#pms spot printing

[mavrintarou]

[11:16 PM] Sakusa Kiyoomi

It's been a while since I last posted about Omi-Omi. Happy (belated) Valentine's Day!

Warning: mild angst but reconciled and happy smut (18+)

.

Kiyoomi set his gym bag in the usual spot of his apartment. Tonight, his home felt unusually cold and empty.

Switching the lights on, he is met with two floating balloons and a bag with red and pink hearts printed all over it.

He let out a chuckle and grabbed the bag, pulling out the tissue paper that was stuffed inside. He found all sorts of chocolate inside, his favorite chocolates.

Happy Valentine’s Day, jerk.

Y/n

Kiyoomi released a deep sigh. He and Y/n had gotten into an argument two nights ago, he couldn’t even remember what it was about. But it was 48 hours of silence from Y/n, 48 hours of emptiness.

The phone line rang repeatedly until it went to her voicemail.

He’s sent her three texts and they were left unread.

“C’mon…” he whispered, pacing around his place. “Pick up, please…”

A click came from the other line and he exhaled, “Y/n, thank goodness, where – “

“Hi, this isn’t Y/n but I’m her coworker!”

Kiyoomi frowned, and growled, “where is Y/n?”

“We are at a company dinner and she’s here… a little intoxicated…”

Kiyoomi could hear mumblings in the background, “… who is it…”

“Where are you guys?” he asked, heading to the shoe rack to put his shoes on.

He heard muffling but couldn’t hear clearly.

“… don’t tell him where I am…”

“… he’s mean and I don’t – I don’t wanna see him right now…”

His heart dropped.

“Hi, hello? Are you still there? Omi? Is this Omi with a white heart emoji next to your name? The Omi that is mean?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi answered defeatedly, “this is Omi.”

“Look,” whoever this person on the other line whispered, “she keeps saying you are mean and she doesn’t want to see you but I secretly know she does, women to women, she wants to see you… we’re… we’re at the XXXX restaurant.” She paused before whispering loudly, “come get your girl!”

.

Kiyoomi’s strides were only half their usual length, and he inserted a two-second pause between each step. Y/n, with a gloomy mood, followed four feet behind him.

Arriving at the restaurant, he discovered her sitting sadly at the end of the table, all alone. Her colleagues were accompanied by their partners, but Y/n was left by herself. Kiyoomi felt a lump of guilt in his throat; he should have been there with her.

Their most recent argument stemmed from this issue. Y/n had requested him to cut short his training if possible for one night, but he declined, emphasizing the priority of his training.

“I’m simply asking if you could leave an hour earlier, or even thirty minutes early to make it to dinner, if it’s feasible. Can you not even manage that?” Her voice was tinged with angst.

“No, you understand how important my training is. I can’t simply leave early for something like this.”

Something like this…

Now, he felt the full weight of guilt engulfing him.

He halted and glanced back, noticing that Y/n had also come to a stop, gazing into the distance. Following her gaze, he spotted a small shop with claw and capsule machines.

He is reminded of his snarky comment about her liking such stupid things.

Walking up to her, he waited until she looked at him. “Let’s go,” he said jerking his head towards the shop.

Her cheeks were still rosy from the alcohol, her eyes weren’t as lively as they should be. “No,” she grumbles, looking away with a pout. “It’s just stupid stuff,” she attempted to walk around him when he caught her wrist and began tugging her towards the store. “What are you doing?”

He ignores her question and tugs her gently along until they get to the change machine. Stuffing a few bills inside to exchange for tokens. “What would you like?”

She looked at the handful of tokens and then his eyes, and with a weary tone she asked, “why are you doing this?”

“Because you like it and it makes you happy,” his tone is gentle and careful, “and I want to see you happy.” He puts a handful of tokens in her palm. “Go, show me what makes you happy.”

Still pouty, she closed her fingers around the token and walked around him.

Kiyoomi smiled to himself, knowing deep down she was excited.

.

“Are you satisfied with your wins?” He stared at the bag full of plushies and capsule toys.

Y/n nodded, restraining a bright smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Seizing the opportunity, Kiyoomi extended his left hand, asking, “can you hold my hand?” He let out a quite breath when she placed her palm in his. They walked side by side in silence.

“Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

“Let’s go grab some junk food at 7/11 and... my place?” He prayed she would come over but instead, she looked at him as if he had two heads. Chuckling, he knew why she was looking at him weirdly. He was completely against eating any junk food, let alone anything from a convenience store. “A little junk food won’t kill me.”

“It might make you sick though?”

“Shh, don’t jinx me like that.”

.

Sure enough, it did make him feel sick.

All he ate was a cup of instant ramen, and within less than an hour, he started experiencing stomach churning.

“I told you,” Y/n scolded, yet concern was written all over her face. She quickly ushered him to lie down on the couch.

If it meant for Y/n to nurse him and show him affection again, the stomach ache was worth it.

He groaned, “it hurts…”

Digging through her purse, she tried to look for her pill box. “Here, take this medication. It’ll help with the tummy ache.”

He accepted the small pill and popped it into his mouth, taking it down with water. He grabbed her hand, “rub my tummy like you did that one time.”

Y/n hesitated, staring at him suspiciously before reaching to push his shirt up to reveal his abdomen. She ignored the ripples of muscles and put pressure on a certain area of his body.

Kiyoomi groaned, feeling instant relief.

She reached for his hand and placed it with hers, “when you have a tummy ache, always press this pressure point.”

She was about to stand up when he stopped her. Panicking he asked, “wait, where are you going?”

“I’m just going to make you some rice soup.”

He still pouted, watching her walk away to his kitchen.

A few minutes later, she returned with a bowl of steaming contents. “Bland, just the way you like it,” she mentioned, taking a seat on the edge of the couch. “How is your stomach feeling?”

“It’ll feel a lot better if you do it…”

Y/n scoffed and slapped his hand away, “you’re such a baby.”

“Correction, I’m your baby…”

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him, “who are you and what have you done to Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi’s lips turned downwards. “Omi…” he corrected quietly. When she doesn’t respond he bites his lips nervously. “I’m sorry.”

Her brow raised, and she looked at him as if she didn’t comprehend what he was saying.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, louder this time. “I have been a jerk and insensitive to you… I have not been compromising and mean to you and I’m sorry,” he bowed his head. “I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore. I’ll do better, I promise. Please don’t leave me.” His voice cracked at his last part of his sentence.

“Leave you? Who said I was leaving you?”

“But you didn’t want to see me?”

Y/n frowned, confused. “When did I say that?”

“Earlier on the phone, I heard you telling your coworker that you didn’t want to see me…” very quietly he added, “that hurt my feelings.” He felt childish but he wanted to be honest.

“I didn’t want to see you is very different from I’m leaving you,” Y/n clarified. She sighed, running a hand through her hair before reaching for the bowl of soup. She blew to cool the spoonful of soup before bringing it to his mouth. “I said that I didn’t want to see you because I knew I would give in and forgive you.”

He swallows the soup before asking, “please forgive me?”

“I saw your face so I already forgave you.”

He couldn’t ignore the cheering in his mind. “Do you really mean it? You forgive me for being a jerk?”

“Yes, you jerk.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But you called yourself that too?” Y/n countered, shoving a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “Eat and feel better.”

Kiyoomi smiles, “… kiss me, that would really make me feel better.”

The corner of her lips tugged upward, “you sly jerk…”

He sits up, bringing his face close to hers. “Please, a kiss?”

She pecks his lips.

He pouted, “that’s not a kiss.”

“Yes it is, my lips touched yours.”

He blinked and then frowned, “that was hardly a kiss…”

Y/n raised a brow, challenging him, “then what’s a kiss to you then?”

And he showed her.

He cupped her face, tilting it before pressing his lips against hers. As soon as she gasped, he slipped his tongue in, meeting hers in a tango.

“Omi…” Y/n breathed, pushing him away to catch a breath.

His lips continued to her jaw and down her neck. “Please Y/n…” he begged, tugging at her tucked-in dress shirt. He pulls away and looks at her with dark pupils, waiting for her consent.

She launched at him, knocking him onto his back once more. Her mouth moved hungrily against his as she tugged at his clothes.

“I’m not going anywhere…” he chuckled.

“You will be if you don’t take help take our clothes off…”

Their clothes lay carelessly on the ground seconds later.

Y/n raised herself and straddled his lap. She rocked her hips, gliding her pussy along the length of his cock.

Kiyoomi hissed loudly as his hands gripped her hip tightly, nails digging into her hip bone. “Don’t –“ he choked, “don’t tease me…” He didn’t miss the smirk on her lips.

Having enough of not being inside of her already, Kiyoomi flipped them and shifted her underneath him. His hand found one of hers and threaded their fingers together, clasping tightly. He searched her eyes and she answered by lifting her hips.

“Haa, you’re going to be the death of me,” he sank his cock into her sweet pussy.

He waited a few seconds, savoring the intimate bond. Kiyoomi peers down at her before pressing his forehead against hers and without breaking eye contact, he whispers, “I love you.”

He doesn’t express those three words as frequently as he ought to, but he can observe the way her eyes illuminate when he does. “I love you, Y/n…” he repeated, rocking his hips slowly but deeply. “I know I don’t say it often enough for you but you are my everything… and I never want to be without you again…”

Y/n released a soft whimper and cupped his face, connecting their lips. “I love you too, Omi…”

It was soft lovemaking.

Each rock of his hips was gentle with care, with love.

“Let’s cum together?”

Y/n nodded, tightening her arms around his shoulders and soon their bodies trembled in release.

Kiyoomi pulls Y/n up and they sit down, still connected very intimately. He reached for the bag of chocolate, took a piece, and unwrapped it before placing it into her mouth. Then, he helped himself to a piece as well.

“Thank you for the chocolate,” he murmurs.

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Omi.”

. . .

E/n: Going back to Teo now...

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

[tippenfunkaport]

SPOP fandom, news I spotted on Twitter and I thought we'd all want to know about!

Online signing coming up next week with Adora, Catra and Glimmer's VAs plus ND Stevenson!

AJ, Aimee, Karen, and ND will be streaming an autograph signing session on YouTube, Tuesday, July 23rd @ 3:00 PM EDT courtesy of Streamily. Visit AJ's store: https://streamily.com/ajmichalka Where the stream will be: https://youtube.com/streamily She-Ra Store: https://streamily.com/shera Aimee Store: https://streamily.com/aimeecarrero Karen Store: https://streamily.com/karenfukuhara ND Store: https://streamily.com/nd-stevenson

Store with everything is here:

so many cool prints that you can have singed by your favs...

Editing to add

There will be a Q&A in addition to the signing

[kitkathatesu]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Johnny Sawyer x Fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: ❗️SMUT❗️dub/non-con, (DO NOT READ THIS IF THAT IS A TRIGGER FOR YOU) ❕MDNI❕Use of degradation & praise, (mostly degradation) mentions of violence, alcohol use, kidnapping, canon!Johnny, implied cannibalism, biting, blood & knife play, forced thigh riding + oral (m receiving)

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Stopping at a bar in a rural part of Texas proves to be more than a couple shots with a stranger when you find yourself fighting for your life in the front seat of a worn out pickup truck. But fortunately for you, he’s got a knack for the ones who fight back. And fortunately for him, he knows how to wine ‘em and dine ‘em. In more ways than one.

☽✞☾

The Texas air is humid and dry in your nose as it whips through the driver side and passenger window rustling your hair. It’s about 6:00 PM and the sun is starting to set in the distance, the sky painted with orange and yellow hues. You breathe in deeply and sigh, it feels like you’ve been driving for hours and truthfully you have. Your ass is numb, throat is dry, and your eyes are watering from the restless night you’d had right before tearing out of bed and onto the road. Tired is an understatement but you catch an old wooden sign on the side of the road a couple feet in front of you at the corner of your eye, “Newt, population 3,000.”

“Fuck yeah.” You perk up and tap your fingers against the steering wheel happily as you drive down a narrow blacktop road. A gas station to your left, grocery store to your right, and a couple houses in between. It’s pretty rundown. Everywhere you look there seems to be something withering away. And just as you ponder that that’s all there was to this archaic town you come upon this decent sized, surprisingly sturdy looking building with the words Drayton’s Texan Tavern printed above it.

“A bar?” You chew the skin on the inside of your cheek and sit idly. It’s a bit oddly placed, off putting, maybe even a little uncanny from the outside but nonetheless a spot to rest. A spot to let loose and relax like most. So you pull in, park, and hop out of the driver seat onto the pavement. The ache in your lower back starting to fade as you strut your way past different vehicles that are scattered about the parking lot. Many of them rusted and chipping away.

The familiar chime of a bell rings above your head as you push the door open. You’re met with smoke sitting stagnant and smoldering in the dim lighting. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes mixing with the musk of the multiple men and women standing around with drinks in hand chatting amongst themselves. You walk hastily up towards the bar, taking a stool beside a woman that’s obviously drunk slurring to someone stood beside her. You chuckle to yourself, glancing at the menu that’s now slapped down in front of you. Small and black with white lettering.

“What can I do ye for?” A voice echoes over the chatter booming around you. You’re greeted by an old man with a greasy black comb over who stands with a hand on his hip. Sweat glistening on his brow and a discolored handkerchief sluggishly patting it away.

“Ah, I’ll just have two shots of whiskey please.” He looks unamused as you offer him a soft smile. Grabbing the whiskey off of the shelf and pouring you two separate shots. Scoffing to himself as you take them straight to the head.

You see him nod to someone to his left and then walk from behind the bar towards a booth where three rowdy men are yelling at each other. “Hey! There’ll be none of that here boys. Either take it down a notch or take it outside.” He spat. You can’t make out much. But this isn’t anything new considering you’ve had your fair share of bar hopping, so you tune it out.

A black haired girl replaces the older man and you order two more shots. By the time the first two kick in your head is already fuzzy, body is warm and your thighs are sticking to the stool under you. You can’t help but notice a man in your peripherals, he’s not moving but his hands are in his pockets and he has a boot pressed against the wall behind him. A cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, the cherry burning bright reflecting his dark features.

“Would’ya like anything else ma’am?” The bartender asked flatly, leaning in close enough for you to hear her. You sit up straight and swallow before responding. “Yeah actually, I would like-“ What the fuck?

“She’ll have two more shots a’ rye. Make that four if ya would. Thanks doll.” Your breath hitches when you’re cut off, eyes darting over to meet the man who you’d noticed earlier now sitting next to you. “Names Johnny”, he drawled. “Ya got one?” He leered at you. Eyes half lidded and a sly smile pricking at the corner of his lips. Your cheeks heat up when you realize you’d been staring the entire time. Fuck.

“Oh, m’sorry my names Y/N.” You shift in your seat. Embarrassment bubbling up and spilling over through the dark blush that’s crept onto your face. Johnny sucks on his teeth and runs a hand through his hair impatiently. A low sigh falling from his chest when the bartender places the shots down in front of him.

“Here ya go. Enjoy.” She huffed as she turned to tend to the other people around you. Johnny chuckled to himself and slid two of the glasses over to you with the back of his forearm. Your jaw tightened when you turned to face him again, he’s very handsome. Dark hair, freckled skin, even darker eyes. A jagged scar on his cheek, arms toned and exposed, covered in more cuts and scrapes that time has healed over, some look fresher than others. Farm work maybe? Mechanic? Who knows. Who cares.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Your vision hazy in your peripherals as your only focus is on him. His jawline is sharp and his lips are pursed as he throws back a shot, butterflies flailing in your stomach when a drop of whiskey slips from his mouth and he wipes it away with a hiss. “C’mon, I can’t be the only one drinkin’. Didn’t get those for nothin’.” Shit. Not again.

“Yeah, sorry about that”, You mumble. Picking up the tiny glass and tilting it against your lips. A lump forming tight in your esophagus when you try to speak again. “M’just a little drunk already, my tolerance is sorta low if I’m being honest.” Your movements feel delayed when you move your head too fast to glance at him.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with gettin’ a lil tipsy now and then.” Johnny replied. “Though ya don’t really look the type.” He grinned, his eyes subtly draping over your figure. Ugh. Those butterflies from earlier feel like they could snap through your rib cage any minute.

“That so?” You giggle. Taking that last shot straight back before turning to face him. Confidence slowly creeping up your throat which you’re sure is just the whiskey making its rounds as it rushes through your bloodstream.

“I may not look the type, but that’s cause I know how to hide it. I’m real good at it too.” Johnny cocks an eyebrow and sneers, his face bouncing back and forth between confusion and curiosity. “So yer one of them good girls gone bad.” He teased. “And here I was thinkin’ ya were a sweet, innocent thing.”

“And that’s where you were mistaken sir.” You slur, leaning over the bar slightly. Your back arched and your head now laid across your arms, looking at Johnny through heavy lashes. The alcohol has you feeling like you could fuck this man in the back of your car. It also has you feeling like you could be making a big mistake doing so, but what’s life without one or two and you can't exactly tell the difference right now.

Johnny clears his throat as his eyes instinctively carve out the dip in your back. His jaw tightening and his teeth grinding together. You’re a feisty one. He likes that, he likes that a lot. But what he likes even more is that he can almost taste you with the way you look at him.

Your plump lips curved into a drunken smile and your eyes practically begging him to indulge. He swears he can hear your heart pounding, your blood pumping through your veins and it makes his cock strain against his zipper. But what makes it so enticing is that you have no idea what he really wants, what he needs from you.

“So”, Johnny leans in close. Close enough for you to smell his cologne and the cigarettes that stain his breath. “Ya wanna get outta here?” He whispered. His voice honeyed and hoarse, sending shivers down your spine. You don’t know him, you’ve only been here a day and this isn’t even where you’re going to be staying.

“I- uh”, You stutter, picking your head up eyes flicking around at your surroundings anxiously. What do you do? You’ve already flirted. He seems to have a good head on his shoulders, but you’re both drunk. “I actually need to get going soon, I’m supposed to be on my way to a relatives.” Johnny chuckled in response.

“No need ta be shy now honey. I’ll take good care o’ ya’.” Johnny licked his lips and breathed heavily, hot breath fanning over the side of your face. “What happened ta that fire in ya darlin’? Did I snuff it out or are ya scared that I’ll prove ya right.” You swallow harshly. Panic starting to settle in where those butterflies were.

“No- I just need to go”, You stammer. Sucking in a sharp breath to steady yourself as you stood up from your seat, watching Johnny’s face turn.. Cold. The air around you now suffocating, starving for oxygen as you study the way his entire demeanor changed in an instant.

“It was nice to meet you truly. Thank you for the drinks. You’re more than welcome to walk me out if you’d like.” You added with a nervous smile. Johnny sat there unmoving. Eerily still like he was stuck in place, you grimace at the sick feeling that churns in your stomach when you offer him an uneasy hand. His eyes could burn holes into yours, staring blankly back at you. Had your words fell upon deaf ears?

“Of course. Would be rude o’ me not to walk ya out after gettin’ ya all flustered. My apologies.” You stumble slightly when he abruptly shoots upwards, his gloved hand held out to you. You take it with a nod of your head and he smiles. His hand holding yours ever so gently you almost feel bad as you walk hesitantly towards the door. Maybe the alcohol is clouding your judgement. But better safe than sorry.

The bell chimes above you and you’re sucked into the dark that’s swallowed daylight whole. The parking lot is emptier than what it was when you got here, when you look farther out there’s nothing for miles other than this broken little town. It feels lonely, like the ground itself craves liveliness and it's hanging on by a thread. Or a noose, whichever one is wearing thin.

You breathe in the crisp night air and let out an exasperated sigh at how good it smells but how heavy your body feels on top of your sore feet. You'll be glad to get some rest at the nearest Hotel you can find. Johnny drops your hand as you stagger up to your vehicle, letting his back slump against the passenger side door as you stand idly beside him. Admiring him once more.

“Well-“, You said softly. “Thank you. I had a good time.” Johnny flashes a smirk, his lips alone giving you butterflies all over again. But something strange seems to lurk behind his charming alliciency. Something watching, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. “No problem doll. Ya shoulda took me up on that offer, woulda had plenty more fun.” He teased. Winking at you like some High Schooler.

You giggle, arms crossing over your stomach. "Maybe we could do this again sometime if I'm ever back up this way." You added assuringly. Johnny's shoulders dropped with a huff as he pushed himself off of your car. Pausing for a moment as if waiting for you to react to such a bitchy cue that he's disappointed. Oh well.

