#spiral hair growth

[blackexcellence]

Art by @lehuckbadu

African Hair Threading

Hair Threading has been part of the Black hair scene for many generations. It consists of wrapping sectioned hair in thread. This method of wrapping the hair in thread strengthens the hair without excessive manipulation, which is beneficial for your strands. Not only does the style strengthen the hair, but it also promotes growth.

The style comes from Sub-Saharan African countries and grew its popularity in West Africa, particularly, South Nigeria. Learn more here

Art by Izzakko via @blacklacerabbit

Bantu Knots and Hi-Top Fades

The Zulu people of southern Africa originated Bantu knots, a hairstyle where the hair is sectioned off, twisted, and wrapped in such a way that the hair stacks upon itself to form a spiraled knot (Source). Learn the history of Bantu Knots

The hi-top fade or flattop originated in the U.S. military around the ‘40s and ‘50s. By the mid-eighties, Black barbers began to reimagine the hairstyle, and due to its resemblance to Queen Nefertiti’s Empress headpiece, some speculated the hairstyle's origin. The hairstyle grew as a trend when worn by the like of Grace Jones, Doug E. Fresh, and Salt-N-Peppa.

Art by LaQuecya Allen via @nappy-by-nature

Afro

As far as hairstyles go, there's nothing Blacker than the Afro. In the 1960s, after decades of subjecting themselves to European beauty standards, Black folks decided to take back their hair. This newfound self-acceptance was widely known as the Black Is Beautiful movement, which sprang from the Black Power movement. The 'fro was rocked by Angela Davis, Huey P. Newton, and Jesse Jackson while fighting oppression; the hairstyle quickly emerged as a symbol of Black beauty, liberation, and pride.

Remember: tag your Black hair art with #BlackExcellence365 for a chance to be featured!

And keep your eyes out for next month's theme... 👀

[faeriekit]

How about Accidental Baby Acquisition for the askgame :D

This is where y'all discover that TimKon clone baby rules my entire life actually.

*

It's...small.

Well. Wait; Kon's face scrunches up. He shouldn't be using 'it'. It's a baby. It's going to become a person one day. So it's a...

(Kon checks discreetly.)

It's a he. For now, anyway. Maybe the baby will make a different decision when he's older.

...Kon pales.

Oh god. When the baby's older. He's already thinking about this baby as a foregone conclusion, and not, like, back end of Tim's weird one-stop cloning shop Tim's depression had built while Kon was dead.

Still. The baby's so small in his arms. When he yawns, little toothless mouth wide and gummy and his little pink tongue showing, Kon feels like every one of his internal organs is being crushed simultaneously.

It's just. The baby is so stinking cute. He has little dark fuzz for hair, and a little baby nose, and soft little hands with nails that aren't even real yet, but still flex and grab when they want something Kon can get them. His little toes are to die for. He's got a round little belly that's maybe a little too thin by human standards, but Kon can fix that. Some time and some formula's got to help speed that along real quick.

There's no question about it— really, there never was, because even with a backlog of desperate emails sent to a dead half-alien superhero clone that documented Tim's spiral into despair-induced mania, Kon had jumped out of bed and flown off as soon as he'd realized the sender was Tim's Bat secure random-generated-gibberish email.

Sure, he'd hoped to see a living, thriving Tim on the other end, and not a test tube baby floating in a tub of its own recycled growth medium, but hey. Tim's weird. It's Kon's job to be adaptable when his assigned Bat goes off the rails.

"I bet Ma's gonna love you," Kon whispers into the baby's cheek, and takes a moment to wipe more of the medium from the infant with the edge of his shirt.

The baby sneezes in agreement, and that's good enough for Kon.

[communistkenobi]

I keep thinking about that one post saying that everyone focuses on the changes you experience during the first two years of HRT despite most of the dramatic changes happening 3-5 years in and it has saved me from so many dysphoria spirals. Like i remember getting intense dysphoria whenever i heard a trans guy say “yeah so you won’t experience fat redistribution and facial hair growth until about 6 months into taking T” I have been taking T for over three years and I’m just now starting to experience those things lol. the emphasis on changes happening immediately sucks ass and causes so much unneeded despair

[thestobingirlie]

i think it’s interesting that so many people jump to steve shaving off his hair as a sign of growth, when i think what we’ve actually seen in canon is much more steve letting his hair grow out, and get messier as he’s evolved and grown out of what people expect him to be.

sure, it still fits within popular styles, but it is different to the way steve in s1 styled his hair, and i think steve having the freedom to grow out his hair and highlight it, etc, says more than steve just shaving it all off. the way his hair has changed through the seasons aligns with the ways steve’s developed, and tried to find himself outside of high school. and shaving it all off, usually in the midst of a mental health spiral, feels more like a step back, and, to me, comes across as this self-hatred punishment, as opposed to healthy growth.

[eveningepiphany]

welcome to the final show | H.S, part 3

my masterlist!

part one and part two!

summary: harry goes over to y/ns hotel for a good old room service dinner, also getting a little tipsy on wine, while starting to blur some lines. and it’s not long before things are no longer just between the two of them.

warnings: fluff, swearing, alcohol, getting a lil wine drunk, paparazzi, being confused on if you’re falling in love or just really good friends.

a/n: i’m so excited to finally have this written for you all! i’ve had some pretty bad writers block, hence the delay in getting it to you, but thank you so much again for your support and I hope you enjoy <3

———

There’s a certain type of attatchment that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.

It’s when things start to flourish. Maybe with a hobby, a passion, or a new found person. One your brain decides to put all its focus and interest on, to the point it’s all consuming.

This one gets stuck to you like glue. Hard to shake in the sense of no matter how hard you try to ignore it, it’s all you can think about.

Losing yourself in daydreams of something or someone without even realising, until you’re reaching for anything that will bring you closer to filling that need.

That’s exactly what’s leading you to be reaching for your phone at any given point of the day.

You imagine many perceive it to be a permanent growth on your person. But you can hardly help it. Texting is a simple way to reach someone. Feel connected.

So, safe to say you’ve messaged Harry more than your own family over the course of this trip.

You’ve become attached. To Harry Styles. Again…?

Of course, being a huge fan it’s easy to say you should probably already be accustomed to this, given your level of obsession.

But this is a whole other ball game. One that is becoming like an internal battle. Your already unhealthy and predisposed infatuation paired with now a real physical connection is enough to render you useless.

You reach for your phone. Text him, your brain begs. You consider. No, stop being clingy you loser, your brain rolls her metaphorical eyes. You place the phone down. Stare at a wall. Think about him. Rinse, repeat.

Not normal, you don’t think.

However, you search for some kind of justification. That you’re just good friends, and all that shit. It’s normal to miss someone you’re friends with.

If he considers you as that.

Which you would hope since you’ve been texting him enough it would be concerning if he saw you as just some mutual of his.

You’re also sitting in a cafe, unfortunately without him right now. Eating a croissant wishing that he were here. Allowing your gaze to linger on the chair across from yourself, imagining his solid frame filling up the empty space. What he would do if you stood up and ran a hand through his hair, maybe lent down a little so you could just—

The ring of the bell atop their entrance chimes and drags you out if your dangerous and spiralling thoughts. And for some reason get excited like you’ve somehow manifested this man to walk through the cafe door by thinking of him.

Feeling silly at the nag of disappointment in your stomach as you see an ordinary bloke saunter over to the till.

Maybe one you would check out, or emit some kind of interest in before you properly met Harry. You would feel disloyal now. Like the parasocial relationship has entered an entirely new level of psychotic.

If it’s still parasocial, that is. Or if now you’re just simply a girl with very cloudy and mixed feelings about a very beautiful man.

You audibly sigh out. Eating the final bite of your admittedly delicious croissant and picking up your phone.

You type out a message, sending it before you can even think it.

I’m in a cafe right now without you and you’ve honestly ruined them for me. I miss you and your free cups of tea.

Without me? Rude.

You laugh at his quip, watching as the little bubble pops back up indicating he’s typing.

I’m out right now, but if you’re not busy later we can do something? Go out or I can come over to yours.

You pluck mindlessly at your bottom lip with your teeth, how could you say no to that?

You stress over it either way.

well, you’re very welcome to come over to my hotel room. we can order room service if you want?

To this he texts back an agreement, seemingly keen. And you realise immediately you have to tidy your room before he comes over.

You swing him the location of where you’re staying, including your room and floor number.

Thank you love, ill be there in like 3 hours say? If that works for you.

At that, you stand, because who are you if not over-prepared. And it was time to go make sure your room didn’t like a war had been waged in it when he came over for the first time.

Cant be having a bad impression, you figured.

———

You did in fact rush back to your hotel complex. Not even stopping a crepe stall you passed by, which had to be a first for you. You clean the place until it appears well-kept at the least.

And once you’re finished, you easily fall back into overthinking the whole thing. So excited, yet getting those anxious jitters like a caffeine addict 12 hours no coffee.

Which is why you decide to busy yourself with an afternoon shower. And at the time you’d still had over an hour to go.

You take of course longer than you intended, and shortly after you come out there’s a knock at your door, easily making you jump as you tug a shirt over your head. Regretting the last minute decision for a shower since now you have wet hair and probably look like a right mess.

But it’s not like you can leave him out there while you go blow dry your hair, so you rush over to the door, and tug it open.

His brows shoot up, and a smile slowly blooms on his face as he takes in your appearance.

Your hair is still near dripping, and you stand in bike shorts and a loose tshirt. The most casual he’s ever seen you. Which he loved the look on you more than he admits to himself.

“Hi darling,” he smirks, a warm feeling settling over him as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Hey, Harry.” You stand for a few moments longer, finally shuflling out of his way to let him through the door. He is adorning a white shirt and has the cutest little bandana around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” You laugh, gesturing him inside, “I was drastically overestimating how long it would take me to shower… hence why im in this state.”

He pulls a hand from behind his back, a cup being presented to you.

“Don’t be silly, y’not in a state at all.”

“You’re joking—“ You gently take the cup from his ringed hands, “Harry!”

“M’sorry, m’sorry. I saw a coffee van on the way and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Did you get one for you?”

“No, but I did have a little sip of yours.” He confesses with a quiet laugh. But he quickly busies himself with your room, padding around and peeking out the balcony window.

You take a sip, watching him examine your space. Grateful you cleaned it.

He asks you a few questions about random things in your room, and you settle yourself on the foot of your bed, cross-legged.

You didn’t really think about the lack of seating in your one man room. But this hardly bothers Harry, since he’s scoped up the room service menu from wherever he found it, and sat next to you.

