#may you have the best most wonderful day~

[mxrcurysb1tch]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Astrology 🐉observations pt. 5 ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Song of the day <3 idk why but feeling this vibe today fr fr maybe it’s the Leo full moon making me wanna partyyyy

^ྀི Gemini moons are super intelligent and generally study maths or engineering. They’re also super good at getting stuff done even though they never seem to ever be actually working? It’s like a talent.

^ྀི Ever wonder how someone can think a certain way and yet speak in a totally different way? They likely have their moon and mercury in completely different signs. For example, I’m a Capricorn moon with a Leo Mercury and while I am generally very hard on myself and sometimes pessimistic, it sometimes comes out as me appearing overly confident or self obsessed even though I feel anything but that. Another example is, a Gemini moon I know, he is always overthinking in his mind, feels anxious or flighty but his speech is very calm and levelled, since he is a Capricorn Mercury. This can sometimes lead to frustration especially if Mercury is debilitated or retrograde. People with complimentary or the same moon and mercury sign might have a more congruent way of expressing themselves and because they are sure of their convictions, many people may listen to them and respect them.

^ྀི Mars and Mercury conjunctions make someone very good at insults or even verbal aggression, depending on the sign/house and other placements. Their humour is likely to be playfully making fun of people or even themselves. They may be witty with it too. When it comes to arguments they always know exactly what to say to win.

^ྀི Virgo placements especially rising, sun and mars have a tendency to be very connected to their bodies, and even hyper aware of the processes going on inside them. They’re not usually the types to forget to eat or rest. Not because they know better (but let’s face it they usually do) but simply because they feel their internal sensations so strongly. It can also sometimes develop into psycho-somatic conditions or health anxiety if it is too pronounced.

^ྀི Having multiple detriment placements (especially if you also have no domiciles and if Saturn is also involved) can make the native feel like they have to work super hard at everything they do and like nothing comes naturally to them. They might feel like they aren’t talented or gifted in any way or that they weren’t blessed in life like other people are. This usually isn’t true though, what these natives need is a bit of self belief and self love.

^ྀི Meeting someone with the same moon sign as you is an elite experience. You might just feel connected to them in some way and just intuitively understand each other. Of course it will depend on their other placements too, but usually you guys will feel like the other “just gets it”. This is because you won’t have to explain to them why you feel a certain way or modify your expression in order to relate to them on a deeper level. My childhood best friend has the same moon sign as me and I have always felt like we are platonic soulmates.

^ྀི Whichever house you have Scorpio in can show where/what in your life you are most secretive about. For example, if you have Scorpio in your 2nd house you might be very secretive about your money, home or possessions. You might not want people to know how you earn money/how much you earn or you might not like having people come over to your house. If you have Scorpio in the 7th house you might be secretive about your relationships, you might engage in a lot of clandestine flings or affairs.

^ྀི People with the same sun as their rising feel so warm and genuine, what you see is what you get. They’re usually super confident in their own skin. They can’t help but be transparent and bare their souls to you. The degree to which will depend on the sign, of course. However, People with the same moon as their rising might feel overexposed and vulnerable. They usually have a more quiet presence, or always look like they’re sad or far away. They’re usually lost in thought or emotion though as they can’t help but be forced to examine their inner world in excruciating details.

[shanastoryteller]

Dean is taking too long in the basement.

He should have been right behind him, but he isn’t. Sam gets the kids out and goes running back downstairs, gun held in front of him, which ends up being pointless. The rawhead is head.

For a moment, he thinks Dean is too.

He’s pale and cold in the water and Sam sees the tazer and knows exactly what happened and if his brother is dead, he doesn’t care about personal gain or consequences or any of that shit, he’s brining him back no matter what.

But his pulse flutters weak and too fast under his fingers and Sam doesn’t even spare a moment for relief before he’s shouting, “CHRIS! CHRIS! I need you!”

Nothing happens.

Fear clogs his throat. “Paige! Wyatt! Leo!”

He never bothers the others. He’s trained with them, even fought with them while he was at Stanford, but at the end of the day he’s just another witch and Chris is his whitelighter. But his brother is dying.

No one comes.

He calls 911 then, because as long as Dean isn’t dead then he can be healed, and he’ll worry about what’s going on with the Halliwells later.

~

The doctors can’t do anything, Dean’s already resigned himself to death, and no one’s answering his calls.

He’s pacing in the hall outside of his brother’s room, not wanting Dean to see him unraveling but not able to bring himself to go too far away. It’s not like he’s going to drop dead the second Sam looks away, he knows that.

He knows that.

It doesn’t matter if no one’s answering his calls. He knows other witches, he can track down another whitelighter if he has to. Even then, whitelighter healing is the best solution, but not the only one. He’s loathe to attempt a healing spell on his brother, just in case it goes wrong, but he knows the stasis ones well enough. Dean won’t like being put in a glass case like Snow White, but it’ll keep him alive while Sam finds a solution.

“Sam!”

He turns to see Chris striding toward him and he should be relieved, he is relieved, but the terror and stress he’s been managing since yesterday all course through him at once and come out as rage. He grabs the front of Chris’s shirt and slams him into the wall, thankful there’s no one around. “Where the hell have you been?”

Chris doesn’t fight him, not that it would do him much good to try. Chris may be the stronger witch, but Sam can hand him his ass easily. “Sam-”

“Dean electrocuted himself saving children,” he says, “He almost died! He – they said – his heart–” It’s almost too much for him all over again, but then he notices the blood down Chris’s neck, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes, the bone deep exhaustion that Chris is so good at hiding from everyone except for him and Wyatt and occasionally Phoebe. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Sam wonders if his grip is pressing him down or holding him up. “There was a demon attack, we were in the underworld. They had Peyton, we didn’t,” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m your whitelighter, I should have–”

“Shut up,” Sam says gently. He pushes Chris’s hair aside, but whatever wound left the blood is long gone. “You’re not just my whitelighter. You’re my friend. I know you wouldn’t not answer for no reason, sorry, I just. It’s Dean.”

He offers him a weak grin. “Yeah, I know. Older brothers, right? Always causing problems.”

Chris knows that better than most.

“Sam, I can’t heal him here,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Sam says. “Secrecy, mortals, I get it. I’ll get him out of here and to the motel, then I’ll call you, alright?"

“Alright,” Chris says, then frowns. “What are you going to tell him? He’s going to have questions.”

“He’ll get over it,” Sam says firmly. “I wouldn’t expose you guys like that.”

Chris shrugs. “I mean, I get why you don’t want to tell him, with your dad and everything, but he does have a right to know. Just because his powers are bound doesn’t mean he’s not a witch too.”

Sam stares.

He frowns. “What?”

“You,” he starts, then changes tracks. “Dean’s a witch?”

Now Chris is the one staring. “Of course he is. It runs in families. If you’re a witch, Dean’s a witch. He’s just had his powers bound and you haven’t.”

“But,” he starts. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You were too young. Doing it before the child’s first birthday can lead to, uh, some strange results.”

Sam understands that him being a witch descended from Melinda Warren means his mother was a witch, but he’d never really thought about it before. She knew what he was, what Dean was, and had planned to keep it from them forever. If she hadn’t died when he was six months old, she would have bound his powers too.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn’t have the space to figure it out now. “Okay. Well, that’s probably a conversation more appropriate for when he doesn’t have a heart condition. Go, clean up, I’ll call you when we’re ready.” Chris nods, but before he goes Sam grabs his wrist. “Hey. Peyton’s okay, right?”

He grins. “She’s good. And maybe next time she won’t think it’s a good idea to sneak to the underworld alone.”

Knowing Peyton, it probably won’t be much of a deterrent.

~

Dean isn’t afraid of dying.

It’s just that this is a really bad time.

Dad’s missing, the demon that killed their mother is after Sam’s girlfriend, never mind what the hell is going on with Sam and the weirdo vision he’d had about their house. Vision. It’s enough for sweat to prick out over his skin in worry.

And now this, him frying his heart and leaving Sam on his own, the one thing he never wanted to do.

“Hey.”

He looks up, trying to force a smirk, but it falls off and he’s just left blinking. Sam’s lost the stubborn fragility he had before, smiling at him like everything’s going to be fine. Maybe it will be. There’s a jump in his chest that he thinks might be hope and not his heart giving out on him.

“We’re getting out of here,” Sam says, slapping his leg. “AMA, come on, you know the drill.”

“Alright,” he says, bemused. If he’s going to die, he hadn’t been all that keen to do it in a hospital bed anyway.

The doctor is less than impressed. Dean lets do Sam do all the talking and eventually the doctor rounds on him and demands, “Why are you doing this? It makes no sense!”

He actually has no idea why he’s doing this, so he just shrugs. “If my brother says we’re going, then we’re going.”

Which is apparently not the right answer by the way he goes white to the lips, but Sam smiles at him, so he really can’t bring himself to care.

They eventually get out there, Sam helping him from the wheelchair to the Impala, and being back in his baby, even in the passenger side, is another hit of relief. Of course they reach a second problem when they get to the motel and Dean realizes he’s not certain he can make it to the door.

Sam rolls his eyes, parking the car as close to the room as they can get, and says, “Don’t be a baby. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

He considers arguing against it, but he’s exhausted, there’s no one around, and he’s already lost a significant amount of big brother credibility by getting fried in the first place.

“Shut up,” he mutters, but only rolls his eyes before looping an arm around Sam’s neck. He grimaces when Sam gets an arm under his knees, lifting him up with at least a grunt of effort. He’s kind of irritated that his baby brother can lift him this easily at all, even though it’s not exactly a surprise. Sam’s grown up a lot since he left for Stanford, adding inches of height and muscle, and it’s not exactly like he was a weakling when he left. Still, being carried by his little brother like a princess is almost as bad for his ego as nearly dying in the first place.

Sam doesn’t comment on it, however, easing him down on the bed closest to the door, even though he’d be a speed bump at best to anything coming after them. It sends a well of fondness through him that he expresses through a scowl.

“Lay down and keep your eyes shut, okay?” Sam says. “No matter what you hear or feel.”

Dean blinks at him. He figured Sam had a plan, but he hadn’t expected it to be so immediate. “Why? What are you doing?”

“Not letting you die,” he answers promptly. “Don’t argue with me. It’s not going to hurt. Just trust me for five minutes, okay?”

He’s been trusting Sam for a lot longer than five minutes. “Fine, whatever.”

He lays down on his own, because he can at least do that, and Sam doesn’t look nervous or worried or guilty, so whatever thing he’s about to try is probably fine. Although he really has no idea what the hell Sam thinks he’s going to pull out that can fix his heart, but he closes his eyes and waits.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing, which he hadn’t expected. A moment later it opens again, but there are two sets of footsteps. He tenses. “Sam?”

“It’s alright,” Sam says, his large hand settling warm and comfortable on Dean’s shoulder. “Just relax.”

Relax? How the hell does Sam expect him to relax when –

There’s a hand on his chest, one he doesn’t recognize, and he barely keeps from leaping off the bed. Then there’s a warmth, something comforting, like being held by his mother or his dad’s proud look or how it feels every time Sam reaches for him. Then he’s breathing in, chest expanding comfortably in a way it hasn’t since he was electrocuted. He’s not cold anymore, not exhausted, the creeping feeling of death chasing him whisked away in a matter of seconds.

It leaves him terrified.

“Sam?” he says, and it takes everything to keep his eyes squeezed shut.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing again and Sam says, “It’s okay, you’re okay,” and Dean’s eyes pop open and he’s shoving himself onto his feet.

It’s nothing, it’s easy, just like it was a day ago. Sam is smiling, relieved and okay, and Dean grabs onto his shoulders and shakes him. “What was that? Who was that? What did you do, Sammy?”

“A friend,” Sam says. “Dean, don’t worry, it didn’t cost me anything.”

He scoffs. “Right, because what – hoodoo priests and witches or whatever the hell that was just help out hunters from the goodness of their hearts? What did you do?”

Sam presses a hand to his chest, where his heart is now beating strong and sure in his chest, none of that stuttery crap of before. “I didn’t give anything. It’s okay. Sometimes people just help each other out because they’re good people, Dean. Like you do, when you saved those kids last night.”

“We saved those kids,” he corrects, because he wouldn’t have been able to both fight the rawhead and get the kids out on his own. He and Sam did it together.

“Right,” Sam says, mouth tugged up in the corner. “There’s no trick, no price. They’re someone I know that was willing to help, that’s all.”

Dean presses for more information, but Sam refuses to give it, and eventually he has to give it up. At least for now.

He’s glad he’s alive. He’s glad he won’t be leaving Sam alone.

And most of all, he’s glad he’s going to be around to pry out of Sam whatever secrets he’s keeping from him.

let the beltane fires burn

The Halliwells are descended from Melinda Warren, are the branch in which the greatest power resides, the line that would birth the most powerful witches to walk the earth.

It's not the only line.

Deanna knows about hunters, knows what they don’t know and don’t understand and that they killed her family. But Samuel didn’t kill her family. Samuel’s a good man who saves innocents, the same way she was raised to, if not how she was raised to do it.

She’s all alone. It’s not safe to be a witch.

The day before her wedding, she binds her powers.

When Mary is a year and a day, she does the same to her. It’s safer this way. Better. The world is so unkind to witches, even ones like them, born into it, with their power baked into their blood. Better to fight evil with bullets and knives than the strange terrible thing she’s destined to give her daughter, that her daughter is destined to pass along to her own daughters.

She never tells Samuel. There’s no reason to.

When Mary is old enough, when she’s talking of running and rebelling and all those things Samuel thinks will never come to pass and Deanna knows almost certainly will – running and rebelling is in her blood as surely as the magic, but there’s no binding potion for that – she tells her daughter what they are. What she’ll have to do to keep her future daughters safe, if she has them. It’s the only potion she ever teaches Mary how to brew, the only one she’ll ever need.

The day after Dean’s first birthday, Marry brews the potion and feeds it to him. He cries more after, doesn’t settle as quickly, and John worries and Mary reassures him and tells herself she’s done the right thing. Whatever it is that Dean feels he’s lost, he’s better off without it. She’s going to be normal. Her children are going to be normal.

She intends to do the same for Sammy, but she burns above his crib when he’s six months old.

~

John sees Sammy levitate a toy towards him when he’s two years old and shouts so loudly that he drops it, tears running down his face and wailing in the face of his father’s anger. Dean comes running from the other room and reaches for Sammy, letting his brother’s chubby fingers tangle in his shirt. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.

He doesn’t answer, rubbing his hand over his face and heart pounding in his chest.

What did that demon do to his son?

What did it turn him into?

Is Sammy even human anymore?

He doesn’t react to salt, to holy water, to silver. John loses his temper every time something moves inexplicably and eventually it stops, by the time Sam’s in kindergarten he’s just like all the other kids.

John watches, fear and suspicion and something uglier caught up inside of him.

What is his son?

~

Sam figures out young that he’s a freak.

Dad and Dean just think he’s weak, just think he has nightmares, and he lets them. He only practices the telekinesis when he’s alone and every time he almost gathers the courage to tell his brother or father about it, to finally come clean, he’s viciously reminded how much they hate the things they hunt, how they’d never accept it, accept him, and as soon as he tells them what he is, he’ll lose them.

He doesn’t know what he is, really. Only that he’s not normal.

Eventually he stops seeing things in his sleep, instead getting them when he’s awake, more vivid and real than the monsters that plague his dreams. He sees people being hurt, people who need help, and it goes against everything he’s been taught to leave them to their fate.

But how can he explain it to his family? He can’t.

He’s thirteen the first time he sneaks out and saves a woman from one of his visions, finding her in the dark alley he’d seen her die in. He puts a bullet in the man’s chest, but it barely stops him, and then she and him both are getting a fireball thrown at them.

Sam shoves his hand in front of him, pushing back against the heat, refusing to die the same way his mother died.

The fireball returns to the man, catching him in the chest and he screams, disappearing into the fire until he’s nothing more than a smudge on the ground.

“Wow,” the woman breathes. Sam turns to her, trying to come up with some sort of explanation, when she continues, “I’ve never met a witch with active powers before.”

“I’m not a witch,” he says automatically, thinking of bargains made with demons, of hex bags and rotting meat and blood sacrificed.

She looks between him and the smudge on the ground incredulously. “Are you sure about that?”

Yes. No.

He doesn’t know what he is.

She leads him back to her apartment, stacks books into hix arms, and then makes him a sandwich when his stomach rumbles. His age worries her, his ignorance worries her even more, and everything she’s saying sounds like kooky new age bullshit except for the way that it explains everything he’s never been able to.

There are witches and demons and monsters nothing like anything his father’s ever talked about.

~

It’s easy to research, at least, because his dad thinks there’s a kernel of truth in every piece of supernatural bullshit. Dean makes fun of him for digging into girly, feel-good crap rather than the harder stuff, but his dad just seems relieved he’s taking an interest all. Sam starts taking notes, keeps them all in a folder until Dad buys him a journal, patting his back when he hands it over like it’s a rite of passage.

To Dad, it’s his first hunting journal.

Sam runs his hand down the soft leather spine and knows he’s starting his book of shadows.

The visions don’t stop. He saves more innocents, some witches and some mortal, and keeps the record of all the creatures he’s killed in Latin to discourage Dad and Dean from snooping. He uses his telekinesis on hunts only when there’s no other option, only when there’s someone’s life on the line, and he’s as careful as he can be not to get caught.

It should be a relief, to find out there are other people like him, to know that he’s a force for good in the world.

There’s no way he can explain the existence of a different type of witches to his father without putting a target on their backs.

Some witches have been targeted by hunters, ones who were trying to help but got caught in the crossfire, ones that had turned evil and needed to be stopped, but it’s not often he finds a witch that regards hunters with anything but fear. At least when his family are the ones sniffing around, he can give them a heads up, can tell them how to avoid their attention.

He’s had a lot of practice, after all.

~

Sam is sixteen when he’s a little too slow.

The innocent is safe and the demon is killed, but his chest is torn open and he’s bleeding out on the pavement.

“Oh no, oh no,” the woman he’d saved chants, pressing her hands against him, even though it’s pointless, even though it just sends a bolt of pain through him. Fuck. He doesn’t want to die. Dean is going to devastated. “Paige! Help me! Paige!”

There’s a bright light in the corner of his eyes and an woman around his dad’s age with bright hair red hair is leaning over him.

Then she touches him, but her touch doesn’t hurt.

He looks down and the wound on his chest closes, skin clear and unharmed, pain retreating to only a memory.

“He saved me,” the woman says. “He can move things!”

The redhead’s eyebrows rise. “You have active powers?”

They’re always so surprised by that. Sam’s more impressed with the fact that she just healed him. “I get premonitions too. What are you?”

“You get,” she starts then cuts herself off. “Where’s your whitelighter?”

He stares. “My what?”

She raises a hand to her head and groans. “Oh, someone’s really messed up somewhere. Leo!”

~

Guardian angels are real, called whitelighters, and apparently witches with active powers who go around saving innocents are supposed to have them to help keep them from getting themselves killed in the process.

Leo, who’s something called an elder with a kind face, says an unconventional witch deserves an unconventional whitelighter.

Chris Halliwell is his age, half witch, and also has telekinesis.

Oh, and he’s apparently his cousin. His very, very, very distant cousin.

“Are all witches related?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” Chris says, long dark hair and hazel eyes doing more to aid his claim of family than the spell his mother had cast. He and Chris look more related than him and Dean do. “We’d thought all the other branches of the Warren line had died out. You’re a surprise.”

