#they built up all of this just to give us nothing

[faeylayn-blog]

"Dragon, I've come to slay you!" Confused, you look at the unarmored child pointing a wooden sword at you. Her eyes are shot through with blood red and the dried tears have left salt tracks down her cheeks that glisten in the icy realm you call your own. You’ve seen that look of determination before, by several humans with some emotional wound they seek to cover by trying to take it out on a valuable prize.

You lock eyes as your bulk shifts to align with hers in the narrow cavern. “So I see. And I have no doubt that you would do your utmost in your attempt. But I wonder…” You pause as she stumbles and struggles to maintain her posture. “If you might wish to rest and recover before you do so? You would need all your strength to slay a dragon such as myself, wouldn’t you?”

She grips her sword even more tightly, forcing it to remain pointed at your eyes. “You can’t trick me! I - I - I’m going to get you! You won’t make me stop so you can beat me while I’m not ready!”

You raise a claw to your chest, exaggerating the innocence to her accusations. “I have no intention of it. I simply think that it would not be a fair fight as you currently are. I give you my word that I will do nothing to harm you until you wish to fight me.” Your arm opens to a large alcove of soft plants and cushions you often nap in and quietly offer, “It’s such a long climb up to my home, surely you could use a few moments to catch your breath at least?”

Without waiting for an answer you turn to walk into the alcove, stoking a fire in the corner and looking around for the teapot your last human friend had left with you decades ago. Where did that damn thing go? 

Behind you, a shuffling series of the lightest footsteps follows you accompanied by a very shaky “W-well, ok maybe.” A small yawn rises behind you as you set the teapot above the fire.

You turn to see the child rubbing her eyes while bouncing from one foot to the other in the opening from the main cavern. “So… umm… is this your… lair?”

A light chuckle escapes your throat. “I suppose you could call it that. But it is my home. Please, feel free to take a seat.” 

She warily eyes every corner of the alcove as though a trap might jump out from any shadow. You smile as she hoists herself up onto a pillow and sinks into the soft platform. 

She lets go of her wooden sword as she tries to sit up. It’s little more than two large sticks crudely tied together with a childish knot holding the cross-like shape. You clear your throat, “That’s quite a formidable weapon you’ve got there. Did you fashion it yourself?”

The child looks around in a panic before seizing the sword and holding it tightly to her chest. “Y-yes. I… I figured I’d need a strong weapon… to fight a dragon and all.” She eyes you, looking for any sign of anger or a need to defend herself.

“It certainly seems like a good idea if that’s what you need to do.” The teapot begins to whistle and you turn to take it off the fire, pouring some hot water over peppermint leaves and taking the tray over to her pillow. She’s not clutching the weapon as tightly when you place the tray down. “Do you like peppermint? I’ve been told it’s quite good after a long trek in the cold.”

You step back and loaf on the ground, and her shoulders lose the tension that had built up. She reaches over and takes the cup, sniffing it, “Mmm peppermint is my favorite.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” You search her face for the anger and determination that dominated her eyes when she first yelled out to you, but it’s been replaced with a calm softness that appears to come very easily to her.

“You’re a lot nicer than I’d thought you’d be.”

You stretch your neck and grin. “I certainly try to be. So you can imagine my surprise when I heard you say you wanted to kill me. I don’t know what I did that has earned such enmity.”

The child stopped drinking and just stared into her cup for several long moments. Shadows from the fire began dwindling as the flames turned to coals. A crack. A pop.

“It’s not that. It’s my dad. They wanted to get the dragon he talked about. They took him. He… “ she rubbed her eyes again. ‘He told me stories. I thought I could find you, and then maybe they’d give him back. Maybe.” The fiery energy from earlier was now barely smouldering as she looked drained. She closed her eyes but she had no more tears to cry. “I…. I had to do something.”

Her father told her stories of a dragon on top of this mountain. It can’t be… “You’ve done quite a lot, more than you could imagine. It’s taken so much for you to come all this way. Right now it’s time to rest, child.”

“Hmm, yeah… You promised, right? You aren’t going to hurt me? I… can rest?”

“I promise you. Please sleep.”

You watch her drift off into exhausted slumber. You’ll have to thank her for letting her know what happened. 

You turn and walk out to the mouth of the cavern, each step building a rage you’ve not felt in many years.

She’ll be safe to stay here. But it’s time to pay an old friend a visit.

"Dragon, I've come to slay you!" Confused, you look at the unarmored child pointing a wooden sword at you.

[bunni-v1]

so shadow milk legendary costume is coming so can we get more content of pre-corruption smilk 😝😝😭 pretty please and thank you ♥️

🍓Again I’m gonna call him Blueberry Yogurt because typing out pre corruption is annoying as fuck. Anyway, yes you can pookie mwah mwah mwah! These are short, but I still hope u like them :)

-Blueberry Yogurt is veryyyyy different from Shadow Milk. Shadow Milk describes his past self as a “Goody two shoes wet rag with no personality,” and while he’s being dramatic I don’t think he’s far off.

-Blueberry Yogurt is contemplative, gentle, kind, and above all else caring. He loves his subjects and his friends and he aims to share his knowledge with everyone. He’s in all sense of the word harmless. A sweet cookie with nothing but good intentions.

-He’s, essentially, his position as sage. And he doesn’t mind that, but he’s never really considered that he could be anything more. It’s what he was baked for, of course.

-Booooriiingggggg, as Shadow Milk would put it. But Blueberry Yogurt was content with things, it’s only after he realized cookies turn from the truth — mixed with the understanding of the sheer amount of power he held, that his mind changed.

-You we’re part of that realization. That, maybe, he could be more than what he was. That the life he lived wasn’t all it seemed to be. He was never made to fall in love, but he did, whose to say there isn’t more for him out there?

-But before that, he was likely the perfect partner to have. He cares a lot about his partner and their well-being, and he wants to be their total equal, even if they’re weaker than him.

-He spends a lot of his spare time with you. He’s an incredibly busy cookie with too many things to do, but he will always find time to spend on you. You are a high priority in his life, and he makes sure you know that.

-He likes having you around him, even when you aren’t doing the same things. Just you being there brings him peace of mind and makes him feel content.

-You being educated is equally important to him, so he takes the time to have conversations about serious topics. He’s particularly fond of reading with you and discussing the books with a critical eye. He won’t let you be blind to the truth, and if you’re afraid of it, he’ll work with you to ensure you aren’t.

-He’ll take you around the town when he visits, and most cookies know you as “The Sage’s Lover”. He won’t admit it, but that fact makes him proud. He loves to show you off, and he loves the fact that others know you’re together.

-Oh he does this cute thing where he’ll sweep you up in his arms and dance around with you. He’ll press you tightly against his body and swirl around like you’re at a real ball.

-He is so much more open about how much he loves you. He has no reason to hide or fear his affections for you, so he just doesn’t. His love is unabashedly displayed through physical touch as Blueberry Yogurt.

-Soft and gentle kisses pressed upon you dough. He burns into your dough his love for you so that you never forgot how much you are adored.

-He pulls you close and whispers his adoration like a prayer, as if to convince you of his love for you. Like you might forget if he doesn’t remind you so tenderly.

-He treats you to beautiful dates in locations you’ve only dreamed about, each one more heartfelt and romantic than the last. They’re built specifically to wow you, and he’s phenomenal at his job.

-He also gives you gifts all the time, hand made or things he found around the kingdom, it doesn’t matter. They’re all things you’ll make good use of, he makes sure of that.

-His goal is to make you feel considered and thought of. Again, he’s very successful. Everything he does takes you into account, and you become a very important part of his day to day life.

-One thing he does that Shadow Milk keeps is his love for carrying you around. It’s not a strength thing, he isn’t showing off, he just loves carrying you around. He feels like he can really care for you like that, so he does it as much as he can.

-He’s also very protective of you. He doesn’t stop you from engaging difficult topics and finding out truths, but he does stop others from disturbing your peace. It’s the one time he’ll use his magical abilities for selfish reasons, his need to keep you safe and happy winning out his morals for once.

-This is why when he feels himself… slipping… he sends you away as soon as he can. He doesn’t want you to think of him differently, and he’ll even take extra measures to ensure he won’t find you once he’s fully gone. (It’s the most annoying thing about himself, if you ask Shadow Milk. He plans for everything far too well.)

-It does ache and pain him to be so far from you when he does it, but it’s more important to him that you are safe. Even if it means you have to be safe from him.

[blazinbeautywrites]

Behind the Scenes

Note: Due to the rampant uprising of plagiarism on this site and others I am stating once and once only that this is my ORIGINAL work. If I find out that you have stolen/taken any part of my work I will handle you and the situation the way I see fit.

None of the pics or gifs I use belong to me unless stated otherwise. Full credit goes to the originators of said gifs and pics.

A/N: Whew I'm a lil rusty and this is my first time writing for Aaron so please bare with me.

