#4091

[warehouse-staff-blog]

こんにちは 名古屋店 コジャです。

初期のスキブ、 【U.S.NAVY】仕様のオリジナルボディを忠実に再現した、 Lot 4091《SKIVVY SHIRTS》の新作プリントが届きました。

WAREHOUSE & CO. Lot 4091 USN SKIVVY SHIRTS CASU ＼6.930-(+ tax)

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【Vinatge】

CASU-35 は(Carrier Aircraft Service Unit);アメリカ海軍の空母航空サービス部隊のこと。

第二次世界大戦中の太平洋戦争中に海軍航空機の作戦を支援するために編成された部隊です。 1942 年から 1946 年にかけて航空機の修理と保守のために69の空母航空サービス部隊が編成されました。 最初の部隊は真珠湾海軍基地に配備されました。 CASU-35,は1944年にマーシャル諸島のエニウェトク環礁に配備されました。 そのクルーの間で結束を高めるために作られたTシャツであることがわかる「ALL STAR」という文字が印象的です。

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. . .

WAREHOUSE & CO. Lot 4091 USN SKIVVY SHIRTS KISKA ＼7.260-(+ tax)

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【Vinatge】

KISKA ATTU LEYTE HAWAII KWAJALEIN OKINAWAと太平洋戦争時に日本と熾烈な戦いを経験した島に赴いた第7歩兵師団の米兵が着用し自ら描いたTシャツです。 このように長く辛い兵役の思い出にTシャツに手書きをする兵士も多かったようです。 真ん中に描かれているのが第7歩兵師団のインシグニア（部隊章）です。 裾に紐通しがついた海軍のスキブに陸軍の柄が描かれているところも戦時中ならではです。

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. . .

ランドリーホールが施されていたり、 独特のムラ感で肌触りが癖になるやや薄手の生地感など。

[Vintage]

[Lot 4091]

気になる詳細を過去のBlogにて載せていますのでこちらも御覧下さい。 【WAREHOUSE&CO. / Lot 4091 USN SKIVVY SHIRTS】 https://warehouse-staff-blog.tumblr.com/post/660294245012373504/warehouseco-lot-4091-usn-skivvy-shirts

是非店頭でLot 4091の魅力を感じて下さいね。では失礼致します。

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☞ [営業時間のお知らせ]

平素よりウエアハウス直営店をご利用頂き有難う御座います。 ウエアハウス直営店では営業を下記の通り変更しております。

《2024.7.7.現在の営業時間》

◎東京店　【営業時間：平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】無休 ◎阪急メンズ東京店 【営業時間：平日 12時～20時　土日祝 11時～20時】無休 ◎名古屋店【営業時間： 平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】水曜定休 ◎大阪店　【営業時間： 平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】 無休 ◎福岡店　【営業時間： 平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】 無休 ◎札幌店　【営業時間： 11時～20時】  木曜定休

今後の営業時間等の変更につきましては改めて当ブログにてお知らせ致します。 お客様におかれましてはご不便をお掛けいたしますが御ご理解の程、宜しくお願い申し上げます。

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☞ 『WAREHOUSE直営店の LINE公式アカウント開設』

WAREHOUSE&CO.直営店からのお得な情報や、エリア限定のクーポンなどを配布しています。

LINE公式アカウント開設にあたり、 2019年3月26日（火）以降、提供しておりましたスマートフォンアプリはご利用できなくなっております。 お手数をおかけしますが、今後はLINEアカウントのご利用をお願いします。

ご利用されるエリアのアカウントを「友だち登録」して下さい。 ※WAREHOUSE名古屋店をご利用頂いているお客様は【WAREHOUSE　EAST】をご登録下さい。

※直営店のご利用がなければ【WESTエリア】をご登録下さい。

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☞[リペアに関して]

弊社直営店で行っておりますジーンズ等のリペアの受付を休止させて頂いております。 ※ご郵送に関しても同様に休止させて頂いております。再開の日程は未定です。

ご迷惑お掛け致しますが、ご理解下さいます様お願い致します。 ※弊社製品であればボトムスの裾上げは無料にてお受けしております。お預かり期間は各店舗により異なりますのでお問合せ下さい。

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☞WAREHOUSE公式インスタグラム

☞WAREHOUSE経年変化研究室

☞“Warehousestaff”でTwitterもしております。

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー

WAREHOUSE名古屋店

〒460-0011 愛知県名古屋市中区大須3-13-18

TEL：052-261-7889

《2024.7.7.現在の営業時間》

【営業時間：平日 12時～19時、土日祝 12時～19時】

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #4091

So let me get this straight, in a book series where the story will go into graphic detail about how the cats rip each other apart and describes things like rivers of blood, but somehow it's the age gap relationships that cause the massive controversies?? Bruh what the fuck

And don't give me that "the cats are basically people" bullshit because last time I checked, people don't live in the woods running on all fours and eating mice.

[bobbie-robron]

Classic ED schedule, week 22 (2024)

Terry is devastated when Louise breaks up with him and later even more so seeing it’s because of Matthew. Cain refuses to put pressure on the Sugdens for Jimmy (as a courtesy to Debbie). Terry gives Matthew a well-deserved punch while Louise is hurt by the villagers reactions. When the bank refuses to give a loan to Pollard, Val seeks help from Diane. A woken Scott ensures Zoe is arrested… for attempted murder but she still gets bail. Laurel as well as Sadie return. Jasmine is disapproving of Ashley and Laurel. Emily allows Paddy to moved back due to his financial situation but with rules. Sadie hatches a plan against Jack using a corrupt councillor. Cain leaves Sadie panting… under she learns he killed her dog. Delilah Dingle arrives in a wedding dress.

UK START TIME FOR THE WEEK: 1:30PM

27-May: 07-Jul-2005 (4091), 06-Jul-2005** (4092)

28-May: 07-Jul-2005 (4093), 08-Jul-2005 (4094)

29-May: 10-Jul-2005 (4095), 11-Jul-2005 (4096)

30-May: 12-Jul-2005** (4097), 13-Jul-2005 (4098)

31-May: 14-Jul-2005** (4099), 15-Jul-2005** Welcome Delilah Dingle! (4100)

**Robert appears in the episode (33 episodes remaining after this week with Karl!Robert)

COMING NEXT WEEK (barring preemptions): Matthew ends things with Louise. Debbie wants Emily to move into Wishing Well. Sam returns yet again. Zoe pleads her innocence in court. An expecting Alice turns back up in the village. Robert and Jimmy plot against Jack and Andy.

[azeternasims]

frankenhairs!

these aren't my usual style and it's a bit of a random selection but i have these sitting around and i want them to be free!

all hairs come in EA colours and @simandy's puppy crow unnaturals, and work on all frames!

plasmahawk and scrunglytree hairs

just a couple of frankenmeshed hairs i made for @plasma-tree! not much else to say about them

~ plasmahawk: 6914/3501/1290/515 polys ~ scrunglytree loose: 4302/1973/788/493 polys ~ scrunglytree tucked: 3769/1682/671/419 polys

delamoira addons

some addons for @marsosims's dela and moira hairs! including: ~ puppy crow unnatural recolours (these require the original hairs) ~ bangs and ombre overlays (in occult cheek slots to match my other overlays, requires CASUnlocks) ~ a bun, frankenmeshed with @joliebean's clementine hair ~ a swept forward version for big hoodies and jackets ~ a version for hoods (warning, it looks ridiculous without them)

~ delamoira bun: 11090/6156/3838/1462 polys ~ delamoira split: 5082/4065/1963/1530 polys ~ delamoira hoodie: 5082/4091/1859/874 polys

download: sfs ~ drive ~ tou

i wanna make more of my normal style of hairs too but with how slow i make them they should be ready by the end of october 👀🦇

<3

[margowritesthings]

BITE ME

pairing: Vampire!Arthur Morgan x Human!f!reader word count: 4091 words warnings: 18+ minors DNI, explicit sexual content, explicit language, piv intercourse, fingering (r receiving), biting and blood play, vampire feeding authors note: happy halloween my loves! this is a day late, but time isn't real anyway so we can all just pretend it is yesterday... right?? anyway, this au is now living rent free in my mind. i'm obsessed.

taglist:@cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries@delilah-grimes@mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i @sickvictorianangel

beta read by @cowboydisaster, divider by @saradika

The wooden panels nailed to the broken windows of the manor allow for tiny slats of moonlight to invade onto your skin, bathing you in a white glow. Peering through the gaps, you can see the distant campfire those bastard Pinkertons set up down by the swamp, but you know they’re surrounding you, boxing you into Shady Belle like fish in a barrel. 

It’s been three days of a stalemate, the Pinkertons keeping their distance, brave enough to come with guns and firepower but just cowardly enough to not advance towards the monster they’ve heard only legend of, lest he rip their throats out and drain their life away. No, they’d rather wait around until they can drag his starved body out and be hailed heroes.

That “monster” sits mere feet away from you leaning against the wall, pale skin paler still, his chin tilted upwards as he fights the weight of his own skull. It’s killing you, watching your Arthur grow weaker by the hour. Three days of hiding out in Shady Belle, unable to leave for fear of being hunted for sport, but it’s been much longer since he last fed. They have you trapped, completely and truly. If Arthur held even half his usual strength, it would have been so easy to escape. He’d have overpowered them in seconds, no matter their numbers or firepower. But for that, he’d need to feed on the blood of another, which has made things much harder.

You try to relax your worried features when you see him start to wake, rubbing the crease out from between your eyebrows formed by the frown you hold whenever you watch him sleep, too scared to look away in case he stops stirring. 

“Arthur…” You whisper on an exhale, quickly moving to sit beside him on the little bed. As always, his skin feels like marble, cold enough to seep through his shirt and scatter goose pimples over your arms. You’re used to the cold, what you don’t like is the thin layer of sweat coating him. Vampires shouldn’t sweat, but they also shouldn’t go so long without feeding, and the thought of this being a symptom of time running out terrifies you more than any number of monsters out camping in those woods.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Arthur shuffles to make room for you, guiding you to rest your head on his hard chest. There’s normally more muscle here cushioning you from his ribcage, but with Arthur so sick you can feel every bone beneath you.

“You get any sleep?”

There’s always the option to lie so he worries less, but Arthur knows you too well for that, so only the truth will have to do.

You shake your head, “Was keeping watch. They haven’t moved, think they’re still shit-scared of you, actually.” 

Absent-mindedly, Arthur’s hand gravitates to the top of your head, stroking your hair in such a way that sends tingles down your spine. Even now, in the midst of perhaps the most danger you’ve ever been in together, his very touch has the power to calm you instantaneously. 

He huffs a laugh, though you notice the slight wheeze to his breath when he does and another pang of worry hits you, “Course they are. Call themselves goddamn hunters, couldn’t catch a cold in Colter…” A pause, where you fill the silence with that tiny little laugh you’ve barely been mustering lately, then, “You should get some sleep, darlin’.” 

“Not tired.” You protest, almost childishly, burying yourself further into Arthur’s chest. In truth, you’re exhausted, and even though he already knows it, you won’t admit it. You can’t tell him that you’re too scared to fall asleep in case you wake up alone, that there’s no point anyway because nightmares of him withering away to nothing here beside you will drag you back awake soon enough. 

You both know this can’t go on for much longer. Something has to be done, and you know you have to be the one to do it. It’s just the convincing… 

“C’mon, baby…” He starts, but you won’t hear it. You’re not going to sleep. You’re going to fix this.

“You have to feed on me.” You blurt out, glad to be nuzzled into your beloved’s shirt so you don’t have to see whatever expression your statement has pulled from him. 

It’s not spontaneous, no sudden solution that has sprung into your mind this very moment. You’ve suggested it before, albeit never so forcefully, Arthur brushing you off like the idea is unfathomable. Explaining that he would never feed from you, terrified he’d lose control and hurt you. He could never hurt you. If there are such things as absolutes, that is one of them, you know it.

“No.” He’s blunt, clearly hoping his tone had enough force to end it there. But you’re strong, your will to keep fighting for him an everlasting force enough to match his. 

“Arthur-” You unravel from him to sit up and meet his eye, yours pleading, his hardened. 

“Darlin’, I said no. I mean it. I promised you I would never hurt ya’, and shit have I broke a lot of promises in my life… but not that one. N-Never that one. No.” 

“You’re going to die, Arthur. If you don’t do this you’re going to die and you’re gonna leave me all on my own to face those bastards a-and,” Dammit, when did you start crying? “And I can’t do it without ya, Arthur you know I can’t-”

“Yes you can-”

“Well I don’t want to!”  You shout, bursting the bubble of quiet around the Manor, your echo riding the wave of birds flocking out of the trees. Sobs threaten to break your strength, but you have to say this. It’s the very last card you have to play. After a few moments, tension between you growing palpable enough to cut with a knife, Arthur closes his mouth, letting you continue. 

“Arthur, you’re all I have left… You think I’m a sharp enough shooter to get by them? Fine. But say I kill ‘em all, then what? Find somewhere to live and carry on? I ain’t… I can’t lose you, Arthur. But I can save you, if you let me. Please.” 

Time feels as though it stops entirely when you see Arthur actually considering your words. Tears streak your cheeks, but your boots could ignite right on your feet and you might not notice in this moment. He looks so tortured in thought, no doubt imagining the life you would lead if you left him behind. He’s sure you’re strong enough, he knows you can do anything, but his heart breaks thinking of you all alone. 

You reach for Arthur’s hands, feeling his cold skin tremble. 

“I… What if I lose control? What if I hurt you? Sweetheart, you know what I get like when I-”

“But you won’t. You know how much blood I can afford to give you, and I know you, Arthur. You’d never hurt me.” 

You elect not to tell him that any blood that runs through your body belongs to him already, your heart pumping it through your veins only for him. 

You don’t tell him you’d die for him, because you know he’d never let you. 

He’s silent, contemplating. 

Please.

Please.

“...You start feeling faint or anything, you fuckin’ tell me, alright?” His tone holds an attempt at sternness, but it bothers you none. You can hardly hear him for the rush of relief flowing over you. 

“I-I will. I promise.” And you mean it. The two of you are two entwined souls, neither trusting the other to have enough will to keep fighting if anything happened to them. 

Arthur takes a deep breath in, almost like he’s giving himself an extra few seconds to back out of this, before sighing it out. 

“Alright.”

The breath that hitched in your throat an age ago releases and you wipe your tears away hurriedly with the back of your hand. 

“Oh, thank you, Arthur…” You’re so ecstatic, so grateful that he’s letting you save him that all you can do is launch yourself over to him, kissing him with all the passion the universe has offered you to gift him. Your hands fall to either side of his face, caressing his marble skin in a way that emits a tiny groan from him. Over the last few days, you’ve cuddled up to him a lot, but there hasn’t been much contact like this. Needy and wanting, loving and layered with everything from I Love You to Let Me Save You. Arthur is a starved man, but not just for blood. For you, body, blood and soul. 

Arthur snakes one arm around your waist, even with his reduced strength still able to pull you over to straddle his lap. You’d have protested, citing that he’s too sick to be holding your weight like this, but now that this is really happening you’re getting kind of nervous, and the thought of being so close to him, arms wrapped around your frame while he feeds on your blood, comforts you hugely. And there’s no backing out, not from this, so straddle him you will. 

Despite everything, Arthur’s cool touch sets you aflame. He trails his fingertips up and down your spine, his other hand firmly gripping your ass. His tongue teases your bottom lip until you open up to him, tasting him as he does you. He tastes…like Arthur. He might argue that he’s some monster, committing evil acts in the name of survival, but you know better. He’s your Arthur, he always has been. 

The world melts around you, leaving just you and Arthur, loving each other, saving each other. That one long kiss breaks into smaller ones, until Arthur is peppering your lips, cheeks and nose with tiny kisses, glistening red eyes welling with emotion.

“It was always gonna be you, wasn’t it? You were always gonna save me…” He whispers, almost like he doesn’t quite believe it’s real.

“Always. And you’re gonna save me right back, cowboy. But first…” You look down between your two bodies, to the arm you’re holding out to Arthur. 

“Are you ready?” 

“Does it hurt?” You surprise yourself with your answer to his question, though you stand by it. You’re not scared, you could never be scared with Arthur. But nervous?

“A little. But I’m right here with you. And if you need to stop or take a break or you start feeling off, tell me or tap my arm.” You nod slowly, placing your hand into Arthur’s, “I need a yes, sweetheart… I can’t do this to you unless you’re sure.”

“Yes, Arthur. I’m sure. Please.”

There is one final, apprehensive glance in your direction, which you reply to with another tiny nod. He raises your flesh to his mouth, flashes of his white fangs visible now in the moonlight as he parts his lips. 

It’s… strange. A small scratching feeling when his teeth puncture the skin of your wrist that pinches your brows together. There’s a second of nothing, before Arthur starts to feed and steals the breath right out of your lungs. 

It’s like you can feel every vein in your body, all connecting and tugging your lifeforce through to your wrist for Arthur to feast on. You can tell the second the first drop hits his tongue, the shudder that wracks through his shoulders and down his spine. His eyes roll back in… pleasure? You’ve seen him feed before, usually such a violent affair, but this is different. You feel vulnerable to him, and as though you hold every ounce of control all at once. 

When he groans, deep carmine eyes locking onto yours, you feel it all over, your thighs clenching around your suddenly wanting pussy. 

… An unexpected side effect. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the blood rushing around your body, or even the downright ravenous way Arthur is looking at you while he feeds on your blood, but you seem to be physically squirming on the bed, desperate for any kind of friction you can get. Fuck, you’ve never seen anybody react to being fed on like this… Then again, you’ve never seen feeding look or feel like this.

From even the smallest drop of you, what little colour that remains after his change has returned to Arthur’s skin and he looks much closer to alive than just minutes before. He looks himself again, right down to the cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It does maddening things to you, not at all helping your growing state of arousal. 

When his teeth sink out of your wrist, you watch crimson beads pool at two tiny punctures. Without breaking eye contact with you, Arthur lifts your hand back up to him, running the very tip of his tongue agonisingly slowly over the skin, pulling an honest to god whimper from your parted lips.

“You did so good, my good girl…” Arthur coos, an undeniably pleased look upon his face. He’s told you before, that with his heightened senses, Arthur knows when you want him. You also know how energised he gets after feeding, and how all of these factors are leading to a tension so intense between you you’re almost scared of the outcome.

There’s a smudge of blood on Arthur’s lip, one that you reach out to rub away with your thumb. Quick as the predator he is, he grabs your wrist before you can pull away, slipping your thumb into his mouth and sucking the blood gently off. Upon release, he drags one sharpened fang across the pad of your thumb and you shudder, craving that feeling of the bite more than you truly understand.

“A-Arthur…” You whimper, shuddering in pure anticipation and need. 

“I know, sweetheart… Christ, I knew you’d taste good, but this? Fuck, you’ve ruined me, baby…”

You can’t wait a second longer, certain you’ll perish unless he is kissing you in the next moment. Entangling your grip into his collar, you find Arthur only too malleable to your touch, all but pouncing on you, locking your lips together. His tongue demands entrance as he easily positions you to be laying under him, Arthur covering the entire length of you and thensome. 

“How do you feel, angel?” He asks between kisses, large hands roaming your body, tugging your clothes out of being tucked into each other to make it easier to take them off, “Y’alright? Don’t feel faint?”

“I’m okay. I just- I-I need you, please.” You’re pleading again, this time for very different reasons, “Did you get enough?” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, sweetheart…” He growls, pulling the buttons of your shirt open feverishly. And then his lips are back on your skin, kissing your neck, licking at the skin whilst his hands work your zipper. You moan again, some wanton part of you wishing he would bite down again, marking you all over. 

Arthur is losing control in the best way, growling and grinding his erection against your leg as he tries to pull your jeans down. With a little help, he manages, tugging your undergarments with them so you’re completely bare for him. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful… my perfect little feast. Fuck, I’m tortured by every second I’m not buried deep inside that weeping cunt of yours,” At that, he runs a finger over your slit, drenching the tip of his finger in your slick, “but I think you deserve a treat for being such a good girl for me…” 

There’s no time to consider his offer as he plunges two thick fingers deep inside you, curling them, curling them to hit that sweet spot he knows so well. You scream, absolutely loud enough for any Pinkerton vampire hunters to hear.

“That’s it, huh? That what you needed? That pretty little cunt filling?” He taunts, thumb swirling over your already soaking clit. You can’t speak for crying out, but you manage a nod, feeling yourself stretch around a third finger in a way that has your heart racing even faster.

With your pulse pounding, you can really feel the wounds on your wrist starting to ache and burn. It's a strange sensation, but one that seems to blend into everything else in some twisted bout of pleasure.

Arthur must notice your eyes flickering to it, as he guides your hand back up to his lips with the hand not inside you, pressing the softest kisses over the holes in your skin. 

“Look what you did for me… My saviour, my perfect girl…”

“I’d die for you, Arthur.” you confess, the sweetness of his kisses and the languid circles of his fingers pulling you so close to the edge you can feel tears forming behind your eyes.

“It’d never come to that, beautiful. I’d burn the world down before I let your life ever hang in the balance.”

You believe him, too, and the emotion is suddenly too much. You’re hurtling towards an orgasm and you need him closer and all you can seem to think to do is untangle your wrist from his grasp and slip your thumb into his mouth.

He knows what you’re asking for instantly, and you swear you see his inky pupils blow until his eyes are nothing but a reddened void. 

“Oh, my pretty little feast…” He groans, pricking your thumb with a fang and sucking gently at the blood. It isn’t nearly as intense as your wrist, but you still feel that tugging everywhere and you can’t stop the lewd moans that fall from your lips as you come undone. 

Writing, screaming his name, you feel Arthur suck harder on your thumb, moaning himself at the taste of you. It’s not nearly as much as he was taking before, but enough that your blood blooms over his tongue and fills every one of his senses. He is a man obsessed, and it’s the most beautiful sight as you cum for him. 

The waves of euphoria crash over you, each more intense and wonderful than the last. Arthur orchestrates your orgasm through his own pleasure, drawing perfect patterns on your clit in time to his thrusts. 

When you come down, he’s there, releasing you from his fangs again to free his lips for yours. Your lips lock together, his body crushing yours into the mattress. You love the feel of all his weight on you, especially when you can feel every pulse of his throbbing cock through the denim of his jeans. Jeans that must go, so you snake a hand into what little space you can between your bodies to reach for his buttons. Arthur helps you, and he’s soon naked on top of you. Wrapping nimble fingers around his shaft, you run your thumb over the rosy head of his cock, swiping at the bead of precum already leaking. He’s desperate for you, and it drives you wild. 

You’re already guiding him to your soaked entrance, grinding your hips pathetically, needily. Arthur chuckles softly, taunting you with the smallest of hip movements to slide his tip into you, but stopping there. 

“Arthur.” You whine, eyes pleading, cunt dripping for him. Your hands roam the expanse of his back, feeling each muscle twitch under your touch, scratching at the cool skin like a cat in heat. 

“I know, baby, I know… I’ll make it better.” He purrs, finally sliding the entire length of his cock into your heat. It stretches you in that beautiful way only he can and you moan, deep and visceral. Your nails leave white scratches across Arthur’s back as your hands float up to cup his cheeks, pulling him into a deep kiss as his groin presses hard into yours.

“Oh, my beautiful girl… I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’re gonna hear you up in Saint Denis… them Pinkertons out there are gonna think I’m draining every last drop of that sweet blood out of your precious little body.”

Such a violent image, but somehow… you enjoy the thought. You’d bleed for him till the end of time, gladly… you’d lay down your life on a slab and be Arthur’s for the taking. 

You can’t think of the words to tell him how much you want what he’s telling you, letting the passion guide you to bite down on Arthur’s lower lip. A taste of his own medicine. He has no blood of his own to give, but you’re biting down hard enough to have drawn some if he did, dragging another feral grown from the depths of his throat. 

True to his word, with just a few perfectly timed thrusts, you’re screaming his name, cunt fluttering around his thick cock and squeezing every inch of it. That full feeling is so wonderful, so bone-deep and euphoric you’re on the precipice of another orgasm in seconds. He can tell, slowing down and hanging you right over the edge with a wicked grin on his face. You whine and whimper, clawing at the back of his neck to pull him even closer.

“What do you want, little feast? Use your words.” He pushes, still dragging his cock up against your walls in the most torturous of ways. 

“I want… I-I need… I-I… urgh!” You cry out in frustration, each syllable leaving your lips earning another thrust that dizzies you to the point of cock-drunk stuttering. Fuck words. You’ll show him. 

With a strength you didn’t even know you possessed, you pull Arthur closer, guiding him to the crook of your neck. 

“Angel, I don’t know if I can control myself if I taste you agai-”

“Please…” you whimper, rocking your hips up to meet Arthur’s movements, clit grinding deliciously against his pubic bone. 

Arthur’s eyes meet yours and you’re lost in them, convinced you’ve never been held so close to climax for so long before, but your body knows what it wants, what it needs to get there with Arthur. 

“Fuck, if I could die, you’d be the death of me…” Are the last words he speaks before sinking his teeth into your neck, in perfect time with a deep thrust of his cock. You scream, in pain, in pleasure, all of it, finally falling over that cliff and crashing into the waves below. You drown in your orgasm, dragging Arthur down with you as he sucks the sweet ichor out of your veins. With your blood on his tongue and his name on your lips, you cum together. The vibrations of his carnal moans tickle your neck, layering yet another juxtaposing sensation onto you. 

He releases, only to whisper sweet words of praise into your bleeding skin, “Look at you, giving me this… you’re doing so good for me, ain’t ya? My little angel, my good girl…”

And he’s biting down again, and you’re chanting his name, legs wrapped tight around his hips, tears you don’t remember shedding streaking down your cheeks. It feels like you stay there for an eternity, connected mind, body and soul. You would stay there for an eternity with him, if he’d only let you. But that’s another story…

It stings a little when Arthur unleashes his teeth from you, and you wince. His hand is there instantly, caressing the surely reddened skin as his brows pull together, “You okay? I didn’t go too far, did I? Y’feelin’ alright?” 

You shake your head softly, a blissful smile gracing your lips, “I’m perfect.” 

“Damn straight you are.” He remarks, slowly sliding out of you and lowering his weight onto the bed beside you. 

“What about you? How are you feeling?” You ask, entwining your fingers together and holding them up into the moonlight. There's a streak of your blood crossing over a few of Arthur’s knuckles. It suits him. 

“Never better.” He says honestly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you, darlin’. I’ll never be able to thank ya’ enough for what you did, but I promise you I’ll get us out of here alive. Well… y’know what I mean.” 

You giggle, sure you may never get used to the fact that the love of your life is dead. 

“You don’t need to thank me, Arthur. You’ve given me your life a million times, it’s only fair I get to do the same.”

And you mean it. You would do it a thousand times over, giving your life to Arthur while he gives his afterlife to you, saving each other until the end of time. 

[metmuseum]

Goblet. 1791. Credit line: Rogers Fund, 1937 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/4091

[nicksbestie]

Hi! So I have a request for feminine reader “coming out” to Johnnie as an age regressor and he just comforts her and cares for her <3 Really fluffy and sweet pls!

Hope you’re doing well 🖤

thank you so much for the request!! i hope you're also doing well <3 this is written in the third person, but the feminine character isn't named! it made it easier for me to write, i hope you enjoy! <3

Discovery

word count : 4091

warnings : mentions of anxiety and trauma , but no details <3

pairing : johnnie guilbert/reader (romantic)

<3

Johnnie liked to think that he was a good boyfriend, someone that people could trust, could tell anything. He wanted to believe that out of all people, his girlfriend trusted him enough to come to him when she wanted, or needed something. He knew he loved her, and he knew she loved him, but he still had concerns. Like the small, well, it was actually quite big, secret of hers that he’d just discovered. 

He hadn’t been snooping, no. He wouldn’t intentionally do that. However, he had noticed that one of his hoodies had mysteriously disappeared, and had simply been looking for it. He had checked her closet, and had seen it curled up in one of the corners, seemingly pushed as far back as it could be. It didn’t alarm him that it was there, sometimes things fall off of hangers and get nudged up under stuff. What alarmed him, well, alarmed may not be the best word, but it was the only thing he could come up with at the time, was the pile of items that were now visible when he lifted the soft gray sweatshirt off of the floor. 

Baby things? A pacifier, a few stuffed animals, a bottle, and some rattles and teethers?

Confused, would probably be the best word for the situation. His first thought was that she was pregnant, and just hadn’t told him yet, maybe hoping for it to be a surprise. That idea, however, was thrown out when he noticed the size difference of the pacifier in his hand, and a second one on the floor that he hadn’t seen at first. He picked up the other one, and realized one was specifically made for adults. He remembered a fanfiction he’d stumbled across a while back, trying to recall the name of what it had been about.

Age regression. 

So now he knew a name to possibly explain this, but he had no idea what it was really about, so he turned to the internet for help. The first definition to pop up was one from Urban Dictionary, and with lack of experience, figuring anything could help, he clicked the link. 

“Age regression is when somebody reverts to a child-like state of mind, often as a coping mechanism for things like PTSD, depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues. Basically age regressors are more at-peace and worry-free whilst in "littlespace" (A term for when one is in said mindset). These people simply need breaks from the stress of being old and often have a childish personality even outside of regression (Though sometimes it's not as obvious). