#vintage stick pins

[sharkyswaters]

[paulprestigegems]

GORHAM Sterling Silver Heavy Koi Carp Fish Stick Pin 1930's Vintage - Such a cool piece!

[shrikeseams]

I need an elderly millionaire to die and leave me their fortune, so I can dedicate my life to creating and/or commissioning all the goofy Tolkien merch and costumes in my head. :(

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

8: SURPRISE!

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Bucky's surprise birthday party provides more surprises than you had hoped.

Word count 3.2k

Warnings: Birthday boy behaving badly, Priya is the warning here!

Erik’s sexual intervention had released you of the tension you felt whenever you were around Bucky and you realized that his birthday was quickly approaching. You made it your mission to start working on Bucky’s birthday party. The previous year he had flat out refused to let you throw him any festive gathering and you had only accepted that on one condition: he would get one this year. You had no intention of letting him wheedle his way out of it this year. He had begrudgingly agreed but only if it was something small and intimate with his friends only. 

You had given Bucky a withering look. "Trust me! I know you well enough. You’re going to like it. I promise!"

You felt like a kid in a candy store, who had been given the keys to Willy Wonka’s entire kingdom. Glee was written across your features, you wanted everything to be perfect for your best friend. Steve was your trusty accomplice and you had invited Priya into the fold as a way to make up for your misdemeanors. She had suggested that you order food from Sticks and Stones because he loved the food there and even convinced Victor to help with the catering.

A week before the auspicious day, you had pulled Steve aside to ask him if he would accompany you to pick up Bucky’s birthday gift.

"Did you find it?" Steve asked you.

"The Glenn Miller vinyl?" 

Steve nodded.

"Yeah, I found it! It’s in a vintage records store in SoHo." You smiled.

"Bucky’s going to love it. His family would play them all the time, he was such a natural dancer. It would be nice for him to do that again."

"I’m glad it’s got Captain America’s seal of approval!" you quipped cheekily.

Steve rolled his eyes, feeling relaxed and happy for once. "Do you want to go and pick it up now? I’ll drive. I can pick up my gift at the same time!"

"Oh that would be great, Steve! What did you get him?"

"You know that picture you took, the one of Bucky, you, me, Nat and Sam?"

"Yeah, I know the one."

"I painted it. There is a guy who said he would frame it and he texted me this morning saying it was ready to collect.

"Steve! I can’t wait to see it!" you squealed with excitement. "Let’s go!"

Both of you set off, climbing the stairs that led to the parking garage.

"Oh, Priya, hey! Didn't see you there!" you smiled at her as you noticed her presence at the top of the staircase. 

Priya smiled back at you tersely. 

"Everything okay?" Steve asked.

"Fine."

"Do you need a lift home?"

"No, I'm spending the night with Bucky."

"Ahh," Steve blushed at the implication of sex.

You rolled your eyes and tugged on Steve's sleeve. "Come on, punk. See you later Priya!"

*

March tenth came around quicker than expected. You waited impatiently for Bucky to arrive as his 'surprise’ party. Even though Priya was distracting him, Bucky knew about the events that had been planned. You knew he didn't like loud noises or jump scares, but he had promised to act suitably surprised.

Everything for the party went off without a hitch. The room was filled with dozens and dozens of black and gold balloons. Swing music was playing on the gramophone that Tony had purchased for the occasion. Sam cheekily had a cardboard cut out of Bucky made with his vibranium arm cut off so you could play ‘Pin the arm on Bucky’. You groaned but secretly you wanted to beat everyone.

Thor had made an appearance and was already half way through the bucketful of Asgardian ale, which he claimed to have brought for the birthday boy. Even Ayo, who you'd invited, had graced you with her presence. When she arrived, you flung your arms around the reserved Wakandan warrior. The Dora Milaje did not engage in public displays of emotion, but for you she offered a hug in return.

Things seemed to be going well. Bucky arrived with Priya and was greeted with yells and streamers. Bucky's surprise was convincing… possibly a little too dramatic, making Priya laugh and you groan exasperatedly. You stood on the side of the room watching everyone mingle, enjoying how Bucky's attention was demanded from everyone in the room. His friends were kind enough not to crowd him, or overwhelm him, but also make him feel special all at the same time.

It warmed your heart to see the light in his eyes, the enjoyment on his face. Priya was glued to his side, stroking his hair, whispering in his ear. His arm was constantly around her waist. She was the only thing that marred your perfect vision of the event.

"I am surprised that James chose that woman," Ayo appeared beside you, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Jesus, Ayo. We've talked about you sneaking around. Don't make me tie a bell around your ankles!"

Ayo smiled. "Why isn't that you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why haven't you told James how you feel?" Ayo doesn't wait for your reply. "It could be you dancing with him rather than standing here looking like a wallflower."

"Maybe you could dance with me."

"I think not, Y/N." Ayo never used your nickname.

"Way to let a girl down gently, Ayo."

Ayo just rolled her eyes at you and ventured over to Thor who was challenging everyone to a drinking contest, one which no one was engaging in. Steve was beside him, sipping the liquor carefully enjoying the buzz he rarely got to experience. Wanda and Vision were lovingly embraced in each other's arms in a corner, dancing like the rest of the world didn't exist. Nat was behind the bar serving her own special cocktails and flirting with a blushing Bruce. Clint and Laura were laughing with Pepper, while Tony, Sam and Rhodey were playing cards and making the most outrageous noise. 

You loved your little found family, even though you missed the one that brought you up. Coulson's S.H.I.E.L.D. team had inducted you into the world of violence and espionage and aliens and time travel. It was with them that you'd learnt to control your powers and become worthy to call yourself an Avenger.

Agent Melinda May was the only member of the team you saw regularly anymore since she worked close by in the new S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy HQ. She had been your S.O. for many years and held a special place in your heart, despite her prickly exterior. She often joked that you would make an excellent addition to her staff at the Academy and to ensure that you lived long enough to accept the position when retiring from ‘that Avenger gig’. 

You were brought out of your reverie about the past by Priya, who was standing on a chair shouting about it being time for presents.

Everyone cheered and you were grinning like a lunatic now. You felt excited to give Bucky your gift. The first edition Glenn Miller record was safely wrapped in a solid casing. In the Mood was the last song that Bucky and his family had danced to while he had been on leave from the War. His last happy memory of them before he had fallen from the life he had known, before he had been thrust into a world of ice and torture.

About a year ago, you had caught Bucky using your Spotify to listen to music from his childhood and had offhandedly mentioned this piece of information about his past. You kept hold of this precious tidbit for the right occasion.

Bucky had already started ripping open wrapping paper when you ventured over. Wanda had knitted him a black scarf with golden threads to match his arm, which had made him smile. Next Sam handed him a small black box which Bucky opened to find a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs.

"Thought you could use some props, spice life up a little," he winked at Bucky. Sam had a way of pushing Bucky's buttons, but you could see the mild blush on Bucky's cheeks which deepened when Priya interjected. 

"Thank you very much, Samuel, but James and I don't need such tawdry things in the bedroom."

Bucky shrugged apologetically at Sam and you wondered if he was thinking about your recent conversation.

Sam was pushed aside by Thor, who deposited a large vat of ale into Bucky's arms. "Many happy returns, metal man." He patted Bucky on the back so hard that Bucky almost dropped his gift.

Bucky was depositing the alcohol on the gift table when he was approached by Ayo. "Happy Birthday, James."

"Thank you for coming, it means a lot that you took the time."

"You look like you are doing well for yourself."

"Yeah, it’s good," Bucky smiled.

"This is for you." She handed him a simple box with padding on the inside. Bucky opened it to find a pair of ornately decorated blades made from vibranium. Everyone gasped at how beautiful they looked in the dim lights. They collapsed in on themselves and were discrete and easy to conceal. Ayo pointed out a small device which acted like a homing beacon so Bucky would be able to locate them if he lost sight of them.

"These are incredible! Thank you."

Tony didn't have many words but he did hand Bucky a beautifully ornate envelope which Bucky opened tentatively. Inside was an invitation to a magnificent moonlit dinner on a yacht on the Hudson. Bucky held the gift reverently in his hands, his vibranium fingers barely gripping, as though their strength might make the gift crumble. His eyes glistened in the party lights, a thin film of unshed tears. There had been a time where they were ready to kill each other, and even now they never spent any time alone together. You knew that this gift meant a lot to Bucky.

"Dinner on a boat? I think we'll have to pass on that, I get sea sick." Priya commented, gazing at the gift certificate around Bucky's arm.