You tuck your hair behind your ear. Looking up at the stars then back to him. “I better get going. It’s already late and I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.” Johnny rolled his eyes, earning a scowl from you that you tried to mask but failed miserably. “Nice meeting you.” You scoffed.

Walking to the opposite side of the car you open the door and hop in. Reaching to turn the key over but it doesn’t start. The engine rattles to life then sputters out completely. That’s when you realize something is wrong. AGAIN. Good, great. Love that.

“Somethin’ a matter?” Johnny mocked, a shit eating grin spread across his face. You groan, can’t have a moments peace even after drinking to ease the stress of it all. “Goddamn it, why me.” You grumble. Hands smacking the steering wheel, frustration evident as Johnny sauntered over tapping on your hood.

“Pop it. Let me take a look.” He offered and you don’t hesitate. Maybe he’ll be able to figure out what’s causing the old shit box to fuck up now. He hollers from under the hood and you lean your head against the wheel praying to whomever may be listening that it’s nothing more than a dead battery or a loose wire.

“So I’ve got bad news. Looks like ya won’t be goin’ nowhere soon, ‘specially not tomorrow unless ya wanna blow up on the way there.” You chuckle loudly, sarcasm lacing your words together as Johnny closes your hood and pats some grease off of his gloves and onto his jeans. “Could take my chances and see how long it takes for it to catch fire.”

Johnny glanced behind him and his jaw tightens when he faces you again like he was being watched. “Or ye could wait it out and I could have my old man fix it for ya sometime in the afternoon. Get ya back on the road in no time.” That’s the last thing you wanted, last thing you needed to do. Your family will be pissed if you don’t make it before sunrise. You can hear them now.

“Any chance you know what you’re doing and could temporarily fix it? Good enough to get me out of Texas?” Johnny groaned loudly, his Onyx eyes meet yours and chills climb up your spine. He tsks as he stalks over. Now towering above your body with his arm stretched over the length of the car door, staring down at you without a word. It’s silent between you other than the crickets and frogs chirping away in the distance. Something feels off. “..Johnny?”

“Was hopin' you'da changed yer mind by now. But I shoulda' known ya wouldn’t put out that easy.” You sit frozen as he inched closer, not grasping what he’d just said. But the fog in your brain clears when he lunges at you like a rabid dog. “Yer Mama ever tell ya not to talk too strangers!?” He hissed through gritted teeth. His voice now raucous and ringing in your ears when you're met with his hands wrapped around your throat. You gnash your teeth.

“I- Please, fuc-“ Spit sputters out of your mouth and your eyes pop open wide, your fingers instinctively clawing at his wrists. He’s going to kill you right here is what you tell yourself over and over, but you know better than that. And with what you suspects to come you wish he would but you know that’ll never happen.

“Yer gonna be real pretty to look at. ‘Specially when I’ve got ya strung up in my cold room cracked open and bloody.” Johnny's pupils blow wide at the doe like look in your eyes, the fear and the realization that pings through you as his hand closes tighter around your windpipe.

Goddamn you look good like that. Johnny yearns to see just how far you can go. How long you can last when his knife is plunged deep and your blood spills. How could he resist when that image burns bright in the back of his mind? You fell right for him just like he knew you would. Like they all do. That’s okay. He likes ‘em stupid. But there’s something about the way you continue to fight him when you know it’s no use that ignites that disgusting fire within him.

A wicked grin stretches his lips thin and a groan rumbles in the back of his throat when your fists pound helplessly at his chest. “Fuckin’ stupid bitch, what’dya think this was?” You try and breathe between broken sobs, digging your nails into his skin as hard as you can. Punching, scratching, kicking. He doesn’t budge.

“Seems I oughta teach ya a lesson or two ‘bout what it means to be a woman round' these parts darlin'." He snarled. Teeth bared, nostrils flaring as one of his hands tears at your scalp. You yelp like a kicked puppy, your hair tucked tightly between his nimble fingers, the force stinging like a 1,000 tiny bees. You can feel every strand beneath his grasp breaking and pulling away at the follicle.

Your eyes well with tears when you’re violently yanked from the front seat and thrown to the cold ground. It swipes the air right out of your lungs when your back pummels the dirt. Your face twisting along with your limbs. Pain radiating from the fresh scrapes and scratches that scatter along your spine. “Shut up!”

His other hand quickly clasps your mouth shut denying you of the breath you so desperately need to take. Shirt riding all the way up and the back of your thighs continuing to scrape along the asphalt as he jerks and drags you by your hair to what you assume is his vehicle.

You flail your legs in a hopes to throw him off balance, but all you do is fuck up your knee in the process when he rips you upwards and hip tosses you into the backseat of a pickup truck.

“Johnny please- Please don’t do this!” You squeal. Digging your elbows into the old tattered seat, trying to pull yourself away from him when he starts to crawl over you. 𝙉𝙤, 𝙣𝙤 𝙣𝙤 𝙣𝙤. You panic, what do you do?! Where do you go? No one will hear you, no one can.

You struggle to gather yourself mentally, your internal conscience screaming for you to do something, anything. And that’s when fight or flight rips what remaining nerves you have left to shreds and your whole body begins to tremble. That adrenaline that'd been lying dormant sending your hurt knee straight to his groin when his legs threaten to lock yours in place. “Fuck you, you sick fuck!”

“Yeah! Augh that’s it-“ He winced and you paused, watching his brows knit together and his head drop down with a grunt, picking it up slowly, jaw cocked open as he breathed in deep through his nose. “Hit me.” He rasped. Wearing a smile so vile it makes you want to vomit.

Acid burns the back of your throat when your head slumps against the inside of the door. That adrenaline you had flickering in and out as you ponder on what your family will think when you don’t show up. When you never give them a call. You wish you would’ve spoke to them sooner, or talked to them a little longer when you had the chance. Tears fall down your cheeks and your heart breaks as you stare back at what you deem the Devil himself.

You suck in a deep breath, shoulders rising as you prepare to scream with all your lungs can muster, but your mouth is quickly met with four gloved fingers pushing deep into the back of your throat. Eliciting a loud gag from you. The taste of old leather and grime sitting sour on your tongue, you shake your head and bite down hard against his knuckles. He snorts and his tongue darts out like a serpent snaking across his bottom lip. “Get the fuck off of me!”

“You were right about one thing, ain’t nothin’ innocent ‘bout this mouth o’ yours.” He jested, pulling his saliva coated digits out of your mouth, smearing them down your face with a smirk. You cough in response, the slight tickle in the back of your throat and his weight now baring down on top of you leaving you breathless. Brainless, almost incoherent.

“Fuck you.” You utter, moving your hand to smack that smug look right off his face but it’s stilled. You groan in protest when you notice he’s got your wrists pinned above your head with one hand. The other one God knows where and you glance around for anything you could possibly use to subdue him. Even a little.

Johnny leans down, his face just inches above yours. “And here I was thinkin’ you’d be just like all the others”, he whispered musing himself as he watched your facial expressions crinkle up and change ever so often. “Cryin’, beggin’ for yer life but no.” You swallow hard. Anger and fear fusing together in the pit of your stomach as he slowly starts to pick you apart, poking and prodding at your psyche.

His words squeeze their way into your frontal lobe and wedge themselves between your legs as his other hand traces along your abdomen, his fingers curling into the thin flesh between your ribs making you hiss and squirm beneath him. “Here ya are.. Barely makin’ a fuckin’ peep waitin’ to see what I’ll do next. It’s almost like ya wanna see, and I gotta hand it to ya sweetheart. You’ve done a lot more than pique my interest.” He paused, brushing stray hair out of your face, tilting his head to the side as if to admire you. And briefly he was, but his focus was on the way you smelled. The way he can imagine a sea of cherry flavored waves crashing through your body and how sweet it’ll be when it spills and splashes onto his tongue.

You blink away tears, lower lip quivering as he nudges your jawline with his nose. Sending chills down your spine when he nuzzles into your pulse point. “Goddamn, you smell s’good. Bet you’ll taste even better on the inside.” He muttered and a surge of adrenaline ripped through you once more. He’s not going to kill you, he’s going to eat you. He’s the widow, you’re the fly. He’ll suck you dry from the inside till you’re nothing more than a hollowed out shell of who you once were. Empty.

“What- What do you- FUUCKKK?! Oh my GOD!” You cry out in agony, white hot lightning searing through your skin just above your hipbone. Your teeth bare down so hard they could break. “That’s it, lemme hear ya scream for me.” Johnny growled, that gnawing need to use you growing stronger with each thrash of your hips under him. You were fucked.

And that’s when you realize you’d been cut. You never seen the blade but you knew nothing else would slice that quick and clean. Blood trickles down the dip in your waist. Wet and warm soaking into the seat as your head swims and your body writhes in pain. Johnny’s hand releases the hold on your wrists and grabs your jaw, pushing your lips into a pout as he moves your face side to side. His fingers digging into the fat of your cheeks roughly.

“What’sa matter huh?” He asked knowing the answer, its never changed. You stare at him blankly. “Cat got yer tongue?” No response. Okay. We’ll see ‘bout that.

Johnny brings his hunting knife into view. The glint of the blade now evident as the streetlight reflects off of the cold, bloodied, steel. You silently seethe with rage and he raises his eyebrows, pulling your face closer to his by the pinch of your cheeks. “Mm, there ya are. I knew ya were still in there somewhere.”

Your eyes burn and your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your temples. Pulsing along to the beat. Thump, thump, thump. The air around you both thick like cement and the fire that’s flickering alive between your legs has you reeling with shame. Looking up at him with pleading eyes, unable to understand what you truly want when it doesn’t even matter.

“Yer lookin’ at me like ya want a kiss baby doll”, Johnny husked. Low and rumbly, purring like a Tom cat but you knew his claws were bound to dig in deep and never let go. Your jaw coils up tight and you raise your head just slightly, nose to nose with him. “Fuck you.” You hiss between gritted teeth. Pathetic.

“You poor, sweet, thing.” He said with mock astonishment, bringing the tip of his blade to your bottom lip burying it against the plumpness of it with a chuckle. “Yer gonna break like fuckin’ glass when I’m done with ya.”

Didn’t take much for the sharpness of it to break skin and your body jolted at the temporary sting, blood slowly trickling down your chin. Johnny groaned at the sight, his mouth opening and his smooth tongue lapping up the crimson stream sickly. Not wasting anytime attacking your lips in a hungry kiss you did not reciprocate. You grimaced and pressed your lips into a harsh line but he nipped at the already broken skin and your mouth opened up with a whine. His tongue lathing yours with the taste of copper and tobacco.

Something within you gives and he takes. Your hand snakes into his hair, gliding through the greasiness of it. Meeting the starving pace of his lips against yours, surprise etching his features when he pulls away to laugh at you. “Oh honey, yer achin’ for it. I knew ya would.”

Johnny yanks you up by the collar of your shirt and swiftly switches his position pulling you onto his lap. Your thighs straddle him and his lips crash to yours once more, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, letting them lay atop his shoulders. Rough hands grab at your hips, and you moan into his mouth. His cock hard underneath you. The friction of it burning hot against your core, you can’t help but roll your hips, chasing that little bit of pleasure that’s so close your head spins.

“Don’t even think about it.” He growled, stilling your desperate movements, the pads of his thumbs digging deep into your soft skin. You shudder when you feel the blunt end of his blade now pressed to your sternum. “I’ll bleed ya fuckin’ dry ya try that again, understand?”

You nod your head and Johnny’s cock twitches at the submission. “Good girl.” He spoke like velvet lined his vocal cords and you mewl when his lips attach to your throat with teeth and tongue. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. The warmth, the salty sweet taste of you, and the carnal need to plunge the thick steel of his hunting knife into your abdomen makes him pant like a dog.

One of his hands wanders farther down, kneading and grabbing the fat of your ass by the handfuls as the other moves you slightly, your slick core pressing against the top of his thigh now. You’re sure the wetness that’s pooled out of you is soaking through. “Ya wanna feel good?” He droned, looking at you with a predatory gaze that could rip you apart without a single touch to your skin.

“Yes, yeah I do.” You mumble, the tone in your voice half hearted and shaky. You’re just as deranged as he is. “Please make me feel good.”

“Look at that. Leakin’ through yer panties like a little slut. Gettin’ off at the thought of what I’ma do to ya, knowin’ it won’t end in your favor.” Johnny sighed. His breath hot and heavy.

“I’ma bad man Y/N, a real bad man. But you don’t care, ye hardly mind as long as that greedy cunt between yer legs is satisfied.” His eyes were like obsidian, black and blood thirsty. Yours were glassy from the tears that hadn’t failed to stream mercilessly down your face, stained black as your mascara smears. Looking down at him with your brows knitted together, mind battered and breaking at how much you ache for him. “Johnny, please?” Please.

“Go on then”, he spoke softly. “Ride my thigh.” Your mouth twitches and your thoughts haze, disassociation settling in briefly. “I said”, Johnny huffed, growing more impatient by the second as you sat there. His hand met your cheek with a loud slap, the skin there turning bright red, making your voice break out into a sob. “Rub yer fuckin’ cunt on my thigh, or I’ll leave yer pretty lil body layin’ on the side of the road like a slab of rancid meat.”

Your eyes well with tears once more, trying to find the words to say, barely grasping a thought in your head but the opportunity is ripped from you with another hard slap to your face. “Please I’m sorry!” You whine, saliva tinged red sitting metallic on your tongue. He scoffs and before you have time to process your pussy is now flush against his jean clad thigh, grinding your hips back and forth the length of it.

“Gotta do everythin’ my fuckin’ self huh?” He sneered, canines bared with a cocky smirk. His thumbs digging deep into your hips, earning a soft moan from your swollen lips as he slightly bounces his knee underneath you. “What was that darlin’? Can’t quite hear ya.” Johnny cooed. His nose tracing your jawline, a pleased hum rumbling in his chest when you buck your hips.

“Feels good.” You sigh breathlessly, eyes rolling back as you start to work with the push and pull of his strong hands. Rocking yourself at a steady pace, fingernails leaving indents into his scarred skin. Memories he won’t forget. Memories you won’t forget.

“That’s right. I can really feel ya soakin’ through now, dirty fuckin’ girl. Nasty.” His voice is like an old Country song playing on the radio, begging you to sing along. Southern twang making your heart flutter and cheeks flush.

Mama always said Christian girls should only listen to the word of our God. But the only thing you can hear right now is the ringing in your ears as you feel yourself roaring towards your first orgasm. Preach to me, Oh Lord.

“Oh fuck- Fuck!” You mewl, Johnny’s hands resting on top of your thighs now but you don’t notice. Your hips moving on their own accord. His eyes glued to your face as your jaw falls slack and your lungs give with such a pretty, pathetic, noise that he almost feels sorry for you. Like a bunny caught by the tail.

“Oh sweet girl, look at ya.” He rasped, cocking his head up, licking a Hell kissed stripe up your chin to your sensitive lips. Making you whine in protest when he pushes you off of his lap, his arms now draping over the back of the seat. Lazily opening his legs, clicking his tongue with a chuckle. “Yer turn.” He gestured with his hand, pointing to his rock hard length painfully restricted to his leg in the confines of his jeans.

The silence is mind numbing. Your body swarms with guilt and utter disgust blooms deep in your guts. How could you let such a depraved man use you like this? You’re going to die, your family will never see you again. Yet your gaze still shifts from him to his zipper, swallowing harshly as you close your eyes and move to your knees. They dig uncomfortably into the old itchy fabric of the seat.

“Get ta’ work doll. Ain’t got all night.” You wince at the reality of what happens next, an immobilizing weight hanging around your neck. You’d rather eat shit than get this man off.

But to your surprise he gently pushes his gloved fingers through your hair, massaging part of your scalp as he got to work on his zipper with the other. His cock springing free, smacking against his abdomen and you marvel at the sight. Thick, about 7 inches. Slightly curved. You squirm anxiously, inching towards him with your back arched. Face down ass up.

“I said- Ah, fuuuckkk.” Johnny groaned pornographically, head tipping back eyes fluttering shut when your small hand wrapped around the base. Carefully angling your lips right above his aching cock, letting a wad of saliva pool out of your mouth and onto his slit. Watching as it slowly drips down the fat of it, glistening in the street light shining through the windshield. You’re too far gone to stop now.

“That’s it, put it in yer mouth- Fuck yeah, just like that.” His bottom lip curls under his teeth when your hand glides down and twists back up just beneath the tip, using your thumb to rub at the underside of it as your plump lips wrap around what’s left to fit in your mouth. His hips buck and his grip tightens in your hair. A guttural growl rumbling in his chest when you take him deeper in without warning. Bobbing your head up and down aggravatingly slow.

“Gotta do better than that sweetheart.” You whine around him and gag simultaneously. His fist pounds against the back of his hand that’s clamped into your hair like a vice. Forcing the last inch of him to stab into the back of your throat. Your lips now sitting sloppy against his balls, nose pressed into the thick thatch of hair at the base of his cock. The smell of musk and spit heavy in your nostrils.

Johnny scrapes his fingers through your tangled locks, breath rugged and chest heaving. He smirks to himself when your nails dig into the fabric of his jeans, your throat tightening around him with gag after gag. Tears stream down your face, vision blurry and hazing at the lack of oxygen. “Whores don’t need ta’ breathe, do they?”

Your eyes roll and your cunt squeezes around nothing. Drooling uncontrollably with the tip of his cock shoved harshly against the back of your throat, his pre cum leaking sickeningly sweet at the back of your tongue. He isn’t going to last much longer and though part of your mind is waiting for it to be over, the other part is yearning for more. For a release you’ll never get.

“Fuck”, he hissed. Your lungs threatening to give out till his hips buck and you’re granted one short breath, but it’s not long till he’s fucking your throat so hard that it hurts. “That’s right bitch- Take it. M’gonna fuckin’ cum.” Johnny had to bite back a whine when you broke out into a sob, a slobbering mess all for him and he reveled in the way you struggled to swallow his length. Struggled to keep yourself together.

His balls tense and he gives a couple stuttering thrusts and that’s it. He slams your head down once more with a loud groan and hot, thick, spurts of cum shoot down your throat. Rope after rope, making you choke and sputter. Spit and snot mingling as your nose runs and he pulls you off his cock with a wet pop. Tucking himself back into his jeans without another word. You wipe your face and sniffle, body trembling from the fear and arousal that’s clung to your nerves and between your thighs.

“Knew you’d be a good fuck.” He chuckled, a cynical expression on his face. “Could tell by the way those lips curved. S’shame I didn’t get to play with that pussy, though there’ll be plenty of time for that later.” What? No.. There wouldn’t be, not in a million fucking years.

“Go to Hell!” You took your chance and shot up bolting to grab at the door handle, hand still slick with spit and surprisingly it popped open and you almost fall out. But there was no escaping this man, he knew what he wanted and what he wanted was you. If he had to track you down to the ends of the Earth he would and he’d succeed. “Not quite yet sugar.”

Johnny yanked you back by your hair and you screamed to no avail. It was muffled by a rag, his big hand holding it tightly over your mouth and nose. With each breath your eyes grew heavier and heavier, a sweet smell lingering in your nose when you finally fell victim to sleep. Johnny let your head slump back into his chest before laying you down in the seat beside him, giving your ass a hard pat.

“Time ta go home, get ya settled in with the rest of the muts rottin’ down in the basement.” He tsked, pushing his gear shifter into drive before pulling out from the bar. Tires screeching down the road, white smoke billowing behind while you lay there in your drug induced slumber. Though you could faintly hear the rumble of his voice you couldn’t make out what he was saying. “I’ll make a pretty lil pup outta you darlin’. You’ll see.”

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Runaway

Anyone But You

Summary: After successfully running away from your past, it all comes crashing down 10 years later on a cold, snowy Halloween night.

Hello loves and Happy Halloween! This is part 1 in a mini-series!

18+ Only! MDNI!

CW: No use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "sunshine". Home invasion. Knife use. General canon type violence.

WC: 1.5K

Halloween Night - 2019

Scandia, Minnesota

“A KitKat for the witch, oooh and how about a Snickers for Spider Man?” You fawned over the two small children proudly wearing their costumes, settling the candy in each of their buckets, waving to their parents as they took off back down the sidewalk with unadulterated childhood delight.

You smiled, looking around as the neighborhood was beginning to grow quiet in the cool night. The visitors went from a steady stream to trickling at this point.

A Halloween movie marathon was playing in the background as you shut the door and made your way back into the living room to make yourself cozy on the sofa once more. Your eyes grow heavy the closer the clock edges past 10 pm.