Summary: Aaron has fallen for his co-star and has a feeling she wants him to. A night out with his favorite girl reveals just how much tension has been built up between them.

Length: 2,498 words

Genre: Fluff (kinda), smut

Aaron was irritated. His car was late, a bird shit on him, and to top it all off, he had to drop out of a role he really wanted due to a scheduling conflict. But all these little inconveniences dissipated once he heard her laughter. Kiki Davis. His beautiful and talented co-star whom he had a little crush on. When they first met she was so warm and welcoming and he immediately felt comfortable in her presence. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her energy was quite the contrast to the dark, gory horror film they were starring in together. He began making his way to hair and makeup when he heard her sweet voice.

“Okay I see you buff daddy all big and shit in ya lil suit.” Kiki said, smiling big trying to hold back her laughter.

“Girl you play too much but you look good your damn self, spin around for me real quick.” Aaron said, staring down at her shorter frame. Kiki raised her eyebrow at his boldness. Usually he would give her a cute laugh and blush a bit but she enjoyed this more confident version of him. Doing as he asked, she began spinning, showing off her beautiful figure in her cute little dress. He couldn't help staring at her ass and the way it sat up so nice. All he wanted to do was lift her dress up and spank her. Kiki noticed the way he was looking at her and gave him a wide smile. She moved closer to him and as she felt her nipples slightly graze his chest she scaled her eyes from his wide chest, neck, lips, and finally his beautiful eyes.

“You know, if you wanted to see my ass, all you had to do was ask.” And with a wink and a smile she was gone, whisked back to hair and makeup. Aaron was stuck. His own assistant ushered him to his waiting room. He had no idea how the hell he was going to make it through this press junket.

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

“It was the craziest thing I'd ever seen. The way they just kept slipping and sliding, it was never ending.” Kiki laughed as she recounted watching the stunt people coordinate a chase scene on set while having to run on a bloody floor. Aaron was so enamored with her he completely missed the interviewer asking him the same question.

“Aaron? You okay my man?” The interviewer laughed, causing the audience to giggle.

“Yeah, you okay Aaron?” Kiki teased. Aaron had to recover fast so he said the first thing that came to mind.

“Ummmm, I actually loved Kiki's fight scene. I feel like she gave it her all and it was nice watching how she mixed her karate and boxing training. It was really cool to watch her in her element.” Aaron said as he looked at Kiki and smiled. Kiki winked at him and that sent a shiver down his back.

“Of course you'd pick one of my scenes as your favorite. I expect nothing less from the man who's madly in love with me.” Kiki joked. The whole audience “ooooohed” and laughed at that. Aaron looked Kiki dead in the eyes, not backing down.

“And so what if I am? What then?” Aaron challenged. Kiki's smile dropped, expecting him to go shy or laugh off her flirting like he always does. She was not prepared for him to flirt back. Oh the stakes have definitely been raised.

“Oh Aaron. Trust me baby, you don’t want this smoke.” Kiki said. Aaron still wasn’t backing down.

“Kiki, Kiki, Kiki………..I want all the smoke.” He replied. The audience erupted in chaos after he said that. Aaron and Kiki stared each other down with a pure, intense lust.

“Is it me or is it getting hot in here?” The interviewer asks, earning some laughs from the audience. The interview continues with a little more light flirting and more on set anecdotes from Aaron and Kiki.  Once the interview was done, their assistants came to bring them backstage. Before Kiki can enter her dressing room, she turns to Aaron, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Sooooo some of us are going to the Moonlight Lounge. You wanna come?” Kiki asks.

“I’d love to. I have to stop home first but I’ll meet you all there.” Aaron said. Kiki watched him walk away and she knew she was in trouble. She also knew that she would definitely have a piece or at least a taste of that fine ass man, tonight.

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

The Moonlight Lounge 9:02 pm

Some of the cast and crew were already a bit tipsy by the time Aaron arrived. He was amused seeing them all let their guard down. He saw Kiki and their other costar, Vanessa Leon, sitting by themselves talking and laughing. Vanessa saw Aaron before Kiki did and smirked whole making eye contact with him.

“And looked what the cat dragged in. Hey handsome.” Vanessa flirted, making Aaron smile.

“Hey V, see you've had a few drinks already.” Aaron chuckled. 

“Boy I've only had like 3 of these weak ass cocktails.” Vanessa said. Judging by her hiccups, he could tell that they were getting to her. After damn near falling over she excused herself to the restroom.

Aaron took a look at Kiki and almost lost his cool when they made eye contact. He appreciated the way her dress accentuated her curves and breasts. He could just imagine sucking on them while she rode him. 

“There you go staring off into space again. What's on your mind, pretty eyes?” Kiki asked.

“Nothing. Just thinking about how much I enjoyed working with you this past summer.” Aaron spoke. Kiki’s eyebrow rose and she gave him a wide smile.

"Awww I really enjoyed working with you too. You wanna get out of here? I’m kind of over this and I’m ready to take this dress off.” Kiki said. Aaron gave her a devilish smile and helped her to her feet. Just as they were about to walk out of the door, they saw Vanessa coming from the bathroom.

“Leaving so soon yall?” She asked.

“Yeah and maybe you should be heading out soon too V?” Kiki said.

“Oh girl I already called my man to come take my ass home.  I don’t know why I thought I could hang. I am not in my 20s anymore. But yall get home safe.” Vanessa replied.

After saying their goodbyes, Aaron led Kiki to his car. He opened his passenger door and helped her secure her seatbelt before getting in himself. He let her put her address in his navigation system and they headed to her house. After a 20 minute drive filled with sexual tension and light conversation, they’d arrived at her beautiful, secluded Los Angeles home. Aaron parked and quickly got out to open her car door. Kiki thanked him and began walking towards her gate, punching in the code. After opening her front door, Kiki let out a sigh of relief and took off her heels. Aaron followed suit, taking off his own shoes. He watched as she sashayed to her kitchen to grab them something to drink. He was so entranced by her ass that he didn’t hear her ask what he wanted to drink. 

“Aaron?” Kiki called out confused. He snapped out of it at the sound of her voice and made his way into the kitchen. He looked in her fridge and saw she had a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. He grabbed it and let her direct him to her glass cabinet and he poured them each a glass. They stood in a comfortable silence and just stared each other down. Kiki had some wild ass thoughts floating in her head that made her giggle. She took a sip and relished in the sweet taste of the cool wine. Aaron raised a brown, intrigued by her little outburst. He moved closer to her, stopping just short of her smaller stature.

“And what’s so funny Ms. Davis? He teased. He invaded her personal space, once again admiring her dress and how it clung to her gorgeous figure. He moved a piece of her hair out of her face with his finger then slowly trailed his finger down her arm. 

Kiki was stuck. All she could do was stare at him wordlessly. She got lost in his eyes and before she realized what she was doing, she’d kissed him. She pulled back quickly, embarrassed she’d let herself lose control like that.

“Shit I’m so sor-.” She couldn’t even finish her sentence as Aaron pulled her against him and kissed her back. Kiki gasped out of shock and Aaron used that opportunity to introduce his tongue to hers. Kiki was tonguing him down and he loved how sloppy it was. He tested the waters and slid his hand down to her ass, giving it a light squeeze. Kiki moaned into the kiss, spurring him on. He now had both hands on her ass and was rubbing and squeezing her to his heart's content.

“See this ass right here....it's gon get you in trouble.” Aaron spoke against her lips. Without warning he slapped both of her cheeks so hard, she just knew that he’d leave marks.

“Hmmm do it again.” Kiki purred. Aaron was happy to oblige. He gave her what she wanted and Kiki almost collapsed into his arms. She was in a state of euphoria. Aaron realized he’d accidentally unveiled one of her kinks. He would definitely be using it to his advantage. “So you like to be spanked? Hmmmm.” Aaron playfully taunted. He was in heaven. He’d finally got to see what Ms. Kiki Davis was about and he was more than ready to show her what the fuck he was about. He picked her up and sat her on her kitchen island, careful not to knock over their forgotten glasses of wine. Kiki’s was burning up on the inside. This man had her feral as hell and she couldn’t wait to rip his clothes off. Aaron was just as needy and wasted no time in pulling down the front of her dress.

“Mmmm, imma enjoy these.” He said as he latched onto her left nipple. He played with her right as he flicked his tongue against her warm flesh. Her moans were music to his ears and he loved knowing it was him that had her feeling this way.

“Yeessssss fuck babyyyyyy.” Kiki moaned. She’d never had an orgasm from nipple stimulation but there’s a first time for everything. Aaron switched sides and gave her right nipple the same treatment as the left. Once he’d had his feel, he pulled back and gave her a once over.

“You really are fucking beautiful. I’m glad I finally got you alone.” He said as he dragged his hands down to her ankles and brought them up onto the counter. He held one leg in his hand and admired her pretty lavender painted toes. She felt like he was staring into her soul as he picked up her foot and planted soft kisses on her ankle. Without warning, Kiki felt a warm, wet sensation and watch as Aaron’s tongue swirled around her big toe. He moaned and she almost came right then and there. She was enjoying the feeling of his mouth on her so much that she hadn’t noticed that he’d raised her dress up a bit and was slipping his pointer finger in her underwear.