A flicker of irritation crossed Tony's face, before he grinned mischievously. "Not a problem, it's not person specific. Manchurian Candidate here can take anyone he likes. Capsicle might not be a fan of the food, but I think Cricket would really enjoy the cuisine."

He turned to wink at you, making you blush. You couldn’t help but notice the scowl on Priya’s face, no matter how short lived it was and you knew you were about to meet your comeuppance when the glowering look she was shooting in your direction turned into a beaming smile.

"Jamie! It’s my turn, baby. I have a very special gift for you!" She hands him a thin square shaped gift wrapped in shiny golden wrapping paper. "Here!"

You felt a sudden weight on your chest, a feeling of dread washing over you. It felt like things were moving in slow motion, watching Bucky unwrap the gift. You didn’t know what you had been expecting when he pulled out a shiny record cover. It was as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water over you, except you were paralyzed. The color drained from your face as you realized what the album was.

‘The Very Best of Glenn Miller.’

Bucky’s eyes shone brightly as he dropped the wrapping paper and ran his flesh fingers over the cover reverently. "Priya," he gasped in a whisper. "I- it's perfect." Bucky wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into his chest and giving her a long, passionate kiss. "I love it! I love you!"

You barely noticed Steve sideling up to you, you couldn't hear him asking if you were okay. That was your gift. It was yours! If you didn’t have the vinyl you’d bought and so lovingly wrapped in your hand, you’d think she had stolen it from you. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, every attempt you made felt futile, like the air around you had left the room. He had shared the same things with her, you thought he trusted you with his past, but you weren't as special as you thought you were. 

Eventually you looked up when Steve put a gentle hand on your shoulder. He whispered, almost as though his words he was about to use were criminal. "Do you remember when we were talking last week? Before we went to pick up our gifts? You don’t think she overheard us… do you? And…"

In the end, it didn’t really matter. You knew in the moment that you’d lost Bucky forever. Everything felt far away, the room was suffocating, why were there so many people? Tears burned in your orbital sockets, drowning you from the inside out. You couldn’t face them anymore, seeing the happiness on Bucky’s face, knowing that someone else was responsible for that smile, that light inside him, was heartbreaking. Ultimately, you wanted him to be happy but you wanted to share that joy with him, you wanted to be the one to give it to him and watching that mantle being taken from you and bequeathed to another person was soul crushing. Gripping your present tightly, you slipped out of the room, Steve watching your retreating footsteps with sympathy, but knowing not to follow.

A few tears escaped as you found refuge in the kitchen, but you had no desire to explain red eyes and a blotchy nose to any of the other team members or party goers, so you wiped them away angrily, taking a few calming breaths before pouring yourself a strong drink. You sank onto a bar stool, shoving the record onto the chair to your right, you had no use for it anymore. There had barely been time for you to take 2-3 sips from your drink before Bucky popped his head into the room.

"Cricket? There you are!"

"Hey Buck! Having a good time?" You plastered a smile on your face, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Deception in this case was a futile attempt, Bucky was well versed in the movements of your face. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," you lied. "Just getting a drink."

"There are plenty of drinks back there."

He looked searchingly into your eyes and the facade you had erected was crumbling. You looked away, dropping your head to try and hide your face with your hair.

"It was just a bit much, everyone there… I don’t know, I feel a little… overwhelmed."

Too much drain of the social battery, Bucky was familiar with that. He pulled out the chair on your left, almost giving you a heart attack because you had momentarily forgotten which chair you’d left the present on.

"If you want to give me my gift here, we can do it privately. Everyone else is done," Bucky suggested, leaning towards you.

The smell of his cologne was intoxicating. Suddenly you felt angry that he was there, why couldn’t he give you a moment to grieve? Constantly invading your space, reminding you of what you couldn’t have, dangling the carrot but keeping it just out of reach. "Well you already have the perfect gift from your girlfriend, what more do you need?" You couldn’t keep the bitterness out of your tone.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. But the damage was done. There was a deathly silence between you where you were afraid to look at your best friend. 

"You know, I thought I would have you both in my life; my best friend and my girlfriend. I feel like you’re making me choose you over her and it’s not fair, Cricket! I’ve tried, I really have but you’re making it impossible! So you know what, I’m going to have to choose Priya. At least she bothered to put some effort into getting me a birthday gift. I can have a future with her."

The worst thing about his words were the disappointment and finality in his tone. And with that he left you alone with only your thoughts for company. A storm raged inside you, a maelstrom of emotions; anger, betrayal, abandonment, rejection, loss, just outright pain. How could he? How could he choose her over you? After everything you had been through together, the bond you had forged, the absolute faith and trust you had put in each other. Did it mean nothing to him? Did you mean nothing to him?

Trudging back to your room, you sought comfort in your giant bed, hoping it would envelope you completely. Wrapping the duvet around your body and over your head, you buried your face in a pillow and allowed the tears to fall. Once the gates had opened, the trickle of tears became a flood as you sobbed into your pillow to muffle the sound.

Why did he have to choose? Why didn’t he choose you? The pain in your chest was unbearable, a physical ache that matched the emotional turmoil inside you. You had tried so hard to make things work, to give him a balance of your friendship with his relationship with Priya, but now it seemed like all your efforts had been in vain. He had made his choice, and it wasn’t with you.

As you lay there in your bed, the tears continued to flow, a never-ending stream of sadness and heartbreak. You felt like a piece of you had been ripped away, leaving a raw, gaping wound in its place. How could you move on from this? How could you ever trust anyone again, knowing that they could just choose someone else over you?

You sighed, you knew now that you would never be good enough for him. Everything you’d tried to hold on to, had done nothing but push him away. You remembered when you had first understood your feelings, you’d considered pulling away to protect yourself. But Bucky had reeled you back in, constantly asking if he had done something to hurt you. So you’d given in, telling yourself you didn’t want to hurt him. But in reality, it had been selfish, you had indulged in a fantasy and ended up hurting the man you loved and getting hurt in the process.

You startled as a door slammed shut nearby. It was Bucky’s bedroom door, you could hear Priya giggling and Bucky’s deep voice through the wall. Your body froze with shock, the last thing you needed right now was to listen to your best friend having sex with his girlfriend. You shoved your airpods into your ears and turned up one of your lo-fi playlists and closed your eyes.

The decision you should have made then, was far more clear to you now. Your friend and old superior officer from your S.H.I.E.L.D. team had repeatedly offered you the chance to teach with her at the newly formed Coulson Academy. She had taught you everything you knew and believed in your ability to impart the knowledge you’d gained to potential agents. It was time for you to take her up on this offer.

As you wiped away your tears and made a decision to move forward, you knew that it was time to focus on yourself and your own happiness. Bucky had made his choice, and now it was time for you to make yours. You couldn’t continue to dwell on what would never be, on the pain of rejection and heartbreak.

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Tag list: @samodivaa @scoonsalicious  @noonespecial90  @browneyedgrli  @vicmc624  @cjand10 @capswife @julvrs @ordelixx  @sashaisready @sebastians-love   @belleofthebooks @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @rabbitrabbit12321  @love-isnt-greed @hhiggs   @winters1917 @blackhawkfanatic  @calwitch @learisa   @daybleedsintonightfa11   @lillianacristina   @mostlymarvelgirl @wintercrow @buckitostan @crist1216 @bisexualnikkisixx @robynjasp

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Veronica Lake (I Married a Witch, Sullivan's Travels)—her look is so iconic they used her as a visual model for jessica rabbit in who framed roger rabbit and a bunch of other femme fatale types in cartoons and live action alike. i didnt think i liked women and then i saw her in sullivans travels and said gee i hope this doesnt awaken anything in me! every role ive seen her in she absolutely oozes an aura of "i know people would ask me to step on them" and her EYES bro every photo ive looked at for this submission its like shes piercing thru time and space to judge me <3

Eartha Kitt (Anna Lucasta, St. Louis Blues)—My friend and I have a saying: NOBODY is Eartha Kitt. A thousand have tried, and they've all come up empty and will continue to do so. Everyone knows her for something: from "Santa Baby" to Yzma in Emperor's New Groove to Catwoman to making Lady Bird Johnson cry for the Vietnam War. She was a master of comedy and sex, an extremely vocal activist, and she aged like fine wine... I honestly don't know what I can say about her that hasn't already been said, so I'll stick to linking all my propaganda. Like what else do you want from me. She was iconic at everything she ever did. Literally name another. How can anyone even think of her and not want to absolutely drown?

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Veronica Lake:

Her HAIR, her FIGURE, her VOICE, the way she wore LEATHER AND SANG SONGS FOR NO REASON.