The doorbell chime caught your attention, rousing you from a soft doze as you stood, stretching. In your half dazed state, you grabbed the bowl of candy not realizing it was far too late for any more youngsters.

You shuffled to the door, sweater falling off your shoulder, swinging it open with as much enthusiasm that you could muster but there was no one there. No black cat or Buzz Light-year standing in the doorway begging for a treat.

With bleary eyes, you blink a few times, stepping out onto the porch with your worn house slippers looking around with a slight uneasy feeling creeping up your spine.

Your breath blows visible in the air, as you wrap your free arm around yourself. A new blanket of snow sparkled under the moonlight, with a fresh set of footprints visible, leading to the side yard, prints larger than any child could make suddenly setting you on high alert.

Slow and methodically you start to back up into the house, spotting movement just out of the corner of your eye. Quickly, you turn your head in time to see a shadow move out of your line of vision and into the nearby trees.

“Shit,” hissing low under your breath, moving a little faster and slamming the door as soon as you made it back into the foyer. Your hands moved to lock and deadbolt it as quickly as possible, keeping your eyes fixed firmly out into the yard through the front door windows.

Maybe some teenagers were trying to play a trick on you, but something deep down told you otherwise as you decidedly moved to the kitchen.

There were two choices, pretend you hadn't seen whoever's shadow that was and hope they were playing a harmless prank or prepare for a fight that was years in the making.

You didn't own a gun, too many questions and a background check would have immediately drawn attention, although right now you wish you had something other than just kitchen knives.

The sliding back door was locked, but it was the most vulnerable entry point. You made no attempt to hide, standing there in the kitchen light, moving across the door and looking out across the frozen yard. This was it, making it very clear you weren't going to make it easy for them.

You crossed back into the living room, about to shut the TV off, when a loud crash of glass shattering echoed through the house. Wasting no time, you ran out into the foyer and climbed up the stairs two at a time, without looking back. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you made it to the second floor landing and rushed down the hall.

The blood coursing through your veins was thoroughly spiked with adrenaline as you made it to the bedroom, the last room at the end of the hall, leaving the door open you quietly lean down and crawl under the bed with the large knife gripped tight and at the ready.

It was quiet, too quiet, as you waited for any sounds of the intruder, trying to steady your now rapid breathing but all you could hear was the TV from downstairs.

A few more excruciating moments of silence that seemed to stretch on forever and then you hear it, the unmistakable sound of heavy footfalls against the old hardwood floor.

Thump. Thump. Thump. They were taking a leisurely pace down the hall, as if they hadn't just broken into your home. They stop, just as the door across from yours slowly creaks open.

Shuffling and banging around momentarily startles you, but you stay quiet, clasping a hand over your mouth. Your eyes remain glued to the bottom of the doorframe.

You hold your breath as a pair of black tactical boots come into view, pausing momentarily as they take in the layout of the room. They edge toward the closet and pull open the door, instantly ripping clothes from hangers and shoving things out of the way littering the floor below.

They let out a frustrated sigh, muttering a muffled “shit,” turning toward the bed. It feels like time stands still as you try not to make a sound but draw the knife closer to your body.

They whirl slightly back toward the door and take a step as you let out a breath you had been holding, closing your eyes.

Leather suddenly creaks in the dark, making your head jerk toward the sound at the end of the bed.

Your eyes grow wide at the sight of a masked figure looking back at you but before your brain can process a decent thought, a large hand wraps around your ankle yanking you forcefully from your hiding place as you let out a squeak of surprise. The knife slips from your hand as you claw to get it back, hanging onto it with everything you have.

They pull you further out into the open as you begin to kick and thrash, screaming out. The carpet burns your bare torso, with your sweater rising up from the force of it all.

A few grunts and protests from them, but it's to no avail, their grip is tight, bruisingly so. You grapple for purchase a few more moments, grabbing the bottom of the bedpost as you force your free leg back into their shin as hard as you can.

“Fuck!” They hiss, releasing your ankle but quickly regaining composure and forcefully holding onto your hip, pressing you further into the carpeting as you let go of the bed pulling the knife toward you, hoping they hadn't spotted it.

You close your eyes as both of their large hands easily flip you over on your back. Your eyes snap back open, suddenly face to face with a Jack Skellington mask.

Your lips quirk into a small smirk as they tilt their head down at you curiously. Time to act, grabbing the knife and slicing toward them as fast and hard as you could.

They see the glint once you brandish your weapon and lean back, dodging most of the blow as it grazes their bicep with a hiss and growl, briefly gripping their arm before quickly turning their attention back to you.

“Goddamnit!” They grit, easily overpowering you, grabbing your wrist as you tried to take another swing and tossing the knife across the room.

“Fuck you!” You spit, thrashing as they pin your arms above your head and throw their leg over you, straddling your waist, pinning you down as you continue to kick.

“Goddamn, just as fiery as ever! Should've known this wouldn't be easy!” He bellows out, muffled through the mask but your eyes narrow warily at the voice. Your face morphs into confusion, followed with a sudden flash of recognition passing over your features.

It couldn't be. Your gaze lingers on the mask for a moment, trailing downward. A leather jacket, paired with black tactical pants and a thigh holster. No. Anyone but him.

“Gator?” You rasp out, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

His name hangs thickly between you, tilting his head as if debating with himself before heavily sighing and maneuvering his hands around so only his left still has both your wrists pinned above you.

He lifts the other, finally ripping the mask from his face. You stare into those once familiar, hazel eyes that suddenly thrust you back into a landslide of memories and emotions. A far cry from the boy you once knew, a man before you now.

“Hey Sunshine.” He says with that lopsided grin that used to give you butterflies, a nonchalance about the entire situation that has you stunned, the urge to fight suddenly draining from your body.

“That damn mask was gettin’ hot.” He adds, tossing it somewhere across the room.

“Wh— What the hell are you doing here?” Asking, when you already know the answer but your mind is unwilling to believe it.

“What do you think?” Leaning a little further into your space. “Roy sent me.”

“Gator, you can't take me back there. You know exactly what's waiting for me.” You rush out, a million scenarios running through your mind.

You'd expected this eventually, always looking over your shoulder but never could have imagined it would be Gator coming to collect.

[hardly-an-escape]

Square: C3 - Clairvoyance

Title: "can you scare me up a little bit of love?"

Rating: G

Ship: Dream/Hob

Warnings: No archive warnings apply

Additional Tags: pre-relationship, Halloween, Hob Gadling's birthday

Summary: Before their friendship ever develops into something more, Dream attends a Halloween party at the New Inn and learns something new about Hob.

Link to AO3.

kind of shoehorning this in but heck it we ball!!! @dreamlingbingo

Monday, October 31, 2022

Calling all devils, demons, imps, sprites, and spectres to The New Inn for a HALLOWEEN SPOOKTACULAR Monday October 31st 4:00-9:00 PM Snacks! Games! No cover and one free drink ticket per attendee! Come in costume or come as you are! It’ll be… A HELL OF A PARTY!!

Hob had had a soft spot for Halloween for years. Always loved a good scary story, he had, and nowadays? The creativity and pure talent people put into their costumes and their horror movie marathons? It beats the hell out of carving faces in turnips and decking yourself out in a flour sack. And he couldn’t deny that his hedonist heart loved the lack of inhibitions that went hand in hand with costumes, sweets, and a little bit of booze. He may have had six centuries’ worth of practice at enjoying life, but a little help never hurt.

So he’d papered his little neck of the woods with posters, stuck them on the bulletin boards around campus – even put an announcement up on the New Inn Instagram account one of his young bartenders had convinced him to start. It had all been up for a couple weeks, but on the day of Hob was still gratified to see how many people had turned up for his Halloween do.

No matter how old you got, it was still nice when people wanted to come to your parties.

He’d even told his stranger about it, when Dream (and yes, the name felt like its own kind of gift) had popped up unexpectedly one evening in late September. He hadn’t gotten around to printing the posters yet, but he was already full of plans for the hellishly-themed decorations. Dream had listened to his descriptions with a little smirk that Hob was beginning to categorize as “sarcastic but fond (?)” in his private lexicon of Dream’s expressions.

That is not what Hell is like, Dream had said matter-of-factly.

Oh, and I suppose you’d know? Hob had responded teasingly, and of course Dream had said nothing, just sat there with the same little smirk and a disconcertingly knowing look in his eyes.

You’re welcome to come, if you’d like! Hob had said, brightly. If Halloween parties are even a thing you do.

I have been known to attend parties, Dream had said. Albeit never one for Halloween.

Well… come by if you want to try one out! Hob had said. He’d wanted to say more. He’d wanted to say Please come and I want you to be there and I want every moment with you I can possibly scrape out of this long life. But he’d managed to avoid it.

It was Monday night, the Inn was full, the cider was flowing, and Hob was happy. The decorations had turned out rather nicely, he thought: lots of big black candles, a real skeleton in the corner courtesy of the biology department, a few red lightbulbs scattered about, and of course a good spooky playlist. Behind the bar, lifelike plastic models of giant cockroaches and trilobites were taped up on the mirror. In the low lighting he hoped they appeared to be scuttling.

Hob was quite pleased with his costume, as well. He’d gone with a classic vampire look – slicked back hair, black embroidered waistcoat, a big cloak (the real deal, his from the 1890s, thank you very much), and of course some ostentatious costume jewelry. He was back by the bar with some of his colleagues, most of whom were dressed as various superheroes, when the bell on the front door tinkled.

Hob looked up reflexively at the sound and almost swallowed his tongue. Dream was standing in the door and he looked… he looked…

He looked fantastic. And bloody terrifying.

His hair was even wilder than normal, as if he’d been standing in a wind tunnel, and his face looked somehow paler and more gaunt, if that were even possible. He was dressed in all black, as per usual, but – different. Almost alien. His leather tunic looked stiff and structured, like it was holding something at bay, with a high collar and long sleeves that reached almost to his knuckles. It came down to a point at Dream’s narrow hips, and from under the edge of the leather flowed a kind of two-tiered skirt that pooled on the floor and looked like it was moving on its own – although perhaps that was just a trick of the moody lighting.

Under his arm was some kind of… helmet, Hob supposed, was the only word. It, too, looked strange and alien – all rivets and leather and… was that a spinal column hanging down? Dream cradled it as though it was a precious thing, and also as though it might explode at any moment. The glassy eyes gleamed red.

Hob saw all this in the second it took for the door to swing closed behind Dream, who stood, poised, looking slightly unsure what to do next.

“Who’s that then, Robbie?” asked Lidia from the English department. “He’s got a wicked-looking costume. Friend of yours?” But her question was directed at Hob’s back as he wound his way through the crowd to Dream.

“You’re here! I didn’t think you’d actually come, to be honest,” Hob said with a tentative smile.

“I have recently been persuaded that it is wise for me to spend more time among the humans whom I serve,” said Dream. “This seemed like an appropriate opportunity.”

“I’m so glad.” The words slipped out before Hob could stop them.

There was a heartbeat’s worth of awkward silence.

“Right. Well. D’you want to come over and meet some of my colleagues? They’re a good lot.”

Dream inclined his head in a gesture of assent and Hob ushered him across the room, one hand hovering an inch or so over Dream’s shoulder blade.

“Er, how should I introduce you?” he asked quietly as they navigated the crowd. “Only I think ‘Dream’ might raise a few eyebrows. Dunno if that matters.”

“I am the Prince of Stories. The Ruler of Dreams and Nightmares,” said Dream, somehow enunciating every capital letter. “But your colleagues may call me Morpheus.”

“Righto,” said Hob as they rejoined the professorial circle. “Everyone, this is Morpheus. Morpheus, this is everyone. Lidia, Michael, Phil, Christo, What’s-His-Face, the French one… pause for jeers…” His colleagues obligingly jeered. “Now, who wants a drink?”

His hand descended the final half-inch to rest briefly on Dream’s shoulder. The Inn was full, the cider was flowing, and Hob was happy. His friend was there.

“So, how come we’ve never seen you around, Morpheus?” asked Lidia. “How do you know Robbie?”

“We met in a pub,” Dream said. “A long time ago. My sister introduced us.”

“Morpheus is maybe my oldest friend in the world,” said Hob. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve known him my whole life.”

“Then why’ve we never met him before?” pressed Lidia, the ever-inquisitive.

“My work keeps me exceptionally busy,” said Dream.

“Oh? What is it that you do?” asked Michael.

“Lord, who wants to talk about work?” exclaimed Hob. “It’s Halloween, for Christ’s sake. Go bob for apples or something, leave off.”

It was very strange, watching Dream of the Endless circulate through a normal human party. The fact that it was Halloween actually helped, reflected Hob; somehow, seeing Dream lean down to listen to tiny Professor Hathaway as she chattered about the Pre-Raphaelites was easier to swallow when said professor was wearing a witch hat and drinking punch out of a goblet. Dream wandering through the costumed crowd with his outlandish helmet under his arm and a cup in his hand made far more sense than Dream in normal clothes on a normal night in the pub ever could.

Hob watched him, and wondered idly what parties were like in Dream’s realm; he imagined them weirder, and far more grand, perhaps with dragons in the rafters and other fae beings waltzing through enormous ballrooms. Dream had mentioned, in passing, a throne room and a vast library, a castle which Hob’s imagination populated with fairy tale creatures, ogres and dryads and talking animals.

But it was hard to believe anything he could imagine would be better than this. All his favorite people – even his old stranger – in his cozy pub, on a special day.

Around 8:30 those who had to teach the next morning began to take their leave. Hob retrieved his big umbrella from behind the bar and escorted Professor Hathaway into her waiting taxi.

“That young Morpheus of yours showed quite an astonishing understanding of the work of John Everett Millais,” she said as they walked down the front path. “You must bring him round again, Robert. I have a few books he might be interested in borrowing.”

“He’s not my Morpheus, Professor,” said Hob. “And he’s not exactly young, he’s older than I am. But I’ll tell him you enjoyed his company.”

“Tch. He may not be yours, but I rather think you’re already his, aren’t you?” she said knowingly. Hob grimaced.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re far too insightful for your own good?” he asked extremely courteously as he handed her into the backseat and closed the car door. Professor Hathaway waved a birdlike hand cheerily through the window as the taxi pulled away.

Hob paused for a moment in the drizzling darkness. The light rain tapped on his umbrella and the warm light streamed out of the front windows of the New Inn. He shivered slightly and drew his cloak a little more tightly around his shoulders. The night was chill, and if it weren’t for the cars parked on the side of the street, Hob felt as though he might have been transported back in time. Professor Hathaway’s parting words rolled around inside his head like a snowball.

I rather think you’re already his, aren’t you?

How had she known – what clairvoyant spirit had possessed her? How had she seen, in just a few hours, what it had taken Hob decades (if not centuries) to admit to himself?

Because he was Dream’s. He was, and had been for a long time, and he’s pretty sure he hadn’t realized just how far gone he was until Dream had walked through the front door three months ago and Hob had released a breath he’d been holding for thirty-three years.

He shivered again. Time to go inside.

Hob got caught up in farewells to several more colleagues before he found Dream again, perched on a barstool and looking like a great black bird. His weird helmet rested on the corner of the bar.

“Well? What did you think of your first Halloween party?” he asked, sliding onto the stool next to him.

Dream paused before answering.

“I found it more illuminating than I expected,” he said. “The people here are… contented. Uninhibited, but not to an extreme. You have created a comfortable space here. I commend you.”

“Thank you,” said Hob, touched. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

“You are welcome,” said Dream. “However, I admit I am slightly confused about some of the costumes. Yours, for example. Are you… dressed up as me?”

He sounded almost uncertain, and Hob couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.

“No, no. No fear, my friend, I’m just a regular old vampire. I suppose it was this that made you ask?” He touched the large red fake jewel that was nestled in the collar of his black shirt.

Dream nodded.

“Saw it in the shop while I was looking for plastic fangs,” Hob chuckled. “I can’t lie, it did remind me a bit of you. But then, after Dracula was published I spent a good few years thinking you might actually be a vampire as well. So it seemed fitting.”

“I see.”

Hob waved to Lidia and Christo as they ducked out the front door into the night, then turned back to Dream. “Listen,” he said, “there’s one more thing I want to do tonight, after all the punters clear out. Do you… would you mind sticking around? Just a bit longer?”

“I will, if you so desire.”

“Great!” said Hob. And if his voice was just a trifle too enthusiastic, well, that was between him and the skeleton behind the bar. “Give me half an hour to get last call sorted and we’ll go upstairs.”

Eventually they made their way upstairs together to Hob’s flat; Hob loose from cider and contentment and Dream as upright and straight-backed as ever. Hob kicked his shoes off and hung his cloak on the rack by the door.

“Can’t believe I used to dress like this all the time,” he muttered, loosening his cravat. “All these stiff bloody buttons.”

Dream was perusing the bookshelves, which was typically his first stop whenever he happened to be in the flat; Hob supposed the Prince of Stories must have a natural affinity for the written word in its infinite variety. Hob slipped into the kitchen and came out bearing a small cake with a little candle stuck in it, which he laid out on the coffee table.

“This is what I wanted to do,” he said, gesturing for Dream to sit and digging a lighter out of his pocket. Dream deposited himself gracefully on Hob’s couch and placed his eerie helmet on the cushion beside him. “It’s… ah, it’s my birthday, actually. My real birthday.”

“All Hallows’ Eve was the day of your birth?” asked Dream, intrigued.

“Well, I don’t know exactly,” said Hob, lighting the candle. “Calendar was a bit squiffy back then. But I know it was after the main harvest and sometime around Allhallowtide, because I remember hearing stories about the martyrs in church when I was just a lad and thinking how that was a bit of a downer, as far as birthday celebrations went.”

“In that case, I wish you a happy birthday,” Dream said. “And how old are you now? If it is not impolite to ask.”

“That’s the best part,” Hob said with a grin. “When I met you in the summer of 1389, I was about to turn 33. So in Anno Domini 2022, that makes me…”

“Six hundred and sixty six,” said Dream dryly.

“Yeah! The number of the Beast! That’s a milestone birthday if I ever heard of one. Especially now, when I know that apparently, Hell and the Devil are real.” He laughed quietly, staring into the candle for a moment. “You know, most of the people I knew growing up didn’t even make it to sixty. My father didn’t. Those blokes I was with in the White Horse when I met you – none of them did. Sometimes I wonder what they’d think of what the world has become. What they’d think of me, if they could see me now.”

There was a long moment of meditative silence, and then Hob blew the candle out.

“Are you not supposed to make a wish?” asked Dream, and Hob thought he must be imagining the teasing note in his voice.

“Do you know,” he said. “I can’t think of a single thing I would wish for that I don’t already have.”

“Is that so?”

Hob made a show of deep thought.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “It is. Now, do you want half this cake or should I eat the whole thing myself?”

read on AO3 >>>

fun fact, this is one of the very first fics I ever started in this fandom – over two years ago! it was originally inspired by this post by @littledreamling

[scorpioriesling]

Invisible String - Part 6

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warning(s): Please be advised; this part might not be suitable for all audiences. Proceed with caution.

Summary: You'd taken the nanny position for the royal family over a year ago, not expecting what would come of it or how close you'd grow to the child you cared for. Things became tough for Eris when his wife left him and his daughter, and he found it increasingly harder to raise Riley himself. He soon realizes, you've provided a lot more than the typical job description duties for his daughter... and maybe for him, too.

SR’s Note: My apologies, this took forever for me to finish writing for you all (I've had so much on my plate lately). I hope you’re ready — all we have left is the finale! I added in the advisory so that younger / uncomfortable readers won't read the series without knowing or expecting potential risks in content to come. For those who enjoy or look forward to content as such -- I hope you are excited! Nonetheless, I hope readers will enjoy this series that came to me in a dream one night. (; Much love to all.

Tags: @mellowmusings @talesofadragon @rcarbo1 @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kitsunetori @dannul @velarisdusk @lamarmotta @paintedbyshadows @i-know-i-can @adventure-awaits13 @acourtofbatboydreams (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

"My bow tied?"

You sigh as you adjust the golden ribbon tied in the little girl's hair, her wide eyes looking to you for assurance. Though it's about the fifth time she's asked you to confirm, you answer her once more.

"Yes, dear," you say, smoothing down the front of her corduroy dress with reassurance. "I promise I tied it into your ponytail really good."

She nods, her little body buzzing with anticipation and excitement. You take her hand, leading her toward the front door of the Forest House where her father waits.

"Ready for your first day?" He asks, smiling prodly at his daughter though you can practically feel the way his heart hurts inside.

