of Sam’s chest swelling against his t-shirt. Hh—hh? Hh?

Sebastian stopped playing. And the pause between Abigail’s drumming was just long enough for the first, clear sneeze to strike through the room crystal clear.

“h’h’JIISHZSHh’huu!” Sam gripped the neck of his guitar and angled away from it. Milo couldn’t tell if he was worried about sneezing near it or just using it as a point of stability. He gasped and let his head snap forward with a second, wet, “hh’tiiISChiew!” 

Abigail stopped playing too. Silence descended, to which Sam quickly shook his head. He turned to the others even while his head bobbed between sneezes, eyes struggling to open during the quick cadence.

“N-no, don’t—nNNCH!—stop, I’m—hNGT!—fiii-nnGXT!—hGNT!—I can keep—tschh! TSCH! Going!”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, you sound like it.”

“You know when you hold them in like that it only just makes it worse,” Abigail scolded him.

Milo felt like the walls were closing in on him. He quickly angled himself towards the arm of a couch and placed one of the pillows on his lap as strategically as he could. 

Sam lifted the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth as he geared up for another. “h’Hsshhh-ue!!”  "Bless you," Milo said, his mouth dry.

“I thought you took your allergy meds,” Sebastian sighed.

Sam remained under the cover of his shirt, eyes cinched shut. He gasped wildly and ducked down, “HHh’uPSCHh’ue!” A watery, pathetic sniff followed and Milo could think of nothing else besides the wet mist most likely spraying his own chest. 

As Sam emerged, his nose was pink, nostrils an angry shade and twitching. “I did,” he groaned, “God, I fucking hate sp-sprhiing.” 

Lifting up his shirt again, he pinched the fabric around his nose and shuddered into another, “hh’eSCHh!” 

Milo couldn’t help but notice the slight spot of dampness now forming on the shirt. "Bless you," he said again, trying to keep his voice steady. His eyes were apt to roll back into his head if he wasn’t careful.  "Thagks," Sam sniffed hard.

“Maybe sit this one out,” Sebastian suggested as Sam pawed at his nose, “Abby and I are the ones who have to learn the run anyway.”

To anyone else, it might have sounded like something a concerned friend might say. But Milo could hear the edge of playfulness to it. The slight lilt of teasing that was meant for him, and only him as Sam nodded glumly, shrugged out of the strap of his guitar and made his way over to the couch. 

Milo stiffened, eyes going wide. Sam flopped back, completely oblivious, one arm going behind him around the back of the couch. He dropped his head back, gave a liquid sniffle and groaned. Milo could feel the heat of his arm near his shoulders and chewed on the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood.

“Just don’t sneeze all over Milo,” Sebastian warned. 

Milo gave him a desperate look. It must have been really desperate, because Sebastian even laughed and managed to appear a little apologetic. 

“Or the scones,” Abigail added.

Sam gave them both the finger even while turning his face to the side and half-stifling into the open air. The frame of the couch shook softly and his knee brushed against Milo’s as he released it. “hH’NGXtssh!”  He groaned and shifted back. Sam hardly ever looked grumpy, but he was absolutely pouting now. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else but his arm quickly retracted from behind Milo so he could lean forward. He ducked beneath the safe haven of his shirt again, head dropped and hair falling over his brow as he buried his nose into the fabric. "hh'tscHH!! hhi'zESHhhiyew!"

Milo instinctively reached for him, his hand smoothing over his spine. Sam startled at the sudden contact and bit down the next series of sneezes seemingly on instinct, folding into himself further with each quick set.

"hH'nNNT! nnGSST! nnGXCH!"

"Sorry!" Milo said hurriedly, retracting his arm.

Sam tried in vain to shake his head through and speak through the last of the tickle, "No, my ba-haa'aSScHIEW--bad! Sorry, hh'tssch!--fuck! There."

He'd thoroughly soaked the front of his t-shirt now. Sniffling wetly behind the cover of it, he lifted his gaze with no small amount of bashfulness. A hoarse, weak laugh escaped him. "Bless you doesn't seem to cover it," Milo said, breathless for entirely different reasons.

"Sorry, sorry," Sam continued to apologize, sluicing the moisture from his nose with his shirt.

"Do you not own tissues?" Abigail balked. "My house, I can sneeze where I want," Sam sniffed again before standing up and unceremoniously stripping out of his sodden shirt. Milo blinked, stunned, and could do nothing but stare at the lean muscle on full display as Sam walked towards his dresser. Sebastian cleared his throat and when Milo caught his eye, he was practically grinning. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him look so happy. Milo sank further into the couch and forced his eyes to the floor. "Okay, I think the worst's over," Sam declared as he grabbed a fresh shirt. Though Milo caught his profile just as the telltale hitch of his breath followed the statement. "Hh? Hh!"

His long, blonde lashes fluttered as turned to the side, eyebrows lifting in expectation. Milo watched his bare shoulders swell softly as he inhaled, muscles along his ribs flexing. Sam sniffed and seemed to ignite the tickle fully, directing one last tired sneeze towards his elbow. "hH'tishew!"

The exhausted nature of it did something irrevocable to Milo. His mind went completely blank as Sam sniffled through tossing his new shirt over his head and eventually returned to his guitar.

Music started up again but Milo barely heard it. He was lost completely, shoving strawberry scones in his mouth one after another to have something to focus on other than Sam's delightfully pink nose.

[ink-n-shadow]

PARTY LIKE A ROCKSTAR

𝜗𝜚 the one where you're a rockstar and ghost is your bodyguard

𝜗𝜚 pairing: bodyguard!Simon "Ghost" Riley x rockstar!reader (link to all works in this au) 𝜗𝜚 cw: alternative universe (majority non-canon), strong language, maybe suggestive content (but i think that's a stretch) 𝜗𝜚 note: the way this au!headcanon has been living rent free inside of my head for weeks (might have to make this into a series o_O)

⤷ you were one of the biggest up-and-coming names in the music industry. that being said－you needed the best protection that could be offered.

⤷ enter ghost－an ex-british army soldier that your manager hired right after your first big break to take you to and from a local concert. he kept his face covered by some stupid skull mask and wore a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to expose the countless tattoos that swirled around his forearms.

⤷ ghost would refuse to tell you his real name too. but he was quiet, protective, intimidating, and really good at his job－so your manager kept him around.

⤷ now you were much more well known, meaning ghost's job of keeping you alive and away from grabbing hands or flashing pap lights only got more difficult. but at least the pay also increased.

⤷ while the conversations were brief and often short-lived, you both had grown to somewhat enjoy the constant presence of one another. even if you pushed ghost's buttons and tried to stretch out away from his grasp.

"Aye－fuck did I say about tryin' to leave the venue without me? You're gonna get yourself bloody murdered out there."

⤷ would most definitely have a pet name to call you instead of your real name/stage name

"I said get behind me, dove. How am I gonna protect your pretty little face from behind ya?"

⤷ ghost would most definitely sit in the security area or stage wings at your concerts just to watch you tear up the stage. he liked watching you do the thing you loved the most－performing. but again, he'd never admit how much he enjoyed it.

"Yeah, dove. I watched you out there tonight. What－you want me to give you a gold fuckin' star for your performance? It was 'lright, not the best I've ever seen."

⤷ he has definitely taken you home inebriated more times than he could count. and you definitely get handsy and flirty when you're not sober. but he always made sure you got home safe and sound.

"Aye! Keep your bloody hands to yourself－no, m'not holding your hand right now, dove. You're plastered...don't even know your own fuckin' name."

⤷ you were definitely a soft spot for ghost, but he'd never admit it. he barely admitted it to himself.

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[reigningqueenofwords]

Oh, Sassy

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 3,610 Request: Anonymous. May I ask for Dean getting to know a car girl who is also a chef (like she loves food and stuff)? Take care of yourself and drink enough! Xx

“Y/L/N!” Your boss called out, making you slide out from under the car you were under. 

“Yeah?” You called back as you got up and made your way to his office. “What’s up?” Leaning on his door frame, you crossed your arms. “I was just finishing up Mr. Carson’s car. You know the one you jumped down my throat about this morning?” You raised an eyebrow. 

Your boss gave you a bored look. “This is Dean Johnson.” He sighed, motioning to the man sitting across from him. “New hire. He’s gonna be shadowing you while he gets used to the garage. Probably only a couple days.” He shrugged. 

You gave Dean a small wave. “Why me? I work odd hours because of the restaurant.” You reminded him. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to shadow one of the guys who are here all day?” 

“Nate’s last day is Friday, he’s moving, remember? Then Gage threatened the last guy I hired within two hours and made him quit. Kyle is…Kyle.” All you could do was nod at that, knowing exactly what he meant. Kyle was nice, but a bit out there. 

Sighing, you nodded. “Alright. Well, I’m only here for another hour. It’s up to him if he wants to help me on Mr. Carson’s car or meet me here tomorrow morning.” 

“I’m here, might as well start, right?” He smiled as he got up. “Nice to meet you.” Dean held out his hand for you.

You shook his hand. “I’m Y/N/N. Let’s go get started. Do you have something to change into?” 

He glanced at his clothes, then at you. “Should I? I usually work on cars in jeans and a t-shirt. Sometimes I’ll throw on a jumpsuit.” He shrugged. 

“Yeah, we had jumpsuits when I first started, but we all got tired of wearing them.” You motioned for him to follow you to the car. “Right now I’m finishing up this old 1993 Pontiac Bonneville. Mr. Carson will be in first thing tomorrow morning to pick it up, so you’ll meet him then.” 

“You make it sound like he’s a grumpy old man.” He chuckled. 

“Sometimes.” You said simply, wanting to get back to work. 

Finally, you were clocked out and walking through the parking lot. You lived just a couple blocks away, so you didn’t bother to drive. You had an hour and a half to clean up and get to your second job. “Need a ride?” Came Dean’s voice, making you look over. He was standing next to a beautiful 1967 Chevy Impala. 

“Nice car.” You motioned. “But I’m good. I live a couple blocks away.” You shrugged. “Thanks, though.” 

“Anytime.” He said simply before getting in. 

The next day, you yawned as you walked in, downing a large Monster Ultra. “Those things will kill ya.” Dean told you from where he was leaning against the wall. 

“But it keeps all you guys alive after I’ve worked most of the night.” You gave him a sarcastic smile. “And why are you out here…and not in the garage? Are you in time out?” 

“Oh, sassy. Nice.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes. “Let me guess, you’ve been put in time out before?” 

“Gage got mouthy my first week here, so I might have superglued a couple of his tools to his bench.” You shrugged. 

Dean threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, that’s hysterical. My brother would do that to me. Don’t give him any ideas if you ever meet him.” He shook his head. “And no, I’m not in time out. I was told to wait out here for my ‘babysitter’ by one of the guys. He didn’t give me a name.” 

You nodded, motioning for him to follow you to the back. “That would be Nate.” You told him. “Bummed that he’s leaving.” He was a chill guy overall, and didn’t really get mouthy like Gage. And he was all there, unlike Kyle. 

“So, you said you worked most of the night. Second job?”

“Yeah, I’m a chef.” You finished your drink and tossed the can into the recycling bin. 

His eyebrows shot up. “So, you’re a mechanic and a chef?” Dean couldn’t tell if he was more surprised or impressed, then remembered hearing you mention a restaurant the day before. Now that made sense. “Couldn’t pick one?” 

Laughing, you pulled your hair into a pony tail. “Nope. I used to help my dad work on cars when I was a kid. He died when I was 13, and I kept it up. When I was 15 I got sick. I binged Food Network for a few days. I went to culinary school when I graduated. Couldn’t find a job as a chef right away, so I got a job as a mechanic right outside of town. After working there a year, I finally landed a job as a chef. Quit my other job. And that seemed to be okay for a bit, but something was missing.” 

“You missed being a grease monkey.” 

You nodded. “I really did. Started working here about 9 months ago. Bossman likes to get on my case. I think it’s because I’m the only girl, but he’s not a bad guy.” By now you were used to it, and just dealt with it. “What about you? What’s your story, Johnson?” 

“Traveled a lot as a kid, and kept it up after my dad died about a year and a half ago. Finally decided I was tired of it. So, me and my brother picked a spot to stay put for a while.” Dean knew he was omitting details, but he didn’t feel he was truly lying to you. How could he say he was wanted by the FBI? And that his family had hunted spirits up until recently? That his brother had psychic powers? He would be honest as much as he could, while keeping out other things. 

“Losing a parent is tough. I’m sorry for your loss.” You said honestly. 

“Y/L/N. Mr. Carson is here for his car!” Your boss called down the hall. 

“Coming!” You called back before glancing at Dean. “Ready to see if he’s a grumpy old man today?” 

You and Dean got along great, and you found yourself crushing on him as the days went by. He was easy to talk to, and it was nice to have a friend at work. A couple weeks after he started, you approached him at lunch. “Hey, De? I have a question.” 

He grinned at you. “De, I like it. What can I do for you?” 

“There’s this awards thing for all the chefs in the state this weekend, and I kinda don’t want to go alone…” You explained awkwardly. “I was wondering if you’d come with me?” 

“Like a date?” He licked his lips, clearly flirting with you. 

There was no way to stop the blush that formed on your cheeks. “I-if you’d like.” Why turn down a date with a fun, nice, and handsome guy? 

“Do I need a suit?” 

“Unless you have a tux.” You joked. “But a suit should be fine.” 

Dean sipped his soda. “Guess we’ll have to exchange numbers. I can drive. We can arrive in style. Unless you have a nicer car than Baby, which I doubt.” 

“I have nothing as pretty as her.” You told him. “Dinner will be served at the awards, as well, so we’ll be well fed.” 

“Do I get to try your cooking?” He was curious, that was for sure. 

You pretended to think. “Maybe on our second date.” 

Dean leaned against Baby as he waited for you downstairs. He stood up straight when he saw you come out. “Wow.” He breathed. “You look beautiful.” 

“You look very handsome, too. You didn’t have to rent a tux, though.” You smiled. 