“Alright… what d’we have.” He talks to himself, opening up the menu and scanning over the foods.

You discuss the options, settling on a pizza and pasta to share, because, well, you’re in Italy.

The night progresses easily as time always seems to do when you’re together, and you fake fight over the best kind of pasta sauce. But he lets you have to last slice of pizza so peace is made shortly after.

“Should we order a wine or something? T’wash the pasta down.” He suggests as the sun begins setting.

“Why not, I won’t say no to some wine.”

That gets ordered to your door, and you go from the foot of the bed to lazing at the head of it. Sipping on wine and recounting old stories, or discussing stupid topics.

“Do you think the chicken or the egg came first?” You swirl your glass around, eyes shifting to look at his side profile as he gazes at your roof.

His cute nose outlined by the warm light off the lamp, which you flicked on in the corner after it got dark.

He bursts out into a laugh, “what kind of question is that?”

“I feel like it indicates the sort of person someone is.” You shrug, smiling.

“What like it gives you an intel on my personality?”

“Something like that.” You nod, “and decides if we have to stop being friends, if you answer the wrong one.”

He grins, “Well, maybe tell me which one to pick so we don’t have to do that.”

“Awh, so you don’t want to stop being friends?” You coo, still staring at him, watching as his eyes flick from the roof over to you.

“Of course not, who else am I meant to go on cafe dates with.” He laughs.

You’re both teetering on the edge of being tipsy, and it’s evident in the way you’re both talking to one another. Borderline flirting, probably a more fitting way to describe it.

“True, because I’d be very hard to replace.” You snort with sarcasm, taking the another sip of wine.

“You would be! I love our little dates.” He smiles, the second time he’s dropped the word date in the last minute.

You’ve scooted closer to one another somehow. Shoulder to shoulder as you steal glances of his beautiful face. Maybe this was subconscious, or on purpose. But you’re drawn to him like a magnet.

“So do I…” You flush.

“I’m a little tipsy.” You clarify, breaking the searing eye contact and looking at the near-empty glass in your hand. A fourth refill would easily tip you over the edge.

He lets out a quiet laugh, “Wine gone to y’head too?”

“Mhm, and I have a track record of poor decision making when I have too much of it.” You recall the plenty of times you did the stupidest shit just because you were wine drunk. Hoping that does not happen tonight.

“Might have to see it one day.”

“One day…” you agree, but you realise that you’re not really in Italy for much longer. You have about a week and a half left now.

“I… Harry,” you turn your body to face him, and he sits up a little, noticing the almost serious tone to your voice.

“I’m leaving soon.” You blurt it out, because it’s the only topic of conversation you’ve both been steering clear of. The thing neither of you want to address because eventually this won’t be easy to do. Who knows how many miles could get out between you.

And it almost hurts you to admit yourself because… where exactly does that leave you both?

Does your contact end when you leave Italy? Do you become people who occasionally text on a bi-monthly basis?

He draws a breath, “So am I.”

You let out your own tortured sigh, turning to pop your glass on the beside table and then lean your head onto his shoulder.

Your heart jumps at the contact, and somewhere in your brain, sober Y/N lets out a gasp, because she would never have the balls to do that.

So the wine maybe was a great idea…?

He wraps an arm around your back, “I go back to London after this.”

“Second week of August as well?” You pray it’s not earlier than the start of the month, since tomorrow is literally the 1st.

“Yea, the 13th.” He nods and it’s the only tiny shred of relief you’re getting from all this. That there’s still time left.

“I fly out on the 12th.” You say quietly.

But there’s a small silence that consumes you both for the first time since you met. Because you’re kind of exasperated for options right now. What do you say to someone who is going to inevitably slip from your grip.

You shake your head at nothing in particular, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, since words really weren’t going to cut it.

Somewhere in his muddled brain he notes this is the second time you’ve ever initiated a hug. And he leans into it, the arm he had around your back tugging you infinitely closer.

Your cheek is pressed to his neck, and you swear you feel his lips ghosting over the top of your head.

Slowly, you pull back. And he watches you with sharp green eyes. You hold that gaze, until he’s the one that breaks it. Stifling a groan with his hand, covering his face.

You look at him quizzically.

“I like this more than I probably should.” He gestures now between the two of you.

You chuckle, a tiny flutter in your stomach announcing it’s presence.

“So we’re making the most of the time left in Italy, then?” You put forward, ready to nearly wipe your schedule clean for the man.

Which, who could blame you?

“What are y’doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing, if you’re the one asking.” You laugh, and he smiles wide at your comment.

“Oh, is that so darling?”

You roll your eyes in attempt to be convincing, “of course, you always buy me tea so…”

“Well, that decides we’re going to another cafe I suppose.” His hand reaches for his phone strewn on the quilt somewhere, pulling up google maps to find some nearby cafes.

You perch your head back onto his shoulder to watch him scroll through the options. He stumbles on a beautiful looking one, less than a 10 minute walk away. He looks to see if you approve.

He peers down to where you rest on his frame, smiling unwillingly at the sight of you. Your own eyes trailing up to meet his.

And he swears they linger on his lips. Just for a fraction of a second.

“Mh, what d’ya think.” He gets out, voice suddenly several octaves lower. Almost gravelly.

You almost audibly gulp at the sound of him. Hyperaware of his existence right now, you could nearly zone out thinking about the strength of his arm muscle that’s right now pressed against you.

“Yea… yea that looks amazing. And tomorrow, what time?” Your hands fiddle with themselves in your lap.

“How about 1, since you’re probably gonna wanna sleep in a bit.” He suggests, free hand pushing his curls from his eyes.

The way he knows you’re probably going to want to sleep in. God.

“I’m down.” (Bad)

A smile erupts over your face, and you almost forget that the clock is still ticking. That you only have so long left here.

Which ‘almost forgetting’ isn’t enough to stifle the urge to use it as some kind of yolo shit. Because that is unbelievably strong. Like why not just invite him to stay the night?

Maybe another glass of wine and you can gaslight yourself into cuddling him and just falling asleep. He wouldnt leave unless he had to, so it’s an almost flawless plan.

———

The plan infact, was flawless.

To say the least, he slept at yours. In your bed.

I mean you don’t really remember it, since you talked into the early hours of the morning and drank some more alcohol to really top it all off.

You woke up under the covers, still clutching onto Harrys side.

He was already awake, scrolling on his phone, seemingly unbothered by the fact your head had taken residency on his chest.

You take the initiative to glance at the time in the upper-right corner of his phone, a little shocked when it reads 11:47am.

You do groan at the morning light streaming in the windows immediately after seeing the time though.

“G’morning. D’ya have a headache?” He asks with what you can only assume is the end of his morning voice. Which although just a taste, is enough to send you spiralling.

It’s also around now you realise he’s stripped down into boxers— still clad in his white shirt. What the fuck!

You struggle to form a coherent response.

“Morning. A little.” Your voice comes out as a hum.

Somehow, considering you’re cuddling him right now and you literally just slept in the same bed all night, both of you outwardly are quite relaxed about it.

Nothing is awkward. It feels lovely.

“I want a croissant so bad.” You huff, sitting up, stomach growling like as if you hadn’t eaten in a whole 24 hours.

“So, you’re the kind of person that’s hungry immediately after they wake up?” He laughs, hand coming to push the locks of your bed hair out of your face.

Outside of the sheer domesticity of that (which makes you literally have heart palpitations), your hair is a proper train wreck.

The humidity in Italy has made it horrific.

“I guess I am right now?” You reply to his previous ask, combing your fingers through the locks.

“Jesus Christ.” You curse at its uncooperativeness.

“Y’know that episode of friends where Monica complains about how the humidity fucks her hair, she was so right.”

“I love friends.” He immediately gasps, nearly jolting upright in excitement.

You laugh at his enthusiastic reaction, noting that you have to somehow find time over the next week to watch an episode or two with him.

“And if it’s any consolation, I think your hair looks great.”

“Yea well, it’s not like you’d really be able to relate to the frizzy hair. Since yours look so perfect all the time.” You joke.

This evokes a genuine flush on his face, “Alright, Y/N, calm it down.”

He’s laughing but you swear he actually looks a little flustered. Without the wine as a confidence booster, he seemed like suddenly he didn’t know how to take a compliment.

Unbelievable to you since he probably gets that many a day from strangers on the street.

“I, am going to get up and get ready then, so we can go out and eat.” You state, excited to be seemingly spending the majority of the day with him.

He holds back the urge to beg you to stay in bed with him, and says something nonchalant as if he doesn’t mind you getting up. But when you pad off to the bathroom he stares at your now empty space. And immediately shivers at the lack of your body warmth, despite the already warm humid weather.

After a few trips in and out of the bathroom you come out looking beautiful. And he has to get himself up and ready to go in attempt to not overthink it.

You craved his closeness the whole time it took you to prepare for the day. Every few minutes you’d get this almost overpowering urge to just go out there and throw yourself back into his arms.

It’s borderline pathetic. But now you’ve had him in your bed, his strong arms coddled around you, it’s very hard to not to be just that. His physical presence is perfect and comforting. You’re attached to that as much as any other aspect of him.

He puts on his pants, which were folded neatly on his own bedside table, plucking out the car keys in his pocket, “Im gonna nick down to my rental car, because I have an extra button up in there, so I’ll wear that out.”

He comes back and changes into said white button up, stripping his worn shirt off and leaving it somewhere.

Just like that, you’re ready to go, and you both decide to walk the short way there. It was too nice a morning to not.

The whole walk you’re chatting away as usual. But it’s paired with this newfound physical aspect. The way you so obviously want to be close it hurts.

Yet somehow you both act like it’s nothing. That the brushes of hands and shoulder as you’re in step beside each other is a simple coincidence.

And that when you get breakfast, the two croissants and shared cookie is just a friendly thing. In your head you’re even playing off the touching all throughout breakfast.

Which sounds dirty— but just the little conversational touches. Like a hand reaching out to touch a forearm in laughter, acting as if it adds something important to the moment being shared.

Or that somehow when you leave the cafe, with two takeaway cups of tea, the hands that end up interlinked softly between the two of you is just…

Well… who even knows anymore?

Because you’re walking through italy beside Harry— who is talking about his favourite kind of playground equipment, regardless of if he’s a near thirty year old man— all while holding your hand.

And to take a moment, because it’s important, his hands are everything they’re talked up to be. Littered with chunky rings and calloused fingertips from the years of guitar playing. Yet contrasted by his soft palms, which cups yours with this delicateness it almost brings a tear to your eye.