I don't believe there's a person on earth who can watch Veronica Lake in I Married A Witch and not be struck by how gorgeous she is. She had that youthful wonder about her that almost every Hollywood starlet was trying to achieve. Her hairstyle (peekaboo bangs) became an iconic Hollywood style after she popularized it, and made her signature look all the more suggestive. Also, witches are tumblrs favorite!

ICONIC hair sweep

The US government literally begged her to change her hairstyle because it was TOO HOT to handle and women who copied it were getting their hair caught in machinery

Her hairstyle was so iconic and popular that the war department had to come out with a PSA instructing lady ironworkers with ways they could pin their hair up to avoid it getting bound in machinery. [https://veteranlife.com/military-history/veronica-lake/]

She played a lot of femme fatale roles but my favorite is Sullivan’s Travels opposite Joel McRea, which is a comedy. She became famous for her hair style at the time—she wore it long and parted on one side so it would fall over half her face in a very sexy way. They called it a peek-a-boo I think. You’ve definitely seen Bugs Bunny dressed up like her, so I think if she’s being honored in such a way she’s very cool.

look at her

she's GORGEOUS in her little witch outfits that she wore for promos and also in the oversized coats and pajamas she wore throughout the movie...she's got RANGE

My Grandpa supposedly dated her in high school, he drove her to school in his car every day. This is legend in the family.

She has gorgeous hair, has got the smouldering look over the shoulder down PAT, and is just drop-dead gorgeous too!

Schizophrenic icon, popularized the peekaboo hairdo long before Jessica Rabbit

She’s just so prettyyyyy

So much hot in such a tiny package. She was no more than 5 feet tall, and some reports claim as small as 4'9"

If you picture a femme fatale in your head, almost certainly Veronica Lake had a hand in shaping the image you think of. She came to embody the look of the noir leading lady as well as the sound and the performance. Certified Noir Baddie.

Eartha Kitt:

"A hot vintage woman who was not just known for her voice, beauty, poise, and presence, but also her unapologetic ways of speaking about how she was mistreated in the show business as a girl who grew up on cotton fields in South Carolina in the 1930s through the 1940s coming to Broadway first and then Hollywood."

"Have you watched her sing?? Have you seen her face?? Have you heard her talk?? How could you not fall instantly in love. She makes me incoherent with how hot she is."

"She can ACT she can SING she can speak FOUR LANGUAGES she is a GODDESS!!! Although she is (rightfully) remembered for her singing, TV appearances (Catwoman my beloved), and later film roles, her early appearances in film are no less impressive or noteworthy!! She’s an amazing actress with so much charisma in every role. She was also blacklisted from Hollywood for 10 years for criticizing the Johnson administration/Vietnam War, so. Iconic. Also Orson Welles apparently called her “the most exciting woman in the world.”

"She had such a stunning, remarkable appearance, like she could tear you to shreds with just a glance- but the most undeniable part of her hotness was her voice, and it makes sense that it's what most people nowadays know her for. Nothing encapsulates the sheer magnetism of her singing better than this clip of her and Nat King Cole in St. Louis Blues, she pops in at 2:49. Also I know it's post-1970 but her song that was cut from Emperor's New Groove is likely to make you feel Feelings."

Even with as racist as Hollywood was in the 1950s and 60s, Eartha Kitt STILL managed to have a thriving career. She also once had a threesome with Paul Newman and James Dean, and called out LBJ over the Vietnam War so hard that it made First Lady Johnson cry. Eartha Kitt was talented, sexy, and a total badass activist.

[carolmunson]

orange colored sky (older!modern!eddie)

older!modern!eddie - setlist inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i got to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series. manip by my fave @eddiemunsons-missingnipple tw: nothing really, very much a meet cute at a grocery store. eddie is in his early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s. lemme know if you guys want this to be a whole thing.

the automatic doors rush cool air into your face, a sweet reprieve from the sticky heat of this summer. a much muggier july than you remember having as a kid. but then again, you don't remember that much about being a kid these days. trader joe's is a little busier than usual, which makes sense with the holiday weekend coming up -- but you hate when it's busy. there's already too many sounds -- some summer 90s playlist and the squeaks of the carts, people in their hawaiian shirts milling around with boxes and box cutters. you just want some snap peas for god sakes. 

you grab a basket and adjust your canvas bags on your shoulder, tossing your headphones in them for later. you feel 'running errands ugly' but everyone seeing you in the bike shorts you threw on this morning doesn't think that view is ugly at all. your music drowned it out on the train ride over here. you're already sort of annoyed. people just don't know how to do anything anymore -- why are we just standing in front of produce. get what you need and go! you think hastily. but you wait for people to stop gawking at the produce and make their selection before you grab the romaine, snap peas, and shredded brussel sprouts you need. when you turn you almost walk entirely into someone's cart, eyes flitting up briefly and muttering a 'sorry, s'cuse me'.

can everyone just get off my fucking ass? you huff to yourself internally. you maneurver over to fruits, a few stands in a row -- citrus, apples, berries. all separated by category in large cargo looking boxes. you snag a big box of cherries, the three pound one, knowing you'll go through the small ones too fast. you frown over the lack of watermelon, continuing along while someone turns the corner into your aisle. you look up for a moment, just to scan your surroundings, to see who it is.

 you've never seen him before, but you've never seen anyone here before. it's not like there's regulars at the grocery store in a city like this. his hands hang over the handle to his cart by the wrists, knuckles tattooed in shapes you can't make out. you follow the leather banded watch up to a full sleeve of ink, only obscured by the start of a cuffed t-shirt sleeve, a crisp white that blinds against the black of the elvira pin up tattoo on his tricep. horror icons blending into each other seamlessly. you can see more black and color peeking out from the collar of his shirt --vintage judas priest, mint condition, tucked comfortably under a well perserved denim vest covered in patches of bands you've never heard of. you're surprised by the black chino shorts on his bottom half, not expecting someone who was clearly still stuck in their grunge phase to wear those over cut off jeans. the busted up reebok's on his feet make up for it though -- pairing nicely with the tattoos on his calves and thighs, not quite sleeves, but enough to make a statement. 

you grab a box of strawberries and pop them into your basket, surveying the mangos on the top shelf at your eye level while he maneuvers behind you. you think he's cute but you don't take too much stock in it -- it's so like you to have a 'train boyfriend' or 'trader joe's boyfriend' for a brief moment in time. someone cute that you spot outside and never speak to. it's one of those days.

he has brown eyes and thick lashes, hair dark wrapped in a bun on the top of his head with streaks of silver poking through, bangs in his face. some curls stick to the heated skin by his neck and jaw. not that you're looking. the scruff on his face is littered with salt and pepper -- maybe that part of him aging more than the rest. he grabs a heap of bananas to his nearly empty cart. he also has a big box of cherries in there. he wears a cologne with spice and suede in the notes, it's familiar, a little smoky. maybe an old boyfriend used to wear it. you shrug it off, grabbing a mango or two and popping it in a produce bag before hocking it in. more veggies for a greek salad. an onion. some pre-packaged turkey slices. 

you turn into the first frozen food section, weaving through more people who just stand there and you grit your teeth. you snag some frozen broccoli, the coolness bringing you a moment of calm so that you don't lose your mind inside the store. more like traitor joe's. you grab a few more things, a veggie medley for a tofu scramble, some scallion pancakes that you’ll use as meal replacement because no matter how many times you think you’ll food prep you never do. you see him at the end of the aisle, rifling through bags of frozen shrimp to find one he likes. you notice he has a ring on but it’s on his pointer finger, two more rings on the hand that holds his cart by his hip – a silver chain dangles from what you assume is his wallet in his back pocket. his keys jingle from a carabiner by his front belt loop. slut, you think to yourself. you grab a bag of small frozen salmon filets, not paying much mind to your grocery store boyfriend of the week when you turn the corner to the next frozen food aisle. he’s there not soon after you, grabbing frozen fruit medleys and a few bars of chocolate on the non-frozen shelving above. you aren’t sure if he sees you, but you see him. you can smell the suede and spice of his cologne as his moves past you to the other end. bread is on the back wall of the store, you want to get sourdough but you know you’ll just eat it plain and not make sandwiches so you opt for the tuscan loaf instead. you snag a bag of mini bagels, forgoing the small baguettes this time. you can’t afford the good burrata this week for any special girl dinner you come up with, so it’s best to not have it around if you can’t pair it with anything pretty. further down the back wall you get to snacks and don’t ignore the bag of yogurt covered pretzels – a basket must. seaweed snacks for salmon rice bowls. plantain chips. Your basket feels a little heavy but at least this errand is almost over. you turn down the pasta, beans, and rice aisle and there he is turning down the other end. you both catch each other this time, because this time feels like it’s not a coincidence. you both break eye contact as quickly as you make it, both of you looking down and smiling to yourselves. you feel the heat on your cheeks but you don’t see his blush, both of you too preoccupied with whatever you have to pick up to pay attention to the other. you smell the suede and smoke even after you lose him to the next couple of aisles. 