“It’s an awards thing, right? Gotta look good.” He brushed over the front of his jacket. “And clearly I needed it because you look… wow .” It wasn’t like him to be this speechless, but he was so used to seeing you in a tank top and jeans. He was used to seeing you with grease all over you, your hair pulled up out of your face. “Shall we?” He moved to open the door for you. 

Smiling, you stepped forward. “We shall. And hey, maybe you’ll be a good luck charm and I’ll win an award.” It would mean a lot to you if you did. 

“Hi, Dean, come in.” You opened your apartment door for him. The date to the awards had been a blast, even if you didn’t win anything. When he dropped you off after, you kissed his cheek and asked him out on a second date for the next night. Dinner at your place. 

His face lit up when he saw you. “Hi, sweetheart.” He greeted you. “Oh, these are for you.” He held out a bouquet of flowers. 

Smiling, you took them. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.” You shut the door behind him once he was inside. “Can I get you something to drink? Beer, water, soda, milk?” 

“Beer. Thank you.” He looked around your living room as you went to put the flowers in some water and get him a beer. “So, something smells amazing.” His mouth was watering. 

“Thank you.” Handing him his beer, you sipped your own. “Baked potatoes are almost done, and then I’m making some steaks with butter garlic onions. Then, for dessert, homemade cherry pie.” 

“Love me some cherry pie.” Dean winked. “Sounds delicious, sweetheart.” One perk about staying in one place was not having to microwave his meals. “Maybe for our next date I’ll have you over for burgers. I make a mean bacon cheeseburger. I’m sure I can tell my brother to scram for a few hours.” He was already mentally planning a few dates for the two of you, wanting to spend as much time as he could with you. He pictured taking you to the movies, out to eat, to the beach, and to the fair. Maybe walking away from hunting was the best thing that happened to him because he’d met you. 

You smirked at him. “What? Are you worried your brother is more charming than you?” You teased him. 

He chuckled and shook his head. “More like I don’t want my baby brother around while we’re on a date.” He countered before taking a swig of his beer. “Want any help?” He asked when your timer went off. 

“Sure. Can you get the cheese and sour cream from the fridge and put them on the table? And how do you like your steak? Warning: you say well done and I’m kicking you out.” You gave him a playful look. You couldn’t help it, he made you feel fun . 

“You wound me. Do I look like the kind of douche that would order ‘well done’?” He put his hand on his chest. “Medium-rare, thank you.” 

“Good boy.” You winked before heading to start the steaks. Hearing Dean groan lightly, you giggled to yourself. 

One year from the date of that awards show, you were moving into the house that Sam and Dean rented. You got along with Sam, and had no problems with him staying. If anything, you felt it was a really good idea. Because you had two jobs, there were technically four incomes for one home (also, because you worked two jobs…you did the least amount of housework, only doing it on your days off). “That was the last box.” You grinned as you saw Dean coming down the stairs. “I am officially all moved in.” 

“Awesome.” He looked like a kid on Christmas. “Sammy has to work until 5, so he said he’ll meet us for dinner.” He took the box from you and went to take it upstairs. 

“So, this means we have a few hours to ‘celebrate’? Just us?” You followed him, eyes on his butt. “I work tonight, so right now would be perfect.” 

“I like how you think, sweetheart.” The two of you just seemed to fit together perfectly. 

“I’m home!” You called out as you shut the door behind you. 

“You’re early.” Dean glanced at the clock. “Like…4 hours early. What’s wrong?” He saw the look on your face and rushed to you. 

You sniffed. “Uh, remember Darla?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, the older waitress that told you she wanted to pinch my cheeks? Everything okay?” 

“She didn’t come in for her shift tonight, which is really unlike her. She has never missed a shift without calling, and even that’s rare.” You started. “So we sent Jimmy, the busboy, to check on her.” Your voice broke. “Poor Darla…Poor Jimmy.” 

“Baby, what happened?” 

“Her door was busted in. And sh-she was dead. Brutally killed.” He pulled you to him, holding you tight as you cried. “We closed early for the night, and the cops came to talk to everyone before we got sent home.” 

He hated that you were hurting, but beyond thankful that you weren’t the one that went to check on her. You didn’t need to see something like that. “Do they have any idea who killed her?” 

You shook your head. “I asked one of the officers how she died. The look on his face…” You breathed, pulling away slightly to look up at him. “He said he’s never seen anything like it, and if he didn’t know any better, that a bear got her.” 

“A bear?” He furrowed his brows. 

“That’s how bad she looked.” Letting out a breath, you stepped back. “I’m going to take a hot shower and take a couple sleeping pills.” You kissed his cheek softly. 

He nodded, rubbing your arm. “I’ll be up shortly.” Sam was supposed to be home from work soon, and wanted to talk to him about this. Something in his gut told him his two years in town were coming to an end. He watched you slip off your shoes and then make your way upstairs. He’d stay and grow old with you if he had the choice. Part of him had let himself dream about an actual future with you. The two of you working on Baby with a little you. Him watching you teach a little him how to properly chop on onion. Clenching his jaw, he forced down the tears. 

“Dean?” Sam paused in the door. “What’s going on?” 

Looking at his brother, he didn’t have to say a word. He saw that Sam understood what was going on. Sam knew that them living away from the supernatural was over. He was angry enough that he was losing his apple pie life, but even angrier that Sam was losing his. His baby brother had really just started letting his guard down in the last 6 months or so. Just in time for it to blow up in their faces. 

Dean jerked awake when his phone rang. “Hello?” He yawned as you shifted besides him. “Bobby?” He sat up. Dean had called him now and then to check in, but Bobby never called him. 

“You still in that town you told me you settled in?” 

“Yeah, we are.” He said softly, glancing at you before slipping out of bed. He didn’t want to risk waking you up. 

Bobby sighed. “Been hearing rumors from the town about half an hour away. Sounds like a crossroads demon.” He warned him. “I don’t know if it ever went your way…”

Dean groaned. “It has.” He knew that was what tore Darla apart. “Y/N/N’s coworker must have been one of them. She came home upset, and I can’t blame her. Darla was always nice.” He ran a hand over his face. “We had planned to keep an eye out just in case.” 

“Not gonna lie, was hoping it woulda passed your town by.” Bobby told him. 

Standing in the kitchen, Dean looked out the window into the backyard. The same backyard that you had just been lounging in the day before, in the bikini you’d bought just to wear for him. “Maybe it’s a sign, Bobby.” He said, letting his emotions show. “Maybe it’s a sign I need to get out of town. What’s next? Werewolves? Vampires? I can’t let her die.” 

“Dean, you’ve been there two years.” Bobby pointed out. “In those two years I’ve heard you happier than I ever have before. You’ve sounded more alive than ever before.” He was clearly trying to talk Dean out of leaving. “That woman loves you! And from what Sam says, she’s perfect for you. Walk away now, and you’ll always wonder what could have been.” 

“What happens if we decide to have a family one day, and then something comes after them? What if I can’t protect them?” 

“Boy, that’s a question every parent has. To this day I wonder the same damn thing! You boys might be hunters, but you’re my boys. At least think about things.” 

Sighing, Dean closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bobby. We’re leaving.” 

Waking up, you rolled over to cuddle Dean, but he wasn’t there. “De?” You blinked, slipping out of bed. Usually, if he couldn’t sleep, you could find him in the garage, so that’s where you went. “De?” 

He whipped around, blocking the trunk. “Baby?” He had clearly been crying. 

“What’s going on? What the hell is that in your trunk?” You moved over to look. “Why do you have so many weapons?” Your eyes went to him. “Why were you crying?” 

“Let’s go inside to talk. Sammy, why don’t you go start packing my clothes?” He glanced to Sam, who was off to the side. 

“Why does he need to pack your clothes?” Why weren’t you getting any answers? You pulled your arm from him as he tried to lead you away from Baby. “Talk to me!” 

“My name isn’t Dean Johnson.” He swallowed. “My name is Dean Winchester, and up until I moved to town…Sammy and I traveled the country hunting things.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Hunting things? Like deer?” 

“I wish.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Vampires, ghosts, demons, wendigos.” He listed. 

Blinking, you tried to let that sink in. “You’re telling me that’s all real?” You stared at him. “Say I believe you, why leave now? Why try to leave in the middle of the night?” 

“Because Darla was killed by a hellhound. She must have made a crossroads deal and her time was up.” He explained. “It was a wake up call. We can’t escape that life.” 

“You’re leaving me, us, because someone else was killed?” Of course you cared about Darla, but what did she have to do with your relationship with Dean? 

“What if the next thing that comes through targets you?” 

“By that logic- you running away from your girlfriend is running away from protecting her!” You countered. “What if something comes through, and you aren’t here? What then, Dean?!” 

“Us being here is like a beacon. Bad things just follow us.” 

You shook your head. “So, what the hell was the last 2 years? What bad happened then?” You locked your eyes on his. “What ‘bad thing’ followed you over these past 2 years?”

He looked down. “Nothing.” He admitted. “They were the best 2 years of my life. I let myself hope for things that I can’t have.” He managed. 

“Who the hell says you can’t have them? I’m here, aren’t I? I love you, and I think I’m pretty fucking good!” You threw your hands up. 

“Sam got out once. Had the apple pie life. It got his girlfriend killed.” He told you. “I can’t let that happen to you. I love you too much.” 

Clenching your jaw, you stepped closer to him. “So don’t let it.” You said firmly. “Teach me.” 

Dean whipped his head up to stare at you. “What?” He breathed. 

“Teach me. I’m a fast learner.” Your heart was pounding in your chest. “We stay right here while you teach me anything I have to know. I’m sure there’s a way to make this house safe, right?” He nodded a bit. “Then we do that. I’ll quit my job as a chef, and we keep working. All three of us. You teach me until you think I know what I need to know. Then we can leave.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that. You have a life here.” The pain couldn’t be hidden from his eyes. “You don’t want to live motel to motel. Eating shitty food and sleeping on crappy beds.” 

You cupped his cheek and gave him a soft smile. “You know why I want to do this?” 

“Why?” 

“Because I love you too much to let you walk away from me.” You kissed him softly. “I can’t see my life without you. We all have some money put aside, and we can put even more aside between now and when we leave. That’ll get us a couple nicer motel rooms now and then, right?” 

Dean looked in your eyes, wondering how the hell he got so lucky to find you. “You believe me?” 

You took a breath. “Mostly.” You admitted. “It’s a hard thing to wrap my head around, but I’m sure as you tell me more, and as you teach me- I’ll come around.” Your heart told you to trust what he was saying. “Please, let’s go back inside, tell Sam to stop packing, and talk.” 

“You won’t hate me for taking you from the two things you love? Cooking and working on cars?” 

“I’d hate myself for letting you walk away.” 

[katyawriteswhump]

Freestyle love (Steddie holiday drabble)

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 22 prompt, Sports AU.

Nobody ever wanted Eddie Munson on their swim squad, and uni competition was no different. Until Steve Harrington decided to play by the rules.

WC: 966. Rating: T.

CW: none really. Tags: Enemies to lovers, whump, university/college AU.

***

"Munson's freestyle times smash half the teams.'" Steve pushed his wet hair from his eyes, double-checked the stopwatch. “He’s in."

"That science geek pond-scum?” asked Steve's swim co-captain, standing with him beside the pool. "No way. You read the numbers backwards again, Harrington?"

"Shut up. I’m calling this one."

When Steve broke the news, Munson pulled off his swim-cap and a mass of dark, damp hair tumbled out. “One of your teammates said my tats automatically disqualify me,” said Munson.

“That’s bullshit.” Steve actually found Munson’s freaky tattoos bizarrely compelling. Oh, and the body beneath—all lean rope-like muscle, not massive shoulders, but a decent swimmer’s physique. “We need you. You beat most of the sports scholarship guys.”

“I know.” Munson shrugged. “And you can take my place on your dumb squad and stuff it up their buttholes.”

“What the heck, man? Why did you trial, if you don’t want in?”

“To show you over-privileged frat-house dicks you ain’t special. I qualify every year—you’re just the first knucklehead to notice. Anyhooo.” He poked his tongue out stupidly. Steve planted his hands on his hips and couldn’t glare harder. “I’m off to Who Soc.”

“What Soc?”

Munson’s shoulder clipped Steve’s as he passed—possibly an accident, but he nearly toppled Steve into the pool.

“Screw you, man! Crawl back to your den of Satanist freaks, like I care.”

“Yeah?” Munson poked out his tongue again, wiggled his fingers. “Hexing you, Harrington. Oooooh, bet you’re pissing yourself.”

***

Eddie had simply been getting one back for the little guys, against all those over-pumped numbskulls. 

He still felt bad when he heard what happened at the inter-state semis—some moron dived into the pool on top of Harrington in the shallow end, breaking his leg.

It bugged Eddie. So much he wound up visiting Steve at the hospital.

When Eddie sidled into Steve’s room, Steve’s pale face—peeking from behind his plastered leg in traction—said it all: What the heck?

“Hey,” mumbled Eddie. “Guess I’m the last person you expected.”

“On my list of expected visitors, you were somewhere below Elvis.” Harrington seemed pissed. Also genuinely bewildered.

He was still sexy as hell.

Especially now Eddie couldn’t find it in his cold, metal-loving heart to hate the guy. Mmmm, and was it kinda wrong to wanna lick those well-muscled arms, and picture him shirtless… even when Harrington glowered at him from a hospital bed?

Eddie raised his palms in half-hearted surrender. “I owe you an explanation. I’ve been doing swim trials since Middle School. My time is always good—the place I grew up in was right by a lake—yet nobody ever gave me my place on the squad before. This face never fits.” He gurned a silly grin. “Then you went and flew in the face of all the laws in the universe and offered me ‘in.’ I guess it... blew me away.”

“I was only following the goddamn rules.” Steve grumpily puffed his flatter-than-usual hair from his eyes.

“Yeah, and I was a dick, and the Hex thing was dumb. I didn’t really… you know…”

“I don’t blame you for my stupid accident.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not a complete moron. I'm scraping a pass in English Lit, okay?” As the atmosphere softened, Eddie shuffled nearer Steve’s bed. “Good job. Who's gonna keep me here on a sports scholarship now?”

