#i love my local charity shops

[little-doggy-girl-kisser]

ive started a collection of vintage christian braclets

i currently have a pink one with the 10 commandments engraved in it and a wooden one with different religious imagery on

[finchers-ipad]

did i just count how many dvds i own? no that would be a waste of my time, however if i hypothetically did i would have 195 dvds in my collection

[beeseverywhen]

Someone came round my house and commented on a painting I've got on the wall and they were really surprised it was an original and uh

Guys I totally forgot that artists can get more popular and can also. Well. Die. And their art gets more expensive

I bought this straight from the artist years ago not for much money and like. I was so baffled by a. Her recognising the artist and b. Being surprised it was an original.

Me. Forgetting that after a decade it's possible the artist got more popular and reproductions began being made: yeah??? I bought a painting from a painter? Of course it's a painting

[bloodengutz]

grabbed some fresh trash today!! my collection is steadily growing, I really need to stop buying books and start reading books but. like. I go into the local charity shop and see a handful of beat-up 80s horror pulp for like a quid and i cant resist

i got to talkin about horror with the cashier which was really fun but he said they had a copy of Slugs that they sold recently so I must have just missed it :( i love you Slugs... someday you will return to me

[saturdaymournings]

I love you all so much by the way and I love the way that I feel like I’m real when we talk :) I’ve spent too long being ignored and forgotten and when I see the silly little gay people in my phone I feel happy !!!!!!! Thinking so much about this right now I feel like I’m returning to the person that I always should have been

[x-brik-x]

I'm seeing a lot of people say that punk fashion is expensive and inaccessible, which is very wrong. here is a list of some ways you can make punk fashion easier, cheaper and more accessible for you, since that's... kinda the whole point.

others are encouraged to add onto this!! (just don't recommend corporations like amazon. not cool.)

1. patches!! you don't need to buy them. DIY patches are not ugly or boring. in fact, they are encouraged here!! DIY, in my opinion, is always the best thing to do when it is an option and is safe to do so.

2. speaking of DIY, spikes!! you can make them!!

cut the top and bottom off of an empty can. cut down the middle of the cylinder and flatten it, so it's just a flat rectangle of metal.

cut out a shape that is kind of a third of a circle, but around 3/4 of the curved edge is taken up by triangle shapes. (I'm not very good at describing, so here's a badly drawn picture)

roll it into a cone, leaving the 4 triangles sticking out at the bottom. this bit is optional, but you can fill it with hot glue to make it more sturdy, just be careful touching the hot metal. I tend to hold the cone by one of the triangles with a bit of fabric wrapped around my fingers for this bit. cut 4 small holes in your fabric in this kind of shape:

and put the spiky bits of triangle through the holes. fold the triangles in on themselves to secure the spike in place. boom. spike obtained. this is one I made and attached to a little piece of fabric to test this method out:

3. battle vests!! (like the base jackets). the best places to buy these are charity shops and second hand websites in my opinion, but if anyone else knows any better options, please reblog with those!!

a good trick I find works well on eBay is to filter search results to your country (or state? can you do that in the US? idk) so that a: fast delivery because local, and b: all the sellers of everything that shows up are in YOUR TIME ZONE.

why is this important? when people sell something for really cheap, it goes FAST. check eBay at like, 2am or something. all the scalpers in your area are asleep. grab the cheap stuff while they can't.

4. sewing!! want patches, but can't sew for whatever reason? I've heard of a lot of people with joint conditions like arthritis complain about the inaccessibility of patch stuff, and that does sound extremely annoying, however:

safety pins!! while they are still a little fiddly, they're much less work so you don't have to fiddle about for long. if you can, you could even ask a friend to help, since it doesn't take long at all I'm sure someone will be willing to help out!! (I know I would, but that's just me, and I love this kind of thing). safety pins on clothes are also widely considered to be a symbol of solidarity, so if anything, you're adding some extra love and meaning to your patch pants/battle jacket.

if that's still too fiddly, fabric glue is always an option. unfortunately this means you won't be able to remove/reposition patches, at least without leaving a massive patch of residue, but if you're ok with that then fabric glue is probably your best bet.

for people who prefer sewing: as for where to get the thread, I've heard a lot of people recommending dental floss, as it's apparently much cheaper and works just as well. I haven't tried this myself so can't confirm that, but I thought I'd share it regardless.

5. where to get fabric!! old clothes. rip em up. you don't need any kind of fancy fabric from the craft store. my patches are made of old jeans that I grew out of.

don't have any old clothes and you don't want to waste any good ones? I'm not sure about other countries, but in the UK, as long as you're not on private property (trespassing), dumpster diving is perfectly legal.

I definitely ;) do NOT encourage ;) trespassing rich people's land ;) to steal from their dumpsters ;)

or tbh it doesn't matter too much how rich the person is, since it's all going to landfill anyway. if it's in the bin, it's free game, but you didn't hear that from me. ;)

please add onto this where you can!! and if I missed something or got anything wrong, add that on too!!

[g0dlyunsub]

masterlist.

requests are currently closed!

this is a pro-palestine blog. the following are links to [vetted fundraisers] [legitimate charities] [learn more].

⇢ make you mine. [fluff, hurt/comfort]

| spencer notices that you've been skipping a few too many team socials.

⇢ warm you. [18+, fluff, hurt/comfort]

| spencer finds you in a state of hypothermia while the both of you are on a case, and he quickly works to warm you up.

⇢ sweet revenge. [fluff, slight angst]

| in which a female unsub dares spencer to hurt you in exchange for a victim’s whereabouts. 

⇢ it takes two. [18+]

| spencer deals with a lot on the field, but nothing can prepare him for when he’s stuck inside a locker with you.

⇢ on your own. [angst, sensitive content] - part one | part two

| a stalker leaves you strapped to an explosive and you're left with three minutes to convince spencer to leave you.

⇢ stitch me. [hurt/comfort, sensitive content]

| you were assigned to negotiate with an unsub keeping a group of females hostage, or so you thought. turns out he has a partner and he’s determined to destroy you, all in front of spencer.

⇢ don't pretend. [hurt/comfort, fluff]

| spencer can see through all of your lies, including the bruises you’re hiding behind makeup.

⇢ red herring. [fluff] 

| spencer can’t stop teasing you about how you constantly try to draw his attention away from your rather flawed board/card game skills.

⇢ holding on. [flangst] 

| the six times that spencer squeezed your hand, and the six times you fell for him even deeper.

requests

⇢ favorite addiction. [fluff]

| you’re addicted to cigarettes, spencer’s addicted to you. he finds a way to help you through your withdrawal.

⇢ prove it. [fluff, slight angst]

| you confront spencer about a broken promise on his day off from work, and he’s determined to make it up to you.

⇢ wishful thinking. [angst, fluff]

| your boyfriend skips anniversary dinner, but finds a way to make amends with a sweet treat.

⇢ picture perfect. [fluff]

| you work shifts at a local coffee shop where a man frequents every friday evening. when love eventually blossoms between you and the doctor, he makes every effort to be with you – even when teased by his coworkers.

⇢ doctor’s orders. [fluff, suggestive content]

| you fall sick and decide not to disturb spencer during his working hours. when he returns home, he demands that he takes care of you, and you realize how adept he is at fondling the soreness out of you.

⇢ adore you. [fluff]

| spencer doesn’t know if he wants you to style his hair, but you know the perfect way to convince him.

⇢ back to you. [angst]

| upon your return after a year of working outside the bau, everyone welcomes you back with open arms – everyone except for one agent.

p.s. it makes me so happy to know that there are readers like you that appreciate my writing, that trust me to interact with their ideas, and that come back for more! i hope you enjoy your stay <3

divider by @saradika-graphics

[misseviehyde]

SHADOWS

My ex-boyfriend James is sooooo fucking weak and pathetic. I hate and despise him with every part of my soul. He is everything that is wrong with men these days. Indecisive, overly sensitive, small and pathetic. What a fucking loser.

His twin brother Jason by comparison is a God. He is the man I now desire. Once I despised and hated Jason, but now he is everything I seek in a man. Tall, strong, rich, dominant... he makes me so fucking wet. My new boyfriend is a total Alpha. The longer I stay around him the more feminine I feel. I love what he does to me.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me explain how this all started...

Once I was the nerdiest girl at school. It seems insane to say it now, given how popular I am, but there was a time when I couldn't name six fashion designers or contour my makeup or suck off three boys at once in the cheerleaders locker room. I was a fucking loser.

