#my tickets were on sale too

[we-survive-endlessly]

Guess who’s going to see Woodz on Saturday 🥰

[ambivartence]

july receiptify ! :)

i swear all i listened to was tbz for the last 2 weeks yet not a single song made it to my top 10 bc i was listening to the entire tour setlist at once lol anyways lots of great releases this month :)

tagging:   @dkbtho  @flaredpantsagenda  @haechannabelle @jaebeomtual  @kimuramasaya @lee-minhoe @leetaehwan @llunapastell @nada-lovely @peachjaem00 @senor-hoberto @sungtaro @sunminshine @we-survive-endlessly

[reloaderror]

I got more time to consider tabling at that convention btw but the recommendation that I got was to have variety so not just prints but maybe also buttons or keychains and stickers (which yeah that makes sense) but to me designing or drawing designs for these objects for the purpose of sale feels disingenuous, that’s not why I draw and I don’t have any particular desire to design any of those which makes me unmotivated . like I don’t feel at all inspired. quite the opposite

also, I am highly doubtful that I’ll actually enjoy it as in tabling at a convention so then manufacturing all of this would be a waste also

and the cost of getting there would be astronomical. because everyone wants to travel to northern Norway during summer and this convention is in August so there is no such thing as a cheap flight. and. they’re already selling out

oh, and lmao so I was told the reason I was invited was because they’re trying to have some variation or diversity in terms of stands so they didn’t want 15 Gojo print art stands which I understand, but maybe I’m not the right person the fandoms that I draw fanart for are kinda niche. not the most recent ones but. primarily. 

[odxrilove]

I GOT TICKETS FOR WAVE TO EARTH !!!! 📣📣📣📣📣📣

[diah-the-demon]

YES I FUCKING GOT TICKETS FOR ADO WORLD TOUR FUCK YES

[red-dyed-sarumane]

we're back from comiket i was so prepared for it to be like vomas where i bought way too much but i didnt end up getting anything. even getting in around 12 after the whole entrance line parade thing the limbus booth already stopped taking orders for the day & by the time i remembered the kamitsubaki fanartists were there they were sold out of anything i wanted. amazing event if ur into recent anime, games, or vtubers unfortunately i really only cared about 2 things so it wasnt really my type of event. still cool to go to tho

[supercantaloupe]

sleepover saturday :)

i just got back home and i am with My Beast…….

i enjoy how the second one looks like a big foot sighting. anyway :)

how are we feeling about vaopera don giovanni Drawing Nearer (and carmen. their whole season actually looks very neat)

i’m gonna try and see both dg + carmen

your creature looks so much like a giant weird bug it's so fascinating

va opera's season looks Great this year and i was so happy to see them replace siegfried (i think?? it was one of them rings) with don g. BUT i'm pissed off that don g for some reason is not playing in fairfax, only in richmond and norfolk. i was straight up going to get a season subscription this year but now i'm not gonna because i can't because only two shows are near me!!

i'm still planning on seeing carmen and probably loving v virginia though. i love carmen, and i think it's one of those shows that's hard to fuck up unless you're actively trying (cracknell carmen sucks shit but even still the performances are great, it's just the production that's terrible). and loving v virginia sounds interesting. and i've really enjoyed the productions i've seen from va opera so far (barber of seville and pirates of penzance). i trust them to do something good and interesting and fun, though i'm curious to see that play out for something that isn't a comedy this year.

i still might see don g. i'm not sure. richmond is like a 2 hour drive for me, which is not out of the question entirely, especially for a weekend matinee which they do have. and thankfully the matinee is on sunday, not saturday, which is an Absolute no go this year considering that's yom kippur. and as much as i love don g i am not skipping services for that. so...idk, i'd love to see it, but i'm not sure yet, given the timing and the fact that it means a lot of driving in a single day. it's not out of the question yet, but i'm still on the fence i guess.

[ask meme]

[iwatcheditbegin]

hi!! are you going to the seattle shows in july? I went to rep tour on 5/22/18 too :’-)

I’m trying! I couldn’t get tickets and was unable to even do the verified fan thing again cause I was in ED treatment and without a phone / computers. I didn’t even see the email. An TM cancelled sales to the general public.

I hope there’s still a way. I know the demand is really high, but ticketmaster and resell sites are known to hold onto tickets to increase the value. There were seats that weren’t even showing up when I went to my show that later ended up going for like half the price the week of, and people have said that happened again so idk. Fingers crossed.

[basicgrayson]

If anyone hasn't gotten their tickets yet for Danny Elfman's Hollywood Bowl show this Saturday, tickets for the Pool section are $127 rn 👀👀

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (now skeptical!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: I’ve already outlined the entire thing–now it’s just a matter of writing it, so don’t worry! Even if some chapters take me longer to update, I’m gonna finish this one way or another. Promise. *fingers crossed* Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, reader thinks she’s losing her marbles because of a certain someone

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

“Alright—okay, don’t be stupid,” You chant to yourself as you pace restlessly from the kitchen area of your studio, to the coffee table where you’ve set your phone lying facedown. “Just open the damn thing.” 

You’ve just arrived back at the condo a little past seven PM after a, frankly, productive–if not slightly distracted–day of running errands. You’re home, and you haven’t even got to unpacking the two paper bags (and a box) worth of groceries that were all but thrown carelessly on the kitchen counter, and already, you’re back to stressing over all the weird shit that's been happening to you.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried your hardest to resist the urge to check your phone, especially whenever you see the screen light up–whether it was in your hand or stashed away in your half-zipped fanny pack.

It’s at the most random times too, but always when you act on your unfortunate tendency to monologue your thoughts out loud. 

Sure, it could just be some random push app notifications. Text messages from the few people that hit you up on the weekends–invitations to hang out, maybe. A few newsletters you forgot to unsubscribe from, if you’re unlucky. 

But you think the timing’s far too deliberate to be purely coincidental. 

“Do I get a dozen eggs or just half? What do I even need a dozen for?” (Phone vibrates)

“Oh, hey, Indomie’s on sale if you buy in bulk. How much for a box?” (Screen flashes. Twice.)

“Who the hell is holding up the line, damn–oh, it’s an old lady. Better hurry the fuck up, grandma.” (Screen flashes) “...Sorry! I didn’t mean that.” 

“Ughhh… my tummy hurty…” (Phone vibrates) “What—” 

“Everything’s perfectly normal. Just your average, sunny Saturday! You are an independent, capable adult… who’s fucking losing it.” (Screen flashes–after a minute interval) 

Of course, you have an inkling as to what’s–or who’s–blowing your phone up; in fact, he’s never left your mind since this morning.

So presently, you’re in the middle of having a small existential crisis over what that means, for you and your sanity. No big deal. 

You puff out your cheeks for a couple of seconds before letting out a deep breath. Don’t be a pussy. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to all of this. You’re–you’re not crazy. 

Landing heavily down in front of the low table, you finally grab your phone, hand shaking with the teensiest amount of trepidation. Not giving yourself any more time to think and second-guess, you flip it over, switching it back to Ring mode as you swipe up to see—

—a barrage of notifications; one popping up after another. 

Some of them are what you’ve expected: plain, old push notifications from banking apps, others from varying socials. There’s one from your mom. A reminder to email her the flight tickets you still haven’t gotten around to booking yet. 

And. Six banner notifications from the game. From… from–him. It’s something you’ve already braced yourself for. It doesn’t prepare you, however, for what they actually said. 

A knot grows in your chest, spreading rapidly like slithering twine as your mind tries, and somewhat fails, to make sense of what your eyes are seeing. 

Grab a dozen, sweetie. It won’t add much to the total cost, and you need that protein every morning. Cereal’s not gonna cut it. 

You really ought to lessen your sodium intake, kitten. (and) Do NOT get the box. Stop. 

Haha. A feisty one, aren’t you? 

Mmm, poor baby.

I– we can talk about this later when you get home.

Each notification contains a completely unique dialogue you’ve never seen before. A play-by-play commentary specifically in response to you— to your personal remarks from earlier, spoken out loud— that there is absolutely no way anyone could still pass this off as simply being system-generated. 

A faint ringing echoes in your ears as you slowly draw back, putting some distance between the onslaught of text and… you. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the screen, though. Even if the back of your head bumps against the seat edge of the sofa behind you from how far you’ve already leaned back. 

Blinking in stunned silence, the only thing you could croak out is a strained “what the fuuuck.” 

... Ping!

Still mustering the courage to face me? Don’t keep me in suspense, darling. 

The sudden message jolts you back to reality. You suck in a deep breath.

… Despite everything, you can’t help but find his nonchalant response to your gradual spiral into hysterics–because he knows–a little amusing. Also rude. But mostly funny. 

(It’s also probably just your brain’s last-ditch effort to find some semblance of control, but whatever.)

At this point, you know that you’re merely delaying the inevitable. Swallowing, you press on one of Sylus’ messages and it immediately boots up the game. 