You also pray that your own hand isn’t sweating profusely in his grasp, because you wouldn’t put a clammy hand past yourself. The already humid weather paired with your anxiety surrounding this whole situation is quite literally the match made in hell.

Nothing about this can be passed off as casual to your brain anymore. You’re literally about to implode.

But you strive to hide it. So you solider on.

“I’m a seesaw girl okay. Hear me out—“

“No, I can totally see that!” He interjects, and you chuckle at his quick agreement to your statement.

“Right? They are so much fun. And even though I nearly took a tooth out playing on one when I was 7, I can still recognise they are superior.”

To that he laughs and bumps his shoulder into yours, “I mean I love that. I’m probably a swing person, I feel like no matter the age I will always be down for it.”

You can agree that a swing is a solid second favourite for you. And as you talk about that point with him, you don’t realise you’ve walked the whole ‘scenic’ route back to your hotel until you turn the corner and the entrance is around the corner ahead. And the way you went usually takes an extra 20 minutes.

It went so fast.

“Are you gonna head off or… come back up with me?” You ask gingerly, the hand not interlaced with his fiddling with the fabric of your clothing.

“Not sick of m’yet?”

“Never…” You shake your head, smiling as he gleams at your answer.

“M’flattered. The feelings mutual love,” he chuckles, “However I do have to go remind my family I’m alive. But it’ll only take about a day until they’re pleased for me to ditch them.”

Gently runs his thumb over your knuckles, whether it be subconsciously or not, “So tomorrow night ill come back over to yours for dinner if you y’want?”

You smile, a little sappy over the way he’s working a plan out like you’re both teenagers, “Yea, thats perfect, and we can try something else off the menu.”

“Maybe, if you want,” he begins carefully, “after that you can come over to where we’re staying. Meet my mum and sister. They’ll love you.”

Now you’re nearly bursting at the seems, “Oh, I would love that, H!”

“Okay, it’s a plan then.” He agrees, pulling his keys from his pocket.

You bid your farewells for the night, unlinking hands and being left with a tingling sensation in it, one that you wonder if he’s also getting.

You go to your hotel room and feel full with joy.

He is all too sweet for this world. And you’re a little obsessed.

———

Although Italy being in Italy feels like being in a bubble, and like you’re so far away from the real world, it is unfortunately a purely mental one.

And there’s one thing about a headspace like that, and it’s just how quickly it can be popped.

At midnight that night a notification pops up on your phone, one that when you open, you have to physically put your phone down.

harryflorals:

what do i even caption this post because is that who i think it is or am i officially delusional? “HARRY WITH A FAN FROM THE LAST SHOW, HOLDING HANDS IN ITALY!” correct me if I’m wrong YALL idek anymore.

And this time, there’s no grain saving your ass. Because this was taken on what, quality wise, looks like a digital camera.

Which has made it so painstakingly obvious that it’s you. And you don’t even remember it being taken?

It was when you were walking back from the cafe, holding hands probably talking about fucking seesaws.

And everyone has caught on fast, because in the comments it’s an all out frenzy.

So, cats officially out of the bag.

———

y’all can expect a part four considering i lowkey left this on a cliffhanger 😝 so its on its way my loves

update: next part, PART 4!

taglist:

@harrystylesgirlie @purple9950 @teamspideyman @rociolunaa21 @spiritofbuddha @lemonhrry @deamus-liv @Iquvlly @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @hsfanficsrecss @hsstylesrings @saturnheartz @victoriasigaard @lilfreakjez @mrsvxder @skxawngs @theekyliepage @hannah9921 @shiffpring @multifandomsw @roslastyles420 @slutforcoffein @kittenhere @stylesfever @butterfly-lover @daniizstyles @padf00ts-l0ver @sunflowervol18

+ all the anons who sent stuff to my submission box, thank you to you guys too, all my love

[iamumbra195]

!!!SBG SPOILERS CHAPTER 77!!!!

THIS CHAPTER WAS EVERYTHING HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

The dynamics between the kids and how comfortable they've gotten around each other, especially with how Ashlyn was totally okay with Taylor and Aiden messing with her hair-- which is something I absolutely adore in this chapter she looks amazing and badass. The fact that Logan felt comfortable enough being snarky like that is also everything. Like this kid has been bullied relentlessly and the fact that he knows he can be snarky and mess with Tyler like that without getting hurt because of it shows so much growth. And the little moment of childish delight between Taylor and Aiden at the idea of racing around and the fact that Ashlyn doesn't tell them to focus or be serious but instead tells them they can do it later?? Early Ashlyn would get so annoyed and now she's just chill with it because she knows they all have their own ways to cope and deal with the stress and that's honestly so sweet.

Also, Ben using sign language and being understood and the others trying to find solutions so he can warn them of danger or something he is about to do is so sweet. They're so accommodating and caring to one another without even having to think twice, it's honestly so sweet.

Alex helping them with the card without question is really sweet but I have bad feeling it's gonna backfire on him and I don't like it.

And the rules of the phantom dimension are literally so weird. So technically they don't need to sleep or eat but they should because it helps them feel better when they're awake? I knew I was onto something when I made that post about how the fact they're technically living 31 hours a day should effect them more physically.

Also, The fact that the facility has a fucking armory is insane but also works so perfectly for the Mike-centric AU I've been trying to cook up and speaking of Mike, OH MY GOD HE'S IN THE PHANTOM DIMENSION, I REPEAT, HE'S IN THE PHANTOM DIMENSION!!

Does that mean the other parents are there too? Is it just him? Is Emma with him?

Also, both dad and daughter being certified badasses and having the same instincts??

We also got Mike with facial hair again lol but I'm kinda worried about what the means. Like they probably gave them stuff for basic hygiene right? Did something happen? Is he spiralling? Who was the one that screamed in this moment?

Also-- THE WAY ASH STARTED CRYING WHEN SHE RECOGNIZED HIM??

Oh my god, idk if we're gonna have another hug moment where he's comforting her again or if we're gonna have all the kids hugging their parents but either imma start crying.

Also, if she's crying but she thinks she's the one who dragged her dad into the phantom realm and feels horribly guilty about it again I'm gonna fucking cry.

My thought process is all over the place but if you stayed thanks and here are some of my other favourite panels in this chapter.

the second one and aiden shooting the guns has some good pfp potential lol

Anyway, the new outfits and Ash's new hair is everything (she looks adorable I wanna squish her cheeks she looks like a chipmunk oml) and I can't wait until next week holy shit.

[carolmunson]

orange colored sky verse

he toys with the strings, a familiar riff from his late teens, nailed it right before he turned twenty. his foot taps along with the beat, in the zone, in the low hum of a side table lamp where the edison bulb glows orange. sometimes he unwinds like this — plays with his guitar with a bourbon in a glass next to him. better than his therapist, better than a phone call with steve. in his many decades of being alive, it’s the only thing that slows the gears in his head to a stop. just the strings and him. just the music and him.

you pad down the metal steps into the dark open concept kitchen and living room. he’d been off all day, and you knew this was his quiet place. him and his guitar. well, one of them, his favorite.

he doesn’t really look up when you go to the fridge for a pellegrino, he started buying them for his place when you mentioned liking them once. he replays the riff in a melody over and over, your head bobbing with the song.

‘let’s just forgeeettt, everything we said…’ you mumble sing under your breath. enough that his strumming stops and he looks up at you with a goofy grin, glasses perched on his nose.

‘what do you know about this song?’ he asks, voice like a worn record in the quiet of the apartment.

‘i got ears, babe. i was alive when the album came out,’ you laugh, cracking open the water and handing it to him.

‘nah, you would’ve been too young to be listening to that,’ he shakes his curly hair, taking a sip and putting it next to his bourbon.

‘ed it was 1999, you think i didn’t listen to american football in my emo years like, five years later?’ you go back to the fridge to get another water, this time actually for yourself.

‘ah yes, your scene phase,’ he nods, playing a harsh chord across the strings.

you roll your eyes, ‘it’s not a phase.’

‘oh i know,’ he teases. you make your way back over to press a kiss to his cheek.

‘you would know,’ you nod, ‘you’re still stuck in your grunge phase.’

when you lean back up to turn toward the spiral staircase he hear his quiet plea.

‘wait — um,’ he starts, ‘do you wanna stay down here with me?’

you look at him with a soft quirk to your brow, knowing he prefers to be alone when he’s down here tinkering, ‘you sure?’

‘yeah i,’ his face softens, ‘i just like bein’ around you.’

you come back toward him to offer another kiss on his cheek, spiky with new hair growth — not that you mind. you settle down on the sectional in the dark, watching his fingers and hands flow into his forearms while he plays new and old, some originals. he’s not trying to impress you, but you are always impressed when he plays. you know he knows that it does a little something for you.

but what you don’t know is that he’s never met a person that makes him feel quite like it does when he plays his guitar. that flows through him so effortlessly, like every song he’s ever written. you’re his favorite music to play.

[outletcrash]

my john design :)

in the book, the stranger says he has no mask. so i tried to make the mask look like a part of him, like bone. like natural growths showing under the skin. also a synonym for pallid is 'cadaverous', which is why the mask looks like a skull. the mask is also over his right side because he is the kings heart (right brained etc).

the cracks represent his humanity (like the spiral over his heart). they also represent where he has control over arthurs body (left hand, right leg, eyes). he's not trans in the conventional human way but he does have sparkly top surgery scars. and he has a sign of the king on his belly button (he was created by the king, kind of not really uhh close enough). the galaxy hair + chest/neck mouths are eldritch but also just cool.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

don't know if you did this before, but m6s reaction to their kid saying they want to be just like them? I feel like they need to hear it lol

The Arcana Mini-HCs: When M6's kid says "I want to be just like you."