Terrible skin, flat chested, nerdy glasses and goofy teeth. No. I was once plain little Melanie. I even had ginger hair. No wonder everyone bullied me. Popular rich bitch Madison didn't even exist. I was a fucking nobody.

My life consisted of science fairs, anime and role-playing games. Not the fun role playing games where you dress as a sexy school girl and get railed by a hot guy... no... the loser ones where you pretend to be an elf.

To my shame I was even into LARPIng. Live action role play. Each Friday night, me, James, Jason and our other buddies would go into the local woods to play.

We would run around the woods pretending to be on adventures. Fuckkkk it was so pathetic, I feel a major ick just thinking about it.

Jason wasn't the God he would later become at this point. He and James basically looked the same. I don't know why I had chosen James as my boyfriend. I guess he was slightly more confident and had asked me out first. He and Jason basically looked and acted the same though. Many people couldn't even tell them apart. Even me sometimes.

Then Jason found the shadow and everything changed.

As part of our role playing experience we sometimes brought props along and Jason had found this creepy looking glass bottle in a charity shop. It was opaque and stoppered with a wax cork. Perhaps it held a liquid of some kind? Sometimes it looked like there was something dark swirling inside, but it was kind of hard to tell.

We needed a prop to represent an evil demon that was trapped in a bottle so Jason had brought out the bottle.

As usual the group had split up. It was dark now and I was on my own. I had on my favourite druid costume (ughhh so fucking fugly) and I was creeping through the woods under the moonlight.

Suddenly I saw Jason through a gap in the trees. He was on his own too and carrying the bottle. I headed towards him, he hadn't seen me... in fact he wasn't really paying proper attention to his surroundings, which is maybe why he suddenly tripped over a tree root.

The bottle span from his hands and smashed against the ground with a musical tinkle.

I had a perfect view of everything. Jason was lit by the moonlight, his scrawny body shivering and his eyes wide with fear as a rolling mass of black shadows erupted from the smashed bottle and flowed towards him.

I wanted to scream but my voice had left me and I could only put my hands to my mouth like a parody of some dumb anime girl as the shadows flowed into Jason. Black smoke forced its way down his throat, into his nose. It wrapped and enveloped him, melting and merging into his body.

Then it was gone.

But the scene was not over.

Jason let out a cry, or maybe it was a moan. I watched in horrified fascination (and now I'm happy to admit a little bit or arousal) as I watched him change. Jason... my God... was being born.

Muscles rippled and swelled under his skin, causing his shirt to rip and his fantasy style breeches to bulge. He tore his top off to reveal a rippling six back and toned muscles as his skin flowed like wax and he changed and transformed. He grew taller and bigger, more handsome too as his face became more masculine and his hair cut more stylish.

Grunting and grinning Jason ripped off his pathetic role playing costume and stretched confidently. He was entirely naked now and I gasped in arousal as I saw his magnificent ass and his perfect cock. As I watched it was growing. Ten inches of thick white meat now hung between his huge thighs and I almost salivated as I beheld his perfect manly body.

Jason confidently stretched his body, clearly enjoying how it felt. He grinned perfect white teeth and his eyes, once mild and nerdy shone with ambition and dark desire. He clicked his fingers and there was a wisp of smoke as a stylish black shirt and designer jeans encased his new perfect body. He now looked like a male super model and he strode off through the woods chuckling, leaving me breathing heavily and wondering if I was losing my mind.

***

I ran through the woods. Back then I was ungainly and lacking athletic ability. Whereas now I hit the gym daily and can bend into nearly any position (especially when fucking) I was a fucking loser, so I made quite the noise as I crashed through the trees.

James and the others soon found me and I garbled what I'd seen, but they all thought I was still role playing.

"Babe, it's a cool story, but one detail that doesn't work. My stuck up bullying brother doesn't play with us. He thinks we're losers."

I gawped at James. I thought he was joking at first, but as we spoke it became clear he was serious. The shadow had changed Jason, but it also seemed to have changed everyone's memories of him.

I had no idea why I hadn't been affected. perhaps because I had witnessed his transformation directly or something.

James and the others couldn't understand why I was so upset and worried. The shadow had looked evil and I was worried my boyfriends brother was now under the control of something wicked. I decided I'd have to confront Jason directly and see if I could aid him, so I told the others I felt sick and left to go immediately to James and Jason's house.

James started after me, but I quickly lost him in the woods. I didn't want him to see what had happened to his brother. I was sure I could find a way to save Jason.

Haha, what a fucking idealistic moron I used to be.

***

I arrived at Jason's to find the house had changed. There was now a pickup parked at the front and the house was larger and clearly more expensive. Entering the house I found it was better decorated and I nearly had a heart attack as I entered the kitchen to find Jame's Mom and Dad.

Michael, the Dad was now a handsome looking business man wearing an expensive suit. Linda, James Mom had transformed from a homesy kind Mom into a haughty and beautiful MILF. She looked stunning!

Neither of them paid me much attention, they clearly recognised me as James girlfriend. The sneer and look of disgust Linda gave me left me cold. I can't blame her. Linda is now a major icon to me and we are the BEST of friends. She loves me like a daughter and I've learned so much about manipulating and using men from her. But back then I was a dork dating her loser son James.

But that was soon about to change.

I found Jason in a room I'd never seen before. A personal gym.

He was stripped to the waist, his muscles rippling as he pumped iron. He turned and grinned at me as I entered.

"Well well well. My brothers dork girlfriend? What the hell do you want Melanie?"

"I saw everything Jason. I saw that weird shadow enter you. We have to get it out of you. What have you done to your Mom and Dad? This isn't right."

Jason grinned. "Ahhhh. So you saw it? So you remember the old me? Haha you have no idea Melanie. No idea how good this feels. The shadow within me hungers for power and pleasure. It serves no other purpose but to give me what I want. It can change things, people too. Anything that falls under my shadow can be twisted to serve my whim. I am a fucking God now."

I watched nervously as black shadows seemed to spread around Jason as he spoke. The air rippled with potential and a cold numb feeling spread through my body and my soul. Jason grinned as the light seemed to be sucked out of the room and I was drowning in darkness.

"You could be so much more Melanie. You're such a fucking dork, just like my pathetic brother. I always wanted you to be MY girlfriend and now I have this power you can join me. I won't force you, I want you to join me willingly. A taste of this power and I think you'll want more."

I gasped falling to my knees as the shadows surrounded me. All the warmth and kindness and love inside me was suddenly numbed. It was like the shadow was feeding on my positive emotions... perhaps it was.

The dark shadows enveloped and wrapped my nerdy body. Tempting whispers invaded my mind and I felt Jason's presence beating down on me and willing me to give in. The shadow wanted to change and corrupt me, but it would only do so if I wanted it to. Jason hadn't lied.

I don't know if you've ever been offered something so fucking delicious and perfect that even if it came at the cost of your soul you'd jump at the chance... but when that moment finally arrives, it's pretty hard not to succumb.

I'd seen what the shadow had done to Jason. It had turned him into the perfect example of masculine perfection. It could probably do the same for me, but make me the ultimate girl. All I had to do was let it in and surrender to the darkness.

I'd seen girls in magazines, on TV, on teenage drama programs. I'd always wondered how it would feel to be a Queen Bee... a head cheerleader type. What must it be like to be so pretty you can get whatever you want? How would it feel to be a bitch?

"Yes... change me," I groaned. "But only a little... I just want to be a little prettier."

I gasped as my body suddenly ached and I felt the shadows begin to change me. I ripped my dorky glasses off and felt my brace snap as I spat out the metal to leave perfect white teeth. My red hair turned a sexy black and my pale spotty skin tanned as my body toned.

It felt so fucking good.

"Don't you want more Melanie? Don't you want to become a real fucking bitch? If it feels this good to go a little of the way, why not let the shadows take you all the way?"

Jason had a point. The more I transformed the more I wanted to transform. As I felt myself become more popular and beautiful, the further I found I wanted to go.

"Yessss mmmmore," I gasped feeling the shadows pour down my throat and into my body. I could feel Jason in my mind now, his fingers manipulating my pleasure receptors and his thoughts becoming my own.

"That's right Melanie. You don't want to be a dweeb anymore. You want to go all the way. You want to be a fucking bitch. Say it."

I shuddered as delicious throbs of pleasure pulsed through my body. "I... mmmmmh, ohhh yes, I want to be a bitch."