Instead of soothing your nerves like it usually does, the orchestral background music from the loading screen puts you more on edge; your anxiety builds up to a crescendo, harmonious to the heralding of what you know will undoubtedly change the trajectory of your life. 

Dramatic, but true. 

48%... 82%... 98%...

There’s a hollow drop in your stomach when the screen–finally–reveals the familiar sight of the café. The golden ambient light enters your field of vision for a split second before your eyes flit reflexively to the man standing in the middle of the screen, whose presence commandeered your full attention.

He’s wearing his motorcycle jacket–the black one with the red and white thorn(?) accents, paired along the pair of leather pants with the iconic double zipper. Aside from the black zircon studs, he’s not wearing anything out of the ordinary. Nothing is looking out of the ordinary, actually. 

Holding your breath, you wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you waiting for me to say hello? Then–” Sylus muses with an amused lilt to his voice, sauntering closer to flick “your” forehead. There’s a beat before he continues: “That’s my way of saying hello.” 

… Huh? 

That’s—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You… you don’t know what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it.

The man in front of you doesn’t look any different from how he usually does; the way that his… character animation (Should you call it that? It doesn’t seem right, given the circumstance, but you don’t know how best to describe anything anymore) flows is so–-so infuriatingly… normal. As if it’s just like any other day that you’ve logged in the game. 

Where did the sentience go? Why is he reciting lines he’s programmed to say? None of it adds up.

Your mouth tries to form words, but nothing comes out. With wide eyes, you helplessly gape at him. Speechless. For a moment, you feel like you’ve actually gone mad. 

A small “what’s happening?” slips past your lips. Your eyes dart across his face, trying to analyze every microexpression, any hint of sentience on him–in his eyes, in his movements. 

You find none. 

Mechanically, you exit the game.

“What the actual fuck?” You whisper-shout at nothing in particular, and maybe to the biggest cause of your current disconcertion; one who you thought… Who you were sure was—

-

-

Fuck it. It’s time to put your detective skills to work.

[sunrizef1]

big reputation pt 2

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x Reader, Max Verstappen x ex!reader

Warnings: Cursing

Authors note: sorry this took so long bbgs

Pt 1 Pt 3

yourusername added to their story

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

alex_albon

Friend???

Yeah, real fucking funny

yourusername

Get out of my DMs

—————————————

lilymhe

“Friend”?

Girl that's the love of your life

“Not because he owns me but because he rly knows me” or whatever

yourusername

Ah I love him 😍

lilymhe

Trust me, i know

I've seen more than I want to

—————————————

fernandoalo_official

friend?

Querida, ese hombre te ama.

yourusername

You're the third person to comment on the “friend” thing

fernandoalo_official

Porque las únicas personas que no saben que os queréis son ciegas 😂

translation: (Friend? Darling, that man loves you) (you're the third person to comment on the friend thing) (because the only people who don't know you love each other are blind)

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logansargeant

Friend???

yourusername

Oh my god

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TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

oscarpiastri

I don't appreciate being cut out of this picture

yourusername

Are you my boyfriend or his teammate

oscarpiastri

I'm his friend 😔

yourusername

you'll get an Insta story the day Im in your garage for race day

oscarpiastri

But you'd never be in my garage

yourusername

Well 🤷‍♀️

oscarpiastri

Damn 😔

———————————————

yourusername added to their story

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

logansargeant

DELETE DELETE DELETE

THEYRE GONNA FIGURE OUT THATS ME AND BURN ME AT THE STAKE

yourusername

LMFAO

—————————————————

TWITTER

MESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by logansargeant taylorswift and 31,998,776 others

yourusername guys!!!! Ive seen the support on reputation and after the year I’ve had, I’m so grateful for every person that’s listened to and supported the album. As a little present for your support, I’m going on tour!!! This is only leg 1, so if there isn’t a show near you, look out for leg 2 after this one, we’ll be visiting several more countries and cities! Tickets go on sale tomorrow at 10 AM, I can’t wait to see you all on the Reputation Stadium Tour!!! 🖤🖤🖤

load comments…

user1 YESSSSSS LETS GO

user2 omg I’m gonna be back in the trenches of Ticketmaster again

user3 I need to hear don’t blame me in a packed stadium plssss

user4 no KC????

yourusername we’ll be in kc on leg 2 100%!!!

user4 LFG!!!! Tysm bae

user5 damn she loves Vegas doesn’t she

user6 the most random schedule ever lmfao

user7 she’s going to Austria!!!! No one ever goes to Austria!!!

user8 this is the first tour I’ve seen that isn’t just entirely American cities lmfao

user9 there’s like actual European cities instead of just London lol

user10 I think I recognize the order of some of these stops…

user11 Baku is so random lmfao

user12 why does she go back and forth to the us like 4 times??? 😭

charles_leclerc can’t wait!!!!

yourusername 🫶

user13 she’s coming to Hungary 😍

logansargeant this schedule looks a bit familiar 🤔

yourusername wonder why that is 🤷🏻‍♀️

user14 these tickets are gonna be so hard to get

landonorris so which show are we all going too then

oscarpiastri from the looks of it, we could go to all of them

landonorris I might not go that far 😅

logansargeant I will 🫡

lewishamilton my votes for London n1

carlossainz I say Madrid

fernandoalo_official how about both

liked by yourusername

user15 I live in France but I will be buying tickets to Madrid and London in hopes of seeing the drivers

user16 OHHHH ITS THE F1 SCHEDULE

liked by yourusername

———————————————

yourusername added to their story

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

📍Toronto, Canada

liked by landonorris logansargeant and 35,998,004 others

yourusername Toronto you were absolutely electric for opening night of the Reputation Tour!!! I’m in awe of how many of you came out to support the show and I hope it lived up to your expectations! It was also nice to see some friends come out to support before their race this weekend 🫶. Thank you so much Toronto, I’ll see you guys again for Night 3!

Tagged: lilymhe alex_albon oscarpiastri landonorris fernandoalo_official georgerussel carmenmundt logansargeant

Load comments…

user17 WAIT THIS IS SO CUTE

user18 the show was so good!!!!!

user19 did yall see all the drivers hanging out in the vip tent 😭

user20 y/n kept pointing at the tent during every love song 😭😭😭

user21 it was so amazing!

landonorris what is that picture of me, I do not remember that

yourusername it’s from when your flight landed at two am and you both showed up to soundcheck at 6 am

landonorris and you decided to post that one???

yourusername it’s the only picture I have where you’re not wearing McLaren merch 🤷‍♀️

user22 wait Oscar and Lando showing up to soundcheck is kind of adorable

fernandoalo_official it was very good chica!!

yourusername thank you Nando!!!

user23 that picture of Alex and Lily is so cute

lilymhe it was so amazing, I’m so glad the schedule happens to line up so I can go to more shows!!! 🫶

yourusername you can have a reserved spot in the vip tent lils ❤️

lilymhe 😭🫶

user24 why is Logan tagged on the microphone slide??? He’s not in the slideshow but he’s tagged???

user25 slide 8 is 100% him but she just didn’t tag him, I know it

lewishamilton this is Lewis Hamilton erasure

yourusername ahhhh I’m sorry lew! I don’t have a good picture of you at the show where you’re not out of focus!

lewishamilton this is what happens when I let Fernando take pictures. Guess I’ll just have to go to more shows until I make the slideshow 🤔

yourusername you’re welcome any time, it was great to have you 🫶

user25 slide 8 is so cute 😭

logansargeant so good 😍

yourusername 🫶

user26 now why did Logan have the least to say out of anyone 🙄

user27 I’m convinced it’s because they’re sitting next to each other right now

alex_albon lilys now obsessed with the show so I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of us during leg 1

yourusername don’t act like you didn’t have fun as well

alex_albon oh I definitely did, I’ll have to start planning new reputation themed outfits to match the crowd

yourusername the bleached hair would match perfectly

charles_leclerc me and Alex had a wonderful time, thank you so much for inviting us!!!

yourusername it was so great to have you both supporting the show!

alexandrasaintmleux it was beautiful, mon chou!

yourusername tysm Alex ❤️

user28 all the drivers in the comments 😭

oscarpiastri Lando cried

landonorris no I didn’t stfu

yourusername there’s pictures lan

landonorris New Year’s Day is just so heartwarming 😔

yourusername dw lan, there’s also pictures of Oscar crying

oscarpiastri you know why I cried 😔 I’m just empathetic for his happiness 🙄

user29 “I’m empathetic for his happiness” okay so that’s about Logan and you can’t tell me otherwise

————————————————

yourusername added to their story

lewishamilton

Honored to make it into the slideshow 🫶

yourusername

lol you’re welcome lew

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alex_albon

Why do you have a picture of me asleep

yourusername

guess

alex_albon

Lily?

yourusername

Of course

———————————————

georgerussell

I’m going to be completely honest

I was completely black out

yourusername

I could tell

Not offended

georgerussell

Hey I do remember the giant snake though

this just means I’ll have to go to more shows and remember those ones

yourusername

You and Carmen are always welcome

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TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

landonorris

Thank you?