"I am, daddy!" She bounds over to him, clutching the strap of her pink backpack with a fluffy bunny printed on the front. When Eris arrived home with it last week, she could've practically exploded from sheer excitement.

He helps her slip it over her little shoulders, bending down and kissing the top of her head as he gazes at her. Your heart swells -- you knew, this wasn't just a big day for Riley, but for him too.

"We should walk outside -- the carriage service will be here soon, you won't want to miss it." He winks, and Riley giggles as she jumps up and down.

"Daddy -- Y/N coming too?" She asks as he takes her hand in his. He glances to you, and your eyes widen.

"Oh, no, honey, I think your father should bring you to your first day of school," you explain hastily. She huffs, trotting over to you and wrapping her small fingers around your palm.

"Pleeeeeeease, you come too?" She asks. Eris only shrugs, and you glance down into those big, pleading eyes once more.

"Alright, then," you hesitate, and she continues her celebration as though this was her birthday. Eris glances out the window, turning to face the two of you again before speaking.

"The carriage is just down the way; ready to go, Riles?" She nods, looking back to make sure you're following.

"I'll be just behind you," you say, jogging to the kitchen as they make their way through the front door. Spotting the mason jar in the middle of the table, you reach for it, and then hurry to catch up with the two out front.

:* ✧･ﾟ:

The rest of the day goes on per usual, though the house is errily quiet with Riley's absence.

Eris left for the Palace soon after Riley got on the carriage, which left you in the Forrest House... alone. All day.

You were cleaning for what felt like the 25th hour of the day when the clock struck 3 pm, and you quickly hurried outside. She would be home any minute, and you were dying to know how her first day of public school went.

Sure enough, the gleaming ivory of the carriage made it's debut over the hill; stopping just at the end of the drive. The doors were barely open before Riley burst out, running as fast as she could to you up the drive.

"Chris-anthem!"

You kneeled, stretching your arms wide as she lept into them full-force. She held onto you tightly, the only adieu to the carriage coach a small wave before he set off once more. When she finally let go, you asked her.

"How was your first-"

"A Chris-anthem!" She squealed again, this time thrusting her clenched fist toward you to look. In her palm, she held the stem of a rather wilty, dying orange bloom.

"Ohhh, your flower," you realized. "You asked what it was, hm?" She nodded happily.

"Yes! And Miss Peachum says its a Chris-anthem!" You chuckle, realizing the plant is indeed a Chrysanthemum.

"Ahh, I see," You say, half-distracted by the approaching male on horseback trotting toward the stables. His hair is radiant in the light of the setting sun, his shoulders set as he comes more into view.

"We should go inside -- I think your daddy is almost home, and I'm sure he'd love to hear about your first day at school."

:* ✧･ﾟ:

The routine becomes a little more established over the next couple of weeks as all of you adapt to the new schedule. On days Eris goes in later, he gets up with his daughter and gets her onto the carriage; on his early days, you do it. It's a nice routine, one that is almost perfect.

Almost.

You still longed for the feeling of his sheets, his warm embrace as he'd hold you through the night. How good it felt, even for just a short time, to feel so comfortable, as though your longing had been satiated -- now, it felt like those days were as good as gone.

"Oh, Y/N?" His voice was quiet in the silent hall of the house, Riley put into bed after another long day. You were jsut about to retire to your chambers when he spoke, his steps quick to catch you before you went to bed.

"Hm?" You turned, facing him in the dim evening light. He stepped close enough so you oculd make out his features, every freckle on his nose and the exact curve of his jaw -- but not too close to touch.

"I, uh, I just had something I wanted to ask you about," he fumbles, and you lean against the doorway as his eyes finally find yours.

"Anything," you say reassuringly, hating how uncharacteristically nervous he's being. He swallows, his lips parting in thought before he speaks again.

"The uh, the annual court ball is happening in three days," he says, his brows knitting. "And, uhm." He coughs to clear his throat, and you raise an eyebrow.

"Yessss?"

"Well, it's in the evening, um. I have to go, I mean. I have to attend." He says, biting the inside of his cheek. You nod in realization, your heart sinking just a bit.

"Right, right, I figured as much. I, uh. I don't have any plans, I mean, I'll be here, for Riley that night-"

He frowns, taking a step closer and looking straight down into your eyes.

"No," he says sharply, his features relaxing when your eyes widen. "I, um. She has, someone else to watch her that evening." He nods once, and you look up at him quizzically.

"Okay...?"

"Would you join me?" The words come out so fast you almost don't register them. "I mean, to the ball. Would you..." his fingers lightly take yours, his thumb tracing a small circle on the back of your hand.

"You. Want me. To go with you?"

He chuckles, his hand holding yours with ease. If only he knew the tidal wave rushing through your veins at this very moment-

"I do," he assures, bringing the back of your hand to his mouth to press a small kiss to it. "I'd be honored, if you would join me."

:* ✧･ﾟ:

Three days was not near long enough to get yourself in check.

By that, you were feeling so nervous -- no matter how many times you'd redone your makeup, or re-tied the laces on your gown -- you still stared at yourself in the mirror, barely believing the events that were to unfold tonight.

A soft knock on your door pulls you from your daze, the wood creaking as it slowly opens.

"Oh... wow," Eris sucks in a breath, coming to stand behind you as he gazes at you through the mirror. You continue to pick and fiddle with your gown, only halting when his hands rest on your waist.

"Y/N, you're beautiful," he muses, and you can't help but blush. Gazing at him through the reflection, you agree -- you were beautiful, the maroon fabric hugged you nicely and complimented the accents of his jacket to a tee.

"Thank you," you whisper, and he turns you to face him. A small smile creeps onto his lips as he takes you in before him. You can't help but grin back, as the man oogling you is quite handsome himself.

"Are you ready?" He asks, and you take a deep breath, glancing at yourself once more over your shoulder.

"I am," you hesitate. "I just... I hope your parents won't think less of you for bringing me tonight."

Eris huffs a laugh, his eyes meeting yours in the glass.

"Darling, I don't give a damn what my parents think. Especially my father."

You chew on your lip, his words not resonating with you like he hoped they would.

"I just... I'm not like you, I'm not... a High Fae," you sigh. "I'm nothing like Selene-"

"Good." His fingers prod at your chin, turning your head to face him directly once more.

"I'm glad you're nothing like her, Y/N." Your heart melts, his words finally hitting home.

"You're everything and more, love," you swear his lips are inching toward yours with every word he speaks.

"She could only wish to be half the woman you are."

:* ✧･ﾟ:

Living in the Autumn Court your entire life, you could've never imagined the royal balls were anything like this. Not even close.

Your gaze shifted from person to person, taking in everything from their elaborate attire to their pointed ears. Weaving through the crowd of people and lingering stares, the insecurity from earlier resurfaced as you glanced down at your rather plain dress.

"Eris," you hissed. He turned, leaning in close to speak with you. "Why didn't you tell me to get something more..." You struggled to find the word. "Ball-appropriate?"

His grin sent a shiver down your spine before his warm breath against your ear could.

"I think you look absolutely divine, Y/N."

Your cheeks heat again as he reaches for your hand, giving it a small squeeze before opening his mouth again.

"I need to make an appearance at the dais," he explains. "Will you be alright-"

"Yes. I'll wait here." You nod, not exactly as confident as you'd hoped in meeting his parents so soon. He kisses your cheek quickly, the brush of his lips a momentary relief against your flushed face before he makes way for the dais. His father tracks his movements, every step watched by those beady eyes.

You'd known the High Lord was, well... cruel, to put it plainly. He was unfair, and demanding, and took advantage of the power he held -- which is exactly why your stomach begins to turn as his focus lands right. On. You.

"Thank you all, for coming tonight." He bellows, standing to speak to the crowd in the throne room. Every head turns to face him, every eye focused on him as he scans the room. Eris stands confidently next to his father, with the Lady of Autumn politely standing on his other side.

He continues his short announcement, the music resuming as he finishes and demands it be so. As people begin moving and partnering off, your worry returns. Where was Eris? No longer beside his father, you look around you, not spotting that firey red head of hair anywhere among the crowd.

That is, until two large hands snake around your waist from behind, his familiar chuckle causing your breath to hitch.

"Share a dance with me?"

:* ✧･ﾟ:

Your hands tremble as Eris slowly guides you to the middle of the room, all the faelights dimming on the walls. People sidestep around you, moving out of your way as though Eris is parting the sea itself.

The soft melody from the string quartet begins, a song you'd surely heard before. None of it calmed your nerves, especially as you peered toward the dais. Sure enough; both of his parents were watching the two of you.

"Hey, don't get nervous on me now." Eris offers a small smile, and you gulp down your nerves. He places your left hand on his shoulder, taking the other one in his own. His free hand snakes around your waist, splaying flat on your back as he draws you closer to him.

"Just, follow me." He steps to the side, beginning to move in time with the song. You follow, trying to calm the shakiness of your hand in his while he presses you against him.

A few counts in, you relax a little. Sure, you weren't High Fae, or maybe someone his father would choose for him -- but Eris chose you. You're the one here with him tonight, dancing in front of his family and his court as though you came as a package deal.

When you look up at him, you blush realizing he had already been focused on you. He chuckles, his fingers tracing up and down on the small of your back as he twirls the two of you around the dancing floor.

"I'm really glad you came tonight," he says lowly, his amber-flecked gaze intense as you can't help but stare back.

"Me too," you say. "I've never attended anything like this before."

He raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face.

"Well, you're quite the talented dancer for never being brought to a ball before," he releases your waist, spinning you in a slow circle and then pulling you back to him once more. You grin, a small laugh escaping your lips as the two of you are held close once more.

"I shouldn't be surprised, as you've grown up going to these things," you say, your gaze landing on his lips. "But, you're quite impressive as well."

Those lips tilt upward as the song comes to an end, the two of you simply gazing at the other. You don't notice the clearing made for the two of you, how every other fae had allowed the two of you into the spotlight of the room. You'd simply been too caught up in the moment with the handsome man before you-

Eris sighs, and you watch as his gaze zeroes in on the dais once more. Turning, you peek as well -- the High Lord is beckoning his son at once.

"I can wait for you-"

"He wants us both." Eris shakes his head, the muscles in his arms tightening as he slowly lets go of you.

"Oh," is all you can think to say. He takes your hand, once again making way to his father's throne. This time, he leads you with him.

"Father." Is all he says when the two of you approach, and you watch as the High Lord so much as flicks his gaze to you before offerring his son an unamused look. Eris bends at the waist, and you follow suit, curtsying low as you offer your respect.

"Eris," his father echoes, his hands folding across his chest. "How uncourtly of you to not introduce your mother and I to your... guest, this evening." You look to the Lady of Autumn, offering a small bow of your head. She smiles at you softly -- the most reaction you'd seen from her all night.

"My apologies." Eris says, and you can practically hear the sarcastic remarks he was making in his mind. He turns to you, a smile sppearing on his face when you meet his gaze.

"This is Y/N, you've heard me mention her before," he explains. "She is the woman who helps so much with... with Riley," he hesitates. You'd known his parents were not involved much in his personal life, mainly because of his father and how he has treated his own son. You couldn't say you blamed him.

"Y/N," Beron repeats, his beady gaze focusing on you. He reaches to take your hand in his, kissing the back of it in polite greeting. You force a smile, but can feel Eris' jaw tightening from where he stood beside you. "How nice to finally meet you."

His words are dripping with venom, but you respond with class nonetheless. "Likewise, High Lord."

He releases your hand, resting his own on the armrests of his throne. He looks to Eris again, his gaze wavering between the two of you.

"So nice to see my son bring a woman to one of these kinds of events again -- he'd been alone in attendance, of course, since he let that Day Court whore slip through his fingers." Your eyes widen at his careless use of the derogatory language, but he simply chuckles. Eris' fingers find yours, sliding through them and squeezing gently. His father doesn't miss the action, and is quite unpleased by it.

"Even if it means bringing the help with him." He sneers a horrible smile, and you feel your face flush at the comment. Your throat tightens, making swallowing painful as you try and surpress the forming emotions threatening to spill out.

"Father, please-"

"Now now, son. It's been a few years since Selene fled, whether it be your --" he pauses in throught. "...annoying, nature, or maybe she simply didn't enjoy your company." Eris sucks in a breath, releasing it slowly as though he's practiced this a million times.

Nonetheless, Beron continues. "Reguardless, I think it's time you remarry -- don't you?" Your eyes widen, your gaze dropping to the floor. Remarry? Surely Eris wouldn't agree to that.

"Father, I'm perfectly happy with-"

"With, what? Being alone? Leaving that poor child without a mother?" His father tutts, his hands flexing against the golden armrests.

"Could we talk about this, later?" Eris grits out. Your heart sinks as you feel both of his parent's eyes on you. Looking to the Lady of Autumn, she only offers you a sorrow-filled expression.

"We shall do just that." Beron promises. "Now, go. Enjoy the rest of the ball." He grins wickedly as though he didn't just insult everyone standing before him.

Eris turns, guiding you down the stairs of the dais when you hear Beron's voice from behind you.

"Lovely to meet you, Y/N!"

You only manage a small nod as your foot steps onto the floor. Then, you take off in a beeline for the exit.

:* ✧･ﾟ:

Your chest is heaving as you shove through the heavy entry doors to the palace, the cool night air chilly against your heated skin. You brace against one of the marbled columns in the entryway, a few hot tears finally breaking free and falling down your cheeks. In seconds, the doors open again, a familiar voice ringing out behind you.

"Y/N, please don't take what he said to heart-"

"Don't," you growl, your shoulders shaking as your emotions continue to rattle through you. The soft footsteps of his boots sound behind you, his quiet approach made known as his hand rests against your back.

"Love, I promise he's always like this-"

"Like what? Horrible?" Your eyes narrow as you turn to face him, his saddened expression evident when he sees the wet streams down your face. He reaches out, brushing a stray tear away.

"Pretty much," he mumbles, his other hand rubbing soothingly against your back. You continue to sob, soft sounds coming from you as Eris pulls you close to his chest.

In minutes, you feel his hands pushing you lightly against a cushiony surface. You follow his lead, sitting as you rub the water from your eyes. The familiar feeling of silk touches your fingers, and Eris moves for just a moment before the room is filled with heat.

His bedroom. He'd winnowed the two of you out of there, and right into his room.

"Eris-" You stutter, avoiding his gaze shamefully as he moves to sit beside you on the bed. "Y-you have to get back, your parents-"

"My parents can fuck off for now." He says, his hands reaching for you and pulling you close to him. He guides you to lie next to him, your head resting against his chest while his fingers stroke through your hair.

It's silent for a while, the only sounds from the fire crackling in the hearth and a few occasional sniffles as you work to regain your composure. When anyone finally speaks, it's him.

"I'm not going to remarry." He says, another few silent beats following his admission. Your heart breaks further, any hope of what you'd had before with the male shattering. He hugs you closer to him, his hands bracing around your smaller frame.

"I mean, I'm not remarrying just because of my father." He clarifies. You wipe your eyes with the back o your hand, pushing up on a elbow to look directly into his eyes.

"Eris... it doesn't seem like much of a choice-"

"It is," he cuts in. "It is my choice. I'm so sick of my father choosing what I do, and when, and who with. I won't allow it any longer." He frowns, pulling you down to lay with him again. Your fingers begin to play with one of the seams on his jacket, as your mind clears.

"Is that... what I was? Tonight?" You ask weakly. "Just, a way of defiance, to your father?" Eris sighs, tilting your chin to look up into his eyes. Though your face is red and puffy, he offers you a small smile.

"Never, my dear -- I had the choice in bringing someone with me this evening. And, I chose you. I wanted you there with me." You feel a spark of hope in your chest, amidst everything else you'd been feeling. He's quiet, waiting as you collect your thoughts.

Another single tear slips free, trailing down your cheek as you inch closer to him. He pulls you in, his mouth mere inches from yours as your voice comes out in a whisper.

"I choose you, too, Eris."

:* ✧･ﾟ:

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Sweet on You, Chapter 3

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: HERE

Warnings/Tags: Sugar Daddy!Matt Murdock, Idiots to Lovers, No Age Gap, Alternating PoV, No Use of Y/N

Word Count: ~1850

A/N: I had entirely too much fun writing the terms of Matt and Reader's contract, lol.

As always, if you'd like to be tagged in this or any of my other stories, please let me know!

Divider by @theradioactivespidergwen

Tag List (struck-through blogs could not be tagged): @danzer8705 @capylore @shouldbestudying41 @atemydadforbreakfast @peachy-flxwr @sleepysleepymom @fishinsuits @milkbummm @lazyxsquirrel @beezusvreeland @caughtthefever @bohemianrhapsody86

Thank God it's almost time to go, you thought to yourself as you began to get ready to leave work on Monday afternoon. Wish they'd hurry up and replace Roxy and Tabitha soon.

You had been one of three admin assistants until two months ago when Roxy, the junior admin who had told you about Sugar and Spice, had moved across the country for a job that would actually utilize her college degree, and Tabitha, a glorified intern with no administrative skills who you suspected had only been hired because one or more of the partners had thought she was hot, had gotten fired for showing up to work still wasted after a night of partying. Now you were on your own and doing the work of three people with no relief in sight.

From the moment you arrived at the office at 8 AM that morning until right then when it was time to leave you had been going non-stop. You had fielded phone calls, made appointments, arranged travel, greeted clients, fetched water and coffee, filed for permits, picked up lunch for all three partners from three different restaurants, ordered flowers for your actual boss's girlfriend's birthday, made copies, and printed and mailed invoices -- all with a smile on your face and without a word of thanks from anyone. 

Needless to say, you were looking forward to a drink and a nice, pleasant dinner that you didn't have to prepare yourself and could actually sit down and eat rather than have to quickly inhale like you had had to do with the sandwich you had procured from the deli down the street for lunch.

At 5 PM on the dot you shut down your computer and unlocked your desk drawer to grab your purse.

You went to the bathroom to freshen up before poking your head into your boss's office. “Hi, Mr. DiStefano, I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving for the day.”

“Okay,” Mr. DiStefano replied without looking up from the floor plans he was studying.

You waited for a moment to see if he was going to say ‘thank you, have a great evening ’ -- or anything else for that matter -- but he didn't. “Okay then, see you tomorrow.”

You stopped by the other two partners’ offices to let them know that you were leaving, receiving very much the same non-response from both.

You sighed as you left your office and headed towards Nelson, Murdock, and Page. You were feeling extremely unappreciated and underpaid, especially since you were now having to fill the admin assistant role for all 3 partners at once. Maybe it's time to start looking for another job…

You shook your head. You weren't going to even think about trying to find another job until after you got your mother's medical debt paid off. One thing at a time.

“--Yo, Matty, we hitting up Josie's tonight?”

Matt looked up and shook his head as Foggy stopped by his office. “Actually, I can't. I have plans after work.”

Foggy gasped. “Do you have a date ?”

He poked his head out of Matt's office. “ HEY KAREN, MATT HAS A DATE TONIGHT! ” he yelled down the hall.

Matt sighed. Here we go. He was glad that you and he had already come up with a cover story on how you had met so he wouldn't have to think of one on the spot.

“So, what's her name and how'd you meet her?” Foggy asked.

Matt said your name. “We met at The Brew Towers on Saturday.”

“Ooh, coffee shop meet-cute,” Karen gently teased as she joined him and Foggy in his office. “How romantic.”

“Yeah, tell us more,” Foggy added. “Did you spill your coffee on her? Accidentally grab each other's order? Brush hands across the condiment station?”

Matt chuckled. “Actually, we struck up a conversation while we both were waiting in line to order and since it was busy and tables were scarce we decided to sit together. We hit it off, so I asked her to have dinner with me tonight.”

“So where are you taking her?” 

“Okinawa.”

Foggy huffed out a laugh. “Ooh, fancy.” 

Matt shrugged. “It was close to the office.”

“What time are you meeting her there?” Karen asked.

Matt shook his head. “Actually, she's meeting me here in about 10 minutes and we're going to walk over together.” 

“Well, I'm really happy for you and I hope everything works out with her.”

“Yeah, same,” Foggy added. “It's good to see you putting yourself out there again, buddy.”

Matt inwardly cringed. After everything he, Foggy, and Karen had been through he hated lying to them, especially when they seemed so genuinely happy for him. “Thanks.”

“Guess it's just us at Josie's then, Kare. Let's go before she gets here -- I’m sure Matt doesn't want to scare her away by introducing her to us too soon.” Foggy rapped his knuckles on Matt's desk. “I expect a full report on your date tomorrow morning, Matthew.”