“Oh my fucking god.” Kiki whined as Aaron’s finger circled her clit. His movements were slow and calculated as he continued to suck on her toe. The dueling sensations had Kiki feeling like she was floating on a cloud. He added his middle finger to the mix and she began grinding up against him.

“Fuck you’re so damn wet. I can hear that pussy talking to me. I bet she tastes even better than she feels.” He praised. He pulled his fingers from her underwear and put them in his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored her taste. He dipped his fingers into her entrance and collected some of her juices. He brought his fingers to her mouth and watched as she licked her own essence from her fingers. He kissed her once more and as they kissed, Kiki could taste herself on his tongue. Aaron took his spit and cum covered fingers and circled them around her nippled. He sucked her nipple back into his mouth and cleaned up his mess. He gently nudged her backwards so she could lay down on the counter. She spread her legs and felt a cool breeze on her soaked underwear. Aaron effortlessly lifted her up and slid off her underwear. He wasted no time diving into her pussy. He licked a long stripe up her center and began eating her out like a starved neanderthal.

Kiki grabbed his head and grinded against his lips, chasing her orgasm. He was breaking her down in the best way and she couldn’t get enough.

“Right there right there right there-OH FUUUUCK.” Kiki screamed. Aaron moved back and watched as she squirted. He leaned down and caught some of her juices, drinking from her as if she was his personal water fountain. He watched as she made a mess all over her kitchen, smiling smugly at his handiwork. He rubbed her thighs, helping her come down from her high. Kiki was shook. That was one of her most powerful orgasms ever and it was all because of her fine ass co-star. 

“You good Ms. Davis?” Aaron asked her, still smiling at her.

“Nigga wipe that smug ass smile off you face and help me down.” Kiki said, amused that he was so impressed with himself. After being placed on the floor, she walked to her hall closet, grabbing a big towel to clean up her mess off of her island. She knew she’d have to deep clean but tonight was not the night for that. While she cleaned up the floor, Aaron grabbed her from behind, and held her against his body.

“You know I’m not done with you right?” He whispered into her ear. She smiled and turned around in his arms. She gave him a quick kiss then pulled him towards her living room.

“Oh I know. Now go sit down so I can eat that dick up.” Kiki commanded. Aaron obeyed her and sat down on her sofa and watched as she crawled to him, stopping just short of his legs. He could just tell that she’d devour him and he was prepared to go all night with her.

He finally got his leading lady.

[honeysorwell]

all of it (all of you) 

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x hairdresser!fem Reader

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Link on AO3

Chapter 3

Tag list: @janeyseymour @italianaidiota @chloeelou02x (and if you want to be tagged too just let me know.)

Warning: idk... maybe redheads (if you are Y/N)

Once again, thank you all very much for embracing my work with such affection.

Enjoy!

The nerve on that... redheaded slut!

The thought repeated in a loop in the hairdresser's mind as she remembered the words that the woman whose hair she had dyed and dried with such care had said to her a few minutes ago. She thought of that hair that shone under the salon light after her care, and felt her anger triple size.

The redhead's words boiled her blood like nothing else had since she arrived in this country, and that's what made her mutter lost and angry phrases to herself as she washed her utensils in the storage room after finishing the hair of that... that... woman.

How miserable it must be to live with someone as unhappy as her.

Beautiful women really are the devil.

It's a shame that people like that can't simply be ejected from the planet for good.

"What happened?" Angelina's voice is sweet but worried as Y/N's friend enters the storage room, closing the door carefully behind her.

This concern only becomes more evident when Y/N thumps the brushes she used on the table in front of them before answering.

“A stupid American with an attitude just belittled my work.”, the hairdresser doesn’t even bother to look up at her colleague with a strong accent and Greek descent, who still wears the mask on her face that is part of her uniform for her nail appointments.

“Do you want us to throw water on her? I think she’s still in the parking lot and the hose is up there in front of the window.”, Angelina’s question is so honest that it makes Y/N smile genuinely.

“No…”, is how the Brazilian answers her friend after thinking for just a few seconds, “I don’t want to give her a reason to come back here, and it would be sad to ruin what I did to her hair. But thank you.”

Before leaving and returning to her appointment, Angelina gently kisses her friend's hair, but the affectionate gesture is not enough to calm Y/N's angry heart.

The hairdresser takes a deep breath and drinks a few glasses of water before returning to work. Luckily, an adorable little girl who is always asking her about Portuguese words shows up with her father for a haircut just before lunch, and her curiosity and charisma manage to bring a few genuine smiles not only from the Brazilian woman but from everyone in the salon.

But the discomfort still remains subtly buried in Y/N's chest until the end of the day, and inside her car, questions that the hairdresser rarely asked herself now bubbled uncontrollably in her mind. The fact that all the traffic lights were red for her, turning a twenty-minute drive home into a forty-minute drive didn't help it either.

Was she really not good enough? Was everything she had built over the years nothing more than an illusion?

It couldn't be. This pretense could not have fooled so many people, so many clients, and in two different countries... And Andrea.

Andrea Rossi was a very competent woman. The Italian woman had all those years of experience and such a sharp tongue, Y/N can't imagine the older woman falling for the illusion created by her, a woman who is just in her mid-twenties.

Unless it was out of... pity.

Before she even realizes it, the hairdresser finds herself sitting impatiently on her own sofa in the same way she does in the waiting room for routine appointments, and then she picks up her own cell phone and calls the first contact on her saved list.

"Hello?"

"Hello... Andrea?", the Brazilian woman's voice sounded broken from her first words and she already started to hate herself for it as she tried to control her breathing.

"Y/N?", her name comes out of the phone like a question itself, and the Brazilian woman feels terribly guilty for realizing that, yes, she woke Andrea up in the middle of the night.

10 pm. A particularly fair time for a woman of Andrea's age to be sleeping, especially considering that she is now retired.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to wake you."

"No problem, ragazza. Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes I am and I... I hope you are too.", the Brazilian woman breathes for a few seconds and, while courage still floods her body, she speaks again, "Andrea, I would like to ask you for something."

"If I am in a position to give it to you, it is already yours, my dear..."

The older woman's answer floods Y/N's heart with such great affection that the Brazilian woman knows it is dangerous when she feels so vulnerable. The questions she really wanted to ask the older hairdresser almost escaped between her lips.

Do you think you could tell me that I am good at what I do? Like really... really good?

"I... Do you know the red hair color you created especially for that client of yours? The one you recommended to me to be your hairdresser?"

“Melissa’s redhead? Yes, I remember it, dear.”, the sound of Andrea’s voice sounds so uncertain, her confusion almost makes Y/N back down.

“I was wondering if you would allow me to share it with another professional. And I know it’s your creation and I have no right to ask you to do so, but here I am anyway.”

“Y/N, that color is yours now and you can do whatever you want with it. I’ll hardly use the same measurements for anything else where I am now.”, the older woman says with a laugh, before speaking again with a slightly more concerned tone, “But... If you’ll allow me to ask, are you really okay? Why would you want to do this?”

Andrea’s question is sweet, her concern comes from a place of such care that it almost makes Y/N cry, but that only makes Y/N feel worse as she drowns in all her self-deprecation and her anger towards this... Melissa.

Because if it weren’t for her, her grotesque attitude, and her insensitive words, none of this would have happened.

Andrea personally asked the Brazilian hairdresser to take care of this... Melissa and ten other clients, and the Brazilian woman were so happy about it. That was such an honest way to show how Andrea trusted her, and Y/N just wanted so much to prove herself worthy of that.

And everything had worked out well with the other clients the hairdresser had already met. But with this woman she just... couldn't.

For a second, Y/N starts to wonder how someone as kind as Andrea could meet and share her presence with someone so... unfortunate. And willingly.

And then the hairdresser finally comes to her senses.

Y/N knew absolutely nothing about the relationship between the two women.

Were they family?

The thought sounds loud and echoing in the Brazilian woman's mind and she almost chokes on her own saliva just imagining putting Andrea in such a delicate situation against the rude redhead or even putting herself against Andrea, if the older hairdresser found Melissa's behavior respectable.

She genuinely doesn't think the older woman would do that... but today was exhausting and Y/N doesn't want to paint this unfortunate possibility with the colors of certainty by actively telling Andrea what happened. Maybe any other day, but not today.

"No... It's not important..." is how Y/N chooses to answer the older woman, even though she knows that Andrea probably knows she's lying, so the Brazilian woman starts to justify herself in the best way she can to avoid the Italian's question, "And it's also so late, I shouldn't have called you to talk about something so trivial at this time. Forgive me, Andrea."

"Don't worry about me, dear. And I really meant it when I told you that you could call me whenever you wanted, ragazza."