Not sure to reply to the small-ass text

yourusername

dw the lmfao wasn’t about you

landonorris

Yeah, I assumed lmao

Glad I could avenge you 🫡

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[idkhow-butyoufoundme]

SEEING PIERCE THE VEIL WITH BEARTOOTH LIVE IN JULY LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOO

[bucketbueckers]

LAYUPS & LAYOVERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader wc: 2.9k content warnings: language, fluff, author is southern and doesn't understand how snow or marketing works, plot where there doesn’t need to be plot synopsis: It’s Christmas Eve and you’re in Connecticut, exhausted and just trying to get to Minnesota for a work conference. You could cry when it’s announced that all flights are being halted due to the incoming blizzard. Irritated, tired, and overworked, you pray for a miracle, although it takes an unnatural shape in the form of a six foot blonde athlete who’s just trying to make it home, too. Late night airport conversations lead to something more. notes: merry christmas eve from my delusions to yours! the last chapter of irp was super heavy so here's my apology and christmas gift (do i drop another one tmr...i really dont wanna write chapter 8 😩). i hope you all enjoy this short n sweet lil ramble i threw together and happy holidays 🫶

This can not be your life right now.

It’s actually kind of impressive how all of the stars aligned on this one particular night to fuck you over. You’re not a terrible person. You hold the doors for everyone, give up your seat on the bus for sweet old ladies, and you always allocate a portion of your paychecks to donate to Wikipedia. By all accounts, you should be overwhelmed with good karma, although it seems your luck has depleted on this night and this night alone.

It all started on the 20th when you flew out to Connecticut. You work a cushy job as a marketing consultant for the WNBA, which means you spend a lot of time in the air and across the country trying to unfuck – sorry, trying to optimize and rejuvenate – the state of the league and its teams. It’s a task easier said than done. Nobody seems to want to listen to you until they realize that your master’s degrees in marketing and business analytics actually mean something and aren’t just really expensive pieces of paper that you hang in your office. You spend a couple of days in Uncasville talking strategies to boost ticket sales and to gain more traction; they’re the only professional team the state has – it should not be hard to get people to show up if you can market it right, but here you are.

Connecticut is nearly a bust. It’s cold and you spend two full days in meetings getting talked over by men who think they understand numbers and branding. Then, on the third day, the front office suddenly realizes what you’ve been talking about (this shit was covered in your sophomore year intro to marketing class, but hey, the less people know, the more you get paid, so who’s really complaining?) and the trajectory of your trip makes a sudden turnaround. On the 23rd and early on the 24th, you help the Sun roll out the new optimizations, and what do you know? Ticket sales surge by 17%, including some season tickets, all is well in the world and it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

Then, all is suddenly not well and you remember that Christmas miracles are for people not surrounded by idiots. Your boss emails you just before you leave for the airport: The Lynx need your help. I’ve sent you tickets for the first flight out of Connecticut. Meet with them on the 26th. Said “flight” departs from Connecticut at 8:30pm on Christmas Eve, which means you’re not even in Minnesota until 12am if you’re lucky, which means you have to figure out hotel arrangements so you can take a nap because you’ve barely slept in five days, which means you have to figure out how to be nice to people again because the Sun front office has you pissed all the way the fuck off.

So, you’re tired, overworked, extremely irritated, and hungry, although that last problem is solved by airport Subway. You just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, either – you firmly believed that you were better off betting all of your money on black rather than taking the chance on airport food, but you didn’t have much of a choice and your stomach was growling. You eat, settling in a chair at your gate, and patiently await for your plane to arrive.

Then, the overhead PA clicks on with some static noise, announcing, “Flight 932 to Minneapolis and all other flights exiting Hartford will be delayed due to inclement weather. I repeat–”

The blood rushes to your head. Your eye twitches. There’s a crying baby somewhere in the airport and you can’t take it anymore. Honestly, what’s stopping you? Flying a plane cannot be that difficult. You’re pretty persuasive. You can tell TSA you’re just young for a pilot and you’re not wearing a pilot’s uniform because it’s Christmas Eve and what are you, the feds? All you’re really asking for at this point is a nap but there’s no way in hell you’re making it to a hotel in these conditions and the chances of you sleeping in an airport with all of your belongings out for someone to grab are even lower.

A commotion towards the check in counter commands your attention. You turn, dreading the eventual crash out of an airport Karen, but it’s better than the crying baby who still hasn’t shut the fuck up.

“Please, there’s gotta be something else you can do,” a tall, broad-shouldered blonde is begging, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “It’s Christmas Eve, I have to get home.”

The lady at the check in counter sounds sympathetic when she responds. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our hands are tied. We can’t send our planes out in this weather, but if it eases up, the next flight out should have you arriving in Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon.”

You hear the blonde groan, her tone sounding something like, I can’t fucking believe this is my life, which is a sentiment you whole-heartedly agree with. “Can you please lemme know if there’s anything earlier?” she pleads. “Like, if by the grace of God this weather clears and we can leave sooner.”

“Of course, ma’am. All updates will be announced.”

The response is almost robotical, but you can tell the receptionist is trying her best, too, and the last place she wants to be is hanging out at the airport on Christmas Eve. The blonde sighs, thanking her, and from the corner of your eye, you watch her hike her bag up over her shoulder and she moves to sit directly in front of you. That’s when you truly get a good look at her, at the dejected blue of her eyes, the chisel of her jaw, the logo on her hoodie. Paige Bueckers is no stranger to you. You grew up watching ball, so obviously you’re familiar with her game – any self-respecting basketball fan is. But by virtue of your job, Paige Bueckers is a name that makes your marketing heart beat just a little faster. Ever since Dallas won the lottery, you’ve been all over their marketing team. Paige’s entire existence and the chance she gets drafted to Dallas is the sole reason the Wings’ tickets are flying off the shelves. She’s the most marketable college athlete there is right now, one of the top rookie prospects for the league, but one look at her face in person and you’re forgetting all about your job. Her jaw is tight with a simmering anger, and honestly, you feel terrible for her – she already spends so much time away from her family and here she is trying to get out of Bumfuck, Connecticut, so she can be home in time for Christmas.

You find a little bit of bravery when you raise your voice slightly to ask her, “No luck?”

She looks up, glancing at you and taking in your features, and laughing slightly when she realizes you’re genuinely just trying to make conversation and not trying to get a soundbite out of her. “You heard that?” she asks sheepishly, sinking a little in her seat to get comfortable. You pretend to not notice her manspread.

“Well,” you begin, glancing over at the receptionist. “The desk is like, ten feet away.” She laughs again and nods, murmuring touche under her breath. “932 Minneapolis?” you ask, referring to your flight.

Paige nods again, quirking a smile. “You stalking me or sum’?”

You shrug your shoulders, a coy smile on your face. “Just observant,” you quip.

Paige grins fully. “What about you?” she asks. “You work for the league?”

At that, you can’t help your surprise, raising a brow. “How’d you know that?”

“Just observant,” she throws your words back at you. You laugh. “Kidding. I see your ID pokin’ out of your bag. You from here, or they got you workin’ on the holidays?”

“Work,” you respond. Paige whistles lowly. “I’m a marketing consultant. Been up here for a few days working with the Sun, then I’m heading to Minnesota to fix the Lynx’s bullshit.” You blink, registering your words, blushing as Paige laughs. “You did not hear that. I’m usually nicer to my employers.”

“They got you workin’ and flyin’ out on Christmas Eve,” Paige points out. “You should be meaner.”

You incline your head in a nod, huffing. “All of this for office potlucks and dental coverage,” you joke. “Don’t quit basketball.” Paige grins again and you’re suddenly reminded of your manners. “Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” You do as such, only mildly surprised when she stands to shake your hand and introduces herself, too, which is honestly kind of endearing. Then, she plops into the empty seat next to yours, smiling widely.

“So, marketing consultant,” she says, her tone nonchalant as she gets comfortable next to you, extending her long legs across her suitcase. “How often will I get to see you?”

You glance at her, raising a wry eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” you ask.

Paige shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “A little. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit. You can see the pride that shines in her eyes. You roll your eyes in amusement, still in slight disbelief, but you redirect back to her question. “Honestly, probably a lot. The league is super messy from a business perspective and their actual marketing sphere isn’t that great, either. As soon as you get drafted I’ll probably have to fly down to whichever poverty team you land at and teach them how to market you.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and despite the tease in her tone, she does seem interested. “How would you market me?”

“How much time do you have?”

“Well…” Paige glances down to her watch, then out the windows where snow falls in heavy sheets. “Looks like a lot.”