Great. He’s a freak even among witches.

~

It’s so much easier now that he’s not desperately trying to piece together everything on his own, with only the occasional help from the innocents he saves. Chris is sarcastic and annoying and funny and more than having a guardian angel, Sam’s relieved to just have a friend he doesn’t have to lie to for once.

The Halliwell house, with its potion ingredients and powerful witches and home cooking, is only an orb away. He mostly hangs out with Chris, of course, but Piper always invites him to stay for dinner and Paige checks in on him, feeling somewhat responsible for him since she met him first, and Wyatt’s friendly enough but Chris sends him packing whenever Sam’s there.

He’s pulling doubletime when it comes to saving innocents, doing it as a witch and as a hunter, and he’s still maintaining straight As on top of it all while lying about half his life to his father and brother. It’s a stack of cards that’s bound to fall apart.

Going to Stanford is about more than just escaping his father.

It gets him close enough to San Francisco that he won’t need to be orbed to the Halliwells. It’s supposed to give him some breathing room, to let him focus on being a witch, to let him get his education. He does more good as a witch than as a hunter, but it’s not like that’s something he can explain to his family.

He’d wanted out, needed out, before he gets himself or someone else killed trying to balance it all. But he hadn’t thought his father would kick him out. He hadn’t thought Dean would let him.

He goes to the bus station but doesn’t buy a ticket. He calls Chris and spends the rest of the summer at Halliwell manor, burying all his hurt under training with Chris and saving people and getting ready to start college in September.

~

Jess wears a pentacle around her neck and keeps salt in small bowls in each of the cardinal directions and Sam doesn’t intend to tell her that he’s a witch, but when he ends up saving her from a darklighter attack, that decision is taken out of his hands. Coming clean about the hunter part takes longer, but it’s a bit of an easier sell once the knowledge of the supernatural is already out there. The thing that surprised her most of all is that things like bullets and steel can be used successfully against monsters, rather than the existence of monsters themselves.

Three years later when Dean shows up at their door, Sam can’t bring himself to deny him. It’s one weekend. He’d never wanted to lose his family in the first place.

When he returns home to Jessica pinned to the ceiling, he doesn’t even have to think.

He yanks her down, catching her in his arms just as fire effulges the place she’d been. He pushes the fire away from them, but it fights him harder than demonic fire usually does and leaves his hands burned and blistering. He doesn’t care. Jess is bleeding and in shock but still alive, breath rattling against him. “CHRIS!”

Dean’s yelling for him, but Sam can’t let him in. He throws his hand out, keeping his bedroom door closed even as his brother throws his body against it, still screaming his name.

Chris orbs in, eyes going huge. “Sam, what-”

“Heal her then go,” he snaps, the smoke already hurting his throat. “I’ll explain later.”

He puts his glowing hands over her bleeding stomach and the wound closes, her body going slack and her breathing easing even as her eyes roll back.

Sam tenses. “Is she-”

“Fine, let’s go, your hands,” Chris says, hands already glowing as he reaches for him.

“SAM!” Dean shouts, sounding like he’s about two seconds away from trying to shoot through the door.

“You can heal me later,” he says. “Thank you. Go.”

Chris shoots him a bitchy look that Paige says they share and then he orbs away. The fire’s covered almost the entire room now and Sam finally lets go of the door.

Dean stumbles in, pale, already reaching for him.

Sam stands and finds his knees buckling, gritting his teeth to keep himself upright. “Take her,” he says urgently, pressing Jess into his brother’s arms. “We have to go.”

“You think?” he snaps, but he’s gentle with Jess. Sam shoves him towards the door, slamming it behind him just as it surges after them. Keeping the flames from killing them is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. No wonder he’s exhausted.

They stumble downstairs, away from the fire, and someone’s already called the ambulance.

The story’s an easy sell because it’s not like anyone would believe the truth. They say Jess took sleeping pills and Sam came home to flames. He pulled Jess out and has the burns to prove it. Dean saw the flames in the window and went up, helping to get them both out.

It’s almost true.

“He had yellow eyes,” Jess tells him after. “He was – Sam, I’ve seen demons, I’ve fought demons. He’s something else.”

“Different kind of demons,” Sam says. There’s the underworld, and there’s hell. Underworld demons go after witches mostly. Hell demons go after mortals and are a lot harder to kill, ironically. “It’s the same demon that killed my mother, Jess, and now it’s after you. I have to take care of this.”

Dean’s too relieved about Sam’s determination to rejoin the hunt to question him too closely about all this. He knows better than to think that will last for very long.

Chris agrees to watch over Jess for him even though she’s not technically one of his charges. They layer protection spells on her, including one cast by the power of three, and even this yellow eyed demon will be hard pressed to break through that.

Hell demons are tricky. They’re not as susceptible to witch magic. But Sam’s not just a witch.

He’s a hunter too.

[kickbackkanzaki]

The Dungeon Master and Chess Queen

You're the new student and chess captain at Hawkins High. When Eddie Munson asks you for tutoring you're certain you have him handled but you may have underestimated his strategy.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Warnings: Smut (18+), fingering (f receiving), slightly rough foreplay, hand job (m receiving), nudity, intercourse (p in v), swearing.

For the first time all week you were alone.

The library manager had seen an article about your win in Detroit and asked if you could do a chess presentation for the local children. She had left you the keys to lock up and drop in the returns slot when you were done but unfortunately none of the attendees had stayed to help pack up.

It hadn't paid anything and most of the kids had just enjoyed pushing the pieces around the board but it'd gotten you out of your suffocating house for a while.

Mrs Cunningham had decided not to press charges in light of your black eye and the psychiatrist had passed Dad but it had been a long week of bated breath.

Waiting for all that to resolve plus school and tutoring had nearly driven you to breaking point. Robin and Max had done their best to distract you but there was no real way to escape the terrifying potential outcomes that played out in your head all day and kept you awake at night.

"How much longer are you going to ignore me?"

The voice was too deep for a child and too loud for a library goer.

Eddie stood behind you scowling and you swore silently. His posture was rigid and his hands balled into fists like he was ready for a fight.

His eyes scanned you as you stood frozen and lingered on your shocked face. The bruising around your eye had lightened to yellow which you hid with cosmetics but Eddie could still see the mark.

His expression softened a little at the injury but you couldn't accept his pity. You'd hurt him too badly to deserve it.

"Go away Eddie," you ordered.

"Oh good you do know my name," he said sarcastically. "I thought you might have forgotten it after a week of dodging me at school."

"I blew you. Big deal. Get over it."

You sounded as cruel as possible to make him go. You wanted him to believe you didn't care, that what happened in your room was a dumb mistake to be forgotten and he didn't matter to you.

"Look me in the eye and say that."

You couldn't. You adored those warm emotive eyes and couldn't endure the pain that would show in them after your vehement words.

"Get lost already," you told him and turned around to end the conversation.

You tried packing away the chess pieces but your shaking fingers fumbled and some fell out their bag. A wayward pawn rolled across the table and you reached for it when Eddie covered your hand and slammed it down on the piece.

You gasped at the harsh contact and stared at the large hand holding yours in place. The trapped pawn was imprinting on your palm and Eddie's rings were hot against your skin. Your fingers felt so brittle and small under the masculine hold that you kept them still.

Eddie wrapped his free arm around your middle and pressed himself against your back. A few strands of his mane fell on your face tickling your cheek as he inhaled the scent of your hair.

Your free hand grabbed his jacket sleeve and you breathed through your mouth so you wouldn't smell the intoxicating aroma of him.

"Let go."

You meant to sound commanding but the words came out feeble.

"I can't. You're tearing me in two when you wont see me."

His emotional words were muffled as he spoke into your neck and you quivered under his hot breath on your skin.

You'd been wanting this so badly since you'd run out your room that day. For him to hold you tight and protect you from all the mayhem flying around you.

To just forget everything for a while and feel whole with someone who made you feel wonderful.

"I'm a mess Eddie," you confessed weakly and tried to wiggle your trapped hand free.

"We all are baby," Eddie replied and with his free hand turned your neck so he could kiss you.

Your lips touched and you grabbed his wrist, not to stop him but to make sure he didn't leave. Your resolve to be alone had evaporated in his warm kiss and you no longer had the ability to feign coldness.

You craned your neck to deepen the kiss and parted your lips to let your tongue search for his. Eddie released your hand to use both of his to cup your face and you turned into his hold.

No more hiding.

Your hands wandered down his flat belly and you slipped your fingertips between the denim and tucked death metal singlet.

Suddenly Eddie wrapped his arms under your backside and lifted you onto the table. You gave a squeal of surprise and blinked with wide eyes at his hungry smile.

"You're not getting the upper hand this time darling," he declared and pulled your head back with a sharp yank on your braid.

A heat flared in you at his roughness and when he pulled away from the next kiss you held his bottom lip between your teeth for an extra second.

You made a playful snapping noise and he answered with a low growl before diving in for more.

Eddie Munson wanted to rip your clothes off right there in the public library and that was fine by you.

His unoccupied hand stroked the stretch of skin between your knee high sock and skirt then slid upwards. You felt the fingers journeying towards your middle and you parted your legs to ease their way.

His mouth was busy working along your neck, nipping the erogenous flesh making you pant with anticipation. You felt Eddie's thumb push on your clitoris and you let out a mewling sound as a jolt went through your body.

"Are you going to purr kitten?" Eddie teased in your ear and slipped one of his long fingers under your thin underwear.

"Kitten wants to come," was your sultry reply.

Eddie's finger stroked the outer lining of your entrance until it was moist and practically quaking for more.

You gasped as the first finger entered your tight opening and Eddie bit your neck at the same time, tearing you between two passionate acts.

"Fucker," you puffed and loosened his belt.

"You love it," he accused and sighed a little when the pressure on his groin eased by the opened pants.

You lifted one knee to rest your heel on the table edge and Eddie slipped another finger in. You groaned appreciatively and started to pump his liberated cock in time with his ministrations.

Eddie made a familiar noise of elation as his member grew in your hand and for a moment your stomach swirled with regret about your bedroom encounter.

It only took a second of looking in Eddie's eyes to know this wasn't a repeat.

The way he was watching you with adoration made you bashful, you'd never been physical with someone who liked you before.

Sex had always been functional for you - a way to exchange intimate energy or release pent up frustration.

Eddie didn't want to use you as a disposable outlet. He was expressing genuine affection for the first person he'd found interesting in a long time.

Your sexy rebel routine and intelligence had hooked him at first but it was the compassion you showed for your loved ones that made him fall.

No one could give so much of themselves to others if they weren't sincere.

"Ah! Ah! Stop!"

Your sudden cry of pain ceased his attentions and he looked at your wince perplexed.

"What's wrong?" he asked alarmed.

"Rings!"

The tiny points on the carved jewellery had scratched your sensitive wall making you recoil.

Eddie's throat dried slightly with embarrassment and there was a damp noise as he carefully pulled his fingers from your hot centre. Their sudden withdraw left you dismal, mourning the potential for more.

The elastic in your underwear made a small pop noise as it fell back into place as if sealing you from further pleasures.

"Sorry! I'll take them off just a sec baby."

Eddie started twisting the demented dragons and demons off his fingers then nearly dropped them when they slipped on his lubricated tips.

"Eddie," you said quickly looking around. "I'm not sure the kid's section is the best place for this."

In the momentary lapse of passion you could suddenly smell the stale books and unvacuumed carpet of the public library. The exaggerated smiles and wide eyes of illustrated animals on the children's story books unnerved you as you held Eddie's cock tight.

"Do they still have those beanbags in General Fiction?"

"Eddie!"

"You're right let's get out of here."

Reluctantly you relinquished your hold on his manhood and pulled his underwear back up. The appendage looked farcical now, far too large for the garment with precum making a puddle on the fabric.

It took two seconds for Eddie to buckle up and pull you away from the scattered chess sets. The librarian would give you hell but you would make up some family emergency excuse.

Eddie barely let you lock the door he was in such haste to get you in his van. The return slot hadn't even closed before he dragged you down the stairs and around the corner where he'd parked.

It had been a lovely day when you'd dressed this morning and decided to walk into town but now the grey clouds were seconds away from opening.

Eddie went to unlock the back door of his van when you gave him a playful shove.

"I don't think so Munson!" you cried indignantly but smiled.

"Oh?" Eddie threw his hands up in mock offence. "I'm sorry madame, do you think you're better than that?"

"Yes I am!" there was laughter on your voice as you pulled Eddie by his vest and kissed him hard. "You shit."

"You adore me babe," he boasted when you finished and the first few drops of rain landed on his wild hair.

Needing no further encouragement you climbed into the passenger seat and Eddie turned the engine over. The stereo came alive blasting your eardrums with death metal and you recoiled violently as Eddie quickly turned the volume dial.

"Sorry babe," he apologised sheepishly, "not used to passengers."

"I felt that in my fillings," you whined rubbing your jaw.

"Soon you'll be feeling me everywhere," Eddie said slyly and received a smack on the arm.

By the time the van pulled up at Eddie's trailer the rain was hammering down.

"Wayne's at a buddy's today watching the game," Eddie assured you as he pulled the handbrake up. "We've got the place to ourselves for a few hours."

The two of you made a mad dash for the door through the pouring rain and stumbled inside laughing. The downpour and cold wind had exhilarated you both into a giddy state.

Your hands had gone icy from the rain but Eddie's were warm from driving and you obeyed his tug towards his room.

You'd never been in Eddie's bedroom but it was about what you'd imagined. Messy as yours but instead of books he had cassette tapes and Rolling Stone magazines scattered over every surface.

You spied the guitar hanging on the wall and stepped closer to inspect it.

"That's my other girl but she's no threat to you," Eddie told you as he threw some clutter off his bed.

"This is no girl. She is a queen!" you exclaimed and marveled at the amazing shape and colour of the instrument.

Eddie wrestled his tangled bedcovers into a more a more presentable state then tried to pull you down to join him.

"Slow down, slow down."

Instead of crashing on the mattress you pulled him to up to stand in front of you. Taking a moment to stay still in the tiny room as rain thundered on the roof.

"What's the matter baby?"

Eddie watched you carefully as you slipped his wet jacket off gently and hung it over the desk chair.

"Nothing," you assured him and slowly wrapped your arms under his. "I just want us to take our time. Enjoy ourselves."

The truth was you couldn't survive another fuck up.

If things didn't go exactly right this time there wouldn't be another chance. You were too scared your teenage sexual blunders would tarnish the enjoyment and leave you both regretting the whole experience.

Eddie joined his arms around you and the two of you rocked gently to the steady beat of precipitation. You rested your cheek against his singlet enjoying the softness of the dark cotton and the thudding of his heart against your ear.

Eddie fell in step with your slower stride and rested his chin on your head.

You stayed that way for a little while like a couple of middle schoolers at the Snow Ball. It dawned on Eddie you'd never done anything as sweet as hug, before the oral in your bedroom you'd only performed petting for the school population.

The two of you had jumped from illusion to reality without pausing in the middle to talk and take time with each other.

"You know babe," Eddie said brushing some loose hair away from your face. "We don't have to this if you want to wait. We can watch a movie or just hang out and listen to some tunes. You could use a lesson in metal."

You pulled your face away from his chest so you could look up at his handsome face.

"I want to," you confirmed softly with an easy smile. "Just not the way we have been."

"Me too," Eddie spoke quickly to assure you he was still on board. "It's just that I want you to know, this isn't something I usually do. I don't fool around I mean, not sex I have sex, just not with someone I really like and I really like you."

"That's good," his words were both a relief and a joy to hear. "Because I really like you Eddie Munson."

You kissed each other nice and slow taking time to learn the contours and texture of each other's mouths. No frenzied rush to get to the next stage or urgent groping.

You gently worked your fingertips under his waistline and pushed his singlet up keeping your palms against his smooth skin as he raised his arms to assist.

Eddie had a complexion a model would envy. His impartiality to outdoor activities kept him out of the sun and covered in heavy clothes. The black ink of his tattoos stood out boldly on his flat chest and you took your time examining them before you kissed each one.

"Like 'em sweetheart?" Eddie asked as he ran a finger down the back of your neck lightly.

"You're a canvas," you giggled and traced your fingers over your favourite ones.

The texture of your shirt on Eddie's middle was mildly irritating and he started to pull the hem upwards. You allowed it and he mirrored the gentle pace you'd undressed him.

He'd of course seen you topless before but his admiration was different this time. Then he had devoured your uncovered skin voraciously but this time he was controlled, brushing his fingers along your arms and collarbones like a jeweller studying a gem.

Your skin responded by breaking into goosebumps and you moved closer to steal his heat. You were used to intimacy being sloppy and rushed because you'd never had the privilege of time, liaisons for you were typically opportunistic.

"Ok baby?" Eddie asked and you nodded. Even now you couldn't admit you felt vulnerable.

"Maybe we should warm up?" you suggested and motioned towards the bed.

The thin walls of the trailer did little to insulate but it wasn't warmth you craved right now. You wanted touch uninhibited by clothing.

Eddie sat on his bed and held his arms open for you to fill. Your bra was feeling restrictive so you quickly unclipped it and tossed it across the room.

Eddie's brown eyes latched onto your breasts following them as you sat next to him and swung your legs onto the bed.

He looped an arm under your back to support you as you held onto his shoulder with one hand and buried your other in his unruly hair.

Eddie took to this new arrangement with enthusiasm and ran a hand under your panties making the elastic flick against your arse playfully.

"Tease," you said against his mouth as you broke apart for a moment.

"That's your name," he countered and dove back in for more.

You knew Eddie liked your arse since he was always smacking it playfully when he passed you in the hall.

He squeezed your hip making fingerprints on your muscular backside then ran his thumb across your pelvis until it rested on your clitoris.

Your mouth opened and you made a little 'oh' noise as he began making circular motions on the sensitive spot.

"Tell me what you like."

"Just keep doing what you're doing."

"Come on tell me. Fast or slow?"

Eddie was getting anxious now because he'd stepped into new territory. He'd only had sex with older women at the community college a few towns over when he'd gone to sell merch at parties.

Those women always latched onto him and did what they wanted without verbalising but Eddie never complained because he'd always achieved release. In a way it was more business than pleasure.

He didn't want to be that way with you because he wanted you to feel as good as you could make him feel. He needed your guidance to do that though.

"A little faster," you said with a small lump in your throat, "and a bit more force."

Eddie complied and your hips bucked involuntary at the surge that shot through you.

"Good?" he asked needlessly.

You nodded and he pulled you upwards again to continue kissing.

The pleasure building in your core was sending tremors down your legs and your feet slid back and forth on the bedspread. It had been a long time since you'd last indulged and you'd forgotten how intense it could be.

Eddie had musician's touch so his thumb played you until high whimpers escaped your lips.

"Wait a sec," you said suddenly halting his hand.

"What's the matter baby?" he asked as he kissed your cheeks and neck. "Don't you want to come?"

"I do," you replied positively. "With you."

You gently pushed him on his back so you were lying side by side on the single bed. The space was tight but you would have kept close even if you'd had the room to stretch.

"Have you got something?" you asked and kissed his ear.

Eddie reached for the nightstand and ran his hands through the draw without taking his lips off you. His blind groping produced a handful of guitar picks and other useless assortments until you lost your patience and rolled on top of him to see for yourself.