"That's right Melanie. Let's picture a girl. Let's call her Madison. She's everything you want to be isn't she? Thin, pretty, bratty and spoiled. She's the kind of girl that has a new outfit every day, that all the other girls bow down to. I want you imagine how hot she looks. Nice tits, a toned body, ultra-feminine body language. So different to the dork you are. Are you picturing her?"

I was picturing her. I was thinking of every mean bad girl and bitch I had ever know in real life or in the movies. I was picturing Madison and boy was she fucking hot.

"Now say it. Say you want to be Madison. You want to be the bullying popular Alpha girl."

My pussy was wet, my already partially transformed body felt so good. I needed more... I needed the shadows to corrupt me completely.

"Yessss I want to be Madison."

I screamed and orgasmed as I said it, feeling the shadows flowing into me and destroying Melanie forever. All the kind gentle nice parts of me were consumed and the shadows pumped me full of evil, mean bratty thoughts.

Melanie died in that instant and I... Madison... took control.

Long bitchy nails shot out from my fingers. My face became meaner and even prettier, soft pouty lips curving into a bratty grin. My clothing became designer, my handbag expensive and my personality became that of a spoiled rich bitch.

Reality rippled and changed. Only Jason and I would remember the old me. It was as if Melanie had never existed and only I had been born.

The shadows withdrew, but they left their mark. I was a fucking evil bitch now, devoid of mercy. I only cared about myself... oh and Jason of course.

"How do you feel baby?" he grinned, towering over me in his Adonis body.

"I feel amazing baby," I grinned. "In fact I want to thank you for being the best boyfriend ever."

I giggled and sank eagerly to my knees. My long nails looked so hawt as I unzipped Jason's fly and his huge ten inch dick flopped out.

Moaning I began to pump and suck his cock. This was who and what I worshipped now. Jason had taken me from that loser James.

"Yesssss, good girl," grunted Jason as he put his hands gently on my head and pushed me deeper onto his cock. "You're my slutty bitch now and I have everything I ever wanted."

I just gagged and gargled happily, I fucking loved my man's big cock.

I couldn't wait for him to cum. I needed to taste it...

***

And so that is how I ascended from being a fucking pathetic loser into a Goddess myself. Jason is the Master of the Shadow and so long as he holds that power I am his willing accomplice.

Soon after the transformation James came home. He no longer remembered I had ever been his girl, but that didn't stop me and Jason fucking loudly next door and laughing about the little simp jerking off in his room next door.

I felt so evil and perfect. Being Madison was like a perpetual state of orgasm. The meaner and nastier I was, the better it all felt.

Sometimes I wondered what would have happened if James had smashed that bottle instead of Jason? Perhaps he would be the Alpha stud with the delicious bitchy girlfriend.

But it was just idle speculation. The shadows answered to Jason...

And I answered only to the shadows now.

THE END

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

My Fair Lady's Maid (Regency!Aemond x Lady's Maid!Reader)

Part 1: Loverly

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond is just a bitch ass rude motherfucker

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Enjoy happiness! Or at least more than you'd get with WIB...

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Loverly

“Now, what are you doing here, Miss Doolittle?” Mrs. Cunningham asked from behind a wall of flowers – peonies and daisies, roses and hydrangeas, violets and lilies. “I thought you’d be well on your way to Kingswood by now.”

“And miss me last market day? Never!”

There was very little in the world that was more exciting to Miss Doolittle than market day in Rosby. For others, almost anything else was more exciting, but not to her. For a few hours once a week, the sleepy town of only a few dozen people that made up her entire world grew into a bustling city. New people, new gossip, new trinkets and doodads from all over the countryside for her to gawk at.

It was better than a circus.

At least, she imagined it to be. She’d never been to a circus.

“Can’t hurt to earn a few coins more before I leave, can it?” she asked as she stooped to the ground and began picking through the smaller stems that had fallen on the journey between Mrs. Cunningham’s wagon and her brightly painted stall. Those that were still mostly passable found their way into a threadbare basket.

Market day was when she made her living, even if it was just enough to pay the rent on her tiny basement apartment and cover her tab at the local pub. Though sometimes, she made enough to share with those even less fortunate than her.

“And what would you be spending it on, dear?” Mrs. Cunningham asked, not so slyly dropping a few of the finer blooms. She was a kind woman, a florist from King’s Landing. She had a shop in the city where she sold her flowers and bouquets most of the week, but she came to Rosby each Saturday. Most of the rich people in the county lived in the city, but there were several manors further out in the countryside that needed their flowers, too.

Fancy folk loved fresh flowers. Even the ones who weren’t actually rich enough to be fancy, but tried to pretend like they were, would pay for a flower just to show that they had the money to spend on something that’d be dead in a day or two.

She was only nine years old when Mrs. Cunningham gifted her an old wicker basket and began letting her take the flowers that were too small, slightly crushed, or not quite the right color to use in her bouquets that would otherwise be discarded. Then, she’d flit around the marketplace, selling them for a penny each.

If she had a good day, she’d make enough to pay her expenses and buy herself a sweet or two after her evening meal. If she had a bad day… she’d find a way to make do.

It wasn’t charity, like her father used to say before he drank himself to death. She worked for it, and that meant she earned it—every penny. Mrs. Cunningham always told her so, too. The old woman was very proud of her little protégé, in fact. So proud that she’d begun making inquiries about other jobs for the girl – real jobs.

Miss Doolittle shrugged, “Oh, this ‘n that. Fare for the journey ‘n such.”

“Your new employers are making you pay for your own journey?” Mrs. Cunningham asked with a raised brow as she wrapped a satin ribbon around a bouquet of pale yellow lilies. “I thought they were sending one of their own to fetch you in the morning.”

She would know. A fortnight ago, it was Mrs. Cunningham herself who found Miss Doolittle a new opportunity: a position as a lady’s maid for the eccentric daughter of a duke. The poor lady was so odd she’d frightened away nearly every other employable girl in the county, so her butler had no qualms about hiring someone with so little experience as long as she had at least one decent reference.

So tomorrow, Miss Doolittle would leave her basement behind and travel deeper into the forests of County Westeros to Kingswood Manor, where she would begin to look after the eccentric Lady Helaena Targaryen, son of the late Duke Viserys Targaryen. With the wage they’d promised, she didn’t need to be selling flowers today.

“Thought I might should get some new shoes or… ribbons for my hair?” She shrugged. Perhaps she could even make enough to buy something nice to put in her room in the Manor’s servant’s quarters. She’d always wanted her very own clock.

“Gotta pay off some folk, too,” she sighed. The basket was nearly full now, but she wanted to try to nab a few of those pink roses – they were always popular. “Don’t want to have to send my wages all the way back here.”

Mrs. Cunningham dropped a bundle of nearly perfect rosebuds in the basket, then drew the girl’s gaze back to her face. “Buy yourself something nice, dear. You deserve it.”

Tears began to spring to her eyes, and she looked away to avoid meeting Mrs. Cunningham’s kind gaze – she’d only cry harder if she did. “Thank you. For everything. I –”

Her ramblings of gratitude were cut off when the florist took the girl into her arms, squeezing tight enough to choke her. “Just make the best of it, dear. Work hard, like you always have. And never stop coming to see me, promise?”

Finally, she hugged Mrs. Cunningham back. “I promise.”

The best customers were always near the dressmakers and textile sellers, young women who couldn’t resist the perfect flower to match their new frock. It was on the other side of town, but if Miss Doolittle wanted to afford a clock, that’s where she needed to go first.

She had taken only a single step into the street when someone large and firm collided with her, knocking her to the ground in an instant.

“AAAAOOWWWW!”

Her knees pounded with pain, the edges of her vision pulsing black, but she pulled herself up to her elbows, focusing only on what was directly in front of her.

The flowers were scattered across the cobblestones, half already trampled on by people scrambling to avoid falling with her. Those had been the best blossoms, the ones she put at the top of her basket to entice people into buying from her. All that remained in her basket were the scant pickings she used to make the basket look full.

Nearly a full day’s wages – more, with those rosebuds – gone like that.

“What in the devil’s name was that noise, girl?” The bastard who ran into her sneered. She’d never before heard a voice so suited to sneering. She lifted her head to growl something back at him, but any biting words quickly died when she saw who looked down at her.

He was finer than any man – any person – she’d ever seen in Rosby. Not a single silver hair out of place, not a loose thread anywhere on his fine clothes, or a speck of dust on him. Well, except for the slight smudge of grime left on his deep green tailcoat from where he’d crashed into her. The sight of it made her want to crawl into her dirty basement and never come out again.

