#the black parade wasn't out yet

[earlycuntsets]

can't wait for the black parade to come out

[axstoria]

Got this idea from another post that I CANNOT for the life of me find.

AU where Clark comes to Earth as an adult, and has to blend into normal human society.

He knows his name is Kal-El, but he also knows that humans don't have names like that. He sees a couple of celebrities and mashes their names together, hoping that it would make him a bit more likable in the eyes of humans.

He hides sharp-tipped ears behind black curls and ball caps, wears glasses so people won't notice his abnormally deep blue eyes, and is constantly in sweaters despite the weather to conceal muscles that shouldn't exist on a "normal human".

When he gets his job at the Daily Planet and has to interview Bruce Wayne, he's scared. This is his first time being near a real human celebrity, and he's mortified that he'll blow his cover.

He sits and stares at the billionaire for several minutes. This human is gorgeous in all the ways a being can be. His eyes are blue like Earth's oceans, his hair falls in perfect wisps against his forehead, and his outfit is perfectly crisp against his body, perfectly tailored to every small curve.

"Uhm... Mr. Kent?" Bruce bats his eyelashes at him, smiling expectantly.

Clark snaps out of it, his pupils dilating ever so slightly. "You're beautiful. Can I court you? What's your favorite planet?— I'll bring you rocks!"

The man is stunned, watching the reporter for some time before replying, "I... suppose Venus is nice."

Bruce is fully convinced that this reporter is autistic. Makes his life easier. They could connect in that way.

Clark flushes, realizing what he's done. He's very happy the interview wasn't recorded in any way.

Bruce shows up to work the next day and there is a box with his name on it in sloppy handwriting sitting on his desk.

He opens it, and to his amusement—and shock— , there is a piece of rock inside with a note that says one word: Venus.

That night, Bruce takes the rock home to the Batcave and analyzes it for its composition. When it is a match for Venus, he immediately connects the dots that Clark Kent is the new meta being that had been parading around Metropolis and surrounding cities as of late. After all, not even the greatest scientists have yet to reach Venus, so how else would this reporter get a rock from the planet unless he could survive the expanse of space and fly there?

He is dumbfounded. And maybe a little in love.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

After last episode I’m thinking what if Aegon tells his wife what happened when he wakes up and she goes ballistic on Aemond because the man she loves was hurt in battle, by his own brother nevertheless. (Maybe she sees the dagger that normally sits in its sheath on Aegons hip)

Request: Aegon returning to King’s Landing after Rook’s Rest. His wife worries about him and stay by his side

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You became sick with worries when you saw Aemond and Vhagar return to King’s Landing, alone.  

He walked into the Red Keep and called for a small council meeting to report about Rook’s Rest. You sat in the seat beside the King’s empty one, listening as Aemond recounted that the plan he and Ser Criston had come up with got crashed by the Blacks, who sent Rhaenys to Lord Staunton's aid. 

‘’What of His Grace?’’ you asked, having seen Aegon depart from the dragonpit hours ago. 

Aemond lowered his gaze, making the knot in your stomach tighten. No war was bloodier than one with dragons. Meleys was a large dragon, and she had battle experience. Mayhaps something happened to Sunfyre? You knew Aegon would refuse to leave his side if anything happened to him. 

‘’There was an incident involving the King,’’ he began. 

You held your breath as Aemond continued. 

‘’While I was waiting for Cole's signal, His Grace engaged in a one-on-one with Meleys, but the latter brutally attacked Sunfyre, causing him — and Aegon — to freefall in a nearby forest with great force before I could take the sky and come to their aid.’’ 

Everyone fell completely silent. 

You felt your vision blur as the room began to spin. Your face paled, and a cup of water was brought to you. You took a small sip, but you were still feeling unwell. 

You should not have let him join the battle. He had no military training, it was reckless. 

‘’Where is Aegon now?’’ the dowager Queen asked her younger son, her voice filled with maternal concern. 

‘’At Rook's Rest,’’ Aemond replied. ‘’Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne are marching back to King’s Landing with what little remains of the Green army. They are bringing his critically injured body.’’

⁂

Three days later, Ser Criston’s army arrived at King’s Landing. You had not slept since being informed about Aegon’s fall, your mind filled with worried thoughts and dark fears. Your handmaiden had suggested you take a draught for sleep, but you declined. You couldn’t risk being in a deep sleep when Aegon would come in through the gates. 

While they were parading Meleys's slain head through the city, six knights walked through the Keep, holding their King in a closed litter that hid him completely. He was brought to his chambers where several maester began working on him. 

‘’Is he alive?’’ you asked, trying to get information on your husband's state. 

The maesters couldn't answer, feeling a pulse so faint they didn't want to give you false hopes. You were escorted out as they worked on removing the armor which had melted onto Aegon's left arm. The image was not one a Queen should see, they said. 

You found yourself at Alicent's doors, needing someone to share your fears and worries with. She invited you to sit on her couch and had camomile tea brought to you to calm your nerves. You had not been this anxious since the birth of your first child. 

Noticing your shaking hands, the dowager Queen took the one who was not holding the teacup in hers. ‘’He’s strong, like his father,’’ she said softly. ‘’He’ll recover.’’ 

⁂

Late into the night, you were allowed back in the King’s chambers. Aegon had not yet woken, laying in the bed with his eyes closed. Half of his body was wrapped in bandages, covering the burns. 

All he wanted was to prove the realm that he wasn't useless. And now, he laid in bed, badly burned with a broken hip, and numerous broken ribs.

You sat all night by Aegon's bedside, refusing to leave him.

‘’You should get some rest, Your Grace,’’ the Grand Maester suggested when he came in to check on Aegon in the morning, noticing you were still in yesterday’s dress. 

He was probably right. Your eyes felt dry from lack of sleep and the shadows under them were dark. 

‘’I will rest when he wakes,’’ you replied. 

⁂

A tear fell down your face when Aegon woke days later, mumbling your name with his dry throat. He was in severe pain from his injuries, so the Grand Maester administered him a strong concoction of milk of the poppy to sooth his pain. It made his mind cloudy, and very sleepy. 

That night, you allowed yourself to sleep in a bed. 

⁂

For the duration of his recovery, you were moved to Aegon's old chambers. 

They had not been occupied since the coronation. When you walked in, you noticed everything was the way it always was, the way Aegon liked. 

It felt strange to be there without him. 

As you sat on the bed in your nightgown, you were reminded of life before he was crowned. Times were simpler back then. The realm was at peace and Aegon didn't have to put himself in danger to prove he was worthy of the crown. 

You missed that time. 

⁂

While Aegon was bedstruck, you took seat on the Iron Throne to rule in his absence. He trusted you with his life, and would want no one else than you to wear his crown. His mother and grandsire ruled in his father's absence through his long illness and manipulated everything and everyone around them. Aegon didn't want that happening to him. 

Although you didn’t know how to rule a war, you listened to the men sitting at the small council table, seeking their opinions and counsel. Now you understood why Aegon said they all bore him. Sitting there and listening to Lord Larys’s report of whispers, Lord Tyland’s financial complaints, and other reports that came by ravens made you want to indulge in wine. 

‘’What is the next move, Your Grace? Our men have recovered from the battle at Rook’s Rest and are ready for the next move. More men have been trained and knighted, and are waiting for the next commands.’’ 

You glanced at the map to your left, studying the pins of the houses who had bent the knee to Aegon and the ones who had not, trying to come up with a strategy, but before you could answer, Aemond spoke. 

‘’The Riverlands. Me and Cole will be heading north-west and amassing an army to march against Daemon Targaryen and Harrenhal.’’

You directed your eyes back to the table, looking straight forward at Aemond. ‘’Since when are you in charge of leading our armies, Prince Aemond? The last time you and Ser Criston plotted without my husband’s authority, it ended in a carnage of our army and put our King in a critical condition. I reject your strategy and forbid you from plotting without my authority by risk of being removed from this council.’’

After the small council meeting was over, you returned to Aegon’s side and were surprised to find him awake. He had been given him a gentle sponge bath by the maids while you were absent, his silver hair damp on his pillow. You also noticed that the maester had changed his bandages. 

‘’Where is Sunfyre?’’ Aegon asked when you sat, speaking coherently for the first time in weeks. 

‘’Near Rook’s Rest,’’ you replied. ‘’He was so badly maimed that he's not even able to be moved back to King's Landing. Ser Criston stationed men near to guard him while he is recovering. You need not to worry, my love.’’ 

You took his hand that was not strapped and resting against his chest in yours, trying to ease his worries. He hated being apart from Sunfyre, especially knowing his dragon was injured and in pain. Aegon vividly remembered his cries of pain when they were attacked by Meleys’ claws and teeth. He wished he could go to him. 

‘’My memory is blurry, but he saved me. When we crashed down backward, Sunfyre was going to kill me with his weight, but he angled his body to avoid crushing me.’’ 

Aegon tried to shift into a more sitting position, but groaned as pain shot through his whole body. His burns were healing nicely under the bandages, but his broken hip and ribs were going to take a lot longer. 

You reached on the night table and poured him a small cup of milk of the poppy. ‘’Here.’’ 

It would make him sleepy, but at least it’ll relieve his pain. 

Until the effects kicked in, you informed him of what happened while he was unconscious. 

‘’The crown must look great on you,’’ Aegon said, the corner of his mouth curling in a small smile. 

Any form of facial expression caused his tender, burned skin to sting, so he refrained from them most of the time. 

You huffed, remembering the words of the men at the council when you sat in the King’s seat. ‘’Your council is not happy with me ruling in your stead. They claim that a war should not be led by a woman and that it makes the war look ridiculous as it began with not wanting a woman on the throne. 

‘’Whoever dares question your seat and ability to rule should be removed from my council.’’ Aegon's face was dead serious. No ill tongues will be tolerated speaking about his wife. Not in his court, and certainly not from his council.

Unfortunately, you could not do that. What would the small council become without a Master of Coins or a Master of Law?

You continued with other news. ‘’The beast who is responsible for your fall got taken down by Aemond. His rider, Rhaenys Targaryen, perished with her. Now, the Blacks are down from another dragon. It’s a victory for us, but our army suffered severe losses due to dragonfire.’’ 

At the mention of dragonfire, flashes of the battle blurred Aegon’s mind. ‘’What has my brother told the council?’’ 

You recounted what Aemond said, and Aegon’s frown deepened as his memories became clearer. 

His grip on your hand tightened. ‘’It is not what happened at Rook’s Rest. You must listen to me. It is not Rhaenys who aimed at me with dragonfire, it was Aemond.’’

⁂

Aegon’s words echoed in your head as you bathed that night. Had he confessed about his brother’s betrayal to someone else, they would say he was delirious and confused from the milk of the poppy, but you knew he was not. He was perfectly conscious, his memories from Rook’s Rest slowly coming back to him. 

From what you knew, Aemond never showed signs of bad intentions toward his brother. As Aegon often said, Aemond was his blood and fiercely loyal. He trusted him. So why would Aemond turn on him during a battle and unleash dragonfire at Aegon? There must be a motive for him to intentionally harm his kin, his brother. 