You found the condoms and ripped one off the strip before passing it to Eddie.

"Know what to do?" you asked seriously.

This was one thing you couldn't afford to fuck up.

"That was the one Health class I showed up for," Eddie answered and opened the wrapper.

You helped pull his pants off then tickled his feet when you took off his socks. You got a playful kick for your mischief and when his cock was sheathed you crawled up the bed and squeezed it hard.

"How do you want me?" you asked.

"Can I," there was a beat of hesitation, "get on top?"

Eddie's experience with college girls had all been with him seated while they went wild on top of him. It had been great but he'd never been in charge.

"Sure," you said sensing his trepidation and gently encouraged him to roll you over.

You sank into the weary mattress as Eddie climbed on top and you could feel some of the fire dying down. The engagement had gone from passionate to perfunctory because of nerves.

Eddie rocked a little bit as he figured where to put his hands while you grabbed his cock and rubbed the covered tip on your entrance before lining it up.

Eddie looked at you silently until you nodded then pushed into you hard.

He didn't hurt you but the lack of style and dryness of the condom caused you to pull a face that made Eddie panic.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked in a tight voice.

"No just go slower," you advised.

"Are you sure? I can stop?" Eddie was beginning to spiral into doubt.

This was not how things went in the videos he'd watched, those people never fumbled. They slipped straight in and had the girls screaming after a few thrusts.

You shifted your hips a fraction and wrapped your legs around his waist so your ankles crossed. Eddie let out a little noise as he sank deeper into you and you caught his chin forcing him to look at you.

"Take your time," you told him firmly but kindly.

Eddie didn't reply but started to rock his hips against yours until you settled into a matching speed. His hair had fallen like a curtain over your faces so you bunched it together and rested a hand against his cheek, thumb dragging along his bottom lip.

"You feel good darling," he puffed and you hummed appreciatively.

He felt good too and you were getting slicker with every thrust. Eddie was gaining confidence and you wanted to take things up a notch.

You took a breath to tighten your core then pulled your pelvic muscles to clench around his cock.

"Jesus Christ!" Eddie yelled and nearly lost his rhythm. "What the hell was that?"

"Did you like that?" asked biting your lip naughtily.

"Do it again!"

You laughed at him and tightened yourself causing Eddie to pull a face of sheer ecstasy as his thrusts got faster and rougher. Your feet were bouncing against his small backside and the poor bedframe sounded ready to split.

"Baby I'm not gonna last," he puffed and looked at you with desperation. He knew you hadn't come. "You're so fucking tight."

"Move with me," you said quickly and you awkwardly rolled together until you were reversed.

"I came out," Eddie puffed as he looked down to see his cock now slickened with your moisture pointing at the roof.

That didn't happen in those videos either -those people stayed together like industrial glue.

"I got ya," you said and took a firm grip before lowering yourself down on him.

During foreplay you'd forgotten to take your skirt off and it bunched around your hips as Eddie filled you from underneath.

It was your turn to pull amusing faces as this new position allowed his cock to reach you in a spot that itched for attention.

"Mmm, mmm," you managed as you felt the tip tickle your center.

"What's that sweetheart?" Eddie asked teasingly and you swatted his decorated chest.

Fuck his smart mouth you wanted to come. You had forgotten how good this could be and in that moment you were oblivious to the burdens that weighed you down.

You were alone with someone who made you feel alive and happy every second you were with him.

Eddie felt more confident in this familiar position and squeezed your hips as you ground into him.

"Come on, get it," he growled and dug his thumbnails into your skin.

Your high socks chaffed your knees as you rocked back and forth viciously greedy for satisfaction. The two of you had found your perfect synch and you rode him furiously for the pleasure to consume you.

Eddie's nails were clawing up your back leaving red marks and he was swearing with every roll of your wet centre. He wouldn't last much longer but you weren't ready to release him yet.

You still needed him.

"Here! Here!" you yelled and pushed his fingers into your clitoris as you rocked him mercilessly.

Eddie rubbed your bud vigourously and yelled with you as he tried to contain his own orgasm.

"Eddie! Fuck! Yes!" You felt an unmistakable sensation rising as all the stimulations clashed together then you screamed as the first burst rippled through you.

You slammed into Eddie with each wave of your orgasm and screamed so loud you didn't hear him curse out his ejaculation.

For that minute you weren't a student, a chess champion or a dutiful daughter. You were a girl getting fucked hard and you embraced it with every iota of your being.

You rode him until you were sure the sublime sensations had passed and your pelvis came to rest. Beneath you Eddie puffed as he rubbed the red marks he had made on your back and you stroked the sweat from his handsome face.

Every so gently you separated yourself and wedged yourself between him and the wall. Your head made a cushion of Eddie's shoulder and the dry sheets absorbed the sweat from your skin sending a sudden chill through you.

You snuggled closer and laid a soft hand on Eddie's flat stomach, watching it rise and fall with his laboured breaths.

"It's official sweetheart," he puffed after a little while, "you have fucked The Freak of Hawkins High."

You didn't answer and Eddie figured you were ignoring his dumb joke. He was too lost in orgasmic high to keep playing and instead tried to get everything straight in his head.

One day you meet the boss of an underground book cartel, give her ten bucks to play chess, swap some witty banter then she winds up in your bed giving you the time of your young life.

It made perfect sense right?

A tiny whimper floated to his ears and he looked over to see you crying silently on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, what's this?" he said reaching over. "I was just being stupid."

He wiped your tears away with his big thumbs and made you look at him.

"No it's alright," you said as you moved into an embrace. "I'm just really happy."

[merakiui]

HALLOWEENIE. [2]

skully j. graves x (female) reader cw: nsfw, retail au, smoking, modern au (no magic), cheesy workplace romance, may be ooc (some creative liberties were taken for various aspects of skully's character and may not align with characteristics shown in tnbc event), characters written as 18+ note - skully returns for another season of work at fellow honest's halloween store. is this the year he finally musters the courage to confess to his cherished coworker, or is it going to be another year spent with his nose buried in his poetry journal? // split into three parts due to size. read part one and part three.

You stand in front of your mirror and hold an outfit up. Rollo sits on the edge of your bed and surveys each option like one of them is the key to a life-or-death riddle.

“Does it really matter?” he asks.

“Well, I don’t wanna be lazy. I have to show some effort. Plus, I always strive to look my best regardless of the situation.”

“And said situation is a borderline date.”

“As if. We’re just hanging out.”

Rollo watches your reflection apply lipstick as dark as onyx to puckered lips. He hums low in his throat.

“And what’s on the agenda for today’s ‘hang-out’?”

“We’re meeting up at a bookstore and then we’ll probably go to a café. Maybe come back here to play some games.” You shrug and smack your lips to coat both the top and bottom evenly. “We’ll see where the day takes us.”

“In that case, take your key. I plan to stay at the library for most of the day.”

“Don’t party too hard, scholar.” You lean in close to admire your makeup. It’s just the right amount to look presentable and not in the trying-too-hard way. “You sure you don’t wanna hang with us?”

“I’m sure,” he replies with an immediacy that startles you. “You should enjoy your time together. I couldn’t get in the way of that. Rather, I’d like to avoid doing so.”

“Why? Worried Skulls will accuse us of being married again?” 

“It seemed like a genuine fear for him.”

“I dunno why. We’re all still young. Who’s thinking about marriage now?”

“A man hopelessly besotted, that’s who.”

“Have you ever considered that he might like you?”

“Not at all, for I’m merely Mr. Rollo to him.”

Frowning, you settle on one of the many outfits you assembled for today. It’s not very extravagant, but you tell yourself it shouldn’t be. Rollo busies himself with his phone while you change.

“With his sweet and polite attitude, he’s probably super popular with his classmates. He doesn’t need to fantasize about me if he’s some sorta lady charmer.”

“You think?”

You pull your shirt down just as Rollo flips his phone so you can observe what’s pictured on the screen. Bewildered, you stare at the student in the photo and wonder what you’re seeing. There’s an uncanny familiarity about his shy smile, crooked circular frames, tell-tale bedhead, and sweater vest. If it wasn’t for the Jack Skellington pin, you’d think this was someone else entirely. You yank the device from his hands for closer inspection. 

“Whoa, hold up—pause! Is that Skulls?” 

“Were you not aware? He goes to the same school as us.”

“Yeah, but—no?!” You whip your head in Rollo’s direction, flabbergasted. “What do you mean he goes to our school? How come we’ve never seen him?”

“I have,” he corrects. “Many times, as a matter of fact. You neglect to pay attention on behalf of his lack of presence.”

“Wait. So this is how he normally dresses for school? He looks so…different, and his eyes are so pretty. Orange like pumpkins.” You pinch the screen and zoom in. “I always thought he wore that goth suit of his everywhere. Are you telling me there’s a chance we passed each other and I completely ignored him?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Fuck. I feel like an asshole now. He’s a first-year, right?”

“Going into his second year, yes.”

“And you’re sure that’s our Skulls? That’s not a doppelgänger? Those are real, you know!”

“Where else is he going to attend school? The woods?”

“So that really is him. Wow. He’s almost another person without his makeup and sunglasses. Doesn’t really have that gothic vibe when he’s dressed like this.” Despite your roommate’s protest, you zoom in on every aspect that catches your attention. “He looks so cute. Where’d you get this picture?”

“He’s in the drama club. They have staff pictures online.”

“Staff? Isn’t he part of the show?”

Rollo shakes his head. “According to their website, he’s credited as a stagehand.”

“No way! I always pictured him front and center. Lead role. Roses thrown on stage when he takes his bow. That sorta stuff. Not…stagehand.”

“It isn’t our place to judge or speculate.”

“But you’re totally curious, aren’t you? You wanna judge, too, don’t you? I know you do, Rollo.”

“Not nearly as much as you do. Besides, any longer here and you’ll leave Skully waiting. It’s rude to be late.”

“Shit, you’re right!” You snatch a jacket from the pile on your bed and stuff your arms through the sleeves. “See ya!”

Skully’s waiting outside the bookstore when you come jogging down the street. A surge of relief flashes through you when you notice his casual manner of dress. Plaid green slacks, a black-and-cream striped jumper, and a collared shirt with a tie. You notice he’s without his sunglasses, having swapped them for the circular frames instead.

He’s fidgeting anxiously, tugging at the oversized sleeves. When he turns his bespectacled gaze on you, he breaks out into a beaming grin and straightens his shrimp posture. He meets you halfway, covering the distance in just a few lanky strides.

“Hey! Nice to see you.” You mirror his bubbly energy after a short assessment of his person.

So this is Skulls outside of work. He seems quieter. Kinda meek.

Skully’s cheeks flush, but he still lowers to one knee and grasps your hand. You notice his hands are soft and slim, lithe fingers curling around your wrist to gently guide your hand to his chapped lips. A startling contrast you’ve since grown accustomed to after receiving so many hand-kisses from him.

“I’m honored to meet you here on such a fine day. May this glorious encounter remain everlasting in my memory.”

Cute.

“Were you waiting for a bit?”

“Not at all!” He offers his arm. “Shall we?”

You take hold of it, giggling. “We shall.”

The shop is packed full of books, all stacked and arranged on shelves that stretch up towards the ceiling. It’s a literary paradise—old and new novels, genres and titles of all ranges, the satisfying smell of a flipped page and an unbroken spine. Caught in a web of awe, you separate from Skully and shuffle deeper inside. The thin passageways between the stacks have a distinctly labyrinthine feeling to them when you can’t see what lies beyond the sea of authors.

After greeting the woman at the front, Skully trails dutifully after you. “Are you looking for anything in particular, my dear?”

“Not really. Just browsing. If you’ve got any suggestions, lay ’em on me.”

“Oh, I have a veritable cornucopia of recommendations!” He begins to rattle them off in succession, occasionally threading in his thoughts on a specific work. “Carmilla is a classic you absolutely must read! Did you know it came before Stoker’s Dracula? I think both are wonderfully eerie in their own rights. And ‘The Rats in the Walls’ is perfect if you’re looking for something that will leave you speechless and haunted.”

You’ve heard of some of the literature he’s listing off, familiar with their stains on a course syllabus, but a few of them are new.

“I should be taking notes,” you joke. “You sure know your stuff.”

“Those are just the classics. There are plenty of gothic tales published by contemporary writers.”

“Sounds like a lot to keep up with. Where do I even start?” You run your fingers along the spines as you travel down the shelf, plucking one at random. From the looks of the cover and the synopsis printed on the back, it’s a sci-fi thriller. “Do you have any favorites within the genre? What about gothic romance?”

“I couldn’t possibly settle on a favorite—not when each one is so brilliant!”

“I guess that’s fair.”

You slide the book in its spot. You’re not searching for any particular titles, so it’s with a surge of excitement that you squeal and attempt to seize the book from the shelf above. Your fingertips brush the corner of it, but you can’t quite reach it. Skully takes notice of this and grabs hold of it for you.

“This is one of my favorites!” You hug the book to your chest and then flip through a few pages to remind yourself of its greatness.

“The Phantom of the Opera! I’ve read it a handful of times. The musical production is simply stupendous!” Skully gasps and moves in closer to read from the page you’ve landed on. “I’ve always imagined how beautiful it must be to behold the Palais Garnier in all its grandeur. Would that I could witness a real opera, but I’ve never traveled abroad before.”

“I’m not an opera fan, but I love Phantom and everything related to it. I actually got to see the opera house a few years back with Rollo. He’s got family there, so it was really convenient. We went for the city’s Halloween festival and decided to get tickets for a tour since we were already there. Aah, he’s so lucky. He’s from a place with yummy food, amazing architecture, and so much history! It’s a city full of the prettiest flowers. So romantic.”

Skully nods, his gaze wandering across the words and never meeting yours. “You and Mr. Rollo do a lot together.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. It’s not as if you and Rollo are joined at the hip, even if you do have a tendency to drag him around like he’s your own personal therapy goat. But when you aren’t under the same roof or scheduled together, you live separately. You and Rollo value solitude and independence, and sometimes the two of you need that. At the foundation of your friendship, there’s a mutual understanding you’ve never known from anyone before.

It occurs to you, while searching for an explanation to debunk the myth in Skully’s comment, that he doesn’t appear as outwardly cheerful anymore.

You turn to face him. “Are you…jealous, Skulls?”

“N-Not at all! I admire your closeness. That’s all,” he replies in a snap, mumbling the rest under his breath. “And I desire something like that for myself. I wish someone understood me the way Mr. Rollo understands you.”

Suddenly, you’re brought back to the day you broached the subject of school with him.

Does he have any friends? It’s not like I can ask him that outright without hurting his feelings. At least, I hope he thinks of me and everyone else at the shop as friends. 

“If it’s any consolation, it took us a long time to understand each other. We didn’t get along at all in the beginning. Hated each other’s guts.”

“Really?” His eyes glitter in the amber lights.

“Really. We had to learn how to coexist if we wanted to continue living together.” You drum your nails over the cover of the book and fall back into reminiscence. “You should’ve heard the way we’d argue. ‘You can’t take the car on a day when I need it. That’s hardly fair.’ And I’d always say, ‘It’s my car, so you either get used to the schedule or you’ll walk!’ Random junk like that. Looking back, it was all stuff that could’ve been resolved if we weren’t so quick to bicker. Learning to share was an experience.”

“And now your companionship is sturdier than stone!” Skully applauds.

“So you’ll find someone to connect with one day. Maybe you already know them.” You nudge him encouragingly. “When I moved here, I thought this town was filled with nothing but losers and conservative assholes. I thought I’d never find my crowd. But after meeting you and the rest of the guys at the shop…” You shake your head before you can get too sentimental. “My point is that there are lots of people who see you as a friend. I’m definitely one of them.”

A look of surprise passes over his face and then it mellows out into a soft sort of acceptance. There’s pure happiness in his smile, brimming in the gloss that glistens in his orange hues.

“I’m honored to be held in such a lofty regard! You have my gratitude, my dear. No, not just my dear. You’re my very own Angel of Music!”

Beneath your clothes, you feel your skin warming considerably. It’s as if someone’s just bundled you in blankets, and now that same tingly warmth is spreading through your body from your head down to your toes. You have the strangest urge to stuff your face in a pillow, roll around on your bed until the sheets are properly tangled, and giggle like a fool. A reaction you haven’t had since you were an awkward, pimpled teenager.

“Does that make you my Christine?” you tease, winking at him.

“‘And do I dream again? For now, I find the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind,’” he sings, a hand splayed across his chest. The dramatic pose prompts a sudden laugh from you. “I’m so pleased you know of it! Very few are openly appreciative of the classics like you. That, or they know nothing.”

“Are you kidding? Who doesn’t know Phantom? Studied it once for a class and never complained about another reading assignment again. It’s too good to blindly hate.”

He chuckles. “I assume you’ll be purchasing this little slice of literature then?”

“Absolutely.” You hold it up to the light, proud as a peacock. Its weathered cover and dog-eared pages are the closest thing to treasure. “I’ve always wanted a copy for myself.”

“’Twas fate you’d find it here.”

The both of you travel up and down the aisles, picking books and flipping through the pages for random passages. Skully reads from Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” citing each line in a bold, deep timbre. Or as deep as he can manage in between his laughter. You huddle close in the corner of the bookstore and giggle like children concealing a secret.

It’s a little over an hour by the time you step out into the sunshine, side by side and brimming with satisfaction. Most of the leaves have shriveled and fallen from the trees, punctuating every step of your path with a musical, multicolored crunch. 

“So opera, yeah? Tell me more about that,” you say, swinging your bag in time with your casual stride.

“It’s a curiosity I explore every now and then. I’m especially fond of classical music, you see, and opera is just so magnificent. The entertaining ensemble, the emotions, the orchestra, the beautiful stage, the variety of intonations! Aah, there are so many elements to opera that make my heart skip in exultation.”

You watch him gesticulate as he praises each part and can’t stop the laughter from slipping out. Skully hesitates around his words, suddenly self-conscious.

“Forgive me. My propensity for verbosity gets the best of me at times…”

“I don’t mind. I think it’s sweet when you talk about your interests with so much passion.” Smiling, you nudge him with kittenish intent. “And a little verbosity never hurt me.”

“I’m pleased you think so. Truthfully, my classmates… They just couldn’t hope to understand.” He breathes a wistful sigh. “Which is why I’m forever grateful to be acquainted with you. Oh, and Mr. Honest, dear Gidel, and Mr. Rollo as well!”

“Your classmates are missing out.”

“On what, if I may ask?”

“On you.”

Struck speechless, he blinks at you.

“You’re amazing, Skulls. One of the coolest guys I’ve ever met. Maybe I’m stating the obvious, but it’s the truth. I don’t know anyone who’s as earnest about Halloween as you are, and I definitely don’t know anyone who can turn a solo into a duet. And in the freezing rain—are you kidding?! You’re talented, passionate, respectful, and always authentic. And your poetry’s award-worthy. Those qualities are hard to find in people nowadays. Last time a girl wrote me a poem, she rhymed nice with lice. Like, thanks for saying my kindness is like an insect. A parasitic insect.” With a scoff, you stuff your hands in the pockets of your oversized varsity jacket. It was a parting gift from a not-boyfriend. You’ve only held onto it for so long because it’s warm and comfortable…and because you feel bad for forgetting his name. “Romance is dead and I hate illiteracy.”

Skully stares at you, soaking in your ardent adulation. It colors his cheeks a very pleasant salmon-pink, and a shy smile plays on his lips. He fixes his eyes on the path ahead.