pre-packaged tortellini, lox, shredded cheese. chicken thighs. a six pack of some pretty sounding beer you’ve never tried. your basket overflows but it’s fine. the errand is over, at least here, before you need to run into target which for some reason is far less overstimulating. he’s a few people ahead of you on the opposite line, still leaning over the edge of his cart with his hands hanging, one thumbing a text to someone before he stands up fully to push the cart ahead. he looks over his shoulder and your eyes briefly meet for a moment – heat on your cheeks – before he moves ahead to turn down the long row of cashiers to pay. you don’t see him when it’s your turn and by the time you’re done paying you’ve already forgotten about him, lost in a flirty conversation with the guy ringing you up. target only has half of what you need and that’s fine because nothing else will fit in the big canvas bags you brought with you for your groceries and it’s at least an eight minute walk back to the train. you groan when you get back out into the heat, the boiler room of the subway cooking you as you make it down to the platform. a pleasant sigh passes your lips when you see it’s at least only a four minute wait until your train makes it to you – only a few more minutes of suffering before you’re on your way back to your air conditioned studio apartment. you look across the platform where some old lady’s push cart rattles as it makes it down the stairs on the other side. her little body walking ahead, a voice saying ‘i got it, ma’am don’t worry,’ echos down into the chamber of the subway.

there he is. a canvas bag on each arm filled to the brim and the push cart lifted in front of him. while you can’t see from this distance, you have a feeling you’d like how his arms looked at full capacity like this. the cart’s metallic jingle continues when he places it on the concrete ground, pushing it over to the woman who now sits pleasantly on the bench. you watch their conversation while they say quiet ‘thank yous’ and ‘your welcomes’ to each other and he checks his phone while he finds a spot to stand, waiting for his train on the opposite side.

you check your phone just the same and look up again as he puts his phone in the pocket of his vest. his attention catches on you from across the way.

he gives you a small wave and smiles. he has a nice smile, infectious.

“hi.”

you wave back with two fingers, a small salute, “hey.”

“i’m eddie,” he starts as the red glow of the light on your train starts to pull in. 

the chug, chug, chug starting to drown him out. he raises his voice with a boyish grin, you hear him just before the train obscures him from view – whooshing past you as it pulls into the station. “i normally go to trader’s on wednesdays!”

you get on the train when the doors open, seeing him still on the platform, searching for you in the windows. you put your hand up again in an awkward wave and he grins when he finds you. ‘stand clear of the closing doors, please!’ he puts a hand back up with two fingers, mouthing out a message. ‘wednesdays around two.’

you give him the okay symbol with your fingers and nod at him, chuckling at the ridiculousness of the situation, he chuckles too. his smile is pretty, lips are full. his two fingers point to his eyes and then at you – ‘see you then’. 

the train pulls away before you get a chance to reply. 

next

[clottedscream]

i’m such a huge sucker for retrofuturism. especially like, pulp sci-fi or ridiculous shiny atomic age pin up stuff. and also the discord has been egging me on lately to draw more scantily clad women

[Image ID: A digital sketch of Yoomtah Zing from epithet erased wearing a metallic silver bikini with a garter. The bikini takes clear inspiration from vintage pulp-sci fi, with see-through lime green caps over the hips and shoulders and some glowing green decals. She wears a matching green visor with silver antennae and holds up a prop ray gun, to boot. Her hair is done up in pig-tails which are unnaturally pointed at the top in space-age fashion, and her prosthetic legs are drawn with exaggerated heels like vintage go-go boots. She poses seated on a white background and sticks her tongue out coyly, eyes to the right as sparks fly out from the right side of her head. end ID]

[bettyfrommars]

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

masterlist playlist

Part 2: The Hideout

You follow Robin over the resort property line to a place where guests are forbidden and get a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes.

word count: 3.6k

My blog is 18+ONLY, mature themes, violence, alcohol consumption, eventual smut, fighting, mention of blood, reader is called Bird as a nickname, reader plays the cello. Reader is 21, Eddie is late 20's.

Songs for this chapter: Animal (fuck like a beast)//W.A.S.P. No one like you//Scorpions Mental Health (bang your head)//Quiet Riot Wasted Years//Iron Maiden

a/n: it has been so much fun to pull this out of the rubble and jump back into this world for a rewrite, I hope you enjoy. To my I'm on Fire peeps, there will be a scene in this chapter that feels very similar to something that happened in IOF, and that's because I originally stole it from this fic, thinking I'd never post it, lmao. Thought about changing it, but it's just too perfect. Plus, there will always be a hint of biker Eddie in all of my Eddies.

Sticking close behind Robin, you crossed the arc of a walking bridge over a creek and disappeared on a worn path through the trees.  It was only then that you could finally make out the building where the loud music was coming from.  

It had corrugated metal sides and roof, like a structure you might see on a farm that housed large equipment.  There was a picnic table out front where a few people were seated, and the shell of a vintage automobile with bullet holes in it sat in the weeds.

A little more than a city block away was a modest cabin made from actual logs with an old truck, a van, and a motorcycle parked out front.

“Who lives there?” You nudged Robin.

She stopped to see where you were looking first, and then, “oh yeah, that’s Wayne’s place.  The head maintenance guy.  This is his too,” she gestured to the metal building where the music and shouts were coming from.  “Both him and his nephew Eddie.  Have you met Eddie?”

You absolutely knew who he was, but didn’t want to come off as a stalker, so you shook your head.  

The large sliding door entrance to the building was open about a foot, letting out wafts of smoke and a hazy, golden light.  From over Robin’s shoulder, you could see quite a few bodies moving around in there, and just then came the sound of a glass breaking.  

“Ready?” She smiled back at  you, struggling to hold everything in her arms as she reached for the handle to slide the door open the rest of the way.  

“Let me?” You lurched forward.

“I got it,” she insisted, fumbling one of the guitars before catching it again with a gasp of relief.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting to see when she eased the door open the rest of the way, but a topless woman dancing on a table top was not one of them. 

Her hair was bleached blonde, frizzy and teased around her face.  She was tan with a prominent bikini line over her pert breasts, and it looked like she’d just pulled the top of her leopard print spandex dress down to give a little show.  

The song Animal (Fuck like a beast) by W.A.S.P. was blaring and the guys around the table cheered while the woman flipped her hair and worked her hips in a circle.  You were sure you recognized her as one of the waitresses from earlier that night. 

Metalheads of all kinds were crowded together, mingling, and you feared that you stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Some were in leather; some wore jean vests with pins and patches all over them.  A handful had long hair that they must’ve tied back or wore under hats while they worked at the resort, but a few of them, like Steve, kept theirs short and tidy, for the most part.  Overhead string lights swayed from high wooden beams, and a chandelier that looked like it was made out of wrenches.  An old, pea green Kelvinator refrigerator and a small kitchenette was to your left, as if someone had lived there at one point, and two couches sat against the wall that were mismatched and worn.  

Most of the crowd of people seemed to be lingering together in the middle, standing there as if waiting for something.  Taking shots, smoking blunts, and making out with each other, blocking you from seeing beyond them.  

Robin signaled to follow her, and you were hesitant to start moving through the masses, holding the guitar case flush to your body, feeling like it was something to hide behind.  You noticed posters on the walls for bands like Judas Priest and Metallica, and on the concrete floor you saw smudges from white chalk markings, dark splotches the color of dried blood, but that was ridiculous.  

You pushed between a girl with a blue mohawk and a guy with a shaved head that was covered in tattoos in a hurry to keep up with your escort, and the two shot you a hard glare.  When you could finally see the far wall, there was an oval, threadbare carpet in the corner with a drum kit set up, three microphones, two amps, and some other equipment that suggested live music would soon be happening.  

“This is where they practice!” Robin shouted over the music, directing you where to put Eddie guitar down.  “We call it The Hideout.”

“'Where who practices?’ You set Eddie’s baby near the wall where she told you to.  

“Eddie and Chrissy’s band,” she motioned for you to stand over at the wall with her. 

“Oh,” you turned to look at the instruments again, heart flopping a little at the idea he would show up at any moment.  “They're playing tonight?”

There was a commotion up ahead and you both turned to look. "Later maybe! The fights are tonight,” again, yelling over the growl of the music.  Now the song was No One Like You by Scorpions, and it sounded like people were cheering at someone who’d just come through the door. 