You snicker. “Alright. Bear with me, okay?” Paige nods in earnest, her attention fully on you as you begin to ramble. Truthfully, you did like your job when you were able to do it. The issue is and always will be the idiots you have to work with who overlook your credentials. “So, I’m not thinking about your personal brand at all. Like, that one’s already incredible. Your PR team did their big one with you. But the issue with athletes like you, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with an insane resume of endorsements, followers, deals, whatever – the issue is that whatever team you get drafted to is gonna want to rebuild their entire image around you. Think Clark, Brink, Reese, Jackson, Cardoso. It’s textbook – you advertise the person who’s gonna get you the most clicks, the most sales. So, how can we use that to actually grow the game, the league? I’m talking about longevity. There’s so many people tuning in for you that don’t know shit about basketball, and honestly, they’re gonna be scared to ask questions.

“So we push something corny. Social media segments with a catchy name like Ball With Bueckers or some shit where you break down basketball plays, rules, the stuff you’re gonna see and hear when you watch a game. What’s a pick and roll? A screen? Why is she getting fouled for blocking that shot, isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Education, interest, loyalty, and competition sells. Stories sell, too, which is why the league is still trying to push the Clark/Reese rivalry. That’s old news, though. A more compelling story would have been the Fever/Sun rivalry, especially after the Sun beat the Fever and the Fever hired their coach. Or Fever/Wings, for reasons I’m not gonna ruin your night with.” Paige laughs at that, and you smile, clearing your throat and trying to find your train of thought. “So, when I’m undoubtedly called in to fix your team’s mess, that’s what I’d be suggesting. People already love you. Using that connection to get them to love ball, too, is my goal.”

“You’re really passionate about this,” Paige comments, her lips quirking into a slight smile. You can’t help but preen a little, flushing. “Like, about basketball. You really care about the sport. Feels like that’s harder to find lately.”

“Well, I was too short to play it, so gotta settle for something, right?” you joke.

Paige looks you up and down. You’re wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt from college, but her gaze is shameless, appreciative despite your casual airport wear. She chuckles, a disbelieving noise building in the back of her throat. “Nah. You’re what, 6’5?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Try a foot less. But I appreciate you for believing in me.”

Paige smiles, nudging you a little. “I was serious, though. You’re super passionate. I like that.”

“Still flirting?”

“S’not everyday you get snowed in at the airport with a pretty girl,” Paige says, her gaze warm, and you can’t help but blush again. “Gotta shoot my shot, you know?” She mimes throwing a ball, her wrist bent, and you shake your head fondly. Admittedly, she did have you – hook, line, and sinker. You enjoyed the conversation, her company. There were certainly worse people to be stuck with, but you’re glad it was with her.

You shrug your shoulders. “Shoot away,” you say. Her subsequent grin is wide and you find yourself drawn in just a little further.

She asks you virtually everything under the sun – where you grew up, where you went to college, the team you were rooting for, and you answer. You tell her you’re an Atlanta native, born and raised, although you moved up north to study at Columbia. You were 8 when the Dream was founded and that was your team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. At 10, you watched them win the eastern conference finals on your birthday and that was easily the moment your life changed. Basketball was your future and that much was certain. She asks how you landed the league job (connections, a thick resume, and lots of persuading), how you adjusted to the constant traveling (lots of caffeine and really good concealer), and the hard-hitting question of, are you satisfied?

For that, you really had no answer. Sure, you’re always busy, and that’s better than the alternative of sitting in your office and watching the seconds tick by. You’re good at what you do and your job makes a positive impact on the league. Your colleagues will be who they are; your work speaks for itself and that’s what you pride yourself on. But there’s always going to be a small part of you that yearns for something more, like someone else to share your life with. Someone who sits, and listens, and engages with you; someone who loves basketball just as much as you do (even if it’s a different type of love), someone who’s steady and spontaneous and adaptable.

Then Paige is smiling at you, her gaze warm and soft despite the below freezing temperatures outside; she’s listening, and engaging, steady, spontaneous, adaptable, and probably the only person in the world whose love for basketball could rival your own. You’ve known Paige for all of three hours and it’s nearing midnight in an airport in Connecticut, but it’s Christmas Eve and she feels so right. You would really like to see where this goes, and judging by the way her fingertips brush your knuckles, you think she might like to see that, too.

The two of you talk all through the night, waiting for the weather to ease up. The conversation never slows and you’re certain you’ve never smiled or laughed this much in a long time. It takes you twelve hours of delirious conversation to realize that your luck never depleted. Paige was your overwhelming karma, sent by some sort of Christmas miracle to answer all of the wishes you’d kept to yourself for years. The stars aligned not to fuck you over, but to trap you in an airport with Paige Bueckers, and you find that she’s possibly the best Christmas gift you could have ever gotten.

When the weather finally clears and your plane arrives, you find that your seats are right next to each other – and, well, fate works in funny ways, doesn’t it? You’re both exhausted, but when she lowers the armrest and wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side, you can’t help your relieved sigh, leaning into her chest. You and Paige sleep through the entire flight. You dream of soft blue eyes, the lingering scent of her cologne, the promise of how this could last.

You land in Minneapolis and you eventually have to go your separate ways. The two of you exchange numbers, saying your goodbyes, although Paige doesn’t let you get anymore than three feet away from her before she’s catching you by the wrist and pulling you into her. Her hands are cold against your cheeks as she kisses you gently, something deep and lingering and a confirmation that tastes like ‘you and I aren’t done here.’ The falling snow lands gently on your cheeks, melting under the heat of your blush, and you can’t help your smile, interrupting your kiss as the both of you dissolve into laughter. Paige kisses you again, something softer that leaves you feeling warm all over despite the chill, and you thank your Christmas miracle for leading you here.

[xi-vz]

Look at me back on my BS. HC—Shen Yuan looks like Mobei Jun.

•

•

•

Shen Yuan was a cute guy, at least his mom always said he was. He honestly didn’t care much for his looks. He was a teenage boy, and his interests lied with books, gaming, and trolling the comments section of the PIDW forums.

So maybe this whole thing was the forums fault?

Apparently Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky was going to make his first ever public appearance at a convention—it was exciting stuff seeing as PIDW just received a live action TV deal. (Shen Yuan wondered if the TV show would be able to transform the utter garbage parts into gold.)

Shen Yuan, with the fervor only a true (anti) fan could muster, scrambled to get his hands on a convention ticket the moment they went on sale. His parents even encouraged him! Happy to see him excited for something other than the internet. Securing his place, he also entered the cosplay competition where Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky would be a judge. Because why not? When else would he get to dress like a xianxia character?

It took him a while to decide who he wanted to dress up as. Look, if it were up to Shen Yuan he’d have been Luo Binghe. But, one, he doubted he could pull it off. Two, there were probably going to be a ton of Luo Binghe’s.

“Be the ice king,” his younger sister suggested one evening while the two fo them were hanging out in Shen Yuan’s room. She was busy on her Switch while he was on his laptop.

“Mobei Jun?” He asked, a skeptical look on his face.

“Yeah! You look like him.”

Which was untrue but whatever. Since he didn’t have any other ideas, he spent weeks (months) perfecting his costume, studying every detail from the illustrations and fan art.

(Shen Yuan learned how to sew for this costume!)

(And spent way too much money on commissioning what he couldn’t make.)

“You need to bulk up a bit,” his second older brother suggested one night. “I read some of Proud Immortal Demon Way, and Mobei Jun isn’t a twig like you.”

“Ha, A-Yuan is more of a twink,” his eldest brother teased.

So…Shen Yuan began to work out. He still had a few months until the costume contest.

It was hard at first, but his doctor had been on board. Granted, Shen Yuan couldn’t really get buff within a few months, but he did wind up with the beginnings of abs, his shoulders broadened and his ass looked great. There were a bunch of girls (and some guys) who made eyes at him at school now. Not that Shen Yuan noticed. But, he did notice that for the first time in his 19 years, he felt healthy.

When the day of the convention finally arrived, Shen Yuan found himself subjected to his sister's meticulous and admittedly skilled hand. She styled his already long black hair, adding extensions to achieve the full, flowing mane of Mobei Jun. She also worked some magic with makeup, highlighting his naturally icy blue eyes, which he had always considered a genetic defect, but today they were his greatest asset.

When he looked in the mirror, he barely recognized himself. There stood Mobei Jun, the demon king, imposing and cold. Shen Yuan’s heart pounded with excitement and a tinge of apprehension as he made his way to the convention center. His siblings in tow, because they wanted to root for him. As embarrassing as that was.

Upon arrival, the crowd was bustling with anticipation. Shen Yuan attracted a lot of attention—both for his stunning costume and his uncanny resemblance to Mobei Jun. A lot of people called out “my king!” As he walked by them, his cloak billowing behind him.

Damn, he felt majestic as fuck.

As he stood before the judges—a voice actress, a manhua artist and Airplane himself—he couldn’t help but feel a mix of pride and anxiety.

That was until he saw Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky for the first time. And. Wow. Okay.

Airplane was younger than Shen Yuan thought. Maybe 20; handsome, which was so weird. Square-jawed, in great shape with his DanDaDan graphic tee stretched enticingly over his pecs and biceps. His hair was curly and kept in an attractive undercut. He wore glasses and had ear piercings and a lip piercing and dimples and a sleeve tattoo. What? What the fuck?