“If I may amend her comparison… You deserve to be recognized for more than just your kindness, and it is not at all parasitic.” Having gathered the words, he clears his throat. “Your laughter is soft as sugar mice, your brave, brutal honesty renders all to ribbons with its slice, and it would humble me honorably to admit you warm my thoughts like the sweetest spice. Or that’s how I would write it, if I was that girl and I wanted to use simple words that rhyme with nice.” He coughs and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

A breeze rustles through the square. You inhale deeply.

Holy shit. He improvised that like it was nothing and it’s actually kinda good.

You want to ask him if he means it, but you dread the answer and what might lie beneath.

“How are you not married already?” you blurt, lacking the decorum to speak in complicated codes.

Skully sputters. “M-M-Married?!”

“Hey, look—there’s the place you told me about the other day. Let’s go!” Seizing his hand, you pull him along towards the storefront.

Ew, ew, ew! Why did I say that? Maybe being cringe and free isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

It’s as if you’ve entered an old-fashioned world primed for Halloween when you step inside the cozy café. The fragrance of fresh coffee beans and sugary pastries hangs heavy in the air. Friendly spooks smile back at you from where they drape in paper chains. You marvel at the glass case near the register, covered in faux cobwebs and stretching the length of a table for six. A large assortment of delectable desserts are positioned within, and for a minute you think you’ve drifted right into the best dream. 

“I’d buy them all if I could,” you whisper, pressing your palm against the cool, reflective surface as if you expect the treats to reach for you like in The Shape of Water. Turning to Skully, you point at a generously-sized slice of pumpkin pie. “Wanna share?”

“I desire nothing more.”

You place your orders. Skully settles on spiced cider and you choose vanilla chai, two ideal beverages to combat the chilly bite in the air. Before Skully can be a gentleman, you shove your card at the lady. He looks like he wants to protest, but a sly wink from you has him clamming up.

“You didn’t have to,” he says once he finds his voice.

“But I did.”

A handful of crumpled cash is held out to you next. “Please allow me to remunerate you!”

“What? No way. This is my thanks to you. I won’t accept refunds!” You push his arm away, and eventually he pockets the money.

“Then… Thank you! I will treasure your goodwill forever and always.”

You and Skully find a table near the window. It’s when you set the plate down beside your drinks that you realize the single fork.

“Looks like we’re sharing a fork, too.”

Skully’s face explodes with color. “But that’s much too scandalous! I couldn’t—I shouldn’t!”

“Why not? It’s just a fork.”

You cut a tiny portion for yourself and lift it to your lips. The pumpkin pie is soft and carries with it subtle hints of cinnamon and nutmeg. Your hum of satisfaction draws Skully out of his trance, and it’s when you offer him a bite that he begins to fluster.

“F-From the same fork… Oh, that’s much too intimate,” he murmurs hastily, his hands on his cheeks. He looks at the pumpkin pie with a doleful pout.

“C’mon, it’s not the pie of perpetual woe.” Giggling, you wiggle the fork. You’re partially aware of the effect this has on him, so you’re ready to take the blame if he bursts from the embarrassment. It’s too tempting. “Only fair if you get to enjoy it with me. Now say ‘aah’.”

Orange eyes flick from your hand to the piece and then past it all to your grinning face. He swallows thickly and leans in to meet the fork halfway. He chews mindfully.

“Oh, this is scrumptious! A fine slice of pie indeed.”

“Isn’t it? Here, have more.” You’re in the process of securing another bite when he stops you.

“M-Maybe I could…use the fork this time—for the rest of the time, actually?”

“Be my guest.”

After surrendering the utensil for Skully to peacefully eat his fill, you sample your vanilla chai. Silky tendrils curl up from the rich, redolent beverage, reminding you of little ghosts. The sip burns the tip of your tongue, but that doesn’t deter you from drinking more.

Vanilla chai is the best. Definitely a sacred gift from the gods. No exaggeration, you think, comforted by the blend of warm spices. I bet their café au lait is just as good, too. I should see if Rollo’s been here before.

You’re so caught up in your internal monologue that you fail to notice Skully’s admiring you. When he began, you can’t say. But suddenly the pumpkin pie slice is down to the crust and the fork is stained black from your lipstick. Skully rests his elbows on the table, his chin propped in his palms, and he watches you with a dreamy smile. It softens his already gentle features to angelic levels. He’s not wearing makeup today, so it’s much easier to spot the rouge that colors his cheeks. Now that you’re analyzing him and the events of the day up to this point, he’s done a lot of blushing. More than he normally does.

Shit.

You know that look. So does the Rollo in your head.

He’s going to fall for you if he hasn’t already.

“What do you wanna do after this? Rollo decided to be lame and make it a study day, so he’s not around. I was thinking we could go back to my place and play video games, but I’m down for anything.”

“A spot of video gaming sounds delightful! Um… How does one ‘video game’?”

“You’ve never played video games before? Like never, ever?”

“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, no. I don’t have anything like that at my house. We have board games, though! I assume it’s something similar?”

“Seriously? You’re missing out! We’ve gotta play something then. I think you’ll love Layers of Fear and Little Nightmares. There’s Dead by Daylight, too.”

“If it’s by your recommendation, I’d be foolish to turn a blind eye.”

Platonic. It’s just platonic. There’s nothing happening here. Like I said, platonic vibes only.

Repeat that mantra you may, something still gnaws at you—the need to prove that it’s not a lie. To force a fact from the cruel chrysalis of truth. To make Rollo choke on his words.

And when I’m right he’ll have to dress in costume to make up for his idiocy.

Supremely satisfied, worries temporarily shelved, you slip into simple conversation about games. While Skully recounts his favorite childhood games, the names of each make you wonder whether he really is a Victorian lad stuck in the wrong time. You suppose marbles, jump rope, and dolls aren’t antique. Despite being on the precipice of obsoletion, sought after only by collectors, they’re still somewhat prevalent today.

Even so, there’s something endearing about a sheltered Skully scribbling in notebooks and enacting complex plots with porcelain dolls and toy soldiers.

“How about you, my dear? What did you do for fun in your youth?”

“Mm, I’m not sure… My dad owned a console and had a few computer games, but I was never allowed to play them. So instead I drew a lot. Loved listening to music and doing puzzles. I never could solve any of them, though. The colored cubes were the hardest, but they were fun to mull over. It helped pass the time.”

“I listened to music, too! Raindrops on the windows, the tip-tap of nails against all types of surfaces, the wind whistling through glass chimes… Aah, the nostalgia of a natural symphony is wondrous.”

Somehow, knowing what Skulls is like, that information isn’t very surprising.

“Any other music?”

“Lots! My parents have a gramophone that’s been in our family for generations.”

“Whoa! That’s awesome! I bet it plays all sortsa stuff.”

“Mostly records. Just records, actually. I would love to show you someday. I think you’ll find classical pieces are quite compelling. They’re brilliant sources for inspiration.”

“Ooh, I’ll have to take you up on that invitation. We can listen to classical music and do some writing.”

Skully smiles, enamored with the suggestion. “I’m grateful if you even give it a smidge of consideration. It would be an honor to host you.”

With your cups now empty and the pie reduced to crumbs, you and Skully drop the dishes in the to-wash bin on your way out. Determined to do one act of gentlemanly service, he holds the door for you. He’s the picture of confidence, oozing eager smiles, so you walk through.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Graves.”

“Anything for my lady,” he replies with exaggerated aplomb, lowering into a dignified bow.

Even though the clouds obscure the sun, thus adding another unnecessary layer of cold to an already nippy day, the walk back to your apartment is all comfy conversation and lighthearted laughter. You find yourself grinning so much that your cheeks have started to ache, but it isn’t unpleasant or burdensome. It’s just the diversion your body needs to ignore the chill seeping through to your marrow. You regret wearing a skirt, even if your leg warmers provide a modicum of protection against the encroaching frost, but in the presence of Skully you’ve never felt warmer.

You can’t shake it—this growing fondness. It’s always been there; you’ve just never paid it any mind. Maybe it’s become so prominent because you’ve never been privy to this side of Skully—one that’s so shy and reserved, a quiet contrast to the boisterous character you work with at Fellow’s shop—and you find yourself charmed by that. He’s like a scarf or a hug or your favorite plush, carrying with him the comforts of inviting, dependable softness.

And he’s weird, but that’s his most lovable trait next to everything else.

“Hey, you’re not wearing your crown!” You reach up to touch his hair and he jerks away in a flash.

“W-Well, yes… Um. Is that a bad thing?”

“No. Just different.” You skip ahead towards your building, twirling your keys. They jingle in time with the rhythm of your footsteps. “I like Skully with and without the crown because either way he’s still himself, and that’s perfect to me.”

He has to collect himself, for when your back is turned to him he shakes with merriment. It’s at your calling of, “You coming, Skulls?” that he hurries along.

Once at your front door, the key turned in the lock, you realize something.

“We’re kinda like Jack and Sally, aren’t we?”

“W-We are?! Is it because we’re simply meant to be?” Hope is sewn into each hasty syllable.

“What? No. It’s because you’re tall and I’m wearing patchwork fishnets.” You stick your leg out so he can view the various patterns sewn together. A spiderweb, hearts, roses, spirals, zigzags, polka dots. “Just like Jack and Sally!”

“Ah, right… That’s what you were implying. Please ignore my wishful connection.”

What the fuck! What the fuck! What. The. Fuck was that?!

You push the door open in your haste to shake off whatever all of that just was. It’s a reference to his favorite film—you know that much. But the implications in it—in what Jack and Sally are… You give yourself a mental kick and file inside the apartment. It smells like apples and cardamom and is filled to bursting with houseplants. Most of them are Rollo’s. Actually, who are you kidding? They’re all Rollo’s. Your thumb is about as green as the radioactive waste you see in cartoons.

We’re like Jack and Sally? Am I dumb as dirt? Why would I say that without thinking? They’re love interests! Lovers! And Skulls and I are…not.

Shrugging your jacket off, you trudge deeper inside and drop it on the nearby sofa. Skully, having left his shoes at the door, trots after you.

It wouldn’t be an issue if I knew where he stood, but I don’t and so this is basically like me edging him over the course of however-many-months he’s been feeling this—if he even has feelings at all. Uuugh. Skulls, why can’t I read your mind? If I could, all of this would be so much easier… Maybe.

“Welcome to home, sweet home. Make yourself comfortable. My room’s this way.” With a surprising amount of balance, you manage to tug your sneakers off as you wobble-walk down the hall. 

It’ll be fine. We’re gonna play some games and it’ll be totally chill. Nothing weird. You glance over your shoulder to find a starry-eyed Skully gazing at the autumn decorations strewn smartly about the kitchenette and sitting room. Damn it, Rollo! Why did you have to put that nonsense in my head? Now I’m overanalyzing every one of Skulls’s behaviors like some stalker just to prove your stupid ass wrong.

Your room is exactly how you left it: a mess. But you’re just shameless enough to not care about appearances. Skully watches you push all of your potential outfits onto the floor, looking away when his gaze happens to fall on a stray bra.

He has such a vintage heart… Fuck, Skulls, you’re way too polite for your own good, you think, swiping the remote from beneath the wrinkled sheets.

“Your bedroom is resplendent, my dear.” He glances at the many lights strung along the bed frame and fastened to the walls. To make up for your abysmal botanical brilliance, you’ve filled strangely-shaped jars and vases with plastic flowers and paper stars, and you’ve even hung strands of faux ivy in empty corners. In his scan of your chaotic decorations, he notices the pumpkin-shaped fairy lights situated above the headboard of your bed. “Truly spectacular!”

“Don’t you think you’re laying it on too thick?”

“Not at all! This place has a warm and welcoming feeling. It’s very alluring.”

You set your copy of The Phantom of the Opera on the ledge beneath the window, a gem you’ll pry open later tonight. Various trinkets greet you with painted faces and mirror reflections when you peer at them, all set in a line like misfit soldiers.

“Alluring, huh?” You sit on the edge of your bed and fold one leg over the other. “Okaaay. Tell me, then—what makes it seem so?”

“You.”

“Me…” And then you look at him sharply. “Me?”

“This entire room is very you.” Skully gestures to each section while he speaks. “The decorations, the lingering fragrances from candles and perfumes, the charming clutter that gives this space its character—it’s all part of who you are. Tiny tidbits of (Name), revealing unto me a beauty I’ve only just scratched the surface of.”

I’m not sure you can find beauty in a mess.

“Well, this is a first. Rollo usually tells me I’d make good friends with the rats in their nests, so thanks for the optimistic review.”

Skully shakes his head, but the motion slithers down to his hands as well. He waves them in front of you in objection. “You misunderstand! It isn’t just mindless optimism. These are pieces of my heart—the truth—shared freely with you! I really do admire your room.”

Pieces of your heart?

“Huh.”

Falling backwards, you lie on your back like a turtle overturned. The ceiling is the easiest thing to comprehend here. Nothing to dissect amidst the cracking drywall and smears of long-dead insects, all of which were subjected to the brutal thwacking from your slipper.

No one’s that nice. Even Fellow has his limits. But then you cringe at that. Maybe he’s not the standard I should be comparing Skulls to. They’re on completely different levels.

“Um… Is something the matter?”

You lift your head only slightly to view Skully, who stands awkwardly at the end of your bed. 

“Yeah. I’m struggling.”

“Oh! Is—well, is there anything I can do to be of service? I’m sorry if I did something o-or if I crossed a boundary at all! It wasn’t my intention. Aah, I’m a vile reprobate—a soul most wretched! To make my lady uncomfortable when I only meant to commend her lovely room…”

“Whoa, hey! It’s not your fault. I’m debating something and can’t seem to decide.”

Skully’s eyes, which were starting to gleam with tears, light up. “A debate?”

“Mhm.” You sit up and level him with a grin. “Are we feeling a movie or video games today? What’re the vibes?”

You can feel the charged energy in the room disperse at once, and Skully visibly slackens in relief.

“If it’s a movie it has to be The Nightmare Before Christmas, of course! What better way to welcome October than with Lord Jack!”

A giggle rises in your chest. “Sure. We can do that.”

Finding the remote buried beneath the covers, you click the old TV on and scroll through your watchlist until you locate it. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen it, having rewatched it with Rollo to acquaint him with the references Skully would undoubtedly make during shifts. That, and it’s an enjoyable watch. If there’s one thing you know about Skully J. Graves, it’s that he has impeccable taste.

You shift on your bed until you’re cozied up against the wall of pillows lining the headboard. And then you turn towards him and pat the space beside you.

He hesitates, fidgeting on his feet, before stiffly seating himself on the edge.

“Here.” You toss him an oversized goat plush—a souvenir from Rollo’s home city. “Get comfy and veg out properly. There’s plenty of room.” To prove it, you relax against the pillows and stretch your legs. 

Skully’s gaze climbs up the length of your legs before quickly snapping up to your face. “Is this really okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I don’t care if you chill on my bed.”

You wouldn’t be the first guy to do so.

His apprehension made obvious, you heave a sympathetic sigh and sit up. “Do I make you uncomfortable? You can be honest. It won’t offend me.”

It’ll just hurt. A little. A lot.

“N-Not at all!” You’re almost certain that’s a lie. “It’s just… Well… To be perfectly transparent, I’ve never been inside a lady’s room before…” He hugs the plush close to his chest as if hiding behind the fluffy veil it provides. “That is to say, it feels wrong to trespass in this sacred space when you haven’t even met my parents. Isn’t this the sort of meeting meant for wedding nights? It’s too special!”

Meeting his parents? Wedding nights? What is he on about?

You lift yourself from the sheets and shuffle closer to where he’s anchored at the very edge. He’s a bundle of stress and anxiety, scrunched up like he’s hoping to shrink out of sight. The connection doesn’t occur to you at first. You were so busy refuting it that it struggled to slip through your defenses, but with that now compromised the realization finally rears its head.

“That Spider Queen you wrote about—she’s supposed to be me.”

Skully angles his body towards you. He opens his mouth like he’s about to confess the many secrets sewn into his soul, but all he can manage is a nervous noise. His face flares up, treacherously lambent. The silence is confirmation enough.

Now you’re left with a scary thought: Is the Spider Queen a comparison birthed from libidinous attraction or romantic affection? If it’s meaningless lust, you can work with that. You deal in the casual sway of physical and emotional desire like it’s second nature.

But romance is craggy, unstable terrain—all steep, jagged, perilous curves and drops. You can’t maneuver around something so high-stakes.

“Jack’s Lament” reaches your ears then. Your gaze pans over to the TV, where the melancholic Pumpkin King climbs the infamous Spiral Hill.

Deep down, you had an inkling there was some connection between you and the Spider Queen. You just didn’t want to trust in Rollo’s shrewdness. Annoyingly, he’s usually right with these things. His ability to see everything in objective scope will forever chew at you. You who is almost always caught in the cobwebs of everything but what rests within reality.

“Please forgive my transgression.” Skully’s kneeling in front of you now, his head bowed as if in anticipation of admonishment. “I meant no harm! I only meant to convey my thoughts and feelings, and I did so through the Great and Glorious Spider Queen. I understand if you find it improper. I… I’m willing to burn every poem I’ve ever written. As long as it will bring you peace, I’ll do anything.”

“I’m not upset. I’m, like, insanely flattered to be your muse. That’s what it’s called, right?”

His head snaps up to look at you, and he manages a shy nod. You notice the tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, and this time he can’t hide behind his sunglasses. “So… So you still wish to see me at work?”

“Are you kidding? Hell yeah I wanna see you! You’re the best part of those boring shifts. You make work feel like we’re getting paid to have fun.” You tilt your head at him and lightly bat his shoulder. “So don’t worry. I’m totally cool being part of your writerly inspiration if it means you’ll continue producing some kick-ass poetry.”

He straightens up and tries a shaky smile. “My dear, have I neglected to mention you’re an affable angel? I’m forever beholden to you.”

“They call me Miss Affable for a reason.” No one has ever done that before, but you’re glad his anxious expression is finally shifting into one of amusement. Because you’re you and can’t help it, you add, “So how’d I become the Spider Queen?”

“Well, you always have such beautifully sharp nails. It reminds me of a spider: dexterous and strong, yet gentle in their artistry. They must be if they’re to weave such meticulous patterns into their webs. Like you.”

You give an impressed whistle and flash your acrylics proudly. “Thank you, thank you.”

“And…female spiders are often in charge of s-sexual encounters. They’re more dominant than the males. S-Sometimes…” He rubs his arm nervously. “Sometimes the male will t-tie the female up just to avoid being cannibalized at the end of copulation.” And then he ducks his head in shame, a fierce blush sweeping over his face. “I apologize most heartily. It’s strange, I’m aware. Please pay no heed to it.”

I get it now. He has the hots for me. That’s all this is.

You’d punch the air in celebration, but you don’t want to scare Skully off. This situation requires tact and patience. Gentle, you remind yourself. Don’t chase him away.

“You’re saying those aspects of spider sex remind you of…me?”

Am I really that frightening?!

“Oh, that wasn’t my intention! I didn’t mean to offend. I-I only meant to draw attention to your many strengths as they align with that of spiders.”

“Aah, all right.” You click your tongue and eye him like a predator would prey. “So if I’m the Spider Queen, does that make you the Spider King?”

“I could never flatter myself with that title.” He shakes his head. “Rather, I’m just an ordinary fly.”