Julian: his impulse is to say "that's a terrible idea", but his habit is to protect his child's hopes and dreams. the inner conflict leaves him with an anxiety spiral that takes two weeks, five bowls of Mazelinka's soup, half a shriveled leech (don't ask), and countless kisses to pull him out of. now he's determined to be someone worth being like

Asra: freezes. as in, so disassociated that they can't move from the spot they're standing in until you notice five minutes later and call their name. he doesn't talk about it much, but it leaves such a lasting impression that he starts patterning his own personal growth off of what he hopes his kid becomes - loved, secure, happy, and free

Nadia: accepts the statement as the highest award she could ever receive and notes it down in a memo on her desk, to help her stay centered while she makes decisions for Vesuvia. retroactively worries that her child feels pressured to become too much like her and goes out of her way to encourage them to pursue their own desires

Muriel: can't find words and doesn't want to visibly freak out, so he gives his kid the warmest smile and pat on the head before disappearing into the woods to process it. starts trying to be more verbal with his thoughts and inviting his kid to work on projects with him so they can be part of his world. panics about it nightly

Portia: pauses, because the last time she heard those words, she was the one saying them as a toddler to her older brother before he disappeared. gets down on eye level with her kid and tells them that, if they grow up to be the best version of themself, they'll be someone she wants to be like. happy cries herself to sleep for the next week

Lucio: panics because yeah, he's a great guy now, but it took him forever to get here (not counting multiple war crimes) and he really doesn't want his kid to have the same complicated journey. on the outside he's ruffling their hair and telling them that as long as they can out-howl Mercedes and Melchior, they already are just like him

[bettyfrommars]

Missed Connections

older!Eddie x f!Reader

We are in a new town with drifter!Eddie, he's in Oregon and it's the mid-2000's. He survived the Upside Down and has been traveling ever since, carrying his wounds with him. There is no "monster" action in this, as with the other drifter Eddie stories, there isn't even any smut, but I love thinking about him, and I wrote this purely for myself, and maybe two other people. Eddie is in his late 30's to early 40's, and reader is over 30.

18+ONLY, MDNI, mechanic!Eddie, alcohol consumption, mention of scars and depression, loneliness, mutual crush, surprise ending

wc: 1.6k

On the outskirts of town, just before you could catch the highway in either direction, there sat the only gas station for 20 miles.  The tiny mom and pop market behind it housed various essentials including lottery tickets, deep fried corn dogs, and booze.  

The liquor store was a separate entity, but a part of the same building, which made for one hell of a convenient stop, and over the past year, it had become a part of your routine to drop by after work every Friday.

It wasn’t long before you noticed him, the guy with the long hair and wallet chain with bats tattooed on his forearm.  His work boots were scuffed, and he wore a long-sleeved flannel in the winter, but by the time spring came, his button-up, heather blue work shirts gave you a view of the rest of the ink and scar tissue covering his arms.  One day, when he was going in, you were coming out, and he held the door for you.  He had silver hair at his temples, and a thin white scar on his cheek that tugged down his eye a bit. The patch on his pocket said Eddie.  

Another month of Fridays went by.  You were lingering in front of the rows of bottles, humming to Hank Williams being played over the sound system, wondering if you wanted to try a new vodka.  Maybe the coconut flavored one would change your life?  A bit of fizz and perhaps you could close your eyes and pretend you were on that vacation you’d only been able to dream about for years.  

“‘Scuze me,” the deep whisper was so close, it made your heart somersault. 

It was that Eddie guy again, stretching his arm out long in front of you to grab a pint of Jameson.  The fact that there was plenty of room for him to go around and get it without interacting was not lost on you.  You took that opportunity to inhale a sharp breath, noting the hints of motor oil to match the dark stains under his fingers and in the creases of his knuckles.  A touch of sandalwood softened with vanilla and nicotine, and a secret other thing you couldn’t put your finger on.  

“My grandpa loved Jameson,” you mumbled, keeping your attention on the clear booze.  

Eddie scowled curiously, searching your profile. “He had good taste.”

You offered a tight grin, not sure what else to add.  You’d been alone for so long, you were starting to forget how to interact with people, but the clunky gears in your mind registered that he wasn't wearing a wedding ring.  He did have a silver hoop piercing in one ear, though, and a few days' worth of scruffy beard growth.

It startled you to find him chilling on the sidewalk, lighting a smoke just outside the door.  

“Have a nice night,” you hummed politely, beelining for your car. 

The lit cigarette bounced between his lips as he spoke. “Same time, same place? Next Friday?”

With your driver’s door open in front of you like a shield, you paused to look at him.  All the months you’d been crossing paths, you’d never caught him smiling before, but just then, one side of his mouth curled up and a dimple popped in his cheek. An unusual warmth crept through you, and you bobbed your head a few times to answer his question. 

When you got home that night, you sat outside in your car and bawled into your open hands. Your life had been spiraling out of control for a while, and every so often the dam burst when you least expected it. You didn’t have any tissues in your car, so you blew your nose on an old fast food napkin and wished you could afford to relocate and start a new life. You wondered if Eddie was lonely, if he ever sat on the couch watching TV, wishing he had friends, wondering where all the years had gone.  

You’d been wallowing so hard in your misery, you didn’t hear your mother stomp out onto the sidewalk.  “ARE YOU COMING IN?” She shouted it, as if you were hard of hearing and had no neighbors. “The damn remote is broken or something.  I can’t figure it out.”

Staring glassy-eyed at nothing, you took a deep, withering breath that made your lower lip tremble. Another weekly ritual of yours was to show  your mother how to use the TV remote and listen to her tell you how tired you looked.  

The next Friday, you were running late from work and only caught sight of Eddie driving out of the parking lot.  It was then you realized that you didn’t really need anything at the market that day, so you wandered around for too long before settling on a Snapple and a few of their cheapest scratch tickets. You did not win anything.

He was late the next week, but your skin flushed with excitement when you caught sight of him zooming in off the main street in his beat-up work truck.  When he came in, he scanned the store until he found you, and then you both picked up items nearby and pretended to be interested in them.  

You shifted too close to one of the shelves and knocked a row of tampons to the ground, cursing as you fumbled to pick them up before anyone could stroll over to investigate.  

When you stood to full height again, your Eddie had vanished. Maybe he’d gone to use the restroom, you had no clue, but now you had a box of super plus tampons in your hand that you actually needed to buy, along with a few other things in a shopping basket on your arm, and you wanted to check out before he returned.  

Ten minutes later, he was still MIA. 

What the hell were you planning to do, anyway?  His truck was still there. Months of nothing but a few words and goofy stares was all it would ever be.  Just a silly little corner market crush.  Get over it.  

You decided to start your car up and hit the road. 

But your engine had other plans.

You pumped the gas a few times on the old Chrysler that used to be your grandmother’s, asking for her help from beyond the grave. 

“Please, please,” watching the door to see who was coming out, you tried the ignition again.

The engine cranked a bit, and then nothing.  

You tucked your chin to your chest, about to lose your shit right there at the corner market parking lot. 

But then

there was a knuckle tap at your window, and for some reason, you weren’t surprised to see Eddie standing there.  His hair was pulled back in a ponytail that day and he was still wearing coveralls like he’d been in such a hurry to leave work and had no time to change.  Chocolate eyes were concerned as he made the universal sign for you to roll your window down.  

“Won’t start?” He rested his hand on your side mirror.  “Want me to take a look at it?”

One thing about you, it was nearly impossible to accept help of any kind, especially from strangers.  

“No, I—” you tried the key again, knowing you’d get the same result.  “I’m sure you have other places to be.”

“I got no place to be, I promise you,” he wanted to help, but he was also weary not to force himself and make you uncomfortable.  “I’d be happy to help.”

“I’ll just call triple A,” you flashed a nervous smile. 

“If you’re sure,” he bit his top lip and gave an awkward thumbs up before heading back.  

Eddie sat back in his truck a second and thought about it.  It didn’t take long for him to jump back out and go over to offer you the use of his flip phone, in case you didn’t have one.  Maybe he’d think of some other clever thing to say, but probably not.  

He found you in the same position, both hands gripping the wheel, a catatonic look on your face.

“Hey,” he waved as if it were the first time seeing each other that day.  

“Hey,” you gulped. “I’m really glad you came back.”

“You are?” He cocked his head, jaw muscles tightening.

“Yeahhhh.  I don’t have triple A,” you let out a strangled, self-deprecating laugh.

“Is the engine turning over at all?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and shook your head, and by the expression on his face, you could tell that was not a good thing.

With a deep breath, he glanced from you to the hood of the car, hooking a thumb into his pocket.  “Well, we might have to tow it to the shop so I can get a better look at it there.”

“I appreciate it, but I can’t afford—”

“It’s on me,” he shoved both hands all the way in his pockets then. “The guy that owns the shop, he owes me a favor.”

Fucking right Lou owed him a favor. He owned him like 20. He'd been busting his nut sixty hours a week, while simultaneously keeping quiet about the illegal chop shop that Lou ran out of his second garage. Not to mention Eddie had never asked for a handout or so much as a day off in the eighteen months that he'd been there. Plus, Lou did not want to meet Eddie's bad side.

"I can change your oil, rotate your tires, make sure everything else is running okay."

You sought his eyes for reassurance.  The neglected heart inside of you didn’t know what to do with the generosity.

You were grateful he'd opted not to lift up your hood right then and there. It would've been pretty easy for him to sleuth out that the distributor cap was missing, and those didn't just vanish out of thin air. For now, it was in your bag, and you'd find a way to get it back on eventually.

“Do you want to wait here while I go and get the tow truck, or do you want to ride with me? I'd love to buy you dinner, if you're hungry."

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Something something minute man Dew hiding how fast he cums from Aether, who figures it out and uses it against him. They're obsessed with each other. Fucking thank you @miasmaghoul for causing this.

That first time, Aether hadn't noticed anything odd. Too caught up in the heat of Dew's mouth sinking down on his cock, something he'd been thinking of as soon as he met the little ghoul, as soon as Dew had given him that sly smile of his.

But now, revisiting the memory with the air of his Quintessence, Aether notices it. When Dew's hot little mouth had taken him to the root, stretched wide and drooling at the corners, Aether had taken the back of his head and held him there. Hitting his soft palate hard enough to leave a telltale bruise, grinding Dew's proud nose into the growth of hair, rubbing his balls on his chin, Dew moans. A low and broken sound that at the time, had sent Aether spiraling, made him really start to fuck Dew's mouth. Now he views it as a spectator in his own mind and notices more. The way Dew's claws come out to tear little shreds in Aether's pants (that's where those had come from), the way his eyes start watering and the way the air becomes tinged with that distinct seasalt-and-sweat scented humidity of a water ghoul's orgasm.

Dew had cum just from Aether using his mouth. No stimulation on that little cock of his.

What had Dew done after that? He keeps watching, watches his memory self hold Dew’s skull to his crotch, jerking his hips all sloppy until he cusses and cums. Dew didn't swallow. He kept his mouth shut and Aether's softening cock slipped out. He’d gone up on his tiptoes and kissed the cum right back into Aether's mouth, pushing his skinny hips against Aether's thigh until he was shaking from overstimulation, what Aether had thought was his own climax at the time.

That was how he hid it, Aether thinks. He withdraws from the memory. Brings up another, swirling like smoke from the depths of his mind.