It was difficult to discern any emotions from Aemond. He was always composed and cold. Mayhaps his facade hid jealousy for his older brother? It was frequent among second sons. Although, Aegon never was the favorite son. It was always Aemond. 

Until teh Conqueror’s crown was placed on his head. Mayhaps he had a secret thirst for the throne? It would explain his military ambitions and his desire for a place at the council table. The best way to kill a King is to get close enough to stab him when he least expects it.

You sighed and leaned back in the tub, closing your eyes as your body was covered by the warm water. The memory of Aegon's pained expression as he recounted his brother's betrayal — a treason to the crown — haunted you. 

‘’He is my blood,’’ Aegon had whispered, his voice trembling. ‘’Why would he do this?’’

⁂

In the early morning, you requested a private audience with Aemond. 

‘’I wish to know what really happened at Rook’s Rest,’’ you said firmly. ‘’As your Queen.’’ 

Aemond stood in front of you, clad in his usual leathers and an emotionless face. ‘’I gave my full report to the small council when I returned from King’s Landing. Nothing else is to be said.’’ 

You pressed on, your voice unwavering. ‘’It was told to the smallfolk Aegon had slain Meleys, which is false as you have told us it was Vhagar who killed her. This discrepancy makes me question if there are more lies woven into your truth. You reported that Meleys had brutally attacked Sunfyre with her claws and teeth but you never mentioned dragonfire. Yet burns cover half of His Grace’s body.’’

If Aemond felt any hint of nervousness at your probing, he did not show it.

‘’Are you questioning my truth, Your Grace?’’ he asked, his tone cold.

You knew that saying ‘yes’ would turn your question into an accusation of treason. By suggesting that he had harmed the King, Aemond could easily twist the accusation back on you. And what proof did you have? Your husband, who lay crippled in bed, dulled by milk of the poppy for most of the day? His moments of lucidity would not be believed by anyone.

Perhaps you could ask Ser Criston or Ser Gwayne what they had witnessed. Or bring the matter to the dowager Queen; she might decipher her son's body language better than you could.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something familiar caught your eye.

‘’This is Aegon’s dagger,’’ you pointed, recognizing the handle sitting on Aemond’s hip.

‘’Indeed. He lost it during the battle at Rook’s Rest. I retrieved it from the forest,’’ Aemond replied.

‘’And why is it sitting on your hip, Prince Aemond? The Conqueror’s dagger has been given to him during the coronation, along with his crown. It should be in His Grace’s chambers, where it belongs.’’

Aemond's eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. ‘’I kept it safe, as any loyal brother would. Would you rather it had been lost forever?’’

You met his gaze, unflinching. ‘’Give it back to me.’’ 

Aemond stiffened at your words, his jaw clenching. He placed a hand on the hilt of the dagger, a defensive gesture that he couldn’t help but do. ‘’And if I refuse?’’ 

Your heart beat faster at Aemond's defiance, but you refused to back down. Taking a step forward, you locked eyes with him, your gaze steely ‘’Do not defy your queen. This is not a request, it's a command. The dagger belongs to Aegon. Give it to me, now!’’

Aemond hesitated for a moment, his fingers still gripping tightly to the dagger’s hilt. But your stern demeanor and unwavering command made it clear that there was no alternative. 

With reluctance, he pulled the dagger from his hip and held it out to you, handle first. 

You took the dagger from Aemond, your fingers grazing against his as you did so. ‘’I suggest you kiss goodbye to that dream of yours, my Prince. I know what you are. And when Aegon is strong enough to speak his truth, you will pay for what you did.’’

—

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[gremlingottoosilly]

König x Ballet dancer!Reader?

You passed through years of training. Being accepted into one of the famous ballet schools of Vienna was nothing to snooze about - and you were on track to become yet another nameless swan in the second row. With a shelve life of just about 10 years, your life was set to be a parade of mediocrity from the start. Without a rich sponsor to give you connections and without any of your professors looking at you twice, you exited college with a stable job in the background. Sometimes, accepting scraps being thrown at the main dancers, you knew your place - you ached for dance and beauty, and you got it. This is why a bouquet of blood-red roses sitting heavily in your hands still feels like a dream. The man in front of you is not a normal opera guest. His suit is tailored - not for the sake of showing off the price, but because this man is simply too huge for anything made in-store, no matter how expensive the store is. His suit is tailored professionally and yet, he still looks uncomfortable. A mountain of a man confined into the prison of tight fabric - you tilts your head to the side, wondering what is he doing here. He is wearing a black mask, which is normal for many patrons - especially the older ones, still afraid to die after what happened just a few years ago. You can only see his eyes and you're getting lost in the cold. It reminds you of a mountain snow. Of the white fabric of your dress - and suddenly, you almost feel like breaking your perfect posture. You don't look into the viewer's seats while you're dancing, but you can't shake the feeling that you recognize this heavy stare from somewhere. He was following your every movement while you were on the stage, not caring for the beauty of the front dancer and the elegant movements of your peers. You're painfully average in everything - but his attention never fails to get on you. He is giving you gruff, cut-out compliments. Something about your legs, your hips. Something dirty about the way you look in that tight tutu, and you almost gather the strength to slap him, but then he flashes his credit card, and it feels like a ticket out of mediocrity. Always the second last in the deep row, you never had any fans looking at you like this. With this amount of longing, of depravity. You start getting better roles after he started to show up. You're not sure why and how - he has money, that's for certain, but he definitely doesn't seem like the type to have connections in the industry. If you had to guess, you would see him as working in the military - but no one from Austrian army would have as much influence, not in your country. If you had to guess, this guy is dangerous, and you're almost terrified to see the dark red flash of flowers every time you exit backstage and see him. But, oh, he presses you against the walls and kisses you. But, oh, he can lift you up so easily and force you to grind on his knee in search for pleasure - you have stamina, all dancers have it, and he knows he can go for much longer than with a regular girl. Your affection is bought with compliments and euro bills stuck in your leotard like you're a cheap whore, but you almost feel like a French girl while he is holding you like this. He asks you about retirement. Tells you he would build you a dance studio in his house - something big, with space and perfect light. Give you all the attention you need. You almost feel yourself getting lost in his awkwardness. Little did you know he wasn't really asking.

[madamspellmans-met-tet]

🍸 (You Don’t) Own Me 🍸

Avis Amberg x fem!Reader

tags: Light Dom/sub, Impact Play, Riding Crops, Extramarital Affairs, sugar mommy vibes, Cun!ilingus, Vag!nal F!ngering, Aftercare, Mommy K!nk (light), Praise K!nk, Teasing, Org@sm Denial

wc: ~ 6.2 k

summary: For a few weeks, Mrs Avis Amberg has been taking girls to Dreamland—but the girl was never you. This time will be different, you decide.

A/N: this was a request and very fun to write (yet also a lot of work). hope you like it, anon <3

******************************************

You hunched over the gas station's bill in the cold, run-down office when the black Cadillac pulled up. The one you waited for every single day, hoping the lady with the fancy hats atop her red pin curls would pick you instead of Margaret one of these days. The chances weren't that slim since she and you were the only women here who also took care of other women—and still, it had yet to happen.

At first, Mrs. Amberg had only occupied herself with the boys. One of them, Jack Costello, she had toyed with for quite a while. It was noteworthy, though, that he had been her last boy. After him, she'd only ever taken Margaret—and you suspected that the sole reason for it was that hers had been the first name Ernie had mumbled to her.

By all means, Margaret and you should be friends, considering your husbands' mutual affiliation, but you didn't. You hated the beast. But everybody assumed the two of you must be bedding each other since you both had a preference for the fairer sex. It didn't work like that, but it wasn't like you could lecture anyone in this day and age. You were glad if they didn't spit at you if anyone happened to find out.

William allowed you to work, and he didn't care what you worked as. He knew that you were more than a secretary at the gas station, considering you earned better than he did at times, but he was content with his own life and bank account, whereas you had to stash your cash under the mattress, together with a revolver you carried in your purse wherever you went.

Abandoning your paperwork, you made for the front with quick steps, parading your curves in front of Mrs. Amberg as you approached Ernie, pretending you had something to discuss with him.

"Get Margaret, girl, will you? You know Mrs. Amberg likes her."

You bit back your displeasure and nodded. "I will fetch her right away."

As you'd spoken, Mrs. Amberg, impatient as ever, had taken out a cigarette and lighter and was just about to click it when you swiftly snatched the golden lighter from her hands.

"You'll blow up the gas station if you smoke here," you said, winking as you twirled and left with one of her possessions. She didn't even have time to protest or yell after you, so quick you had disappeared back into the building.

-> continue

let me know what you think in the comments here or on ao3 <3

[glassrowboat]

Princess. Boothill.

Summary: The summer is always the best time to sit back and enjoy the sounds of nature on a horse back ride, especially when it's with you by his side.

Word Count: 1,800+

The trot of horses on an old path was a welcome one as the trees covered the sky above, blocking out the beaming sun in a canopy of the most vibrant greens. Birds singing in tune with a stream nearby, one you know well from your many times running to it as the heat got the best of you just to kick at the waters for the chance of being splashed with a refreshing cool.

Fortunately enough, today wasn't unbearable. Hot, still, but that's nothing new.

“What's with ya and always takin’ it slow, princess?” A voice called out to you, trying to distract you from the task at hand. That being: getting used to riding a horse in the first place.

Your teacher for…well..the mare you were currently on top of.

“Cmon girl, I swear I taught you how to gallop by now. Less ya scared?” A snort came from him, unlike the ones the horses huff out after being ordered to go into a different direction than the one they wanted.

Stubborn creatures they were, but your teacher had assured you the one you were riding on, Crafty, was the least stubborn of the bunch. A ‘tamed lass’ or something along those lines. At least that's what he claims, but you've personally experienced being bucked off before.

It was unpleasant, to say the least. The moment you hit the rough patch of dirt, grass tickling your skin, you were unable to breathe despite your attempts to gasp for air. Quite literally knocked out of you as you choked on the spot. Your body refused to fill your lungs.

Now, you had never been much of a smoker but in that moment you would have gladly taken a puff from a spit covered end if it meant getting what you longed for.

It was only when you were breathing again that you noticed a certain someone (a complete prick) was standing above you holding Crafty's reins in hand and laughing.

“Well, it was bound to happen ‘ventually.”

Those words made you want to punch him as your teacher leaned down, hand taking your own, and helped you up.

Afterward, you immediately ran off to shower. The need for a break and a good wash far too tempting to resist after getting knocked off your ass.

Since then you had been dubbed-

“Princess?”

That.

You glanced over at him, despite knowing you should keep your eyes forward lest Crafty follows the direction you're gazing at, to catch the sight of his black and white hair thrown up in a messy ponytail. Hat, as always, perched right on top of his head.

“Everytime you call me that, I want to call you Cruella De Vil.”

Your teacher awwed at your words, cooing the harsh tone in your voice. “You wanna give me a nickname now? I didn't know we were at tha’ stage in our relationship yet.”

“We are in nothing close to a relationship.” You snapped.