Was Shen Yuan experiencing heart palpitations?

Airplane looked exactly how Shen Yuan envisioned Luo Binghe to look.

Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky's dark eyes widened in surprise and delight at seeing a Mobei Jun cosplay. It wasn’t done often, the king was not a fan favorite. But, his jaw dropped as he stared.

Something happened when Shen Yuan and Airplane's eyes met. A zing went up Shen Yuan's spine. Airplane stopped the contest then and there and declared Shen Yuan the winner while jokingly (not really) asking for his phone number. They did get to chat later, one-on-one, when Airplane began to sign autographs into books.

“Well, My King,” Airplane smiled at Shen Yuan, and there went his heart again! Which was bad, and meant that Shen Yuan probably needed to see a doctor. “What name shall I write out as the receiver of this book?”

“Um,” Shen Yuan’s brain scrambled. Did he give his name? Did he coyly say Mobei Jun? Ah, he didn’t know what he was doing! That was his only excuse as he blurted out, “Peerless Cucumber.”

Airplane froze.

Shen Yuan froze.

And then Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky began to laugh.

[kechiwrites]

choking hazard

simon “ghost” riley x medic!reader

synopsis: you have a very special request for simon. he thinks you're insane.

wc: 1.3k

cw: afab!reader, choking, grinding, hotdogging, haphazard kink negotiation, thigh riding, playful name-calling, no use of y/n ever.

an: a quick little bite of simon and medic reader for this challenge, which i technically failed cause this is way over 100 words. happy thanksgiving

“What?” He asks, but really, it lacks the traditional inflection of a question. Instead, the single word manages to hold deep exhaustion and a healthy helping of ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’. 

Which, rude.

You stomp your foot, the moue of your lips more than a little petulant. “Oh, come on, don’t make it weird. Just...a little. Enough to pass out.” you raise your hand and pinch the air for emphasis.

“What?” Oh! The inflection was back, and he’d shifted weight onto his other foot. His cotton mask allows for you to see the top half of his face today, and you’re grateful, because the furrow in his brow exposes that while he really wants to just up and leave this conversation, he’s far too curious, or maybe perplexed? Disturbed?

“I want you to choke me out, Simon.” You grin, shrugging, “preferably with your cock in me but...” You mutter to yourself, pressing your lips together and widening your eyes in mock innocence when he glares at you in response, obviously hearing you. 

“No.” He turns away from you, pushing around the ceramic skull you placed in your office. A paperweight, whose presence had absolutely no hidden, romantic meaning whatsoever, you’d simply seen it in a home goods display off base and snatched it up. 

It had been on sale. Or something.

“I’m a doctor.” You tap your name tag insistently, “I know my limits, Si.” Now you’re just trying to rile him up, as if he’d ever lay a hand on you in anger you didn’t expressly beg for. Still, he hates when you shorten his name, used to hate it when you said it at all. 

Thankfully, things change.

“Fucking quack.” He mutters and you make a loud, dramatic, wounded noise you’d heard in a K-Drama you had watched once before flipping back to your favourite period drama you’d watched a million times over. You flatten your hand against your chest and rear back, more for your own gratification than to impress your offence upon Simon. 

“I’m serious! I’m curious and I know it won’t cause any real, lasting damage.” You approach him from behind, wrapping your arms around his middle. He flinches, not from surprise, you guess, but from sensation, before his body relaxes. You push your face between his shoulder blades, rubbing your nose against his shirt. 

“I’ll suck you off after.” You murmur, and the lieutenant snorts derisively. 

No dice.

“Then I’ll ask Soap to do it!” You release him, and circle around your desk, feigning a grab towards your cell phone.

He doesn’t rise to the bait initially, turning back to face you and crossing his inked, scarred arms. You ogle them shamelessly, eyes greedily tracing every bit of knicked skin, every prominent, tempting vein. Thing of beauty, his arms were. “Go on, then.” He shrugs and consternation makes you furrow your brow in defeat. Unfortunately, the closer the two of you become, the more bags of candy and suggestive texts and lingering glances you exchange, the easier it is to read the other’s intent, your bluffs. 

You pout, and kick at the corner of your own desk, shifting it slightly. “Fine. I wouldn’t ask him.” You tilt your head, pinning him with a needy look you hope is suitably enticing, “I’m asking you cause I trust you, Simon. Please?” 

Apparently, bald, earnest honesty is the ticket because your not-boyfriend heaves a sigh and uncrosses his arms, raising one to rub at the back of his neck, the black t-shirt he dons stretched tantalizingly tight over the curve of his muscled bicep.

Oh, this was going to be so good.

“Fine. Just don’t piss yourself.” 

“Do people do that?” You wrinkle your nose, and Simon levels you with a look, dark brown eyes broadcasting a stark “Do I fucking look like I’m joking?” 

Regardless, you clap your hands in celebration, locking the door to your office and sprinting back to stand in front of him, the framed photo of your commanding officer, your mother, and you looking on judgmentally. You try to ignore it but end up putting the photo down on its face, no need for dear mum and your boss to witness your fantasy come to life.

Simon turns you to face away from him, the heat of his hands seeping into your shoulders. He is always so warm. It had been a boon to your freezing feet the few times you’d shared a bed for actual sleeping. (He’d cursed at you for maybe a minute before hiking your legs up to bracket his hips, so you could fall asleep wrapped around him like a koala.)

“Double tap, you understand?” He barks, and you can’t help but shimmy in excitement. 

“Yup!” 

Simon wraps a burly arm around your neck, not exerting any pressure yet. He hooks his other arm around his wrist so it sits in his elbow, and places that palm on the crown of your head, securing you snugly in a standard choke-hold. 

“Good?” He mutters low, his chest blankets your back, and you're enveloped in the clean, sharp scent he usually carries with him.

You laugh, “Yeah-huh-huh-huh.” and you know you sound a little stupid, but you’re getting what you wanted and even without Simon utilizing force, you can feel yourself getting wet, forcing you to rub your thighs together in anticipation.

He begins to constrict your airway and it feels as though your head is ballooning, building up pressure as breathing slowly becomes more and more difficult. Your eyelids flutter closed and your lips part in shock. It doesn’t feel good, necessarily, but it certainly doesn’t feel bad. It’s obvious Simon’s holding back a lot. It probably should hurt but the lack of air makes your mind stutter to a stop, and all you can feel is Simon’s heat along your back and his strength holding you in place and his scent where it’s stalled in your lungs, unable to escape. When he shifts a bit behind you, your eyes pop back open in surprise at what you feel.

“You’re hard!” You wheeze incredulously, using the very last bit of air you had to call him out.

“And you’re a fucking lunatic.” He bites back, jerking his hips forward to rub his clothed erection against the swell of your ass. And he’s been doing that a lot lately, pushing up against your back, grinding along the fat of your thighs. Just last week, he’d spent a whole night hot-dogging (“Dumb fucking name, huh?”) the aching length of his dick between the cheeks of your ass, fucking against your flesh until he spilled hot and thick over your lower back.

You think he may be developing a thing.

He keeps rocking against you, branding his shape into your backside. “God.” He mutters, pulling you up and sliding his knee between your thighs. You can’t speak, what with your brain rapidly losing function, but if you could you’d hiss your assent, maybe scream when the muscles of his thigh nudge against your clit. 

Your lungs and cunt burn in unison, and the edges of your vision fade, but you want to keep going, want to come just like this, completely under his control, dry humping his massive thigh, unable to breathe.

Finally, you raise a shaky hand to tap at his forearm, and Simon immediately releases you, letting you stumble forward, off his leg and towards your desk. Your palms make contact with the polished wood and you hunch forward panting loud and hard. The room is fucking spinning, but all you can bring yourself to do is laugh like a fucking maniac.

“You good?” The soldier speaks, the sound of his footsteps just barely piercing through the sound of your rushing blood. Your voice is practically non-existent and you have to clear your throat three times, but when you do eventually croak out a response, your chest heaves with your desperate breaths in between your words. 

“Yeah, fuck yes.” Your chest slowly loses that frantic, mounting pressure and when you turn your head to look at Simon over your shoulder, his eyes are unfathomably dark and narrowed, running laps over your legs, thighs and ass.

“Good. Take your scrubs off. Right now.”

[eddiesvixen]

If You Want Blood (You Got It)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳, 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁, 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲, 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲, 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘂𝘀𝗲 (𝘀𝗺𝗼𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴), 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 (𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀), 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗴𝘆𝗻𝘆, 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗰𝘀, 𝗻𝘂𝗱𝗶𝘁𝘆

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗻𝘁: 𝟱.𝟰𝗸

the second chapter of Open Til Midnight

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The faucet leaks in the restroom as you finish your eyeliner in the mirror. This saturday morning you made no time to do your makeup at home given you didn’t get much sleep. You just keep seeing that hold print in your head. That ugly shade of orange from that sheet of paper.