"Thank you. Have a good night, Andrea."

"You too, ragazza."

After hanging up the cell phone, a bitter taste returned to the hairdresser's mouth. Looking at her small apartment and without a single docile soul to ease her worries, Y/N took a deep breath, trying to push away the lump that insisted on forming in her throat.

The rational part of the hairdresser knew that she shouldn't take it personally. That Melissa was just another grumpy client, one of those who seem to take pleasure in spreading bitterness wherever they go. But, no matter how much she repeated this to herself, the wound opened by that redhead's cruelty wouldn't heal.

The following days were difficult as Y/N tried to focus on the other clients, the laughter, the compliments she always received. But, deep down, the redhead's disdainful voice still echoed in her mind, undermining her confidence. And so, the Brazilian woman began to actively notice small details that she had previously ignored. First, it was a cut that didn't turn out exactly as it should in her opinion, then it was a shade of dye that could perhaps be more vibrant, followed by a fringe that could be a little longer to look more like the reference in the photo.

Each day created more and more doubts that, like a shadow, began to settle in the hairdresser's heart.

"That woman... She has no right to make you question yourself like that, Y/N.", is what Angelina says to Y/N seriously during a calm lunch that the two woman share, only to make all the vulnerability in her eyes overflow in a few tears that run down her face against her will.

That cry, with the fact that the Brazilian woman couldn't even respond to her friend's words, made Angelina's blood boil.

"We're going out tonight. On me!", the Greek woman says as a declaration, and without any excuses to deny her friend, Y/N just nods her head affirmatively.

That night, the nightclub that the Greek woman had chosen was pulsing with life. The strobe lights cut through the darkness to the rhythm of the music and in the middle of the dance floor, Y/N and Angelina swayed their bodies, trying to free themselves from the tensions of the day.

Y/N was still visibly uncomfortable, but Angelina was on a mission determined to cheer her up.

“Forget about that woman, Y/N!” the manicurist shouted, grabbing her friend’s hands and pulling her closer, while the two laughed and twirled together, “Today we’re going to find someone here who will only give you the nicest compliments.”

After a laugh, Y/N finally began to relax, letting the music take over her. Angelina, with her extroverted way, made funny faces and steps as she observed particularly clumsy people on the dance floor, making sure that Y/N didn’t have time to think about anything other than smiling with her friend.

The two were in tune, laughing and dancing so much that for a moment, Y/N felt that nothing could make her happier than a drink.

When the second glass was ordered by the two women, Y/N noticed a man at the very end of the bar who was struggling a little to order a drink in the middle of the crowd. He was tall, blond, young and... quite clumsy. She noticed how he showed his ID to the bartender without being asked and awkwardly held a beer while his cheeks began to redden thanks to the bitter taste of alcohol even with the bright lights.

And there Y/N was sure that it would be a sin not to let Angelina devour that guy alive.

“Lina.”, the hairdresser called her friend’s attention and made sure to only point to the man in question with the tip of her chin when her friend’s eyes were paying full attention to her, “Your type, right there.”

When Angelina looks at the man in question and automatically bites her lower lip, Y/N wants to laugh even louder than before.

It took a little persuasion for Y/N’s coworker to leave her alone to go meet her newest prey, promising that it would only be for a while and that she would be back soon. But the Brazilian woman keeps saying how happy and well she is just staying by the bar and that if she gets tired she will just call an Uber and go home.

As soon as she is officially alone, pushing her hair out of her face with her fingertips while she continues drinking and moving softly to the rhythm of the music, a tall man with bright red hair approaches the hairdresser with a confident smile.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, with a thick Philadelphia accent that made Y/N shiver.

Jesus. No.

He was handsome. Really nice to look at and seemed quite confident, which really pleased the hairdresser, but... No. God, no! Y/N really didn’t want any Philadelphia beauties in her bed tonight.

She was as polite as she could be, refusing with a shake of her head and turning her body away from the man.

But everything turns into a snowball when, less than a minute later, another man's voice rang in her ear.

"You're stunning. Come dance with me, will you?"

British? Oh...

So, happy not to hear an accent even remotely similar to that of that unhappy client that wouldn't leave her head, Y/N lets her best flirtatious smile escape her lips and then turns to... the greenest eyes she's seen in... well... two weeks.

Not that she's counting.

Y/N hates to admit it, but she felt a chill down her spine and barely tried to hide her look of pure disappointment. It was as if that red-haired hurricane who treated her so badly had shared her physical features among the people in that place who liked her enough to catch her attention.

After denying this man, the Brazilian woman begins to observe the people around her better, deciding that being the one who initiates contact this time will decrease her likelihood of suffering yet another disappointment.

Unfortunately, fate did not agree with Y/N ​​when her eyes met the eyes of a tall, smiling woman who was already looking back at her, as if she had been watching her from a distance and was actively waiting for a single opportunity to approach her.

And, of course, she was probably the only red-haired woman in that place.

It was as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on her.

“No, thank you.”, was the incredulous murmur that Y/N let slip between her lips before downing the drink in her hand in one go, leaving the alcohol to deal with the irritation that had begun to grow inside her.

Because there, she only saw red.

It wasn’t fair.

The hairdresser just wanted a nice night, but the universe simply decided that she didn’t deserve that.

The Brazilian woman took out her cell phone, her hands now shaking with anger, and typed a quick message to Angelina.

“I’m going home. Thanks for the night. I love you.”

Without waiting for an answer, Y/N called an Uber and, as soon as a car accepted, she left the club with those flashlights, loud music, and annoying clones.

She should have calmed down on the way home, the end of a night filled with good music and alcohol always has this effect on her, but the truth is that the hairdresser went home more irritated than ever.

The Brazilian woman frowns the whole way home in that Uber, just imagining how leaving the house that night was a waste of time and money.

She appreciates Angelina's attempt to cheer her up, but the hairdresser now knows that she should have just bought takeout and stayed home miserable.

Opening the front door to her apartment, Y/N thinks that maybe casual sex can save the rest of her week. But meeting someone new, especially after the redhead ghost that apparently started stalking the hairdresser's ming, was out of the question.

But maybe...

Before even taking off her clothes and heading to the shower, Y/N starts scrolling through her contact list, purposefully skipping all the redheads along the way.

She stares at a friend who had a habit of being adorably overly physical for a while longer before giving up, only to start looking at the Instagram of a former coworker’s brother who had the most beautiful brown eyes. However, his latest photos make it quite clear that he has now started dating a girl with a funny smile who is apparently the principal of a Philadelphia school.

“Good for him, I guess,” Y/N mutters softly to no one in particular.

Just as she’s about to log out of the app, a particularly demanding mother of a client (who had already made it more than clear that dating a younger woman was not a problem at all to her) posts a picture of herself

She has the most adorable doe eyes and such a seductive smile, but even Y/N knows that it is particularly humiliating for either of them to initiate such contact for this purpose after 2 am. Especially when that client’s daughter has an appointment early next week.

So she just likes the photo, not caring about being the first one to do it, and accepting that the best thing to do that night is just go to bed.

With the delicious buzz of alcohol and loud music from the club in her ear while Y/N is getting ready to sleep, the hairdresser starts repeating to herself that tomorrow she will feel better. Tomorrow someone nice and attractive will come her way and all the miserable and snotty clients will simply die burned in a really big pizza oven.

But none of that happens.

The bitter taste in the hairdresser's mouth just won't go away, and with her mind so unhappy she rejects any and all advances from potential dates because they all look like... that woman.

Sometimes it's the hair, sometimes the angry look, sometimes the voice...

It's just... horrible.

A kind of self-inflicted celibate retreat that simply decides to stalk the hairdresser for weeks.

Luckily for her, the rush of Y/N's work took over all her energy. And the lack of vitality to sustain her anger, in turn, caused something to start changing in the Brazilian woman's mind. Little by little, the anger gave way to just hurt and sadness.

It was no longer an anger that consumed her, but one that made her reflect.

Y/N loved what she did. She loved transforming hair, yes, but she also loved transforming people's days and self-esteem. The Brazilian woman knew that the work that day with Andrea's client had been good, after all, Melissa had tried to give her a tip.

Whether it was out of guilt or generosity, it didn't matter.

The client, despite her harsh words, had left satisfied — Y/N saw Melissa's look of approval in the mirror at the end of the appointment, even if disguised. That woman's words were not about Y/N, but about something she carried inside herself, something that Y/N could not fix.

Andrea had told her a few months ago that the naivety that lived in Y/N's heart, believing that everyone would recognize her effort, could be a problem in Philadelphia. She said that no matter how much love professionals who work with the public have for their work, they should know that it will never be enough to shield them from the cruelty of others.

These were precious pieces of advice, but they had been clouded in Y/N's mind by her anger. But now that she remembered those kind words, all the others sounded fresher and fresher in her memory.

The older woman had told her time and time again that separating empty criticism from those that really mattered and understanding that not everyone who sat in her chair would leave happy, in addition to being certain that this was not a reflection of her ability, were more important things to learn than getting the exact angle of a pessimistic woman's cut right.