“You should watch where you’re walking, brother,” another man, standing next to the severe man who had run into her, said. The familiar resemblance was obvious in their coloring – the silver hair, the eyes so vibrantly blue they were nearly violet.

The severe man scoffed, his lip curling as he looked at her. “I was, Daeron. But the little wretch came out of nowhere.”

“I ain’t no ‘wretch!’” she shouted, indignation burning through her fear and embarrassment. “I’m a respectacle woman, I am!”

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes, and only then did she notice: his left eye was entirely white, its milky paleness emphasized by the angry red scar stretching from his forehead down through his cheek.

She didn’t mean to stare, really. But she had never seen a man who looked like him – scar or no. He was like something out of a fairy tale. Especially when his scowl deepened, and his one blue eye seemed to catch fire.

“Have you looked your fill?” he growled. She immediately averted her gaze, not knowing what to say. She couldn’t think of a single word.

The other man stepped forward, angling his cane slightly in front of his brother. He was softer, kinder looking. “Now, now, she’s just had quite the fall. Allow her to recover her senses.”

“I doubt she has any to recover.”

She flinched at his cruel tone and tried to hide it by picking up her basket full of little more than mulch. “My flowers…”

“Lord, she can’t even talk properly.” The severe man turned to his brother as she began picking through the spilled blossoms. “She sounds like a strangled goose.”

Evidently, the scene was too much for even the worst of the gossip mongers to endure, and the final gawkers turned back to their business. How was she ever supposed to speak to any of them again after this?

At least she’d be gone tomorrow. No one at Kingswood would know about this.

The kinder man – Daeron, the other had called him – hissed something before kneeling with her to help her pick at the flowers. He didn’t care to see if they were ruined; he just put them all back in the basket. “These are yours?”

She nodded.

“What are they for?”

“I sell ‘em,” she explained, wiping away an errant tear. The cruel man scoffed again when she sniffled. “Penny a bloom, tuppence for three. But…”

Daeron looked at the trampled violets, daisies, and rosebuds, then at the meager offerings that remained unharmed in her basket. The only reason anyone would buy them now would be to feed some animal. For that, she’d hardly get enough to pay her rent and have to use what little money she had hidden in a wooden box under her bed to cover her tab at the pub.

She wouldn’t be able to buy the clock.

“How much for the basket?” Daeron asked as he pulled out a pouch of coins.

“What?” She and the cruel man said at the same time, in the same disbelief.

He stepped forward, a large hand gripping his cane like it were a club he’d beat her with. “It is nothing but weeds, brother. Let’s move on.”

As much as she hated it, she agreed with him. “I don’t want your charity, sir,” she told Daeron. “I earn my money.”

The cruel man put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, ready to pull him away. “You heard her. Let us go.”

“No, Aemond!” Daeron pulled away from his brother – Aemond. The name was familiar to her, somehow. But the man himself turned away, his cheeks flushing slightly. Perhaps he was embarrassed, too. Good.

“It is not charity,” Daeron insisted. “We have damaged your wares, and we are compensating you. It is a fair exchange.”

“I…” she was too flustered to truly comprehend his words, much less calculate how much the destroyed flowers were worth.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Aemond stepped forward, pushing his brother back. He snatched the pouch, withdrew a few coins without looking at them, and tossed them toward her basket. Only one made it in, the others plinking onto the cobblestones. “There. You are compensated. Let us go.”

She vaguely heard Daeron say something in protest, but both men were gone when she looked up from gathering the stray coins. No one looked at her, as if she had dreamed the entire encounter. Depositing the coins in the basket, she quickly left the market and returned to her little room in a dirty basement.

Miss Doolittle dumped the contents of the basket on her bed. The flowers were thoroughly ruined now, but seven coins were glimmering amongst their dull petals: a sixpence, two shillings, two half-crowns, and two crowns.

Whatever the flowers had been worth, this was so much more. Perhaps more than she had ever possessed in her life. It could buy her that clock – the finest clock at the market, even. And more. But when she touched the coins, they felt oily. Wrong.

She had not earned it, and neither was it charity. These coins were an insult, a dismissal. That cruel man—Aemond—had thrown them at her like they were table scraps and she was a starving mutt.

It was more money than she ever dreamed, yet it was nothing to him but the soon-forgotten cost of ridding himself of an inconvenience.

She could not buy the clock. Not with this. But she would not let it go to waste. She added the sixpence, shillings, and one of the half-crowns to her box. That would pay all her remaining debts.

That still left her with two crowns and one-half crown. And while she had no intention of spending it, she knew someone who would have no hesitations whatsoever about doing so himself.

Market day ended the moment the sun set, and Rosby was once again just a quiet little town. Nearly every resident, now exhausted from a day hawking their wares or frantically trying to buy everything they’d need until the next market day, converged in the Ailing Rooster, the beloved, if more than a little run-down, local pub.

Miss Doolittle would usually be found in the middle of the throng, soaking up any gossip she could find and happily picking bits off other people’s plates. But tonight, she had merely claimed a small corner table where she sat staring at her three remaining coins. The longer she looked at the stamped faces on the coins, the more they started to look like that man – Aemond.

If that was how fancy folk saw her, what hope did she have for when the Duke’s daughter saw her? Would she be fired on the spot?

The excitement in her chest began to turn to nervousness at the thought. Was she little more than a fool for thinking she could actually do this?

Part of her was tempted to throw them into the fire to watch that stupid, sharp, beautiful face burn, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, even if she didn’t want the money for herself. There was someone out there who needed it. Or at least, who would appreciate it very much.

“How’re you gonna sulk the day before you go to live in bleedin’ paradise, ‘Little?”

She swiped the coins back into her little purse before Alfred could land in the seat across from her, his compatriots, Harry and Jaimie, close behind him. If he saw them, he’d only try to convince her to buy them all a round, but while the money was still hers, she would not allow it to be spent on drink. “I’m not sulkin’, just tired. And it’s not gonna be a ‘paradise.’”

“Yer sulkin’,” Harry laughed as he slyly swapped his half-full tankard with Alfred’s full one.

“Am not.”

“You are.” Jaime leaned forward, genuine concern on his face. “What’s wrong, girl? I thought you were excited about leaving?”

She sighed. “I was �� I am! Just havin’ a bad day, I guess.”

All three men exchanged a look.

“We ‘eard,” Jaime nudged her with a shoulder. At least they hadn’t been planning to bring it up themselves. “Rich bastard.”

“Shit-sack,” Harry added.

Alfred slammed his tankard on the table. “Twat.”

A small smile bloomed on her lips. “Well, least I’ll never have to see ‘im again, right?”

Harry raised his stolen ale. “I’ll drink to that!”

“In a week, you won’t remember this,” Alfred added, flapping his hands about like he could swat the memories away from her. “You’ll be in a palace wearing silk and gold and won’t give a damn what some moron said to you.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbing Harry’s tankard and taking a large gulp. “I’ll be a servant, I don’t think I’ll be wearing any silk or gold.”

“But you’ll make good money, maybe you can buy yourself something nice!”

Jaime nodded. “Maybe you’ll make enough to buy your own palace in a few years?”

“I don’t want a palace,” she admitted. In truth, she’d never really thought about a future beyond Rosby until about two weeks prior. “It’d be too big for just me.”

“Who says it would just be you, ‘Little?” She glared at Harry, and he swiftly looked away, already ruddy cheeks blushing even redder.

She leaned back in her chair, her hand reaching her pocket to fiddle with her coins. “Even if there was someone, I don’t want a palace. I just want…”

What did she want?

Something better than Rosby, but nothing too grand. She wouldn’t fit somewhere grand. So…

“All I want is a little cottage somewhere nice, where it doesn’t smell like cattle or sheep.” The more she spoke, the clearer the vision became. “I want a massive fireplace, so the whole place stays warm even when it’s snowing. And a garden – I want a place to grow my own flowers. Wouldn’t that be loverly?”

When she looked back up, all her friends were smiling at her. She soon joined them.

“Loverly, ‘Little,” Alfred agreed.

Suddenly, she did not feel so nervous to leave for Kingswood in the morning. She knew what she wanted, even if the details were still fuzzy. Holding that dream close to her chest, she was sure she could endure anything to get that loverly little cottage.

[eighthman-bound]

You guys don’t understand how hilarious Mr Bonzos inclusion in the series is to me.

Last year I bought the Mr Blobby hit vinyl at a charity shop for a laugh. The lyrics are the most insane, borderline facist sounding rally cry you’l find.

Incidentally that same charity shop shut down a month later.

Several months later I had some friends come over to my house, for a laugh I gave a manic Shakespearian performance of the vinyls lyrics; they found it hysterical.

Jump forwards a few extra months, one of those friends bestowed upon me a authentic 90’s Mr Blobby Badge; I Love It.

This month I knocked up a Jonathan Sims cosplay, with the gimmick that each badge on my bag strap would represent each of The Fears.

I didn’t have a badge that fit the Slaughter motif; so next best thing I had to represent such carnage was of course, Mr Blobby.

And now here we are a week later from my cosplays debut at a local comic con and we are graced by the Magnus-verse demonic take on Mr Blobby through Bonzo.

Well, even more demonic… this feels like the universes pay off to a very elaborate joke

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Perfect Find

Steven Grant x GN!Reader • Rating: PG •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: You and Steven look through the local charity shops.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Just some fluffy old fluff.

Warnings: swearing, set in the UK, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 590

You gasp excitedly as you hold up the shirt. “Steven, what about this one?” 

His eyes light up when he sees it and rushes around from the other side of the clothing rail. “It’s perfect!” He touches the material lightly, it’s cotton, or at least some kind of cotton blend. Whatever it was, it doesn’t make him feel like he needs to peel his skin off after coming into contact with it. 

“This charity shop has everything,” he laughs as he takes the shirt, a short sleeved button down, out of your hands and looks at the price. £6.00, not bad. 

The shirt itself is a vibrant sky blue, intercut with swirls of white that in all honestly neither of you are one hundred percent sure if they are meant to be clouds or waves. Though most likely the latter considering the main pattern of the material. It is covered with swimming goldfish, all from a bird’s eye perspective. 

You notice the black t-shirt slung in the crook of Steven’s arm and point to it. “Found something else?” 

It takes him a moment to drag his eyes away from the goldfish before he looks up to you and smiles. “For Marc.” 

You’re about to say how thoughtful that is of him, until Steven holds the t-shirt up and you can read the text on the front. ‘My depression is chronic, but this ass is iconic.’

You can’t help the sudden bout of laughter that spills from your lips. “Oh my god…”

“I know, right?” Steven gives you the biggest shit eating grin.

“He’s gonna hate that.”

“He is.” Steven says with an almost perverse glee. “Loathe it, utterly, utterly loathe it.”

You walk with Steven as he takes his purchases to the till. “Is this payback for him hiding your Hanukkah jumper?” 

“Not in the slightest.” He grins. “Just part of the payback.” 

You giggle. 

“I’m gonna wear this t-shirt every time I know we’ve got planned switching time. See how long it takes before he notices the writing.” 

“Could be a while.” You smile. 

Marc was very observant when it came to outside things, other people, the landscape, he wasn’t however so concerned with what he was wearing as long as it was comfortable and fairly plain. The writing on the t-shirt was just small enough that there was a good chance he wouldn’t pay attention to it straight away. Especially if Steven put a hoodie or a plain-ish shirt over the top (unbuttoned of course). 

“Oh, I intend to make sure it is.” Steven beamed as he then turned to the cashier, greeted them and paid for the shirt and t-shirt. 

You absentmindedly touch the t-shirt as you put it into your canvas bag and sling it over your arm. It’s soft, comfortable. And you smile. You know, just as Steven does, that deep, deep, deep down, Marc will quite like the t-shirt. 

He’ll grumble a little of course, probably give you both a playful roll of his eyes and tut. But he won’t take it off. He won’t throw it away. 

You’ll find him wearing it of his own free will in bed, and on lazy mornings in the flat. And even outside when the urge takes him. 

“I can carry those, love.” Steven smiles at you as you carry the bag, but you shake your head. 

“It’s fine.” 

He tuts, a sound that is so different to Marc, and kisses your cheek as you both head outside into the high street and the next charity shop. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[tavolgisvist]

At Laudate in Newdigate I decided that Saturday to take a very modest 250 milligrams of LSD in a final cup of tea with Joan before setting off for St John’s Wood to pick up Paul McCartney and Peter Asher and Tony Bramwell, the Apple team due next day at Bradford. <…> Paul seemed very positive and played us some rare recordings; ‘dubs’ he had made of songs, written by him for others, dubs on which he was singing for the first and last time. Maybe one day they will make an album of them, but maybe it will have to be over his dead body for I don’t see him wishing to complete that particular symphony in his lifetime. I said I had taken a dollop of the dreaded heaven-and-hell, and Paul said it should be an interesting journey, and it was. We stopped at a pub on the way up and I astonished myself by coping remarkably well up until the point where I asked the barman if I could buy a filthy table which stood in a corner covered in cigarette burns and the stains of long dead pints. <…> ‘Drink up,’ said Paul, seeing the signs and playing Dad. ‘Write your name here please, Paul,’ said the barman and we left.

We arrived in Bradford after dark. Some disabled people were operating rowing machines in a charity marathon in a local showroom. We wandered in and looked, leaving some silver in the collecting boxes, neither the first nor the last of the small spenders. It was midnight as we checked into the hotel. There wasn’t a soul or a sound except for the red-nosed night porter, as old as Moses. Paul had brought Martha (My Dear) with him – the sheepdog of the same name. ‘Can you shampoo her?’ he asked the porter who recoiled in terror. ‘It’s her arse,’ said Paul, and he put his fingers in the thick curls around Martha’s back passage and pulled off a cluster of clinkers. ‘Look!’ I nearly fainted. ‘I’m afraid not,’ said the porter. It was very late after all. Next morning, another lovely day. I felt very nice and clean around the brain, always have a lovely morning after acid. A few months earlier Paul and I had gone shopping for suits; he had told me navy blue pinstripe was already on the way back (meaning that he wore it) and I fell for it – and ordered one. I had taken it with me to Bradford; just right for Bradford I said. I wore it down to breakfast and then we went off to the Victoria Hall where the Black Dyke Mills Band were waiting on hard wooden chairs, looking bloody marvellous and real and solid and honourable and stocky and lots of other words like that. Paul had on a magenta shirt and a white jacket, double breasted, with black trousers (no one had ever told him they were on the way back), and the Black Dyke Mills Band was quite stunned by his charm and by the way he handled the music. Marvellous recordings were made, indoors and later in the street, of both ‘Thingumybob’ and ‘Yellow Submarine’. It was a good morning for everyone because the portable recording unit worked, the band and McCartney worked, and the press worked out beautifully – I saw dozens of old friends and we had a few pints and then lunch. At around three o’clock, as we filmed the last TV interview (‘How do you like Bradford?’ ‘It’s great …’; fast-moving stuff like that) I decided to off the suit and black shoes, put on a pair of red corduroys and a white Mexican cotton shirt from Olvera Street, Los Angeles, a couple of beads, an Indian scarf and down my throat went another 250 milligrams of the dreaded heaven-and-hell drug. What a day for a daydream. ‘Should be an interesting journey,’ said Paul. The chauffeur said: ‘Back to London?’ and we said ‘yes’, not sure that it was the right answer.

<…> As we rolled away from the South Midlands and approached the Northern Home Counties the acid really started to bounce. It was late afternoon and if there was a heaven to be found on this soil, then I reckoned it would be found this evening, in the green and gold of this divine countryside. ‘Would you like to swing on a star, carry moonbeams home in a jar?’ ‘Yes,’ said Peter Asher. ‘Where would you like to go?’ I asked. ‘AA Book,’ said Paul. ‘Pick the most beautiful name in Bedfordshire,’ I said, ‘that’s where we should go.’ Peter looked at the map for what seemed like two hours or more. ‘Harrold,’ he said, after fifteen seconds. ‘Harrold?’ said the driver, naturally knocked out with delight to leave the M1 and crawl down B, C and D roads to a village no one in the car, including himself, had ever heard of. We wound through Bedfordshire checking off the signs steadily until we reached the village sign: Harrold. Oh, it was a joyful Sunday sight. It was the village we were supposed to have fought the world wars to defend, for which we would be expected to fight the third when told to, but won’t. It was a Miniver hamlet on the Ouse and there were notices telling of the fete next Saturday, and a war memorial which made me weep. Thrushes and blackbirds sang and swallows dived into thatches and a little old mower wheezed as we walked down the only street there was past the inn which was closed, past the church which was open, nodding to a sandy man with a 1930s moustache and khaki shorts as he clipped his hedge and stared at these city people with funny hair and clothes. It was seven o’clock and acid or no acid, it was opening time and I steered us into the most beautiful village inn the world has ever known and there were three or four people in there, or more or less; magical antique villagers with smocks and shepherd’s crooks and also there was a fruit machine offering Jolly Joker tokens. Through the dancing lights, past the sparkle of the green and tawny bottles, I saw the sandy man with the khaki shorts. <…> ‘Welcome to Harrold, Paul,’ said the sandy man, the local dentist, downing the rich gold beer he had earned with his shears. ‘I can hardly believe it, in fact I think I’m dreaming.’ We next found ourselves in his house, below dipping oak beams, a banquet provided for us, hams and pies and multi-jewelled salads, new bread and cakes, chicken and fruit and wine; and the dentist’s wife, a jolly lady, still young beyond her maddest fantasies, bringing out her finest fare. Paul McCartney was at her table in the village of Harrold.