“Wowy pardner, way to-” You glared at him, waiting for your teacher (Cruella) to dare and even try to finish his sentence when you both knew he was going to attempt to say something along the lines of ‘shit on my parade’- “rain on my parade.”

“Yeah, that's totally what you were going to say.”

“Obviously.” He said, drawing out they ‘ly’ the same way you would when mocking how a country singer says the word whiskey.

You found yourself going “uhuh,” nodding in agreement just to get him off your back. Shame it didn't work as well as you wanted it to as Cruella over there kept jabbering. Stuffing your ears full of words like a tamale.

“Ya know, if it gets any hotter I'm sure we could fry an egg just by puttin’ it on a rock to sizzle up real nice. Would you like that, princess, me cooking you up a meal? Maybe we can have a beer or two to top it-”

Eventually, you found your legs squeezing the horse below you, signaling her to pick up the speed. Your hips meeting the same beat hers did as she ran, just like you were taught.

it's easier that way, apparently. Puts less stress on your body.

Hoofs beating against the well-worn path, but your teacher was far more comfortable going at a faster pace, making him catch up with you easily as he whistled at the horse to slow down. Her legs were already betraying you as they moved back into a slow trot all the way to a stop. Crafty staring back at you like she was expecting you to give her a treat for the treacherous behavior.

Well, she was certainly well trained, at least. Maybe he did have a point in saying Crafty was a tamed lass.

“Tryin' to run from me now?” He asked, laughter in his voice even as your teacher clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“You were the one complaining about us going too slow earlier.”

“Huh? Can't seem to recall that.” Reaching over, he took the reins from your hands, slipping them as easily from your gasp as any trained pickpocket might. “Mind getting off ol Crafty here so we can talk?”

“I'd rather not.”

“Course not. Real shame you're always so stubborn.” If he wasn't so close, you might have missed the part your teacher whispered about how he should have expected you to be harder to deal with than a newborn foal.

Yeah, fuck you too cowboy.

Running a hand over Crafty's neck, you couldn't help but cringe slightly at the feeling of her fur being so coarse. You'd have to remember to brush them down after cleaning out their hoofs. Something you like to do before and after every ride. After all, they deserve it for carrying you around like this.

“I don't know how you put up with Cruella over here.” You say to her. “Not when I'd never know when he's planning to turn my hide into a hat.”

Your teacher barked out a laugh as he picked his hat off his head, waving it slightly in front of your eyes so you could get a proper view of it. “It's not even made out of horse hide, ya see?”

“Yet.”

“Yet.” He repeated with a raised brow.

“Yeah, I'll give it until Crafty's leg finally gives out.”

The last thing you saw before your vision was covered was your teacher rolling his eyes right before he placed that dusty hat on your head. If you remember correctly, didn't that mean something like you were his girl or….

Ah.

Ah!

With a face as hot as the blazing sun shining down on you two, right in the midst of summer, no less, you shoved the hat back towards him. “That's sweaty and gross! I don't want it!”

Laughter caught on the wind as he took it back, holding it to his chest as your teacher pouted.

“Ya wound me. Here, a simple cowboy is offering you something to block out that blasted sun, and you don't even make use of it?”

“I can manage just fine without it.” You hissed.

“You have also been riding with narrowed eyes this entire time, princess. It kinda gives you away.”

“I said,” taking the reins from his hands you pulled them back into your grasp, careful not to accidentally kick Crafty up by startling her, “I'm fine.”

Turning around on the path you both had been riding down, you were met with the sight of the lush greenery you two had passed and two sets of horseshoe prints littering the ground.

“And I'm heading back.”

“All on your own? Didn't know you could handle that by yourself.”

“Yes, on my own, cowboy.” You said with a firm nod. “I'll fill the hay and everything so there's no need to worry about it.”

Even if it meant getting that blasted stuff in your bra. It always had a way of sneaking in there despite your best efforts and highest collar shirts.

“All covered then, eh?” He asked as Crafty nickered underneath you.

This time you didn't grace him with a response as you made your way down the path, the sound of the bird chirping and Crafty's tail trying to wack any bugs away from her your only company as your teacher watched you go.

“She's so stubborn, ain't she?” He found himself asking. Though the grin on his face was a clear indication that the thick headed nature of yours wasn't exactly minded.

“Guess I gotta try harder to build up a romantic mood to confess next time. I'll get her to listen for sure. I just need a bit of time.”

In return, your teacher was met with the huff of the horse he was sitting on as his hand moved up to block the sun in his eyes.

Back then his hand was flesh and blood.

But now?

His metal hand was blocking out the full moon, bright as it could be as he gazed up at the stars reflected on the aluminum coated surface he was still learning to get used to. The way they moved was nothing like real fingers that would hurt at the slightest papercut.

He would always stick the hurt finger in his mouth and say that would do the trick even as the little miss royal ass would insist he wash off.

Soap and water.

He needed a bath, or at least his hair needed to be washed off. The rest of him maybe needed a shining? Maybe a good wipe and oil capped off?

Boothill dropped his hand, letting it fall to his side as he looked back up at the sky.

If he closed his eyes right now, could he pretend it was sunny as can be? That the leafs above and Boothill’s hat were the only thing keeping his eyes from being blinded, that there was a stream right down the way he could hear just as clearly as the trot of two horses side by side?

Could he, just maybe, hear your voice?

Yet all he heard was his own breathing that was…altered in a way. Affected, just like the rest of him the moment he took on this hunk of a junk body.

It was agonizing to wake up from such a peaceful dream. One he wanted to go back to despite it long since having burnt to ash. Crumpled between warm fingers that had once touched your hand, now gone like the rest of him.

Grabbing his hat, Boothill got up where he was standing, trying his best to once again walk away from your memory. The same way he did as Boothill realized he had to flee that fateful day without erecting some sort of monument for everyone in their honor.

For Nick.

For Graey.

For his little girl.

For his princess.

[oizysian]

Don’t Fight With The Birthday Girl

Summary: It’s Lizzie’s birthday and you have a special surprise for her

Word count: 2k

AN: I wrote this a few years back for Lizzie’s birthday but never posted it here, so here it is! Happy birthday to the loml, Lizard ❤️

•

"Elizabeth, your girlfriend's here!" Ashley called out into the crowd of people.

I smirked at the birthday girl's reaction; a blush and a huff as she approached us and pushed her sister - only half jokingly.

"In case you forgot, Ash, I'm married."

Ashley turned to me and rolled her eyes before walking off, presumably to find Mary-Kate and mingle a bit. I looked at the retreating back of her older sister before returning my attention to the woman of the hour.

"You look beautiful, Lizzie." I smiled brightly, taking in her appearance.

She was wearing a black knee length dress with short sleeves, her hair was up in a cute little ponytail and she wore very minimal makeup. She looked ethereal.

"Thanks, Y/N." She smiled, her eyes shining brightly with happiness.

"Did you open your presents yet?" I asked, knowing that I did arrive a little on the late side.

She shook her head and gestured to the table along the back wall lined with gifts. My eyebrows raised in surprise, impressed by the amount of gifts she'd received.

"Wanna open mine first?"

"Should I?" She bit her lip and smiled, looking down at her hands for a second before returning her gaze to my own. "I don't wanna play favorites."

I took a step closer to her, barely brushing my lips against her ear.

"You know I'm your favorite."

I pulled away, watching as she shuddered ever so slightly at the feel of my hot breath on her. With a wink, I walked past her, intending on getting myself a drink and having a good time.

At the drinks table, I met up with the twins who animatedly told me all about their new Spring collection that was coming up. They seemed excited so I couldn't help but be excited for them too. They were both a little tipsy, and handsy - not that I minded because we were all very close. Mary-Kate gave me a nudge and gestured with her head towards someone behind me.

"Looks like someone's a little grumpy."

I looked over my shoulder, spotting the birthday girl with her husband, chatting with some people I didn't know. But Lizzie wasn't paying attention to the conversation - she was staring daggers at us.

I shrugged and returned my attention to the twins, taking a big gulp of my drink.

"I offered to give her her present early." I smirked to myself. "She didn't wanna show favoritism by opening mine and not anyone else's."

"Oh, so that's why she looks like that." Ashley laughed, giving Mary-Kate a knowing look. "She's got a lot of ... built up tension."

I snorted at her words. Elizabeth had tried being so careful to hide her affair from everyone, but the two people she could never lie to were her older sisters. They probably knew about it before she did.

"She missed her chance." I turned back towards her again and gave her a small shrug and only a slight look of pity.

She chose to parade around as the perfect wife instead of getting her gift early.

"You're with us now," Ashley said with a smirk, sliding up to my side. "She'll have to get in line."

I wrapped my arms around both of their shoulders, pulling them close.

"I've never been with twins before." I laughed, and they joined in, all of us enjoying our time together.

I would never hurt Lizzie by sleeping with her sisters. It was all just jokes and I was sure she knew that. A tap on my shoulder got my attention and I released the twins to come face to face with a very unhappy Lizzie.

"Hello there, birthday girl." I smiled at her, finishing off my drink quickly.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" She shot a glare at both her sisters before returning her attention to me again. "Alone."

I nodded at her and she grabbed me by the arm, dragging me away. I could hear the snickers from her sisters as we left and I realized they purposely got me in trouble for fun. Oh boy.

I followed behind her as she led me to an upstairs guest room. I was really in for an earful now.

"Elizabeth ..." I started, attempting to explain what she had seen.

She closed and locked the door behind us, stomping over to me angrily.

"What the hell was all that?"

"All what?"

"That!" She spat. "With my sisters!"

"We were just hanging out." I replied simply, shrugging as I sat on the bed. "Plus, you were mingling with Robbie. What did you want me to do with myself?"

"I certainly didn't want you to flirt with my sisters!"

"Elizabeth," I started softly, placing my hands on my knees and leaning towards her slightly. "I'm not fucking your sisters."

She crossed her arms over her chest and I held my hand out to her, which she chose to ignore.

"I'm fucking you."

"And is that all it is to you?"

My hand dropped at her words, confused as to where this was coming from.

"I should be asking you that."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're the married one, Elizabeth!" I shouted, standing from the bed. "I've been faithful to you this whole time! I haven't even looked at another woman."

Her eyes softened at my confession. She took a step towards me and took my hands which were clenched at my sides.

"I'm sorry," I whispered softly. "I don't want to fight with you on your birthday. I'll just go."

I pulled my hands away from her, swallowing roughly at the hurt expression on her face. Before I could make a move towards the door, she was in front of me, her hands cupping my cheeks.

"Don't." She whispered, her lips pressing against mine in a fevered kiss.

I kissed her back, knowing all this tension and frustration stemmed from the double life she chose to live. I was just as guilty as she was and respected her desire to keep me a secret, but it didn't mean I was always happy about it.

I pressed her up against the door, my hands slipping up her dress as she kissed me sloppily, hungrily, as if she had never tasted my lips before.

"Do you want your present now?" I whispered softly.

She nodded and I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her panties, tugging them down around her knees. My hand slipped between her parted legs, two fingers ghosting against her slit teasingly.