And it was these words of wisdom from Andrea Rossi that made the anger that was boiling in her chest begin to lose its strength. That indignation that made her relive Melissa's speech over and over in her mind, began to transform into just an unhappy memory. Not overnight, but with the help of small moments like when a longtime client hugged Y/N after a haircut, saying she felt renewed, or when a teenager, upon seeing her new look, smiled so wide that her eyes lit up.

And that's why when Olivia, the salon receptionist, calls her name and tells her that a redheaded woman is there looking for her, that thought of that woman barely crosses Y/N's mind.

Olivia had already told her that Melissa accepted the measurements for her hair color, what more could she want?

But there she was. With her hair in waves, a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head and a heavy-looking dessert platter in her hand.

"Oh. You. What do you want?", Y/N asks with a frown full of tiredness and disbelief, which she doesn't bother to hide.

Y/N’s question isn’t meant to hurt, but the redhead still takes the words with a thud and becomes so surprisingly uncomfortable that the hairdresser suddenly drops her bravado upon hearing the redhead’s request.

“Can we talk somewhere else?” Melissa’s voice is restrained and hopeful, silently wishing that Y/N would invite her to some private spot within the crowded salon, away from the curious eyes of the salon, but Y/N surprises her.

“Parking lot.”

It’s not exactly what the redhead wanted, but it’s worth much more than the idea of ​​the hairdresser just saying no and turning her back to get back to work.

Melissa knows that would be her own reaction.

When Y/N opens the salon door and holds it open gentlemanly until the redhead can walk through without any problems while holding the big tray in her hands, the teacher lets out a low, relieved sigh before starting to talk.

“I would like to apologize to you.”, Melissa says bluntly, handing the dessert platter with the tiramisu to the hairdresser, “And this is my way of doing it.”

“I’m waiting.”, the Brazilian woman says as she crosses her arms over her chest, activly ignoring the dessert platter in front of her and looking expectantly at Melissa, completely ignoring the last sentence said by the redhead.

“Waiting... for what...?”, the redhead asks, partly confused and partly anxious for something she believes she has no chance of achieving.

“You said you want to apologize to me. I’m waiting.”, is what Y/N says to her in a soft voice, looking directly into the green eyes in front of her in expectation.

Then, after understanding that the hairdresser, wisely, would not make it easy for her and taking a deep breath, Melissa begins:

“I’m sorry for insulting ya, Y/N. I... I was deeply unfair and cruel and, honestly, I didn't even mean the things I told you, about you or your work... I just... I've had Andrea as my hairdresser and my family's for over ten years and she's been a part of my life for much longer than that. And that had been such a stressful week at the school where I work... I think it was all just too much and I dumped it on you undeservedly.”

When the Brazilian woman just lowers her head and nods, still silent, Melissa finds even more courage to continue speaking.

“I know I'm justifying my actions but I really need to... at least let ya know that I'm not like that,” the second and third-grade teacher says softly and in a low voice, before shaking her head and correcting herself, “I mean, I'm a little sharp around the edges but... Not without reason like I was that day. I mean... Sometimes I am... But not when it comes to someone I met through Andrea.”

After a moment of silence, Y/N looks Melissa in the eyes again, barely noticing the anticipation that had been created there when she asks:

“So this…”, the hairdresser says, pointing at the woman in front of her as a whole in a curious manner, “Is it all because you want my services, after all?”

“I… I’m not here for that. I’m here to apologize because I really regret how I behaved with ya and it’s eating me alive.”, Melissa’s answer comes seriously and along with a negative shake of her head that almost makes her dizzy.

“But…?”, the hairdresser begins, with a glimpse of a playful smile that also draws an identical one from the redhead’s lips when she finally gives in.

“But, I would still like to be your regular. If you’ll have me.”

Normally, Y/N would say no.

Normally, Y/N would say that she understands that people are sometimes rude, but that she doesn't need that in her life.

But the woman really appreciated Melissa's apology and saw the truth in her words. She doesn't know exactly how the redhead works inside a school, but she can imagine the kind of stress she must be witnessing on a daily basis, and this is the last straw needed for her to forgive her.

"People have their bad days. Just don't do that ever again, understand? Not with me. I'm not someone who usually gives people second chances.", Y/N answers seriously, giving her condition and only when she receives an affirmative nod from the redhead does she awkwardly take the dish from Melissa's hand, her fingers brushing against the teacher's for a brief moment due to her concern in holding the dessert firmly in her hand.

"Thank you. I can't wait to try whatever this is.", the Brazilian concludes, with a sparkle in her eyes full of curiosity towards the dish that made Melissa's heart race, filled with pride, "I've never received food from a client before..."

"Tiramissu. Family recipe.", Melissa's voice now sounds more confident and cheerful, and Y/N enjoys witnessing this more than she realizes as she smiles and nods in agreement with the redhead's words.

Only when Melissa, now embarrassed by the silence that takes over the empty parking lot, decides to say goodbye to the hairdresser is the Brazilian woman's voice heard again.

“Wait... This dessert platter... What do I...?”, the question begins to form on Y/N's lips but Melissa interrupts her gently, as she does with her students when they forget to clean their snow-covered feet before entering the classroom.

“Can I pick her up next time I come here... for my coloring?”, is a hopeful question once again, and Y/N likes this Melissa much more than the one she had in her chair and the hairdresser could not be more grateful to have a glimpse of her.

“I can fit you in next week at the same time Andrea asked me to.”

“That would be great. Seriously. Thank you, hon.”, is how Melissa says goodbye and, with just that last word, Y/N can feel the skin on her face heat up, even with her hands firmly holding the cold dessert platter.

[softness-and-shattering]

Most of my autistic friends expect that their friendships will one day out of the blue blow up in their face as people vent built-up frustrations about behaviours that annoyed others that was never ever communicated to them, and/or because of whats called "the double empathy problem" which describes one of the main ways allistic-autistic communication goes sideways. Ive been in social groups - discord type groups - where the autistics get kicked out because we are speaking plainly and askingd questions, and the mods or admin or other authority figures interpret these questions as deliberate insubordination and challenges to their authority, get "tired and fed up" with "the disrespect" and start kicking people. I have seen this happen in disability groups.

And its not all black and white. Like sometimes I can pick up on social cues because I have deliberately learned them, or learned them the hard way. I can even sometimes say one thing and mean another, but I dont often. I might pick up on one cue and totally miss another. Sometimes I just dont know why someone is saying something, theyre obviously implying something but I dont know what. This can get tricky when someone wants to indicate something without being able to be quoted about it, and sometimes I need to ask them to clarify and if theyre still dodgy I have to guess and hope I got it right.

And sometimes we're aware of unspoken rules but we dont recognise their authority over us because theyre bad or nonsensical. We tend to stick to rules if we understand them and they make sense. When theyre crap rules, I dont care how much money someone makes I will treat them the same as everyone else. I dont care how many high status cars someone has, we are equals.

Im getting off track - my point is that basically every autistic I know has ongoing trauma of friendships and social groups suddenly turning on them for no discernable reason and no warning and absolutely no previous indication that anything was wrong - sometimes after being explicitly told everything was ok the day before. This happens to us all the time. Its so damaging and so hurtful.

Personally I dont second guess as a general rule. I someone has a problem with me I trust they will tell me about it and we can problem solve and introspect. If Im not told, no matter what vibes Im picking up bc I dont know if the vibes are real or my own anxieties, I will act like nothing is wrong. If someone wants to blow up at me that has reflects zero on me and entirely on their inability to speak up about whatever was bothering them. Thats not a me problem. I cannot do anything with zero information.

Lemme induct you in an autistic way of bring and introduce you to a script you can use. Something like "hi friend, can I talk to you for a second about the meeting yesterday? [If Y continue, if N ask when you can talk to them about it.*] So I dont know if you noticed, but you spent the whole time tapping your fingernails on the table, and honestly the noise was distracting and mightve been irritating for some people. I just thought you should know bevause I dont think anyone else was going to bring it up with you. Could you please find a quieter way to stim/do what you need to/move in the ways you need to to concentrate. Ok thank you, no ones super upset just mildly irritated I think. I just figured someone should actually tell you"

Or even "hi. You spent the whole meeting earlier tapping on the table and it was pretty loud. Could you please find a way to be quieter in meetings, its just a bit distracting for some people? Awesome thank you".

Just be polite and straightforward, say what you want and what the problem is. Assume competence, sometimes we make deliberate choices against the status quo for important reasons not cluelessness. And give time for them to figure out an alternative, be undsrstanding if they cant. Just use your words, communicate clearly. It might feel a little confrontational but believe me its not as bad as bring dropped as a friend or fired out of nowhere. That sucks**

*Dont just say "can we talk", give a reason, otherwise they will likely spend the time between notification and meeting inventing every worse case scenario they can possibly think of. A couple words of context goes a long way.