Closing the Empire

due to purchase

Nine Thousand Dollars

a new environment for educational purposes

provocative musical acts

Fuck You, Larry Bassinger.

To sell Empire is to sell your soul. The blood, sweat, tears, hard work, art, albums, dents, scratches, carpet fuzz, pins.. everything you and your friends, your family put into Empire, all gone. Turned into something completely contradictory. Provocative musical acts?! What the hell did that even mean?

Knock, Knock.

“I’m in here.” You call out to whoever it is.

“Just me, sweetheart.”

You open the door to see Eddie standing there. He didn’t get much sleep either and honestly you both hadn’t spoken much in the van ride here today. He holds up two coffee cups.

“Since it’s too early for a Jolt.” He forces a small grin for you.

You groan. “Damn i’d kill for a jolt. My eyes haven’t felt this heavy since we snuck out to that Overkill concert in ‘81.”

This time Eddie actually smiles. “Oh you were a complete mess, princess.”

“Come on it wasn’t that bad.” You sip your coffee, grateful that Eddie always gets your order perfect.

“I remember having to carry a certain girl to the van because she got so wasted she couldn’t even walk straight.” He grins, grateful that his comment got you to laugh.

“You know what? It’s your fault for even buying the tickets.”

“Well you had turned 16. I know it was a month late but admit it, best birthday gift you ever had.”

“Best concert memory I have.” You smile at him and he returns one as well.

“Many more to come, sweetheart.” He sips his coffee and runs a hand through his messy curls. “Ready to get out there?”

“Yeah. I’ll meet you up front.”

He nods, giving you a shoulder squeeze before leaving the restroom. You straighten up and fix your hair one last time before walking into the backroom and putting your lanyard around your neck.

“Yeesh. Yoga pants? Are you okay?” Robin says from the bulletin board, hanging up a flyer.

“Uh, yeah. Just.. my period.” You were quick to make up a lie.

“Damn. I have some Tylenol in my locker if you need it.”

You smile, loving how Robin has pretty much an entire survival kit in her locker. “I’ll be okay for now, but thanks.”

When Hopper’s office door opens, you both look up. You feel a bit shaken with how he says your name.

“My office. Now.”

Robin looks at you and you shake your head. When he walks back into his office she runs over to you.

“Something happen last night?”

“Probably just left a door unlocked or something.”

She raises a brow. You can be rebellious sometimes but never irresponsible. Not with Empire. But before she can ask you’ve already walked into his office, closing the door.

“Hey Hop-“

“Jim. You call me Jim, now sit.”

Well that’s odd. You sit.

“Just got a call from Larry.”

Shit.

“Do you know who Larry is?”

“No sir.”

“Larry. Larry is my boss. The very man who sold me this store. Larry helps with our funding, our sales, our publicity. Larry is the reason we get an ad in the city newspaper. Larry takes the money we earn, doubles it, cashes it out into our checks and uses the rest to help buy us more music. Larry could not do any of that last night. Do you know why?”

Shit.

“The money.”

He takes a deep, frustrated breath before placing the cash pouch on his desk. “Why didn’t you take money to the bank?”

“I forgot.” You’re quick with your answer, but so is Jim.

“Don’t.” He knows you. You never forget. You never even leave the store until everything is perfect for the next day. “Tell me the truth.”

You sigh. “Bassinger Library and Cafe.” You say it with an angered frown, the same one Hop’s face morphs into once he hears you say it. “I saw the paper in your drawer. Me and Eddie.”

“Does anyone else know?” He says it as less of a question, more of a ‘Please tell me no one else knows.’

“No.”

“Listen-“

“Hop, why? Why would you keep this from us?”

“You think I like this? You think I wanna sell this place? Think i’d ever let you down?”

“That’s in seven days Hop, Seven!”

“Calm down.” He nods at you and you sigh, shaking your head.

“You can’t just let him win.”

“I’m doing my best. I didn’t tell you because if this works, if it works.. you never would’ve known this place was ever at cost.” He runs his hand through his hair, more stressed about the situation than you thought. He’s usually so tough, big and bad Jim Hopper but right now even he seems shaken.

“If what works?”

He stands up and goes to the vent, pulling off the hatch and taking out a red envelope. He walks back over to the desk and hands it to you. When you open it you can’t believe your eyes as you pull out the cash.

He tosses the navy blue apron onto the table, the logo in bold cursive. Bassinger’s Cafe and Library.

“Three thousand four hundred and thirty seven dollars. That’s how much me and Joyce have saved up since I got that letter 3 months ago.”

Three months. He hid this from you all when you celebrated Will’s birthday. He was hiding it when you went bowling, when you hit the record of selling your ten thousandth cd in the store. He hid it when you framed Jonathan’s first magazine published photo in the front of the store.

All of these happy memories over the past three months, and he hid this from you. No. He protected you.

“Hop-“

“I’m trying my best. We have done the best we can do. But the man always wins. Always.” He looks at you and you don’t know if you want to cry or rage.

“We have to try, Hop. This may be his property but it’s our store, our home.”

“We’ll never make ten thousand by the end of the week.”

“We have to try! Don’t I get a say?! Don’t any of us get a say?! I can’t just sit back and watch this happen!”

It’s all you did when your parents argued and fought, when your dad left you in that house with your mom and she paid bills by selling her body, when your friends got beat up by jocks in high school as one held you back. You sat there and watched. You had no choice. Just as Hopper’s telling you now.

“I have done all I can do. This is it.” He grits his teeth and runs his hands over his face.

“Bullshit!” You glare at him and shake your head. “It’s not too late and he doesn’t get the only say! We can’t just-“

“I said this is it!” He slams his fist against the desk and you glare at him. Angry and yet, sad. He never yells at you, any of you. But with both of you being so frustrated about the store, it’s come down to this.

He softens his voice. “I’m sorry kid.”

You frown and sit his envelope back on the desk. You nod and stand up, walking out of his office.

~~~~~

Three thousand four hundred and thirty seven dollars

That’s a lot of money, but not enough.

Six thousand five hundred and sixty three dollars..

That’s how much more you need to save Empire before it could become something so.. shitty. Instead of rustic wood and vinyls, you’d smell coffee and matcha. No more Poison over the speakers, just a slow jazz. No more colorful walls and decorative rugs with the fuzzy layers, just a boring plain blue.

And as much as you fought it, you can’t be angry with Hopper. He’s done his best, he has shown you all you have. And it wasn’t enough. Nothing’s ever enough.

“Excuse me!” The man almost yells in your face.

“So sorry.” You stand up straighter, completely sunk into your thoughts not remembering your place at the register.

“I bet you are. Just ring these up please?” He sits his cds on the counter.

Brown rugged hair, way too many tattoos, a beer gut, piercing evil green eyes, a rugged beard that touches his chest, which is also way too hairy and peeking out of his gym shirt. You’ve met this type before. Your mother had guests like him all the time.

“Sure.” You nod, scanning the cds, wanting to hurry this exchange. You scan his cds and a hand slips by your side, looking for a marker.

“Sorry.” Jonathan says as he grabs the sharpie and starts to write on the smaller boxes. Orders to ship off for mail.

You sigh when you open a cd case that feels too light. You open the Beastie Boys case to see that the cd is missing. “Um, Jonathan could you grab me another Licensed to Ill?”

Jonathan nods and walks off, but the customer is annoyed. “What’s the problem?”

“The cd in this case is missing.”

“What are you saying I stole it?” He snarls.

“No sir, my coworker’s just-“

“Checking the cameras? What, do I look like a fucking thief?!” He snaps, and that immediately catches the attention of Jonathan, and half the store.

When Eddie hears your voice and a man screaming after it, he stands up from organizing the folk vinyls and his eyes lock on you. He knows you were upset earlier and by the look of your face and the way you’re gripping the counter, you’re seconds away from cursing this man out. He rushes to you.

“Is there an issue here?” Eddie says as he walks up behind you.

You take a deep breath. “No, this gentleman just needs a new-“

“A new cd.” Jonathan nods and scans it, sitting it down on the counter. The man glares at him but fishes into his pocket for cash anyways.

Eddie leans forward and whispers into your ear. “Let me handle him, you go take ten, yeah?”

You nod. You don’t speak because you know if you do you might actually lose your job. You walk off into the break room.

The guy rolls his eyes as he hands Eddie the cash, Jonathan watching discreetly as he finishes up on signing the order packages.

“What’s the return policy on these?”

Eddie puts the cash into the register and shakes his head. “For returning customers, thirty days. For you? Never.”

He glares as Eddie places the receipt in the bag.

“The hell are you talking about?”

“You’re not welcome here anymore.” Jonathan clarifies for the smartass in front of him and Eddie.

“The fuck is this?” The guy glares at them, offended.

“Maybe next time learn to respect the women who help your sorry ass find the Beastie Boys.” Eddie says with a smug smirk.

The guy looks like he wants a fight but before he could raise up, Hopper walks up.

“Pete Aggerton. Right? You work at the auto shop by that mini dive bar. You know, the one with the shitty tools and shit service.”

He doesn’t even give the man a chance to speak up.

“You leave my storm, take your damn cds and never show your face here again, or I’ll have the police come there and tell them about your little hit and run incident near that playground. Think your wife wants to hear about another dui?”

He looks down on the man and he doesn’t even argue back. He takes his bag and curses as he leaves out. “Fucking pricks.”

Hopper turns to look at Eddie and Jonathan, giving them a look just screaming ‘Well done, boys.’

“Where’d she go?” He asks the boys.

“Back room.” Jonathan says.

“Hold down the register. Eddie get the girls into the break room.”

“Copy that.” Eddie smirks, proud to knock down that asshole. He gets Chrissy and Robin as Hopper ordered him to and they walk into the backroom.

Eddie expected to have to maybe give you a hug or have to calm you down but cleary you’ve taken matters into your own hands. Shoes off, feed kicked up as you lie back on the sofa, joint between your fingers as you take a pull.

“My my, what have we here.” Robin says teasingly.

You sigh and shake your head.

“You okay?” Chrissy asks.

“Peachy.”

But Eddie knows. And honestly he’s stressed too, so he holds his hand out, taking a nice lengthy drag.

“Damn that’s good. Don’t get too high, sweetheart. Need you till 9, remember?”

“Won’t matter next week, shouldn’t matter tonight.”

“What?” Robin raises a brow.

“Nothing she’s high.” Eddie tries to cover it up and Hopper walks in.

“Okay girls, we need to talk.” He shakes his head. “Put that out it’s not your break.”

“Why don’t we all just have a break?” You look at him and he could see you were still upset.

“Not right now.”

“I need a smoke, Hop.”

“And I need you to act your age. You’re 23 damn it act like it.”

The girls stay silent, not used to seeing you so angry with Hopper. You look at them.

“Think he’s called us back here to let us down easy girls.” Suddenly the room isnt so quiet anymore.

“Jim, what’s she talking about?” Chrissy frowns a bit.

Robin chimes in. “Are you firing us? I know I mixed up the tapes a few times but I can do better.”

“No one is getting fired.” Jim tries to calm the girls down.

“Like Larry’s gonna keep us on the payroll.” You scoff.

“Larry?” Chrissy says.

“Who’s Larry?” Robin asks, intrigued.

“Cut it out.” Eddie looks at you with a pleading look.

“Hop just tell them.” You frown, so drowned into your emotions.

“Tell us what?” Chrissy says.

“It’s nothing.” Eddie tries to save Hopper’s ass again.

“Who the hell is Larry?” Robin asks a bit louder over the chaos of the room.

“Who’s asking?”

Everyone’s head turns to the door to see a man in a very nice suit. Chestnut hair styled like Sinatra, a smile on his face and a fancy pair of shoes you see in those designer magazines.

“Larry.” Hopper nods and everyone’s eyes widen. You feel your heart stop. This is Larry Bassinger. You anger suddenly soothes down to something worse, fear.