“Sorry, man.”

“Jesus, it’s not your fault!” Up close, Harrington looked exhausted, possibly even in pain, with dark smudgy shadows around his eyes. “You know, you can do something to make this less shit.”

Eddie’s heart squeezed oddly—gratefully? “What?”

“Take my place in the squad.” Steve mumbled toward hands clasped in his lap. “I recorded your times, made it official. The place is yours to claim. I'd tell the team myself… if any of them came to visit.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nobody’s got time for a swim co-captain who’ll never swim competitively again.” 

A lump clogged Eddie’s throat. Harrington’s face worked strangely, too… Shit, shit, shit! Eddie reached out, tentatively squeezed Steve’s shoulder. Steve looked up sharply, eyes large and liquid. Damn, the boy was tense.

“That stinks,” said Eddie.

“Yeeeah.” Steve’s laugh was shaky, while Eddie’s mind raced: 

“Dude, I’m in a ton of non-sports societies. D & D, model-making, Who Soc… Uh, maybe not that one for you. I can bring a few of the guys and gals here, see if you get into anything.”

“I don’t need YOU to find me friends.” Harrington’s spikiness proved short-lived. He unleashed a resigned sigh: “Look, man, I’m not exactly in the mood for parties, but… If you wanna come back… that would be cool.”

Suddenly, neither of them could look at each other. Eddie’s face was burning. Could he actually be into me?

“Tho’ if you’re not fresh from swim practice when you arrive, I’m not interested, Munson.”

Eddie hooted: “You blackmailing me?”

“I can play dirty, ya know, buck expectations, too.” Steve went in for the kill. He smiled up at Eddie, a proper, hot-as-hell smile, which reached his too-pretty brown eyes. 

Is he hitting on me?!? Eddie gawked like a goldfish.

“See you tomorrow?”

***

On the day of the national finals, Steve watched from the stands. When Eddie slammed home for victory on the final leg of the freestyle relay, Steve was on his feet—okay, propped by his crutches—cheering his head off.

As soon as Eddie could get away, he clambered, wet and dripping, through to the rear of the stands and planted an even wetter kiss on Steve's lips. Steve threw his arms around his boyfriend. It was great to finally be with somebody to whom only the real things in life mattered. 

"Love you, Champ," he whispered in Eddie’s ear.

"Love you, too." Eddie kissed him again.

Victory had never felt so hot.

***

Thanks for reading :) Also part of my steve whump fic series (mainly steddie) on ao3

[xbadgerbearx]

chapter one: new hire

summary: When a tall stranger is suddenly hired into the King's Club, your world shifts abruptly--whether for better or worse. As he unravels the threads of his history, you find yourself running from your own. Can you confront the shadows of the past, or will they ultimately consume you both in the end?

pairing: Kid x reader

word count: 2k

warning: spoilers!

notes: I did give Kid's character a name, but it came from an interview that Dev Patel did.

Redlight: masterlist ... [2]

There was a new man in the kitchen today. 

He seemed nervous as he made his way over to your area–you were washing dishes. He was here just the day before when he was escorted into Queenie’s office. It was surprising that not only Queenie didn’t immediately throw him out, but that she also gave him a job. His eyes met yours briefly before turning away to busy himself with some miscellaneous cutlery. You did the same, although you noted how beautifully big they were.

The peacefulness of working in silent tandem would be interrupted when Alphonso, your “manager,” showed up. “New guy, huh? What’s your name?” Your ears perked up, also wanting to know what the quiet stranger's name was.

“Bobby,” he answered unconvincingly.

Alphonso hummed before making his way closer to your station. “Wear your cap properly,” he chided one of the cooks. “We don’t want one of your pubes in the curry.” Alphonso stood next to Bobby–who was next to you–and only made it up to his shoulder. “Bobby,” he repeated with humor. “I think we’ve met before, right?”

“Don’t harass the new staff,” you reminded him impassively. The tall man quickly turned his attention to you. He hadn’t heard you speak until that point–he liked your voice. Alphonso waved you off.

“You like tequila, huh, Bobby?” Bobby walked around the short man to pick up a dirty pot to clean. “Patrón, Don Julio, the one with George Clooney in the photo?”

“I just want to clean the dishes, okay?” He took his place beside you, which was at the sink.

“Coke? Morphine? MDMA?” Alphonso continued. 

“Alphonso!” you snapped as your actual manager intervened. 

“Oi, Alphonos, eh, I’ve told you many times to stop hassling my staff.”

“Quality control, man,” he answered nonchalantly as your manager walked away. “You’re gonna thank me for this one day!” Alphonso got close to the new hire. “Stay cool, Bobby. Stay cool, hmm?” Alphonso turned his attention to you. Leaning against the sink, and right in your way, he laughed. “And how is it being in the kitchen today, hmm? Better than up there?” He extended a single finger up. 

“Alphonso,” you started calmly. “If you want to keep your finger, I suggest you get out of my way.” He quickly slid off to the side, but he was still leaning against the sink. You brought the newly dirtied dish to the sink to start rinsing it. 

“Okay, okay,” he smirked. “This is her on a good day, if you can believe it,” he said pointedly to the new hire. The tall stranger raised an eyebrow, but ultimately said nothing, “You should see her when she’s really on duty. She’ll have you-”

“Alphonso,” you interrupted, eyes glaring. “If you don’t leave us alone, a leg won’t be the only thing you’ll be missing,” you reminded as you walked past him and into another part of the kitchen, leaving Bobby alone with the short man.

“If it pleases her majesty,” he mocked while doing a small curtsey. The tall man looked at Alphonso quizzically. “Whatever Queen Whore wants, she gets,” he laughed, but Bobby frowned. 

“Don’t call her that,” he said quietly, eyebrows furrowed, but Alphonso wiggled his brows playfully instead with a smirk.

“Hm, what’s that, Romeo? You like her or something?” he grinned.

Bobby opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out as you strolled back into the area, this time holding a fresh set of towels. Alphonso laughed as Bobby scowled at him. 

“Alphonso, if you don’t leave this second, I’ll get Queenie myself,” you cooly explained, ignoring all eye contact and continuing to dry the dishes.

Alphonso tsked and swatted the air with his hand before deciding it would be wise to leave. “You better be careful with her,” he announced as he was leaving. “Five men entered a room with her, and only she came out-” he cackled. “Alive!” He then chastised a cook for bumping into his leg before exiting the kitchen. 

Quietly going back to work, you ignored Bobby’s glances and carried on with your day. He was quietly thinking about his earlier interaction with Alphonso. What did he mean by that? And Romeo? He had some things to ponder over… 

When your back was turned, he noticed that when you washed the dishes, you spent extra time cleaning your already clean hands.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time you worked with Bobby, he was tasked with preparing Queenie’s tea. He seemed a little lost, but you quietly helped him before sending him to her office. He was surprisingly in a light-hearted mood at the moment. A cook made you bump into a table and almost knocked Queenie’s favorite cup off, but he caught it. Instead of a snide comment or remark, he just laughed and handed you the cup. His positive mood improved your own, slightly sour one. You wore a small smile.

“I never got your name,” he said quietly after a while as he put the sugar bowl onto a tray. 

“And I never got yours,” you replied as you grabbed the small milk pitcher.

“Oh,” he chuckled. “It’s Bobby.”

“No it’s not,” you stated nonchalantly, as if it was a simple fact. Bobby looked at you confused, although his heart beat a little quicker, fearful that he’d been spotted out already. He was quiet as he gathered his thoughts. Then he had an idea.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled nervously. “You got me. I-I’m Romeo. That’s my name” He was wearing a big smile, sure that you would buy this one.

You paused what you were doing and met his eyes. “Romeo?” you asked in disbelief and he nodded hesitantly. “Romeo?” you asked again. “So why ‘Bobby?’” 

His smile fell slightly and he shrunk into himself. He chuckled a little, seemingly to stall for time. “I, uh, well-” he shrugged as he tried to form a sentence. “You know Alphonso. I said that to get him to leave me alone,” he said unconvincingly. He was bad at lying. 

Staring at him for a few moments, a smile slowly formed on your face. “Sureeee your name is Romeo,” you drawed. “And I’m Juliet.” The tall man laughed, his smile reaching his eyes. He had a nice smile, you noted. “Anyways, Romeo,” you emphasized sarcastically, obviously not buying this name either. “Queenie’s tea is done. Probably shouldn’t keep her waiting too long,” you directed, handing him the finished tray. He took it gratefully and made his way to her office.

You didn’t expect to be interrupted so quickly after sending him on his way, but Sita–an escort–came over to your station. It surprised you seeing the state she was in; she had just been crying and was wearing a plain chemise. “Queenie wants you,” she murmured before hurrying off. 

Heading towards Queenie’s office, you could see the new hire and Alphonso already in there. You knocked on her door and she waved you inside. “See? How hard is it to learn some fucking manners?” She berated Alphonso. You waited on her couch and got comfortable. Bobby glanced at you as he was pouring her tea; he was surprised at how…confident you were in her office. Queenie went over to her safe. “Hey, you,” she snapped at Bobby. “Face the wall.” He turned around, which allowed you to discreetly admire him in his uniform. 

Queenie finished her discussion with Alphonso. “Tell Naqeeb that if the maal is good, we’ll buy some more for Chief Rana.” She handed a stack of cash to him. You could see Bobby stiffen. “Get it sorted by the weekend. He is coming with his boys. Remember, only the best serve the VIPs.” Alphonso left, and soon Bobby as well, although not before giving you a quizzical look.

Queenie sat behind her desk and got comfortable in her chair. “I need you to be on your best behavior this weekend, got it? No funny business, not like last time.” You scowled but nodded in understanding. “Good. And wear that little red dress you have, you know it’s his favorite.” 

Rolling your eyes, you sighed. “Okay. Anything else?” You stood up from the couch and made your way to the door. 

“Yeah. Watch over that little goat fucker. You seem to keep him in check.”

“Who? Alphonso?”

“Yeah, him, whatever. He seems to harass my employees less when you're around,” she smiled. 

“Yes ma’am,” you chuckled before leaving her office and heading back to the kitchen. You scanned the area for your Romeo, expecting him to be there, but he wasn’t. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Bobby was currently hurrying after the shorter man. “Alphonso! Hey, uh, good job with Queenie, huh? She really respects you.”

Alphonso scoffed. “The only person in that room she remotely respected was your little work wife. What do you want?”

“Um, look. If you- if you,” he stopped to calm himself before starting again. “Look, if you need any help with the VIPs…”

“Hey, new guy. You know what happens to earwigs around here? You hear nothing, you see nothing. Got it?”

“Look, I’m just saying. If you need someone to go and do the job…”

“Does it look like I need help from someone like you?” Alphonso continued walking, but the tall man grabbed his shoulder. “Hey! What the fuck, man?”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He was looking slightly more desperate. “Look. You want to make some money? Guaranteed?”

Alphonso humored him, but he did look interested. “Go on.”

The tall man quickly found a piece of paper and wrote an address. “Come to this place tonight…bet on Khan. You’ll make a killing.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

“I-I’ll be fighting him.” Alphonso scoffed before laughing at him. He obviously didn’t believe him and told him to fuck off. “The monkey will win the first two rounds and go down in the third.”

The shorter man became serious. “What’s in it for you?”

The tall dishwasher replied, “I want a promotion,” before patting him on the shoulder and leaving to go back to his job.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You didn’t see Romeo or Alphonso for the rest of the evening after what happened in Queenie’s office.  Your shift was over and you had just finished washing your hands when Alphonso strolled over. “Hey, baby-” he smiled.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, okay.” He straightened himself before lowering his voice. “I need a favor. Well, not really a favor, but I’d appreciate it if you went with me to this place.”

“Where?” 

“I’m not sure. That tall fucker–the new hire–gave me this address.” He passed the piece of paper with hurried writing over for you to see. 

“...And you want me to go?”

“Yeah!”

“Pass.” You hung up the towel and took off your apron before folding it over your arm. Alphonso followed you as you made your way to the exit.

“Aw, come on! You’re gonna make me go to this sketch ass place by myself?”

“No one is making you go.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you at least a little curious about Bobby?” You slowed to a stop. Alphonso smiled, seeming to sense his victory in winning you over. “I mean, come on. No one knows anything about that guy. He just keeps to himself and washes dishes. He said that if we go and bet on this guy named ‘Khan,’ then we’d make a lot of money.”

“I don’t even think his real name is Bobby…or Romeo,” you muttered to yourself, finger pressed to your lip as you looked away in thought.

“Soooo…” Alphonso looked at you hopefully. A few moments passed before you rolled your eyes and relented. “Yeah, baby! Come on, we’ll take Nicki!”

“Your scooter?”

“Hey, now. Nicki is not a scooter. She’s a classy rickshaw,” he huffed before smiling. “Let’s go before we’re late to the show.”

“Show?!”

[allwormdiet]

Sentinel 9.1

Weld's lucky he's endearing, bc oh my god the ways he manages to step in it this arc

Bro, the city has been kaiju'd to hell, everyone who could use the airports to get out has gotten out, no money is gonna be made any time soon so business isn't happening, and nobody is dumb enough to come to Brockton Bay for pleasure right now. No shit the airport is empty. I'm more surprised that you're surprised by that.

Hey Piggot, sorry your job has gotten like a million times more stressful, hope you're hanging in there

Is robbing part of an airport profitable? That doesn't sound right but I don't know enough about airports or robbery to dispute it.

Also it's interesting to see economics and class inequality come up again, especially in the context of disaster response and response to disasters. The gap between rich and poor only gets wider in times of crisis, and the gap was already pretty fucking wide.

So, finally the PRT power classifications get laid out, having been introduced in Interlude 6 and mentioned again in 8.7. And it's mentioned explicitly as something that was used to sort out villains before eventually getting applied to heroes as well. Presumably an effort to know how to respond in case a hero goes off the rails, or maybe just trying to find more justifications to use the system. Dunno. Don't think it matters a ton in the grand scheme of things, trying to shove every power into a neat labeled box seems unproductive after a certain point.