Matt chuckled with a nod. “Will do. ‘Night, guys.”

He waited until Foggy and Karen had left before pulling up his and your contract and printing copies in both standard and Braille print.

A few minutes later he heard your footsteps approaching the office, so he walked out into the lobby to greet you. 

“Hi, Matt,” you said as you entered.

“Hi,” Matt replied. “How are you?”

“I'm good, and you?”

“I'm good too, thanks.” Matt gestured towards his office. “Let's go to my office.”

He led you down the hall to his private office. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? We have water, soda, tea, juice…”

“No, I'm okay,” you said as you sat. “Thank you though.”

Matt sat across from you. “Alright…”

He picked up the print copy of your contract and handed it to you. “Here’s the contract. I'll read through it, just let me know if you have any questions.”

“Okay.”

Matt cleared his throat and began to read. “Memorandum of Agreement. This memorandum of Agreement is made by and between Matthew M. Murdock and…”

He could hear your quiet, steady breathing as you followed along. He had tried to make the contract as simple and straightforward as possible in order to protect both himself and you.

“...Shall provide the following obligations,”  he continued. “Accompany Matthew to lunch and/or dinner at minimum twice weekly. Accompany Matthew to business-related events as requested with minimum 72 hours prior notice. Accompany Matthew to non-business events as requested, dependent on availability.”

“Wait, what does that last part mean?” you asked.

“Just that every once in a while I might ask you to do something with me that doesn't involve a sit-down meal,” Matt replied. “But also that I'm not going to make you drop everything just to have a cup of coffee or take a walk with me.”

“Oh, okay, that's fair.” You paused. “Sorry, go ahead.”

Matt nodded. “In exchange, Matthew shall provide the following obligations: Monthly stipend of $1,500 --”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted again. “We only agreed on a thousand a month.”

Matt shrugged. “Yeah, but I thought about it and decided that fifteen hundred was a more fair amount for your time.” Especially since you're using it to help your mother.

You sucked in a soft breath. “Oh.”

Matt could tell you were torn between arguing with him and just accepting the higher amount and waited until you decided which path to take. 

Finally, you sighed. “Okay.”

“Okay. ‘Payment for all outings and events, including but not limited to meals, beverages, gratuities, tickets, souvenirs, and gifts. In the event of a professional obligation, arrangement and payment for appropriate garments for said obligation. Accompaniment to requested events with minimum 72 hours prior notice, dependent on availability.” Matt paused. “I figure it's only fair in case you have a work event or something else you'd need a plus-one for.”

You huffed out a mirthless laugh. “Even though I have to plan and set them up I never get invited to actually attend any of DiStefano, Williams, and Abbott’s events, but that's good in case I ever do.”

Matt's brow furrowed at your slightly bitter tone. He'd have to find out more about your job. “Anyway, ‘Confidentiality: Each party shall treat as strictly confidential the nature of said Agreement as a result of entering into or performing duties outlined in this Agreement’. ”

“Snitches get stitches,” you quipped. “Or in this case, sued.”

Matt chuckled. “Relation of the Parties: The relationship between both parties is that of a platonic nature and of partners in a business transaction. No other nature of relationship is obligatory herewith.”

He continued on with the rest of the contract -- termination of the agreement (that either he or you could terminate the contract for any reason at any time with 30 days prior notice), remedies on default (that if one or both of you failed to perform your duties or otherwise broke a clause in the contract, the contract as a whole would be rendered null and void) and finally, amendments (that the contract could be amended at any time with the express written agreement of both you and Matt.)

“Governance: This contract shall be governed by and construed in accordance with the laws of the State of New York,” Matt concluded. “Signed by both parties stated here within and effective as of date first written above.”

He tilted his head back up towards you. “Everything sound fair to you?”

You were silent for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it's fair.”

“Okay then.” Matt handed you a pen and the second printed copy of the contract. “Just so we both have signed print copies.”

“Okay, yeah, no problem.” You signed your name on both copies of the contract. “Am I signing the Braille one too then?”

Matt nodded and handed you the Braille copy, quickly feeling the text below where your signature would go. “Sign right above here.”

“Okay.” You quickly signed your name. “All done.”

Matt signed his name on all three copies of the contract and set both his Braille and print copies into his desk drawer before locking it, then he folded your copy and put it into an envelope. “Here you go. Now that business is settled, how about we celebrate our new arrangement with some dinner?”

He heard you tuck your copy of the contract into your purse. “That sounds wonderful,” you replied.

Matt stood. “Shall we, then?”

He retrieved his coat from the coat rack and took his cane out of the inside pocket, then you both headed back towards the lobby.

Matt turned the lights off and opened the door for you. “After you.”

You stepped outside. “Thank you.”

Matt followed you outside then locked the door behind the two of you. “This way.”

You headed down the sidewalk to what Matt hoped was the first of many get-togethers, a comfortable silence between you.

[unholyhelbig]

How about a bartender!Kate in which Kate is a new employee of the bar that reader frequents on bad days and Kate is one of the first people not to sympathize with her and just full of banter. I just think a cocky bartender Kate would be … neat

[This is 18+, if you are a minor DO NOT INTERACT]

Title: Two Fingers of Whiskey

Ship: Female!Reader x Bartender!Kate Bishop

Warnings: Top!Kate, Bottom!reader, Dom!Kate, Sub!reader, light dom/sub, finger sucking, Fingering (r receiving), Hate fuck (?) yeah, this is a hate fuck.

[A/n: Go easy on me, I haven't written smut since my Pitch Perfect days & I've been under quarantine for the last five days, I've got brain rot & did not proofread.]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Kate began to expect your visits. Her eyes would drift to the novelty Miller High Life clock that was hanging on the wall. Six pm. Twice a week you’d wander into the bar and let out the haze of smoke and Dior Fahrenheit. Your eyes would search for hers with the same amount of ferocity, and Kate would try to swallow back the pride that was resulted by your hatred.

It started out as hatred, anyway.

Kate Bishop had made it a point to listen to people and their problems. Being a bartender at a seedy basement establishment was more than mixing drinks and cracking open frothy beers. She’d been told her first week that she was a half-bit therapist, and had laughed it off until she was listening to stories of corporate drabble, sudden deaths, and quiet loveless frustrations.

It had been two years since she started the nightshift at Copper’s, and she could spot the sadness from miles away. She could spot that frustration too. Kate became admittedly bored with the way her life had fallen into routine, so when a certain energy presented itself, she pushed.

Kate loved to push with you.

You’d looked tentative when you’d first entered Copper’s, your gaze moving across the dark green paint, the booths that were sticky. Your nice shoes had crunched over broken peanut shells and a certain film covered the walls, the stained-glass lamps over each table. Your hand tightened on your bag, and that gave Kate a sick sort of satisfaction. You took note of her nametag, not customed, a small label being printed and taped over an existing name.  

She admired the way you carried yourself with such assuredness after allowing for one moment of doubt. Instead of turning around and going back out onto the busy city streets, you took the two steps down and carefully sat yourself at the far end of the bar.

“We don’t have anything fancier than a house white.”

“Boston Lager?”

You’d lifted a perfect eyebrow and Kate nodded stuffing the rag she’d been using into her back pocket before reaching into the cooler and pulling out the dark amber bottle. She used the edge of the counter to pop the cap off, not caring where it landed. Foam dripped across her fingertips, and she forbade a coaster when she set it down in front of you.

Two sips before you spoke. The first was tentative, and the second was assured. Kate watched carefully as your throat worked at the drink. She frowned in the dark light, trying to rush away any inappropriate thoughts of her lips against an expanse of skin.

“I’m not pretentious.” You said, setting the bottle down.

Kate hummed. It was a non-committal noise. She picked up one of the glasses, still warm from going through the dishwasher, and went on wiping the detergent spots from the clear surface. Though, she saw you frown out of the corner of her eye and bit back her reaction.

“Seriously. You offered me wine.”

“You don’t like wine?”

“No. I like wine; I just don’t like when strangers presume that I like wine.”

Kate couldn’t help but smile at this. She replaced a glass and grabbed another one. The frustration on your face was admirable, and you seemed to balk at Kate’s direct attention. You fidgeted and began to peel the edges of the dark blue label on your drink, only where the condensation had allowed easy removal.

“We have house white, darling.”

“White Horse, then. Straight.”

Kate scoffed and set her second glass down. If she had been worried, truly worried, that you were going to do something stupid she would give you a few more watered down beers and send you on your way. But she liked the way you wanted to spite her. It made her fingers twitch. She pulled the bottle from the second shelf and counted two fingers of whiskey.

You took it back in one gulp, breathing through your nose before taking a tiny sip of your beer to quell the burn. Kate was infatuated with the way you sat straighter, the way you flashed her a small cocky smile. I can take the hard stuff.

“Rough day, then?” Kate sighed and filled your glass again, calling your bluff.

She leaned against the counter and watched you watching her. It gave her a sick pleasure, nudging you like this. She wouldn’t’ go far, really, she just needed to have some break in her normal routine, and you seemed like you needed a few things to forget yourself.

“The roughest.” You leveled her with an apprehensive stare. “You care?”

“Not particularly. But I’ll listen.”

“You’re an ass.”

“I’m an ear.” Kate made a sweeping motion with her hand “be my guest, sweetheart. You can vent to anyone in here.”

It was just the two of them. Sure, in about an hour, her usual crowd would rear its head. There were only three others that frequented, and they lingered by the one pool table and ordered two pitchers of the cheapest beer. They left Kate alone and she left them alone.

You contemplated her offer for a brief moment, letting out a labored breath as if Kate was burdening you instead of offering relief. “I have a shitty client. Very demanding.”

“What do you do?” Kate tried.

“I’m an archivist for the city of New York. Cold Cases mainly. There are hundreds of thousands of physical case boxes that reside in basements and closets just waiting to be digitally entered.” You threw back your drink and tapped the side of the glass. Kate took the hint and poured until the buttery liquid coated the bottom.

Kate had to admit; that was quite the job. It sounded like a lot of sadness, however, that wasn’t what you carried on your shoulders tonight. Annoyance was the overarching emotion that was expressed on your delicate features.

So, the bartender did what she did best, she didn’t’ ask about what was in the boxes. She wasn’t privy to know. She wanted to know what about the boxes bothered you to the point of drinking close to a handle of liquor in a seedy bar.

You answered before she could ask “corporate bullshit. They want us to enter all of these cases for the pure purpose of shelving them electronically. I mean, we don’t even have a cold case unit anymore. But some of these… you can tell the leg work wasn’t done. The boyfriend did it. The jealous co-worker, it’s all written so plainly that I stupid archivist that should be working at a museum can see it!”

“Wow.” Kate said.

“Wow?”

She hummed again, this time after you swallowed your drink, she took the glass and threw it into the plastic tub. It made an empty hollow sound. Kate grinned at you in this infuriating type of way that made you want to kiss her or slap her. Either way, you shifted uncomfortably.

“What do you want me to say, sweetheart? That’s a shit situation, yeah. But there are shittier ones.”

“You are such an ass.” You repeated your earlier sentiment. She smiled brighter.

“That’ll be $15.00 even.”

Despite her difficulty, you dug through your bag until you threw a twenty on the counter and mumbled that she keep the change. Kate watched as you left that day and the smile never left her face. She liked you, she thought. And more than anything, she knew that you would be back. There was something about Kate’s lack of caring that got to people. There was no sympathy, only agreement.

 Two days later you were back inside the grimy interior of Copper’s. It took Kate a second to recognize you. Instead of nicely pressed clothing, you were in a pair of gray sweatpants and a t-shirt that had the band ‘Rush’ scrawled across your chest. Kate didn’t’ let her stare linger. You sat in the same stool, and Kate felt your eyes rake her up and down.

“Have you lodged a formal complaint against me?” Kate asked.

“No.”

“Good. Then what can I get for you, darling?”

You ordered the same Boston Loger as before and Kate complied, not even offering the cheap box-wine they served in a chilled glass just to make it taste a little more worth-it. Strands of hair fell into your eyes and Kate clenched the dishtowel in her hands a little harder to keep herself from reaching forward and brushing them from your stare.

Kate couldn’t hold her tongue, and that annoyed her. The first time she saw you, it was so easy to grate on your nerves. This time, you looked slightly broken, and even Kate had her limits when it came to bothering the patrons.

“What’s wrong?” Kate asked.

“Do you care what’s wrong?”

“If I’m honest, not in the slightest. But you seem bothered, and I’m the only one around the listen.”

“How long?”

Kate raised both of her eyebrows and lilted her head to the side like a confused animal. She had both of her palms pushed up against the bar, a tank-top with the logo of the establishment stretched across her chest. Your mouth was dry, but you didn’t take a sip of your drink. Kate watched as your fingers delicately circled the opening of the amber bottle. You blinked at her, eyelids heavy.

“Excuse me?”

“How long are you going to be alone here?”

She blinked to make sure she heard you right. She had someone coming in to relive her in about an hour but was more than happy to sit here and talk with you until that time. It seemed like you had other ideas, and part of her was curious about that. It shot straight to her core and warmed her cheeks.

“You’re not going to murder me, are you?” Kate teased.

“And add to all those boxes I have to archive? Please.”

Kate cleared her throat and started to work at the back of the apron at her waist. It seemed frantic and you finally lifted your drink, downing it in a few gulps. You needed to let off some steam, it seemed, and Kate was more than happy to provide. After-all, she was a bartender and her job was to listen- to provide. Kate rationalized all of this before she had her apron off.

“Would you look at the time?” you stood, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a ten. “I’m running late. Keep the change, darling.”

Kate paced back and forth along the length of the bar, muttering things to herself. She deserved that, really- she did, but it had been three whole days and she was still sufficiently pissed off that you had thrown her attitude right back at her. That wasn’t allowed.

No one had ever done that to her before and you’d made her stomach roll with attraction and even anticipation with just a few simple words and insinuations. Sure, you tipped well, and you drank and then left, but she didn’t actually want to admit that she was having fun talking to you.

And more than anything, she didn’t want to admit that she was flicking her eyes to the clock on the wall, getting only a slight bit of relief when it passed your usual time. Today, however, you did show up.

Kate could feel the tension in her jaw as she watched you walk through the doors. The scent had become familiar to you, something she could tell by the way you breathed in deeply, grounding yourself.

You wore tighter clothes, and Kate struggled not to rake her eyes up and down your figure, the way the fabric hugged every inch of you. The sweatpants and t-shirt were gone, instead you had on a dress with a long slit running up the side, exposing tanned skin.  She focused on the way you walked, the way you leaned forward on the bar, pressing your cleavage forward.

“This isn’t going to work twice.” Kate said, crossing her arms over her chest.

She was admittedly sore over your teasing, despite how well-earned it was. And that tight dress did look stunning on you. Even the low smoggy haze of Coppers she shivered at the thought of tearing it off of you, of moving the zipper down the small of your back and kissing up your spine.

You cleared your throat. “I actually came here to apologize.”

“Did you, now?”

“Yes,” You said through gritted teeth as if it physically pained you to say the words. “You were right… the first time we met. My problems seem big, but compared to other things, they’re not detrimental. Even though I was mad, teasing you like that was below me.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure much is below you.”

Kate raked her eyes up and down your body. Your cheeks heated and you let out a groan. Because damn-it, she was so infuriating, and though you’d come back to the bar a second time to drive her crazy, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“I have the keys to the boss’s office.” Kate offered deviously “No windows and a desk.”

Kate watched you swallow hard, contemplating her offer. She twirled the keys around her ring finger expertly and when you finally nodded she felt herself lean against the counter, close enough to where her lips brushed yours, the warmth was all encompassing, electrifying.

“I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. What exactly do you want?”

With hesitation you forced the words through your lips. This was wildly out of character for you, usually prim and proper and not demanding things from a strange bartender with ghostly blue eyes and expert fingers. “I want you to take me into that office and fuck me until I can’t walk.”

Kate smiled, closing the gap between the both of you with a breathless kiss, her tongue invading your mouth. You moaned into the simple gesture before she pulled away. “All you had to do was ask.”

With a chivalrous gesture, Kate took your hand and guided you easily down a large step behind the bar. You’d never seen this side of things, and though you hadn’t expected anything breathtaking, it gave you a better view of the empty establishment.

You didn’t have much time to contemplate as you were guided through a narrow hallway that had an employee schedule posted on the wall, and a few boxes of unopened liquor. There was a citrus scent that invaded your senses and soon you were out of the cold and in a small office that looked as if it hadn’t been touched in months.

The hum of the cooling units was drowned out and a warmth caused bumps to rise against your skin. Kate had you pushed against the door in a matter of seconds, her mouth back on yours, a knee between your legs, shoving them open. Desperately, you tried to grind down, alleviating some of the heat in your core.

Kate’s hand came up to grip your chin, disconnecting her lips from yours “We’re impatient, aren’t we?”

You could only whimper in response, the corner of Kate’s mouth lilted up into a semi smile, too much like a smirk for your liking. The expression did things to you. Here was this cocky bartender that was too content for her own good- yet, in this moment, you would let her have you in any way she wanted.

“I’ll fuck you senseless on the desk, but only if you can be patient. Can you do that for me? Can you be a good girl?”

“I… yes.”

“What was that? I thought we talked about you using your words, sweetheart.”

“Can you please fuck me on the desk? I’ll be a good girl.”

That seemed to be enough. Kate slid her hands around to the back of your thighs and lifted you with an unnatural bout of strength, a noise of surprise escaping your lips. You had seen her arms a few days earlier when she was in that tank-top, but she had settled you on the desk effortlessly, standing between your legs.

Kate’s mouth nipped at your jawline, sucking perfect bruised circles against your skin that she soon soothed with her tongue. You didn’t mind her marking you, though you mentally made a note to pick up some concealer on the way home. She made quick work with the zipper at your spine, pulling it down to the warm air. She slid your sleeves down your shoulders, exposing your breasts to her prying eyes.

She took a moment to admire you, giving your hip a small squeeze. You took the hint and lifted off the desk just enough for her to pull the rest of the fabric away. It dropped to the floor. Kate smiled at you, drinking you in. “Wow”

“Wow?”

Kate hummed and returned to working at your chest. This time she went lower, nipping at the sensitive skin around your nipple. You dug your fingers into the fabric of her shirt, letting out a groan of pleasure. Her fingers were testing at the waistline of your underwear, not quite dipping past the elastic.

Kate’s tongue was so warm, so encompassing. You arched your back, not denying her access to any part of you. Her expert hands finally pushed past the barrier of fabric, running up your entrance.

“Oh, shit, darling. You’re so worked up.”  Her words vibrated against you, and you struggled not to buck forward, to press into her lingering touch. Kate seemed to sense your frustration. “uh-uh, we’re being patient, remember? If you want release, you’ll have to beg for it.”

Beg? You weren’t the begging type. Unfortunately, you weren’t in the position to do anything but what she demanded. The thought of Kate inside of you, even in the smallest capacity, was driving you insane.

“Kate,” You hummed her name.

A sound got stuck in her throat at the sound of her name pushing through your kiss-bruised lips. She edged the end of the noise, almost phrasing it like a question. She didn’t want to give herself away, how much seeing you like this got her wet.

“Please, I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”

Before you could get out another word, she pushed a single, teasing finger inside. You fell forward, pressing your nose against the small of her neck with an exasperated breath. Kate painstakingly added another finger, pumping in and out of you with a method to her madness. You bit into her shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to muffle your noises of satisfaction as she swiped her thumb against your clit.

Kate’s other hand returned to your breast, squeezing and toying. It sent pleasure straight to your core, and Kate could feel you begin to tighten around her. She slowed her movements. “Beg,” She commanded.

“I’m going to cum,” you whispered into her shoulder, grasping fruitlessly at the fabric of her shirt, trying to pull her as close to you as possible.

“Are you?” She asked, slowing her pace.

“I… Kate please let me cum, I can’t hold on much longer I-“ another moan escaped you, and it took you a few breathes to compose yourself to some sort of semblance. “please”.

“That’s a good girl,” Kate praised, returning the circular motions to your clit. “Cum for me, sweetheart.”

That’s all you needed to hear to unwind for her. You clenched around her fingers, chills running from your core to every inch of your exposed body. A guttural noise of pleasure was silenced by Kate’s lips against yours, her throat silencing you as much as she could. Satisfaction rushed through you, aftershocks of her movements twitching through you. Kate withdrew herself from you, a self-assured smile on her lips as she moved them up to her lips and sucked them clean, never breaking eye contact with you.