Hiding at a turn on the crooked staircase stood a little girl, shy and disbelieving. But she had brought a right-handed guitar and landed it in Paul’s (left-handed) hands but the wizards were producing this play by now and floating with the splendour of this, the strangest Happening since Harrold was born, the dentist and his wife, and the neighbours as they crowded the windows and the parlour, and the children, all caught their breath as Paul McCartney began to play the song he had written that week: ‘Hey Jude,’ it began. I sat peacefully, full of the goodness you can find within yourself when goodness is all around and the dentist’s wife picked up on it and asked why life couldn’t always be like this and I told her there was nothing to fear, nothing at all and the dentist brought out the wine he had been saving for the raffle at the fete next Saturday and we drank that to celebrate the death of fear and the coming of music to Harrold and then, and gradually, the dentist was freaking and he asked me what I thought I was talking about and for a moment it was very tough, very. Ah, but Dr Leary’s medicine was good that day and we came back to a good position again, but I didn’t feel quite right about the dentist after that, and I don’t think he felt quite right about me, but how was he to know and what was I to do? You don’t just tell strangers you’ve been taking that naughty old heaven’n’hell drug. It was now eleven o’clock and we were still in the house and the inn was closed but a winged messenger came to say that as this was the night of nights, never to return, the inn was to be re-opened. ‘In your honour, Paul.’ It was 11 p.m. Paul had The Look on his face, the ‘do we don’t we?’ I nodded: tonight we should. The pub was absolutely full. The whole village was here. Paul played the piano until at three o’clock a woman stood and sang ‘The Fool on the Hill’ and he left the piano to dance with her and kiss her on the cheek and then I went and sat in the little garden and cried for joy that we had come to Harrold. It was a most beautiful garden, with hundreds of old-fashioned flowers, lupins, foxgloves – that sort of thing, and Alan Smith came out, pissed as a newt and said, ‘Why so sad, old friend, why so sad on such a night?’ ‘Not sad,’ I said, ‘not sad, old pal, just happy to be alive.’ We left then, waved away by the Harrolds, by all of them, and we never went back and I never looked at the map again, not even to see if Harrold was there.

(As Time Goes by Derek Taylor)

(Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI)

Add to this

[ominoose]

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐒𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Character(s): Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley Summary: Not x reader, just random silly thoughts about the lads. Kinda summer themed. They're still in London. This came out more British than intended. Warnings: None

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭

Now that he's not constantly tired and getting two hours of sleep every fifth night if he's lucky, the Brit goes between quiet moments with a book on the couch to hyperactive spiels with no warning.

The newfound energy also takes his sass and mischief to the next level. If Marc or Jake (usually Marc, Jake's too scared) piss him off he will not drop it. For days Steven will slyly bring it up, make offhand remarks or fully kick up the argument again. It's never serious, he's still the one to step in if the other two are at arms, but Steven is no pacifist. "Y'know I just bought all these ingredients to make a lovely homecooked dinner with enough leftovers for Jake's taxi shifts and Marc's workouts... But-" "Steven please, we're starving, come on." "Since my cooking apparently tastes like a grannies garden!" "Por favor, I didn't even say it, Marc did-" "But you didn't disagree bruv!"

Takes Eurovision seriously. He made a point of not watching the BBC broadcast this year, although he's kept tabs on it through other websites. He's still not over last year. Jake tried to look into it and made a small comment about listening to the winner, commenting on Sweden's contestant being good. Steven went on a rant for a good twenty minutes about how it was rigged before Jake learned this was a lot more than a friendly song contest.

Whines when its hot out and forces Marc or Jake to front outside. Then forces them to buy a Mr Whippy for him to front and eat.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫

Gets really into British football. It started with hearing chants and noises outside on match days, the comradery and stupid sing-songs from fans in matching team colours bringing him a sense of nostalgia. He's still a diehard cubs fan, but going to the local pub to watch the match, getting a healthy outlet to yell and bang a table amidst others oddly suited him. Steven's just glad he's socializing.

Secretly folds up Stevens more "colourful" shirts and hides them.

Loves British chocolate, hates British crisps. He see's a packet of pickled onion Monster Munch and physically cringes away.

While Steven fronted and browsed through a charity shop, Marc spotted an old ds, just like one he had as a kid. The Brit could physically feel him eye it up from the inside and bought it. Now Marcs post-workout routine includes playing Pokemon.

Marc gets visibly sad and sighs whenever they phone in pizza because its never like the ones back home in Chicago.

Loves a greggs sausage roll.

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲

Half the reason the other two found out about him was when the old lady that Steven scared off in the elevator to the point she avoided them like the plague suddenly smiled and offered them tea. Turns out Jake had been helping her carry the shopping back to the flat when they bumped into each other. Their odd tea and biscuit afternoons helped Jake keep tabs on the boys.

Naps in front of the telly, usually to some reality tv like Eastenders, snoring away. The moment Steven or Marc slowly try to control the arm holding the remote he jerks away, pulling it to his chest and telling them off because he's still "watching" it.

Knows Marc folds and hides Stevens shirts that he hates. He puts them at the top of the pile just before Steven fronts. Marc has no clue and it drives him nuts.

His favourite passengers to pick up are drunk women. They're always either very funny or tell the most downright devious gossip, never afraid to openly include him in it too.

Made a solemn vow to himself that if he ever drove past Rishi Sunak he'd egg him.

Since he prefers night-shifts, the cat distribution system seemed to give him an 90% chance of meeting kittens on the street. If he has a passenger when he spots the little critter he'll make a mental note to return after drop off, Jake Lockley will not pass a chance at checking up on and cradling a gatita. Marcs learnt to be somewhat present during these shifts to stop Jake sneaking home with several kittens in his coat.

[solar-bean]

Jut found out that the full Touchstarved game might not be out till 2025 so here's a scenario I imagined with Ais. Has the others interact with mc too, but Ais is the main love interest. Hope this doesn't feel too much like my oc. I chose the Unnamed route so that may be brought up.

Worth The Trouble ( Ais x GN Reader )

( Content Warning: Violence, Blood, cursing, Ais being Ais, Remember what he did to that guy in the demo )

MC = Y/N ( I'm too tired from finals to type the slash, sorry 😭)

It started off as a normal day in Eridia, or at least as peaceful as things could be in the hellscape of a city. MC went to the market for some light grocery shopping, their small tote bag half full, when a group of kids zoomed past them. For a flash they could see that the kids' arms were full of produce, a few stray fruits leaving a trail in their wake. It was mere seconds before an enraged yell from a man was heard.

" Get back here you little shits!!!" the a man, a local produce seller, barreled down in the kid's direction. Nearly knocking down passersby, MC included.

One of the smaller kids tripped, dropping all of their stolen goods. They called to their friends for help but it was too late. The seller had already grabbed them by the collar like a stray puppy.

" Stupid maggot! I'll show you what happens to thieves around here!!" He pulled back his meaty fist to strike them.

Without thinking, MC ran to grab his wrist before the blow landed.

" Hey! That's going way too far."

The seller looked down at them and snarled.

" Stay out of this! This is between me and this little thief here."

" I get that but look at them." MC pointed to the kid's dirty clothes that were holding on by threads. " Clearly they aren't stealing for the fun of it. Can't you let them go?"

The seller scoffed at them, foul breath fanning their face. Thankfully they held back their disgust.

" I'm not running a charity. If the kid wants to eat the kid's gotta pay."

MC thought for a moment as they stared at the child, who was still curled in a protective ball. Although their face was covered, it was clear by their trembling that they were crying. MC immediately remembered all the times they'd been hungry and in need after they fled the temple. While they survived they couldn't imagine doing so at this child's age. How long had they been suffering?