Also yeah "Brute" is a bit of an unfortunate choice, with the additional yikes factor that they were specifically using it to describe villains at first. Like oh, don't worry about dishing out the punishment, it's a Brute after all.

I think Armsmaster would sooner chew off his other arm than retire, so there's definitely a story there

Also yeah Flechette locked in, as expected

This is the only real thing I can ding Piggot's standing for, I don't think it's hard to tell that a friendly rivalry would mean nothing in this context, so the fact that she's coming down on it for even existing feels like an overreaction. Then again, she's trying to bail out a battleship with a bucket, being humorless is hardly the worst offense in a time like this

"They weren't strictly homeless because they were squatting in abandoned commercial and industrial buildings" is certainly a perspective. When they talk about the intentions of Leviathan, it almost makes me wonder if the Docks were targeted to exacerbate things, get more people pissed and hurting and desperate. Between this, being able to target cities based off of social instability and potential media coverage, and possibly trying to eat or free Noelle, that's a lot of different factors possibly urging this attack and its behavior during said attack, and it might just be all of them at once. That's fucking freaky.

Also I think there was a mild slip-up here, calling Moist a Shifter instead of, I'm assuming, a Changer.

Shaper instead of Changer again

Interesting that Hookwolf is the head of the second Empire successor group, wonder if Krieg just didn't have the drive for leadership or got killed after the Endbringer stuff (thus not showing up on the memorial). Also mildly surprised that he's got the biggest number of parahumans.

The fact that the Pure have been rejected "for the time being" raises my hackles though, I've gotta be real. If the Protectorate/PRT actually stoop low enough to cooperate with fucking Nazis I'm gonna start feeling a lot less charitable

So three Masters is Skitter, Bitch, and Regent. I would guess that Skitter is the one they're concerned about, knowing Shadow Stalker's face, and that the other two would be who they consider possible sociopaths.

"Faultline's Crew" is a terrible name honestly. Coil and Faultline both just suck at naming teams...

Also 12 is the highest number we see here, which I guess means Labyrinth is on paper the most busted cape in the city. Good for her.

That's gotta fucking suck, never having a moment away from prying eyes whenever you're in public. How much of this is Weld being a champ and how much of this is Weld being resigned to this being his life?

That. Is rough.

So, that's something interesting. There's an interesting dichotomy between how parahumans can utterly wipe the floor against regular human combatants, even facing 25-to-1 odds with no purely defensive abilities (Grue's darkness can't stop a lucky hit) and coming out of it totally clean, and now there's this concern. We know that the early independent heroes got their shit rocked, Vikare got killed by a blow to the head during a sports riot of all things, so is there an upper limit on how many humans a parahuman can face at once? Does it hinge on how many parahumans are working together to face the threat, like could Grue only take on ten guys on his own if Skitter and Gregor and Spitfire hadn't been there to watch his back?

I'm probably overthinking this, but Piggot apparently considers it worth worrying about, so I won't dismiss the topic out of hand. Parahumans seem to end up above, below, or otherwise apart from the rest of humanity, and that separation could prove troublesome.

Gotta be strange to have your boss act like your dad, but needs must when you don't even remember who you are.

Also yeah fingers crossed Piggot holds to principles here, she doesn't seem the type but I've been disappointed before

Jesus Christ that's a really long-term plan. They've been at this since what, the late 80s?

Also interesting that the terminology uses is stated in-universe to be dated

So what's the "core" Protectorate team in this context? Is that at or above the standing that Armsmaster had before he derailed his own career? Are we talking Triumvirate level, or is there a middle ground I'm not aware of?

I also really really want to know what the meme was involving Weld, that's such a specific thing to have happen

I'm shocked that this would be considered frivolous. That's the kind of opportunity you'd normally seize with both hands, the idea of waving it off seems bizarre. Do they need the Wards too much to fight homicidal supervillains and disarm megaton bombs to let them *checks notes* get more kinds of training in? That feels shortsighted.

Then again a lot of things in Brockton Bay seem shortsighted. The greatest threat against Coil's grand scheme is his own impulsiveness (although easy money says that Taylor will become his biggest problem down the line), the Empire for some reason bothered with petty street crime and protection rackets while being run by, really cannot overstate this, the CEO of a pharmaceutical corporation that was doing well enough to have an entire skyscraper, and Lung put in like 1% of the effort he could've given to running the city. Maybe nobody is coming up with five-year plans because nobody is confident they'll live another five years, or maybe it's something in the water supply.

This is funny but it's so fucking rude, oh my God

Oh Weld, Weld no, do not think about Shadow Stalker like that, she'd corrode your dick off your body with her personality.

Oh, Weld. You have put your foot in your mouth already.

This story takes a pretty dim view of humanity, honestly. Poisoning an entire apartment block with chlorine gas just so you can loot it and take over feels extreme; I'm not gonna say it could or would never happen, unfortunately people are just as capable of evil as they are of good and there's not really a limit to how far either of those things can go, but for me at least it's somewhat curious that we don't hear more about any altruists in the city outside of the Protectorate; there would have to be good Samaritans somewhere in the mix, and not even most of them would've already been stabbed or beaten to death by opportunists.

Maybe that's just the perspective the Wards are giving us, but call me crazy, I don't think Taylor is going to be any more optimistic about how things are going.

Also, Clockblocker is jumping down Weld's throat here, but he's not strictly wrong. He's coming into this fresh-faced, having not dealt with any of the aftermath of Leviathan. The strain being put on these kids is intense, not least with the losses that the Protectorate suffered and the teammates they're still grieving. Fifteen hour patrols, Jesus Christ.

Bro got owned by a thirteen-year-old.

How did he not get briefed on the dead Wards? How did he not already look them up for himself? Someone, I think multiple someones, dropped the ball there. I'm also surprised that Weld even asked the question instead of just drawing his own conclusions or looking into it when nobody could catch him being a fool.

Current Thoughts

I do not envy Weld for the situation he's being thrown into. Whatever happens in Boston is clearly a different kind of ballgame from what they're doing here in Brockton Bay, and he has not been read into it yet.

I don't envy any of the Wards, this might be the most thankless position anyone in the city might be stuck with, and none of them are even old enough to buy cigarettes or vote, but they have to fend off looters and wade through waters tainted with death and ruin for hours at a time.

How many rights do you sign away taking this job, getting your ass put on the line like this when not even the military takes kids this young into combat? I think Skitter was right, this whole arrangement blows chunks

[darkenamour]

Platonic Daddy! Yandere! Wilson Fisk x Little! Willing! Reader x Reluctant! Platonic Mommy! Vanessa Fisk

This was messily written. I wrote as it came to me. I will edit this.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Gun Violence, Violence, Human Trafficking, Yandere Behavior, Forced Relationships, Forced Breastfeeding.

KingPin (DareDevil series/comics) inspired.

Summary: You started working in a shady restaurant and met a scary regular. Somehow you ended up kidnapped and with a new set of "parents"

You were just a waiter at a restaurant, nobody really. All you did was wait tables all day at some restaurant that never had a full house since you've worked there. One man was a regular, he would come in four times a week for dinner. He wasn't the only regular, but he was the most memorable regular. With his enormous height, heavyset body, complete bald head, stark white suit, and bright blue eyes, he was utterly noticeable.

The only other waiter, the first time he came, was intimidated by his physique so you had to be the one to take his order. The man looked so tired, as if he just woken up, and it compelled you to give him a cup of coffee on the house. He ordered two different plates and a fountain drink, of which he had three refills. You waited on him like any other person, cracked a few jokes, and wished him a good day. Before he left, his plates and cup empty, he personally gave you a tip and thanked you for the coffee. The tip was a fifty dollar bill.

It wasn't completely unknown to you that more unsavory people would come into the restaurant. Ranging from small-time thugs to ring leaders of criminal organizations. It was a blessing and a curse for the restaurant and its employees. Everyone actually paid for their meals, some would leave big tips like the man, and it kept the business going. There would be times someone would get too much and create a ruckus, once there was a shoot out once, which you thankfully didn't witness. Because of the danger you were able to easily get a job, a job you desperately needed.

Ever since you graduated, you haven't been able to land a job due to inexperience. As the years went by you were desperate to find a way to no longer be a burden on your family. So you decided to walk around the more dangerous parts of the city and found a help wanted sign in the window. Your coworkers were great, the chefs were friendly enough, and your boss, the owner, gave you a decent wage. It was truly a blessing even if the environment was dangerous.

It had been six months of working, two months of knowing your memorable regular ("Call me Wilson."), when you witnessed your first shooting. A customer was complaining about their food, a street thug, and gave your coworker a hard time. Your regular, the large man, was just about to tell you his order when a shot rang out. The thug had just shot your coworker, your friend, and your fight or flight response came in. You were in fight mode.

Grabbing the first empty chair in arms reach, you slammed the chair on the back of the fleeing thug's head. They went down hard, dropping their gun, and cursing you. Their two friends got out their own guns and pointed at you, before they could shoot, a large shadow towered over you.

"Now, that's no way to treat a lovely lady." Wilson, your regular, said in a gravelly voice. The others paled and lowered their guns.

"Lovely lady my ass, she busted my skull open." The thug on the ground shouted, still turning around holding his head. "I'm gonna fucking kill the bitch." As he turned around and saw Wilson, he also paled. "Mr. Fisk, sir, I didn't see you there." He stammered.

Your friend groaned, holding their side, you dropped the chair and went to their side. It looked like they were shot in the leg, you took off your apron and put pressure on the wound.

"Look, I didn't know you came to this joint." The thug continued to stammer. Ambulance and police sirens could be heard outside. "Listen, I'll never come back to this place, I promise."

"That's a promise you can keep behind bars." You heard the guy scramble, a loud wet crunch, and a scream. You looked up to see Wilson stepping the thug's hand, that was reaching for his gun. His friends ran out in a panic, the police came in to take the thug and question everyone. Your friend was taken to the hospital.

When your family heard what happened, they begged you to quit, find another job. You compromised with them, sending your resume to different job openings, only quitting when somewhere else hires you. Wilson still stayed a regular, still giving you large tips, and your coworker came back a month later. Everything went back to normal, but you never received a call back from the places you applied.

When it was your anniversary of working at the restaurant, your coworkers set up a small party after closing. It was dark when everyone started to go home. As you approached your car someone behind you covered your face with a cloth and your world went dark.

Voices shouted around you as you woke up.

"I'm just saying this is a bad idea."

"Please, that Chinese bitch asked for girls, she didn't say from where."

"But, the Kingpin's rules."

"I don't give a shit about his rules. He broke my fucking hand and almost sent me to prison. All over some fat bitch in a shitty joint."

You noticed you were tied up and your mouth was taped shut. You were in the back of a van with two other girls in the same position. One girl started to panic and screamed behind her closed mouth.

"Shut them the fuck up." You look up and notice the thug that shot your coworker and his friends.

The one sitting in the back took out a needle syringe and injected the screaming girl with it. After a while the girl went limp.

"Shot them all up, we're almost there and I don't want any of them struggling." After a sharp pinch the world was no more.

The next time you woke up, you were naked and in a room with other girls. They were either naked like you, or wore plain lingerie that barely covered anything. After a while someone threw a bag filled with plain lingerie, and you noticed you, and other bigger girls, were the only one left without clothes. Later water bottles were thrown in, only enough for half of the girls. Some girls were selfish and hogged a whole bottle, others shared. What felt like a whole day, a few buffer men came in and took a few girls by force. The next day more men came in to take more girls. It kept repeating, after the fifth time you and the other bigger girls got lingerie. More girls were brought in.

After what felt like two weeks, you were nibbling on some stale bread when they took all the bigger girls. You were terrified, wondering what will happen to you. You and girls were lined up in front of a group of people, a girl squeezed your hand and you squeezed back. When you looked around, you were surprised to see Wilson in the group. He also seemed surprised when his eyes landed on you.

"As you can see Mr. Fisk, we in fact respect your wishes." An Asian man in front of an elderly woman said. She was sitting in a chair and said something in her native tongue. "I always make sure to leave your territory alone, never picking from your fields."

"Is that so?" Wilson said. He stepped forward and took out his hand. "Come here, y/n." He called out. You clutched onto the other girl. "It's all right, sweetheart, I'm here to take you home."

The old woman shouted. "I'm sorry, but I think you're mistaking the merchandise for someone else." The man then tried soothing the old woman in their native tongue.

You felt your eyes water at being called merchandise, you were a human, not a thing. Wilson called out your name again. You let go of the girl. He said he would take you home and you wanted to go home.

When you reached him, you threw your arms around his middle and cried into his chest. He patted your head and rubbed your back. "It's alright, it's alright. Now tell me, who brought you here?"

"The guy that shot my friend and his friends." You said between sobs.

"My poor little sunshine, you must have been so scared." He kissed the top of your hair. "Don't worry, everything will be alright now." He used his strength to leave you in his arms. You buried your face in his shoulder, clutching the front of his suit. "You broke our deal."

The woman shouted. "We had no idea she was one of yours. Whoever brought her to us is at fault." The man translated.

"Whoever brought her here was under your orders. " He started to walk away. "I expect compensation for the kidnapping of my daughter." There was a sharp inhale. Daughter, why did he call you his daughter?

He brought you to his limo and settled you in his lap, covering you with his jacket. "It's alright, princess. Once we get home you'll have a nice bath, a warm meal, and I'll tuck you in bed. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Your body felt numb, but nodded. Finally getting clean, real food, and a bed sounded like a dream. You pressed close to him to get warm.

When he carried you out of the limo, you didn't recognize your surroundings. He took you to what looked like a luxury apartment complex. Taking the elevator, he pressed the top floor button. It looked like his private condo took up the whole floor.

He finally sat you down in a chair in the bathroom. He filled the overly large tub with warm water and bubbles. When the tub was full you expected him to leave, but instead he started to take off the lingerie you wore. You shrieked and scooted away from him.

"It's alright, sweetie. I know you're scared, but you should let daddy take care of you." He said.

"I can wash myself." You stammered back.

"I know you're my big girl, but daddy hasn't seen you in days." He grabbed your arm, preventing you from moving away. Taking off the last bit of article that covered you, he picked you up and placed you in the tub. Grabbing a washcloth he started to scrub your body. You jumped at that.