“I need a drink,” You breathed out, words trembling. Your forehead pressed against hers, still panting, still recovering from her expert touch.

Kate scoffed, shaking her head “We don’t have anything fancier than a house white.”

[1slightly-mad1]

This is gonna be a long one so bear with me…

Emerging once again with some more fun stuff! I attended Megacon this past weekend on Saturday and Sunday and did some pretty awesome stuff. First off I met Daniel Logan (played Boba Fett in Attack of the Clones) and he was such a sweetheart to me! I started it off by telling him I apologized in advance for how awkward I am and he said, “That’s okay! I’m awkward too! Just in an extroverted way!” He didn’t even stay behind his table he came around to stand next to me and talk and ended it by saying, “Come here, give me a hug.” And gave me the nicest hug (I always want to hug celebrities I meet but always freeze up and forget to so it was really nice of him to offer it).

Then I went over to his space dad, Temuera Morrison! The line was super long but I had my Lula plush and headphones to get me through it. Unfortunately they had to hurry things along because he had to get to his panel (which worked for me because I wanted to see the panel too) but I did manage to tell him that I think his portrayal of Boba Fett is the coolest, to which he said, “Thank you so much, but really, look at you! You’re much cooler!” And gave me a fist bump (I was wearing a Boba Fett shirt, Boba Fett jacket, Boba Fett backpack, and had Bad Batch pins on my jacket).

Then I went to the panel and met up with my friend to go meet Dee Bradley Baker afterward and we got super lucky because he was on a break so there was a very very short line to see him. We both walked up together and got Bad Batch prints and he used his Tech voice when signing mine and Wrecker voice when signing theirs. I then really wanted to tell him how much all of the Bad Batch mean to me because I’m an odd one out, but the one I really feel connected with it Tech. I told him how much the moment in Season 2 Epsiode 9 between Tech and Omega meant to me and how it made me feel seen and while explaining to him he continued using his Tech voice and then told me, “You’re not alone out there.” And that pretty much wrapped up Saturday.

Starting Sunday off early of me practically running to catch the Clone Wars panel (and accidentally making my friend think it was a different panel that they really wanted to see) and we got a free print! (I’ll show off my haul in a different post) During the panel, Dee Bradley Baker was asked who his personal favorite clone is and he talked about how much he likes the Bad Batch because they’re the odd ones out, much like him. Then someone asked the cast what their favorite mental health moment in Star Wars is and Dee Bradley Baker brought up the exact moment I told him about the previous day and talked about how he’s had people come up to him to tell him that that moment made them felt seen (I have a video of it that I’ll post as well). Once he started talking about it I was tearing up something awful (which was bad because I had done my makeup up a bit more than usual). The whole panel was so happy and meaningful, I think several tears were shed among the audience at some points. However, the main event of the day was yet to come.

I was going to meet the man who started this all, who started my social media presence in Tumblr and opened up a whole new experience for me. I, after 12 years of being a huge fan, was going to meet Tom Hiddleston. Unfortunately, the people in charge of keeping his autographs and photo ops coordinated gave me severe run arounds. I was told several different things, so luckily I covered my bases on all ends to finally make sure that I was going to the right spot at the right time. He had a panel at the end of the day right before the last batch of autographs (which I was part of) and my friend had a ticket to it (it was prepaid and I didn’t want to spend a fuck ton more) so we both went over to the area of the panel and autograph together at 3:00 PM. My ticket for the autograph was 5:45. After some extra run arounds I finally figured out where I was supposed to be and met someone who talked with me the whole time we were in waiting. For the general admission line, I was second in line.

Then comes time for the panel to start, and it gets delayed by an hour and 20 minutes (because Megacon couldn’t coordinate things properly, surprise surprise). The panel started 5 minutes after my autograph ticket said that I was meant to be at the autograph room. I was lucky to be sitting with someone who talked with me the whole time because we were both in line for 4 hours. 7:00 PM rolls around and we’re finally getting ready to go into the room, and I already know that they’re going to keep everyone’s interaction brief because the rest of the convention closed at 5:00 PM.

As we walked in I could see him and I went dead silent because I’ve never seen him in person before. I brought my Lula plush with me again for Sunday and I don’t think I’ve held onto something tighter in my life. Then I heard him talk and I was absolutely stunned. When I say this man is so soft spoken and just has such a calming energy about him, I mean it. And he’s so pretty in person, I couldn’t believe it. The person I talked with in the line was the first person in line for general admission and was wearing Slytherin robes. She started to cry and was covering half her face with her sleeve and he looked up from the print he was signing for her and said, “I can see you.” In a joking way to make her laugh. Then it was my turn and at this point I probably looked like a scared toddler clutching their plushie against them. I luckily found words and it went something like, “I’ve been a fan of you since I was 12 and I’m 25 now and your work means a lot to me and Loki is my favorite and I think you’re great I’m sorry I’m just super starstruck” (said very quickly with no breaks). I didn’t even say hi, I just started with that. His smile was so sweet and he was so kind even though they had him keep everything brief and before I walked away I told him, “Thank you so much for being here” and he stopped the interaction with the next person in line to smile at me and say, “No, thank you for being here.” I was barely holding it together now and I walked out of the room like everything was fine.

Then my friends and I stopped outside of the room to talk and dry off my autograph and they were telling me how good I did. Well, I wasn’t speaking much and my hand was trembling. My close friend immediately noticed what was about to happen and hugged me, and I hugged them back and that’s when the tears began. I apologize if this part is a little dark for some, but this is what was going through my mind as my friend hugged me. The moment I started crying, I had my eyes closed and I imagined telling younger me, “We did it, we made it.” I had some really down and dark moments in my past between 2012 and now. I’m much better than I have been, but it hit me that I lasted long enough to see the day that I met the man who basically helped me get through some of my dark moments. Tom was such a sweetheart, and super fucking tall might I say. He was sitting down and we were at eye level with each other.

Thus the Megacon weekend concluded, and I do have to say that the coordination of things was… Not great. The celebrities there were absolute sweethearts to everyone, but some of the staff were very rude, some were giving people run arounds, and some were just straight up unhelpful. There were only a handful of staff that actually helped us out and were nice enough to not give an attitude about our questions. I knew that going Saturday and Sunday would be pretty packed, and luckily it wasn’t like last years Megacon event where we literally couldn’t move if we were in the Artist Alley. Outside of the celebrities there and panels that they had, the experience really wasn’t the greatest. This portion is basically just a warning to people, if you go to Megacon Orlando you’re likely not going to have the absolute best experience (unless you pay a fuck ton of money for VIP). Overall, it was a good and bad experience, I’m just happy that I met the people I wanted to meet. If you made it this far, thank you for reading. Until next time.

[emo-eyemakeup-evildude]

One Week Until Astorvember! And...

Happy Astor Thursday! Week 1 of Astorvember kicks off on Friday November 1st with Prophet week. As always, feel free to participate with the daily and/or weekly prompts, come and go as you wish or are able. All works and subjects are welcome in Astorvember as long as they are properly tagged and hosted on websites that allow them. OCs, ships, self ships, etc are all welcome, as are all works - music, videos, memes, art, etc.

Submissions for the Astor fandom zine will be open from midnight on October 31st CDT/UTC-5 to 11:59 pm December 1st CST/UTC-6 Submission guidelines are as follows:

All subjects welcome as long as they are properly tagged

Writing under 2500 words (ficlets/fanfic excerpts, essays, poetry, song lyrics, etc.)

Visual art: Paintings, drawings, photographs, etc. in digital format to be printed at 3.5" x 4.5"/9 cm x 11.5 cm or smaller

Miscellaneous: sheet music, craft tutorials, others subject to approval

Digital or physical merch and extras subject to approval

Please email propheciesofdoomzine@yahoo.com with your work in an attachment and include the work title, what name you would like to be credited as, whether your work could be considered NSFW, and what content warnings apply. Once your work has been received keep an eye out for further communications as the zine is formatted. If you cannot be reached, your work may be excluded from the final zine.

Finally, if the work you want to submit will not be finished by December 1st, you can reserve a spot. Send an email with what kind of work it is, the above information, and your best estimate as to when your work will be finished. Please keep in mind that the zine is set to be published in the first quarter of 2025.

[neewtmas]

12 days of Christmas // A Lockwood & Co Advent Calendar

DAY 6

Welcome back! It's currently 01:16 am on the 13th, which means I'm technically a day late but we'll just ignore that bc I gave my absolute best to get this finished in time and it simply got out of hand.

After the Lucy x reader I wrote for day 2 thought that I couldn't possibly forget about the Lockwood girlies, and since we're at the halfway point I wanted to do something extra nice, so here is a very long (4.2k??) Lockwood x reader with a some enemies to lover-ish dynamics and reader as Kipps' little sister. Hope you enjoy!

A Mission For Two

pairing: anthony lockwood x Kipps!fem!reader

wordcount: 4.2k

masterlist

advent calendar tags: @givemea-dam-break @wellgoslowly @maraschinomerry @losticaruss @oblivious-idiot @uku-lelevillain @avdiobliss @strawberryloveyyy @strawberrycowgirly @demigoddess-of-ghosts @thefriendlyneighborhoodmomfriend @boookfreeak

day 1 day 2 day 3 day 4 day 5

"4 pm, my office. There's no excuses, I know you don't have anything else to do." Lockwood grumbled a half-hearted yes into the telephone, before slamming it down, harder than necessary. He walked back into the kitchen, where Lucy and George sat with a cup of tea each. His tea was probably cold by now. Lucy furrowed her brows. "Who's calling?" "Barnes, who else", Lockwood replied, snatching his cup of tea and emptying it in the sink before pouring fresh hot water from the kettle. "Says he has a job for us." "That's good", George remarked. "Business has been a little slow." Lockwood crossed his arms and huffed. Unfortunately, George was right. Business had been slow the past few weeks. What irked him most though, was that Barnes seemed to know all about it.

A little before 4 pm they entered the DEPRAC building, an ugly structure in the middle of London, with a hideous interior to match. No wonder all DEPRAC agents they came across at their jobs seemed to be in a perpetual bad mood. The route to Barnes' office was well known to them, as it wasn't the first time by any means they had been called in. Lockwood adjusted his tie and coat before knocking on the door twice. Barnes' assistant opened the door seconds later, and the three of them stepped in. But almost immediately, Lockwood froze on the spot, causing George to run into him.

"What are they doing here?", Lockwood inquired, gesturing to the group of people already seated in front of Barnes' desk.

The person closest to Barnes' desk turned around. "Tony. Great to see you around here. Business is going well, I hear?" Lockwood narrowed his eyes at Kipps, hand already on his rapier. "Just sit down", Barnes said sharply. "We have more important things to talk about." Lucy and George could tell that Lockwood was of a different opinion, but a rather forceful push from Lucy caused him to take a seat and postpone the inevitable fight, at least until they were out of there.

When they were finally all seated and quiet, Barnes leaned forward, his hands clasped together. "I want to be here just as much as you are", he began. "If it were up to me, this wouldn't be happening. But unfortunately, it's out of my control." He leaned back in his seat, nodding at his assistant. She stepped out of her corner and placed a print-out of a newspaper site on the desk. "Are you familiar with the Wentworth family?"

"Don't they host these ridiculously fancy balls? What do we have to do with this?", Kipps asked. Barnes sighed, and it was obvious that he had already spent much more time than he wanted on this. "The next one is supposed to be held at Wycliffe Hall Estate." Silence. "Haven't there been ghost sightings?", George asked, pushing his glasses up and leaning forward to grab the article copy. "Yes." Barnes sounded tired. "I have tried everything to mitigate this, but to no avail. They have been adamant that it has to be there. Lady Wentworth's daughter - or was it her niece? - is engaged to Wycliffe's son. And the possibility of a ghost adds the certain 'flair' they are looking for."

Lockwood and George shared a look. Lucy scoffed. "Rich people", she mumbled under her breath and Barnes sent her a reprimanding look but it was not hard to see that he thought just the same. "And what are we here for?", Kipps asked, sounding somewhat impatient. "DEPRAC tasked me with providing agents to mingle among the crowd and keep their eyes out for any disturbances." He gave Kipps and Lockwood a pointed look. "Don't think for a moment that you are my first choice for this. But we are understaffed and I need someone."

He pulled his chair closer to his desk and leaned forward again. "I need you - together - to go to this ball. You will form pairs - couples if you will - and mingle. I and a few other colleagues will be present as well. If anything happens, if anyone gets hurt - I will lose my job. So don't mess it up." He took his time to look at each one of them. "You're dismissed, he finally said.

The two groups walked in silence until they stepped through the huge glass entry doors. "Tony -" Kipps began and Lockwood's hand flew to the hilt of his rapier. Kipps raised his hands. "Don't be so defensive. Let's just get this over with, alright? Everyone does their research and at the event, we work separately." He offered his hand to Lockwood, who didn't take it immediately. Kipps being so good-natured was out of character - maybe Barnes had had a word with him on his own. Lucy nudged Lockwood and he slowly let go of his rapier to take the hand Kipps offered him.

The next two weeks were spent with unspectacular - exceptionally boring really - cases every few nights. There hadn't been any more communication with Kipps and his team, something neither Lockwood, Lucy or George had any issues with. Three days before the big event, Barnes called 35 Portland Row to give further information on the dress code. "This whole endeavour is just ridiculous", Lockwood said as he recounted the talk with Barnes to George and Lucy. "We are allowed to carry our rapiers, but only minimal other equipment. Can't have us ruining the aesthetic, he says." George shook his head. "This is a suicide mission. For the adult attendees at least. Why would you ever willingly spend a night somewhere that has reported and confirmed ghost sightings?"

"They are bored. They live their whole lives locked up in their mansions, so that's a night of freedom. They have no idea that a few agents won't do much if a ghost is gonna make its appearance", Lockwood replied. "Also the Wentworths are known for their elaborate parties and events. A ball in a haunted mansion is the perfect way to stand out." Lucy raised her eyebrows. "So you know the Wentworths?" Lockwood grinned at her. "They are regularly on the cover of my gossip magazines. If you read them, you'd know them." Lucy grimaced. "No thank you. I'd rather not."

Three days later, on the morning of the ball, Lockwood and George sat in the kitchen, already two toasts deep into breakfast, when Lucy staggered into the room. She was pale, wrapped in two sweaters and a scarf and still wearing her pyjama bottoms. "You look like death", George said dryly as Lucy flopped down on a chair. She wanted to say something, but instead, she was caught in a coughing fit that shook her entire body. Lockwood watched her with furrowed brows. "Guess it's just us tonight, George", he said, pushing a cup of tea in front of Lucy. She grabbed it and took several sips, before clearing her throat. "I don't know where this is coming from", she said with a hoarse voice. "But Lady Wentworth would probably kill me if I were to cough around her esteemed guests." "Barnes would do that before she even had a chance to see you", George remarked while buttering his third toast. "Can you cough on me? Maybe I'll get sick before tonight as well."

George did not get sick, and so he and Lockwood sat alone in the cab that would take them out of London to the Wycliffe Hall Estate. They were both wearing a suit - usual for Lockwood, very unusual for George. All available pockets were filled to the brim with salt bombs and silver nets, which made them both look a little less elegant. When the cab pulled up to the front of the estate, Kipps' team as well as Barnes already stood by the stairs to the entrance, waiting for them. The gravel crunched under the soles of their shoes as they made their way over. Barnes looked them up and down with a less than favourable expression, but they seemed to pass his expectations, because he didn't say anything about their appearance. Instead, he asked: "Where's Miss Carlyle?"

"She came down with a bad cold."

"Unfortunate", Barnes said. "Really unfortunate. That doesn't make this easier. Mr Karim - you're going with Mr Vernon and Mr Shaw." All three opened their mouth to protest, but Barnes wasn't having it. "I don't care, whatever you have to say. None of you could be a very convincing couple. That's why you'll pose as waiters. Ms Channing will show you the basics."

All three of them were less than excited about the prospect of handing out champagne to the elite of London, and George mumbled something rather rude under his breath that Barnes either didn't hear or chose to ignore. The three boys were led away by a young woman in her early thirties.

"Alright." Barnes eyed the four agents in front of him. "Mr Kipps, you'll go with Miss Godwin. Mr Lockwood, you'll pair up with Miss Kipps." "No way he's going with my sister!" "Mr Kipps, we talked about this", Barnes said sternly, his patience wearing thin. "You'll do as I say, or you'll deal with the consequences. But I promise you, they'll be worse."

Kipps was red in the face, huffing and puffing, but he didn't say anything else. Lockwood suddenly wished that Lucy's cold had befallen him instead. (name) Kipps was almost as bad as her brother, and he could not stand her. Since she became part of her brother's team, they had crossed paths a little too often for Lockwood's taste. And every time everything she did only aggravated him. Tonight (name) was wearing a dark red, almost floor-length dress that swished around her legs as she walked over to Lockwood, following Barnes' instructions. She didn't look at Lockwood, and he did his best to train his eyes on Barnes instead of her neck and shoulders that were exposed by the neckline of her sleeveless dress. Leave it up to her to dress entirely distracting and inappropriately. Who could fight ghosts in this?

"I need you to blend in seamlessly. I have arranged to fill the room with as many iron decorations as possible, to hopefully seal it off to any supernatural disturbances that might occur. Lady Wentworth was very clear to me about the fact that she doesn't want you to look like agents to the other attendees, she wants you to look like guests. That means I expect you to dance and at least act like you want to be there." Barnes looked more tired than he did two weeks ago. No one said anything, so he took a deep breath and turned around. "Don't disappoint me", he said over his shoulder.

They watched him disappear behind the imposing door wing. While they had been talking, the first guests had started to arrive. Every car was fancier than the last, the men that emerged wearing expensive suits and the ladies draped in luxurious gowns and glittering diamonds. Kipps offered Kat his arm, following the example of the couples ascending the stairs. Lockwood went to follow them, but (name) didn't move and instead cleared her throat. "Don't you have any manners, Mr Lockwood?" Her mocking tone was already working to raise his blood pressure. The way she said his name was almost worse than Kipps calling him Tony. He bit his tongue to not say something he would regret in the first five minutes of them working together and turned around to offer her his arm. He didn't look at her as she looped her arm around his and they walked up the stairs together. The other attendees either ignored them or looked at them with something akin to disdain - this was an exclusive circle they were not part of.

It was quite early, so any disturbances would take a while to occur. Lockwood dreaded what that meant. Kipps and Kat were already on the dancefloor, and Barnes stood at the side, next to a tall blond woman in an emerald green gown. Lockwood immediately recognized her at Lady Wentworth. She turned to whisper something to the man on her other side and Barnes took the opportunity to wave at Lockwood, gesturing down to the dancefloor. He rolled his eyes and tugged on (name)'s arm, and together they descended the stairs. They reached the very edge of the dancing crowd and Lockwood stopped. "What? You don't know how to dance?" Again that mocking tone.

The ballroom was bigger than expected, with high ceilings and a row of huge windows on one side. It was already bustling with people, some dancing, some in conversation. Lockwood and (name) stood atop some stairs that led down to the dancefloor. Kipps and Kat were gone, but as Lockwood let his eyes wander over the crowd, he spotted George. He had to bite back a laugh at the sight of George with a tray of champagne flutes and a scowl on his face that deterred anyone he walked past from taking something off his tray.

Lockwood grabbed her hand and placed the other one on her waist. As they started dancing, rather slow and awkward, Lockwood again wished that the illness that had befallen Lucy had chosen him instead. He did his best to not look at (name), or think about her hand on his shoulder, or her hand that laid in his. This was the worst. "Is this all you have to offer?" "We're dancing", he said curtly, still avoiding eye contact. "What else do you want?" She giggled, and a shiver ran down his back. That was new. "Well for starters, we need to be closer together. Much closer." Her next step wasn't to the side, but instead towards him, which caught him off guard. He almost stumbled over his own feet, but her hand gripped his shoulder and she continued the sequence of steps so that he could get back into it. "Also, you are supposed to lead me."

He made the mistake of looking at her. She was much closer than he anticipated, which made him lose his footing again. Only briefly though, because for whatever reason she seemed to know exactly what she was doing. And probably made him look like a fool. He wanted to scream. What was she doing to him? How could a person make him so angry and flustered at the same time? "If you fence how you dance, I have no idea how you ever beat Quill." He just huffed. No matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn't think of anything clever to say that would shut her up - and that just wasn't something that happened to him. Ever.