" I'll do it."

" Do what?"

" Pay." MC reached into their cloak and pulled out their coin purse. " I've got plenty to spare." which wasn't true but they'd manage. The seller gave them a long, calculated glare before sighing.

" Fine."

He put the kid down. They gave a quick glance to the seller then the MC before grabbing their haul and scurrying off to where the rest of the group went. MC wasn't expecting a thank you, but the last look the kid gave to them over their shoulder was enough.

" Ok," MC counted the coins in their palm, leaving the purse nearly empty. " Will this be enough?"

The seller took the coins. Counting each while scratching his stubbly chin.

" Yeah, almost..."

MC looked at him confused. They were sure that they gave him much more than his nearly, spoiled produce was worth. They almost didn't notice his arm go up. But they did feel the strike across their face. Everything went white for a moment as they stumbled. Pain flared over the entirety of the right side of MC's face. They pressed their palm to it and whipped their gaze back to the seller stunned.

" What the fuck is your problem??!!" they shrieked at him.

" Don't look so confused. You said you'd pay for everything. That includes punishment. " He let out a dark chuckle and walked pass them. " Maybe think twice next time you wanna be someone's savior."

MC gawked at his back. What kind of asshole pulls a stunt like that. He got his money fair and square. Clearly he just wanted a reason to cause someone harm. They wanted to let it go and move on but crap that hit really hurt. His hands were big enough to crush their skull and they were pretty sure that his ring cut their cheek. There was no way they were gonna let him walk away so easily.

" Hey!"

The seller turned around and was met with a fist right to the nose. He reeled back, giving MC enough time to land a kick to his kneecap. He fell to the city floor with the gracefulness of an old dying ox, MC's coins going down with him. They grabbed a handful of them before making a break for it back to the Wet Wick.

Out of breath, energy, half their coins and what little faith they had in humanity, all MC wanted to do was go to sleep in their room and maybe have some of their scraps for dinner. It could've been made into a full meal but they hadn't realized they'd dropped their tote bag until it was too late. Thankfully, the bar sounded empty from the outside, so at least they could avoid the headache of possibly socializing.

" Hey sparrow."

Shit.

There right in his usual spot at the bar sat Ais, accompanied by Vere and Leander.

" Hey Ais..." they said weakly, pulling up their hood even more to hide the blooming bruises.

" Um Excuse me. I'm here too dear. Goodness has being here already dulled your manners?" came Vere, tail playfully swaying.

" Hey Vere." they said quickly as they tried to flee to their room, but that would've been to easy.

" Oh MC how was the market did you get anything good?" Leander asked, conveniently getting in front of them and blocking their path. They didn't look up at him and did their best not to adjust their hood again.

" Yeah, yeah it was good."

" But where's your tote ba-"

" It's getting late I'll see you guys later." MC swerved around him, nearly home free.

" Sparrow."

They stopped. Ais' piercing gaze burning into their back.

" Come here, please." he instructed in a soft yet stern tone. They couldn't resist him. He'd only pry more if they did, so reluctantly they sat next to him, avoiding eye contact.

" Take off your hood."

They stayed still. The air filled with a tense silence.

" Ais come one. They've probably had a long day. I'm sure their fi-" Lenader nearly choked when MC took their hood off. " What the hell happened?! Are you ok?!"

" Obviously not." Vere scoffed. " Thought I smelled blood but that's nothing new for you. Do tell, what mess have you found yourself in this time, MC?"

MC let out a tired sigh. Leander's worrying and Vere's teasing made for a sickening combo on an already shitty afternoon.

" It's nothing. I just ran into a bad guy at the market. Nothing interesting." They were about to get up to leave when Ais' hand was placed firmly on their shoulder.

" Humor us would ya? What really happened?" While the slight smile on his face was meant to be assuring, MC knew he was up to no good.

" Really it's nothing. I just saw some kids steal some food and one of them got caught by the seller. So I thought hey why not be nice and help this clearly starving child. But nope! As usual the situation blew up in my face. Apparently coins weren't enough payment for the guy so he- " They mimicked the back-handed slap motion they'd been a victim to. " The asshole didn't even have the decency to warn me first, so I thought it was only fair to get in a few blows in myself then run like hell before things got too heated. So yeah that's it. Nothing special."

After what they hadn't meant to be a ramble there was another thick silence. Crap maybe I said too much. Then a low chuckle came from beside them. Oh good Ais found the story amusing, maybe they were worried for nothing. But that was quickly put aside when they turned to look at him.

His grin was downright dangerous. Fangs gleaming and all. His eyes were even worse, glowing with a bloodlust that would scare a soulless shitless.

" I'll be right back." he said, getting up from his seat and stretching out his tired joints with a pop.

" Ais." Leander warned. " Let's think about this, ok buddy."

" Nothing to think about. Now," He stood in front of MC and leaned down to their level. " Which seller was it?"

MC felt their pulse quicken. Not just from being at eye level with Ais, but also from the immense violent aura he began to exude.

" Really Ais it's fine. I hit him pretty hard so we're even."

" I'm sure you did. But this is purely for my own selfish vices. I can't rest easy knowing this jackass is going around threatening kids and hitting customers. So who was it?"

" Ais. It's not worth the trouble just let it g-"

Ais' hand swiftly taken ahold of their chin. With a gentleness that greatly contrasted his character, he tilted MC's face to better examine the damage. They couldn't help the heat that rose within them.

" Plenty worth the trouble to me." He tilted their head back to face forward. " Who was it, MC."

Maybe it was the softness of his tone or the way he said their name instead of Sparrow, but they confessed. Even down to what stalls the seller's had been next to. He gave them a small, genuine smile and went on the hunt.

" Well, there's no stopping him now. Let's get some ice on that bruise, hm." Leander went around the counter, paying no mind to MC's breathless expression. In no time he came back with clean rag and another with ice inside. " Alright let me see."

Before he could attend to their face, Vere cut in.

" Leander, didn't the doctor leave some magic elixir or whatever for minor injuries in the backroom?"

" Oh you're right. He did. I should go get it."

" Yes you should." Vere smiled sweetly then frowned once Leander was out of sight. " Good I couldn't tolerate him for much longer without Ais here."

" Don't get too excited, he'll be back soon." MC reminded him.

" No he won't," Vere swiped the rag that Leander left on the counter near the ice bag before turning back to them with a mischievous smirk. " I poured those nasty medicine bottles out weeks ago."

MC gawked at him.

" Why would you do that? What if someone needed those?"

" What like you? Don't be such a baby you'll be fine. Now hold still. I can only take so much of you blood smelling up the place."

With a similar gentleness as Ais, Vere took hold of their chin and began to dab the blood away from the cut that was already beginning to close. MC didn't have the energy for anymore shock today, so they relished in the care.

" You know. This pacifist act you're playing won't do you any good in this city"

MC sighed and grabbed the ice bag to put on their bruise once he was done with the cut.

" I'm not a pacifist. Trust me I've got nothing against that jerk getting what he deserves. I just don't want Ais to get in any trouble because of me."

" Hmph, now why would Ais get in trouble?"

" Because, he's a monster. What if the Senobium punishes him for being too violent?"

Vere hummed to himself. He carelessly tossed the bloody rag on the floor and leaned back against the counter, tail swishing languidly.

" Oh don't fret dear. The Senobium's too up their own asses to care about a few lowtown brutes getting torn apart. Besides I highly doubt Ais would do anything so dreadful as to get a punishment like mine. And if he did..." Vere's eyes turned a bright pink, his fangs seemed longer as well. " I'd tear this city to the ground before they laid a finger on him."

MC just stared at him for a while. The primordial fear in their gut was unmistakable, but they couldn't help but feel a bit relieved.

" Well I'm glad Ais has a friend like you to look after him."

The fox scoffed.

" I'm not his friend."

A bit confused by that response, they were sure he was joking. The duo seemed as close as Mhin and Kuras if not more.

" Ok then I'm glad you're his very close, foxy furry acquaintance."

Vere's ears went down as he scowled at them.

" I can break you like a twig. Don't forget that."

They merely chuckled at that although they weren't entirely sure if he was serious or not.

" Sorry for the wait!" Came Leander's chipper voice. He rejoined the two with a small container of bandaids and a bottle of unknown liquid. " Took me forever to find this elixir. I could've swore we had more bottles. Thankfully, I always stash a spare."