Tendrils curl around him, refusing to dissipate. That's right; Dew had ambushed him in the sauna after a workout. The memory is tinged with the scent of fresh cedar, the hiss of water being poured over the coals as Dew peered up at him from underneath the thick spread of his lashes. The towel hadn't hid Aether's interest at all, tenting noticeably when Dew crept forward on his knees, elegant hands coming to rest on Aether's thighs.

Can't stop thinking about you. Dew had whispered, licking a line up soft skin. Cleaning up the sweat he found there as Aether confessed to much of the same sentiment.

Wanna taste it again. He can still feel Dew’s lips move against his thigh, dangerously close to where Aether needs him. Want you to watch me choke on it.

Dew hadn't even waited for a response. Just tugged at the place where Aether had tucked the towel into itself and opened the fabric like a gift. Stuck his face right into Aether's groin and breathed in deep, opening wide to let one of his balls sit on the flat of his tongue.

Filthy, Aether mouthed as Dew tongue bathed him, chasing every hint of salt and sweat it could find. Dew had just nipped the soft, wrinkled skin of his sack and didn't deny it. Finally, after an eternity, he flicked the point of his tongue up the shaft to the head. Gave it a little kiss and locked eyes with Aether as he pushes past his gag reflex to shove his cock down his throat. It was slower, more decadent as Dew kept him warm; pulling off to taste a fresh blurt of pre and swallowing him down again. Aether had been begging for more within minutes, kicking his feet across the floor, pounding his fist on the bench but Dew had played with him until they were both moaning, Aether trying to fuck further into that mouth and Dew curling an arm around his knee and squeezing tight as he rocked and shook between Aether's legs. Again a spectator, he watches himself shoot down Dew’s throat as the little ghoul sniffles and shudders.

Putting his arm between his legs only when Aether asks about him.

Took care of myself. He muttered, voice hoarse. Aether had only laughed in wonder at the time. He didn't notice the way Dew shifted nervously, watching and waiting for…something. When it didn't come, he looked relieved and allowed Aether to heft him up on his lap and kiss him, petting at his soft, sticky little cock as Dew squirmed.

The memory fades. His body aches, a steady thrumming between his legs as blood rushes south, swelling and growing. He puts a hand over himself to rub and dips back into thought.

He’d tried returning the favor once. Tried to get his face between Dew’s legs one early, early morning when they both woke up hard, dreaming of what they’d done last night. Nothing serious. Just a hot and heavy make out session that Aether now suspects ended early on Dew’s part, the way he had arched and gone all boneless as Aether kissed his nipples. Immediately bullying his way between Aether thighs, moving his arm a little too dramatically between his own legs as he did.

That morning, he pinned Dew to the bed and kissed down his bony chest to where his stiffy poked up, already dotting the sheets. Dew had tolerated that for just about two minutes, he thinks. Cute sack all tight and blushing as Aether licked, licked lower to where Dew wouldn't let him go, not yet.

Stop-! Dew moaned, sounding just distressed enough that Aether does. Pulls away and lays by Dew while the little ghoul cusses and writhes.

Sensitive? Aether had teased, fondling his balls, weighing them on his fingertips. Tickling his perineum and smiling at the way Dew’s face contorted.

Yes Dew bit out, and then bit Aether, the little menace. Aether playfully chomped back, teeth clacking on air while Dew kicked him. It devolved I to wrestling after that, with them grinding out their orgasms on each other and Dew does a terrible job at hiding his relief when Aether blows first, hot and sticky over his hip. Giving Dew permission to do the same it would seem.

Aether sees the pattern now, of course. His hindsight is perhaps even better than 20/20, with his ability to replay his own memories. His poor, sensitive little droplet. Cagey about his own body, his own pleasure. Did he think Aether would laugh? Make fun of him? It isn't like he's Swiss, for Lucifer’s sake.

He opens his eyes. Reaches for the phone on the sheets next to him and fires off a quick message:

Need you.

Now.

He's left on read. It doesn't bother him, especially when he hears soft footsteps outside his room. Coming when called. Dew slinks into the room with a knowing smile on his face, eyes zeroing in on the casual way Aether shifts to better displays the fat shape of his cock in his sweatpants. Even now it kicks as the bed dips under Dew’s weight. He curls up to Aether like a cat, resting his head on Aether's bare chest. Tickles his fingers over the swell of his belly to pluck at the waistband below it. Aether says nothing. Just kisses his forehead and watches. Watches as Dew tugs the elastic down, takes his thick cock in hand. Gives him a few dry tugs before bringing his palm up to inhale the musk clinging to his skin before he spits and tries again. Aether moans into his hairline, puts his own hand over Dew’s.

“Said I needed you.” He tells him, lowly. They jerk his cock together, twining fingers.

“M’here, aren't I?” Dew rasps. He squeezes and Aether groans.

“Want your cock.” He says and Dew freezes, his hand pausing. Aether pretends not to notice and keeps talking.

“You never let me suck you off.” He murmurs. “Want you to cum on my tongue, my face.” He breath so deep, pushes his chest up. “My tits.”

“Uhm…” Dew stammers. He starts moving his hand again, twisting it just right at the tip. “Let’s just get you taken care of first, big guy.”

“Then I'll eat you out.” He promises and Dew whines. His hips jerk on their own and Aether hides his smile at the familiar jut of his sweet little cock behind the zipper. He hopes it hurts. “Would you let me do that, Dew? Want it so badly.”

“Uh-huh…” Dew says unsteadily. He bites his lower lip, focusing on giving Aether the best handjob he can. He's aided by the glide of precum, still a touch on the dry side but Aether doesn't care. He turns so they're facing each other, bumps the head of his cock against the swell of Dew’s.

“Or together?” He suggests, reaching for the zipper. “Let me get us off.”

“Aether, wait-” Dew grabs his wrist but Aether's already pulling the short length of him out. Already so red and wet. Fits neatly into the palm of his hand and Aether makes a happy noise as he snuggles their cocks together in his fist, holding so Dew can't wiggle away.

“You feel so good against me.” He breathes and Dew chokes. He stares wildly between their bodies as Aether starts to stroke, rubbing his thumb across the tip. So narrow compared to his own broad cockhead. All those nerves clustered nice and close together in such a small space. Pre burbles up from the slit and he smears it around, playing with it while Dew starts to panic.

“Gonna make you cum.” He says and then to his amazement, Dew does. Bucks frantically into Aether's fist for a few measly seconds and sobs as he starts to squirt, splattering over Aether's belly and happy trail.

“Fuck!” He cries, still moving his hips. “Aether, you fucking-”

Aether kisses him. Swallows all the nasty comments trying to force their way out until Dew’s beating him back, scowling. He glances longingly towards the door like he wants to escape but Aether stops him, holding him close as he humps against Dew’s hip.

“Can't believe you tried to hide it from me.” He whispers, right into Dew's ear. “Fucking gorgeous, Dew, fucking perfect.”

Dew resists his panting, open-mouthed kisses at first. Still too busy scowling. Beautiful Aether repeats. Perfect, fucking made for me and eventually he melts. Opens his mouth for Aether's tongue, let's himself be kissed and licked and petted until Aether's groaning into his neck, pumping his own load across Dew’s stomach. He doesn't say anything in the afterglow. Just holds Dew close and waits for him to speak.

“Been thinking about you fucking me.” He starts, after an age of silence filled by their steadied breathing. “It's…. I'm-, I can't-”

His words fail him. He gestures uselessly at himself and lets his hand fall.

“Been thinking about you fucking me.” Aether says to fill the silence and Dew sighs, cock twitching. “It would be easier. Especially now.”

He takes Dew’s hand and brings it to his cock again. Makes him feel how soft it is compared to how Dew is already making a valiant effort to swell up again. Dew makes a worried, broken sound as he gropes Aether. Gives his heavy balls a gentle tug.

“You could slip in so quick after I fingered myself open for you.” He continues. “Wouldn't be much of a struggle.”

Dew laughs weakly in disbelief. His tail flicks in anxious excitement behind him.

“Could sit on it.” He kisses Dew’s forehead. “Do you think you’d slip out if you were stuck underneath me?”

Dew doesn't answer. His cock sits at a decent half-chub already.

“Want you to fill me up Dew.” Aether says and Dew nods stupidly.

He wraps his own hand around Dew’s stuffy and smiles so sweetly at the way his eyelids flutter, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“As many times as you can take.”

[crushedsweets]

i'm so obsessed w your blog you really unlocked all the nostalgia that's always waiting under the surface frfr i hope you send me spiraling all the way down again i miss it here so bad. anyway can i ask. what u got on... jane my beloved... sowwy if there's already like. posts abt it i'll go thru your whole blog someday and learn everything like my uni books xx

ok some quick warm up doodles this morning to go with the chat i got... tw for torture, stalking, really sad stuff.

link to my au that has a page with her in it

ok to start off with, jane/liu aren't TOO present in my story because jane and liu live really normal lives. most of their personal story is about recovery and growth, they were victims not aggressors. they're more involved in ninas story, rather than the overarching slender/operator paranormal problems...

jane grew up in an upper middle class household with incredibly loving parents. she was majoring in criminal psychology and lived with her parents, since they were close to the uni. it was during her second year in university that jeff began stalking her. he'd leave dead animals on her doorstep, light fires in her garbage cans, shatter windows without even entering the house, key her car, leave cryptic writings on her car that say stuff like '1f' (1female) to further scare her.

it wasn't that there was anything special about jane, but she had a super easy, very strict schedule to follow. her uni classes were all in the same building at the time, her car had a few cute stickers and decorations on/in her car that made it easy to spot, she only worked sat-mon at a cafe near her university. she was a happy person. easy victim he thought

eventually, while jane was out, he broke into her home and assaulted her parents. whether he used drugs or just stabbed them in the right place to make them immobile idk, but he got them tied up in the kitchen at some point. he was torturing them, doing the typical carved out smile bullshit, and he planned on leaving them for jane to find that night -- but, for the first time, her schedule was different. she came home from work while he was drenching the house in gasoline.

he panicked upon hearing her absolutely gutwrenching scream and quickly lit the trail of gasoline while she was trying to untie her dad (her mom was long gone by this point, her dad was barely managing a few wheezed breathes). he went to go finish jane off. he slashed her face, from her right temple, down her cheek, splitting her mouth in half and getting down to her left jaw. but the fire was spreading way faster than he anticipated, and he already heard sirens, so he bolted.

jane suffered 3rd degree burns covering her entire right leg and arm, it reached up her neck and her face, alongside some other parts of her body. she was pulled out of the fire, rushed to the hospital, and barely managed to survive.

jane had some outside family to support her, but her biggest supporter was her friend from middleschool mary vaugn. she moved into mary's house, took a semester off of school for recovery. the second she felt physically able to, she tried to drive herself right back into school, regardless of her mental condition.