“Fights?” You leaned in to get more information when everyone started pushing back to make room for whatever was about to happen.  You remembered that one of the guys on the porch earlier that day with Chrissy and Steve had a black eye, and you’d noticed another worker at the resort who had a busted lip, but you hadn’t paused to think that maybe they were somehow connected.

It was then that you saw Eddie appear from out of the sea of bodies, and took a sharp intake of breath, holding it in, afraid to let it out for fear you might whimper.  

He was so beautiful, it made you dizzy. You stood up straight, adjusting yourself, covertly checking to make sure you weren’t perspiring too badly.

He was wearing the tux he’d had on for the show earlier, but the tie and cummerbund were both gone, and his white shirt was unbuttoned almost to his stomach.  You caught a glimpse of tattoos on his chest, and a necklace of some sort. Someone handed him a beer and he threw back a generous gulp.  

“There’s going to be boxing? Here? Tonight?” You were trying to act casual and not stare at him the whole time, but it was hard to tear your attention away.  

“Nothing professional,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, putting her shoulder blades against the wall.  “Just your average bare knuckle street fighting, basically. The guys were doing it to blow off steam, but then some others got involved and people started placing bets, so a whole thing started.”

Eddie unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and took it off, passing it to someone in the crowd.  Your mouth went dry at the sight of his lean muscles under the scattered ink.  He kept his hair tied back and started wrapping white tape around one of his hands while Steve said something in his ear.  

“How do they choose who fights who?” You were invested now, wringing Robin out for any information she had.  

“I don’t know how they figure it out, but the new guys usually fight each other, and then a winner challenges Eddie or Steve or Alex,” she pushed off the wall to get a better look at the center of the room. “But it looks like Eddie is up first.” And then with a smirk she added, “all of the new hotshots at the resort think they can beat Eddie.”

“Can they?” Your voice cracked, eyes locked on the scene.  A guy shorter than Eddie but muscular in a football player type of way, was also shirtless in the circle now, with taped hands and wearing a pair of sweats with the name of a university down the leg. The guy was hopping from foot to foot to keep himself hyped up, punching the air in front of him.

“No one beats Eddie,” there was pride in her voice.  “Looks like the guy he’s fighting tonight is Lance, one of the new ski instructors.  Totally full of himself.”

Steve was wearing a white wife beater and jeans, and he raked a hand through his mop of hair just before pointing in your direction.  Eddie’s gaze followed the line of his finger directly to your stunned face, and then it lingered there.

He seemed to contemplate, wetting his lips, and then he nodded to Steve and was on his way over.

He didn’t have to push people out of the way because they were all quick to part to make room for him.  It wasn’t long before he was standing right in front of you.  You tried not to let your gaze linger on the full curve of his slightly chapped lips, or the way his wavy bangs framed his cherrywood eyes.  On closer inspection, you could see that the necklace he wore was a ball chain with a guitar pick hanging from it.  

Robin opened her mouth to say something, possibly introduce you, but Eddie cut her off.  

“What the hell are you doing here, Princess?” His voice was low with an edge of irritation.  He pulled the chunky metal rings off his fingers one by one as he spoke.

Robin cleared her throat, stepping forward. “She’s with me,” she stuttered a bit nervously, knowing full well she shouldn’t have brought you there.  “She came with me, she’s cool.”

Eddie collected all of the rings in his fist and kept staring at you as if he wanted to hear it from your mouth, not Robin’s.  

Your brain short-circuited for a second and you forgot how to form words when he was so close you could see the detail of the dragon tattoo on his chest.  But then, finally, it came to you:

“I-I carried your baby.”

The second it slipped out, you knew how stupid it sounded.

Unblinking, he gave his rings to Robin, and then he was gone.

You stared at the space where he no longer stood, flushed with embarrassment.  

“I carried your baby?” You repeated in a whisper, covering your face with your hands. 

Someone turned the music down so that Steve’s voice could be heard, and he waved his arms in the air to get everyone’s attention.  

“I don’t have to explain the rules to you, because there are none,” his announcement was met with screams and cheers.  Robin tugged at your arm, signaling for the two of you to get a bit closer to the action.  “First one to hit the ground for whatever reason is the loser.  Just fists, no blades or other stupid tricks.”

At one side of the circle of bodies, Lance the ski instructor was practicing some tight punches, and at the other end, Eddie rolled his neck while Chrissy finished taping the knuckles of his other hand.  It was then that the chalk and the stains on the concrete you saw earlier made sense.  

“You two ready?” Steve put his arm up between them, waiting for their nods, and then, at their signal, he chopped his hand down between them as if he were slicing the air.  

Lance was hopping from foot to foot, trying his best to look like some fancy footwork he saw in a Rocky movie, while Eddie walked casually, giving the guy a hooded, bored stare.  

Eddie could read Lance like a book.  A fight was a lot more than just a mindless throwing of hands, there was a mental prowess and skill needed that a lot of the punks busing in from suburbia did not have.  Street smarts was one thing, and Eddie surely had that, but he’d been fighting bullies off since he was a kid, and Wayne taught him to fight like it was a game of chess.

Eddie could tell where Lance was going to go a second before he made the move. He saw the guy was amped up, letting his emotions fight for him, and that was only one of his first mistakes.

Lance charged at him and swung, but Eddie was already steps away; relaxed and agile, holding his guard up. The ski instructor came at him aggressively, again and again, until Eddie pushed him, making his opponent stumble back. 

Keeping his form, Eddie caught you standing there out of the corner of his eye.

…what were you doing there at the Hideout?

He let himself ponder that question for too long and Lance was on him again, aiming a left jab to his ribs, and Eddie absorbed the blow with a grunt, arching to the side. 

You were not supposed to be there.  What was Robin thinking?

Mostly, Brenner and Joyce stayed out of their business, as long as whatever they did was off resort property, but if they found out one of the guests was somehow involved, there would be hell to pay.  

Lance charged again and Eddie dodged, angry at himself for not being able to focus .

“C’mon Lance, stomp that freak,” someone yelled from the crowd. 

And that was all it took

For Eddie to get tired of dragging it out for betting purposes.

Lance charged forward with a cry and Eddie socked an uppercut into his unsuspecting jaw.  

The surfer boy went down

Hard. 

Saliva and blood flew from his mouth as he flailed back, arms going ragdoll.

It felt like it happened in slow motion but soon enough, Lance was splayed out like a starfish on the concrete floor.

“Goodnight sweet prince,” Steve said sarcastically as he collected bets over the ski instructor’s limp body.

Robin cheered with her hands over her head, and you gave a few slow claps, your brain barely able to register where you were or what you were seeing.

“You want a beer?” She asked as you watched Lance numbly get to his feet with the help of two friends and attempt to shake it off.  

Robin motioned for you to follow her around to the refrigerator which was stocked from top to bottom with nothing but beer cans. She handed you one and then went to lean against the side of the appliance, cracking open the tab with a hiss.

With your back to the crowd, you prepared to follow suit, listening to Steve introduce two more fighters.

But then there was someone at your side,

“Not like that,” a voice said.

Eddie had come up behind you, wearing his white shirt unbuttoned, skin still glistening with sweat. Mental Health (Bang Your Head) by Quiet Riot came over the speakers, eliciting a wave of yelps and screams from the group.  

“Wait,” he put his hand on top of yours to keep you from opening your beer while he motioned for another guy to toss him one.  You turned to seek comfort or guidance from Robin, but she was absorbed in conversation with a girl in a platinum pixie cut who’d just walked up.  

“Like this,” he brushed his bangs to the side, and winked as he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket.  He used the serrated metal edge of one to punch a hole at the bottom of the can.  

It was the wink that made your skin flush hot, and then your jaw went slack as you watched him wrap his lips around the newly made hole in the can.  He made eye contact with you one more time before tipping his head back, and cracking the tab of the beer open with his thumb so that the liquid when squirting down his throat.  

The muscles in his throat jerked as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.  

It wasn’t three seconds before he lowered his head and crushed the can in his hand to show it was empty.  He let out a refreshing, “ahhhh,” and darted his tongue out to lick a droplet from his chin.  

You were still holding your unopened beer, waiting for him, mouth dry.  “I-I’m not sure I—”

Yes, you knew what shotgunning a beer was, you’d seen it done plenty of times at college parties and in movies, but had never been tempted to try it yourself.  

Ignoring your hesitation, Eddie motioned with the crook of his finger for you to come closer.  You shuffled to be within reach of him as if your knees were locked in place.  