She wriggled the rest of the way out of her underwear, kicking them away once she got them down to her ankles so I could access her wetness without struggling.

"So, that's why you're so grumpy." I breathed against her lips, my fingers just barely caressing her clit. "You're so wet."

"I've been wet since you teased me earlier." She squirmed underneath my weight, trying to get my fingers to move. "I hate when you do that."

"That's why I do it." I dipped my fingers into her heat, gathering her wetness on my fingers before pulling away from her.

"What -" She gasped breathlessly as I used my free hand to undo my pants.

She got the hint and helped me free her birthday gift from the confines of my dress pants. My thick, purple cock sprung out at her and she gasped, running her fingers along its length.

"Is this new?"

I nodded, sticking my wet fingers in my mouth and grabbing her hand, guiding her as she stroked it carefully, as if it would break.

"Happy birthday." I removed my fingers and smiled.

"It's too big." She whispered, almost in awe at the size of it.

"You can take it." I let her guide it between her legs, rubbing the tip against her throbbing clit.

She gasped softly, her hands reaching to grab my shoulders, letting me take control of her.

"You're gonna look so pretty with me inside you."

She let out a breathy moan that I swore I could get drunk on, and I gripped at her thighs, trying to pull her up my body. She jumped and wrapped her legs around me, the cock fully pressing into her heat as I grind my hips against hers, drawing loud, needy moans out of her.

"Be quiet, sweetheart," I whispered into her ear as I adjusted the cock between her thighs. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear you."

I slipped inside her easily and she threw her head back against the door, crying out at the intrusion. Realizing she was a little too vocal, she took a fistful of my shirt into her mouth, biting down as I slowly inched the rest of the cock into her.

"That's right, baby," I cooed, my hips jerking slightly with the urge to just fuck her like an animal. "Take all of my cock. You're such a good girl."

I heard her let out a pathetic whimper as I began to thrust up into her, the sound of our bodies crashing together deliciously loud in the quiet room.

"H-harder, Y/N." She whined, her teeth still buried in my shirt. For once, I was thankful that she wasn't biting me.

I knew that if I slammed her up against the door someone would hear, so I turned us around and clumsily walked us over to the bed, dropping us down as gently as I possibly could.

She released my shirt and took my hand, placing it over her mouth so I could silence her as I fucked her into oblivion. I pressed her down into the bed and slammed my hips into hers, the sounds of her moans driving me absolutely mad.

"You like when I fuck you like this?" I bent down and whispered in her ear, the disgusting sounds of passion and desire she was making fueling my inner fire.

She squeezed her eyes tight and came, her pathetic, needy moans stifled by my hand as her body tightened and jerked beneath me. I waited until she quieted down to release her, her mouth agape, panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath.

"My beautiful girl." I whispered softly, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "You look so pretty when you cum hard for me."

"Please," she whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut at my gentle touch. "More."

"More?" I questioned, pressing a kiss to her lips. "Can you handle more?"

"Mmm, yes." She smiled up at me, rolling her hips into my own.

She bit down on her lip, keeping up the rhythm and I decided it was time for her to take control.

I flipped us over, her small squeal of surprise drawing a small chuckle out of me. She got comfortable on top of me, pressing her hands onto my breasts and lifting her hips to slam down into mine. I groaned at the power behind her thrust, grabbing onto her hips as she fucked herself on me.

"Oh, oh fuck." She moaned, her brow furrowing as her second orgasm built up inside her.

She threw her head back, a silent scream slipping past her lips as she came again, her wetness soaking me and the bed. Oh fuck.

As she came down from her high, she sighed contently, sliding herself off the cock she feared she would be unable to take. Boy, was she wrong. She laid down next to me, her legs dangling off the bed, and I got up, getting down on the ground in front of her and tugging her towards the edge of the bed. I wasn't done with her yet.

"Y/N, I don't know if I can ..."

"Shh," I hushed her softly, my tongue darting out to clean the cum off of her inner thighs. "I need to clean you up."

I heard her slap her hands against her mouth once again as my tongue swirled along her clit, dipping between her folds teasingly as her hips thrust up into my face. I gripped her thighs tightly as I explored her delicious wetness, her legs twitching around my head. I made sure to absolutely devour every inch of her, feasting on her as if she was my last meal, as if I'd never have this chance again.

I heard her squeal from above me and I knew she was close. I slowly inserted two fingers into her, her pussy tightening around me as I fucked her until her body gave in, sending her into her third climax of the night.

As her slick gushed out of her, I eagerly licked it up, doing as I promised and cleaning her up. She writhed on the bed and I placed a kiss on her mound before rising back up and kissing her fully on the lips. She was dazed, her eyes heavy as I let her taste herself on my tongue.

"Happy birthday, my love."

[baka-bakeneko]

You're the worst

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

summary: Logan has gone too far this time.

tags: NSFW, hate/disgust, implied cheating, begging, consensual non consent acts, non consensual kissing, hatefuck, physical anger

Trigger warning: coercion, hatef*ck

By the time Logan had gotten home, you were already blowing out the candles. It was the one day you expected him to come home on time, not drag his Neanderthal claws or stop by the bar. Just this one day...

Logan wasn't expecting you to be up at all. He thought he'd be able to sneak by you curled up in bed to take a shower. He stiffened at the sight of you, your head in your hands waiting in boredom.

When you stood, Logan's heart stung at the sight of you in a little black dress. A number that teased just the middle of your thighs, your shoulders bare for your dress to be held up by its tightness around your chest.

He took in your stature, eyes raking down your smooth legs as you tossed the food from two plates into the trash. Logan was enraptured all over again with you, even though your body language was nothing short of scathing.

He pulled out of his head at the moment you smashed one of the plates into the sink, exploding ceramic about the kitchen counter before stamping away in your black chunky heels.

"Fuck," he muttered as you shot daggers at him, watching as you heavy handed the open bottle of wine on the table and snatched it away, making your way to the bedroom.

He dragged his knuckles over his eyes with a grimace, stepping into the apartment and slamming the door after him. "Honey, I'm home."

You flipped him off, putting your lips to the bottle to take a deep swig. Logan looked over to the dining table, dressed up with a tablecloth, roses and candles. He sneered, his heart sinking further.

He'd knew he'd forgotten something, but didn't think of it as the thing. Logan stared after you, deeply exhaling as he braced his hands to the kitchen counter.

You sat on the bed, readying everything you wanted to tell Logan whenever he decided to approach you.

He pushed open the door, glancing over at you before walking to the bathroom. You pushed to your feet, following Logan into the bathroom and shoving his shoulder.

"And where were you all night?" You finally asked.

Logan shrugged his shoulder away, straightening up to glance over his shoulder. He carefully peeled off his jacket, then his shirt and dropped them both on bathroom floor.

"At the bar," Logan offered, sparing a bit of truth.

You stared at his back, your jaw going taut at the uneven decoration of marks on his pristine yet hairy back. They were long, thin and red along his shoulders. They were hatchmarked down his back before half-moon marks were stamped into his sides.

Logan glanced back at you through the mirror, gulping subtly as he rubbed away the lipstick stain on his chest and stomach.

You shoved him again, grabbing his shoulder to turn him around. His hands paused on his pectoral and abs respectively, lazily stashing the bright red smudges from your gaze.

Staring at him, your eyes began to burn and well. Grabbing his jaw aggressively, you snatched his face to the side and took in the bright red hickeys on his body.

You scoffed, throwing his face away from you before turning to leave. It was like he was parading it on purpose, it not even healed to hide evidence.

Logan grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him, folding over you to kiss your neck eagerly.

"Stop, I love you, I love you." His voice was gruff and pleading, his alcoholic breath berating over your shoulder.

His arms curled around your waist, wanting to keep you long enough to coax you down. But you continued to bristle, elbowing into his side and worming out of his hold.

"Fuck you, you're the worst," you gasped, clawing onto the counter then the doorway before finally exiting the bathroom.

Logan stood by for a moment then followed you out to grab your wrist again. He spun you around and grabbed your face, forcing his lips onto yours.

"You're so beautiful," he tried again, kissing you to keep your harsh words at bay.

You reached out to shove him away, but he caught your wrists in his as his hand on your face grazed down to your neck.

You wormed away from his tart mouth, barely escaping another kiss as he trailed his lips down your jaw. His chops brushed against your skin, and you whined at the feeling.

Your stomach was oily and hot, disgusted by this man crawling back to you after what he'd done.

"Fuck you," you spat, trying your hands to get them free.

Logan turned you and pressed you up against the nearest wall, holding your hands above your head as he slotted himself behind you.

"I missed you," he crooned into your neck, his free hand sliding down your back to follow the natural curve of your spine.

"Bullshit!" You screeched, lifting a foot to kick him in the crotch.

He crumbled to his knees with a groan, releasing you. You gathered yourself again, righting your dress by pulling it up. Stepping out of his hold, you scoffed at him.

"Fuck you, Logan. Fuck you!" You yelled, grabbing and tossing the bottle of wine at the wall behind him.

"You did this shit on purpose, I know it." You continued, riled up with anger and disgust. "I know you. You ruin everything good on purpose!"

Logan sat on his haunches, in the remnant of green glass and wine exploded behind him. He lifted his head, glaring at you from under his heavy brow.

He said nothing, only stared further at you, far enough away to take in your full attire. You were previously dressed for romance, but now it felt vengeful.

Logan exhaled, holding a hand out for you. "Sweetheart."

You screeched in distaste, knowing his hands couldn't reach you but stepping back anyways. You stared as he started to claw his way towards you, his raw nails scraping the hardwood floor.

You backed into your nightstand, examining your next exit strategy. Logan bent at your feet, kissing at your open ankles of the shoes. You stamped out of his hold, his hand clamping the back of your calves to climb his kisses further.

His lips were warm, damp as he started to heave unevenly. "Please," he pleaded, his kisses making their way up to the insides of your knees.

You remained cold, holding strong will though your body began to react to him. Logan's hands slithered up your body, caressing the backs of your thighs before sliding under your dress to cup your ass.

You raised your foot to step on his crotch, so ready to squash him down again. However, Logan grabbed your leg, lifting it to sit you on the nightstand.

His lips resumed on your lifted leg, furthering up your inside thigh. Your breath caught, watching frozen as he continued with pushing the skirt of your dress up.

You grabbed at his hair, tugging harshly to pull him off of you. Staring at him, his beautiful brown eyes now dirty and soiled with the tempt of lies. His lips, though once sweet, were disgusting and dry even if they still felt warm on your skin.

The grip on his hair tightened and he bared his teeth at you.

"Get fucking mad at me," he ordered, his voice barely withholding his growl.

"You're pathetic," you spat out; the more you stared, the more you actually wanted to spit on him.

He was turning you off of him with every action, though your body never showed a difference.

"Madder," he gruffed, his nose flaring at you.

Your chest felt hot, your breaths shortened and you actually spat at him. Logan opened his mouth, taking your disgust in a way you weren't expecting. He swallowed it, then planted his lips to your thigh again.

You flinched, your furrowed brows turning down as Logan inched forward. You whined, shutting your eyes, almost ready to let him win.

But as his breath wafted through the mesh of your new lingerie, you regained yourself. You snatched Logan's head out of your dress, smushed his face away before scrambling to the bed. You crawled over it, edging out of Logan's hold.

Just as you felt out of reach, Logan grabbed your ankle and dragged you back. You held at your skirt for it to not ride up and Logan flipped you onto your back.

He pulled you up to sit on the bed, resuming his kneeling before you. "I'm trying to make it up to you."

You seethed, shoving his shoulders away. "There is nothing to make up! I hate you, Logan. I hate you!"

Logan shut you up with another kiss, this time keeping his hands to himself. You peeled back with disgust, your chest heaving ready to sob.

His face was scrunched in upset, every attempt to bring you back to him failing. He rested his forehead to your cheek, his breathing in uneven huffs.

"I don't know why I did it," he finally admitted, shutting his eyes to keep them from welling. "I had a moment of weakness."

You tried to shrug him away, his breath on your shoulder melting at your angst.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, his voice dropping an notch.

Logan took in your silence, your body unmoving to push him off. He slumped to your lap, wrapping his arms around your waist to soak in your momentary benevolence.

He wasted no time to make things right, nosing under your dress again and wedging your thighs apart with his chin.

You allowed him so with a disgusted look to the sky, awaiting a new wave of willpower before Logan got to you.

However he was quicker, licking at your wet pussy from behind your mesh undies. You succumbed to your elbows, spreading your legs and squeezing your eyes shut to think of a different Logan, a better Logan having his way.

You bit into your bottom lip, trying to not enjoy Logan's tongue as he slid your panties to the side and slipped his tongue into you. You wriggled on the bed, fighting your pleasure though Logan was invested.

He found this to be his redemption, doing his best while caressing your legs. When he parted from you, he expected the signature look of desire from you.

But he was met with a look of disdain. He watched as you turned over, righting on your knees before pulling up your dress.

You'd give this to him, as you had planned at the beginning of the night. Only now it'd end very differently. Logan reached a hand out to caress your back, relax you as he undid his belt with a hand.

When he reached your shoulder, you flinched his hand away. You peeled your panties down quickly and prepared yourself for Logan's girth.

He coaxed his tip against your lips, then pressed into you which made you hide your face in the mattress.

You'd miss how he felt inside you.

Logan slammed his hips into you, grabbing onto your dress. You held at the front of your dress against the mattress, not allowing him anything further.

"I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry." He grunted, starting his languid strokes. "You feel so good."

You grimaced at his words, tears tempting the corners of your eyes. Logan admired the natural beauty of your back, wracking his mind with guilt.

What was he thinking? Wronging someone as beautiful as you?

You kept your movements rigid, not giving Logan a spectacle like you usually did. You followed his strokes, meeting his thrusts to speed up the process.

"You feel so much..." He tried, but instantly bit his tongue.

The tinge of his blood dotted his mouth, making him pause in speaking. Whatever he was trying to say it'd come out wrong, he didn't want to push you away.

You were already detached, waiting out Logan until you got your satisfaction. He'd work extra hard for you to forgive him, do everything in his power to undo this night.

But it wouldn't be enough.

You were close, thinking of your best distant fantasy not associated with him. Logan felt himself drifting from you, he bent over to kiss the back of your neck.

You squeezed your eyes shut, holding back your disgust for this man. Though with a sniffle, you'd miss his natural musk.

"Love me again, I'll spend every day making it up to you," Logan whispered against your ear.

He kissed your cheek, down your neck before you cut away to whimper. Your stomach flipped in a new wave, this time at yourself as you came at the utterance of his words.

It was lies. You had to convince yourself so, otherwise you'd fall into the trap of his arms and never leave.

You shoved Logan off of you, sitting up with him rolling onto his back. He expected a new position, your moans of forgiveness while you gave back to him though he didn't deserve it.

But he was met with your bottom lip reddened from biting, pouting, and your eyes watering. Logan's heart dropped from his chest, leaving his limbs cold. He felt his cock shrink by the sight of you, broken and disgusted.

You stood up, wobbling slightly with your heels then went to pack a bag. Logan watched you gather clothes, no longer fighting as he dropped his head back to the bed.

"Baby..." he tried one last time, raising his head as you slung a hefty bag onto your shoulder.

You righted your dress, peeling your panties off and tossing them at Logan's chest before starting for the door.

"Happy Anniversary, Logan."

[clarkeyhill]

Borders| George Clarke

(Several parts)

Smut|Fluff inspired by boRdErSz by Zayn.

Summary: As Chris' friend, you were strictly off limits. The boys weren't allowed to flirt with you, nor were you allowed to flirt with them. You agreed and so did they, but as time went on you couldn't help but want to break the borders of your agreement with one of the boys.

London air filled your lungs as the morning walk through Hyde park was crisp, you'd been staying with Chris for a week now just until your flat was ready for you to move in. You were joined on your walk by Chris & George, grasping a lukewarm hot chocolate as the autumn leaves fell at your feet. You spot a park bench to sit at as you gesture the boys over to it, the seat cold yet a perfect overlook of the park.

"So, you guys have plans for today?" You say taking a sip of your drink "no, free schedule today" Chris smiles "yeah me too, apart from a meeting in the afternoon" George adds as he rubs his hands together "fancy letting your hair down with me tonight at the bar?" You day with mischievous eyes looking up at them both from your hot chocolate cup, Chris turns to George as he cocks head to the side "what do you say? Ask Arthur too?" He pitches to George "ah why not, as long as she's getting the first round" he raises his brows "if you like cocktails, then sure I'll get the first round" you add on "you bet your ass I do" he says with a giggle as Chris shakes his head "shall we say 7?" Chris asks "yeah, seems a safe enough time" you nod "gives me chance to finish my meeting and get back" George agrees.

You all walk back to the flat, brushing past the streets of London you think of things to wear, the air wasn't warm but it wasn't freezing, the option for a dress was tempting; it's rare you get to let your hair down so at every change you make the most of it. You reach the flat as you slip your coat off, placing it on the hanger, Leaving your boots in the corner. Arthur is perched against the kitchen island when you return so you decide to ask him about tonight "hey Arthur, we're off out tonight if you wanna join?" You suggest slipping yourself onto the kitchen stool "sure, what time?" He says placing his phone into his pocket "7pm we're gonna leave, first rounds on me" you smile "you buying a round? Wow I definitely have to come" he chuckles "be quiet" you shake your head

The morning soon passes as the time is 3pm, George leaves for his meeting leaving you with Arthur and Chris, George said he'd meet you at the bar you just had to text him the address "right boys you have the task of helping me decide what to wear" you say with your arms folded "like we're gonna be any help" Chris snickers in a boyish fashion "you'll be fine, I'll shout you when I need you, just jumping in the shower" you say as they nod. You'd recently changed your hair and were yet to debut it on a night out, wine red hair with a hint of cherry undertones, you decided you were going to blow dry it in a bouncy cascade of red.

You finish your shower, wrapping your hair in a towel as you sit down at your dressing table, staring at the options for tonight your choices were:

Black Lace Dress| Leather Maxi Dress| Corset red Dress

Although, revealing to catwalk infront of the boys, the aim of tonight was to solely let yourself free, enjoy the night and let the vibes flow. You blow dry your hair, slipping it into rollers as you apply a face mask, deciding to parade your fits to the boys whilst it settles.

"Chris, Arthur, come in" you say as you hear faint sighs, knowing Chris hated this stuff "now, we don't judge the little to no material okay" you say gesturing to Chris "oh yeah we do, if we can see your breakfast you aren't going in it" he folds his arms like a protective bestie as you shake your head "sit" you gesture to your bed as the boy sit down, Arthur paying little to no attention, considering he wasn't meant to be admiring you. First up, the leather dress which hugged your figure tightly showing off all your curves and angles "right okay this is the first one" you step out of your en suite as Arthur's eyes dart towards you, Chris' eyes lock on the material "it's nice, compliments your figure" he advises as Arthur nods, scared to say anything. You return to the bathroom, slipping on the red corset dress, which held your girls in place tightly as you saunter out. The rooms vibe shift as Chris immediately shoots his gaze to Arthur who shyly looks down

"Chris, be serious I need both your opinions stop being protective" you say rolling your eyes as furrows his brows "the colour brings out your hair really well" as Arthur's eyes sneak their way up to have a peek "yeah, it's a good colour combo" he manages to squeeze out as Chris nods. You try the last dress, the black lace one. A basic but slight detail in the pattern as you open the door "basic" Chris lets out immediately as you laugh "wow thanks Chris" you say "the red one" he adds as Arthur nods "thanks guys" you say as the smile and leave.

Now it was time to do your makeup.

-

🫶🏻

Part 2 later tonight! X

[jaylienpotter]

Part 2 of Let them be | 1k words

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

Let boys wear skirts

James had started a protest against the school rules not allowing females to wear trousers. How? By breaking the dress code. Of course Sirius was going to follow up and also put on a skirt. His brother Reggie desperately needed to change uniforms.

What he wasn't expecting was how it felt. The fabric was nice and it was much more freeing, refreshing. But there was something else. He felt different. He felt pretty. I mean, he was always gorgeous. But not like this. He was looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, turning to see the skirt from different angles. He put his long black strands behind his ears and smiled. Sirius didn't know what it meant. He wasn't like Regulus. He wasn't trans. He liked being a bloke. He never felt discomfort with his body. The knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry I'm going!" Taking the towel and his pajamas, he opened the door to a Moony in a skirt. Obviously they had all agreed to it but he just looked so awkward and cute, with high socks to hide the scars. But Remus would look good in anything. At least in Padfoot's eyes.

Lupin didn't budge when the bathroom got free. He stared, looked his friend up and down.

"What?" Did he look bad? Did he wear the skirt upside down? Did he just look ridiculous with his hair like that, which made him look even more feminine?

"I- uh- nothing, I just… It suits you." Was Moony blushing? Did Sirius only have to wear a skirt to catch his crush's attention this whole time?

"You think?" Pads did a little twirl. The skirt was a little short but what did he care?

"Yeah. You look… Pretty."

"Thanks. I kind of like it, actually…"

"I see. Uh Pads, can I use the toilet?" Sirius stepped aside and ever so slightly glanced at the boy's arse. Lupin looked a lot more modest. It made sense with his 'problem', as well as anxiety and low self confidence in general. Black didn't expect him to follow the protest. The four of them were in, though. Even Wormtail. Lily's skirt was slightly tight but he said it was fine since it was for a good cause. He could use a spell to largen it but none of them had mastered those yet. They'd end up making a skirt big enough for the squid.

There were whistles from the Gryffindor table as soon as he walked in for breakfast. Mckinnon was hyping her friend as usual.

"Look at her!" She was joking, of course. But it hit Sirius. He felt a knot in his (her?) stomach. Why did he like that? He was fine with male pronouns, never had a problem. Still didn't. Shrugging it off, the drama queen paraded to the table, followed by an anxious werewolf.

"Don't worry Moons. If anyone looks I'll just be flagrant and get the attention off you."

"Thanks Pads." He smiled, his cheeks still slightly tainted. Perhaps he was too hot from the high socks and long sleeves in the hot weather?

"Good morning, lads! How are we feeling? I see Padfoot is confident, great. Wormy is getting used to it. Moony, you good, mate?" Potter was such a mum. People would think that Remus being the most sensible out of the four, he would have the responsible, more parent-like role. To be quite frank, he didn't give a shit. If his friends made a fool of themselves he'd laugh. Prick. Hot prick, though.

"Yeah." He looked to his left and back at Prongs. "I'm okay."

The day went as expected, they got detention quite soon, the first class was thankfully History of Magic and their ghost of a teacher didn't even know he was dead, let alone what his students were wearing. They received plenty of comments. Some cheering, mostly from girls, some were snarky, and some of the students called them girls, which Black didn't seem to mind at all. And of course, there were lots of stares.

The Marauders walked together everywhere, to be stronger and avoid being attacked. James was incredible, swagging around the castle with his head held high.

"Hey, Prongs? Can I ask you something?" It wasn't until they were in their pajamas that Sirius gained the courage to talk about it.

"Of course."

"How did you feel wearing a skirt? Were you uncomfortable? Did you like it?"

"Well…" Potter twisted his mouth to the side, as he always did when thinking. "It was fine, I suppose. I wouldn't say I liked it, I wouldn't choose to wear one. But for the cause it didn't bother me."

"Hm." Pads's gaze was distant. He had time to figure it out, they were going to keep wearing skirts until a teacher heard their complaints. At least Sirius and James were.

The next day, Marlene joined the protest, borrowing Sirius's trousers that were oversized for her. The lads had gone downstairs and she was in their dorm with Black, getting ready. They had no problem changing in front of each other since both were gay.

"You seem to be enjoying the skirt." That tone meant she was onto something. The fucker could always read Sirius. Even better than James, at times.

"Yeah… I suppose so. Makes me feel pretty."

"Just pretty or more like a girl?" Bloody hell, she had figured it out even before Sirius.

"I'm not sure…" Marlene put on her tie, done getting ready.

"Do you want to borrow my makeup? It might help." Pads turned around nervously yet excitedly.

"You sure?"

"Yeah mate. You also have to repaint your nails, they're all chipped. Wait here, I'll get my stuff."

"Thanks Marls…" She winked and left, coming back a few minutes later.

"I also brought a small mirror. Sit, we're having a beauty session." It was funny. Marlene wasn't that feminine. She didn't wear makeup all that often and when she did, it was more of a rock punk look with smudged black eyes. It wasn't anything like Evans or Mary, which were a lot more elegant and traditional.

"You don't want to eat first?"

"I'd rather get you all prepped up to see people's faces when you show up all girly."

And the faces did not disappoint. Black and Mckinnon walked into the Great Hall with wrapped arms. She had her hair in a messy bun, her shirt not fully buttoned up with her tie loose, the trousers covering her feet and a bit of a black smudged eyeshadow. Sirius, on the other hand, wore the skirt from the previous day, which was slightly short but still covered up everything, the shirt also not buttoned up all the way as per usual, and the red and gold tie undone, sitting on his shoulders. Some black nail polish and winged eyeliner, too. He couldn't deny it, it felt pretty good.

The best face was Remus's, who literally dropped his toast. The pink cheeks were definitely not from the weather. It sparked a little hope in Padfoot, that maybe his dreams of being with his best friend would come true. However, Moony would probably forget about it as soon as the protest ended.

It took a while until that happened. Pads and Prongs wore skirts for around two weeks (and some of the girls wore pants - Marlene, Lily, Mary, Dorcas, Pandora), eventually Reg felt comfortable enough to join, he had never felt so good at Hogwarts.

Mcgonagall was the one who spoke up about it, saying it was getting ridiculously out of hand and that she saw no problem with girls wearing trousers 'But for the love of Merlin, boys, put on some trousers'.

Dumbledore agreed to change the rules, as the protest was distracting the students' focus during classes. Fully aware the Gryffindors weren't going to back down.

Regulus was ecstatic and thanked all of them. Sirius was happy for his brother but he was going to miss the skirt. In this journey of self discovery, he had come to the conclusion that he felt both masculine and feminine, some days more than others. All the pronouns felt right, but he did prefer being called pretty over handsome. Maybe Sirius would be able to wear a skirt again someday. Until then, makeup was the only way of expression. He would also miss Moony's glances, he ought to come up with a new way to lure the Gryffindor boy.

[theunholybastard]

Kinktober: October 3rd - Angry Sex (Papa Emeritus II x Female!Reader)

Tags: Dom!Secondo, Sub!Reader, Degrading, Hair-Pulling, Light Blood Kink, Spanking, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Slut-Shaming, Dub-Con, Abuse Of Power, Face-Fucking, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Breeding, 3rd Person POV

Secondo has always been a cold, cruel man. At least, that's what everyone saw him as. When a new Sister of Sin arrived in the Ministry, he thought she was going to be like all of the others; terrified of him. Why wouldn't she be? But no, when she first was introduced to him, she smiled warmly, even held eye contact while she shook his hand. She didn't treat him like a beast, cowering away from his presence, nor did she even suck up to him and treat him like a higher being; she treated him like everyone else. That's what drew Secondo to her initially.

Soon after she would be assigned to be Secondos personal assistant. All of his previous assistants quit within a few weeks, unable to keep up with his strict policies, constant demands, and especially his temper. But she stayed, and did a damn good job despite his nearly impossible standards. He was impressed, and his interest in this beautiful young Sister grew more.

But when he got to know her is when he became truly doomed. The more she sweetly chatted with him as she got her work done, talking to him about her day, all while smiling and laughing comfortably around him made his heart flutter with a newfound life. By the time he recognized what he was feeling, there was no going back.

She made him soft. She made his permanent scowl melt into a bashful smile with one look. She made him feel weak, powerless, but in a strange way, he liked it. But even in his softest state, Secondo to his core is greedy, possessive. In his mind, she was his and his alone, even if she didn't know it yet.

When he saw a Brother of Sin flirting with his precious assistant, he felt a deep, bubbling rage grow within him. But what sealed her fate was when she flirted back, batting her eyelashes and pressing her body up against him. What gives her the right to parade herself to another man like some common whore? That man, no, that boy couldn't make her feel half as good as he could. Why would she want some simpleminded sibling over a Papa?

He sits in his office, his cock painfully hard as he thinks about her. His jaw is clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grinding furiously against each other. He waits for her, his mind set on teaching her a lesson. She arrives eventually, late, which only fuels his anger. He watches her intently as she clumsily shuffles into the room and sets a pile of paperwork down at his desk. He slowly gets up from where he was sat, locking the door, her too focused on her work to realize.

"I'm so sorry I was late, Papa. I was-" She begins to excuse herself before he deliberately interrupts.

"You were what? Too busy whoring yourself out for the whole Ministry?" He hisses accusingly. She's taken aback by his words and sudden hostility. Her brows furrowed in confusion as her gaze now falls on his enraged expression. A chill runs up her spine.

"Papa, what are you talking abo-" He cuts her off again.

"I saw you. I saw you with Brother Francesco after black mass. How he looked at you. How you looked at him. You want to fuck him, hm?" He interrogated.

"...Is that a crime?" She bit back, scoffing. Surely Secondo wasn't being serious, she thought. No way the Papa of a church that celebrates lust would have a problem with that. Her sass makes his fists clench tight. She notices and instantly regrets her retort.

"You think you can just walk into my office and tempt me with that sinful body of yours every day, just so you can go and give it up for some useless sibling instead?" He growled. Slowly, she starts piecing it together. Oh. Her eyes widen.

"P-Papa I didnt-" She cuts herself off this time, sucking in a sharp breath as he approaches her. She's pressed up against the desk, his body centimeters away from hers, keeping her in place. She couldn't escape from him even if she wanted to. And honestly, she really didn't. This situation she was in, while it terrified her, also sent a jolt of arousal right to her core. Her heart was beating rapidly, not taking her eyes off Secondo for a moment, tracking his every move.

"Do you think he deserves to fuck you more than I do? You want him more than you want your Papa?" His voice was low and thick with malice. He slid a gloved hand up her habit, caressing her bare thigh, while the other hand securely gripped her hip. She gasped at the touch, her knees buckling. She shook her head. He lightly slapped her thigh in warning, not satisfied with that answer.

"Speak, bitch." His words made her shiver. She gulped. "N-no, Papa. I don't- I don't want him. H-he doesn't deserve t-to..." She hesitated. "To fuck me..." She breathed shakily. His grip on her hip became bruisingly tight.

"You work for me, putanna." She could almost feel the rumbling of his voice in her own chest. "Your job is to please me, si? Keep me satisfied?" She nodded again, causing him to growl and give another firm slap to her thigh.

"Y-yes, Papa." She stuttered out. His gaze was piercing, like he could kill her with just one look. She never understood why all of the siblings were afraid of him, until now.

"Then do your job and get on your knees." In an instant, she obeyed, her brain too fogged with lust to think for herself. Swiftly, he takes out his thick, leaking cock. She gasps in shock seeing his impressive length for the first time, a wave of nervousness suddenly hitting her. Sensing her hesitation, Secondos gaze softens.

"You must tell me now if you don't want this. Once I start, I fear I won't be able to stop." His voice was low and serious. His expression tried to remain neutral to not put further pressure on her, but on the inside he was praying she wouldn't reject him, that he would get to see tears stream down her cheeks as she choked and sputtered on his cock.

"I want this, Papa. Please." She manages to whimper out, fueled by determination and desire. Secondo let's out a soft groan, pleased with her response. Not waiting any longer, he held his cock to her lips. "Suck." He commanded.

She opened wide, taking just the tip in her mouth to start, gently swirling her tongue around it. This caused him to growl frustratedly, fisting her hair in his hands and yanking her down on the rest of his length. She gags helplessly as he mercilessly thrusts into her mouth, holding her head firmly in place. "Much better." He grunts, tipping his head back in sadistic pleasure.

His pace was unrelenting, roughly hitting the back of her throat with every thrust, causing tears to form quickly in the corner of her eyes. Each retching sound made his smile grow wider, finally living out his sick fantasies. His cock pulses, a familiar feeling stirring within him. Before he can finish, he yanks her off, hissing at the sudden lack of warmth that was provided by her mouth. She coughs dryly and looks up at him, confused.

"W-why'd you sto- Oh!" She yelps in surprise as he lifts her off the ground, slamming her over his desk and flipping up the skirt of her habit. Like a wild animal, he rips off her undergarments, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room along with some primal grunts from Secondo. She mourns the loss of her stockings and panties for a brief moment, but soon forgets once she feels the tip of his cock caress her folds.

"So fucking wet already just from sucking my cock, hm? Putanna." He spits, coating his length with her arousal. She whines, trying to push back against him in a desperate attempt to get him inside of her. "Please, Pap- ah!" She lets out a borderline pornographic moan as he slides inside of her, his cock stretching her out and filling her perfectly.

He wastes no time, thrusting in and out of her at a rapid, animalistic pace. She screams in a mix of pleasure and overstimulation, the brutality of his hips slamming against hers almost too much to handle. "P-Papa, please! S-slow down, fuck!" Her pleas earn her a harsh spank, causing her to clench around him.

"Last time I checked, you weren't the one in charge." He panted heavily, completely lost in his own pleasure. "W-whos in charge here, hm? Oh, f-fuuck..." She tries to reply, but all that can come out are wanton moans and nonsensical muttering. He spanks her again. And again. Harder and harder each time, leaving bright red handprints on her ass, surely to bruise by tomorrow. "S-say it! Merda!"

"Y-you, Papa! Oh, s-shit! Gonna c-cum!" She cries, the knot in her stomach growing tighter and tighter until finally it releases, her eyes rolling back and her mouth hung open in ecstasy as she coats him with her juices. She comes down from her high, but his pace doesn't relent, moving a gloved hand down to rub her clit, further stimulating her. She desperately gasped for air and tried to wiggle away from his touch, but he holds her close, spearing her in place.

"We're not stopping till I drain every last drop of my seed inside you. Understood?" He huffs, fucking into her as if he's just using her body as a means to let out his frustrations. Tears stream down her cheeks , the pleasure so intense it's bordering on pain, but God, it feels too good to stop. He grips ahold of her hair, pulling on it painfully and lifting her body closer to his, burying his face in her neck.

"Gonna breed you like a bitch in heat. Maybe then you'll remember who you f-fucking belong to, huh?" He pants against her skin, getting close himself. She hisses in pain, her scalp burning, but she still can't help but clench tighter around him at his words. "I bet that stronzo Francesco would stay far away from you once your body starts to swell with my child. Everyone in this whole fucking Ministry will know you're Papas personal slut. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Cazzo, t-tell me you want it..."

She feels the tightness in her abdomen return once again, all logic in her mind now completely gone as she focuses solely on the pleasure she's receiving, itching to cum again. "W-want it, Papa! P-please... please cum... cum in me!" She chokes out a sob, degraded to nothing more than a pathetic, horny mess. His thrusts grow sloppy and uncoordinated, his breath hitched, as he lets out one final groan of expletives.

He bites down on her shoulder to silence himself, hard enough to draw blood, as he releases himself inside of her, thick spurts of his seed already leaking out of her hole from the obscene amount. At the feeling of his cock kicking inside of her, mixed with the sharp sting of his bite, her warm blood sliding down her shoulder, she cums almost in sync with him, wailing helplessly and shuddering against him.

She fully collapses over the desk, face hitting the hard wood, but she's entirely too exhausted to care. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he slowly pulls out, wincing at oversensitivity. Staring at her limp, heaving body, a sense of clarity washes over him, swiftly being hit with reality.

"A-are you okay, mia cara?" He asks gently, all the anger and tension from before quickly melting away seeing her in such a fragile condition. He felt a pang of guilt for doing this to her, to someone he worked with, to someone he loved. How would this affect their relationship moving forward?

"P-Papa..." Is all she can manage to whimper out, her throat raw and abused, along with the rest of her body. His gaze softens, and without another word, he carefully lifts her into his arms like a ragdoll, laying her down on the couch. He cleans her up tenderly, treating her as if she's some fragile object that could shatter at the slightest touch.

They sit in silence for a while, him soothingly rubbing all the marks he left on her body while she struggles to say awake. "I..." He clears his throat, unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I took advantage of you. It won't happen again. Let's just... pretend this never happened, si?" He says regretfully, looking down at the ground beneath him with a scowl. She frowns.

"Secondo..." She sighs, trying to hide her slight hurt from his words. "I told you I wanted it."

"I know that, but-"

"No. We were two consenting adults, there's nothing wrong with what we just did. And..." She gulps. "And there's no reason we shouldn't do this again." He blinks, looking up at her in surprise.

"You'd... you'd want to?" He asks, sounding unsure of himself, like maybe he heard her wrong. She smiles, that damned soft smile that he's come to adore so much.

"I'd like that a lot." She admits bashfully. "Only next time, can I not have to flirt with Brother Francesco to get you to sleep with me?" Secondo raises an eyebrow and smirks, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"Did you... did you flirt with him just to make me jealous?" He asks in amused disbelief. She bites her lip, avoiding eye contact. "Maybe..." She mutters, grinning mischievously. He scoffs, playfully slapping her ass. He pulls her in for a kiss, not too rough, but still firm and possessive.

"Piccola diavola." He murmurs against her sweet lips. "I'm going to have to punish you for that." She pulls away and pouts exaggeratingly. "Haven't you punished me enough? Have some mercy on me, Papa!" She jokingly complains. Secondo laughs heartily, trailing his kisses down to her neck, causing her to shiver.

"Oh, amore. If you want mercy..." His grip on her tightens. "You're going to have to beg for it."

-

[savannahsdeath]

MDNI ! haven't posted much bout ellie lately .. but rockstar!ellie makes me go feral . especially when she likes to have secrets, like a cute groupie backstage. a clever groupie, who wants to be more than a secret

❥︎ i hope nobody catch us ,

but i kinda hope they catch us , anyway ...

"you told anyone?" she cooed in a sweet voice. an overly sweet, too sweet, like the calm before the storm. she had you settled on her lap, making you hold the hem of your skirt — cheap fabric scratching your sensitive fingertips and upper thighs, even though it wasn't the friction you desired. you knew you have to, so your body will be on display for ellie, revealing what she wanted. she looked down at her well deserved gift with lust in her eyes, ready to make a move... yet something was holding her back. her head rested in the crook of your neck, leaning on your shoulder. her fingers left your knee, abrading through your thighs, her knuckles chafing your skin in a light touch, barely palpable, nevertheless enough to give you goosebumps.

"what if i did?" you suggested in an innocently naive tone, which ellie found suitable for an illiterate. it wasn't troublesome to use your brain and interpret her intonation — she was not in the mood to quarrel. her hand abruptly landed on your panties, the raw, cold agitation making you freeze. you gritted your teeth, letting out a strangled seethe, followed by a shake of your head. "i didn't."

you studied the area around you, glancing at all of the instruments left by the other band members. what were they doing now? perhaps they were parading around the building, ( whose storage compartment you were in ) giving autographs for rapacious fans. sooner or later, one of them will notice that something's off — not everyone decided to greet their admirers.

"where's ellie williams?"

this question must be asked, moreover the explanation wasn't known yet. ellie's friends will have a difficult time finding an answer. you had the honor to know. to know where she was and what she was doing. the way her eyes closed in pleasure showed she wasn't embarrassed of her actions at all.

the next thing you took note of was the microphone, stuck in a tripod, which fell down right next to you. you stretched your hand and grabbed it, letting your skirt limply cover up your thighs. as you heard ellie hum, your fingertips quickly moved the snap and put the mic back in its place. it noiselessly rolled away, and even though it was still near, you had to squint, creating a cute wrinkle in the corner of your eyes. after you used enough effort, you stopped struggling to notice a green dot. you blinked a few times — your eyelids fell down... and opened again. but you weren't wrong. there was, definitely, a little light, glowing blurry in your vision. its color was outstanding — an significant, tinted part, evident in the plain black handle. and you knew what it means;

mic on !

ellie unknowingly laughed and withdrew four of her fingers, only the middle one remaining pressed to your lingerie, slowly sliding towards your clit. "of course you didn't," she whispered in your ear.

if you were right — if the microphone was connected to all of the speakers in the pub — no one should hear that murmur. but once any of you whimpers, whines or lets any other pornographic moan out ... there will be a clear excuse for williams' absence.

i kinda feel insane rn . too crazy ? yes Ok

i swear you turned the mic off right after that n nothing happened im not insaneeee 😹😹😇😇😇 and not horny AT ALLLL

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Let's Hear it For the Boy

Day #10 - Prompt: Pride | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Famous Older Corroded Coffin, Pride Parade

Eddie tugs at the hem of his shirt, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. 

"What's wrong?" Steve asks, showing up behind Eddie in the mirror.

"Well, for starters, it's mesh," Eddie says, "and I feel a little on display.  I'm not exactly twenty-five anymore."

Steve runs his hands around Eddie's middle, hugging him from behind. 

"You look damn good and you know it," Steve says, fingers pressing into the bare skin of his stomach under the mesh crop-top.

Eddie isn't so sure about that, but he appreciates the thought, anyway. He doesn't have time to argue, because the hotel room door bangs open, and Gareth is standing there.

"How hot do I look?" Gareth asks, and Steve laughs as he heads over to greet him.

"So hot," Steve says, and Gareth twirls around, like he's a six-year-old girl and not a forty-six-year-old man. 

"Am I the first?" Gareth asks, and he is, nobody else has turned up yet and they are supposed to leave for the parade in ten minutes. 

Corroded Coffin was asked to be grand marshals of this year's Pride parade, and they decided to go for it. The community embraced Eddie long ago, and it's about time he really did something to pay that kindness back. 

Gareth is wearing the sparkliest eye makeup Eddie's ever seen, and Eddie lived through high school in the 80s. He could put Chrissy Cunningham to shame, Eddie thinks, and feels a pang in his chest. 

Before he can dwell on it, the door swings open again, and Goodie's there, decked out in all leather, his hairy belly on full display.

"Well, don't you look beary sexy?" Eddie teases, grinning ear-to-ear as Goodie tips his leather muir cap.

"You can call me daddy if you want, big boy," Goodie says, and Eddie would really rather not. And, using Eddie's turn of phrase against him, is honestly dirty pool.

"I think I'll pass," Eddie laughs, but he's impressed Goodie's gotten into this as much as he very clearly has. "Where's Jeff?"

"There was a pants problem," Goodie says, and that's as much as he chooses to elaborate, before adding, "Robin's helping."

And Steve laughs, which makes Eddie smile. He's sure they're both getting the same mental image of Robin trying to dress Jeff. Too tight pants? Split up the ass? Eddie doesn't know, but he's sure it's hilarious, either way.

"We can't be late, we're the grand marshals," Gareth says.

"We won't be late," Steve assures, and Eddie's sure that's true. Steve Harrington never lets them be late to anything. Hasn't yet, in nearly thirty years. He's not gonna start today.

They stand on the street corner and look out over the sea of color. Rainbow flags waving in every direction. Everything, and everyone, is just so bright. It's a vast change from looking out over the crowd at a Corroded Coffin show where the majority of clothing is just shades of blacker than black.

But this is full color. Everything about it is, and it's fun in a different way. A rainbow in every direction he looks. They're branching out, and Eddie is determined to embrace that. There's no reason not to, he figures, and they were invited for a reason. 

Because they were all wanted here.

The float they're supposed to get on is garish and bright, but everyone seems excited to see them, so Eddie smiles back. Accepts the hand offered to help him up onto the platform. Steve is with him, and with Steve, he can do anything. Even this. 

Jeff's stuck zipper problem fixed, Robin is now hugging person after person, and it's her they have to thank for this whole idea, Eddie knows. Without her, they'd have never been asked. Eddie's absolutely sure about that. And that's fine. This isn't really his scene. But if they want him to participate, wave a rainbow flag, whatever, he'll do it. It's the least he can do for the community that accepted him, and his friends, when that wasn't always a given. 

They didn't grow up in a time or place where being this out and proud was ever even conceived of, let alone done so publicly. So it's nice to see the change that has occurred in just a few decades of his lifetime. Things are different now, and that's pretty damn cool.

He may not want to be so front and center here, but being asked, being seen as some sort of gay icon, is flattering. He can't deny that.

The metal band, filled with members that are all some sort of queer, wasn't always destined to make it. They did anyway, beating the odds that were stacked against them. 

They built up a whole community around themselves, and later a fandom, honestly, that loves them for exactly who they are.

The music is pumping off the float, and it feels straight out of Babylon. The thumpa-thumpa, alive and well. Gareth's found some sort of rainbow streamers, and he's waving them above his head. 

Goodie has to be sweating buckets in all that leather in this heat, but he's standing at the edge of the float with Jeff, throwing out beads like it's Mardi Gras. Only, these are in rainbow colors. Jeff is wearing jean shorts that are cut so short, Eddie's scared anyone beneath him might be getting a free show. 

Steve's standing on a chair, clapping and screaming with the music, creating a chant, "Let's hear it for the boy!"

Eventually, this ends with a mic in Eddie's hand as he climbs up to the top of the float, where he can see and be seen.

He raises both hands over his head and waves, and hears the screaming pointed back in his direction.

He finds Steve's eyes, blows him a kiss, and tips his head back and laughs.

"Happy Pride!" Eddie screams into the mic, and the crowd goes wild. It's not a Corroded Coffin show, that's for damn sure, but he feels very loved.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe Colors Ep. 12 The Black Parade Episode

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here. Y'all done told be EVERYTHING, so I know the entire plot now.

THAT WAS A TEAR! KENTA IS CRYING!

I thought it wasn't just sweat last week but knowing he is actually crying as he thinks about their past did immediate damage to me, and now they are ALL standing there in the dark with Way and Pete highlighted by the blue, and, and, and . . . Kentana are you gonna die? You and Waymond are stressing me the fuck out!

Now that I know they are both enigmas, I can't see them the same. Are they using their superpowers on each other right now? Are they reading each other's minds? Are they trying to figure out how to get Kentana back, so they can make this poly?

Kentana, how many times are you going to have this man spit in your face before you realize that he ain't shit? Go to your room, turn on Billie Eilish's "Happier Than Ever" and really hear it. "Never told anyone anything bad cause that shit's embarrassing. You were my everything, and all that you did was make me fucking sad."

The blue keys in front of the red product placement is all I need to be reminded that this show refuses to allow me peace.

Shocking absolutely fucking nobody, Kentana did not listen to "Happier Than Ever"

And now someone is gonna die because there are only so many ways for you and Waymundo to redeem yourselves, and if you have Jeffrey in all black, I'm worried it's gonna be your funeral we will be planning next, Kentana.

There is one episode left and I am death gripping the one time Vegas' Hedgehog wore blue because I will never get it again. I hate them.

Real question: Is Barbie pregnant? I know he is sad Charles is "dead" *eye roll* but he is taking pills, getting fruit thrown at him, and staring out into space. I would love to believe he is going through his Edward-left-Bella-so-she-was-super-duper-sad era, but now that I know pregnancy is on the table, that's all I can see.

Oh, thank goodness! Someone actually has a tracker on his phone! But Kimberly has been kidnapped, caught up in human trafficking, and is now beating up children. Bro, what was your life before it all went to shit? Do you ever call your mom and tell her these are your friends now? Are you even still racing? Nevermind. Go catch those kids.

The problem with black is the shades. Waymond's jacket looks green. Peter's pants look blue. And yet it still feels like we are preparing for a funeral. A real one this time. Not fake like someone else's *cough* Charles *cough*

Kentana, are you betraying Jeffrey as Big Red watches? Or are you asking him how Peter's been? Has he been well, without you? Is he dating anyone? What is his status with Way? Well, Jeffrey wouldn't know, but Peter x Waymond could be poly if you get out of that fucking house and stop kidnapping people!

Going from Kentana in that House of Horrors to Pete looking like this makes me understand why Kentana is out there kidnapping people. I'd feel some type of way too if my childhood crush looked like this and was getting chummy with a dude who looked like Way Way. Damn.

What the hell is this?! The cover of a boy band album? A meeting to discuss poly? The Thai version of Barbie where Ken(tana) explains why he won't leave the Mojo Dojo Casa House? AND WHY ARE ALL OF YOU WEARING BLACK?! Someone is gonna die.

Did Big Red know Kentana went to see Barbie and the other Kens?! Was he sent there by Big Red?! Kentana is really breaking my heart on his knees hugging this man like this. I want to slap Kentana all the time, but I also want to hug him and tuck him into bed with a moon nightlight calmly lighting up the room.

Let's stick him in a video game, so he can learn to love himself.

Push him down the stairs, Kentana! Do it. PLEASE! Shoulder check his ass at least.

Oh Lord, NO! Waymond, do not take a fucking bullet for anyone. You canNOT die by Whiny Winifred's bullet. I refuse to let you go out like that. You finally used your powers for good, but this is not the time to die.

Y'ALL DIDN'T EVEN GRAB THE BAG!

This is Mission Kim Possible all over again! How do you not grab the damn bag?! Waymundo looks so damn good in his suit, so thank God he is still alive, but what the fuck guys?! One job! SECURE. THE. BAG.

I hate how good everyone looks in black because I keep swinging through emotions. I'm terrified for everyone yet very attracted to everyone. All the guys connected to Big Red have been in black this episode regardless if it was their color or not, so I'm hoping that means the funeral will be Big Red's.

A cult meeting, in this economy? Villains make the dumbest decisions.

Waymond has some white on . . . over black. Please Mary, mother of God, do not let him do something stupid.

Alan, did you just say "eff them kids"? No. Not my Alan. He'll be back for them. Right. Right?

Peter is gonna Regina George his way into this Halloween party that he was not invited to just to cause some havoc. Mad respect.

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

How the hell did Charles get there?! Did Barbie's dad tell him to go to the cult meeting? Dressed like that though? Did his spidey sense go off? So many questions, but all I know is Kentana better let them go, so he doesn't have to die.

Whiny Winifred better not get better at aiming in the final episode because I still need both of these two to wear blue TOGETHER.

WAYMOND, NO!!!!!!!!!!

Good to know it only took being kidnapped twice and (possibly) someone dying for Jeffrey to finally commit to the blue.

My nerves are wrecked. There was too much black this episode. Someone is going to die, and as much as I want it to be Big Red, I just don't feel good that Kentana is still on his bullshit, and Waymond keeps jumping in front of guns. Peter needs both of his boyfriends to live.

Also, Barbara, I already know you are immediately going to hug Charles next week, instead of having a moment to be pissed all the way off at him like you should be, so I'm going to start meditating on that right now. I've been mad at Charles the entire season, so I'll hold this grudge for both of us in the finale.

[synthanimal]

Wait until it fades to black, ride into the sunset...

I absolutely cannot believe that My Chemical Romance's album Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge turns 20 years old today!

Back when I was about 10 years old in the summer of 2005, I was hanging out at a friend's house. We were watching MTV that afternoon when the music video for "Helena" started playing. Everything about the video and song drew me in— the ominous grandeur of the church funeral setting, the stunning black and red attire, the eerie and fluid choreography of the dancers, and most remarkably, the vocalist's dark, pained expressions and exaggerated movements. There was something so beautiful and off-putting (in the best way!!) that drew me into their world building.

Though it wasn't until a few years later when The Black Parade came out that I would rediscover MCR in a different, yet similarly poignant moment, I still have such a fond, vivid memory of that day even decades later.

This album and band have redefined my life in almost every way imaginable and I am forever grateful.

Happy birthday, Revenge <3

[rose-arwen-padme]

The Jedi Council waited respectfully so he could walk down the ship's ramp first.

Technically, the first boots that met the plaza floor were those of his new guard. New to him—not new to the position. Each of these stone-faced men was already tall, but the black plumes jetting out from their helmets added to their imposing frames. Neither the movement of their uniformed march nor the innocent wind could bend the stricken feathers. The uneducated eye would think these virile men in their metallic armor were the more formidable unit, in stark contrast to the variably aged Jedi Masters hanging behind in their soft, unassuming robes.

Their weapons were on full display. This was about presentation as much as it was about protection. The guards covered as much vertical air as the Neimoidians with their own high hats, yet in their bearing the sentries possessed none of the defeat or cowardliness.

He didn't look at the failed oppressors when he strolled right past them; there wasn't even an acknowledgment of their existence. Perhaps that should have been a sign, but clues are more difficult to spot when you aren't aware you should be looking for them. He was nothing but grins and celebration. Puffed sleeves swung left to right as he traveled forward. This was when he still infused his wardrobe with welcoming blues and browns in the fashion of Naboo's wealthiest—carryovers from decades spent representing them. Long fabrics in charcoal, black, and blood red came later.

I observed from afar as he cordially greeted Obi-Wan. The mild distance and the breeze prevented a clear listening, but I heard him say something about bravery. Then his eyes shifted to the blond-haired boy idling at the Jedi's hip. No amount of space between me and the trio could filter the beaming smile that spread till maxed, nor could I miss the way his eyes went from polite automation to enthralled.

Then I watched—as a pleased spectator to this event, and as a friend—when the new leader of the Galactic Republic placed his hand on Ani's shoulder. The boy was just as worthy of adoration and admiration as anyone, but I recognized what a special moment this was. Though he was so much more than his background, Ani was a former slave from the Outer Rim, only recently indoctrinated into our Republic's fold. Yet the Supreme Chancellor—the most powerful figure in the galaxy; a demon who knew exactly what he was doing—placed a hand of friendship and blessing on the very tunic Ani had worn in his slavery.

Claiming him. Publicly claiming him in front of all of us—the Jedi Council, Obi-Wan, and although I was the unexpected chess piece no one saw coming at the time, he even claimed Anakin right in front of me.

None of us realized what we had just witnessed. When we felt the breeze snake through our ranks, we never suspected it was Fate infiltrating the show. Brushing up against our shoulders. Whispering condolences behind our ears. I remember the weight of my black gown, donned for mourning. I remember the relief I felt at his victory with the Senate, though Naboo had already secured hers without it. I remember the paleness of his hand as it briefly rested next to the boy's tan neck. A bloodless beast touching the sun god heir.

Still grinning, he paraded next towards my group, success at his public and private triumphs electrifying his eyes. Congratulations were exchanged between us like tokens. He smiled at me, and he spoke pretty words for "peace" and "prosperity."

I smiled back and welcomed him inside the palace. Later that evening, we stood side-by-side as Qui-Gon Jinn burned.

If I'd known then what I know now, I would have run forward while Palpatine was still disembarking from the ship, put my body between him and Ani in order to shield the boy, and screamed.

Read more of Suppression, a fanfic telling the story of AOTC from Padmé’s POV, at Archive of Our Own.