A few hours later, they stood with Kipps and Kat on the side of the dance floor. The room had filled up even more, and no one seemed to be concerned that the clock was nearing midnight. Out of nowhere, George appeared next to Lockwood. "This has been the worst night of my life", he breathed out, looking around restlessly. "I dumped the champagne into one of the flower pots and have been hiding from Barnes ever since", he whispered to Lockwood. "How are you holding up?" Lockwood looked over to (name), who was talking animatedly with Kat and her brother. "She's driving me up the wall", he said. "Somehow she manages to push buttons I didn't even know I had." He missed George's knowing grin as he looked around the room. "Have you noticed anything else?"

"The corners got progressively colder as the evening went on. I checked the temperature every now and then. I bet if there weren't so many people in here, we would feel it even more. But all the iron is probably holding it off so far."

It didn't take long for Barnes to appear and hurry them back onto the dance floor to 'keep up their cover' - not that this was working that great to begin with. They looked too young, their dancing was too awkward and the rapiers at their side didn't help either. Lockwood and (name) were standing close to the walls, far away from Barnes. They had parted as soon as he was gone. (name) had complained about her feet for the past hour, and Lockwood just about had enough. The whole thing gave him a headache and he wanted to get far away from her as soon as possible. Especially because with time, dancing closely with her had turned out to be not that bad. He didn't like that at all.

He was picking on a stray thread on his sleeve when suddenly a cold feeling washed over him. He jumped when (name) roughly grabbed his arm. "Do you hear that?" she hissed and he tried for a moment to shut out the sounds of conversation and heels on hardwood floor from the crowd and just listen. Nothing. "I'm not a good listener," he said quietly to not alert the few people standing closest to them. It irked him to have to admit this to (name). She stood there with her eyes closed and her head tilted to the side. For the first time this evening, Lockwood could take a closer look at her, even though part of him violently fought against it. Her hair was pulled back, away from her face. She was wearing a thin necklace with a pendant that laid a few inches above her dress's neckline. He briefly wondered if it was a gift from someone, but immediately shut that thought down. This was ridiculous.

Suddenly she opened her eyes again. "I can't describe it. It's like a whisper… and a scream… all at once." She took a look at her watch. "It's almost midnight", she said quietly. Lockwood patted over his pockets. "I don't have a thermometer with me. That's George's job usually. But don't you think it's gotten really cold just now?" She nodded, and he noticed her slightly shivering. Taking a look around, no one besides them seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Lockwood took a few strides to the set of doors closest to them. When he touched the handle, he almost pulled his hand back immediately. The metal was ice-cold to the touch. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked, and he looked around once before opening it carefully and peeking around. The corridor that laid in front of him was almost entirely dark, only illuminated by the streak of light let in from the open door. The air that hit his face was dry and much too cold. (name) appeared next to him. "Let's go", she said. "Let's get it over with." Lockwood thought for a moment that maybe it was better to get the rest of the agents, but then again, what could go wrong? If George's research was correct, there should only be one ghost. They just had to find the source. And this corridor seemed promising.

The two of them slipped through and Lockwood closed the door. Immediately they were enveloped by complete darkness, and now that the door separated them from the warmth and the light and the perceived safety of the ballroom, Lockwood could feel the malaise creeping up on him. He fumbled with his jacket to pull out the flashlight he had stuffed into one of the pockets inside. He switched it on on the lowest setting, and when his eyes had adjusted to the light, he started to move it around to get an idea of their surroundings. (name)'s dress almost looked like blood in the dim light, and as they slowly moved down the hallway, she reached into a fold of the skirt and swiftly pulled out a rapier. "Hidden pocket", she said as she noticed Lockwood's stare. Something about the way she had just pulled that out of nowhere - his brain felt jumbled.

The temperature was dropping rapidly now. (name) was now really shivering, and Lockwood felt the urge to offer her his jacket. But no, that was a stupid idea. He'd make a fool out of himself. They were walking close together now, arms brushing against each other as she tugged at his sleeve. "Can you turn off the light for a second", she whispered. "I think I heard something." It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dark. "There it is again. Do you really hear nothing?" Lockwood noticed that her tone was normal - she wasn't trying to mock him anymore. He closed his eyes well. There, far in the distance, he heard something. But nothing he could put a finger on. "There was a door right there, right? I wanna see what's behind it."

"Do you need the light?", he asked. "It should be fine. His stomach did a little flip as he suddenly felt her hand slip into his. "Just so we don't lose each other in the dark", she whispered as she pulled him forward. The door creaked as (name) found the handle and pushed against it, her rapier scratching against the wood. The air that came out was even colder. The room could almost be described as well-lit in comparison to the hallway, a big window opposite the door letting in the cold blue light of the moon. They stepped inside. Lockwood did not close the door. While taking a look around, he noticed that (name) had not let go of his hand - even though now there was no risk of getting lost in the dark. Then something in the corner caught his eye. "A deathglow", he whispered, pointing over. "Right above the bed. About the size of a small child." "That checks out. I think one of the nannies - " "- murdered the child", finished Lockwood. "Looks like we read the same articles." She smiled at him, and he realised it was the first genuine smile she had ever shown him. He was reminded of the fact that they were also still holding hands.

"What do you think the source could be?", she asked. He looked around the room, all senses heightened. Until now, nothing had materialised. "It was a small child, right? There's a stuffed teddy sitting next to the pillow. Maybe…" As if the ghost had heard him, the atmosphere got heavier. It was like the air itself got denser and heavier, weighing on him and making it harder to breathe. "I think that might be it. Are you feeling it?" (name) just nodded. Her hand slipped in the front of her dress and Lockwood quickly averted his eyes. "I have a silver net", she whispered. "Give me cover and I'll throw it. If we're lucky, that's it." Lockwood did not argue with her. A pulsating headache had started in the back of his head. He drew his rapier and watched as (name) crept slowly towards the bed, silver net at the ready in one hand, rapier in the other. Basked in the pale light of the moon, with the gleaming rapier and the red dress that flowed around her, she looked like a vengeful ghost herself, and Lockwood had to remind himself to stay aware of his surroundings.

Then, everything happened all at once. (name) threw the silver net, and in the same moment, the supernatural scream that Lockwood had only heard at the very edge of his perception swelled to a volume that pierced through his head like a dagger, and a gigantic blast of wind threw (name) back, catapulting her through the air before she crashed into Lockwood with full force. His rapier was blown out of his hand and out of reflex he wrapped his arms around (name) as they both hit the ground.

It took a moment for Lockwood to gather himself. His ears were ringing and all of the whirled-up dust made it harder to breathe. (name) was lying half on top of him, her hair covering her face. "Are you okay?", Lockwood croaked out. For a moment she didn't move, and he already started to feel panic creeping up on him, but then she coughed and slowly pushed herself up in a sitting position. She raised her hand to her forehead, only to gasp at the blood on her fingertips as she lowered it again. "Is it bad?" "It looks small." He managed to stand up slowly, extending his hand to her. She took it without hesitation. "And pretty cool, might I add", he said as she stood next to him, making no moves to let go of his hand.

Suddenly, the door that the blast of wind had thrown shut burst open again. In the doorframe stood Kipps, followed by George and Kat. He looked at Lockwood and (name), then at the bloody wound on his sister's head, and finally to her hand that was still holding Lockwood's hand. And he looked ready to explode.

thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated :)

[mitamicah]

Hi guys, I want to talk a bit about what is going on in my life and my plans for the rest of my year. Feel free to just read the TLDR.

TLDR:

I had a consultation with a private clinic in Malmö about top surgery. Went great and have free reigns to suggest a day for surgery. Want to talk with my social worker and contact person first tho.

Celebrated my one year on hrt anniversary being at a heavy music award show.

The rest of November is busy and then Sunday I will be flying to Zagreb – for this reason maybe I won’t be able to draw a lot (which sucks).

December is building up to be busy too yet I’ll try myself to find time to finished owned artworks (mostly the three secret santas I’m in).  

First up, I want to talk my weekend since it was a very special one for me being that it was my second birthday weekend (Saturday I had been one year on testosterone).

When I realized that my favourite Danish band would guest at a local award show for heavy music in Copenhagen, I immediately bought tickets, which turned out to be the best timing, given that I later booked a consultation at Reformkliniken in Malmö for pre-op consultation about potential top surgery the day before.

I slept by my friends’ house, a lesbian couple where one is a transwoman so they’ve experience with surgery especially gender affirming surgery. They had also offered to be my companions at the consultation which I was very grateful for) so the three of us went over the border the next day and had half a day in Sweden together, visiting Folkets park (to see if my sticker was still up – unfortunately we couldn’t find it) and this cute little café before going to the appointment.

Half an hour late we got inside where the surgeon was surprised to see not one but three people step inside. The consultation went well, and honestly better than I’d expected. He was kind, a good listener, factual and thorough. While I maybe should have expected it for a private clinic the fact that there was no waitlist blew me back a bit, yet I ended up asking if it was alright I went back later with a suggestion to a date for surgery. Then we talked to the secretary who was just as thorough if not more about everything I would need to know leading up to the surgery down to little things I’d never would’ve imagined having to think about like not eating specific medicine, wearing nailpolish, washing myself daily for a month leading up to the surgery and much, much more. All wasn’t fun and games though since while I know it was necessary for the consultation, the 2-5 min. of me being topless in front of the surgeon having to describe what I saw shook me up. This is the first time since my ex I have been topless in front of somebody else and I felt my body betraying me a bit almost making me choke on my words and cheer up having to speak. I guess in the end that only goes to show even more why I want/need this surgery. Now what I need to do is print the part of my journal from the gender clinic in Denmark that’s about me wanting top surgery (to send to the secretary) and see if I can set up a meeting between me and the people around me from the local authorities (contact person and social worker mostly) to hear about how to plan a surgery into my schedule. All this by also knowing I still have a second appointment with the gender clinic on December 12.

The next day I went to see my faves and got a bit of a whiplash meeting up as the sole queue member at 5 pm, one hour before the doors. I have been getting so used to go to shows where you need to queue to secure a spot, so I felt very odd sitting out here alone for an hour even more so when everybody I told was shocked, I’d arrived so “early”. Oh, well the award show was good and I got to cling to my band before it began, steal the set lists of three of four performing bands and talk with new, cool people. I even met somebody from my summer camp that was up getting an award together with a band he’d played with as a substitute guitarist.

Secondly, I feel like I haven’t kept you guys up to date about everything so here’s a bit of a rant about my plans for the rest of the year:

This upcoming week will be wild! Before November is over I have one tattoo appointment (tomorrow), one study to participate in (Tuesday), one craft painting appointment with my sister (Tuesday), one concert with my choir (Wednesday), one trans support group meeting (Thursday) and four more days at the internship to go (Monday, Wednesday-Friday). Then on top of that I have a trip to plan since yes, I got approved to have a break on both December 2-4 and December 16-18 so I can go to Zagreb (and Poland)!!!

December starts off with me literally on day one flying to Croatia to spend the first few days in the Balkans. December 2 I have scheduled a trip to Ljubjana just because. Then there’s the Zagreb concert on Tuesday where I have made a sign to go with my homemade t-shirts for the band members (and another sign saying I travelled to Denmark to see them). I think I’ll bring some of my textile markers if in case the guys want to sign my Bluza shirt. But that will not be my priority – my biggest hope for this concert is still to gift them the shirts and then Bojan to see my tattoo. Everything else after that is bonus upon a bonus!!!

After arriving home from Zagreb I will have a week and a half to work and to find out how to schedule Christmas shopping and art making (also having an appointment with the gender clinic and another choir concert inbetween). Then on December 15 I will be flying to Warszawa (and taking the bus to Kraków thereafter) to participate in two of three of Käärijä’s polish concerts. The closer we get to the trip however the less confident I am about my flight choices (the one home is at 6 almost 7 am in the morning) so I hope to use the option of rescheduling the flight to a later time the same day (I purchased a ticket where you could do that but I have to call booking.com and I am not sure the phone number I’ve found is the right one). Other than that I feel like the planning of the polish trip is coming along nicely as well. Then I will go home, work for two days then travel with my sister and her boyfriend to my dad’s house to celebrate pre-christmas with them and then later Christmas with my mother. I still don’t know what to do after December 24 other than my sister want me (and my mom) out before December 28 so to prepare for her having guests over for the new years.

Honestly, I think this might be the busiest Christmas I will have had for a while, so fingers crossed I haven’t bit over more than I can chew signing up for three secret santa events (one luckily running until January).

[otdiaftg]

The Raven King - Chapter Nine

Day: Friday, October 27th Time: 10:30 PM EST

Having nine people along on a Friday night meant Andrew had to make an actual reservation at Sweetie's, no matter that they got there at half-past ten. A small crowd of people was waiting at the hostess stand, but the L- shaped corner booth was marked with a RESERVED placard. The booth was technically intended for eight people, not nine in costumes, but it helped that Aaron and Andrew were pint-sized. The Foxes squished thigh-to-thigh and pored over menus. Usually Andrew's lot settled for ice cream and cracker dust, but it'd been six hours since any of them ate and they had a long night ahead of them. Dinner was also the safest icebreaker any of them could think of. The Foxes had never socialized en masse outside of team events and practices. They weren't really sure what to do with each other when Exy wasn't involved. Aaron and Andrew did nothing to make the night easier on anyone. Aaron refused to speak to any of the upperclassmen, even when one of them said something directly to him, and radiated quiet anger from his spot between Nicky and Neil. Neil found it equal parts aggravating and interesting. Aaron didn't have a serious problem with his teammates on the court, so Neil couldn't understand why he was so against this. Now that Renee was allowed to play as a goalkeeper again, Andrew only had to stay sober through first half. He'd taken a pill during halftime tonight and was still buzzing. He spent most of that considerable energy on his own group or Renee. He was a little more cooperative than his brother in that he answered Dan or Matt if they asked him something, but his answers were lightning quick, borderline rude, and always followed by a redirect to someone else at the table. It could have been the most awkward dinner in the world if not for Nicky. Nicky hated how isolated the twins were and was desperate to make friends with the rest of the team. It was as if he'd developed a sudden allergy to silence. Any time the conversation started to slow he threw out another topic to salvage it. Renee, Dan, and Matt were happy to play along, but Allison and Kevin were slower to get involved. Neil preferred to stay out of it so he could watch the way they interacted, but since this was his idea he felt obligated to help Nicky out when he could.

Art used with permission by llstarcasterll. Thank you @llstarcasterll

[ryoshudoodles]

The Plushū Diaries

This is a long post about the plushie I made as a beginner and just me venting about the process. Just skip this is you don't like long posts. Also I will probably mix up UK and US English a lot here. The usual Internet learning experience.

Canto 1- I can (not) make a plushie myself

So... As you may gather from the existence of this blog, I love Ryōshū a very normal amount. And like many other PM fans, I wanted a plushie of my best girl.

Two problems arise.

Independently made plushies made by commission are EXPENSIVE (For a very valid reason, this things take AGES to make and require a lot of work and skill.).

And

All the "Mass" produced ones by indie designers that I saw had animal ears or features, which I don't really like.

So, Sunday at around 10:00 pm, I, in all my wisdom, say to myself "I want it! So I'll make it!" I already had some material from a previous failed attempt, so might as well use them.

I dug up the doll skeleton and the body I had and stuffed that thing. By then it was already late and I had to work on Monday so, to bed I went.

Canto 2- The Real Start

By morning on the following day, I had already gotten over the Idea of making a plushie myself. Too much work. Too little skill. Like any other good little ADHD demon, I am allergic to completing my own projects and I jump from new idea to new idea too quickly to get anything done.

So, imagine my shock when at 11:00 pm I get that little itch to just make the thing. That little night owl brain magic that happens when everyone else is asleep and you are just now deciding to be productive.

So I grab the body, my embroidery thread and a bathtub of coffee and I just started.

Luckily I already had a pattern that a friend printed out for me two years ago. But then, the mistakes also started.

Mistake 1- Improv

I had no idea what I wanted to make. I had a design that I had painted In photoshop before but I didn't have that materials nor skills for that. So I made a simpler one on the spot. I don't own a printer. I don't have transfer paper. So... like a person with a very aesthetically pleasing smooth brain, I just drew the design STRAIGHT ON THE FABRIC with BRIGHT red pen.

Mistake 2 - The bright red pen

At the start it wasn't much of an issue just something to mark the design because I don't have a tearaway stabilizer.

By the end of this saga, those smooth clear lines had bled SO MUCH I could no longer tell the difference between te guide and random stains. Oh! And you can also see the guidelines from the outside of the doll. Cool.

Mistake, the third - The felt hair

This doesn't seem like a mistake, but trust me, It will haunt the narrative.

Mistake forever after - Hubris

It took... around 1 hour to line up everything correctly on the embroidery ring? Why? Because I am stupid, that's why.

During this first day I decided that I didn't need to use pins. I could just put it on the ring by eyeballing it. How bad can it be?

I was a fool. There's a reason why professionals use them, and there's a reason why some people sew some pieces temporarily during certain steps of the process before finally attaching them together. Pins truly are unsung heroes.

Canto 3- The unembroidered

So... embroidery. Embroidery is hard. Symmetrical embroidery is hard. Symmetrical embroidery with bleeding guidelines and no stabilizer is HARD. Symmetrical embroidery with bleeding guidelines, no stabilizer and you are a total beginner is maddening.

I watched someone do it by hand on YouTube before and I tried to mimic the process as much as I could. It didn't help much. Youtube tutorials can only do so much to compensate my lack of experience.

By the time I had done one eye I was already seeing problems. My stitches were all scattered to the four winds. They were all going in different directions. Some of them were too far apart or too close to others. The lines in the back of the doll were piling up and there were more knots in the thread than in your average omegaverse fic.

I went colour by colour. First black since I needed it to line the hair and it was the most used colour, then white just for the little highlights and finally red.

(Funny thing, the number of this red thread of this brand is 666 wich is kinda funny for miss hellscreen over here.)

After the red thread it finally started to look kinda decent (by beginner standards)

Canto 4 - Revenge of the felt hair

After all the embroidery was done it was finally time to get her off the ring and sew the parts together.

For those unaware, the regular soft plushie material, Minky, is really lightweight and very thin. Felt... isn't thin. And when you are sewing a plushie head with may parts and layers, all those millimeters of fabric pile up really quickly. One layer of felt is easy to pierce with a needle. Five layers? Not so much. Several needles were broken in the process of joining the front of the head with the back. I do not own a sewing machine. I did all of this shit by hand.

Thank god for the tetanus vaccine. When I say this little creature has my blood, sweat and tears, I MEAN IT.

The curse of the felt hair didn't end there.

Now that the head was done, it was time to stuff it.

Naturally, I had to rip parts of the stuffing to get it inside the head and around the skeleton. This sent bits and pieces of the thing flying everywhere. My room is FILTHY. And the felt hair got the worst of it. All those little dusts and microfibers stuck to it like a fly in a web. As I write this I am still trying to rip out bits of stuffing without damaging the felt. It is horrible. My girl is DIRTY.

(Also, plushie heads take WAY more stuffing than I thought. Holy shit.)

Finally, on the last day, it was time to attach the body to the head and sew the back of the hair. (I should have done that before but... more layers of felt. Broken needles. You know... nheeeeeee)

So, with a lot of fear in my heart I ladder stitched those bastards together and mocked up a decent enough pattern for the back of the hair. And just like that.... she is done.

Canto 5- The Plushie Defining

So... what did I learn?

Use pins. Stitch things temporarily with an obvious visible line that you can cut out after and test things before committing to a permanent stitch. If you are a beginner, like me, and are afraid to sew pieces together because you don't want to ruin your embroidered parts that you spent SO LONG working on, do this before.

Fuck felt.

Don't use a bright red pen.

Mess up. Make your plushie. Make it ugly. If you hate making bodies like me, buy one made and practice the head. Despite everything, I love my asymmetrical girl a lot. Like... I made this little bastard. She is MINE and I made her. This never stops being magical. It's a nice feeling.

And I did it without specific materials.

Some cheap threads, a body you can probably make too, some felt I found at the discount bin and random needles. That was all. No tearaway stabilizer, no sewing machine, no printer, no embroidery machine. The minky fabric is the only thing that was more of an investment. The rest is pretty accessible.

Do you know that post that says "Everything worth doing is worth doing poorly." Yeah, that applies to artistic projects. Go for it! Just... don't start with something hard like a human... Christ sake that was a nightmare.

I'm probably still gonna get a better plushie of her in the future, but for now, this is my baby.

Goodnight Tri-state area.