"Please, I can wash myself." You cried.

"No, no," he shook his head, "I said I was going to take care of you. Daddy will make everything better and you'll get to see your friends tomorrow. Doesn't that sound fun?"

It scared you, having a large man handle you. You had no idea why he kept calling himself "daddy", or why he was insistent on treating you like a child. He was just a regular at the restaurant you work at. You decided to comply. If a man could easily carry someone like you around, who knows what else he could do.

When he finished giving you a bath he picked you up from the tub, wrapped in a large towel, and carried you to a bedroom. He placed you on a bed and dressed you in childish looking underwear and soft pajamas with your favorite childhood characters. Not only was it embarrassing, but it had you questioning why the man had such clothing in your exact size. He picked you back up and sat you at a dining table.

"You sit there while daddy gets you your favorite soup." When he left for the kitchen, you debated on whether or not to try to leave. You decided against it, you had no clue where you were and he did say you were going to see your friends tomorrow. Maybe he wasn't that bad of a man, maybe this was his strange way comforting you.

As promised, he came back with a bowl of your favorite soup and a juice box. Before you could grab the spoon yourself, he lifted the spoon to your face. "Open wide." He looked at you expectantly.

"I can feed myself." You stuttered, feeling your cheeks blush. You looked at the ground embarrassed at the situation even more.

He placed a hand on your chin, forcing you to look at him. Looking up, you felt smaller than you ever had, especially with his large stature. "Just let daddy spoil you, ok?" Once again, you wordlessly nodded, afraid of what might happen if you said no.

He fed you like a baby, wiping your face after each spoonful, and occasionally held up the juice box for you to drink from. When the bowl was completely empty, he picked you up again. "It's time for bed."

He took you to the same bedroom as before. You finally looked around and saw what looked like a child's bedroom. Your favorite color painted the walls, shelves filled with children's books, a desk covered in coloring books and crayons, a toy box, childish furniture, and a bed with sheets covered in your favorite childhood characters. It made you bewildered why the man had such a room in the first place.

As he tucked you in bed, he gave your forehead a kiss. "Sleep tight my little princess. Daddy has to take care of business, but if you need anything the nanny will be just outside, ok?"

"Ok." You said automatically.Nanny? So he's keeping a guard on you? There goes your ability to escape and go back home to your family.

Finally laying on a soft bed after days of barely sleeping on the floor, you eventually feel asleep. By morning Wilson was waking you up. He took you to the bathroom to do your business, without leaving, and gave you a brightly colored toothbrush. Today's saving grace was that he allowed you to walk, but held onto your hand. He still changed your clothes, putting on something that you would normally wear. You ate breakfast without help and he took you to work via a chauffeur.

Before you could jump out of the car, Wilson asked for a kiss. So close to freedom, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. He finally let you go after he gave his own kiss and wished you a good day.

When you walked into the restaurant, you were ambushed by your coworkers once they saw you. Apparently Wilson told them he would bring you back, but they didn't believe it. The owner asked if you actually wanted to work today. You told them that you wanted to go home, since you hadn't seen your family yet. They took you home.

Your family was overwhelmed when they saw you, you all cried. They called the police to inform them you returned and they came to question you. You gave them the descriptions of the three men that took you and two people that were behind it. You didn't mention Wilson picking you up, only saying you managed to escape and run into someone who helped you.

After winding down, you had a celebratory lunch with your family for your safe return. No one went to work that day and held onto you tight. When it was a little past your working shift, a knock came from the door. When a knock came from the door, you were surprised to see Wilson at the door when a family member opened it. When he asked for you, your family was suspicious of him. You blurted out that he was the one that helped you, that made the family welcome him in open arms. They insisted he stay for dinner, to show their appreciation.

The women, and few of the men, were in the kitchen preparing traditional dishes for an army. Wilson sat with you on the couch, your family treated him like he was a part of the family. When he placed an arm over your shoulder, some of your family members gave a teasing glance. They were the ones insistenting you should have been married already. If only they knew he didn't see you as a lover, but as a daughter.

You couldn't help but cuddle into his side, enjoying the feeling of being small. You haven't felt small in years, you usually were the biggest person in the room. When dinner was ready, you began insisting that your favorite food was the best. You plated most of the food for Wilson, almost forgetting his strange nature from yesterday. When the day winded down, only your closest family members stayed over. Wilson left as well, you gave him a hug goodbye.

It took two days for you to return to work, you were grateful that you even still had a job. Wilson came in that day for lunch. When no one was looking, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. He seemed surprised by that. When he finished, he gave you your usual tip and a note that asked you to come home with him during the weekend.

You felt nervous and questioned your sanity for actually going to his place. He babies you the whole weekend, treating you like a toddler. You enjoyed cuddling with him on the couch while watching children's movies and shows, when he fed you, when he changed you, when he carried you around, and when he would call you nicknames. Your "nanny" was someone called Hildy, a no nonsense woman that treated you like a child without asking questions. It made you feel carefree, like you had nothing to worry about for about two and a half days.

It was a routine for about a year, your family thought you were dating, your coworkers never questioned Wilson's behavior towards you. You never once imagined that you would be in the situation you found yourself in. One morning, when Wilson left for "business," you groggily got out of bed to ask Hildy for a glass of water. A woman was in the living room with her, demanding where Wilson was. When she looked at you, with your bed hair, she assumed you were sleeping with him. You made a face at that. "Gross, he's my daddy." You told her. Later you were properly introduced to Vanessa.

Vanessa did not accept the type of relationship you had with her boyfriend. Well, not at first. After your third week, she saw everything that Wilson did with you. She was still hesitant, but you guess Wilson told her something because she started to join him for lunch at your workplace. You treated them like normal customers and she seemed nervous the whole time. The next weekend, Wilson had her feed you and read you a bedtime story. The next week he had her change your clothes and cuddle you while watching tv. Then it escalated to her bathing you. She tried to touch you in a sexual manner while bathing you, you screeched and cried like a child. Wilson was angry at her and kicked her out. You didn't see her for two weeks.

The next time you saw her, she apologized and promised to never do that again, you were weary of her. You clung to Wilson whenever she was around, hiding behind him, hiding behind daddy. He kept you safe. But he wanted Vanessa to be your mommy. When it seemed like you weren't getting used to her, something happened.

When you entered the condo after being picked up from work, you noticed Vanessa waiting on the couch. She was wearing a loose button up, and gestured you to her lap. Daddy didn't let you hide behind him, he picked you up and sat you on her lap. You started to cry, wondering what was happening. "She's just being fussy, aren't you princess?" Daddy cooed. "Our poor baby must be hungry. Don't you think so, honey?"

"Yes." Vanessa stammered.

"Well, aren't you going to feed her?" Vanessa started to clumsy unbutton her shirt. You wanted to panic, to pull away from her, but daddy kept you in place. Vanessa exposed one of her breasts.

"Here, eat." She tried to push her breast into your force. Daddy stopped her and scowled.

"Don't force it, let her latch naturally." He patted your head and adjusted you so your head was next to her breast. "Come on sweetheart, aren't you hungry?" He encouraged. "Has daddy ever let you astray?" No, daddy has never let anything, or anyone, hurt you.

Shyly, you latched onto her nipple, she gasped and daddy praised you. As you sucked, you tasted something sweet and warm. You sucked harder and more of the sweet nectar came rushing into your mouth. Vanessa was lactating! "That's a good girl, eating without a fuss." Daddy praised. "And mommy is being so good at feeding our precious baby."

You could hear Vanessa cry, but you didn't let it bother you. You were hungry and she was feeding you yummy milk. When her breast was empty, you whined for more. Daddy took out her other breast since Vanessa was still crying. You drank until you sucked her dry. Happily humming with a full stomach, you nuzzled into your new mommy. She gave you nice warm milk and daddy said she was mommy. Your weekends now included drinking milk from mommy, who cried from happiness at being able to feed her baby.

[chaosbarelycontained]

Don’t Think ‘Cause I’m Talking We’re Friends

North Country Boy Chapter 9

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB!OC

TW: Sex (in a flashback - they’re young but definitely old enough), passing mention of physical abuse.

Words: 3.3k

Synopsis: Ghost gets a little jealous and Soap manages to get Jules to divulge some history.

Ghost hunkered down on the roof of the safe house and peered out into the darkness, as alert as he could be for any signs of threat. There were pinpricks of light from the village further down the valley and a quiet hum of conversation from the house below but the night was peaceful. The rear door creaked open, drawing his attention, and a shadow cut through the warm yellow glow from the open doorway. He began to turn away from the distraction but a soft, cooing voice drew him back.

“Look at you, y‘andsome bastard,” Jules murmured, her voice thick with affection.

Trying to convince himself he didn’t have the slightest bit of interest in what Jules was doing and who she was talking to, Ghost sidled up to the low wall surrounding the roof and peered over. Her face was lit by the glow from a phone screen but he couldn’t see who was on the other end of the call.

“I’ve missed you, Mikey,” she cooed and that sent him over the edge, literally. Securing his rifle, he slipped over the wall and dropped to the ground, landing almost silently with only a faint huff of air to mark his exertion.

“No calls on deployment, Sergeant,” he said, his gravelled voice low with warning.

Jules startled and he had a brief flash of satisfaction at her look of panic, her hand halfway to her Glock before she realised who was there.

“‘M not on a call, Lieutenant,” she snarked, turning back to the screen in her hand.

“No point in lyin’, Princess, I ‘eard you.” He pushed, grinning slyly beneath his balaclava.

“If y’must know, I’m tryin’ t’keep our arses safer,” she said, a little distracted now as she tapped at the screen.

A small beep sounded and Jules bent to pick something up from the ground, which looked for all the world like a toy helicopter. She booped her nose against it affectionately with a small kissing sound and tucked her phone into one of her pockets.

“Ok Mikey, time t’work,” she hummed, petting the little helicopter once more before flicking the rotor into motion.

“Is that an ‘ornet?” Ghost asked, having had the benefit of their use on past missions but never having seen one up close.

“Yeah, best drone ever, aren’t y’Mikey? Gonna do such a good job f’me.”

“Mikey?” He wasn’t jealous of the way she spoke to the drone, not at all.

“Magic Mike. The most souped-up drone my SRR team could make.”

Ghost grunted and watched as Jules retrieved her phone, tapped the screen a few more times and activated the thermal imaging camera.

“We increased the battery life an’ the motor speed. We also programmed him to fly on autopilot as well as by manual control so I can set him off now an’ he’ll be back to us in a couple of hours. We can get realtime footage if we need to an’ any hostiles in that old fort won’t even know he’s been for a visit.”

Ghost didn’t say anything as he watched Jules set the co-ordinates and send the drone out on its recon mission. She stared out into the darkness for a moment, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth in that nervous gesture she’d never lost. Glancing down at her phone, she checked the video feed and, sensing his interest, tilted the screen so he could see it. The drone had already reached the edge of the village and he could see the glow from the dwellings and even each individual person inside.

“I’m gonna turn the live feed off now t’save battery but he’ll alert me when he’s in position an’ then we can ‘ave a look at what to expect.”

Ghost grunted his acknowledgment again, nodding his head in praise and admiration at her actions. She readied herself to return inside but stopped and tilted her head in his direction.

“Oh, an’ Lt?” She said, her voice dangerously sweet. “I’m not yer fuckin’ princess.”

He could have sworn she put an extra sway into her hips as she returned to the warmth of the house, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Dawn was just about breaking when Bravo team roused themselves from an unsettled night’s kip and readied themselves to ship out. The smell of coffee and crap ORP breakfast food permeated the air. Jules and Price sat in one corner, looking over the footage from the drone, which had appeared back at the house just an hour before. There were fewer hostiles than they’d expected and the heat thrown out by one particular room in the semi-abandoned fort indicated to Jules that that was where she needed to be.

“I’d put money on that bein’ a server,” she said to Price, who nodded his agreement, stroking one hand over his beard. “If I can get in there then we’ll get the intel we need.”

“Roger that. Ghost? You and Tiger are heading for this room,” Price called out as Ghost entered from the bathroom.

Jules looked up as Price addressed his lieutenant and her jaw dropped at the sight of him. He’d replaced his usual painted balaclava for the full-faced skull mask that he’d taken to wearing on missions; something that the team were used to, but not Jules.

“What the fuck is that, y’melodramatic shit?!” She gasped, completely forgetting herself. “Did they ‘ave a sale on at the fancy dress shop or summat?”

Soap nearly choked on his coffee and Gaz had to rescue him, slapping him on the back whilst trying to hold in his own laughter. Even Price barely managed to swallow down a snicker.

Ghost just stared at her, glaring daggers behind the sanctuary of his mask. It took longer than with most people but finally Jules gave in. Her eyes dropped sheepishly to the screen in her hands and a faint blush raced over her cheeks beneath the black, tiger-striped, camo paint she wore.

She refused to speak to him and barely even looked his way until they were geared up and ready to load into the vehicles. The sun hadn’t broken over the horizon yet but the sky had lightened just enough for their figures to be visible as Price directed them to the jeeps.

“Soap, you ride with Ghost and Kelsall; Gaz and Roach with me.”

Ghost immediately began to make his way round to the driver’s seat but was stopped by a hand on his chest and Jules stared up at him, her jaw set determinedly.

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” she gritted, shaking her head. “The last time I was in a car wi’ you, y’almost ‘ad us over the central reservation on Alan Turing Way. ‘M not chancin’ that again.”

Ghost snickered at the memory but let her take the driver’s seat, slipping into the passenger’s side before Soap could call shotgun. The Scot didn’t bother, he was too busy trying to connect dots as his eyes flicked between the two of them with a look of suspicion on his face.

They’d been travelling in their small convoy for only a few minutes before Soap popped his head up between the two front seats, his arms resting along the headrests as he asked the question both Jules and Ghost had been dreading.

“So tell me,” he grinned cheekily. “Jus’ how well d’you two know each other, eh?”

* * * * *

“I can’t believe y’nearly wiped us out back there. Rob’s gonna twat the fuck outta ya,” Jules exclaimed, barely able to breathe through her adrenaline-fuelled laughter.

“He dun’t need t’find out does he?” Simon replied with a wince and a smile but his laughter died in his throat the longer he looked at Jules. “‘M sorry Jules, really, I didn’t mean to, it were just-“

“Weren’t your fault, Si. That Corsa came outta nowhere,” she interrupted, stopping the spiral of blame that she knew could plague him. “No harm done an’ I won’t tell our Rob if you don’t.” She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling in the light from the kitchen window, chin tilted cheekily upwards as she scanned over his face. “Wouldn’t be the first secret we kept from him, would it?”

“Don’t know what yer talkin’ about,” he said lowly, his hand snaking around her waist as he walked her backwards until they stopped against the wall next to the back door.

He tried to blame adrenaline for the electricity that thrummed through his veins but the feel of her beneath his palm, the way she arched into his touch, called out his lie. Her arms curled around his neck drawing him down closer and he went eagerly, nudging her nose with his before ghosting his lips across hers.

“Tease,” she giggled quietly.

“Says you,” he murmured back, the cocky smirk on his face dissolving as his reached up to cup her face with one large hand.

Simon closed the gap between them, capturing her top lip with his and Jules melted into him the way she always did. The soft noises she made sent head spinning and he pulled her tighter against him, sinking his thigh between hers in an attempt to get even closer. They’d done this - played this game - so many times now that it was almost second nature.

He slipped his hand under her top, his thumb teasing across her pebbled nipple, and she moaned quietly, arching her back instinctively towards him. Their tongues tangled together, deepening their kiss, and Simon let his other hand trail down to the waistband of Jules’ jeans, tugging on the button to gain access to her wet heat. His brows drew down into a frown when she pushed him backwards a little but then his face brightened again in understanding when she unlocked the door and pushed down on the handle.

“Come on.” She smiled softly, lacing her fingers with his and pulling him towards the open door.

They toed off their shoes in the kitchen and, with a finger to her lips, she led him through the house and upstairs to her bedroom, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

“Your Mam?” He asked quietly, his eyes flicking concernedly towards the door.

“She’s already asleep,” Jules murmured with a smile, stepping up to him and drawing his face back to hers with a gentle finger on his jaw. “She’s on the 4am shift at the caff.”

Simon finally let his guard down and grinned back at Jules, bending his head to capture her lips once more. Jackets were shrugged off as Jules guided him towards the bed and they tumbled onto it, their actions clumsy with lust. Jules tangled her fingers in Simon’s dark blond hair, wrapping her leg around his to draw him closer, pushing up into him as he ground his hips against hers.

It was different this time, in her room, lying on the soft mattress in the warm. Their hook-ups were usually round the back of the shops or on the park; quick fumbles with hands under tops and barely a zipper down to aid in a speedy cover-up in case of discovery. More recently they’d taken advantage of the back seat of Simon’s H-reg Nova, trying to ignore dubious, dusty smells whilst their hands brought each other to a hurried climax.

Simon’s hand slid underneath Jules’ top once more and he hooked his fingers over the cup of her bra, tugging to free her breast, but she stopped him with a soft noise. He pulled away, a small frown creasing his brow, worried he might have overstepped, but she smiled gently at him and shuffled slightly. Moving back to give her space, Simon’s breath hitched when Jules worked her arms through the sleeves of her top and then pulled it over her head, tossing it away into a corner of her room.

A soft blush painted her cheeks as his eyes raked across her almost naked torso and he saw the slight question on her face when she tentatively reached out and pulled at the bottom of his t-shirt. He didn’t think he’d ever managed to take it off quicker than he did right then and it became a flash of navy blue as it joined Jules’ top on the floor.

His lips met hers again in a breathless rush, their tongues moving together as their hands stroked over newly exposed skin. Jules’ arms were around him, her fingers playing up and down his back, over the ridges of scars from years of his Dad’s belt. She already knew, of course she did; she’d been there for the aftermath of some of it. Every sweep of her hands over him sent waves of sensation rippling through his body and he ground against her again and again, wanting to hear more of the soft moans that spilled from her.

Jules lifted her shoulders from the bed just a little when one of Simon’s hands snaked around, unfastening her bra with familiar ease. It too joined the growing pile of discarded clothing and then Simon’s mouth was no longer on hers, instead trailing hot, wet, kisses across her chest and down to her bare breasts.

When his tongue laved around her peaked nipple Jules let out a throaty groan that sounded almost deafening in the silence of the house.

���Shhhh,” he admonished through a chuckle whispered against her lips and she smiled back at him.

“Your fault,” she murmured, her eyes twinkling devilishly in the light from the street lamp outside the window.

Small, soft kisses grew in intensity and the pair became lost in each other once more. Jules wound her hand down between their bodies and palmed Simon’s cock, which strained against the fabric of his underwear. He grunted at the feel of her hand, despite the barrier between them and bucked his hips a little harder. He worried for a second that he’d overstepped when her hand left him but when she began to shuffle a little he realised that she was sliding off her knickers his face flamed.

“Have y’got any, y’know…?” She muttered, suddenly seeming shy despite their lack of clothing.

“Yeah. I mean, you wanna…?” He asked, somewhat in awe.

“Yeah.” Jules nodded, her face as red as his felt. She pulled her bottom lip through her teeth and finally looked at him. “Only if you do though. We don’t ‘ave to, I jus’ thought…we’ve done loads an’ I just really…Jesus, way t’make things awkward, Kelsall,” she muttered, hiding her face with her hand.

Simon laughed softly, moving her hand away from her face to press a kiss against her forehead.

“It’s never been awkward wi’ you, Jules,” he murmured, kissing down her nose and across her cheeks until she was smiling again and he’d chased away every trace of her embarrassment.

Lifting himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, Simon shucked off his boxers and fumbled around in his jeans pocket, looking for the jonny he kept in his wallet. Rolling it onto his painfully hard cock, he turned back to Jules, who lay naked on top of her dark blue duvet, surrounded by suns, moons, and stars.

“Are y’proper sure, Si? She asked again and Simon rolled his eyes.

‘Y’know, I don’t think I’ll bother. I think I’ll just kneel ‘ere with mi dick in mi hand like a fuckin’ spanner.”

“OK, OK, I’ll shurrup then!” Jules laughed quietly.

“Probably fer the best,” Simon responded, crawling over her to pull her in for another kiss.

It was Jules who reached between them, grasping his cock around the base as she spread her thighs wider and lined him up with her entrance. He scanned her face, checking once more, before pushing forwards with his hips and sliding into her warmth. She gasped and he stilled immediately, his concern for her overriding his urge to continue.

“You OK, Princess?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m OK. It feels…good. Don’t stop, Si, please.”

Simon nodded, moving his hips again as he thrust gently into her but rapidly picking up the pace when she wound her legs around his hips and gripped him tightly. He buried his face in her neck, her soft noises music in his ears, urging him on. Conscious of the knot that was rapidly tightening in his belly, Simon slid one hand between them searching for that familiar spot between her legs. His long fingers found her clit and he circled it just the way he knew she loved, the way that usually had her squirming against him in the back seat. Her salacious groan almost sent him over the edge and, as she tightened around him, it only took a few more stuttering thrusts before a rush of pleasure overtook him and he came, buried to the hilt inside her.

Chest heaving, he continued to work her clit, kissing up the column of her throat and along her jaw until he felt her clench around his cock. The sound of his name spilling from her lips as her climax hit set his heart on fire. He held her as long as she needed, stroking his hand across her cheek and pressing kisses against her sweat-dampened skin.

Eventually Simon shuffled down the bed and disposed of the condom into the bin beside Jules’ desk. He fumbled around for his boxers, pulling them up over his thighs before he was stopped by tentative fingers on his forearm.

“What’re y’doin’, Si?” Jules asked, her voice a little quivery and unsure.

“Thought I should, y’know, ‘ead off. Make sure our Tommy’s alright,” he replied quietly, jerking his head towards the door.

“Y’can stay if y’want. I don’t mind.” She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, but he could see behind the mask she tried to wear.

“D’ya want me to?” He asked hopefully, turning to face her, and she threw the covers back with a smile.

“Jus’ get back in ‘ere, knob’ead,” she ordered, and so he did, wrapping her up in his arms.

* * * * *

Ghost said nothing, merely stared out of the window, surveying their surroundings with his grip tight on his rifle but his shoulders were tense and his breaths shallow. Jules swore under her breath at the way he ignored Soap’s probing. She glanced quickly back at the Sergeant before returning her gaze to the dim trail ahead. Sucking in a breath, she opened her mouth to speak and the tension in the front seat became almost palpable.

“I knew this lad once, Simon he were called. He were ma brother’s mate, lived on our street. Top lad, worked at the local butchers. Cocky little shit though. He had this fuckin’ cowlick on the back of his head, his hair never laid straight.” She huffed out a laugh that held a spectre of affection.

“Oh yeah? So wha’ happened?” Soap urged.

“He joined up, delusions of heroism probably.”

Ghost snorted, his hand reaching up to scrub subconsciously at the back of his helmet, as if he were trying to smooth down his hair.

“Decided he were gonna try out for the SAS. He got in, obviously. Came home for a bit on extended leave an’ then went back. No-one heard from him again. Assumed he’d jossed it.”

Jules shrugged, feigning nonchalance; as if the tale had no meaning to her, that the loss of a lad who’d “lived on her street” was of no consequence. She could feel those chestnut eyes boring into her and she’d never been more grateful for the balaclava that hid her broken expression. She kept her gaze fixed on the trail ahead, guiding the vehicle towards their location. Swallowing down the surge of emotion, she caught Soap’s eye in the rear-view and offered him a shrug. He responded with a friendly wink and Jules appreciated that more than any words he might have uttered. She tamped that part of herself back down into its vault and closed the door to the past. They had a job to do and no haunted memories would stop her from fulfilling her duty.

Taglist: @aykxz98 @spicyspicyliving

[amethystfairy1]

Amethyst… You can’t be doing this to me😭

No, but seriously, how am I supposed to get through finals while I have TT and TTSBC on the brain? That is to say, I absolutely adore your work! Reading it made me want to write again after… 6 years, I think. I’m debating participating in Beyond and I might just bite the bullet at this point.

Now let’s get down to business. You said you liked rambles, so I would like to offer my own thoughts.

First, for TT, does the hurricane have anything with a maybe missing siren/merman we haven’t heard of in a while?👀 I also remember you mentioning at some point that there might be a Xornoth appearance, so now my brain is full.

As for TTSBC, (I was debating for a while if I should even share this, but here goes nothing) I came up with a sub-species and was wondering what you would think.

I’m imagining there is a community of something called shadow mutants. They are like the second removed cousins of the voidwalkers. They are, first and foremost, living shadows. You know how when it’s dark and you can’t be sure if what you see (or more precisely, can’t see) is the darkness or just shadows? I’m basing them on that whole felling. A kind of mutant that is the boogieman of the under-city.

They are reclusive, much like blazeborns, they just do their own thing. They live in caves, mostly in the deep dark, making their homes out of the shadows and darkness. Their whole thing is that they can disappear in the shadows and live there their whole lives. When they are little, they have to learn to use glamor to maintain a “human” body, and even then, they have the shadows moving on their skin and pitch black eyes (I mean that the iris and the sclera are black).

They can take over shadows, be it that of an object or a person, but they have to be careful. When they take over a shadow, their “body” stretches or contracts to fill out the space and it can feel like breaking bones and tearing muscle. It takes a lot of glamor control to make it so that the mutant isn’t hurting in a situation like this.

They both worship and are afraid of lights, as light is the thing that creates shadows, but take the object away and the shadow effectively “dies”, so they have to think about when and what shadow to take over. The most powerful ones can even control the object or person in whose shadow they are.

If they chose to live between the folk in the under-city (a lot of them chose to never leave their shadows, never using their human body), they work odd jobs, but mainly as cave explorers and/or armed forces for some of the mobsters down there.

It’s a universal truth about them that in fight or flight situations, they hide. If they are felling threatened while in a shadow, they will either stay there and wait, or move over to another one, jumping from object to object to get away. If they are in their physical body, they will try to get to the closest corner and make themself as tiny as posibile if they don’t have shadows they can hide in. As a last resort, the shadows will peel of their skin and act as a distraction, moving on the walls or behind them, creating the illusion of something bigger.

So…

What do you think? I hope you enjoyed my rumbling and you take care of yourself.

Now I have to go back to finishing my project for todays presentation (I’m a procrastinator at heart, it’s my own fault, but I’m gonna get through it just so that I can post some of the works I have drafted).

I LOVE THE RAMBLING!!!

They sound so cool!? Shadow mutants? That's so spooky and awesome sounding! I love the concept of them moving between shadows and using glamor to materialize, that's such a fun dynamic!

Oooo does it have to do with a certain missing mer? Maybe, maybe, that's certainly a good catch there, not many people pointed it out because they were too busy worrying about Gem going after Scar's head 😆 Hope your presentation went well! Thank you thank you for sharing your subspecies idea, I loved it!!! 💖

[applbottmjeens]

WEST COAST YOUTH

tags: toxic and jealous phillip graves as usual, MW2!Era, Peak Gremlin Anna, This mf is sexist and kind of a douche, hates this girl but also wants 2 smooch her so bad just date a man tbh, Phillip Marshall Graves you're too old to be acting like this, Anna has 0 self preservation skills, This man does not treat her good

summary: The beginning of something addicting- Phillip doesn't want Anna talking to other men and deals with it like a man. (The worst way.)

Goddamn Californian girls.

West coast, liberal, chatty, young things. Usually hated their guts, but goddamn this one was just persistent.

Being annoying was her love language. And like a child or a nest of wasps, the more you reacted, the more she acted up. Somehow, against all odds, she made this into a charming trait.

She's a pretty girl in a job full of men. He hates how hyper aware of it he is now. Of how many other guys she spends her time with other than him.

He wasn't special was he? This was how she was with every guy..Right?