" Wow how great is that Vere." MC gave him an innocent smile that in turn got them glare. Vere definitely meant that threat now.

----

Ais arrived back at the bar late into the night. He wreaked of blood despite his best efforts to clean himself. He didn't want to make another bad impression on his new...new friend? Acquaintance? Whatever they were he wanted them around him more often. Which would be hard if they were scared of him. Did he scare them before when asking about the seller? They seemed nervous, but most people were around him, especially after knowing about his brutal tendencies.

Perhaps they didn't mind. He got a good look at the seller's broken nose, and what he could assume was an injured knee that made it all the easier to catch and corner him. The sparrow really did have a tough side after all. He was almost sad that he sullied their work with his own. No one would suspect that what was left of the asshole was the handiwork of two pissed off individuals. Maybe returning their tote bag full of goods and the coins that he'd swiped from the guy's pockets would be a good enough apology gift.

The barkeep was cleaning shot glasses when he arrived. Out of no where a wave of unease hit him. Maybe he came back too late and should just leave their stuff here.

" Got something for MC. Can you give it to them for me?"

The barkeep only spared him a quick glance.

" Do I look like a delivery boy? Drop it off at their door yourself, I'm busy." She replied with a bitterness that he always found amusing.

" Yes ma'am."

He was in front of their door when the doubt came back, sweaty palms too. What the hell was he nervous for? He doesn't get nervous. This was just a small favor for a frien-aquaintance. Just put the stuff down and go. But what if someone took it? Maybe he should see if they're awake first. Maybe not what if he wakes them up.

Annoyed by his rambling thoughts he did least smart thing and opened, which should've been locked, door. It was dark inside, aside the moonlight from a small window. His higher than average vision could make out a small bed with a lump under the covers. Next to it was a dresser. He made his way to it quietly, mentally cursing the metal on his boots for the creaks they made in the floorboards.

Finally at his destination, he set the tote bag and coins on the dresser and turned to leave. But curiosity got the best of him. He snuck a peak at MC and it was all over. The covers were up to their nose. There was a small bandage on their cheek. The bruising seemed to have healed a bit. Ais had never seen them look so peaceful. It was actually pretty cute. Then he realized how creepy this whole situation was and made his way to the door.

" Ais...?"

Shit!

He stopped mid step, looking over his shoulder at them. Their eyes were barely open and their voice was quiet and soft.

" That you?"

He sighed.

" Yeah it's me sparrow. Don't worry just wanted to return your bag. I'm leaving, go back to sleep." he kept walking.

" Are you ok?"

He stopped again, wide eyed.

" What?" he asked.

They yawned.

" I smell blood."

Oh, he thought. They were worried about him? That's actually really sweet. When was the last time anyone got worried for him? Vere and Kuras maybe. But they knew he could handle himself. It's what's he's good at. Looking out for himself when no one will. When everyone else leaves eventually.

But maybe MC wanted to stick around.

He smiled, unsure if they could see his face so he made sure they could hear it in his voice.

" I'm just fine sparrow. It's not my blood you're smelling."

They smiled back before yawning again.

" Good. Well see ya later I guess..."

They curled back into their blanket and pillow, already drifting. He took in the sight one last time before leaving and closing the door.

" Yeah see ya later."

The barkeep and every wander through the night had no idea why the feared demon renegade, Ais, had the softest smile on his face all the way back to the wastelands.

[damianbugs]

Hi I am currently poking my nose into dc comics and especially Batman.

Do you have any favorite runs that are hopefully collected in omnibus format or absolute editions?

I already have the Scott Snyder/greg cappulo run, the Paul dini run and I just bought the Batman and robin run by Peter tomasi. (Only the Peter tomasi one is unread and I liked most of the other Omni’s)

I also read a bit of the grant morrison Batman but I don’t enjoy reading him tbh.

Would love to hear your thoughts as there is no good way to currently read dc in my country, the digital versions for sale are very expensive and the subscription service is also not available in my country.

hi!!! always so happy to give comic recs!

the Batman: Black and White Omnibus is one of my all time favourites! it is an anthology collection of many different stories from the three Batman: Black and White runs (1996, 2014 and 2021) as well as some issues from Batman: Gotham Knights.

while there is no ominibus announced yet, Ram V's Batman: Detective Comics: Gotham Nocturne currently has 3 collected volumes out! there are 5 in total, but the other two don't come out until like... 2025. it's probably one of the best tec runs we've had in decades.

Batman by Jeph Loeb & Tim Sale Omnibus is a classic since it's got The Long Halloween, Dark Victory, Haunted Knight AND Catwoman When In Rome. so you get a wide cast of batman rouges and bruce and dick's early days!

also the collected omnibus for Knightfall vol. 1-3. quite possibly the best main batman arc of the 90s!!!

Batman by Neal Adams Ominibus is also really good, but since it collects issues from the bronze age (late 1960s to 1980s) people find it a bit harder to follow in its coherency. personally i think it's worth it because it collects SO MANY batman comics that adams worked on, including; Brave and The Bold, Robin, Saga of Ra's al Ghul, Batman Odyssey and so many more!

so so happy to hear you've got Batman and Robin Omnibus by Tomasi and Gleason, since that is my number one most recommended collection of all time. and don't you worry, i always avoid recommending grant morrison unless i absolutely can not avoid it 😔

i also always say that if your local library/charity shop doesn't have the comics you're looking for, pirate them on the internet! if you need specific websites, message me :) hope this was helpful! i also have a couple comic lists collected on my comic geeks you can view for free!

[kissingkiszka]

The Sweet Symphony-Chapter One: Rockstar Romeo

Jake Kiszka x Reader series

Words: 600+

Summary: shopping at the local record store on your one day off, you have an enticing experience with an unexpected encounter.

CW: MDNI, 18+, fluff, flirtatious banter

This chapter is literally so short I don’t even think it can be considered a full chapter! This is more of an introduction to set the scene!

Masterlist

—————————————————————

The bright sun was beaming down into the local record store window in Nashville, Tennessee. You finally had a day off from your job at the hair salon, and you were going to spend it doing the thing you loved. Music. More specifically, shopping for vintage records. Your fingers hovered over the rock section until you came across Elvis Presley. You flipped through the old records, noticing a man across from you began to scan his hand over the Elvis section as well. At the bottom of the collection, there was The Essential Elvis Presley in mint condition. Your hand flew to pick up the record, only to be met with the other man's hand on top of yours. Your fingers softly interlocked with his. He mirrored your image as you pushed your hair behind your ear, trying to get a better look at the man. He had long dark brown hair accompanied by matching dark brown eyes. His hands were the farthest thing from soft. They were cold and covered in calluses, you weren't going to lie. Staring into his eyes, a special kind of tension grew. It was if your souls had entered an intense staring contest. He opened his mouth, beginning to speak, but you needed the first word.

"Elvis?" As you continued to interlock fingers, the tension built. You begin to wonder if the contact continues because of your need for the record, or for a need of something else?

"He's one of my bands top influences." He declared, a wide smirk appearing on his face.

"You're in a band?" Your grip on the record grew tighter. It was now a game to see who would let go first. "What band?"

"Greta Van Fleet. we've been around for a few years now, but we're still trying to gain traction." He gave you a soft smile. "I play guitar. Been playing since I was three."

"Well are you any good?" You sarcastically questioned.

He chuckles to himself, running his large hand through his hair. "Why don't you come find out?"He let go of the record, letting you have it. "We're doing a charity concert tomorrow night. The Blue Room. I can save you a spot on our guest list. Come see us, we'll show you what music is."

You picked up the record, nodding. "I'll come by if I happen to be available." Your plans were to sit on your couch and binge watch the newest Netflix show. But those plans could easily take a rain check for a concert, especially if he would be playing the guitar. You could see him itching to keep the conversation going.

"My treat." He grabbed the record from your clutch and took it up to the register before you could protest. "Now everytime you play it, you'll think of me." He swiped his card, waiting for the transaction to go through.

"Ah yes, the mysterious musician I met at my local record store who will forever change my life." You joked as he handed the record back to you. "But, thank you."

"Who knows? Maybe there's something more here." He started towards the door, never taking his eyes off you.

You shrugged, having nothing left to say.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow darling."

"Yeah, yeah it's actually Y/N." You chuckled to yourself at the pure desperation of the situation. As you turned to leave, a panic set in. "Wait, I never got your name."

He paused for a moment, eyeing you up and down.

"Jake." He said with a sly nod. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses and left the record store.