~~~~~~

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” Larry says as he looks around our break room. It’s very backhanded, given how he didn’t want to sit on the sofa.

“The staff takes decoration to heart.” Hopper nods as he sits in a chair across from Larry’s, you and the girls sat on the sofa while Eddie stands behind you three.

“Interesting.” He brushes it off and sits up. “Any of you ladies hang up something significant?”

“It’s all significant.” You speak up.

Chrissy sees you’re bothered and tries to cheer you up. “She decorated the frame for employee of the month.”

Robin chimes in. “Probably since she spends so much time up there.”

Larry’s brows raise. “Fascinating. I imagine you would make the finest employee anywhere else?”

“I prefer to not spend the rest of my life serving coffee to hipsters judging me for listening to provocative musical acts-‘“

“That’s enough.” Hopper warns you and Larry laughs.

“It’s okay.” He nods and looks from Hopper to you. “So you’ve seen the letter.”

“I have.” You nod.

“Me too.” Eddie adds in to defend you.

“Me and your manager, we went to school together. He tell you that?”

You and the others are shocked, but you hide it well. Clearly, he’s trying to win you over.

“He didn’t.”

“Well, we did. And when we graduated, I went right off to college and worked my dad’s firm. Real estate came easy. Buy, sell, move. Property to property and this place, let me tell you. Complete dump. I’m sure you wouldn’t know that considering it was decorated so much.”

Jim gives him a glare, a warning.

“This.. lot, is mines to keep. It’s simply rental. Never a full purchase. This store will be mines and I am no heartless fool, believe me.” He places his hand over his heart. “Which is why I’m here today.”

He pulls three papers from his briefcase and hands one to you, one to Robin, one to Chrissy. You all immediately frown. Job applications.

“What is this supposed to mean?” Chrissy looks at Larry a bit disturbed.

“Means you and your girls are promised and guaranteed well paid positions once the cafe opens next year.”

Your eyes widen. “Just us?”

“We find in waitressing that women are more smiled upon-“

“When serving stale pastries and coffee to snobs who can’t remember our names and undergrads who try to peek under our skirts? Yeah, no thanks.” Robin sits the paper down.

“I am just offering from the kindness of my heart.”

“Kindness?” You scoff and sit the paper down, more of a toss. “Kindness is letting Jim keep his store that feeds his family. It pays for colleges classes and career opportunities. We do donations and drives did you know that?!”

“I do. And we will keep those going. If you sign, it will be my first priority-“

“We don’t want to sell coffee, we want to sell records. This is our store!”

Larry glares at you, clearly upset that you’re not complying or even more, shutting up. “It is not your store!”

The rooms blares into a deafening silence.

“You had your daddy’s money. A college education and a promised career. This man, my manager. He had nothing. He found family here, we all did. And if you take Empire away..” You swallow, not even knowing how to simmer down the anger and sadness in your body so Eddie speaks up.

“Then that’s all gone too.” He stands behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Larry looks at all of you. The fear and tinge of sadness in everyone’s face, even Hopper’s. Larry contemplates what would he lose if he let this building go. Larry would lose nothing so Larry doesn’t give a shit.

“No money, no Empire.” He states it clearly.

You feel a boil of anger inside of you. Hopper’s eager as he stands.

“Larry, thanks for coming-“

“Fine.” You take a deep breath and look at Larry.

“Pardon?” Larry raises a brow.

“You want ten thousand we’ll get your ten thousand.” You look at him, wanting to wipe that stupid smirk off.

“And how exactly will you do that?” He challenges back.

“Want the money or not?” You glare at him. Larry looks at Hopper, and even he knows not to mess with you when you’re this determined. Larry navigates his vision back towards you.

“You got yourselves deal.”

~~~~~

8pm. You sit on the roof of Empire. After a lengthy conversation with Hopper and a few too many apologies, he agreed to let you take your last hour alone. That doesn’t last for long when you hear the familiar crunch of Eddie’s boots. He sits next to you, legs hanging from the roof. You can feel his eyes on you so you speak first.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You okay?”

“I’m sorry. About earlier, I just.. so many assholes today.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. We’re just worried about you. I’m worried.”

He knows you really need a hug, so he scoots closer and wraps his arms around your shoulders and you lean into him, enjoying the closeness.

“That guys a dick. Larry and that asshat from earlier, don’t pay them any mind. You’re great.”

You nod and speak softly. “I’m so tired. I mean, all my life Eddie. My mom brought men home like that customer all the time. Loud and arrogant and just so fucking rude. And then Larry comes in and shoves his fancy suits down our throats and brags his cash in Hopper’s face. It’s bullshit.”

“Definitely bullshit.” He scoffs but then he smirks. “But you were such a badass.”

You look up at him and grin. “Oh yeah?”

“Please. You want the money or not? Felt like I was in some badass mafia movie. Very metal.”

You smile and it warms Eddie’s heart. It’s the first time you’ve smiled all day.

“Idiot.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes.

There’s a moment of silence before you speak up. “Hey..”

“Yeah?”

“Lets throw a party.”

He chuckles. “Well that’s random.”

“No.” You sit up and look at him. “We can tackle this two in one. Do you still have Rick’s number?”

“I don’t deal anymore, princess.” Eddie says woth a raised brow.

“I know.. but if we sell at our rager we could make tons of money and put it towards the store.”

“You know i’d do anything for you, but this is very risky.”

“It’ll just be weed.” You reassure him. “And maybe just a few baggies of K.” He grows silent, clearly thinking. “Come on, Eddie. A total rager for the beginning of summer and to save the Empire. Please.”

He can’t say no. Not when you look at him like that. Expectant and hopeful for the first time today. He knows he’s gonna regret it but he sighs and nods.

“Fine. But two things.”

You nod. “Okay?”

He holds up a finger. “One, Hopper can never find out about the drugs. He’s skin us both alive.” He holds up the second finger. “Two, we deal together. I don’t need some douche trying to bribe you just because you’re a girl.”

“Okay, yeah. Stays between us and deal together. How hard can it be?”