“Hey, you deserve to be praised, too. I can’t be all-powerful and perfect in your poems.”

“You could be. You are.” He shrinks back when you creep in, pushing himself against your wall.

“And you’re more than an ‘ordinary fly’ to me.” Playfully, you place your index beneath his chin and lift his gaze to yours. “As Queen, I hereby decree that you, Skulls, are to be my Spider King for the rest of today.”

“Just today?”

“Mhm. And then you can decide if you still want to be a fly.”

“If I still want to be a fly…” he echoes, searching your face for any indication of a blague. You notice the way he lingers on your mouth, caught in a web of his own making, and suddenly your mind’s made up.

“Tell me what you want.”

He chokes on his reply. “W-What I want? Uh… Um. I…” He turns to look helplessly at the TV, as if Jack Skellington can poke his skull out of the screen and offer a satisfactory answer in his stead.

You think you might be cornering him, so you back off. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to pressure you. Maybe we’re not on the same wavelength like I initially thought…”

“No, we are! At least, I’m hopeful we are because I—” He inhales deeply and rushes through the rest of his sentence. “B-Because it’s not what I desire but, rather, who. You, my dear. It’s you whom my heart longs for like that of a parched plant.”

His hands twitch towards the beginning of a protective barrier, but he catches himself and twists them together instead.

“Well then, shall we, my Spider King?”

His hasty nod isn’t good enough. You need to hear him say it—need the confirmation that this is just sex and nothing more. 

“If at any point you wish to stop—”

“I won’t.” Conviction hardens his wobbling tone. “I want to do this.”

You wink. “Then I hope I live up to the legend.” 

Unceremoniously, you lift your shirt up and over your head and toss it aside. Your skirt goes next. Skully marvels at the sight of you, transfixed by your black, lacy bra and matching panties. An exquisite garter belt hugs your waist, its hooks attached to your thigh-high fishnets. In every sense of the word, you’re ravishing. 

“Oh,” he breathes, taking you in like one does a portrait of incredible renown. He reaches for you next, his fingers curling through the air, and stops himself. In a quieter voice you think you’re not supposed to hear, he says, “I’m spellbound, hopelessly so. No. No, I shouldn’t. Aah, but if only I could…”

“You can touch me. No need to be shy.” You creep towards him on the bed. Your acrylics drum a teasing rhythm along his arm, and he flinches in surprise when you lean closer to whisper in his ear. “I won’t bite…unless you want me to.” 

His face explodes with color and he slaps his hands over his cheeks. “W-Would you?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Only—” Skully swallows thickly, his throat bobbing. “O-Only if it won’t b-bother you…”

“Not at all.” You take hold of his hand and guide it to your chest. “So you’re into biting, hmm? What other scandalous mischief does my Spider King like to get off to?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Why not?”

“It’s…shameful.”

“Try me.”

Skully looks between his hand cupped around your breast and your challenging smirk. Somewhat shyly, he cradles your other unattended breast and squeezes curiously. And then he slides both hands beneath your bra to explore without the pesky barrier of fabric.

“Mm. Well. I… I wish to hear your voice when we…” He clears his throat and gazes at you, shy and sincere. “And I want you to talk to me. I want you to tell me I’m doing it properly—that it’s pleasing.”

“I can do that. Anything else?”

His stare lingers on your lips, but he’s quick to center his attention on your face. “I want to make you happy. More than anything. I hope… I hope I can be the one to add light to the bewitching depths of your beautiful eyes. There’s a distinct melancholy in them—your eyes, I mean. I’ve always noticed it.”

Way to put me under a microscope, Skulls.

“That doesn’t sound shameful at all.” Looping your arms around his neck, you coax him closer. You sink into the pillows and Skully melts against you. “It’s all very sweet.”

“But I’m selfish,” he admits, his mouth at your neck. “I want to give you the world and everything in it even if that takes away from others. When that ghoulish brute showed up and treated you so callously, I wanted nothing more than to slam his head into the wall… Just so he’d stop hurting you.” 

Strangely, your heart flutters. That’s…new.

“I want to protect your smile, your happiness, your heart… All of it. All of you. I want to take all of your pain and sadness away—cloak your fear in warmth so that you’ll only know comfort. If I could, I’d do it in a blink.” In a softer voice, he adds, “I… I hope I can. I’ll try.”

“Why? There’s no need to go that far.”

My pussy cannot be that good.

You force a brittle laugh and then giggle when he presses another peck into your jugular, as if he’s trying to leave an invisible mark of affection.

“You’re worth it.”

“Am I?”

“Indubitably.”

The kisses trail up your throat to your jaw. His hips rut uselessly against yours, his dick straining against his slacks. You catch his face in your hands and admire his pale skin burning bright beneath your palms, shimmering with sweat.

“You’re cute, Skulls.”

He chokes on a hitched breath. “Y-You think so? I think you’re much cuter.”

“Whaaat? No way.”

You kiss his cheek, leaving a dark print in the wake of your lips, and revel in the way he proves your point when he stumbles over his retort. Slyly, you shift your hands to his shoulders, down, down, down until they’re sliding beneath his sweater. He squeaks when your warm palms rest over his chest to map out the feel of him. You trace his skeleton in your exploration, internally naming off various bones when your fingertips press down on them. He whimpers when you settle on his hips.

“You can kiss me, you know.”

“May I truly?”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Well…” He inhales sharply when you palm at his erection. His brows crease together, and he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“And you want your first kiss to be with me?” You say it like it’s something he ought to rethink, but his next admission indicates that he is not on the same humorous page as you.

“Just you. Only you. I wouldn’t dare dream of it with anyone else.”

You grasp his chin to hold him still. Orange meets (eye color). “Then follow my lead. Don’t think too much. Just feel.”

You’re the safety net who catches him when he falls—the sticky strands of web that ensnare the fly. You fit your lips against his. They’re chapped and cracked, but they’re honest and reveal an inexperience you were expecting. He’s paralyzed, his hands frozen at your sides, caging you in against the pillows, and so you smooth his paranoia with comforting strokes along his back and up his shoulders. He sucks on your lip in an attempt to keep pace with you, hotly molding his mouth to yours. You’re reminded of a dog slobbering all over its owner when it’s excited, and the image of Skully with a wagging tail and floppy ears bleeds vividly into your wild imagination.

“I’m sorry,” he pants once you’ve broken away. “I’ve much to learn. I just—I don’t want you to be displeased.”

“It’s fine. No one’s an expert their first time. I wasn’t.” You kiss his cheek consolingly, tilting your head to meet him halfway for another saccharine smooch. He whines appreciatively. You break to speak. “And it is pleasing. Very much so.”

You seize his wrist and drag it towards your sopping panties, allowing him to feel liquid proof of your arousal. Skully stares at you in awe. He presses against the wet patch and you suck in a shivery breath. When he drags his hand back, his fingertips are moistened with your slick.

“All of this…from me?”

“Mhm. Most don’t get it like this.”

“This wet?”

“I’m not easy,” you lie because you’ve been nothing but easy today. A peculiarity you’ve decided to ignore for the time being.

“No. No, of course not,” he babbles, shaking his head rapidly. “It’s beautiful. You—” He cups your face. “You’re…beautiful.”

“Thanks, Skulls.”

He runs his thumb over your cheek, smiling.

A minute ticks by. Neither of you says anything, and Skully makes no effort to break this silent spell. You’ve never truly looked at him before. A real, punctilious look, one of assessment. He has such a kind, handsome face. You’re not sure why he hides behind his sunglasses. If it was your choice, you’d have him wear his glasses. They’re nerdy but in an attractive way. The look suits him.

Eventually, though there’s something flattering about being pinned under his adoring stare, you can’t bear it any longer. You place your hand over his and clear your throat.

“So…”

“Oh! Right. Yes, that’s right!” He scrambles away, hurrying to pull his sweater over his head. “Sorry, my darling. I was so caught up in you I almost forgot what I was doing. It’s like when you see something so exquisite that it roots you in place and all you can do is simply stop and admire. Do you know the feeling?”

“I do.”

You giggle at his muffled rambling and lift the sweater to hear him clearly. He blinks back at you, his glasses sitting tilted on the slope of his nose. You’ve been told all sorts of things in bed, each of your partners choosing their own salacious nicknames for you. You’ve never been very partial to any of them. They’re all flimsy words at the end of the day, buoyant and ephemeral, never sticking no matter how much you secretly want them to.

None of them ever do. They never feel right or real, more of a placeholder for bedroom pornography. You want to be lavished so much you drown in the praise and blarney.

You reach for his glasses, fold them up, and place them aside. “You’re a natural charmer, aren’t you, Skulls?”

“I mean it.”

“Everyone does in the heat of the moment.”

“But I—” He stops short, chewing his lip, and softens the admission to a dejected, near-inaudible murmur. “I mean it always…”

You peer into his face and conveniently choose to ignore it.

“Which way do you want me?”

“Every way,” he blurts. “Or whichever way you wish to be had in.”

You laugh. “I feel bad. Like you’re doing most of the work and I’m neglecting your pleasure.” 

“Oh, please don’t! You’re not. This is everything I could’ve ever imagined and more.”

You poke at his bare chest with a manicured finger. Dark lips twist into a convincing puppy-pout. “Come on, Skulls. You can be greedy with me. What do you want? I’ll do it.”

Skully withdraws enough for you to sit up properly. He allows himself to fall when you push. His hands fly to his face. A crooked part of you is satisfied to see him wriggling beneath you, his legs bent up awkwardly, as if he really is strung up in your web. You pull them apart easily, slotting yourself there. Peeking at you through the cracks in his fingers, he watches your hands dance along the waistband of his slacks.

“You wanted me to bite you, didn’t you?”

He nods weakly, the words clogged in his throat.

“I think you’re holding back. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I won’t pry, but I am curious.”

You undo the button and zip on his pants and slide them down. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but your stomach somersaults at the sight of his hefty erection straining against the fabric. His boxers are comically patterned with expressive cartoon pumpkins. He’s nothing if not loyal to the brand.

“I… I-I…” he stammers from behind his hand-shield, forcing the syllables out. “I… I really want your phone number!”

“My…phone number?”

That’s a first. Most guys usually want a blowjob or anal from me. Did I hear him right?

“I really, really long to talk to you. O-Outside of the shop, I mean. But I… I didn’t want to impose. I saw how much it bothered you when customers pestered you for it and I thought maybe you might not want mine. A-And it’s very fine if you don’t! But…I would like to talk to you, if you’ll allow it. I want to know you—all of you, every precious side—if you’ll allow it.”

The request is so stunning it temporarily blanks your brain. You come to with a mechanical nod, your palm hovering over his dick print.

“Yeah… Yeah, of course you can have it.”

That’s it? Is it really that simple?

You realize it’s been four years since you and Skully met. Has he always wanted your number, or is this new?

Does it matter?

Social anxiety exists. He’s probably shy. And I guess I’m kinda to blame for scaring him into thinking he couldn’t have it. 

Again, you decide it’s not worth the deliberation. With your mind now successfully emptied of those mood killers, you focus on peeling his boxers away to reveal what’s waiting beneath. It springs up to meet your hand, pathetically weeping pre-cum, and he goes stock-still when you wrap your fingers around the tip and thumb at his slit. 

“O-Oh—if you do that—” A gasp shudders through him. “(Name)—”

“I’ve got you. Just relax.”

Skully tries to, but he throws his head back the moment you drag your hand down his length. His skin prickles with a shiver, and he gazes blearily at the ceiling and then at you. It’s almost too much, adorable and titillating at the same time. You want to see how far you can take your teasing, how much more until he’s sobbing.

You care about your coworker and want him to experience only the best slivers of seventh heaven, but you also want to see him shift through a range of emotions, to make his back arch up against the sheets while you stroke him to climax, and feel satisfied knowing it was you who got him there. Maybe it’s this cruelty and the spark of electric lust that are intrinsic to your nature—to that of the famed Spider Queen.

“Do you wanna cum inside?”

He lowers his hands, looking like you’ve just asked for marriage. Orange eyes glimmer brighter than the fairy lights strung around your bed frame.

“My lovely darling, your benevolence is inspiring.”

A laugh rattles in your chest. Not because it’s funny but because he really does mean it, and perhaps it’s this virginal authenticity that encourages the sound. Like it’s been tickled out of you, a delightful noise that pairs well with his rosy cheeks. You move to straddle him next, and he props himself on his elbows to observe. There’s a soft stutter in his breath when you tug your panties aside and, holding him still, position yourself. The soft head of his cock kisses your slick folds, and you can almost hear the flowery poetry lurking on his tongue.

But he keeps his mouth shut, absolutely enamored with the erotica brought to life before his very eyes. You’re about to sink down when he squeaks.

You pause. “What’s up?”

“I’d like to hold you when we… Is that all right with you?”

“That’s fine. Come here.”

Skully sits with his feet tucked under his rear, kneeling very patiently. You move to straddle him once more and reach between your bodies to spread yourself open. His hands find your waist. This time, you lower yourself without issue. The stretch has both of you hissing through your teeth. It’s delicious.

You’ve only taken half of him and you think he’s about to pass out from the pleasure, but then he grips your hips and tips you over. Gasping, you fall back against the sheets and scramble for purchase. He steadies you, dragging your hips up to meet his, and it occurs to you, now arranged in missionary, that he’s leaning in to savor the warmth of your bodies pressed close.

Like a spider, you think, impressed. Look at you, Skulls.

You’d give him the euphoria of a bite—canines in his shoulder—but it’s hard to think when he’s so set on rutting into you with reckless abandon.

“Inside you… I’m inside you. Our bodies—” he grunts and bows his head— “are kissing! So sweetly. So wonderful…”

You cling to him, digging your fingers into his shoulders. Your nails will have to take the place of teeth for now. That’s romantic, you manage to think in between the thoughtless daze. A sharp gasp tumbles from your lips.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours next.

“It’s fine. Are you okay?”

Skully peers at you, orange eyes alight in the dimness of your room. With his dazed expression and the blush dusting his cheeks, he looks pure and cherubic. Sweet and shy. An exact opposite of the eccentric gentleman he normally masquerades as at work. There’s a certain vulnerability to this Skully, whose layers have been rendered bare here. 

“Mhm,” he hums, pushing in deeper. You deflate against the many pillows propped behind you and sigh dreamily. His mouth ghosts over yours. “I’ve dreamt a moment just like this on countless nights.”

Before either of you realize it, you’re kissing again. Despite his awkward non-technique, Skully’s movements are gentle. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your chin, your cheek, your lips—every inch of your face.

“I love you,” he admits suddenly, panting, and places his hands on either side of you. “Oh, I love you so much. I’ve always—a-always loved you. You’re my everything.”

You halt your physical reciprocations, for the emotions don’t match up.

Oh, you think worriedly. Oh, no. No, no, nooooo.

“Skulls—”

“And I want to continue loving you for as long as I’m alive.” He thrusts aimlessly, his breath caught in his throat. “And… Aah… I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. (Name)… My darling, my lovely, you mean so much to me—more than I can ever hope to describe.”

No, no, no! Don’t say that!

“Skully, wait.”

His hips stutter to a stop then, and he pulls back from the column of your throat to look at you. “Is… Is something wrong, my dear?”

You realize now that the my dear and every other hypocorism he uses for you holds a special weight when contrasted with the rest.

“I…” Exhaling a rattled breath, you try and fail to meet his concerned stare. “I can’t do this.”

In your peripheral, Skully opens his mouth to speak and then promptly shuts it. A shadow flickers on his countenance. You can’t tell if it’s betrayal or sadness or something worse.

“I understand,” he mumbles after a long moment.

No further words are exchanged. He slides out, climbs off of you, and quietly dresses himself. You turn over on your back, hug a pillow to your chest, and drown in the tidal wave of regret that washes over you.

He’s going to fall for you if he hasn’t already, Rollo told you, but you didn’t believe him. And why should you? You’ve had plenty of people lust after you to varying degrees, but they’ve never loved you.

Not like Skully does, that is. He loves you in every conceivable way and never expects anything in return. He loves you with everything he has, heart and soul, and you could feel the sugar crystallizing in his confession. He loves the unlovable you. The you who is vulgar and impatient. The you who has a temper. The you who is awkward and strange. The you who is broken. The you who is sometimes semi-whole.

He loves everything about you—the good and the bad. He loves you for you.

You weren’t ready to battle that monster today.

You feel the soft caress of the duvet and realize Skully’s draped it over you. In a panic, you turn around to confront him.  

“Skulls, I’m—”

But he’s already gone. Minutes later, you hear the front door shut behind him.

“Sorry…”

Immediately, you slap your hands over your face and groan.

What am I doing?

You pull the blanket up to your chin and lie there, gazing at the plastic star-spotted ceiling. They don’t glow as brightly in the dark as they used to.

“I fucked up, Rollo. I fucked up big time. But what was I supposed to do? The guy likes me—actually likes me—and I—”

“He loves you.”

You purse your lips in a tight line. Thanks for that oh-so-helpful correction.

“Well, what do you feel for him?” he asks in a you’re-making-this-more-complicated-than-it-needs-to-be tone.

“I don’t wanna hurt him with loveless sex. I mean, come on, that’s kinda my whole thing. I don’t date because it never works out, and Skulls is…not like me.” Sighing, you drum your acrylics against the counter. “He’s a really nice guy. He isn’t faking it because he wants to sleep with me.”

Scanning the items of the next customer in line, Rollo hums his acknowledgement. In desperate need of a mindless task, you begin to bag them as they come.

“You should tell him that, then.”

You worry your lip between your teeth. “I… I was scared, Rollo.”

He remains quiet, allowing that revelation to soak into the air. You think he understands. You’re not afraid of Skully. You could never be afraid of the guy who makes you smile and laugh, who loves so tenderly, who puts himself in front of a bully all for your sake.

“Scared of him?” he finally asks, just to clarify, and there’s a dangerous edge to his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No, not him. Just… He was so sweet and gentle. With past partners, we’ve always…fucked. No decorum. Maybe a little foreplay to set the mood. Nothing too cheesy. That’s all there is to it. Usually. But with him it wasn’t just sex. That was, like, I don’t know! Valentine’s Day or some shit. Like, I felt so cherished, Rollo. Or maybe it’s better to describe it like worship? Like I really was his Spider Queen… A-Anyway, that’s never happened before! I was caught completely off guard. My heart wasn’t ready.”

Rollo hums like he’s putting thought into your confession, but he’s more focused on the next customer.

“I feel bad. He’s obviously inexperienced. I mean… He said he’s never felt that way about anyone before, Rollo.”

“So he’s infatuated.”

“It’s just a crush. It’ll pass.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

You frown at a grinning pumpkin plush and then stuff it in a paper bag. “Everyone goes through the honeymoon phase when they’re in love.”

“So you recognize that what he feels for you is love.”

“No.” You hold your finger up and wave it in front of him. “Not love. It’s a weather forecast, okay? Completely unreliable. I’m sure it’ll change the minute the season’s over. Seasonal romances are a real thing, you know. Same for situational stuff, too.”

“What can you call his actions if they aren’t motivated by love?”

You drag your finger along the spotless countertop. What indeed?

“Like I said, he’s a nice guy. Affection comes to him naturally.”

“Does it?” Rollo punches numbers on the register and swaps cash for change. “You can like someone, but it takes effort to love someone. Truly and authentically.”