[shinesurge]

Hi! I finally FINALLY found a new printer for my books, and the good news is the price of the Specials is going to change pretty dramatically. They should be more affordable now! But they'll also be printed on very different paper, a lot closer to what you'll find on regular comic shop shelves rather than the expensive fancy papers that are the reason indie artists' comics cost ten dollars apiece.

This puts me in a weird spot! I have four copies, two each, of the original run left; I can't hand them off to any shops because the price is going to change very soon, and in a few weeks the cheaper books will be in MY shop right next to these. So, I've decided I'm keeping two of them for myself and giving away the last two here!

There'll be one winner who gets both books, and you don't have to pay for any shipping or anything; just make sure you're cool with giving me your mailing address. Reblogging this post gets your name in the pool! I'll pull someone randomly from the list in uhh. let's say a week. I'll stop taking names by October 10th, 3 pm Mountain Time (if you'd just like to help spread the word and NOT be entered please mention it in the tags) and contact the winner here! Good luck!!

[shyphonics]

Salad Days Chapter 4: When Archeologists Dig This Up, They'll Either Laugh or Cry

(babypunk!Rodrick Heffley x reader)

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

also, please take my favorite live performance of rise above by Black Flag as a companion piece

Hey!

I do not like you college brat

I do not like you and your frat

I do not like you at the shore

I do not like you drunk on coors

I do not like your average life

I hope you do not take a wife

I hope you don’t decide to breed

Cause that’s one thing I do not need

~

Well, they did it. They’ve got a van full of booze, and a sense of self satisfaction.

It had taken a while to fit everything in, and the guy at the pickup spot hadn’t been very nice, but they did it.

Mike seems more calm when they show up to The Strike, happy to see them, even.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, you giraffe of a man!” He pulls Rodrick into a hug, heartily patting him on the back. Rodrick does kind of feel like a giraffe, Mike only comes up to the middle of his chest.

“Hey, if there’s anything else you need, just let us know!” Rodrick gives him a smile.

He grabs a box of bottles and heads through the back door of the bar. The guys work like ants; grab a case, march to the walk in, march back. They’re done in no time. He wonders if the delivery center is hiring, because that was easy.

Mike shoves a bundle of money into his hands, and gives him another pat on the back.

“She was right about you.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve got the spirit,” he smiles, “like a young Henry Rollins, slingin’ ice cream. See you tomorrow. Show up at 5 PM, load in here. Got it?”

“Got it,” Rodrick nods.

The spirit. He has no idea what that means, but he’s grateful for the sentiment. Especially if you’d said something nice about him… he finally has ammo to tease you back.

Mike disappears into the back of the bar, and the guys regroup to count their unexpected pay.

“Dude, he gave us a hundred dollars!” Chris says, shocked.

They recount again and again, coming to one hundred every time. They can’t believe it, and they speed away from the bar with the radio turned all the way up.

The rest of their day is spent planning. They craft the perfect setlist, they find their tightest jeans, they even find time to learn a surprise cover song. It's one he'd heard on your radio shift, and it's been stuck in his head all day.

Everything has to be perfect.

Rodrick is sure everything is gonna be perfect.

~

It’s only 5:30 by the time they’re done setting up, and they find themselves just standing in front of the stage, awestruck.

It’s not huge by any means, but it’s high off the ground and covered in lights. There’s a full PA system, and even a pole to hang their homemade bedsheet flag from.

The bar is empty, except for a guy in the sound booth, Jimbo by the door, and two bartenders prepping. Rodrick doesn’t see you, and immediately gets a pang of sadness.

“Hey,” he starts, leaning on the bar.

“We can’t serve yet, sorry.” A girl with tight blonde curls shuts him down.

“Oh, no, I was gonna ask… where’s the other girl that works here?”

She thinks for a moment, then makes a face of realization.

“Oh, she’s not working tonight. She’s headlining.”

Rodrick’s eyes go wide. Headlining? You? His mind is blown.

The bartender goes back to prepping without giving him a second thought. Rodrick walks back to the stage, zombie-like, deep in thought.

Now they really have to be perfect.

A few people have come in through the back, and they’re setting up portable tables along a wall.

“You guys need one?” A girl with tall, spiked hair asks.

They look at each other. Merch. Duh. They're pretty sure they have an unorganized cardboard box of t-shirts and buttons in the van. Ward had spent all his high school graduation cash on some real ones from a print shop.

Ben and Chris wedge the table out from between two vending machines, and Rodrick digs the box out of the van. It’s not a very impressive setup, but they’re pretty happy with themselves.

The doors open at 7, and it doesn’t take long for the place to fill up. Mike comes by and gives each of the guys three little paper tickets, like you’d get at an arcade.

“Beer tickets,” he says, before they can ask, “one of these gets you anything canned or bottled. Be nice to the bartenders, please.”

Ward and Ben high five and head straight to the bar, Chris heads to the bathroom, and Rodrick does a full scan of the area by the stage. Where are you? He needs to make fun of you for being nice to him, dammit.

Ward and Ben get back, looking a little shaken up.

“Rodrick, hey, do you want us to get you a beer?” Ben chuckles nervously.

“Nah, I can get it myself,” Rodrick starts to walk towards the front.

“No, no,” Ward puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You should really let us get you one!” Ben makes urgent eye contact.

“Why...?” Rodrick is starting to get freaked out.

“‘Cause we’re buddies!” Ward pats him on the shoulder.

Something is definitely up.

Rodrick pushes past Ward, walking through the tall arch that leads to the bar area. It’s absolutely packed. His heart skips a beat when he sees a flash of golden blonde hair.

Oddly familiar golden blonde hair.

The girl turns around.

No. It can’t be. There’s no way in hell that it’s-

“Heather Hills,” Rodrick whispers, grateful for the loud house music.

She’s sitting at the bar with a large group of people. Some douchebag with a double popped collar has his arm around her. They’re all laughing- the kind of laugh you do at someone. Snotty.

Any attraction he’d had to her has been completely gone for years. He feels a mix of hatred and nausea. They’re at the far end of the bar, by the door, so Rodrick blends in at the other end.

Please don’t look at me.

He gets a beer from the bartender from earlier, making sure to tip as your snarky reminder rings in his head. Also making sure to avoid Natty Light. He turns fast to get back to the stage, and right before he’s through the arch-

“Rodrick? Rodrick Heffley?”

He wheels around. She’s right fucking behind him.

“Oh, hey, what was your name again?” He rolls his eyes.

“Real mature, asshole.” She scoffs, “What are you doing here?”

“Playing a show. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Aww, you don’t wanna play nice with me?” She drags a finger down his chest. It enrages him.

“No. And you know why?” His voice goes low. He leans down so his face is close to hers, and he’s about to let everything out. Her face is smug, and she raises her eyebrows.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his back.

“Hey, you’re on in ten. Soundcheck time.” You peer around to see Rodrick's face. He looks pissed. You’re not sure what’s going on, but it’s none of your business. You’re just the messenger.

Rodrick’s eyes bug when he sees you, and his face relaxes a little.

“Um, excuse me, we were talking.” The blonde girl sneers at you.

“You can talk later. We gotta get this shit rollin’.” You don’t wait to see her reaction. You just turn around and head back to the stage.

If you’re honest, it's a little disappointing seeing Rodrick with, you assume, his very pretty girlfriend. It makes sense though. He's a nice looking guy. Your official assessment is toxic on-again, off-again high school sweethearts. Oh, well.

Just keep walking. Stay on schedule. Five bands, twenty minute sets, ten minutes for stage change. You repeat it in your head like a mantra.

Heather’s mouth is hanging open. Rodrick winces.

“Gotta go,”

He practically runs to the stage.

They’ve never done a real soundcheck before, and it’s kind of an intimidating process. The sound engineer is very no nonsense. Rodrick checks his drums one by one. Then bass, guitars, mics. Each adjustment is barely noticeable to them, and they end up just giving a thumbs up every time the engineer asks a question. Finally, they run through the whole chorus of a song to hear everything together. By that point, the dance floor is almost entirely full.

Rodrick takes a deep breath, scanning for Heather. He hopes she just left.

They've come a long way since their high school days, no longer unpracticed wannabes. Their sound has become pretty good, if they say so themselves. Tonight's only adjustment is to play faster.

The sound guy points at them, and Ben clears his throat.

“We… are Löded Diper!”

The chatting in the crowd subsides, and falls silent.

Rodrick hears snickering, and a voice saying oh my god, that IS him!

He panics, and right when the tension is almost too much to bear, a loud WOOOOOOOO comes from the very front. He looks and sees you, trying to rile up the crowd. It seems to be working. Other people are giving half-hearted cheers, which is something at least.

“That's more like it!” Ben yells, and they launch into their first song.

They only have a five song set, so everything has to count. Ben’s wails are powerful, he's really embodying a frontman. Chris is whipping his hair around, and Ward is the true picture of a bassist. Strong, still, and holding it all together.

Rodrick is hyper-focused on keeping the rhythm. And maybe showing off, just a little bit. He puts his whole body into hitting the drums, his mouth pulled into a tight “o”.

You have a perfect view from the front row, and what a view it is.

He's killing it. So focused and steady, but it looks like he's having fun. He leans into the mic to sing backup, and you get a flash of his sharp canines. You can see the muscles in his arms clenching, and the front of his hair is wet with sweat.

You feel your face getting hot, and you're reluctant to admit it's not just from the packed room. You’re suddenly faced with the very real possibility that you're very attracted to him.

He gives you a huge grin and a wink between songs, and it's no longer just a possibility. Fuck.

Blasts of air from his bass drum cool your face down, and you stare at him a little closer, analyzing.

You've been infantilising him a little bit, you'll admit it.

Kid. Cute. Baby boy.

Although you’re pretty sure the two of you are the same age, he just comes off like a teenager. You couldn’t help but haze him a little bit, especially after he just wandered into the bar with no plan. He’s really proving himself right now.

The crowd is going crazy. You’re holding yourself up on the edge of the stage, but behind you, a sizable pit has opened up. People are loving them.

“We have one more!” Ben shouts. People are screaming.

“We learned it just for you!” Rodrick yells. There’s something snarky about his tone. You like it.

You recognize the song immediately. Their rendition is just a little clunky, but it works. You can't help but smile, and wonder if Rodrick somehow heard your radio shift last night.

It's such a good choice for a first show. Perfect, really. It's like they're saying, we're here, fuckers.

You let the crowd swallow you up as you sing along.

Society's arms of control

(Rise above, we're gonna rise above!)

They think they're smart, can't think for themselves

(Rise above, we're gonna rise above!)

Laugh at us behind our backs

(Rise above, we're gonna rise above!)

I find satisfaction in what they lack

(Rise above, we're gonna rise above!)

We! Are Tired!

Of your! Abuse!

Try to stop us!

But it’s! No use!

The aftermath of their set is chaos. Good chaos, but chaos. They tear down their gear and load up the van. On their way back in, people are yelling and patting their shoulders as they walk by.

Hell yeah, dude!

Good set, bro!

It feels good.

A small crowd has formed at their merch table. Chris takes on the task of handling the sales, and before they know it, their box is nearly half gone. They hadn't expected that.

Another unexpected side effect of playing a good set: booze.

Once the merch crowd is gone, old rocker types materialize, holding out shot glasses and cans. One guy hands Rodrick a shot of something that burns, and puts a heavy arm around his shoulder. He starts up a conversation about drumming, which is really more like a monologue.

You were great out there, man. Who's your favorite? Like, who's your guy? It's Lars for me, bro, 100%. I saw Metallica in ‘88, bro. Busted a knee in the pit, and now I can’t play a double pedal no more. Where'd you learn to play like that? You could play like Hellhammer with those arms. Fuckin’ rock on, brother. Oh, hey, sorry, I was supposed to give you this lime to help with the tequila...

Rodrick’s head swims as the guy babbles, nodding his head like he's listening.

“Thank you,” he finally sighs out. He’s exhausted from just listening to the guy. He pops the lime in his mouth, and it does help quite a bit.

People just keep coming with shots, and beers, and stories, and the guys end up piss drunk before the second band is done setting up.

Rodrick smiles and looks around. He's having fun. They did what they came to do, and people actually liked it. The rest of the guys are making conversation with the other bands. Heather and whoever else had been laughing at him are nowhere to be seen, and he's happy.

Even happier when you appear in front of the table.

“Heyyy!” He yells, giving you a singular finger gun, his other hand occupied with a beer can.

You take one look at his half lidded eyes and lazy smile, and realize he's wasted.

“Are you drunk?” You cackle, “It's not even 8:30!”

He turns, and spits a sucked-dry lime slice into the trash can next to him.

“Shut up! You're drunk!” Rodrick points at you, smile still wide.

“Oh, man. You're gone. Your girlfriend is gonna be pissed!” You laugh.

The drunk-happy look fades from his face.

“My huh?”

“That girl you were talking to you. Girlfriend, right?”

“No fucking way!” he bursts out laughing, “She’s a rich, stuck-up asshole! She's an evil witch from hell!” He downs the rest of his beer.

“Harsh, but I believe you.”

Well, that settles that.

You wonder if Rodrick has ever been this drunk in his life. He doesn't seem like he knows how to handle it, but he seems to be having a good time, at least.

“Hey. You did really, really good. You killed it. I mean it.” You lean on the merch table and smile up at him.

Rodrick’s eyes are sparkling, and his smile is somehow bigger than before.

“You liked us?”

“I loved you guys. Everyone did. They're totally gonna have you back.”

He looks like he might cry.

"Hey, don't I get a shirt? Wasn't that part of our deal?"

Rodrick thinks hard, finally remembering.

"Oh yeah!" He shouts.

He ducks down under the table and rifles through a big box. You lean over and tell him your size. He looks deeply focused.

He finally resurfaces, and holds up the shirt, triumphantly. You take it and sling it over your arm.

"Thanks," you smile, "I'll wear it all the time."

He beams.

You hold out your hand, and he hesitates for a second before grabbing it.

“You wanna come stand with me? The next band is up.”

Rodrick’s heart soars.

You lead him to the middle of the crowd, where three other people are gathered, talking.

“This is my band: Maureen, Jessica, and Eddie.”

Rodrick is seeing double at this point, but he smiles and waves. He thinks he sees a girl with ridiculously long black hair, a girl with very short green hair, and a guy with little round glasses.

“Good set,” the guy gives him a fist bump.

Before they can talk any more, a microphone squeals. Everyone in the crowd is at attention. Rodrick blinks to try and focus in on the stage; the next band has set up a giant, inflatable palm tree and some yard flamingos. They're all dressed for the pool, it seems like. Big, bright board shorts and floaties. The singer is barefoot, and has a megaphone in hand.

“May I have your attention please, may I have your attention please,” his distorted voice comes through the megaphone, “The president of the United States is an insect! All your lives are a lie!”

The next few minutes are a blur of sound and color. Rodrick can’t process anything that’s happening in front of him. The music is weird, but good. Messy. The words don’t make any sense. His body is starting to sway uncontrollably, and he’s worried he might topple over.

His shoulder bumps yours, and you look up. He doesn’t look so good. You grab his hand again and lead him out of the crowd, all the way to the front patio, stopping to grab a water on the way.

Cool air hits Rodrick’s face, and he feels at ease. You help him into a low metal chair, and he stares up at you, helplessly.

“Are you good?” You push his hair up, away from his forehead, and hand him the cup of water.

“That was a lot,” he breathes, dazed.

“Chug that water, you’ll feel better,” you lean on the railing next to his chair, “and no more booze, big boy.”

“I thought I was baby boy,” Rodrick slurs, smirking.

“I think you’ve transcended that term,” you laugh, “unless you want to be baby boy.”

“What if I do?”

“You’re so weird,” you give his chair a little kick.

He sticks out his arm to catch your leg, and chugs the whole water in one go.

He lifts your leg a little higher, slinging it over his shoulder. You’re speechless. That’s pretty smooth.

"You said something nice about me," he slurs in a sing-song voice, "Mike told me."

"Oh yeah? What did I say?"

Rodrick thinks hard. What was it again?

"Something about... spirits? And ice cream."

"Okay, buddy." You shush him, "Just take some deep breaths."

It’s kinda nice, just sitting with him in silence. The last bit of daylight is leaving, and everything is shrouded in a faint blue.

“I think I like you,” he says quietly, not looking at you.

“I think you’re drunk. Get back to me in an hour.”

“Can I like you in an hour?” He holds your leg a little tighter.

“Go nuts,” you chuckle.

You don’t move your leg, though.

You sit together until the set ends, and people start to file out onto the patio.

“You wanna go back in? Your friends are probably worried.” You bounce your leg a little to get his attention.

“Yeah. I have to pee so bad.”

Another trans-am’s wrapped itself around a telephone pole

“I ain't drunk, officer, I just fell getting out of my car.”

Don't worry about it, son. We were that way when we were young!

You've got all the skills to make a damn good business man!

~

Rodrick stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, breathing deep. He feels a lot better after some fresh air and the longest piss of his life.

A stall door opens, and a familiar face shows up next to his.

“Heffley? Shit, that really is you.”

Bryan Kent is a bonafide asshole with a football scholarship, who'd made Rodrick’s life a living hell back home. He really doesn't feel like reconnecting right now.

“Yep. It's me.”

Rodrick turns to leave, but Bryan blocks the door.

“You're not even gonna say hi, diner dork?”

“Fuck off, Bryan. I'm not in the mood.”

Bryan pushes him, and Rodrick feels all that old rage bubbling up. He's still a little wobbly on his feet.

“Did the cops ever catch you for what you did?” Bryan takes a step towards Rodrick. He feels all the blood leave his face.

“Actually, one of my buddies from back home just passed police academy. You wanna come back to our table and put in a little confession?”

“Fuck off,” he pushes Bryan back hard, sending him right into the door.

You're waiting outside the bathroom, and starting to get just a little worried. One of Rodrick’s bandmates- Ward, you're pretty sure- is still by their merch table.

“Hey,” you smile at him, “Rodrick went into the bathroom kind of a long time ago. He was pretty wrecked, and I'm starting to get worried. Could you…?”

Ward is around the table before you can even finish your sentence.

“Don't worry, I got him.”

As Ward opens the bathroom door, another guy walks out, laughing.

“What the fuck?” Ward yells.

You come up behind him and see Rodrick, lying on the floor, face bloody. Your mouth twists into a sneer. Fucking frat boys.

You march to the front of the bar, and lean in towards Jimbo’s ear.

“Him. Out.” You point at the offender, who's still flexing his busted knuckles like a jackass. Like it's something to show off.

“Had a feeling.” Jimbo sighs, standing up.

Rodrick’s head is pounding.

He opens his eyes to see Ward, looking devastated.

“Dude, what happened? Can you get up?”

“Fucking… Bryan Kent,” he coughs out.

Ward helps him to his feet and hands him a bundle of paper towels. Rodrick dabs at his bloody nose and lip in the mirror.

Of course. Of fucking course one of those assholes would show up tonight, of all nights.

He takes a few moments to just stand there and recover.

“That was fucked up.” Ward breaks the silence.

Rodrick just nods.

They emerge from the bathroom and there's what looks to be a full on brawl at the front of the bar. Rodrick sees you walking quickly towards him, eyes wide.

“Are you okay? Jeez, look at your lip.”

You bring your hand to his face and take a closer look. It doesn't look like he needs stitches or anything, but his bottom lip is swollen, with a dark line in the middle. Blood is quickly drying up in one of his nostrils.

Rodrick jumps a little, and suddenly feels a whole lot better under your gentle touch. He gets lost for a second, just looking down at your worried face.

“I shouldn't have let you in there alone, I'm so sorry.” You murmur.

He smiles, but a yell from up front brings him back to reality.

“It’s cool, I'm fine. What's going on up there?”

“Well, we asked your... acquaintance to leave, and he didn't want to. And he's got friends.”

“Should we go up and help?” Ward clenches his fist, smiling slightly.

Rodrick’s other bandmates have joined the circle.

“I'd stay out of it, they've got it.”

You all observe as Jimbo drags Bryan out the front door by his ear. A second drunken dickhead is yelling I'm a police officer! Get off me! as a second, equally huge guy hauls him off.

Rodrick notices Heather following them out, rolling her eyes.

“Are we all good?” Someone from the stage asks into a microphone.

Oh yeah, there's still a show going on.

You all shrug, and head into the crowd together.

You take Rodrick's hand again, and give it a little squeeze. He turns to look at you, and smiles.

"Are you really okay?" You yell over the music.

"I'm really okay." He squeezes your hand back.

"Promise?"

"Promise."