** I came across a youtuber who, idk for sure if theyre autistic but they talk with an extremely flat effect (meaning, little tonal variance between words, not much expression in the voice, every word comes out more or less the same, "robotic"), which is an autistic trait. They mentioned in a video that they had a 'normal' job before youtube, until one day they found themself fired, given reason was their flat effect scared people and made them seem unfriendly and unhappy to be there and interacting. Sounded like it was completely out of the blue. Thats a job lost due to ableism though possibly no one involved sees it that way. Some people cant change how they speak or dont want to. Shouldnt have to. But at least mention it, see if the person is willing to adjust, and consider if it truly disqualifies them from being able to perform the job or is it just a little unusual.

I saw some snippet of a callout post for an autistic trans woman where they list social faux pas she committed, and I think we allistic people should all feel 100x more ashamed of not telling people in the moment how we feel about what they're doing. I think its extremely evil and cruel to not only lie to an autistic person and blame them for it but also to feel justified shaming them for your behavior. And it's currently the social norm to do that

[xosnsd]

I’m still bitter that they didn’t think it was important enough for Jinx and Caitlyn to have a one on one conversation with each other and then have them fight it out.

Does Jinx know one of the councilors was Caitlyn’s mother? Are we suppose too assume she finds out during the time jump, off-screen? Is that not important enough address to ON-SCREEN????

Why establish this entire arc for Caitlyn that starts with Jinx, but you don’t see the importance of them interacting?

I know Jinx is a genius and in the game she gets away from being caught by Vi and Caitlyn numerous times, but isn’t Caitlyn supposed to have these super, amazing detective skills? That’s one of her defining traits in the lore.

I find it hard to believe that not once could she locate Jinx in the span of those months.

Also, Vi and Jinx don’t even speak about Caitlyn at all. Sometimes the writing for both of the sisters gives the impression that they don’t even remember what happened in season 1.

Yes, I know she chose “Jinx” and accepted that they both changed, but she went from being very obsessive to acting like Caitlyn doesn’t even exist really quickly. What happened to her very severe abandonment issues?

[puppppppppy]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[stupidrant]

Since we’re on the topic of video games, im tired of these fucking remakes. Ive said it before but i’ll say it again each time. These companies dont wanna invest in an actually good remaster or port and would rather waste their time with these remakes bcuz “ooh look how shiny and better the graphics look!!1!1!1” often times it has an empty feeling because everything has to be ultra realism super 6000. Its gotten so bad that now regular gamers are starting to gaslight you into playing or enjoying them. So much has been lost artistically, (like the cool UI designs) that it’s now considered “juvenile” and that i need to “grow up” and “accept it” 😂

[pepper-potts-in-charge]

Pepper’s controlled smile never faltered, but inside, everything was a mess of jagged edges and burning questions she wasn’t ready to face.

He was still there. Still waiting.

Her gaze flicked to him again—just for a split second—but even that tiny glance felt like she’d broken some unspoken rule. He wasn’t the same Tony Stark she used to know. No, this one was different. The cocky grin, the way he always managed to command attention... it all felt like a distant echo now.

The room swirled around her, laughter and conversation overlapping, the sharp clink of crystal flutes. But it was like the noise was muted—everything felt distant, like it was happening far away, and she was left alone in the suffocating quiet of her own thoughts.

She could still feel him.

Every inch of him.

The weight of his eyes on her, the pull she could never quite escape. No matter how much she wanted to, no matter how many times she tried to tell herself that this was over, that they were over, she couldn’t shake it. Not with him standing there. Not when everything she’d buried so carefully rose to the surface again.

She shouldn’t care. She really shouldn’t. He was Tony Stark—he always had the world at his feet, didn’t he? She’d seen it. She’d watched him win and lose, rebuild and break down, like it was all part of some grand performance.

But when he looked at her like that, it wasn’t just Tony Stark—the billionaire playboy who changed the world one invention at a time. It was him—the man she used to believe in. The man who had meant everything.

And now... now he was standing there, giving her nothing but the same unresolved ache she’d been trying to outrun. Maybe it wasn't just 'who had meant everything', no matter how much she was forcing herself to believe. It was 'who still did'.

She took another sip of her drink, hoping the cool liquid would steady her, calm the rush of feelings that suddenly felt too much. Too loud. Too real.

She wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. Not when she’d spent weeks convincing herself that this was the right choice. The right thing.

But every time she let herself breathe, every time she looked at him—his posture tense, his eyes burning with something unspoken—everything she’d built up in her mind crumbled. And for just a moment, she didn’t want to be the strong, composed Pepper Potts. She wanted to be the woman who had let herself fall in love with him. The one who didn’t overthink, didn’t second-guess, didn’t pretend.

She felt a wave of frustration rise in her chest, and before she knew it, she was turning her head just enough to catch his gaze again. And this time, it wasn’t a glance. It was a look that said everything, even without words.

For a moment, she almost wanted to say something—anything—that would break the tension. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not here. Not in front of all these people. Not when the truth would destroy them both.

And yet, the unspoken connection lingered. The pull. The ache.

It always had been there, hadn’t it? Even when they thought they had it under control. Even when they both tried to convince themselves they were done.

But no. Not yet. Not while Tony was still standing there, still waiting for something neither of them was ready to give.

So, she did what she always did. She buried it. And she turned away.

But the weight of his presence? That never left. It never would.

SATURDAY OPEN RP! GOLDEN GALA CHARITY EVENT HOSTED BY EMERSON ENTERPRISES CEO!

The atmosphere within the main ballroom is spectacular with all the golden accents on top of black table clothes. The room is decorated to the nines with everything that could ever be done. James has his staff to thank for that.

The guests start to trickle in slowly but surely. The splendor of it all actually makes some of them gape in awe.

James knows he's going to have to go around the room talking to each one throughout the night, and maybe they will talk to each other. Tonight is about making connections and possible friendships with the people of the city. They have to band together to fight what could possibly come. This is his strategy.

This is just one step of many to take down HYDRA.

But they aren't on his mind tonight.

He greets everyone with a smile when he walks up to them. And they greet him in return when they want to speak with him.

The auction will be towards the middle of the event followed by dancing. He's pretty sure the ones with children won't stay for that.

Mingle and have fun.

Even though there are Anti-Mutant protestors threatening to show up at any moment.

At least Rumlow isn't going to be here.

//OOC Instructions: Mingle, have fun, and make some chaos happen.//

@luna-draven-barnes @wilsonfisk-thekingpin @under0-0s @the1-and-only-peggycarter @thund3randrain @thebestmerc-1 @the-daily-bugle-official-blog @nearthewaters @theoldcapsicleicle

If I missed your tag, I'm sorry, I can't remember everyone that I talked too for some reason (probably fibro brain fog) and anyone is welcome to join!!!

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Still haven't messaged my mom back. And I don't think I'm going to.

[tardis--dreams]

I actually realized i hate work. Won't be putting any effort into this anymore ♡

[honourablejester]

Honestly, this (the crafting, modifying and inventing rules) is one of the most exciting parts of BitD so far for me. The rituals were what first sparked for me, because the idea that I can just invent spooky magic rituals for my character is delightful, but the gadgets and alchemicals are also delightful. Both Whisper and Leech were the playbooks that first called to me, and this kind of thing is very much part of why.

Vague gadget ideas I’ve been dabbling with:

The obvious, goggles that let you see into the ghost field. No self-respecting Leech is going to leave that the preserve of Whispers and their spooky masks! There is nothing magic has wrought that science cannot equal! Potential details: will highlight ghosts in red if they’re feral?

On a similar theme of goggles, goggles that give you something like Dishonored’s Dark Vision power, the ability to see the presence of living people through walls (it works by sensing Plasm, obviously), basically giving you a sort of life-focused x-ray vision.

A palm-mounted device like a shock buzzer that acts as something of an inversion of the Lurk’s ‘Ghostly Veil’ ability: it temporarily forcefully shunts someone else into the ghost field, rendering them insubstantial, for those moments when you need someone to let go of you right now or you desperately need to not be fighting them. Might have unfortunate effects on the victim, which will undoubtedly invoke long-term consequences.

Higher level, but if we’re thinking weapons and we’re already in the realm of lightning, gaslamp fantasy, demon-slash-lifeforce powered weaponry … I mean, is it too much to ask for a death ray? Some sort of hideous little thing that forcefully rends someone’s ghost from their still-living body, or drains them of Plasm (and stores it as power, because then we could have a self-powering hand-held murder machine). How does that interact with the spirit bells of the crematorium? (This one’s obviously going to be a long clock and several interim stages to develop).

… I promise I’m not looking at the Leech playbook purely to play a monstrous Victorian-esque mad scientist? Honest, yer honour. But. Well. A life of crime probably would be necessary to fund and advance my research? And in my defence, the first thing the book itself suggests trying to invent is a flamethrower, so I don’t think a death ray is all that out of left field?