she changed her major to criminal justice. she eventually graduated, fell in love with mary, got married, became a private investigator, etc. she spent a while working on jeff's case, losing sleep and hair over it- she was getting into some sketchy things to try and figure it out, because by this point jeff and ben were friends, and slenderman needs ben's help, so jeff's now protected by slenderman

but jane is one stubborn fucking woman and kept going. instead of sending the proxies to subdue jane, he sent sally.

sally was another poltergeist that kept haunting homes with newborn babies. she was attracting some attention, but slenderman cant physically stop a ghost - so he spent some time talking to sally, connecting with this little ghost girl and convincing her 'you're doing such a great job protecting all these infants, but this one needs you now'

he sent sally off to live with jane. mary's sister was staying with jane/mary after having a baby, so sally agreed to protect the baby. jane quickly welcomed sallys presense, always having believed good things of protective spirits. her mom used to tell her stories of how her grandmother's ghost would always come and soothe jane in her infancy (whether its true or not doesnt matter to jane) .

sally eventually became more than a presence to jane, almost completely integrating herself into her household's daily life. even after mary's sister and her baby left, sally stayed with jane. she felt safe there. (it helped that there were no men in the house too)

jane cares for sally like a daughter for a long time, and begins to redirect her life towards sally, rather than hatred for jeff. she never fully recovers from that night, and she never ever ever ever fucking 'forgives' jeff in any way, but she puts it aside for a while.

but sally is still a spirit, and does her fair share of wandering. she's always landing herself in the cornfields, the forest, etc, and jane goes frantic looking for her -- which is where she eventually bumps into the proxies. it's a huge mess, but she finds out what the fuck slenderman is and whats happening in that forest, but she just . . cant do anything about it. for sallys sake

eventually they get to the point where jane commonly finds herself walking in the forest with sally, or the proxies have to call jane and tell her to 'get her ghost kid' from the forest, etc.

at some point in this she also connects with liu. i don't know who reaches out first, whether it be liu desperately wanting to apologize for everything, or jane trying to figure out anything about jeff she can use to find him. this is how she finds out about nina.

jane smacked the shit out of nina when she first met her, in front of the proxies, who had to pull them apart. (i love nina but she deserved it after idolizing jeff). but nina is really fucking weird and began to idolize jane as well, and sally liked nina, which made it even more complicated, and that's why jane is the first person nina calls after jeff stabbed her ...

by this point janes hoping nina can heal, hoping liu can heal, hoping she herself can heal. ITS VERY HARD. its so unbelievably painful. that's basically where her story is at right now...

on a more positive note, she has a beautiful relationship with mary, and was hugely accepted in mary's family. she does poetry, creative writing, and is passionate about her career. she takes some extra creative writing/art courses at the local community college, just out of pure interest. she does her best to live a peaceful life

a bit off topic, but here's a little thing i copy and pasted from an old hc post too:

i cannot explain how close jane and her parents were. she was an only child in a upper middle class house to a lawyer and a real estate agent so she was always spoiled rotten, taken care of, always told how beautiful and smart she was. hence why losing them is the most fucking detrimental shit to ever happen to her. she literally worhsips her parents. she’s wore mothers wedding dress to her own wedding. her uncle(dads brother) walked her down the aisle holding a framed photo of her dad. she almost refused to walk during her university graduation because her parents couldn’t be there, despite the years worth of hardwork and dedication she put into it.

[iolaussharpe-24]

Barbie in the Mojave - Chapter One

I promised. It's time to deliver. Chapter one of the Barbie/Mojave fic.

This is just chapter one, so Jack isn't quite here yet, but I hope that it will set the tone I want the story to have.

Special thank you once again to @waywardrose for helping me finally watch Mojave! If it were possible to wear out a digital file the way you could wear out a VHS tape, it would be by now. There was a day I legit watched it three times in a row. I'm not even kidding. This story would not be possible without you.

I also want to tag @my-secret-shame and @lunar-ghoulie for showing this crazy idea interest, as well as @ominoose, @reallyrallyauthor, @steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, and @have-you-seen-my-sanity because you guys were on the "tag regardless" list I made for people I love and thought might enjoy this.

Strangers in a Strange Land

Somewhere along the way, she wasn’t sure where, a wrong turn had been made. Barbie and Ken, for whatever reason, were still in the car. Still in the seemingly endless stretch of desert. Where was the speedboat? The rocket ship? Tandem bike, camper van, snowmobile? She wasn’t supposed to overthink it but, this was ridiculous! The only difference between now and two hours ago were minor things. The sun was hotter. The breeze was warmer and picked up sand that seemed to go straight for the dolls’ eyes. The radio only played static. Even the landscape had changed around them. Fewer sand dunes. More rocky mountains and plateaus. No one around except for the two of them in her pink corvette. There was growth around them, rather than the empty sea of sand. Plants in the ground. Birds in the sky.

They’d somehow lost the road. It had gotten covered up by the sand. She’d thought they were still on it, but this excuse for a dirt road she was driving on didn’t seem to be taking her where she needed to go.

It was maddening. Especially for Barbie. Ken was too busy looking at cloud shapes, cacti, and wiry bushes to really notice that anything was severely wrong. Granted, Ken was the only one to not notice her flat feet when literally everyone else on the beach was freaking out and screaming because of them. Even Weird Barbie thought it was strange. She said she’d never seen anything like it before. And then the way she’d reacted when Barbie had told her the rest….

Going to see her felt like a nightmare. A horrible, horrible nightmare. Life was perfect. Everything was perfect. Her home, her friends, her body, her entire universe! Everything was just the way it was supposed to be. It always was. In all the years she’d existed, Barbie had never had so much as a knot in her hair, let alone a malfunction so bad that it warranted a visit to-

Ugh! She was starting to spiral. Her world had gotten so chaotic so fast that she was starting to go crazy, and that was only accelerating the problem. It was getting harder to keep her smile on her face. She could feel it trying to fall every time she stopped thinking about it. Smiling was always easier than breathing to her. To all the Barbies! …. And now her body doesn’t want to breathe either because she thought about it!

“Look Barbie! A rabbit!” Ken called excitedly, pointing out from the backseat of the car to a brown hare hopping a few yards away.

Wanting to distract herself from the chaos slowly overtaking her existence and threatening to completely envelope her body as well, Barbie looked out at the animal. She watched it move. It was… odd. To say the least. Alien, to be completely honest. In Barbieland, animals didn’t really move much. They counted as accessories. Not dolls. They didn’t have the joints to move the way that Barbies and Kens and Skippers and everyone else did.

But this hare was moving.

Its legs were pumping, carrying it along the sand at a fast pace. Barbie slowed down the car, her eyes glued to it. It was strangely majestic. And she came from a world where rainbows were more common than sunlight, mermaids appeared out of the water to say hi wherever they wanted, and glittery dresses could transform into brilliant fairy wings with a twirl. Her basis of comparison was odd, but that little creature was so-

Before Barbie could even work out her own thoughts, she hit a bump in the road. A very big bump. The kind that didn’t just cause the two passengers to jump out of their seats. The kind that made Ken fly out of the vehicle because he didn’t have his seatbelt on, and flipped the pink corvette onto its side, taking it’s still strapped in pink clad plastic passenger for a ride that she hadn’t been expecting when she asked to be sent to the real world. It wasn’t like when Ken startled her earlier in the day. The car had flipped yes, but it went through the air and landed back on its tires, no harm done. This wasn’t that. This was something else. Something that she’d never felt before.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the world turned sideways around her. Her blonde braid lifted off her shoulder and the seatbelt across her lap seemed to tighten, digging into her thighs. She screamed in a way she never had before. She’d felt fear, yes, but not like this. She didn’t think that any of the Barbies or the Kens had ever felt fear like this. It was like her entire body screaming right alongside her. Every inch, every joint, and sculpted line in her body tensed up and clenched tighter than Boxer Barbie’s fists.

The car landed on its side and skidded across the sand, Barbie’s head snapped back from the force of it, the seat digging into her back and pressing into something that wasn’t supposed to bend the way it was being forced to. It didn’t feel good. At all. This was the furthest thing from good she’d ever felt. Saying that it felt bad didn’t even do the feeling justice. It was worse than when she fell off her roof. And that had been the worst until this.

Distantly, she could hear Ken’s voice. He sounded like he was in pain too. Like he was just as scared as she was. He was calling out her name.

For a moment, things went black. Completely black. It lasted less than a second. One singular insignificant second in which absolutely nothing existed. No thoughts. No feelings. No sight or sound. Just darkness and perfect silence. It was so peaceful. Like everything was finally right in the world and she didn’t have to worry about flat feet or cellulite or a rip in the fabric of reality. It felt like that last blissful moment of sleep before getting up in the morning. Like she’d open her eyes and stare through the open roof of her dreamhouse at the beautiful blue sky above. She’d hear the voice singing her through her newest best day ever. And everything that happened since the dance party would only be as real as a bad dream, and forgotten just as quickly.

But that’s not what greeted her when she finally did.

She opened her eyes to an endless desert landscape. The pink corvette was overturned, crumpled on one side, and partially buried a few feet away. At some point, the seat belt must have snapped, because she wasn’t in the car anymore. She was laying on her stomach, her hair a mess around her face, cheek in the dirt.

She tried to sit up, but her body didn’t want to do anything. Her limbs throbbed and she felt her joints pop in an unnatural way as she lifted herself onto her knees. …. She was in pain. The most pain she’d ever felt in all of her years. It was awful.

She’d never feel something like this in Barbieland. Never.

Does that mean I made it to the Real World?

“Barbie! Are you okay?” Ken called as he rushed to her side. Looking up, she saw him limping towards her, a worried expression on his face. She wasn’t really sure how she was, but she didn’t want to scare him. She didn’t want to scare herself either. Looking at the positives, she could move. Nothing felt broken or bent out of shape. She wasn’t dead and/or thinking about being… well, she kind of was, but only as ‘Thank goodness I’m not dead!’ kind of thing. Not an ‘Oh no, I just died!’ kind of thing.

She smiled her perfect smile, though it didn’t feel right in the moment, and slowly rose to her feet. “I’m okay, Ken. Really. I’m fine.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

She looked down at them and saw that he was right. Her hands were shaking. Badly. She’d never seen anything like that before. Anywhere. On anyone. She’d read one of Dr. Barbie’s books once… but there was nothing about this kind of thing in there either. The book was mostly pictures of x-rays and instructions on how to mold a cast out of Barbie Dough.