A line from Skully’s diary pops into your mind: I’m not so sure I like (Name). He wrote that about you. About how sour his first impression of you was and how he was certain he wouldn’t get along with you because, as he put it, the both of you were too different.

Rollo is steadfast in this opinion, and you know he’s willing to debate it into the grave with you. So you curb your opposition and instead take his side. Purely for entertainment purposes, of course. Devil’s advocate.

“So he loves me. What about it?”

“Do you love him?”

You scowl at him and stuff a witch hat into a bag with other decorations.

“You really don’t sugarcoat anything, do you?”

“Perhaps that’s a difficult question lacking a clear answer. Allow me to amend it. Rather, do you enjoy his company?”

“He’s fun, yeah. I enjoyed what we did. Who wouldn’t? It’s sex.” You give Rollo a not-so-amused side-eye when he quirks his brow. “And I like being called pretty. Is that so bad?”

“You like the person who calls you pretty,” he suggests, but it doesn’t sound accusatory or questioning.

Like is a safe word. It can imply everything and nothing at the same time. A pleasant middle ground between love and not-love. Between absolute detestation and tolerance. Between platonic and romantic. It’s almost like the word fine. No one worries when you say you’re doing fine, just as no one wonders anything more when you say you like someone. 

“I liked the chemistry.”

“Do you hate Skully?”

You groan. “Until you break this circular conversation, I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“So be it. You’ll have to tell him something, though. He deserves closure, at least.”

“I’m not gonna break his heart.”

“I’m not saying you should.”

You recall Salad Fingers’s insult from before: I dunno why you’re defending her like you’re her boyfriend. Wait, is that it? Do you like her? Well, tough fuckin’ luck, dude. She’ll eat your heart if you aren’t careful. Leave it in complete shambles. Save yourself while you can.

“I’m not gonna break his heart,” you repeat firmly, but more for yourself. 

“When exactly does this ‘I’m not talking to you anymore’ come into play?”

“Right now.”

And so you shut your mouth.

A familiar face approaches the register next. She places a Jack Skellington doll on the counter and Rollo rings her up.

“Sorry to interrupt, but is your other coworker in? Skully, was it?” She shifts from foot to foot, embarrassed. “I’d like to introduce myself. I didn’t get the chance last time.”

You narrow your eyes at her. She’s that girl from before. The one crushing on Skulls.

You swipe the doll and hand it to her, all business. The scathing comments that leave your mouth are the exact opposite.

“Back off, bitch. It’s never gonna happen. You’re not his type.”

I don’t see him writing poems about you or info-dumping about obscure Jack lore. Are you his muse? Did he fuck you like you’re his cherished Spider Queen? Didn’t think so.

She backs away as if you’ve just hissed and bared your fangs at her. You might as well have with your tone. Rollo is quick to defuse the sizzling tension by offering her the receipt as some sort of balm. “Have a spooky day,” he recites the workplace catchphrase in perfect monotone, which doesn’t do anything to improve her shattered mood.

The poor girl hugs the doll to her chest, tears brimming in her eyes, and hurries off. Rollo doesn’t need to voice his opinion this time, for the hand that claps down on your shoulder is searing in its disappointment. You almost wish it was just a disembodied limb and not your boss, who ushers you away from the front with a beaming grin that’s strained for show. 

“Walk with me.”

It’s not a suggestion. You’ve been in waist-deep water with Fellow plenty of times before. Judging by his unsmiling tone, the water’s way past your head.

Luckily, you know when to keep your mouth shut. Advantageous as that is, it doesn’t save you from the trip to the back room. The curtains have never felt more like the bars in a prison cell when he parts them for you to step through.

“What’s the first rule all employees must follow when working at this store?”

You drop down into the electric chair—an old stool that stands tall in this make-believe interrogation chamber. It’s very reminiscent of stand-up comedy. A shame you fail to demonstrate an iota of comedic relief when you give your answer to your executioner.

“The first rule? Let’s see…” You count all the possibilities on your fingers. “Don’t accept donations from rich brats. Never entertain lengthy conversation with cops, or else they’ll start doing their job. Send all annoying customers to Rollo because he doesn’t care enough to let them get under his skin. Send the chatty ones to Skulls. Love and cherish (Name) always. Yeah, that just about sums it up.”

Fellow gives you an unamused frown. You squirm under the oppressive weight of silence blanketing the air. That’s more threatening than Gidel with his squeaky hammer.

“Am I forgetting something?”

“Respect. I don’t care how much it pains you to lick the boots of that sorry lot, but when you’re working under this roof the customer is always right.” He lifts his hand before you can object. “Even when they’re wrong. Laugh at their idiocy all you want, but refrain from doing so in public. So, Miss (Name), I expect you to uphold a shred of courtesy to even the most troublesome customers. Loath as I am to admit it, it pays in spades to be mindlessly kind and subservient. I should know. This is a business, and a successful business model dictates that we lavish the customer with enough appreciation to ensure they’ll come running back year after year.” 

“Not like they have a choice when this is the only Halloween store in the middle of the mountains.” You fold your arms over your chest and huff. “I was only saying what everyone was thinking. Skulls already told me he wasn’t into her. I saved her from the inevitable heartbreak.”

“By tearing her heart apart before he could?” He raises a bushy brow. “A lie would’ve eased that burden.”

“Oh, so the rules just don’t apply when it’s you? Not very fair or courteous if you ask me.”

Fellow shrugs off the stiffness in his shoulders and pulls up a chair. He points his cane at you. “You’re a scholar, are you not? Full of brains and bursting with brilliance.” It takes all of your restraint to nod instead of giving him the spiel he isn’t asking for. “So what’s this really about?”

Wait, he makes a point. Why did I say that? Who cares if some rando likes Skulls? It’s not my business.

“It’s nothing—” you start to say, but it’s Gidel’s insistent prodding that draws Fellow’s eye.

“Hmm? What’s this?”

He plucks the notebook from Gidel’s sleeved hands and skims through the pages. He’s humming like he’s about to stumble upon another one of his useless diagnoses. If he calls you lovestruck, you’ll have no choice but to knock him out and diagnose him concussed. Fellow snaps his fingers.

“What? What is it?” You lean forward, expecting something terrifying.

Fellow flips the notebook to reveal a shakily drawn heart. It’s scribbled halfway in with pink crayon. On the next page, amidst Gidel’s handwriting practice, are doodles that could only come from Skully.

“I don’t get it. What am I looking at?”

“An affection chart, would you call it?” He glances at Gidel, who points to the page and nods. “An estimation of affection earned over the course of this work season. He’s more diligent than I thought.”

Gone is his chastising tone. The interrogation room quickly shifts into that of a not-so-clinical doctor’s office.

Oh, great. Dr. Malpractice is in. Just my luck.

“What’s that, Gidel? You also think he isn’t one to give up so easily? Well, that’s our skeleton!” Fellow hums and strokes his chin. “It’s as we all assumed, really. If we’d placed bets, we’d all be receiving the payout.”

“How comforting to know my boss and coworkers were ready to bet on—what?—utter nonsense?”

“It’s certainly not nonsense to him.”

The notebook now in your hands, you flick to the next page and find an assortment of poetic lines amidst Gidel’s own practiced handwriting. Was he…anticipating a change in dynamic this season?

Upon closer inspection it becomes clear that these lines are all the start to something you’ve been hiding from: I wish to share with you the secrets in my heart… Your loveliness outshines even the sun. There is no competition If I could have just one moment of your time to myself, you might finally know of my bittersweet affliction affections.

There are dozens of lines scribbled in swooping cursive and scratched out. All work-in-progress variations of what was to be a patchwork love confession.

“No surprises there,” Fellow says, taking the notebook from your limp hands. “We’ve all had a thought that he might fancy you.”

There’s a punchline to latch onto somewhere in his words, but you can’t seem to find it. You don’t want to if it means you’ll have to wade through the waters of Skully’s love—a love you’ve never been on the receiving end of before.

This is messy. Of course it is. Love is always messy. This is why I don’t do it.

That’s a lie, isn’t it? At least, it’s not the full truth.

You suck in breath through your teeth and release it with a low, agonized hiss. “I need a smoke.”

“Gidel, would you be a dear and assist Mr. Rollo at the front?” 

Armed with his hammer and resolute determination, Gidel sees both of you off with a salute. Under the veil of a fifteen-minute break, you and Fellow slip out the back door.

With the grey clouds bunched in the sky, the frosty air grabs at your face like little pinpricks from a needle. You shake off the shiver that threatens to roll through your body and instead focus on popping your casket open. A cigarette poised at your lips, you cup your hands to cover the flame as Fellow takes care to light it. You do the same for him, and within no time you’re standing with your backs to the brick, smoke slithering up to disperse in a frigid zephyr.

You pull the cigarette away from your mouth to speak. “What do you think about love?”

His nose scrunches up as if it’s a particularly odious question. “Love, huh? On a commercial scale, it sells lots of chocolates and teddy bears to the brats foolish enough to believe in sappy stories of true love. Speaking of which, I’m considering opening the shop for other holidays. What say you about taking up work here during the season of Cupid?”

“Oh, now that’d be a right laugh. And our uniforms will be wings and halos. Rollo’ll have no choice but to follow his true calling and become an angel.”

He barks out a laugh. “Quite the angelic ingenuity you have!”

“Ha. Yeah. Awfully angelic, isn’t it?”

He notices your bitter smile then and clears his throat. Smoke comes trailing out.

“You’re moping about something that’s out of your control, dearie.”

Momentarily stunned, you snap your head up to give him a bewildered look. He offers you a smile and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen your normally insincere boss appear so…not insincere.

“When you’re in the business long enough, you learn to pick up on tells.”

“Tells?”

“A little somethin’ that gives you insights into a person’s thoughts and feelings. Think of it like a magnifying glass that zooms in on the tiny details of a big picture. You, Miss (Name), are fixing me with plenty of confusion! But you’re leaning closer; you expect to be told something that may sway you, and you know I, masterful salesman—ahem! Masterful empath—yes, that’s right—that I am, I shall provide just that.”

“That’s less of a tell, though. It’s just my curiosity getting the best of me.”

“Ah, but you’ve always done this whenever something or someone piques your interest.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly freed from the immersion. “Don’t sell me a lie, Fellow.”

“’Tis only a lie if the liar is the first to believe it.” 

“And do you?”

“Not at all, for this is a truth that comes right from my heart!” He wraps his arm around you and gestures with his cane, spelling out a vision you can’t yet see in sparkling lights. “Picture it—a life with that dear someone! Who is it you see?”

You gaze past the flourish at his fingertips and picture dozens of people all at once, each one flashing into your mind and then dissolving like short-lived fireworks. 

“Well, Rollo and I aren’t gonna stop living together anytime soon.”

“Then perhaps that is love.”

“And Skully and I are…something.”

“Even that, too, is love.”

You turn your head to stare at him, unimpressed. He hums and returns the cigarette to his lips. “You have no concept of love, do you, Fellow?”

“You and I…” His chuckling grows more sheepish by the second, and he drops his arm to his side. You read the gesture as a submissive defeat. “We’re on the same sinking ship.”

“How nice,” you mutter, sarcastic. “I’m not sharing my door with you when that ship finally goes down. But whatever—I’ll bite. If my ‘tell’ is leaning in close, what’s yours?” 

“That’s a trade secret.”

“So evasion via flowery speech. Got it.”

Fellow laughs. Even though it wasn’t your intention to joke, you feel yourself cracking a smile. 

“Then what about Skully?”

“That boy…” Fellow rubs his chin in thought. “I’d say he looks at you like you’re the only one in the world.”

“That’s not a tell. That’s an assumption. A baseless one, at that.”

“His pupils dilate more for you than they do for any one of us.”

“Ew. These observations feel so stalkerish.”

“I don’t need the full story to know what’s in that lover boy’s heart.” Before you can provide context, he shakes his head. “In fact, I don’t want the full story. Keep those smutty details to yourself.”

“And here I thought you were one of the girls, Fellow.” You smirk at him. “Don’t wanna hear how Skulls and I went at it like rabbits?”

Fellow pulls a face. “Your ability to be so shamelessly candid is…a skill. Whether it’s impressive or even remotely useful leaves much open for debate. But, no, I think you’d benefit from the increase in reading comprehension after reconsidering that exchange.”

The sardonic laugh sticks in your throat. You’d take offense at that backhanded comment if he wasn’t right. Technically.

“So what do you recommend I do? I don’t wanna break his heart.”

I care about him.

“Therein lies your answer. If you’re so keen to shatter the hearts of every other twerp, what’s preventing you from doing the same to Skully?”

“Because he’s Skulls, duh. What the fuck is this, Fellow? An elementary-grade brain teaser?”

“You’re the scholar,” he says like it’s common sense. “Use that beautiful brain of yours to work out a solution.”

“Gee. Thanks a bunch, Professor.”

“If you want my advice,” he adds, puffing out smoke, cigarette balanced between his fingers, “you should start being honest with yourself and what you want. No more lying. It’s all you brats do nowadays…” He clicks his tongue, only half-disappointed.

You elbow him harshly. “Your age is showing, Gramps.”

“I resent that! I’m still plenty young. Moreover, it wounds me to be demoted to a nursing home in the span of seconds.”

Gazing out at the gravel road, you recall the day you and Skully spun around in waltz. It was a dance meant to shake loose the nerves that had gripped you from the first clap of thunder. It’s only been a few weeks since that magical evening, yet the memory feels even more distant. It’s as if the world has split in two, placing you and Skully on opposite sides.

The silence seeps into your skin, invading your brain like a parasite. You think back on yesterday and realize it’s taken on the dewy quality of a dream. When you close your eyes, you can still see Skully hunched over you, the look in his eyes so full of devotion. As if laying with you was something religious—as if you were a deity in need of a disciple.

What I want… Huh.

“Well, I believe that just about does it!” Fellow announces, stubbing out his cigarette. “Quite the chat we’ve had, but there’s much to be done inside. Come along now.”

Comforted by the whoosh-whooshing of the wind, you follow his lead and drive your cigarette into the dirt. Your voice is almost swallowed in the breeze. “Thanks, Fellow.”

“Is this what I think it is?” He takes hold of your arm, lifting it up to view the gaping, coin-sized hole in the sleeve.

“Another one? It’s never-ending with this sweater!” you lament, shaking your head. “I really should throw it out. It’s way past its expiration.”

Each multi-patterned patch has been carefully sewn into the rips and tears, emptiness mended via Fellow’s nurturing hand. His needlework was sloppy in the beginning—when this sweater was a size too big and you’d just started at the shop—but now you’ve grown into it and so, too, has the love worn into the wool.

“Not real wool,” Fellow would say while you sat patiently and he worked his magic, “but then no one asks the worth of fool’s gold when they’re too blinded by its shine.”

“We’ll have to get that patched up,” he says instead, brushing off your previous remark. You won’t mention it, but something tells you he’s grown attached to this relic of a sweater. It’s been through a lot, battered frequently and now boasting conflicting colors and wild repairs. “No employee of mine will go around in tatters.”

You lift your hands and laugh. “You gotta admit. I did a damn good job taking care of it for so many years.”

“I’m surprised you even held onto it. It’s not worth much.”

“Maybe not to you with its fake wool.” You grab at the hem to admire the pilling. “But, believe it or not, this has become my comfort sweater.”

Fellow huffs out a disbelieving breath. “Feeling sentimental is about as valuable as a rock.”

“And when you split that rock open, there’s a possibility you’ll find jade. Don’t judge a book and all that, remember?”

“Yes, yes. Enough with the antique wisdom. Now in you go.” Rolling his eyes at the heavens above, Fellow prods you through the doorway with his cane.

You miss the affection that fights for a place on his face, softening all of his rough edges. Edges that have eroded and sharpened in the name of survival. 

That, too, is love.

“Whatcha writing?”

As soon as your voice invades his ears, Skully angles his body away out of protective instinct. His arms shift to cover the open pages of a leather-bound journal. Dry lips set in a thin line, he narrows his eyes at you.

“Ooh, is it a secret? Maybe something dirty? It’s gotta be if you’re so intent on hiding it. You can tell me. I won’t snitch.”

Just then, a thick packet of student council paperwork comes down upon your head. The assailant? Rollo Flamme—your new roommate and recurring headache.

“Fellow, can you please exercise your power as boss and fire her?” he asks, readying his arm for another punishing thwap.

His noncommittal response floats over from between the shelves. “Unfortunately, no.”

“What?! Hey!” You round on Rollo, matching his glower with equal ferocity. “Not my fault we applied to the same place. Why don’t you quit instead? That option ever occur to you, brainiac?”

“To think I have the misfortune of sharing a living space and now a job with a bad-tempered nuisance such as yourself…”

“I hope you know I’m so not gonna vote for you when you run for president.”

“I won’t need your measly vote.” Pride flashes in his eyes. “But I thank you for making your stance clear.”

Having caught wind of this incessant bickering, Gidel wanders over to you and, taking hold of your hand, forces you to lock fingers with Rollo. You remain trapped in a silent staring match with him until, eventually, you break away with a huff. Rollo cleans his hand with his handkerchief.

“We won’t fight anymore in the store, Gidel.”

“It’s (Name) who carelessly picks fights.”

“What was that, Snow Fright?!”

“You! Have you no respect?!”

Gidel frowns at both of you, and that’s your cue to hush up and feign friendship.

“Sorry, sorry.” Hoping to placate him, you wrap your arm around Rollo and lean most of your weight on him. He shrivels at the contact. “Starting today, we’re besties!”

He peers between you, assessing the validity of this claim, before an approving smile perks on his lips. As soon as he’s turned his back, though, you’re distancing yourself from Rollo. He returns to reviewing his paperwork, prim as ever, and soon your attention falls on a very gloomy Skully.

You rest your elbows on the counter. “Are you keeping a diary?”

It seems like he won’t answer you—he’s the silent, brooding type you’ve noticed—but then he snaps his journal shut and addresses you. 

“I’m detailing my plans for Halloween.”

“Ooh. Nice, nice.” He doesn’t reply, so you take the initiative even though it’s obvious he isn’t interested in conversation. “So what do these plans of yours entail?”

Again, he levels you with an uncertain frown. “I’m going to spend Halloween in desolate solitude, enshrouded in darkness with naught but a singular pumpkin lantern.”

“Uh…huh.” You nod like you understand, but it sounds patently absurd. “That’s it? Sounds…historic.”

“Naturally. This is a town-honored tradition.”

Your nose wrinkles. “And that’s it?”

“I beg your pardon?” He tilts his head at you like a spider trying to make sense of the creature wound in its web.

“You’re not going to throw a party? You must decorate for Halloween at least, right? Or what about candy? That’s practically a staple for any holiday. Halloween without candy is like an addict without their fix.”

Appalled, Skully stares at you. You’re unprepared to face the brunt of his uncompromising attitude, and the subsequent harangue almost knocks you off your feet. 

“How could you say such things? Halloween is a time meant for reflection and contemplations of mortality. It’s to be celebrated with absolute simplicity: in silence, in darkness, and alone. There will be no games or other fatuous nonsense like candy and decorations. It’s a solemn occasion! Absolutely no parties. It would be a disservice to such a sacred occasion by even entertaining thoughts of those noisy, disrespectful displays. It’s about fear, nightmares, and tradition.”

“Right.” You give a conciliatory nod. It’s obvious his opinion isn’t going to be swayed, but you’re nothing if not the most persistent of pains. “Well, once you’re done with that, how about you join Rollo and me for a good, old-fashioned party in the woods? It’ll be my first Halloween in this sleepy town. I’ve gotta do something to make it memorable!”