She calls Ghost, “Spooky” and punches his arm as thanks. She randomly sings club songs with Soap and asks him for piggyback rides. She pesters her Captain with questions over call like she pesters him. And for a girl who claims to hate this Sergeant Garrick, they sure do text a lot.

He wished she chose to stay in the Shadow Company. He could watch over her more then- keep a closer eye. Have the authority to tell these other goons to stay away from her.

But when Laswell called- she couldn't say no. She “owed her too much” she said.

They weren’t anything. Not officially. There was no labels, nothing telling them that they couldn’t fuck other people or anything. But dang it- if he didn't hate it when she gave another man those fuck me eyes. When they were together, they belonged to each other. What happened when they were apart for work was none of the others business. That was the rule.

She didn't seem to mind. Free spirited, California girl like her was just someone to occupy his time, right?

This wasn't love. He was too old for shit like that. He had his chance and blew it in a bitter, bitter divorce and his firstborn son being raised by some Governor chump. He didn't love her. And while he was certain she was pretty head over heels for him, she wasn't pushing for much.

He didn't think too much of it till he saw how much she and MacTavish got along. Messing up eachother's hair. Constantly talking to one another-

It's driving him nuts. Seeing how she laughs at his jokes as if the man she actually wants to be around isn't right there.

She walks into the room after talking to Soap, and smiles when she sees Phillip pouring himself some coffee.

"You two sure talk alot." He mentions.

"Same MOS kinda. We talk all the time." She answers, leaning on the counter by him, arms crossed.

Phillip can't take it. He bites the bullet and asks her directly. “Is there anything going on between you and MacTavish?”

Anna makes a face and snorts. “...Ew. No. Also if there was, it wouldn't be any of your business-”

“Annie.”

“Stop calling me that. I'm not a child.” She sneered. She never got around to that nickname. But he's not kidding around.

"Then stop actin' like one and listen t'me." He says firmly. He puts his coffee mug down and moves towards the smaller woman, forcing her to turn and face him.

“I don't. Want you. Flirting with other men. You understand?” Graves’ grip on her arms tightened. “...Just me.”

Anna doesn't speak for a moment. “You askin' me for a commitment?” She blinks in disbelief.

“I'm asking you not to make a fool outta me.”

She scoffs and shakes her head.“...I'm not gonna roll my stops for a guy who ain't even my man. Don't play with me, Phillip.”

She rolls her eyes like the goddamn brat she is. Does he really have to spell it out for her?

Phillip speaks low, his hands moving to her waist. “Well I am your man.”

“Wait-”

“We're together now.” He states firmly. Her usually mischievous eyes are wide and surprised. Gosh, that was cute. He'd caught her off guard.

“Wait-...Don't I get a say in this?” He cuts her off with a kiss. She melts into his arms, breathless when he finally pulls away, eyes blinking in dizzy disbelief.

“...Any more stupid questions?”

Her cheeks are still flushed. “...N-no?...I think?”

He loved shutting her up. And now he had her all to himself, and nobody could take that from him.

Well except maybe HR. But he had his way around that too.

He was keeping her. Consequences be damned...

[mothpendragon]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SONIC MOVIE 3 (if you haven’t seen it yet look away now)

Here are my thoughts on the movie:

Okay so that opening was PERFECTION!! I absolutely love how they immediately hit us with the Maria flashbacks, this film didn’t pull any punches with Shadow and Maria’s relationship (and especially the tragedy)

Tom and Sonic visiting the old cave melted my heart. I’m very glad they mentioned Sonic loosing Longclaw again, I was slightly worried they weren’t going to fully address it. I especially love how they re-address it later in the film to help Sonic connect with Shadow, because both of them have experienced loss.

I completely lost my mind when Sonic said “Talk about a low budget flight, no food or movies! We’re outta here!!” I wasn’t expecting that line to be included but HOLY SHIT HE SAID THE THING!!! I swear I almost did the Leonardo DiCaprio pointing at the screen meme in the cinema 🫵

I wasn’t expecting to see Shadow watch telenovelas, but here we are

FUCKING CALLED IT!!! Tom got hurt by Shadow!! That entire scene of Sonic shaking Tom’s unconscious body, and Shadow having flashbacks to Maria’s death, I loved it!! It was an especially great way to show Shadow beginning to realize that what he’s doing is wrong, that the path of vengeance only leads to more pain.

SPEAKING OF PAIN—

I almost cried when they showed Shadow and Maria together. It made my heart hurt so much, they really did a good job hitting all of us in the feels and laying it on thick with the tragedy. They were so happy together! Seeing Shadow smiling, dancing, just having fun with Maria, only to have it all taken away…

I’m not sure how I feel yet about the changes they made to the backstory. I definitely think they fit for the movie universe, but some of it caught me off guard. Shadow being an alien instead of man-made, and erasing Maria’s illness. Idk, I think it makes sense for this universe but I’m unsure if I completely like the changes or not :/ (they’re definitely not bad, just different)

Okay but that scene of Shadow and Sonic on the moon just talking it out, connecting, sharing their pain, it was all perfect. Sonic bringing up the fact that he lost Longclaw, him admitting that the pain never goes away, but holding onto pain isn’t the answer, you need to hold onto the happiness you did have. When Shadow said that line “Even when the star is gone, the light still shines” or something along those lines genuinely made me shed a tear…

LIVE AND LEARN!!! (I almost screamed when they started playing that)

Also, as a major Sonadow shipper….can I just say that the sequence of Super Shadow and Super Sonic working together was super fucking gay. I’m sorry, but it’s true (they’re boyfriends your honor) ❤️💙

(I kinda think Shadow is still alive, but I’m not sure. He survived Maria getting blown up, so idk if that means he’s explosion proof but maybe 🤔)

Oh yeah also….WTF HAPPENED TO THE MASTER EMERALD?! After Sonic and Shadow finish using it we never see the chaos emeralds again! Did they fall to earth?! Did the ones Shadow use get blown up?! I imagine not. We never see Knuckles say anything, nor any of the characters for that matter. Maybe that’s a problem for the next film *shrugs*

Yes, they’re making Sonic 4. I wasn’t entirely expecting them to give us two characters instead of one like they did for the last two movies. I had honestly placed my bets on Amy being revealed and lo and behold, I was right!!(ngl I knew Silver was a long shot but I can dream). Metal Sonic as well is pretty exciting! No clue who would’ve built him since it seems Robotnik/Eggman is DEAD dead fr this time. Maybe Stone? I’m not sure tho. The fact that there were multiple Metal Sonic’s has me thinking the big bad of Sonic 4 is gonna use an army of them, which is very cool!

I just…..this movie is everything I wanted and more. It was genuinely worth the wait. I think that’s all I wanted to say in this post so uh…bye! 👋

Edit: I just found out there was a second post credits scene and I missed seeing it 💀

Uhhhhhhhhh yeah so that’s what I get for not watching all the credits. Make sure to stick around until it’s well and truly over. Should I just like look it up or…..?

Edit 2: I just googled the after credits scene and watched it. Yippee!! Shadow is alive! (Figured that was the case but wasn’t expecting them to confirm it)

[littlexscarletxwitch]

hi is it okay if i make a request for florence? i was wondering if you could do one where it’s flo’s first time seeing reader and trying to get to know them. maybe reader works on set of a new movie she’s in and caught flos eyes and she does everything to try and get their attention to talk to them, however it ends is up to you, thank you :)

── ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗵𝗶𝗻𝘁

paring: florence pugh x gn!reader

tag(s): fluff, oblivious kinda trope (?), r being clueless

warning(s): grammatical errors, unedited, not proofread

word count: 1.4k

note: I actually have no idea what a makeup artist does on a set, so just go with it. While writing this a had a female reader in mind, but I'm pretty sure it works as a gn reader as well. I'm so sorry this took so long, anon. I really hope you like it and that is, somehow, what you wanted. I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Hope you enjoy! <3

requests are open! + check my rules here <3

As soon as you walked into the makeup trailer, Florence’s eyes immediately found your frame.

And all she could do was stare at you, admiring your beauty, watching over every movement of yours. She just couldn't take her eyes off of you, it was as if now you were the only person in the world. She could tell you were new to this environment, her working place. She could tell you were nervous, looking down at your feet, as if you were afraid to face her or do the wrong thing. 

“Hello, there,” she said, trying to get your attention. 

“Oh, hi. Um, have you been here for a long time?” you finally looked up to her.

Truth was she had been waiting for about half an hour, but once she took a look at you and saw your puppy eyes, she couldn’t just say that to you, afraid you would break down in front of her. 

“No, I just got here. I’m Florence,” she gave you her hand to shake. 

Accepting her hand, you said, “Y/n, the new makeup artist, but I think you already figured that out.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/n,” Florence liked the sound of your name falling out of her lips. 

“You too.” 

“Hey, by any chance are you the same Y/n that does Hailee’s makeup?”

“Yep, that’s me,” you gave her a shy smile, the fact that she knew you made your cheeks go red. Which Florence noticed and chuckled at your reaction. 

“Oh, great. Then I trust I’m in good hands.”

“I really hope so, or else I’m gonna get fired,” you joked, earning a genuine laugh from her. “Um, should we get started?” you asked once her laugh died down. 

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Florence sat on one of the chairs in front of the mirror and let you do her job. This was supposed to be a makeup test, she wasn’t sure if that was what it was actually called but it was the name she gave it. After all, they would test different shades of foundations, shadows, blushes and find the right one for her skin tone that also had to match her character's personality. 

Ten minutes in, she couldn’t take the silence anymore. Sure there was background music playing, a playlist you put on before getting started. She could hear the faint voice of Harry Styles. But she didn’t want to hear his voice, she wanted to hear yours. All of you intrigued her in ways no one ever had. She could tell you were shy, otherwise you would have started talking right away, so she had to take matters into her own hands. 

“So, um, why did you become a makeup artist?” That was the most stupid question she could ever ask you, but her brain was working properly at the moment, although she didn’t understand why. 

“Well, um, it was just a hobby at first. A way to get my mind off of things. But then because of a friend, somehow, I got to do Gracie Abram’s makeup for a red carpet and then I just kinda took off. Ever since then I worked with lots of different people,” you now softly applied eyeshadow to her other eye. “And then after I got to do Haillee’s makeup, she recommended me for this job, and here I am,” you noticed Florence’s eyes were looking right at yours. 

A lump formed in your throat once you realised how close you were to her. You always had to get this close to the other person while doing your job, but something about being this close to Florence felt different, almost intimate, even though the two of you had just met.

“Sorry, I said too much.”

“No, no, don’t apologise. So this is your first time working on a set, right?”

“Yes, it is,” you squint your eyes trying to find a matching foundation to her skin tone. 

“How are you liking it?” she gave you a grin, which, again, caused heat to rise to your cheeks. 

“So far so good,” you shrugged, mirroring her smile. 

[...]

It’d been a week since Florence first talked to you. The two of you became quite a pair, always being around each other. Whether it was you watching Florence do some scenes, hanging out in her trailer, grabbing lunch together, or just messing around in between scenes. 

She soon realised you were constantly on her mind. So much so, that some nights, when she face timed her little sister, she would bring you into their conversation and mumbled nonstop about you. That was when her little sister made her realise how much she actually liked you, and not just in a friendly way. It was way more than that. It was something deeper, something that made her chest warm and her stomach burn just by the thought of you.

But Florence wasn't sure if you saw her the same way. So she decided to leave subtle hints for you to pick up and figure out. She started bringing you coffee every morning, always making sure it was your coffee order; sometimes she would take you out for lunch, sometimes even dinner, trying to, subtly, imply it was actually a date but always was so afraid to admit to you. She started to text you on a daily basis, especially when she wasn’t needed on set, but she knew you were probably there. So she would text you, sometimes even call you, to know how you were doing. 

But nothing was working. You were clueless about her feelings for you. And the shooting was soon to be over, she wouldn't have that as an excuse to be constantly around you. Sure, the two of you developed a friendship, you two would probably keep in touch and stay friends, but that wasn’t what Florence wanted. It wasn't even close to what she actually wanted. 

So she had no other choice but to confess her feelings to you. If things went wrong then she probably wouldn’t have to see your stupid cute face everyday, given that the shooting will be over in two days. But if things went right, well she could only imagine what that would be like. 

So she patiently waited for the last day of shooting, still sending hints your way but it was pointless since you couldn’t pick up on them. And by the time everyones started heading to their homes, she quickly headed to your trailer. She knew you would still be there since you always were one of the last ones to leave the set. 

“Hey, you,” she said walking in your trailer.

“Hey, I thought you had already left,” you were packing your belongings. 

“Without saying goodbye, no way,” you chucked at her words. “I, um,” she cleared her throat. “I have something to tell you actually.”

She noticed her hands were starting to get a bit sweaty, her heart beating fast and felt the temperature in the room increase. 

“I’m all ears,” you were now facing her, making sure she knew she had all your attention. 

“I, um, you know what. I’m just going to spit it out: I really like you, Y/n. I’ve liked you after our first week working together. And I’ve been trying to tell you, but you didn’t seem to pick up on it. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, I just had to shoot my shot. So that was it, I guess. I shot it,” she took your silence as a negative so she slowly turned around and made her way back to the door.

“Flo!” you stopped her from walking away. “Hey, where are you going? Don’t I get a say in this?” you made your way towards her, placing your hands on her shoulders. You could feel she tensed under your touch, but a second later just gave in and relaxed. 

“I just thought–” but your lips got her off her words. 

She was taken aback for a second, not sure if that was actually happening or it was just something she imagined. But once she placed her hands on your cheeks, she knew it was all real. You were there, your lips against hers. Biting, licking, sucking. A smile formed on her lips once you two pulled apart and you rested your forehead against hers. The two of you were breathing heavily. 

“So, everytime we went out, it was actually a date?” realisation hitting you.

“Yeah,” she pecked your lips. “You just couldn't take a hint, could you?”