“I’m fine,” she lied again, feeling it stick in her throat this time. “I’m perfectly fine. Everything is fine.”

Ken nodded and looked around. “That was… wow. I’ve never seen a car do that before. Where are we? Where’s the speedboat?”

“Uh… I think we’re almost there. We have to be, right? Weird Barbie didn’t give me any kind of timeframe for anything. Or specific instructions. She just said that we’d go from a sports car to a speedboat, to a rocket ship, to a tandem bike, to a camper van, to a snowmobile, to roller blades and go to the state of Los Angeles in the country of California. She said not to think about it too much.”

“I thought there was supposed to be some kind of portal at some point?”

“Apparently not.”

“…. Oh.”

Barbie looked at the wrecked car and then out into the desert again. She was starting to feel really hot. And something told her that she wasn’t the only one. Ken had already opened his shirt like he would on the beach. “I know you brought your roller blades, but I need to ask, did you bring any changes of clothes? Something that maybe won’t be so… inappropriate?” she asked, picking at the sleeve of her own pink top.

Ken nodded. “I might have brought a thing or too.”

“Good. We should change and then get going. Can’t be that much farther to the speedboat, right?”

Ken nodded excitedly then ran over to the car where it laid on its side. He popped open the trunk and all their things spilled onto the ground. The shoes, clothes, skates, hair ties, jewelry, and sunglasses.

Barbie put her hands on her hips, but didn’t say anything. Now wasn’t the time to complain. They were stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, lost and alone, with absolutely no idea what they were going to do or how. Weird Barbie just said that she would ‘know’ when she found the little girl playing with her. But she didn’t know how to get to the point that would allow her to know! She wasn’t Explorer Barbie or Rock Climber Barbie, or Girl Scouts of America Barbie. She was just Barbie. Stereotypical Barbie. She didn’t have anything special about her other than the name ‘Barbie’.

Why was her breath coming in so fast? Why was there pressure building in her chest and head?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. And another. And another. It was working. The pressure was going away. Slowly, but surely. She smiled again and opened her eyes. She looked through the clothes and found a resort outfit she had packed just in case she had to stay somewhere before going home. Specifically, the BarbieStyle Resort-Wear outfit. Tan high waisted wide leg pants, a salmon pink and white crop top with a v neck and puffy half sleeves, cat eye sunglasses, dangly gold earrings, black heels, and a tan clutch purse. She laid everything out in front of her and waited….

And waited….

And waited….

Weird. In the Dreamhouse, she just had to stand in front of her closet and her clothes would change. Actually, it was the same throughout Barbieland; in the boutiques and any general area with a mirror or a door. She just needed a place to stop and choose an outfit to wear and then she’d be wearing it. With all the places a Barbie could go and all the things she could do, quick changes were a necessity.

And yet… her clothes weren’t doing anything now.

Confused, she started to unbutton her top to put the clothes on manually. Then she paused. Ken was right next to her, having the same issue with his pale pink shorts, jacket, mesh shirt, white sandals, and sunglasses. Not wanting to make him feel the same way, she gathered up her things and walked around to the other side of the car, using it as a wall to separate the two of them. Then, she went back to taking off her clothes. The feeling was strange, and the action was one that she wasn’t used to doing, but it was conceptually simple enough. Pull over head and take arms out. Easy.

At least, it sounded easy. Her clothes were tight and didn’t want to come off. For a moment, she got stuck. She got the fabric over her head, but her arms were outstretched and trapped. Eventually, she got it worked out, but it did take her a few minutes to do it.

Once dressed, Barbie realized two things:

First, they didn’t have a way to carry their belongings now that the car was ruined. She didn’t think to bring any actual luggage. All her things fit in the trunk with room to spare and Ken wasn’t supposed to come with her.

Second, now that she wasn’t permanently on her toes, high heels didn’t feel as natural or comfortable as they used to. They hurt her feet and made it hard to walk for long periods of time. And, though she’d never noticed before, heels and the desert didn’t actually mix very well. The thin points sank in the loose dirt and the slick soles made the stones she stepped on roll beneath her, very nearly making her trip over and over again.

It couldn’t be that far, could it?

It couldn’t be that far….

[tacticaldiary]

N&R MASTERLIST || COD MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Simon Riley x Reader

WARNINGS: Stalking, Blood, Kidnapping, Panic Attacks

The Heat Of Indifference || Chapter 1 >>> (coming soon)

Unrequited delusion turns the sweetest cup of intentions sour.

She stares at the note in her hand numbly. A tremour starts in her as she skims over it, spreads until her shaking has nothing to do with the chill of the air, the cool metal of the mailbox her other hand clutches onto.

'too busy for me?'

'i'll make time in your life for me'

'fucking someone else behind my back?'

'you looked so pretty the other day, i had trouble staying away'

'took a few pictures for my collection'

Crumpling the note, she looks around the dimly lit porch as if she might spot the culprit, might see the man that's been making her life a living hell, inducing a paranoia she's never experienced before. Unsteadily, she stumbles backwards into her house, locking the door and sliding the deadbolt.

Safe. It doesn't feel safe. Breath caught in her throat, she runs to her bedroom, sets her back to the door after locking it.

The other notes could be ignored, mixed in with the other fan mail, some scattered in her emails and her inboxes on social media, but this one? In her mailbox?

Her personal mailbox?

The one right outside her house?

He knew where she lived.

Bile crawling up her throat, she fumbles with her phone, dialing the number she memorised ever since she signed with the agency. It rings once. Twice.

Alban picks up on the third ring.

"It's one in the morning-"

"He knows where I live," She gasps out, the grip on her phone a kind death itself could not have pried away. "He-...he put something in my mailbox, what if he's inside?" The thought sends her into a spiral. "He's-he might be here, Alban, might be in my house. He's seen it, knows where it is, what if he's waiting outside? What if-"

"Calm down, hey, listen." He cuts her off, the sleep in his voice dissipating at her panic. "I'm on my way, okay? Hang tight, lock your doors. Stay put, you hear?"

"Stay on the line?" She requests shakily.

"Of course," The jingle of keys, the zip of a jacket. "Fuck, I shouldn't have let you go home alone from the shoot, I'm sorry." He sighs.

There's no more talk from her end, she listens as he stays on the line, hears the hum of a car engine, the slam of a car door. Alban would be here, and she wouldn't be alone then, and then-...

And then what?

Back to square one? Back to losing sleep and screwing up auditions To looking over her back and wondering when the next note would appear? No, that's not the life she wants, her gut twists painfully just thinking about it.

It started sweet.

A letter in her fan mail, just another proclamation of love, messages of praise and devotion online. Nothing out of the ordinary for one of the most popular rising actresses of her time. It's a place she's earned after years of hard work, growth and determination.

Then the letters started to change in tone. Annoyed. Impatient. Not understand why she wasn't writing back, why she wasn't noticing him.

The threats started after that.

To a degree, she understands that putting herself in such a bright spotlight opens her up to people like this, people who lived in delusions and acted in their own interests, but to be the victim of it...it was overwhelming, stressful, and frightening.

She's really, truly frightened.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The blanket around her shoulders was knitted by her mother.

Warm but slightly scratchy, it's one of the items that appears misplaced among the sleek, expensive look of her living room. Leather couches, wall-to-ceiling windows, and an open floor plan.

The dull scratchy blanket brings about a childish comfort, something long forgotten between the glitz and glamour of her new life. She buries her nose into it, her thanks muffled by the fabric when Alban places down the steaming mug of tea. His hair is pulled up in a bun haphazardly, his jacket only half zipped up. Pajama pants speckled with cartoon bananas she'd make fun of if she could bring herself to conjure a laugh.

The crickets sing, and it's good background noise for their silence. It's odd, how at ease the world is when the weight of it feels like it's caving down on her.

"I don't think this is going away on its own." She finally says, gaze flickering to meet Alban's.

"The police said they'd do what they could," He clicks his tongue. "The best they're going to do is run prints on the note, see if they can match the handwriting to somebody."

"Didn't work before, won't work now." She mumbles.

"So you know that we need someone other than the police now."

She manages a tense nod, and her acceptance seems to grant him an ounce of relief. "I'll give my contact a call then. We'll get you a personal detail sorted out by tomorrow."

The idea of someone being in her space 24/7 makes her uncomfortable. Alban had brought it up before, had brought it up multiple times actually, but she'd always shot down the idea, hoping the problem would resolve itself on its own. A personal security detail, a bodyguard. It seemed...excessive before. She values her privacy, values the little space that's left untouched by the eyes of the public, and letting someone else, a stranger, into it makes her uneasy.

His gaze softens. "I know this isn't what you wanted." He squeezes her shoulder, "But I'd rather see you alive and uncomfortable than dead in a ditch somewhere."

She likes that outcome too.

"I'll live." It was just for a little while, she reasons. "Just till everything passes."

"Just until it passes." He promises.

His presence makes her grateful. Alban has always been an anchor to her, someone to rely on. Her manager. Her friend, above all. He'd been with her through the ups and downs of her career, of her life.

"Thank you." It's not enough to convey the company he brings, but he seems to get it. His smile is knowing, and reassuring.

Enough to make her relax the barest bit.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"I'll find the bastard myself, wring out his neck!" Melvin glares at her through the rearview mirror. He's been on a rant for the past twenty minutes, and she hasn't the heart to tell the old man to stop. On the contrary, it makes her feel better that someone is as angry as her about it.

"Not if I get to him first." She smiles despite the dreary topic.

"Now you listen here, you tell me about any more trouble you're getting into, alright?" They pull into the parking lot and this time Melvin turns around to stare at her, fiery and outraged. "I'll find 'em, set 'em straight!"

His wispy grey hair curls around his forehead, wrinkles and smile lines carved into a face that's seen more of her childhood than her own father ever cared to.

Melvin was the closest family she had. He'd driven her to her first audition, had seen her through it and took her to get the ice cream he always grumbled was too sweet when she'd been rejected on the spot.

"I'll let you know." She nods solemnly.

He narrows his eyes, squinting at her. "Are you mocking me?"

"Me? I wouldn't dare." She laughs, scrambling out of the car before he can go off on another tangent about the youth of today. "I'll see you in a couple hours!"

The office building stands at an impressive height at the heart of the city, glass windows showing off an impressive view of the surroundings. It wasn't often that she came here, Alban mostly took care of any paperwork she had to fill out and submit so there was never a reason for her to be sat behind a desk when she could be performing and showing her talents elsewhere.