Skully blinks at you. “Did you not just hear me? Halloween is—”

“And where do you get the confidence to lump me in with your plans?” Rollo interjects, peering at you from over the top of his files.

“Because I know your socially inept ass has nothing better to do.” You slink over to him and pluck the paperwork out of his hands, which earns you an indignant shout of, “Hey!” from him. “Consider it a roommate-coworker bonding exercise. We’re a team—at least as far as splitting rent goes—so we’ve gotta stick together. From now on, it’s peace and love.” To illustrate this point, you form a heart with your hands and wink at the unsmiling Rollo.

His repugnance is palpable, but that isn’t going to deter you from a good time.

“So how about it, Skulls? Can I call you that?”

He hesitates and then opens his mouth. Three consecutive knocks tumble out instead. Pulled from the pupa of a vivid dream, a slimy insect spreading its wings, you blink your eyes open against the harsh shine of morning’s light. There’s another set of knocks on the door and you sink under the blankets, hoping to block the noise out. 

Rollo’s voice sails into your room from next door. “It’s your turn to greet the mystery visitor.”

“That’s bullshit,” you grumble into your pillows, hugging one of them to your chest. “You do it! I’m not wearing pants.”

“Then put some on! I answered the door last time.”

You groan loud enough so Rollo will hear and know what a hassle this is for you before sliding out of bed. Your initial reluctance is replaced with annoyance as soon as more knocking resounds, this time a touch impatient. Stepping into your shorts, you yank them up and slide your feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers. You catch sight of the time and sigh.

It’s way too early. Don’t people enjoy sleeping in on their weekends anymore?

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Hold on!”

You pull a sweater over your head on your way through the hall and then, smoothing the very wrinkled front down, rip the door open to meet a finely dressed Skully. He must be on his way to work, for his bicycle is propped against a tree. You peer past him at the backpack and Jack Skellington-themed helmet hanging from the handlebars. And then you look back at him. His arms are twisted behind his back, hiding something unwieldy.

“Oh. Uh, hey.”

“G-Greetings! Did I wake you? My apologies if I did.”

“Not at all. I was already up.” You spare a glance at the hall and, sensing Rollo’s going to spend a few more minutes tucked in his room, you step out onto the stoop and shut the door. “I’m glad you’re here. I think we should talk if you have time.”

“Yes, of course! That’s actually why I’ve come.” He produces a heart-shaped wreath of flowers and holds it out to you. Half-concealed by the autumnal blooms, he attempts a shy smile. “I’m very sorry for that day. I crossed a boundary and it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable. I do hope you’ll forgive me. I’ve made this for you in hopes of conveying my sincerity.”

You take it from him and admire the imperfect heart. “You…made this? It’s beautiful.”

He nods, bashful. “It took me a few days to gather and prepare the flowers. I would’ve come much sooner. Alas.”

You turn it over for a perfunctory inspection. He took the time to make this by hand and then deliver it to me in person.

“Skulls, it’s not your fault. None of this is. It’s mine.” Before he can object, you shake your head at him. “I should’ve known better. I thought we were on the same page and because of that I was willing to fool around, but your feelings don’t align with mine. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was a misunderstanding on my end. So I’m the one who’s sorry.”

You cringe at the thorny apology. Most of that sounded better in your head.

“I’m not hurt. I… I could never be. Not when you’ve treated me with so much kindness.” He averts his gaze and speaks in a softer tone. “Not when you understand me. So…um. I wouldn’t mind continuing this. Like what you did with Salad Fingers.”

Anyone with a shred of common sense would balk at his suggestion of casual sex after learning the context, which is precisely why you’re quick to shut that notion down.

“Friends with benefits doesn’t work like that.”

“But… But it does. Am I misunderstanding something? Forgive me. I’ve never done this before.”

“The whole point of friends with benefits is that it’s completely loveless. No romance. No strings attached. No expectations for anything outside of the bedroom. But you’re in love, Skulls. It’s not gonna work. If anything, it’ll only hurt you more.”

“But I’m not hurt,” he insists. “I won’t get hurt. I can do it. Please, (Name), believe in me. I love you. I’d do anything for you.”

Your stomach lining curdles, and amidst the internal unrest Fellow’s words only serve to gut you further: You should start being honest with yourself and what you want.

How can you do that when you don’t even know the first thing about honesty?

“That’s exactly why it’s a recipe for disaster. You…love me—” you choke around that sentence— “and I… Listen, Skulls, I’m flattered. I really appreciate you and everything you’ve done, but I’m not going to sleep with you again when I know it’s just gonna make things worse.”

“Why? What’s so wrong with it?”

“Because it’ll complicate things.”

“Then… So then we can compromise and avoid that! Surely that’s a possibility? It won’t change our friendship.”

“I’m sorry, but my answer is no. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not. I promise you.”

“I am. I might.”

Skully drags his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand what’s so difficult. If you love someone, you should be willing to do anything for them—”

“Not at the cost of your own happiness and well-being.”

“That doesn’t matter!” he shouts, and you flinch back. Skully winces and tries again. “My… My happiness… You’re my happiness. I was all alone before you moved here—nothing more than a quiet, transparent existence. I thought my peers were foolish and thick-headed. They could never understand me. Not like you do. You were my first friend. You mean so much to me. That’s why I want to do this.”

It feels like you won’t get anywhere with him, going back and forth like this, and if you raise your voice to match his the neighbors might poke their heads out. You don’t want to cause a scene. You don’t want to break his heart. You don’t want to do any of this.

But you have to.

“You wanna know why this won’t work? You want a clear example?” You shake the wreath at him and a few petals flutter loose. “This. This is done out of love. Your poems about me were written out of love. Everything you’ve just said is love. That defeats the whole point of casual! If we repeat what we did, it will hurt because I don’t love you. And if we do it again and again, you’re going to fall harder and it’ll end terribly when I can’t give you the things you want or need from me.”

The scowl brewing on his face freezes. You realize your delivery was far from gentle. It shows in the tears that have started to gather in the corners of his eyes. He looks like a kicked puppy. Regret swells in your chest.

“Wait, hold on. I didn’t mean—fuck. Skulls, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I like you. It’s just that—”

I can’t love you. I’m terrified.

“No, I understood quite well,” he manages over a voice crack. “Even you…” 

You don’t hear the rest of that sentence. In an effort to soften the verbal blow, you try a lighthearted tone. “If it makes you feel any better, a girl came by looking for you a few days ago.”

A girl I chased off for some reason.

Skully doesn’t reply. On rusted hinges, he turns away from you and carries on down the row of doors. You hesitate. Should you say something? What else can you say that won’t dig the knife even deeper into his heart? Devastation chomps its jaws around your jugular. It’s a feeling you’ve never felt before. You’re used to breaking off spiraling situationships and cutting ties with obsessed bed partners.

This feels more like the end to a cherished friendship.

The door creaks open before the tidal wave of tragedy can wash over and drown you completely. “I heard yelling. Is everything all right?” Rollo spies Skully pulling his bike along the path. His attention lands on the wreath next. “Ah.”

“That…didn’t go how I wanted it to.”

“I don’t suspect it would even if the circumstances were different.”

“I shouldn’t have fucked around like that.”

“I’m certain he would’ve told you eventually. Either way, this is a conversation you needed to have.”

“Felt more like a breakup.” You wilt against the doorframe. “Fuuuck. I ruined everything. I was so mean. I told him I didn’t love him.”

“Well, you don’t.” When you don’t add further support to his claim, he stares at you. “You don’t, right? Or am I mistaken?”

What does it mean to be in love? How do I know that’s what this is? What even is love?

“Yeah. No, yeah. He’s just a friend. That’s all.”

“It’s unfortunate. Hopefully things will sort themselves out.” Neither of you are particularly skilled in the art of comfort, but you’re grateful Rollo’s making an effort to extend an olive branch. “You must be hungry. I’ll start on breakfast.”

That snaps you out of your head. “Absolutely not!” You push through the door to beat him to the kitchen. “I need way more than your twelve grapes and two croissants.”

“I’ll have you know it’s sixteen, and I only eat that for lunch!”

“You eat like it’s wartime. No one’s flying overhead, soldier.”

He scoffs, but an amused smile pricks on his lips. “Forgive me for trying to offer you something to ease your distress.”

Sun cuts in through the curtains, and yet you can’t seem to shake the cold.

What do I want? Am I allowed to want something—to want someone—when I’m so…me?

You can replace that pronoun with a dozen self-loathing adjectives. Through the jumbled fusion your heart garners yet another chip.

third part.

[transformers-spike]

I've been loving all the sparkling hc and such it's giving me brain rot

You're sleeping in bed until you wake up and see your creepy little cybertronian daughter with a frowny face emoticon on her face screen.

"I threw up." She has a similarly monotone as Soundwave.

Also I'm imagining the human partner lives on earth while soudwave works back on the nemesis till his shift ends.

She likes to wrap her tentacles around you for hugs.

KO with split spark sparklings

One is a little angel baby princess who hates getting dirty or scratches on her paint and would rather play indoors. Knockout had to physically carry her at times because she refuses to walk or drive on dirt.

The other is a menace to society, loves driving fast even if it means wrecking himself. Absolutely enjoys human culture and earth as a planet. Best friendsb with Breakdown's sparkling. Sweet kid but is a huge mess maker.

You try not to snort as your kids hands Knockout an entire rose bush, stem, roots, dirt and all.

"I love it" Knockout smiles through thinly veiled disgust and your sparkling beams.You end up planting it in the back garden.

Starscream's kid is 100% his pride and joy even though he tries to pretend like she's not. His sparkling would either be the most arrogant thing possible or super sweet no in-between. When she's too small to fly on her own she rides in his cockpit but as she gets bigger they fly together and he definitely shows her fancy flight maneuvers. Father-daughter dates because he wants her to have high standards.

You watch your daughter's wings droop and lower derma pout as she begs you for the toys from her favorite cartoon.

"Pleeeeeeaase, they're limited time edition."

Her puppy dog eyes might work on Starscream but not you....right, right? Stay strong soldier.

I like to imagine megs with a daughter aswell (you get a daughter and you get a daughter 🫵) while it would be karmic debt to get a kid whos really sensitive it's much funnier if the child is a gremlin.

"Your time is up Megatron."

Optimus points his blaster down at him but he catches something the corner of his optic. A sparkling jumps infront of Megatron before Optimus can shoot him.

"Using your own sparkling as a shield is low even fo-"

He's cut off as Megs daughter tranforms into a gun and shoots him.

"You were saying, Prime"

Gun alt mode is so fucking funny to me.

YESSSSSS I LOVE THE SPARKLING BRAINROT Soundwave's kid is the scariest most intelligent baby ever. Very affectionate with her mom, but also very likely to eliminate whatever she thinks is "threatening" her caretaker. Her creepy voice is perfection - makes me wonder if her dad ever speaks to her despite his vow of silence - or if he just sticks to EM field communication Lmao Knock Out's split-sparks are are his punishment for being the way he is. They each adopted some of his worst traits lmao. You'd think the twins don't get along but - no - it's even worse. One of them is great at manipulation, while the other is an adrenaline junkie who keeps crashing into his sire's pedes - together, they're unstoppable. If they unite forces with Breakdown's kid, they'll end the world together I personally loveeee the concept of Starscream starting off being like ew towards his own child before eventually bonding with her and being overwhelmed by his need to protect this part of himself. Still in denial abt it- even tho he shadows her constantly during flights and acts way nicer than he does to anyone else. Also the type of parent who refuses to think his kid has done anything wrong lol Megatron with a feral daughter is the best. I'm telling you, she's been gnawing on him since day one. Imagine she turns into something similar to G1 Galvatron's alt-mode - a turret-gun of sorts. She may not cause all that much damage, but her role model is carnage incarnate. Now watch her follow in his pede-steps

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jay Kuo at The Status Kuo:

There’s a lot of talk of the “guardrails” failing these days. We see it in the cowardice and capitulation of our legacy media, which is shamelessly self-censoring and even settling bogus defamation cases with Trump to appease him and gain favor.

Big corporations have kissed the Orange One’s ass too, with many of the richest CEOs seated by him at his inauguration, resulting in an abject public display of subjugation. And it’s quite distressingly apparent, at least to anyone paying attention, that the GOP majority in Congress is no check at all upon Trump’s power. Indeed, they continue to fall over themselves to confirm his nominees and win his favor, with many terrified to oppose him and the MAGA mob. That leaves as our last and best defense the federal judiciary. These are lifetime appointees who still wield considerable power to slow, alter or even halt some of the worst excesses of the new administration. And over the last two weeks, they have proven themselves ready to exercise that power and demand compliance. In the wake of a slew of executive orders and a brazen takeover of government computer systems by DOGE, plaintiffs—including labor unions, nonprofits and blue state attorneys general—sued. And sued. And sued. The number of lawsuits is fast approaching 50.

The plaintiffs demanded an immediate halt to illegal and unconstitutional acts by the White House, the new cabinet and DOGE members within several key departments and agencies. And the judges listened. Contrary to MAGA claims of “liberal activist judges” inserting themselves into these disputes, the jurists hearing these cases were appointed by both Republican and Democratic presidents, including by Trump himself. Not long after the cases were filed, these same judges began issuing restraining orders and temporary injunctions ordering the Trump administration to lift freezes on federal payments, to stop firing civil employees, and to limit DOGE’s access to critical systems, among other things. In response, MAGA began threatening open defiance of their orders. This puts us very near to a constitutional Rubicon. And it raises some important questions. For example, what power does the federal judiciary have to actually enforce its orders? Is the Trump White House preparing to openly defy the orders anyway? And what happens if it does?

[...]

Defying gravitas

Elon Musk really hates judges. In fact, like our current toddler of a president, Musk hates anything and anyone who tells him that he can’t do what he wants to do. Musk feels zero accountability to anyone, and he believes he can act with impunity at all times. To underscore this, Musk retweeted a post by a MAGA account that walked through a recent judicial ruling against the Treasury, all while making numerous inaccurate statements. It concluded with these chilling words: “I don’t like the precedent it sets when you defy a judicial ruling, but I’m just wondering what other options are these judges leaving us.” Musk wasn’t the highest level “official” in the Trump White House to take this position. Vice President JD Vance went a step farther, tweeting, “Judges aren’t allowed to control the executive’s legitimate power.”

[...]

So the courts have issued orders. Can they enforce them?

As Democracy Docket’s Marc Elias explained recently, courts can order many kinds of relief, the most immediate being a temporary restraining order (TRO). Think of a fire burning near the house. A court can order the fire be put out right away (that’s the TRO) so that it doesn’t cause “irreparable harm” before it gets to the question of whose fault the fire was. A party has to obey an order to put out the fire, even if the judge later determines that it wasn’t in the wrong.

The courts, imperfect as they are, are the last guardrail left to rein in the tyrannical impulses of the Trump-Vance-Musk triumvirate.

See Also:

Daily Kos: Courts are keeping Trump's attempts at being a dictator in check—for now

The JGibson Report: The Trump-Musk-Vance triumvirate's Project 2025-inspired power grab threatens all Americans

Mother Jones: Ignoring Court Orders Would Make Trump a King

[vaguely-concerned]

so when adaar tells harding that they got her mother out of danger in ferelden before the blight really hit, and that she's safe with 'some old friends' for the duration... good people of tumblr I was just hit with the incredibly funny concept that harding's ma is spending the entirety of the veilguard double blight hanging out with the valo-kas mercenary company. ma harding and shokrakar is the buddy comedy duo I didn't realize I needed until right in this moment. they butt heads to begin with but end up seeing eye to eye eventually. with the help of some crates, and creativity.

(...in fact since harding's parents have canonically amicably divorced since inquisition.......( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) hello my second nichest but also perhaps most valid dragon age pairing thus far. lace bringing taash home with her for the first time only to find her mother standing on a chair to also be passionately making out with a powerful and bluntly hilarious vashoth warrior is something that can actually be so personal.)

[mayo-is-an-instrument]

I made a boo oc!! I'll make more drawings to use them for when I start making "serious" YouTube videos :3

[cutexasxabutton]

|🎄| ❝Uh, uh, I think this is a tag dump?❞ |❄️|

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt. Field trip.

Some people would call gothamites petty, but given that most of the USA population treated them as scum, they believed that their behavior was justified.

They didn't like tourists, to put it mildly. Therefore, after learning that in their city were people on a field trip from Amity Park who could not leave Gotham for several days due to weekly escape from Arkham, the news channel immediately decided that a short interview from the guests would definitely amuse the locals. The reaction of outsiders never ceases to be ridiculous.

Reporter: ~Good afternoon~ Gotham News! May I ask you to share what you liked most about our wonderful city?

Mr. Lancer*still in a cold sweat and looks at every passerby as a potential villain*: Uh, no, me..It's so unexpected. Well, first of all, people here are very…

Danny *is high after the tasting samples Dr. Crane gave him for free and is extremely eager to share his happiness with others*,* picks a microphone*.

Danny: Gotham is the best city in the world! Like seriously, damn, I'd like to die here. Although there are constant shootings somewhere, half the time people don't even shoot at me! I haven't been this relaxed since middle school! And in the evenings, there is often such a pleasant scent of fear and despair on the streets. This fear toxin of yours is a real miracle! It's sooo good!

Sam *decides to take the initiative in her own hands before Fenton says too much*: Personally, I am very pleased with the number of green spaces you have in your city. It's nice to see that here eco-activists are really being listened to. Also, the fact that most restaurants have a thoughtful menu for vegetarians left a very pleasant impression.

Dash in his favorite T-shirt "it's not gay if he's dead": Four words. Hips of Red Hood. The fact that it is not marked in the guidebook as the main attraction of the Crime Alley is a real crime. This dude clearly never skips leg days. My respect.

Tucker: What can I say? The speed of internet here, even during villains attacks, is absolutely  unbelievable. I don't want to leave this place.

Jazz: I love Gotham! Finally, I was able to buy all the works published by Dr. Harleen Quinzel. *girl picks up an impressive stack of books* For some reason, they are not available online.

The camera points at a red-haired guy with a twitching eye.

Wes: I'm 85% sure Bruce Wayne is Batman. I have a proof and I am ready to provide it.

A girl with a "Good Guess" pin from Riddler enters and takes camera away from conspiracy theorist.

Star: Sorry, he slipped out at night and went to look for problems. Again. Don't pay any attention to him. He's always like this when he drinks more than two energy drinks in a row.

[cursingtoji]

cw: band au, rockstar!geto x groupie!gf, slight manipulation?, car sex, oral. a/n: geto deserves a loser gf too. gojo version nanami version toji version

geto who has a rock band and though they’re quite small they already have a #1 fan: you.

the band is all you talk about, going to the point of making your own shirts and posters, you doodle the bands logo everywhere and, most importantly you don't miss a single concert.

by the end of it you're waiting next to the back door of the pub when the band comes out, as soon as you see suguru you call his name extending your little gift bag.