“Well, better late than never,” you smiled at her, and soon kissed her lips once again.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

[munsonsduchess]

Nothing but a Good Time

summary: your coworker has called out sick and needs you to cover her interview on your day off

w/c: 9,786

warnings: nothing actually, this is p tame

a/n: it’s not plagiarism if it’s my own work! this has been rattling around in my brain for a hot minute and since i won’t be able to update Shadow of the Moon till late sunday i wanted to put something out

if you enjoy this consider reblogging! it really helps me out 🫶🏻🤟🏼

(moodboard by me)

Of all days for something to go wrong it would have to be today. A day which, as you informed your editor when he called at the ridiculous hour of 9am, you weren’t even supposed to be working. You had checked and double checked before leaving the office the previous evening that you wouldn’t be on call today nor would they need you in the office, you had planned therefore to catch up on everything you missed while you were working.

Laundry, grocery shopping, catching up on that show you’d been watching. The basics. The universe however seemed to laugh in the face of those plans so there you were rushing out of a crowded train station trying to hail a taxi looking like someone’s lost teenage daughter.

All this for a band you didn’t even like. Which admittedly you seemed to be the only one in the office who didn’t but your editor had begged and pleaded and even offered you an extra day off for covering the interview when it transpired that the other colleague who was supposed to be interviewing the band had gotten a stomach bug from her kids and wasn’t fit to leave the bathroom much less travel across the city of london to go to an interview in an expensive hotel for a band your magazine was foaming at the mouth over.

So there you were, coffee stains blessedly hidden on your black shirt, standing at the reception of one of the most expensive hotels in the city waiting for the go ahead to do your job,

“They’ll see you now” a large man also dressed in all black with a very impressive mohawk called from the private elevators, “follow me”

With a sigh you did as the man asked and followed him into the lift where he stood in impassible silence until you reached the penthouse, of course it was the penthouse, where he waited for you to follow him down the plush corridor before stopping in front of the suite.

Well time to get this over with and go back to ignoring the every growing pile of laundry in your apartment.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Walking into the suite you were actually pretty surprised not to be assaulted by the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke, it really did look as though the band even allowed the housekeeping staff in to clean the room. Not to mention all the appliances were still in their predetermined spots and nothing was missing or in the pool on the ground floor.

Standing in the main living room of the suite you started to take out the things you needed for the interview and found a comfortable seat next to a coffee table where you could set up your phone to record. You’d type up your notes later,

“Hey you’re that magazine chick!” a voice called from another part of the suite causing you to look up and find yourself staring into what could only be described as deep chocolate coloured eyes and a wild mop of curly hair.

No doubt in your mind this was Eddie Munson the lead guitarist and songwriter of the band. He had a very distinctive look

“I’m the reporter yes, it’s nice to meet you” you introduced yourself and held out your hand to shake the man’s,

“You’re totally not what I expected” he laughed as he took your hand and gave it a hardy shake, you didn’t know if that was supposed to be a compliment or not “the guys and I have been out sightseeing” Eddie continued, the bright smile never leaving his face.

“Oh really? Have you seen anything in particular?” you asked out of politeness not really expecting the outburst of energy that came from the man in front of you ,

“Eddie, chill man you’re gonna scare her away” another man said with a sigh, “Gareth. Nice to meet you”

“Likewise, you’re the drummer aren’t you?”

“That’s me. The good looking one”

“That isn’t what that article Nancy sent me said” Eddie said with a grin and wink in your direction, “besides chicks totally dig Jeff”

“Damn right they do” the man who’d followed Gareth into the room said, “ladies go wild for me”

“Yeah, yeah you’re just the best thing on planet earth and you’ve got your pick of the ladies” Eddie’s smile didn’t waver and it seemed as though this was some sort of inside joke between the three men as no one said more on the subject,

“Well if you’re all ready to get started” you gestured to the seats in front of you and picked your little recorder from the table, “so if you don’t mind i’m going to record the interview on my little cassette recorder here and then I’ll be typing it up and it’ll go into next week’s edition of the magazine. If you’re interested I’m sure you could pick it up from any newsstand”

“I mean we’re gonna be in town for another couple weeks so why don’t you just come by again?” Eddie said, you couldn’t detect anything but sincerity in his tone. He really did want you to come and hand deliver a magazine.

“Well I don’t know what I’ll be doing next week so I might not have the time” you answered, you weren’t sure if this was some sort of entitled rockstar behavior or something else but you’d done this job long enough to be on your guard when it came to celebrities.

Before anyone else could ask any questions you set your cassette player to record and started the interview. Luckily your colleague had already prepped a list of questions and things she wanted to talk about so you had no trouble following her notes.

The band was only too happy to answer questions and talk about themselves, you had half expected them to be like a lot of other ‘huge’ bands you’d interviewed in your time with the magazine - full of themselves, but they really did seem like three down to earth Midwestern boys. Eddie and Gareth had grown up together in a trailer park in Indiana and met Jeff later in life, they’d all shared a passion for music and started doing gigs in run down bars and clubs, at friends parties and really anything they could get a ride to. It was at one of these grungy bars in the middle of nowhere they’d been spotted and the subsequent rise to fame had been meteoric.

Throughout the interview the three men laughed and joked and poked fun at each other, at the music industry, they spoke passionately about things that were close to their hearts, causes they believed in and of course their families.

Jeff and Gareth seemed more than content to enjoy life on the road. The perks that came with being world famous Rock Stars but it seemed Eddie wanted more. He talked a lot about friends he’d left behind when the band made it big including a group of kids he talked about as if they were family,

“I mean you know what it’s like” he said gesturing to you, “you’re a mom”

It took you a second to recover from that before you raised your hands and spoke,

“Oh no i’m not a mom, you must mean Amy. She was supposed to be here today but her little one Jamie brought home a tummy bug and she’s not in any state to be anywhere but the house”

“I thought you were Amy!” Eddie said seriously, “shit I’m sorry I totally didn’t mean to offend you!”

“It’s fine, I know she was supposed to be here and that’s who the magazine told you to expect. I mean you probably thought I was a shit mom to be showing up looking like someone’s angsty teenager” you laughed trying to lighten the mood.

As the interview proceeded you found yourself reaching into the bag you'd brought with you for another cassette to keep recording. You hadn’t planned on the interview going on this long,

"That's a cool bag" Jeff commented and you reached for it, "are all of those patches for bands you listen to?"

You gestured to the little canvas messenger bag that had been your constant companion since university and the plethora of band patches decorating the front flap,

"I mean yeah, I work for a music magazine I've listened to a lot of music" you joked,

"We should get you one for us so you can have our band on your bag all the time" Eddie said, "we've got some pins too if you want one for the strap. I could get you one"

The rest of the interview proceeded after you'd switched out the cassette and you began to notice an almost imperceptible shift in Eddie’s behavior and his attitude towards you to the point where once the interview had concluded he offered to walk you down to the lobby himself,

“I could do with stretching my legs” he said with a shrug, shoving his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, “unless you don’t want me to go with you?” he held his hands up in a backing off motion

“No, I don’t mind” you offered him your own smile as you gathered up your things, “you can tell me what you like about the city”

“Dope!”

You suppressed a giggle at that. Eddie really just seemed like an over energetic teenager and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t endearing. To the rest of the world he was the enigmatic, charismatic lead guitarist of one of the biggest bands in the world and yet here he was so excited to walk you downstairs.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“Well thanks again for walking with me” you said once you made it to the front doors of the hotel, “it was really nice to talk to you”

“Yeah? You really think so?”

“Sure. I was sort of expecting you all to be massive dicks all things considered but you seem really nice”

“I am really nice, why don’t you let me take you to dinner and I’ll show you how nice I am”

That floored you. You stood blinking at Eddie as if trying to find a joke in his features but you couldn’t find anything but sincerity,

“You really want to go to dinner with me?”

“Of course! You’re cute and I think we’d have a lot of fun. Plus you can show me around, all your favourite places” he beamed at you and honestly you couldn't think of a reason to say no,

"Alright, you're on"

"You won't regret this sweetheart. Promise"

"We'll see about that won't we?" with that you got into a waiting cab and headed back to the train station still reeling with what had just happened.

One of the most desirable men in the world had asked you to dinner and you'd said yes. Maybe today wasn't such a write off after all.

God bless the stomach flu.

[faunusrights]

murphy's guide to uuuuuh writing objects/places/locations and things (because two whole people asked)

greetings. this guide may or may not help you, as is true of all guides and advice and tips and tricks. but it helped me, and since i'm the protagonist of this blog this is my definitive guide. it shrimply may not be yours. mileage may vary. that said, allow me to give you said advice in the hopes that it does, in fact, aid you,

so when i was a tiny tater tot you know what i hated writing? descriptions. a lot of people really hate it and so did i, because descriptions were just these big blocks of text that got in the way of the FUN STUFF. you know; the plot! the dialogue! the characters! and i see a lot of writers who, to this day, find themselves writing reams and reams of dialogue with no way of knowing where characters are or what they're doing/holding/interacting with, and even if they do explain, it tends to be a few lines like 'they're in the living room' or 'they're sitting on a chair' like we're directing a film.

[INT. CAFE] they are sitting in some chairs by a table. i'll let the props department decide what kind.

the reality is, you are trying to weave a world in which your reader can step into, and a big part of that is writing the uh. the world. and a few years ago i had a revelation that made writing scenes and descriptions so much fun that it's honestly now my favourite part of writing, and a huge part of this realisation comes from my work as a visual artist. so, i'm going to explain The Box.

now, i want to stress that The Box was not my creation. rather, that honour goes to eric hibbeler and his tutorial eric's thoughts on drawing backgrounds and props, which i'll add a link to in a reblog/reply so tumblr doesn't cast this post into the shadow realm (thanks, tumblr!) but the guide he made also applies to writing with just a bit of tweaking, and i'm gonna explain how.

this cardboard box is just a cardboard box, and it's likely the sort of box you're imagining if i say the words a cardboard box. it's nondescript and pretty generic, and in a scene that calls for a cardboard box, it'll do the job! when we write, describing stuff like the chair or the window or the carpet is vague enough that the reader will, usually, just fill in the visual gap with what their interpretation of the chair or the window or the carpet is. for all you know, their mental image of the scene uses the carpet from the shining! but the thing is, YOU, the writer, may have a WILDLY different vision on the carpet (or chair/window/box etc.) and that's where you need to step in and get SPECIFIC about details.

here is a different take on the same box. we've gotten much more specific about the box's history here; it's been used in a move or for storage at some point, it's been kicked around, taped up, taped down, put a in puddle at one point, had a cat give it a few scratches... it's not that many changes, not really, but the box has--say it with me--character.

character, by definition, means the aggregate of features and traits that form the individual nature of some person or thing. what some writers tend to do, however, is forget this word applies just as much to inanimate objects as it does to the people in their stories. we give characters a lot of, well... character, and forget entirely about the things around them having just as (much if not more) to define them.

in essence, what changed my approach to writing places and locations and backgrounds was the realisation was these are also characters in my scene, with just as much contribution to the plot and the information being provided as any individual person in the same instance. it was only when i realised how important adding such character in visual art was that i realised the same applied to writing!

let's take, for instance, a bedroom in which two characters are holding a conversation. you may be tempted to keep your details sparse except for things that are directly plot relevant because you want to get on with the good bits, i.e. the talk itself, but what you can use the bedroom for is to tell information about the owner or resident without having to outline it in exposition. this is where getting good at giving character to spaces becomes very powerful as a tool.

Velvet's bedroom wasn't much to look at; a double-bed, a desk to edit her photos at, and a few pictures of her family and friends on the walls. Still, she sits down on her bed and invites Blake to do the same.

In this instance, a reader gets the general gist of the location--it's a bedroom with bedroom-typical things in it--but the room lacks any characters or specificity, which sticks out for narrative reasons because velvet is full of character; her bedroom would be the same! so, we have to build on what her bedroom would actually be like in order to build its character and define velvet without directly saying what she's like as a person:

Velvet's bedroom was in disarray, as ever; she hadn't made her bed because she wasn't really expecting guests, and her desk was littered with all her photography gear from SD cards to lenses to all her cleaning supplies. A few last-ditch attempts to make the place look a little more organised took the form of straightening out all her framed pictures of her family and friends that took up all the wall space she could spare, dusting off her big pride flag over her bed before she plopped herself down, straightening out her duvet before inviting Blake to sit next to her with a smile.

now, the bedroom has prominence as its own source of information: we understand that velvet isn't really a tidy person by nature; photography is a big enough part of her life to dominate her personal space; her family and her friends are important to her; her identity is also a large component of her personality; she likes to try and give her guests a better impression even if it's half-assed. and we covered all that without velvet actually having to say any of that information out loud! wow!

normally, of course, i'd lace that information in a little more subtly and over a few paragraphs rather than in one big dump, but the effect is the same; when a space has character, you can treat it as a character that has just as much importance to a scene as the dialogue or the interactions two people have.

this concept can be applied to a single prop, like a box or a camera or a desk or the like, and can also be applied to a much bigger location, like a park or a school or a house or more. the idea is that often, things are never just in their generic form, but have history that impacts the way it looks or defines the person or people who interact with it.

you wouldn't write these two playgrounds in exactly the same way; they both have a swing, a slide, a bench, a sign, and a tree... but depending on how you write it, one has a kind of character for a setting, narrative, or larger location that's way different to the other! this ends up defining your wider world, too; maybe one playground is nice and new because the council got the funding they asked for, but the other is in an area known for having little investment? in the end, were these two parks humanised, they'd likely be people with very different personalities; that's the sort of approach you should have!

the TL;DR of this whole thing is that description is not the part where you start listing off items in the room or the building or the location just so your reader has a vague idea of where they are, but an opportunity to turn that space into a person who has a whole bunch to say about the people who are frequently present. you can even see this in action by writing the differences between, say, your bedroom and the bedroom of your sibling/parent/friend; chances are, they're VERY different spaces that represent two very different people! this is also true of a kitchen, your home, your school, your campus, or your workplace; the office of someone who works in IT won't look like the office of someone who works in accounting, even if they share a lot of qualities and items.

ultimately, think of the humble Box; sure, a regular cardboard box might suffice to give the reader an idea of what's in a scene, but when we give that Box a personality of its own, suddenly that Box has a lot to say about the person who owns it--and not all of them may be good!