Things had cooled down considerably after last night. Alban had stayed the night with her, and although she hadn't gotten much sleep it was reassuring to know that Alban's contact had pulled through and arranged a meeting with the security company that the man had been raving on about ever since this whole mess started. He'd gotten everything sorted before she'd even woken up for the day.

Task Force...something. She couldn't remember the numbers at the end of the title, but they were supposed to be the best of the best.

The elevator has a line too long for her to think about waiting in, so she turns to the stairwell inside. It was only three floors up, and she could use the exercise anyway. She's already a few minutes late to meet them all anyway, the wait wouldn't be worth it.

Would she meet her detail today? Her bodyguard? She really should've asked Alban to expand on his vague "I've taken care of it" this morning...

The hallway she ends up in stretches the expanse of the room, widening into a larger floor plan overlooking the rest of the city. A break room of some sort? Confused, one glance at the floor directory hung up next to her answers her question.

Wrong floor.

Clicking her tongue, she turns to go back into the stairwell when the hair on the back of her neck stands up, and a chill shivers down her spine. It's the same feeling of being watched, the feeling that's made her triple-check her locks at night and lose precious hours of sleep trying to convince herself that she was safe.

There's nobody else in the hallway, not a soul passing by. The distant voices and noises indicate whoever's occupying the floor is in the offices farther in, but nowhere near her...

Faltering, she takes a few hesitant steps into the nearest room. An office of some sort.

The feeling remains, stronger than ever. Goosebumps prickle her flesh, her teeth worry her lower lip. This is stupid, this entire thing was stupid! It's an empty room...

"I know you're there!" The words pass her lips before she can stop them, fuelled by frustration and fear. Her own eyes widen at her words, but she doesn't take them back. No, she's commited to it now. Clenching her fists to hide the trembling of her hands, she turns around in a small circle trying to find the source of her discomfort. "This isn't funny, it's fucking creepy! Just leave me the hell alone!"

Maybe it's a trick of paranoia and the light but she swears she sees a shadow move out of the corner of her eye, and it startles her so bad she bumps into the desk behind her, clutching it so hard her knuckles go white.

Her heart is in her throat when the door creaks open.

This felt like a fucking horror movie. 'I've never been in one of those before', she thinks a little hysterically. 'Don't think I'll ever have the chance to after this.' Maybe it was a random employee who'd forgotten something in the office, she tries to reason with herself, or Alban coming to see what's taking her so long-

She screams when a tall man in a balaclava peers through the door, a hand fixed on the pistol on his belt.

Blindly grabbing onto a stapler, she throws it at him and scrambles to put the desk in between them. "Leave me alone!" She yells, wielding the keyboard like it might protect her from him and his firearm.

The man catches the stapler and gives her a rather unimpressed look.

He was clearly fucking insane, she thinks. Batshit crazy, stalking her down in an office building in broad daylight with a mask. The cool glass of a window touches her back and she swallows, glancing behind her. Four stories up, but if he made a move to grab her would she have enough time to unlatch the window and climb out? Did she even want to risk breaking her legs?

"It's a shitty idea."

The voice is smooth gravel, the grit of the sand on a clear beach.

"Who are you?" She narrows her eyes, fingers playing with the latch. "Why do you keep following me?"

"It's my job." He deadpans, and it makes her hesitate to jump to her idea of trying to escape the situation.

"...what?"

He loosens a sigh from his chest, and tugs out the manilla folder she hadn't seen tucked under his arm before. She tenses when he takes a step forward, tossing it on the desk. A couple of documents spill out, and she catches bits and pieces until her eyes land on the logo sealed at the top of the folder.

Her eyes flicker back to him and spot the same logo patched onto his jacket.

Last night comes back to her in a rush, the hurried explaination she was given.

Task Force 141.

A security company known throughout the country as being the best of the best. Being ex-military, they took care of messy situations in ways that didn't reflect poorly on anyone, kept their means and methods unknown but their clients happy. Alban had given her an overview of the company a while ago after the photographs of her had started to arrive.

"Screaming your head off like that, jumping out a four-story window? Bloody hell, no wonder you need a babysitter."

Any lingering fear snaps to irritation. "I don't need a babysitter, I need someone who's not going to scare the shit out of me." Still a little shaky, she lets go of the window. "Alban hired you?"

"Clearly." His dry tone makes her bristle. He'd just scared the hell out of her, her being a little jarred is perfectly understandable. "Sent me to see what the hold up was." He jerks his chin towards the documents. "Needs your signature, then I'm yours until your issue blows over."

Him? He was her on her private detail? Her bodyguard?

She expected someone in a suit with an earpiece, simple and subtle, something akin to the usual security that surrounds her at her venues. Fitting in was important, after all. The less she was noticed the safer she'd be.

Given that, the 6'3 man with the large, strong stature definitely had taken her aback, but his face was the thing that freaked her out the most, the mask making her mind flash to every horror movie she'd ever seen.

A black balaclava covers his lower face and tucks itself into the collar of the all-black suit he dons. The fabric's printed with the bottom half of a white...skull? Puzzled, she gives him a once over, wondering how someone this...intimidating could possibly be inconspicuous. He holds himself with a rigidity she's only ever seen in someone who holds discipline to a high standard, shoulder back, eyes brown and piercing in a way that makes her feel oddly vulnerable.

She nods slowly, picking up a pen from one of the holders, willing her heart to stop pounding from the lingering adrenaline. "I'm pretty sure you know an awkward amount about me already." She skims over the paperwork quickly. "But what do I call you?"

Life had taught her the hard way never to blindly sign a document.

"Ghost." She pauses, blinking up at him. He doesn't look like he's joking, and after a beat of silence her lips quirk up to a half amused smile.

"Ghost?" She cocks her head. "Like the things that haunt houses? That's your name?"

"Afirmative." He retorts.

"But that's a nickname, I don't think your parents would have named you Ghost." That was just unnecessarily cruel. He'd have gotten bullied at school with a name like that. "What's your name name?"

"Ghost is enough of a name for you. I'm here to keep you alive, not have a heart to heart, yeah?"

Okay. So he wasn't the warmest person she'd met.

"You're off to a great start, nearly pushing me out a window." She mumbles under her breath going back to reading.

"It was your hand I recall being on the latch."

At the flourish of her pen, her signature settling next to his and Alban's, some of the weight on her shoulders settles into something slightly more bearable. Things would be easier for her hopefully.

She could admit that although he was gruff and not the friendliest, he was certainly intimidating. By the way his eyes flicker around the room every now and then, he was perceptive too. Despite their rocky start, she already felt like someone was watching her back.

"Anything else I need to sign?"

He doesn't respond, shifting in place instead, eyebrows furrowed. It makes her uneasy, his sudden change in posture. Muscles tensing, his sights land somewhere behind her and he suddenly moves to grab her before she can register it.

A crash of glass echoes through the room as the window opposite to them shatters.

She can barely let out a shriek before Ghost has her against a wall, shielding her body with his, pressing close enough for him to feel the way her heart hammers in her chest.

Sandalwood and smoke, she can't help but note as she draws in a shaky breath. He's built well, all strong muscle and capable hands that crowd her back. Her breath hitches for a completely different reason.

"You alright?" He grunts out, peering over his shoulder. It's sharp, the way his gaze flickers from the shards of glass to the bolt embedded in the wall a metre away from where she'd been.

Right where Ghost had been standing.

"Fine," She manages, looking between him and the bolt in the wall with a cold sinking in her stomach. "I-...you're bleeding!" She exclaims, reaching up to tilt his face to the side, a splotch of red seeping through his mask. Before she can make contact, he steps away from her leaving her hand hovering in the air.

It shatters the brief moment from before, the breath she couldn't catch loosens from her chest.

She feels like she looks a little stupid with her hand hovering like that and, the back of her neck going warm as she clears her throat. "Your cheek." She says aloud after a moment. There's a small cut where the projectile had grazed him, bleeding sluggishly.

Ghost doesn't pay her any mind as he yanks the bolt out of the wall, cement cracking onto the floor. Turning it this way and that, she finds enough feeling in her legs to move towards him-

"Stay there." He orders, and the authority lacing the words stuns her into compliance. "Away from the windows."

She certainly sees how he's ex-military now, that he's used to his orders being obeyed.

Ghost turns around eventually, brow furrowed and she finally has a clear view of the item.

A white rose is twined around the bolt, the petals speckled with red dots. A drop of crimson drips onto the floor by his feet and she realises that the colouring isn't from the flower itself.

It's Ghost's blood, tainting the purity of something so delicate weaved with an intentional threat.

He was here.

In her house, on her mind, in her workplace, God, he was in her workplace now. Her breath stutters as she tries to take a deep one, panic she refuses to let loose in front of him clawing at her chest. So she was right, someone had bee watching her. It hadn't been him, it had been her stalker that had made her wary.

This was new. She'd never had actual contact with the guy before, her nightmares had been restricted to words scrawled onto a page. Judging by the bolt's direction, the man was probably in the building opposite.

Ghost barks something into a radio connected to his belt, sharp eyes sweeping the room, narrowing at the window across, cautious and confident.

He's an ass, they haven't started on the right foot but she doesn't want to see him dead. What if the next 'threat' hit true? What if she had to stand there and watch his head trickle crimson, watch that strong body hit the floor with a lifeless-

"I don't think this is a good idea." She blurts out, frightened by the thought. Nobody needed to get hurt but her, was expanding this...this horrid torment onto other people really worth it?

When he doesn't answer, she pushes on. "It's...you could get hurt. Or killed." A shaky inhale. "And I don't want-"

"Your concern won't void my contract. I've survived worse." He cuts her off, peering out of the window. She swears she spots the barest bit of amusement in his dead stare when he glances back at her. "You're too exposed in the open. We're going to your residence, my team's already secured it, set up a perimeter."

And she can't find it in herself to protest when he ushers her out of her room taking care to shield her from the windows.

Glancing up at the blood seeping through his mask, the unease from last night creeps back into her heart. What would have happened if Ghost hadn't been there? Would she have been the target instead? Would she be...Alban was right, it was stupid to think that this would stop on its own.

Hope was a fool's playground.

Ghost notices the sudden tense silence, casts down a long glance as they enter the elevator together, strangely free from the mass of people earlier.

"You're safe now."

She looks up in surprise, but he's already shifted his gaze to stare at the metal doors in front of them. Safe. How long has it been since she's felt safe?

Miraculously, she finds herself nodding. Finds herself trusting. Trusting this man she just met a few minutes ago. It's strange, but she lets his reassurance wash over her, her shoulders dropping down ever so slightly.

It seems enough to satisfy him, because he doesn't comment again.

Safety.

What a luxury she'd taken for granted.

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(1/12/2023)