"woah for me? thanks, doll." he takes your chin and gives your glossy lips a peck that makes your heartbeat spike up and your face warm up. geto fucking suguru just kissed you!

during all that week you were on cloud nine, so distracted and giggly.

of course geto notices you, always in the front row and ready to give the band some gifts, he sees how you try to dress up as one of them before they even realize they have a visual identity.

geto likes having fangirls, if anything that’s the best sign that the band is doing well. till that point he never considered engaging to one in a more intimate level. after all, women were never a problem for him, fans or not.

the problem is when they think more of the relationship than it really is. geto has always made sure they knew that sleeping together and treating them well was not synonymous to committed relationship.

because he already is committed. to his music. so after spending the whole day trying to come up with a new song so the band may finally have a complete album to present to a record, he takes a frustrated break picking up his phone and to his dismay only finding a long message about how he hurt someone’s feelings.

“oh for fucks sake” he lets his phone fall on the couch and take his keys, this is not a good week to quit smoking.

“geto?” he hears a small voice calling him after he leaves the convenience store with a very much needed cigarette on his lips and nicotine in his system.

“oh hey” he recognizes you by name and face.

“you’re using the lighter” you point out enthusiastically, that was a limited edition you bought and gifted him.

“that’s right, you bought me this, did i say thank you?” he’s genuinely wondering, your face heats remembering the kiss.

“i-its no big deal” you brush it off, since he doesn’t seem to be in a rush you start to babble about one specific song and everything you loved about it, knowing he was the composer.

“do wanna go to my place?” he says after quietly listening to your passionate thoughts. you think steam is about to come out of your ears at how hot your face got.

geto throws away what’s left of his cigarette and takes your hand, not really waiting for a response since the heart in your eyes is pretty obvious.

“you’re so cute” he says with his face mushed into your breasts as he guides your movements on his lap. you never guessed when you came out this morning you would be riding your favorite guitarist’s dick a few hours later, if you knew you probably would’ve put a sexier lingerie. not that he would care, by the way he pushed your bottoms down all at once he probably didn’t even know what color your underwear was.

geto pulled your hair tilting your head to meet his mouth, he devoured you so intensely, so overwhelming… you came not even needing your clit to be touched, just by having him inside you and breathing into your mouth like that was enough.

for suguru it was all a power trip, when he saw you after a concert he knew it wouldn’t take you much sweet talking to get you in his car.

he quickly mumbled an excuse to meet the band at the bar later and in just a few minutes he had you bobbing your head down his cock, “just like that, gorgeous, so good” his head is thrown back as he moans softly.

and as the band grew more popular and they had to travel to other cities to perform he would always count on you to meet him at his hotel room.

“geto~” you mewl his name as he eats your pussy from behind so lewdly.

from the very first time you knew it was over for every other guy the moment he touched you. no matter what anyone said about geto, that he was using you, he would never marry you, you didn’t care. you would be his devotee as long as he wanted.

and geto got all he wanted, a pretty little thing that didn’t complain or asked too many questions and best of all: that loved his music and understood his work.

“i know, you have to practice” you kiss him one last time before gathering your clothing from the floor, the hints of him not wanting to stay over were all memorized at this point, so you turn your back at him and make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

but the usual sound of the door opening and closing never came, instead you saw him coming from behind to lace strong arms around your waist, “well maybe just tonight” he smells your hair and through the mirror he sees the tattoo bellow your belly button, just above the hem of your underwear. your prof of love: the logo of the band.

geto touches it and you giggle at the feathery feeling, like a tickle, he likes that sound. he likes you.

“i was thinking you should get another, right here” a finger caress your right ass cheek.

“the same one?” you ask confused.

“no, silly, something else” he gets down hands caressing your hips and kissing the extension of your butt, “my name.”

[elsaclack]

Yeah okay so like I said in the tags of the last post I’m rising from my tumblr grave to say that the ban on TikTok is symptomatic of a MUCH larger and more terrifying problem. Because yes, on its surface it’s silly dances and asmr and cooking videos and whatever, but in truth and at its core, TikTok single-handedly revolutionized the way 170 million Americans communicated with each other AND the rest of the world. Non-Americans love to point out how America-centric Americans are, but fail to realize that we are purposefully raised in an isolated, insulated environment where we are told from basically day 1 that America Is The Best and not to even bother taking a look around because it’s all downhill from outside of here. TikTok has, for MANY Americans, single-handedly destroyed that notion and allowed them (us!!) to broaden our world-view and realize that actually, things are better in other countries, and it did so in a kind, empathetic, and compassionate way.

And yeah most people wake up to the truth of that on their own as they get older, but holy shit!! The VAST majority of the Americans on TikTok are millennials and gen z (and even some older gen alpha)!! People who are becoming disillusioned with “The American Dream” (said with the HEAVIEST sarcasm) while they’re still school-aged or are just entering young-adulthood!! People who are entering - or TRYING to enter - the American workforce who suddenly have an unfiltered window into non-American lives and are wondering why tf we’re struggling and penny-pinching and toeing the line of poverty while our rich elected officials sit around and fight and argue over everything that actually matters to the citizens they supposedly represent and get richer all the while. THAT is why they’re banning the app, and that fact alone should terrify every single American citizen.

Not to mention the precedent it sets for other social media platforms!! You think some nebulous, unproven, and unfounded “threat to national security” will stop with TikTok?? They’ve already censored Adult Material on tumblr, who’s gonna stop them from coming back and doing it again or getting rid of it altogether for the exact same reason? It’s a blatant act of censorship and a direct attack on the American first amendment right to free speech.

NOTHING radicalized me the way tiktok did. I watched people in my life who were STAUNCH Trump supporters in 2016 AND 2020 wake up to the truth and vote blue for the first time in their lives BECAUSE OF TIKTOK, and did so with al the nuanced understanding that even Democrats are severely failing this country, but are at least better than the alternative. That level of awareness and presence in the average US citizen scares American politicians.

The fact that the vast majority of them - including the ones loudly opposing the ban!! - bought stock in Meta BEFORE the ban was legalized/upheld by the Supreme Court?? That Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk were legally allowed to lobby congress to ban TikTok when BOTH stood to DIRECTLY financially gain from their biggest competitor being banned in the US and are guilty of unethically gathering data and selling it to MULTIPLE third parties?? The fact that Trump is now teasing that he may or may not intervene to save TikTok when he was the one who talked about banning it in the first place AND ALSO OWNS HIS OWN COMPETING SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM??

It’s the burning of Alexandria. It’s the loss of a significant chunk of culture. It’s the sharp and sudden loss of contact with the rest of the world for more than half of all American citizens. It’s the loss of $240 BILLION dollars in the GDP when the country is already TRILLIONS of dollars in debt. And on an individualistic level, it’s the loss of millions of small businesses and primary income streams for so many individuals and families who found their primary audience on TikTok. Is the app perfect? HELL no. Are there significant changes needed to make it a safe environment for all users? ABSOLUTELY. But that can also be said of ANY social media platform. TikTok openly fostered connection and communication and creativity and compassion that is completely unique to that platform! It made so many people - myself included!! - feel less alone. I get the feeling I know what the general consensus is about TikTok on this site, but the ban on this app should scare the shit out of everyone.

[opencommunion]

“The children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this may be incapable of morality.”

― James Baldwin

the way colonizers unchild Palestinian kids is so heartless and disturbing. colonialism crushes children's dreams ON PURPOSE to try to destroy indigenous people's futures.

Wafaa's nephew Ahmed is 17. Because of this genocide, he went from playing soccer on his high school team, to playing with the other kids in his refugee camp in the rare moments between his odd jobs to support his family during famine, and volunteering as an aid worker to help other families. Ahmed lost many of his teammates, including his best friend Mahmoud, who he saw martyred.

Ahmed's cousin Yazid is 18. He planned to marry his high school sweetheart after their first year of college, but the genocide stopped their education. Yazid's fiancee's father was martyred and Yazid is now working to support both his family and hers. He also volunteers alongside Ahmed, risking their lives as the genocidal IOF targets aid workers -- Ahmed has even been injured by drones targeting him.

I'm not saying all this to make them look like superheros (although they are both wonderful people). I just want you all to see how totally the genocide has shattered their childhoods, and how much they have to struggle to resist that violence and hold the pieces together, and how the free world has failed to care for them.

fortunately there is a way we can help them.

Wafaa @wafans-blog is currently raising money to evacuate Ahmed and Yazid. This is time sensitive -- she needs to pay the registration fees to Hala Company within the next 2 days, by August 11th.

The full amount needed to evacuate Wafaa's entire family is $80,000; to cover the upcoming fees we need to get to $40,000 by the 11th. We're nearly there but donations are slowing.

Please reblog, and most importantly, donate any amount you can spare. Those $5s add up if enough people help. So much of the world is so hostile to Palestinian boys, please stand up for Yazid and Ahmed and help them escape. Don't let them get separated from their family, don't leave them behind.

August 9th: $35,914 / $40,000

plain text and tags under the cut

PT:

“The children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this may be incapable of morality.”

― James Baldwin

the way colonizers unchild Palestinian kids is so heartless and disturbing. colonialism crushes children's dreams on purpose to try to destroy indigenous people's futures.

Wafaa's nephew Ahmed is 17. Because of this genocide, he went from playing soccer on his high school team, to playing with the other kids in his refugee camp in the rare moments between his odd jobs to support his family during famine, and volunteering as an aid worker to help other families. Ahmed lost many of his teammates, including his best friend Mahmoud, who he saw martyred.

Ahmed's cousin Yazid is 18. He planned to marry his high school sweetheart after their first year of college, but the genocide stopped their education. Yazid's fiancee's father was martyred and Yazid is now working to support both his family and hers. He also volunteers alongside Ahmed, risking their lives as the genocidal IOF targets aid workers -- Ahmed has even been injured by drones targeting him.

I'm not saying all this to make them look like superheroes (although they are both wonderful people). I just want you all to see how totally the genocide has shattered their childhoods, and how much they have to struggle to resist that violence and hold the pieces together, and how the free world has failed to care for them.

fortunately there is a way we can help them.

Wafaa @/wafans-blog is currently raising money to evacuate Ahmed and Yazid. This is time sensitive -- she needs to pay the registration fees to Hala Company within the next 2 days, by August 11th.

The full amount needed to evacuate Wafaa's entire family is $80,000; to cover the upcoming fees we need to get to $40,000 by the 11th. We're nearly there but donations are slowing.

Please reblog, and most importantly, donate any amount you can spare. Those $5s add up if enough people help. So much of the world is so hostile to Palestinian boys, please stand up for Yazid and Ahmed and help them escape. Don't let them get separated from their family, don't leave them behind.

August 9th: $35,914 / $40,000

/ end PT

lmk if you don't want to be tagged next time! ty!

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@mazzikah @irhabiya @terroristiraqis @watchnpray @stuckinapril

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@lacecap @littlestpersimmon @socalgal @ghelgheli @northgazaupdates2 @vakarians-babe

[merakiui]

Hai hai! Meraaaaa, you've done it again. A magnum opus once more! I really loved the new Riddle fic!

Since it was an arranged marriage and more in the victorian age anddddd was also inspired by Coraline (it gives me the creeps but I still love it) from the bottom of my heart it's the past life of your fic love me not!

From my observation, It has a lot of parallels. Firstly, Riddle's mother doesn't like FL because of her attitude, unperfect and too little for her liking and both Riddle fighting for their engagement. Second! Riddle's tapping, Well more on Moro's but Riddle in love me not was tapping as they waited for the oven to bake the lemon tart? and FL noticed that the place was weird.

Third, the place was weird, while Moro's looking glass noticed it pretty much sooner Love me not noticed it at the ending of the fic. Though Love me not got the FL in the ending, I'm quite curious if the mirror is still working? Since it was stated that there should be a part of him so that it'd go through her world and since there was nothing.. a broken mirror is useless at this point but that's just my interpretation of course!

Also! this line in Moro's! It also parallels the questions you've got in love me not

iii. the third petal is plucked from the wilting rose: “he loves me.” to what extent does he love you? “passionately, you see.” - from love me not

"It wants me. To what extent, I’m unsure. But if it truly does love me as it claimed… Surely it wouldn’t hurt me." - from Moro's looking glass

MERA MERA I WANNA DISSECT YOUR BRAIN AND PEER INSIDE OF IT LIKE WHERE DO YOU GET THESE WORDS?! It's so lovely and haunting and like gob smacking like wowww, big brain moment, it's like a song that just flows in! All your fics were aaahhhhhhhhhhh!!! ヽ⁠(⁠｡⁠◕⁠o⁠◕⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠.

actually.. actually this is my third ask but I didn't know how to introduce myself hehe. I'm Italian Mafia Tako and Mera day anon (⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠). I'm quite shy and an introvert that's why I'd rather hide between anonymous asks hehe.. I also didn't know what to call myself haha and and! I'd rather introduce myself before I get caught.. You'll find me in your asks once in a while.. randomly, but I was anxious if you'd notice that my writing patterns are alike hehe. That's why Idia is one of my kinnies, I'd rather do it anonymous hehehe sorry Mera (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

.. I'm rambling a bit too much but I love all your fics! Every fic has a special place in my heart. This is the only time that I'd be jealous of a Tako but I wish that I could have three hearts to store all your fics, all so lovely and filling hehe! Have a great day author! ♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡

MAFIA TAKO/MERA DAY ANON, HELLO!!!! SWEETEST GREETINGS TO YOU~~~ it's lovely to chat again!! I'm happy to see you in my inbox!! :D and omg,,, such a kind message AAAAAAA!!!! T^T <3 please don't apologize for sending anonymously!! Whatever way is easiest and most comfortable for you! 💖 thank you so much for reading Moros's Looking Glass and for enjoying the rest of my fics as well!!! To say you would want three hearts to store all of my fics..... aaaa I'm so happy to hear that!!!! ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ sending you all of my love!!!!!!!!

AAAAA IS IT TRULY A MAGNUM (MOROS HEHE) OPUS?!?!? :O I never realized just how many parallels it has with Love Me Not!!! Those are all great catches! The line parallels between Moros and Love Me Not were completely unintentional, but I'm shocked at how well they align with one another omg!! I think the Love Me Not and Moros MCs should meet to discuss their Riddles. ^^;;;; group therapy with them... I think Moros!MC would be sympathetic towards Love Me Not!MC's situation. A motherly sort of figure almost,,, aaaa they both deserve happiness and freedom from the terrible Riddles!!!

As for your question of whether the mirror is still working, it's somewhat functional (i.e. it's still a prison for Mr. Moros)!! Moros is still trapped within and can't cross over into the real world because there is no part of him that exists there and Reader still has the locket with Riddle's hair. <3 he's essentially just a really useless charm necklace now since the mirror is in pieces. T_T it isn't big enough for him to slip out even when Reader is sleeping, so she is safe. <3

[the-raindeer-king]

Imagine Simon's mom doesn't die with Tommy and Beth. Maybe she was out of town, or at a friend's house, and Roba's men were sloppy and missed her. Anyway, so it's just Simon and her now, and because he blames himself for what happened, he's pulled away from her.

He pays her rent, even if he wanted her to live in a nicer apartment complex. And he visits during her birthday and Mother's Day, and sometimes just randomly stops by. But he never stays very long, and he doesn't tell her a lot about his new life. It's a very one sided relationship, but she tries to make the best of it.

And then you move in next door, during one of Simon's deployments. You feel bad for the sweet lady that lives next to you. She never seems to have much company, and you take it upon yourself to befriend her, spending more time in her apartment than your own.

You learn about her ex husband, her sons, the tragedy, and most importantly, you learn about Simon. And you hate him. Mrs. Riley (she insists you call her Sarah) is such a lovely woman, and it's clear how much she cares about her living son, how hard she's trying to keep their relationship alive.

It's the second Mother's Day after you move in when you finally meet Simon. Your relationship with your own mother is complicated, so you've opted to spend the day with Mrs. Riley. You'd gotten her a small present, and had planned to spend the day drinking wine and watching historical romance movies.

You're thoroughly shocked when you knock on her door, and a man answers. Six feet, built like a brick house, but under his scowl, you recognize Sarah's eyes.

“You must be Simon.”

His scowl deepens, but before he can say anything, Mama Riley is pushing past him, pulling you into her apartment to fuss over you.

She apologizes for not telling you sooner, but your plans will have to be rescheduled. Simon's back early, and she can't waste a precious second.

You're understanding. You've listened to her worried rants, given her space to cry over how things have turned out. You know she loves spending time with her son, even if the visits are short and he doesn't talk much.

Simon doesn't miss the way you glare at him. There's a fury in your eyes, even as you cheerily wish his mother a happy mother's day. For a moment, he wonders if you're a spy. But that thought is quickly diminished, when you verbally eviscerate him at the door.

You're quiet, not wanting to upset his mom, but your anger is clear. It may not be your business, but Mama Riley is your friend, and you adore the older woman. And you cannot stand by while he treats her like this. She loves her son so much, and he needs to step up and try harder.

As you're chewing him out, Simon's already head over heels, planning your wedding as the seconds tick by.

(A/N: You can read this as a stand alone piece, but I did write 3 more drabbles (four in total!) for this! They're all on my blog under the tag mama riley au. Thank you for reading!)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[poohsources]

🐝  *  ―  𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑪 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

❛  you've been my best friend for years, what made you think it would change now?  ❜ ❛  i'm always here for you if you need me.  ❜ ❛  well, that's what friends are for.  ❜ ❛  remember, i'm always just one call away.  ❜ ❛  how long have we known each other now? i know you better than you know yourself.  ❜ ❛  you're an idiot most of the time, but you're my idiot.  ❜ ❛  do you want to come over and watch movies tonight? i could use some company.  ❜ ❛  you always know how to cheer me up.  ❜ ❛  i made you your favorite food.  ❜ ❛  i know it's 2 a.m. but i really need someone to talk to. are you awake?  ❜ ❛  remember when we used to build blanket forts? let's do it again.  ❜ ❛  please come to this family dinner with me. my family already loves you and i need some neutral person there with me.  ❜ ❛  here, i got you something. i saw it at the shop and it reminded me of you.  ❜ ❛  do you remember that promise we made to each other when we were kids?  ❜ ❛  i'm so grateful to have you in my life. you mean the world to me.  ❜ ❛  i don't need advice right now, just a friend to listen.  ❜ ❛  you're the best friend one could ever ask for.  ❜ ❛  hey, umm ... thank you for being my friend.  ❜ ❛  you don't have to go through this alone. i'm here for you.  ❜ ❛  want to grab a coffee and catch up?  ❜ ❛  we may not talk every day anymore, but i still consider you my friend.  ❜ ❛  i can stay and help you finish this if you want.  ❜ ❛  you've got this. i believe in you!  ❜ ❛  how about we plan a game night this weekend?  ❜ ❛  do you ever wonder what our lives will be like in ten years?  ❜ ❛  no matter what happens, you'll always have me.  ❜ ❛  you don't have to pretend with me. i like you just the way you are.  ❜ ❛  consider it ... a little friendly competition.  ❜ ❛  thank you, you always know how to make me laugh.  ❜ ❛  i can't believe how far we've come together.  ❜ ❛  just stay put, i'll be over in a minute.  ❜ ❛  i've got us tickets for that concert/movies/exhibition you wanted to go to.  ❜ ❛  how about a road trip? just like old times ...  ❜ ❛  i really appreciate you staying in my life all these years.  ❜ ❛  i don't know what i'd do without you.  ❜ ❛  you can tell me if something is bothering you.  ❜ ❛  race you to the end of the street!  ❜ ❛  bet you can't beat me at this game. i'm a pro.  ❜ ❛  i challenge you to a cooking contest. loser has to buy dinner for the next week.  ❜ ❛  you've been such a great friend, and i just wanted to say thanks.  ❜