With a gentle touch, fingers brushing yours, he took your beer from you, wiped it off with his shirt, and then proceeded to make the same hole with his key in the aluminum.  Some of the beer sprayed up and misted your face.

“Here we go,” he tipped your chin with his finger and butterflies swarmed in your stomach as his eyes searched yours. “Just let it shoot into the back of your throat.”

You swallowed nervously to make sure your throat was working, and then wrapped your lips around the can at his instruction.

“Easy, just like that, hold it there,” Eddie was so close now that your elbow was touching his bare chest.  He put a hand on the back of your head.  “When I say, tip your head back all the way, and I’ll flip the tab for you.”

You swiped your tongue over the hole in the can, thinking about how embarrassing it would be if you messed it up and beer went shooting out of your nose.  

Robin offered a few words of encouragement and you noticed a tendril of hair clinging to the sweat on Eddie’s neck, right over the heartbeat in his throat.  

“You ready?”

You weren’t but—-

“Okay, now.”

You closed your eyes, slammed your head back, and prayed, even though you weren’t at all religious.  Some lukewarm beer leaked onto your tongue, and then Eddie pulled the tab, keeping one hand over yours to hold the can steady.  

The gush of liquid hissed and exploded down your throat, and for a second you thought you would choke, but then your swallowing reflex bolted into action and it was over so fast.  

You gasped and swiped beer from your chin when you pulled away to look at the empty can, amazed. 

Eddie cupped his warm hand around the back of your neck, and you felt him shift closer until his mouth was at your ear.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

An actual chill ran down your spine.

Robin put up her hand and you gave you a high five.  “Not bad for a first timer,” she joked.  “Now crush it on your forehead and grunt.”

“Ha. Ha.” 

You turned to Eddie, “that was fun maybe he should—”

You were about to say the two of you should do another one, 

but he was gone.  

—----

The next night, Eddie couldn’t sleep, so he decided to head to the property to finish up some work at the pool house.   

The place he shared with Wayne was close enough to walk to the Hawkins Landing property, but that night, he drove.  He wanted to roll the window down on the van and blast Wasted Years by Iron Maiden and belt out the lyrics.  

He slipped into the parking lot for visitors and employees, turning the music down so that it wouldn’t be heard by any of the nearby cabins.  There were two street lamps on, but a third one he noticed was out, and made a mental note that he’d have to get Jamie to fix it tomorrow.  The sidewalks along the manicured lawn were also lined with lights that came out of the ground like little mushrooms, and the boat dock far off to his left was lit, but other than that, he was in the dark.  

Grabbing his red toolbox from the passenger seat, he put a flashlight in his tool belt holster, and the van door creaked on its hinges just before it banged shut.  His ribs still ached from the punch he took the night before, but he only allowed himself to cringe and curse in private. Luckily, his only companions at that moment were the crickets and the lapping of the water against the bank.

It wasn’t until he was a few yards down the sidewalk, head down, lost in thought, that the din of classical music made him halt in his tracks. 

It was definitely strings, possibly a violin? No, it was too deep.  

He looked up at the main house, but the sound was much too close to be coming from way up there.

He cut to the right and up the grass.

Then he saw the attic light on in cabin #11.

He told himself not to bother, but as the passion of the playing increased, curiosity got the better of him.  

He came right up to your driveway, staying half obscured by a tree trunk, and watched you.

The cello, of course that’s what you were playing.  He was no expert on the classics, but he’d always learned music by ear and had a unique sense for identifying instruments.  

You weren’t reading from sheet music, you were just playing while you stared out at the sky.

Playing something by heart, or making it up as you went along, he wasn’t sure.  

In his mind, you were so far out of league, it was criminal.

Your attention broke when a sudden movement down on the road startled you.  

The bow zipped clumsily across the strings one last time, and you stood up to get closer to the open window.

But, your eyes must’ve been playing tricks on you. 

There was no one there.    

-----

Hi hello! thank you so much for reading! For those wondering, this fic will still be centered around music, not boxing, but the little fight club they have has a lot to do with the spin of the plot soon.

thank you all so much for the suppport! we are getting to the juicy parts now! give me those hungry eyes. comments and reblogs are cherished!! like, I live for them.

-------

taglist: @tlclick73@micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch

[tadpole-apocalypse]

I wrote a little something! Yes I’m sure the title is probably overused. It just worked for this scenario.

***

Careful, I Bite [AO3 link]

Astarion gets some blood and puts his plan in motion. A rewrite of his proposition scene to fit my narrative.

Pairing: Astarion x Morgan (female human tav)

Rating: M for sexy blood drinking

Tags: vampire bites, detailed descriptions of blood and the inherent eroticism, high elf bullshit, human tav, Gale slander, emotional manipulation, fangs, licking, astarion pov

***

They had tents now, at the campsite near the blighted village. After days of laying out in the open around the fire like a pack of wild beasts, any sort of shelter from the elements was a luxury in this filthy wilderness. All thanks to their weird little minions, of which the gith has taken complete charge of. She has put the hirelings to work; hauling supplies, tending the cookfire, patrolling for threats, as well as taking care of all the menial tasks around camp Astarion hated doing himself, like setting up tents. She even disciplined one when it performed a task that didn’t meet her exacting standards, which was just delightful to watch!

Morgan’s tent was erected on the outskirts of camp and further from the others, as they all learned her wild magic is capable of surging in her sleep when illusory clones of herself floated all around camp, exploding on whatever they bumped into. Everyone agreed it would be better if she kept her tent far from the others.

It makes it easier to discreetly slip inside, this far away from the light of the campfire. He finds her awake, sitting cross legged on her bedroll with a small wisp of light to illuminate the cramped tent. It casts harsh shadows on her blunt features that do no favors for the scars and blemishes marring her face. Ah well, she wasn’t entirely unfortunate looking for human; he’d certainly pulled far worse in his time.

Her mismatched eyes flick up to meet him when he enters, acknowledging his entry before she returns to her task of trimming the ends of her braids with a knife. A rather dull knife, from the hack job that was being done in his presence.

“That won’t do at all,” he tuts. “That thing isn’t fit to cut a stick of butter. Here.” He pulls his dagger from its holster and holds it up as an offering. “Sharp enough to stab clean through a goblin’s ribcage.”

“Ew.”

“I cleaned it, after,” he clarifies.

She accepts the blade, and slices off the blackened, burnt hair with a few short wrist movements. She turns to show him her handiwork, where one braid now hangs, a few inches shorter than the other.

“Shall we cut the other, so they match?” he offers. Her shoulders slump.

“No, it’s fine,” she says through gritted teeth. The loss of a few inches of hair seems to vex her for some reason. He shrugs, not really caring either way.

She brushes the braids to the side, drawing his attention instantly to the smooth column of her neck. His eyes track the faint marks from where his teeth last pierced her, remembering her hot blood filling his mouth.

Astarion swallows. His fangs feel heavy, as does the deep hungering and craving in his belly. Her heart beats as loud to his ears as one of the goblin’s war drums since he’s been glutted on the blood of thinking creatures, and Morgan’s blood in particular sang to him from under her skin the longer he went without. Her wild magic perhaps, gave it a certain ambrosia that the bandits and goblins he fed from couldn’t begin to compare to. All of it swill, compared to the vintage in front of him.

There’s a moment when the scent of blood so close sends his bestial craving into a frenzy, and he’s overwhelmed with the monstrous urge to pin and bite, to rip and tear into her neck and gorge himself until there’s nothing left of her.

“I take it you’re here for blood?”

She’s staring at him staring at her neck, and he quickly wrests control over the thrashing beast of his hunger and looks up at her with his mask in place. A practiced smile, given thousands of times. “Are you offering?” He leans into her personal space, slides a hand on her hip. Lets a bit of heat rumble into his voice, pitched low next to her rounded ear.

Her expression doesn’t betray her, but the roar of blood rushing through her veins at her quickened heart rate is proof enough of her arousal at his nearness. Typical human, he smirks. Always flattered by attention from their betters.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” she answers him, flipping the dagger around to hand it to him handle first. Sheathing it quickly, he sits back and pats his lap.

“Come here darling, let’s get comfortable.”

She settles between his legs, back against his chest. She tilts her head, holding onto her braids. Her pulse jumps and his craving intensifies.

It hadn’t taken much effort at all to maneuver her into this position. A smug satisfaction fills him from head to toe, all the more potent by the anticipation of their blood exchange.

He intends to draw out the moment of the bite and savor it, but with her neck offered before him he gives into his need and sinks his teeth into her flesh, forgetting to be gentle in his eagerness. She winces and makes a pained sound so he pulls his fangs back to soothe the wound with his tongue with her blood on his lips. As like all the times before, his senses are flooded with sensation and feeling and an awareness he’d been lacking for so long.