~~~~~

Sunday night. You’re actually feeling so much better. After your shitty day yesterday and being off schedule today, you got to sleep in, you got yourself all prettied up while Eddie and Jonathan spent the day getting your dealings for the party and arranging it at the dorms of Robin’s campus.

The party is alive, a perfect goodbye to the campus as most of these students are graduating and traveling to the beaches for the summer. They dance and drink in the halls, some making out in corners and others already rotating the pre-rolled joints you sold to them.

Eddie decided he would take care of selling the coke. If anything were to happen to a student because of his product, he wasn’t gonna take you down with him. Although, he would like to take you somewhere. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

That lacy black and red corset on your body, the way your hips swayed in that black skirt, the pretty black heeled boots that adorned your feet. You were a dream and more.

“Look!” You grin and pull out a wad of cash from your top and he gasps.

“Holy shit, how much is that?”

“Four eighty five.” You smile. “Some football player was so drunk he gave me an extra fifty. Wasn’t gonna argue.”

“Princess, you’re something else.” He grins.

“Where’s Jonathan?”

“In his dorm.” Eddie tucks the cash into his jeans pocket.

“With a party like this?” You raise a brow.

“Nancy’s with him.”

You gasp and laugh. “Damn. Good for them.”

“Yeah, good for them.”

“Let’s get a drink?”

“Lead the way, princess.”

The two of you weave through the crowd, the heavy bass of the music vibrating through the air. Eddie sticks close behind you, his hand lightly resting on your lower back as you move through the sea of sweaty bodies and discarded red solo cups. The party is alive, chaotic, and exactly the kind of escape you both need after the hell of a weekend at Empire.

You grab two cups from the table and shrug. "What's your poison?" you ask looking through the bottles.

"Dealer's choice," he says, his smirk challenging you to surprise him.

There’s rum, vodka, tonic and some bottle with electric blue liquid and no label. You sit the chups down and take a smarter route. After all, you still have to sell tonight. You hand Eddie his usual, a beer, and you go for a Smirnoff. You settle by going outside, sitting in the grass outside of the dorms. You clink your bottles together.

“Cheers, to.. dealing drugs together?” He laughs.

“To getting cash.” You smile.

“And to saving Empire.” Eddie smile you both nod and drink your drinks.

The night air is cool against your skin, carrying the faint sounds of music and laughter from the dorms. Eddie leans back on his elbows, his grin fading into a thoughtful expression as he looks up at the stars.

"You ever think about what happens if we don't save Empire?" he asks, his voice quieter now.

You take a sip of your Smirnoff, letting the burn sit in your chest for a moment before answering. "No. Not possible.” You swallow, you really haven’t. You don’t wanna picture a world without that place.

Eddie nods. "I mean I get it. Empire's like...home, you know? It's more than just a record store. It's the only place that feels like it gets people like us."

The freaks. That’s what we got called in high school. But at Empire it’s different. No rules, no barriers. Just us and our music. Sure it’s not perfect but Eddie’s right, it’s home.

You glance at him, noticing how the moonlight softens his features. "Yeah," you say. "That's why we're not gonna let it go under. I don't care if we have to sell every pill, every ounce. We'll figure it out."

Eddie leans back against the grass, his hands raking the blades like he's grounding himself. "It just sucks, you know? That it's all on us. Feels like the whole world doesn't give a damn about places like Empire. But if it was some fancy boutique or some sports bar? Everyone would be throwing money at it to save it."

"That's because those places are safe. Normal. Empire’s for people like us, people who don't fit their mold. They don't care if it disappears, but we do…and we're not gonna let it." You sip your drink.

Eddie can’t help but look at you. So beautiful in the moonlight. Your soft skin, your features, your words. It’s all so sentimental to him. He remembers sitting in the grass like this when you’d run out to the playground with him when you were 16. You’d smoke and laugh and talk about whatever. You always talked about how you’d leave that town one day and become something huge. You were so determined, just like you are now.

Eddie tilts his head and gives you a boyish grin, same one he’s had for years. "You've got that look again."

"What look?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"The 'I'm ready to take on the whole damn world' look." He chuckles softly. "Makes me think we might actually pull this off."

You grin despite the weight sitting in your chest. "We will. We have to. Because if I have to hear Larry’s pompous ass laugh one more time I might actually strangle him.”

“A show I’d pay to see.” He laughs and finishes off his beer.

You laugh too but the tension lingers. You both know the stakes are higher than ever, and with a shared look you silently agree to take down that corporate asshole together.

~~~~~

It’s safe to say Sunday night was a success. A small one, but a success nonetheless. You and Eddie had sold all of the product you came with and spent the rest of the night drinking and dancing. You’d gotten a bit wasted after your seventh Smirnoff so Eddie carried you into his van and let you sleep.

And in the morning you wake up to something so gentle on your nose. Another nose. But it’s not Eddie’s no, this one’s much smaller. You wake up to the purrs of Eddie’s cat, Ozzy.

You smile and nuzzle against the small black furball. “Good morning.”

You sit up and it all crashes on you. Your head spinning in a whirlwind of aches, your clothes which are now just some boxers and a Pantera tee you left here at Eddie’s the last time you had movie night. You’d gotten stretch and look around the bedroom to see that it’s missing it’s main thing: it’s owner.

You pad out of the bedroom. Alone in Eddie’s apartment. You feed Ozzy and read the note Eddie left you on the counter.

Aspirin’s in he bathroom mirror, pancakes in the microwave. Be back soon! :)

You smile and take the aspirins, practically chug your glass of water and sit on Eddie’s sofa, watching Full House as you eat your pancakes.

Once you’re full, you clean your plate and decide to look around Eddie’s place. You look through his books, tapes, magazines. Loving all of his trinkets and things, same as he loved going through yours when he came to your apartment for the first time.

You finally settle on a Guitar World magazine, Motley Crue adorning the cover. You smile and flip through the pages, looking at the different pics of different bands. Flipping and flipping and.. oh.

Polaroids. Polaroids in Eddie’s magazine. Polaroids.. of Eddie in Eddie’s magazine.

You carefully lift and count them. Four polaroids. In one, he’s got a shirt on, his hand in his hair and the other holding his guitar as the strap hangs over his shoulder.

In the next his hair is more messy, probably from taking his shirt off because it’s off now. His tattoos on his porcelain skin stealing almost all of the attention because in the third one the guitar is gone and he’s posing like some real rockstar, leaning back against the wall where his tapesty and posters hang.

You smile at the smug grin on his face. Taking photographs pf himself in his bedroom like he’s documenting. What a cocky bastard. Speaking of..

“Oh..” You gasp and your eyes widen. This fourth pic. The way his eyes look into the camera. Like he’s demanding attention now. And instead of a guitar occupying his hand, it’s something much harder and yet, just as red.

Your mouth hangs as you see his fist wrapped around his cock. The way its leaking makes you wonder if he’d been jerking off or if those tight jeans he had on in the other pictures had made him this hard.

An even better question crossed your mind. Why did he take these pictures? Was it for someone? Was it for fun? Is he really that big or did the camera do him a huge favor.

You gasp when you hear the door open and unlock. You quickly put the polaroids back into the magazine and tuck it under the sofa.

“Oh hey, you’re up.” He grins as he walks in with a white envelope.

“I am.” You grin, trying to play it cool. “What’s that?”

“I’m glad you ask princess.” He flops onto the sofa next to you. “Counted the cash from last night’s dealings and added it with Hopper’s cash.”

You take the envelope and open it. “And how much is this?”

He grins. “Four thousand and fifty eight dollars.”

“Wow. We sold that much last night?”

“Yeah. But if we’re gonna reach ten thousand might wanna consider some other options.”

“I’ll.. look into it.” You look at the crotch of his jeans then away. “Um, I should probably go. Get washed up and figure out some of this.. cash situation.”

He frowns. “Can‘t hang out?”

“Sorry. I’m just hungover still.” To be fair you didn’t lie, those aspirins did nothing for your headache and you were very nauseous, especially now.

“Oh. Well you can just take my bed-“

“No! I mean, no. It’s fine Eddie, really.” You stand and he follows suit, walking you to the door.

“Should I drive you?” His brows furrow a bit.

“It’s fine. I’ll get a cab. You just take a day off, yeah?”

“You’re so weird.” He shakes his head. “Fine. Go on but me and Ozzy will not let this slide.”

“Noted.” You grin and bite your lip to shut yourself up when he hugs you, the chains from his jeans freezing your legs. The close proximity knowing what’s in his jeans. It’s suffocating, but you hug him anyways then quickly pull away.

“Bye Eddie.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

You leave his apartment and take the longest cab ride back to your apartment. The shower you tske doesn’t help you feel any cleaner. You need to get the image out of your mind, and quickly. There’s so much to focus on. You’ve got a music store to save, no time for distractions. But damn is it a good one.

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