I do think fiction is the answer here, alongside building on things suggested or built from other abilities/items in Blades itself. What Dishonored power to you want to replicate? What crackpot silver age of comics device do you want to cobble together and power by demon blood in your semi-flooded underground lair (that you must perforce share with the rest of your crew, do try not to blow us all up or summon some sort of horrific demon on top of us, darling)? Do you want to rip off Stephen Strange and make an arcane amulet that allows you to rewind time a few seconds? How would you feel about a death ray?

This is a steampunk fantasy setting where electricity exists and is literally powered by demon blood, where ghosts can be captured in bottles and sold on the black market, and the light from the shattered sun has been replaced by fish bioengineered with life energy until they glow bright enough to grow plants. Go nuts. Play with life, death, lightning, magic, machinery, biology! Frankenstein your way to a hideous future funded and inspired by your life of crime!

(Or, you know. Be a little bit more practical and focus on simpler things like glass cutters and breaching charges and sonic grenades that can confuse and delay the deathseeker crows. Or a contact vapor that instantly erases the last, say, 30 seconds or so of someone’s memory. Or a watered-down version of Drift Oil that instead of making you float for an hour simply makes you lighter and more agile, as if you were operating in moon gravity. It takes all kinds, you know).

But yes, I do understand the difficulty. When I was homebrewing a class for Heart: The City Beneath, a similar fiction-focused ttrpg, I found myself trying to nail down the concrete limits of various abilities as if they were for a more mechanical system, before realising that Heart does not work like that. You can just say ‘if you succeed your roll, this ability turns you invisible until you’re out of the current situation’. It’s a genuine shift of mindset. You have to pull back out of stats and bonuses and durations and ranges, and just go ‘this lets you do [cool thing], tell me what that looks like in this situation’.

Have to say, one of the biggest hurdles in introducing one of my usual gaming groups to a system like Blades in the Dark is the idea that items don't have defined stats and are instead props to twist the fiction in interesting ways. It often feels like I'm using therapy speak on a very literally minded engineer.

Player: Alright, I've spent some downtime crafting, what can I make? Me: What would you like to make : ) ? Player: Like, is there a list? Me: Nope : ) , you're limited by your imagination and what we agree would be best for the story. Player: Well are there suggested guidelines for what an appropriate item would be? What Bonuses It can give me? Me: Items don't really give bonuses : ) , now how about you tell me what emotions finishing this project stirs in your character? Player: What was even the point of this? Also stop saying ": )" I don't know how you're doing that with your mouth.

Honestly it's a fascinating study in what assumptions ttrpgs make about the people playing them: Namely that a prospective BitD player has some personal skill or desire to act as a storyteller, and doesn't put much emphasis on the nitty-gritty of the rules.

[alisaint]

not saying this in a negative way but so many people are used to writers switching up and suddenly enshittifying their story for lowly shock value that when a writer does follow the standard age old process of setting up a reveal/story and then following through on it and expanding it, you get people denying the most obvious and blatant and in-your-face facts of said story simply because they've grown so used to shitty storytelling that they believe 1 + 1 is 3 instead of 2. sad!

[movie-robotnik-positivity]

I don't think Robotnik ever saw Stone's affection as genuine. He's used to people only valuing him if he's useful. His own bosses call him a freak, yet they put up with him because of his "perfect operation record". He isn't even shocked when he learns the goverment erased him, he expected it and had a contingency plan ready.

He keeps calling Stone a sycophant and a barnacle, because why else would someone stay with him if not to gain something? Clearly, Stone is just a suck-up wanting to ride his coattails. And Ivo is fine with that! He gets his ego stroked and in return Stone gets a slice of the world-domination pie. Mutually beneficial!

This symbiotic relationship gives Ivo a sense of control and ensures that Stone won't abandon him like everyone else. It also keeps him detached: of course Stone waited months or him to return from space, that's his job. His admiration is inevitable, and meaningless.

Ivo develops a genuine, irrational attachment to Stone, one he's able to rationalize as just being transactional. Those emotional walls shield him from the fear of abandonment that comes with caring for another person.

Except...even after Robotnik becomes a liability, Stone stays. There's no benefit, no plans of ruling humanity, not even a paycheck. Yet despite everything, Ivo tries to keep the old boss/employee dynamic going. He can't fathom the idea that someone would stay for anything other than convenience.

Then Gerald shows up, and for the first time Ivo allows himself to put down those walls. As an orphan he had built up this idealized image of family that he thought he could never have. People will use you then toss you aside when convenient, but family? Family is different. Family will always be there for you and love you no matter what. Family won't abandon you.

And suddently Stone's grovelling is no longer necessary. Why would he need someone who just pretends to like him when he now has all the unconditional love he's always longed for? That's obviously why Stone got so jealous, it couldn't have been real concern, he was just afraid of losing his comfy position as the lapdog of humanity's new king. Between a sycophant and family, the choice felt obvious.

And, of course, Gerald turns out to be just like everyone else in Ivo's life: just another person trying to get something from him. The second he stopped being useful, he was tossed aside.

His image of family is once again shattered, but those emotional walls are already down. Now that Ivo experienced that betrayal he was so afraid of, now that he's about to die, he's finally able to be honest with himself.

Looking down on Earth, he realizes there had only ever been one person on that blue marble who actually cared. Someone who had always been there, even when there was nothing to gain. Stone had never abandoned him.

But he had abandoned Stone. He tossed him aside, just like Gerald did to him. Now that he's able to understand how Stone felt, this is his last chance to make things right.

In his final moments, with nothing to fear, Robotnik puts down his emotional walls and opens up as best as he can. Stone had done so much for him, asked for nothing in return, and now it was his turn to do the same. Ivo helped save the world, not for recognition or convenience, but simply out of love.

Stone had always been a sycophant to him, yes, but he had also been a friend. A sycofriend.

[shadow4-1]

"Can you just pretend to love me tonight? Please?"

Simon's never gotten a request like this before.

He's never had any qualms about selling his body. Whether it was for his cock, units of his blood plasma, or his war honed body. He's always done what he's had to - anything to stay off the streets and keep a full belly.

The girls who've paid him always wanted a brute, someone to mount them and take them for all they were worth. That was what he was used to, not some doe-eyed sweet thing begging him to be gentle.

"I want to feel loved." You admit, leaning back on the motel bed, thighs crossed in nervousness. "I um...I know I'm not very pretty-"

Simon leans forward on his knees and kisses you gently. Well, he tries to. The tip of your teeth graze painfully together as he mouths you. You squeak beneath him, hands going up to his shoulders to try and push him off on rabbit instinct. He pulls his mouth off of you just enough to mutter an apology.

"Sorry." He swallows.

You look up at him with impeccably beautiful eyes brimming with tears. You seem to finally understand there's nothing gentle about him even when he tries to be. Simon wants you to call him off, send him out of the cheap hotel. He knows he can't be as sweet at you want - as you deserve. He's just physically not built for that. At least, he's sure of it nowadays. He has a brief memory of holding his newborn nephew but it slips away just as quickly as it came.

"Can we just...go slow?" You ask again. Simon can hear the waver in your voice. You're unsure if you want to continue, but you seem to trust him for some reason. "Really, really slow?"

"Yeah."

He can do slow. He can do glacial. If there's one thing he can do, it's be measured, methodical. He wasn't a Lieutenant for nothing.

For the first time in years, he takes his time. He's used to the fast paced, hungry fucks that pay his rent in thirty minutes. This is...new, not wholly uninvited. He kisses down your collarbone, down the swell of your breasts. He nips at the lacy fabric (you dressed up for him when he was expecting just to rip it all off) as he makes his way down further. He laps at the skin beneath your belly button, making your belly flutter. Ticklish. He likes that.

Simon noses his way between your thighs, easily spreads your legs with his thick forearms. As he kisses down your cloth covered mound he admits he likes how you smell. Usually the taste of women turns him off. He prefers men, but desperate women pay more. You're desperate alright, although its a different type of desperation. Something about the nervous wetness staining your new panties has his cock jumping in his trousers. He presses his nose to the fabric, inhales deeply, and relishes in your shy squeak. Simon starts to understand your desire.

You want to be explored, mapped, and consumed slowly. You want to give up control but feel as if you can stop at any moment. You want to be seen, tasted, then completely devoured.

Instead of slipping your panties to the side, he licks his way down your thighs. You squeal and try to squirm away from the sudden sensation but he doesn't stop. He kisses down your calves and across the top of your feet. His hands are so large that they wrap around your soles completely. Simon pushes them up until they're up by your ears. He knows the position is uncomfortable for you, but he likes the view of your soft, cloth covered mound.

He nips at the back of your ankles and calves, licks down the expanse of your thighs, ans nuzzles into the gusset of your panties. Simon relishes in the squeaks and gasps ans twitches of your expectant body. It's been so long since he's teased someone, much less a sweet lil' thing like you.

Your scent is heady, comforting, nothing like he's experienced before. He finds he really likes just inhaling you in. You whimper, thighs shaking already. He hasn't even licked you yet. Simon finally admits to himself that you're stroking his ego.

He plants a firm, sweet kiss to your cloth covered cunt. The fabric is practically soaked through. He can smell your taste on the tips of his lips. His curiosity wins. He takes a firm, long lick from bottom to top. Simon tastes you, but also the flowery tang of your favorite fabric softener. You taste good. He wants more.

Simon finally releases his hold on your thighs. On instinct, or perhaps strain, they fall apart. You try to sit up but he tugs your body further towards the edge of the bed. He can feel the tension in his old knees from kneeling, but he ignores it. You've opened up your body to him. He wants to take full advantage of it.

Simon goes back to lapping at your clothed cunt. He doesn't stop until his tongue is raw from brushing repeatedly over the stitches. Drool drips down his chin.

"Off."

You huff in confusion, trying to sit up. Instead. With too easy of a tug, off come your panties. There you are. Simon knows he should slow his movements but he doesn't care. You haven't stopped him yet, and he'll be damned if he doesn't get those sweet lips in his mouth. He spreads you apart with his middle and forefinger. You're a sight to behold. Perhaps not pornstar perfect anatomy, but you're delicious looking nonetheless. He eyes your glistening, dripping slit. As bad as he wants to force his tomgue deep inside you, instead he presses a firm kiss to the hood of your clit. You jolt, trying to back away or pull him closer, he can't tell.

Simon follows your movement. He mouths hungrily at your clit, flattens his tongue and practically drools against it. He laps at you with a muted fervor. He doesn't want to hurt you. He can tell you're sensitive. It must've been awhile since the last time you'd had a man willingly do this for you. A damn shame.

Your shaky little moans are like music to Simon's ears. He follows them like a map. He circles your clit, traces the entrance of your hood, even dips lower to tease the sides of your inner lips. You seem to like that alot based on the sounds you make. He sucks on your inner wings and you squeal, thighs wrapping hard around the sides of his head. He does it again and and again until you're hiccuping in delight. Your slick drips down his chin and throat. You're such a good girl for him.

Simon knows he's going to make you cum, it's just a matter of time and technique. He has both on his side. He uses his other hand to pet at your entrance. He tries to commit your anatomy to memory, and so he takes his time dipping the pads of his fingers against your fluttering slit. Despite it obviously having been awhile, your cunt holds no resistance. In fact, it practically swallows up the tip of his middle finger. Fuck yeah, that's what he likes to see.

With measured ease, Simon slips his whole finger inwards and upwards inside of you. You keen and gasp and he can feel your insides twitching. You're tight. So tight he can feel his finger already starting to cramp up from the resistance.

If he's going to fuck you right he's still got some work to do.

[peachylynnie]

wine

word count: 1.3k

synopsis: in which sylus is obsessed with your lips.

contains: sylus x mc!reader (not dating because i like tormenting him like that), alcohol consumption, horny sylus (not smut tho), suggestive themes, mentions of violence and blood, and LOTS of cussing.

a/n: i told myself i wouldn't write anything until i finish finals but sylus won. i'm also avoiding his myth spoilers since i didn't pull his pair yet. enjoy reading! do NOT copy or translate my work. sylus does NOT endorse plagiarism.

sylus wants to kiss you right now. he wants to kiss you so fucking badly, it hurts. 

you can't blame the man. you looked absolutely delectable right now. hair up, ears jeweled, eyes hooded, and back bared, oh, you looked so good in the dress he handpicked for you; he could just devour you whole and leave nothing to spare. 

and he would have no remorse for doing so either. the auction you two were at was filled with fucking nobodies. how dare they look at you, let alone breathe the same air as you? he's lost count of how many times he felt the urge to just demolish this shithole of a place. 

sylus sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. he knows he's being irrational. after all, he was the one who suggested you two attend this auction. you showed interest in an old manuscript that just so happened to be available only at this auction, and he would be damned if he didn't get you everything you could ever want. hell, you could even ask him for his heart, and he would tear it out of his cold chest, deliver it to your divine feet, get on his fucking knees, and beg for you to demand more of him. 

so, actually, you can blame him for the situation he is in. he was the one who picked the set you're wearing right now oh so ravishingly. he was the one who brought you to this stupid auction that's taking so long to get on with it already—where the fuck is the manuscript? but most importantly, he was the one who made your lips look so damn kissable right now. 

he knew what he was doing when he picked your lipstick for you. deep scarlet that would match his eyes and look good on you. but he never thought it would look this good on you. sylus curses under his breath, feeling his pants tighten around his crotch after remembering you bent over the sink to gaze at the mirror and paint your lips. he recalls how it took him everything not to stride over to you, spin you around, and slam his lips onto yours, hoping to get a smear of that majestic shade. 

oh, but it wasn't just the shade of your lips that drove him crazy. it was the texture, too. you must've been feeling heated because you go to take another sip of the wine in your hand. the matted, creamy lip print you leave on the glass has the silver-haired man inhaling sharply and tightening his grip on the table. what he would give to have such a work of art printed on him instead. he wants it all over him. his face, his neck, his fingertips, his cock—everywhere until no single part of him was unmarked by your luscious lips. until there was no room to even question who he belonged to. 

that's how badly sylus wants to kiss you right now. but he stops himself using the single thread of patience he has left. yes, the two of you were technically alone, standing at the table in the far back. thank god he reserved a table just for the two of you so only he could marvel at your lip-stained glass. no one would interrupt if the two of you were to just have a full-blown make-out session right now.

but sylus knew better. he knew that you were still wary of him. this, you can blame him. after all, he's not a saint. his entire being is smothered in blood, down to the very tip of his designer shoes. he built his lavish empire of protocores and guns from the taking of lives. hell, he even threatened you the first time you met. though, he only did that to push you to your full potential. he could never truly harm you. but sylus knows you. you, in your most beautiful human form, who dwells not only on the past but also on the lives of others. you, whose empathy is so strong, sylus can't help but admire, even though he sometimes wishes you would just let loose and bring hell upon all those who dare to cross you. thus, your continued, empathy-driven wariness of him. but, sylus knows how to compromise. he's okay with being the one with bloodied hands and fucked-up morals so long as it means seeing you, even if it means from afar. besides, you haven't reported him to your little hunter friends yet. he supposes that's a start, and he could settle with that. he could also settle with this: 

"is the wine to your liking, sweetie?" he asks smoothly. 

you flinch, taken aback by sylus' sudden question. you were wondering when he would stop staring at you and actually start paying attention to the auction. not that you mind having sylus' eyes on you. it's just that the borderline depraved look in his crimson eyes was making you feel all hot inside and you really wanted to stop feeling all hot inside whenever you were near him, let alone thinking about him. 

"uh yeah," you nervously chuckle, setting the glass down. "it's better than i thought." you turn your gaze to a waiter nearby, hoping to get a glass for sylus since he seemed so interested in yours for some reason. "here, let me get one for you too." 

you try to catch the waiter's attention by raising your right hand, but sylus stops you. he grasps your hand with his left and rests it on the table. you furrow your eyebrows at him, wondering why he stopped you. sylus, the man who appreciates (that's the nicest way you can describe it) alcohol passing a chance at a complimentary drink? you're utterly confused. 

"no need," sylus gives a gentle squeeze, trying to ease your confusion. though, you're not prepared for what happens next. 

sylus picks up your glass with his free hand, plants his lips on your lip print, and takes a slow sip. your eyes widen, feeling the heat that was coiling in your stomach spread all around your tense body. holy shit, did he just—? 

the aggravating godsend of a man next to you finishes your drink with a satisfied sigh, wiping the garnet droplets from the corner of his lips but not the paint left by yours. "hm," sylus drags his tongue along his lips, a smirk threatening to show. "it is better than i thought."

you flush, seeing your lipstick smudged on sylus' succulent lips. you don’t know what to say. he totally did that on purpose. there's no way he didn't. does this mean the two of you technically kissed-

you don't allow yourself to finish that last thought. you blink rapidly, trying to get your now parched mouth to say something. anything. but you can't. you're completely flustered to the point where all you can do is just gape at sylus with a blush the shade of his eyes tinting your cheeks. 

sylus grins, the tip of his canine peeking out from his now-tainted lips. this is better than he thought. perhaps, he should settle more often if it means getting to see you so cutely aroused and embarrassed like this. though, he knows he won't be able to settle for long. he knows one day, he won't be able to hold himself back anymore. one day, he'll conquer your lips for himself and relentlessly indulge in the real thing. but for now, sylus is content. for now. 

"cat got your tongue, sweetie?" sylus teases, tilting his head to meet your shaky gaze. 

you jerk your head away, trying to get the image of his lips out of your mind. "eyes on the prize, sylus." 

sylus chuckles, but not without placing his elbow on the table and propping his face on his hand to get a better look at you. "oh, my eyes are on the prize, sweetie. my eyes are on the prize."