How denied he had been! Made to beg for the putrid blood of insects and vermin, decade after decade, and even being happy to receive that after years without anything at all but the deepest pits of hunger clawing at his sanity. The taste of sewage and ash was all he’d known, and now a veritable feast fit for a Lord lies in his lap, freely given. The rich, complex flavor of her magic touched blood bursts on his tongue in ways completely foreign to him.

His mind, sharp and focused now without the fog of hunger clouding his every move. The heaviness that dragged his limbs was gone as a warmth began to bloom in his chest. He could take on all of his siblings in this state, he thinks, feeling drunk on her power. The image of throttling Petras fills him with a giddy sort of glee that makes him grin against her throat.

A drop of blood escapes him and begins to dribble down the side of her neck. He chases it with his tongue, licking his way back up to the wound he’d made to press his mouth back to it. She shivers, the movement drawing his attention with predatory intensity.

Her arousal would be obvious even if he couldn’t taste it in her blood. He could see it in the way she shifted against him, clutching his forearm and making those little breathy sounds he was all too familiar with.

Her life’s blood slides down his throat, and he groans from the taste, his newfound strength, and her own sexual arousal leaking from her tadpole to his. Even his squirming little brain companion seemed pleased by the feast before him.

Careful, careful, he reminds himself. He can’t weaken her too much, in case Cazador’s minions find them out here and try to bring him back.

An unwanted feeling of helplessness and panic runs over him, and he curses the power his old master still holds over him even in his absence. Pathetic.

Still, he needs her hale. He can’t be too greedy, lest the cleric turns her temper back onto him again.

Morgan’s eyelids start to droop and he pulls back reluctantly, staunching the small wound with his fingers. The smell and taste of her blood lingers in his mouth and he sighs, feeling warm and altered.

She stirs and tries to sit up, but falls back against him. Shit, maybe he did take too much.

“Shh…shh…just rest here a moment,” he reassures, guiding her to the bedroll. He hovers over her and puts a hand on her chin, looking into her eyes. She meets his gaze and appears coherent but weakened, which satisfies him. However, best to not leave her in such a state to ensure she wouldn’t suffer any ill effects that would earn him another thrashing from the cleric, or worse, a stake.

“How do you feel?” He asks her, trying to keep her awake and talking.

“Weak,” she wheezes, in that odd accent of hers. He still hasn’t placed it. “Almost blacked out, trying to stand.”

“Hmm.” He inspects the bite marks on her neck, finding them scabbed over already. His fangs itch to open them once more and drain her dry, but he clamps down on the intrusive urge and reaches for a jug of water. He pours some into a tin cup and bids her to drink.

Morgan downs the cup quickly with a shaking hand, prompting him to refill the cup after she drains it. She drinks that one too, then groans and manages to sit up.

He makes his move.

“Ahh, poor little pudding. I do appreciate the sacrifice you are making, on my behalf,” he says, letting his unnecessary breath ghost across her skin as he plucks the empty cup from her grasp. His fingers linger a little longer than necessary on hers. “How could I possibly repay you for such a debt?”

“Umm,” she seems distracted. He smiles inwardly. “It’s fine, if it helps you fight. The weakness doesn’t last long.”

“Still,” he tuts in mock consternation. “You deserve a reward for all of this. I am so very grateful for all you’ve given me…” he sets the empty cup aside, and very gently rests one of his palms on her thigh.

She snorts as she considers him for a moment. “What are you offering?”

“Well…” he lets the phrase linger on his tongue as his fingers dance a trail up her clothed thigh. “Perhaps a night to ourselves, so I can show you in great detail how pleased I am with what you’ve given me.” He pauses. “And I do mean sex by the way, if that wasn’t clear.”

“Okay. When?”

Well, that was easy. This woman was clearly an idiot, agreeing to meet a vampire alone in the darkness, and he couldn’t be happier with his fortune.

“Tomorrow,” he purrs, gracefully sliding next to her on the bedroll. He props his head up with a hand and raises his other to push some stray hairs out of her face. “I’ll find us a nice secluded paradise where we can make all the noise we want without the others to trouble us.”

“Why not now? I can be very quiet.”

That drew a genuine bark of laughter from him. “Eager little thing!” His eyes rake down her form in a show of rakish approval before his free arm snakes around her waist to drag her down to him. She lets out a little squeal, which he likes. “I’d much rather have you screaming my name all night, if it’s all the same to you,” he growls in her ear.

“All night? That’s a bold claim, don’t you think?”

Brat.

“The cleric said you should rest after giving blood in any case,” he reminds her, dragging a thumb across her lips. She catches his thumb and bites it, leaving a weak impression of her blunt teeth. “You’ll have to control your lust for a little bit longer, my dear.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but her smile is lazy and amused. Good.

”Fine,” she yawns, punctuating his point. “Yeah, I guess I’m pretty tired.”

“Then sleep, lover…and after a stimulating day of slaughtering more goblins, no doubt, we will indulge in our every desire.”

“Sounds good.” The word are slurred from her exhaustion, and come out more as “s’goo.” Her eyes drift shut.

Astarion lifts himself off her bedroll and watches her for a second. Her heartbeat and breathing has returned to normal levels, so he lets himself out of her tent. Back into the darkness of the evening, his senses flare to life; vision piercing through the darkness, conversations from all the way across camp playing in his ears, sensing a myriad of delicious heartbeats and pulses throbbing all around him.

None as enticing as the feast he’s had just now.

He slips into the shadows between the tents, remaining undetected until he reaches the one he has claimed as his own. The interior is littered with jars of congealed blood from enemies he’s attempted to preserve, but the thought of consuming them now after the banquet he just dined on is unthinkable. He lays back onto his own bedroll instead to contemplate his good fortune.

It was good he got to Morgan first, given how both Gale and Lae’zel had been looking at her. Though imagining her and Gale together was laughable; if his lectures didn’t put her to sleep they wouldn’t stop bickering long enough to get their clothes off. Morgan had made her disdain of wizards clear enough, not that it stopped the man’s pathetic longing in her direction.

Lae’zel would be a bit more problematic if she chose to pursue his target. He’d have to keep an eye on the gith.

Without those two mucking around in his territory, Astarion was confident he could keep her interest, if tonight’s little dance had been any indication.

He’d secure Morgan’s favor, and convince her to talk the others into helping him kill Cazador after dealing with this worm business. Then? Well he had all the time in the realms to figure that out.

**

Thank you for reading! I did not plan to write any fanfiction for this fandom but @mercymaker and I have been chatting about sexy vampire bites and throat ripping and it changed my brain chemistry and wouldn’t leave me alone until I got this out of my system 😅

[sunlightmurdock]

I'm right down in the apocalyptic!dbf jake rabbit hole

I need reactions to them being together together not just sticking around someone they know. How would their group react? Or what if they meet someone they've known from before????? 👀

So, I think when they meet the first group of survivors, they love each other and they have kissed once or twice, but they definitely aren’t together. But it’s while they’re with that group that things start to progress between them.

Jake doesn’t quite care what people think, until one day he’s out the front of their big lodge and he overhears one of the guys who is just a teeny bit younger than you say, “Man, Jake’s daughter is hot.”

“I don’t think he’s her dad.”

“Well, how else would they know each other? — and he won’t let any guy go near her. It’s common sense.”

And it dawns on him, that christ— he is old enough to be mistaken for your dad. And truth be told, that makes him a little grumpier than usual. It takes a little extra effort to get him to smile when you’re alone with him that night, but you just about manage.

“You worried that I’m going to trade you in for a younger model or something?” You’re wearing his t-shirt and nothing else, snuggled up in your shared space. You’ve made it a bit of a home by now, with some string lights you salvaged and a cozy blanket you hand washed and two Polaroids taped to the wall. One of you kissing his cheek, and the other of the two of you down by the lake, beaming.

You grin at him and lean over to kiss his lips, pulling back with an amused smile toying at your face.

“Don’t worry, old man, I like ‘em vintage.”

He warns you constantly about dressing the way that you do for bed — worried that something will happen in the night, or worried that someone might come across you barely dressed. Volume too, he’s always got his hand over your mouth or his fingers between your lips to keep you quiet.

Tonight, he says fuck it.

“Vintage, huh?” Jake scoffs as he rolls on top of you, pinning you down with his weight as he dips in to kiss at your throat. “I’ll fuckin’ show you vintage, sweetheart.”

His teeth sink into the base of your neck making you gasp and squeal, wrapping your legs around his waist.

One thing’s for sure — the next morning at camp, everyone has a little more clarity on exactly how you know Jake. There’s no hiding, you walk right out of the lodge, happy as a clam, and plant an eager kiss right on his lips.

For a while, things are good.

But it’s only so long before you come across someone from before, someone who never would have expected the two of you to end up together.

[roboticchibitan]

I decided to take pictures of my shawl pin collection to share today! Most of them are cheap hair sticks. A few of these photos I pulled from other posts because they're stuck in shawls I have misplaced. First up, the pretty box I keep them in that's bent in such a way that it does not close properly. Got it for $5 at a vintage store!

Next, a dragon shawl pin I got because the whole joke that started A Cottage Witch and her Dragon (the cozy story I write! See my pinned post) was about a witch's dragon familiar that transforms into the shape of a shawl pin and rides around on her shawl

A wooden lotus themed shawl pin that's currently downstairs in my rainbow pride shawl and a leaf pin that's got LOTR vibes that I wear with my green oh to be covered in moss shawl and a Celtic knot pin I've never worn that's got witch vibes.

The shawl pin (and shawl) I am currently wearing: a treble clef design with a stick that goes through the fabric to secure it

A bunch of flower shawl pins. The college I went to when I was 16-18 had a bunch of Japanese cherry blossoms because the city's sister city in Japan had gifted them and so cherry blossoms are nostalgic for me. There'd also a blue version of the above lotus and a pretty purple shawl pin that my best friend has a matching blue version of!

These are a little too wide to be shawl pins except maybe for bulky weight shawls with a loose gauge but they are pretty so I included them

Some fake Jade hair sticks I just found pretty but have never actually used

My fun shawl pins, a bee themed one (of course) and a cat shaped one (of course)

That's all of them I think! It was fun to go through them! Maybe I should look for a lotus shawl pin again. The wooden ones are pretty but I want an actual two piece shawl pin or hair slide that's a lotus.

[sharkyswaters]

[lovingmayday]

STREET RACER! HOBIE x STREET RACER! READER

warnings : illegal street racing, gambling, cursing, suggestive

notes : this one's not that much focused on street racing anymore. im so very normal about him, cant you tell?

part 1 ☆ part 2

first off, street racer hobart brown is a menace. did i mention that or was i too busy gushing about him last time?

street racer hobie loves getting a reaction out of you, commenting on things he knows would rile you up. and he can read you absurdly easily

street racer hobie and you make seperate bets aside from the main one. like if you win, he does whatever you tell him and if he wins, you do whatever he tells you. and if neither of you win, its a draw and its boring so either of you have to win

if you won, you'd probably ask him to let you drive his car around for a week or so. and if he won,, well...

"What?" you ask, though it was more of a rhetorical question, if anything. You heard him loud and clear, you just couldn't believe it.

He had his distinct smug grin on his face as he takes steady steps backward to his car. "'Said I'll pick you up at 8. Wear somethin' nice and casual, yeah?" he says with his back finally against his restored vintage on wheels, smirking at your heated face.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and opened your mouth, your words delaying by a bit. "You're not gonna stick around for my answer?"

"Won the bet, didn't I? It's set in stone," he muses, switfly entering his car. "Later."

he took you to a gwen stacy concert (gwen is a referred to as "maybe the most influental musician – the greates artist – of our generation" in earth-138) and you both had a great time

pretty obvious when you woke up that morning in your apartment and in the comfort of his arms

it was another date, then a third and a fourth then the next until you both just couldn't stay away from one another anymore

you know how in wwe, fights are rehearsed and they don't act the same behind the camera? it's half something like that. your races are genuine but your behavior with each other isn't

all hostile and aggressive near crowds and never ending insults and mockery from both sides. none of the audiences knew how much street racer hobie loved eating your face behind the curtains

"Hob–" you manage to gasp out between kisses. Your was hand clutched on his vest as his hand behind your head deepens the kiss. A surprised moan escapes past your lips when you feel his knee between your thighs.

You start to become more light-headed. He starts trailing the kisses down to your neck and you reward him with a few soft mewls.

"H-Hobie, we're late. Stop." You try to push him away, your hands on his shoulders but he intertwines them with his' and pins them against the wall.

His lips return to yours' once again, exhaling contently before he departs. "I don't think you want me to stop either, love," he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. You slowly open your eyes to see him smiling.

It wasn't his usual smile — there wasn't an ounce of teasing in it. It was gentle with affection and intimacy. You sigh and plant a short kiss on his. "Wouldn't they be suspicious if we bailed at the same time?"

"Would you care if they did?" he asks, moving your hands to rest around his neck as he puts his' around your waist, pulling you both unbelievably closer. You consider it and give him a small peck before shaking your head. "That's my girl."

[sillycourtjester]

Love this vintage german pin

[/Image description: Pin slash button with yellow background. Centered on the pin, is a red spiked circle with a cartoonish face is sticking out its tongue. German words on the outer edge are printed in all capital black font. On the top it reads: 'HETEROSEXUELL?' On the bottom it reads: 'NEIN DANKE!' This translates directly to: 'HETEROSEXUAL? NO THANK YOU!' End image description./]

[karmilleryn]

I collect enamel pins, and I love AFTG.

So a little while ago, I got the “yes or no” pin (link not working, but it’s from “godotshop” on Etsy), and I love it. (Also, my sister who has not read these books and knows nothing about them saw that pin the other day and called the Exy racquets “lacrosse sticks” and I had to be That Kid™ and correct her and try to explain lol.)

And the other day, I got the “chosen family” pin (link not working, but it’s from Pinultimate’s website) and I love it and obv it was very fitting for AFTG so I put it with the other one.

Also the other day, I got the ace colors ice cream pin (link not working, but it’s from “TheGeekStudio” on Etsy - they do ice cream with lots of different sets of pride flag colors, and they do it with books too so I got one of those too, and some other stuff too!), and I love it and it again felt very fitting for AFTG because the ace colors for Neil and the ice cream for Andrew (and I just read a couple different posts the other day about the scene where Andrew and Neil have a moment and then eat ice cream lol) so I put it with the other ones.

And then today at a booth at a little outdoor vendors/vintage/gifts market, I found the pin with the fox with a knife (link not working, but nessa.smiles on Insta), and that is PEAK AFTG, so of course I had to get it and put it with the other ones 😂😂😂

And they’re all just so cute and perfect together so I just had to share 😊

[allisluv]

Annie's style is like mermaidcore but mostly on the seashell and knots, leather jacket over it and black eyeliner on the eyes, colourful eyeshadow (green blue and purple mostly). She doesn't need blush, her sunburn is enough. She has seashell clips on her hair and those with the flowers like 🌺,I forgot their name. Her style manages to be edgy even when it's like the most fantasy thing from a mermaid tale. Vintage jewelry, some pirate elements if she's in the mood, those babydoll shirts, tanks, corsets, mesh material. Like some shiny summer mermaid outfit with the spider mascara lashes and the shiny colourful eyeshadow and trow a leather blazer over it. She also absolutely loooves long skirts, but in d4 is so hot that she just can't wear them😭😭 And it like bothers her bc it bothers her aesthetic

Mags' is costal grandmother. Khaki pants, cozy beige and white sweaters, white button ups and white and blue Floral dresses. I can just imagine her in one of those costal houses on the porch drinking her coffee on the sunset in a cozy sweater, her gray hair in a sunburst pin. And her making dinner for the other victors when they meet up, and using those white sets with the navy flowers on them with the little cups and dishes.

For Finnick I think he loves sweaters. Turtlenecks for winter. Idk if its just the shirt from the quell reaping but I just imagine him with sweaters. And light blue jeans, baggy with a black basic belt. Then from those leather jackets with fluff underneath them. And for summer I think basic shirt from those with the vintage graphics, with the soft cours on them. And cargo jorts or the light denim again. But hell also have seashell necklaces (from Annie) and some chain or rope on his neck. I think he also has ear piercings and looses his earrings in the sea bc he always forgets they're on. And he also has a hoodie that is extremely soft, like the ones with the plush inside that are really warm and wears it when it gets dark outside. And when Annie falls asleep he puts in on her so she doesn't get a cold. And he always forgets to put on a cap. Or when he puts one it's turned around and Mags llectures him about it.

-🎸

anon you never miss!!

i dont think annie can stick with one aesthetic so she just mashes them all together and somehow it works

mags is knitting in her rocking chair, with a cardigan draped over her shoulders—also youre so right about the dinner sets!

finnick is a sucker for turtlenecks. he has so many of them. i can also see him being really into those flowy almost blouse shirts and he leaves them unbuttoned.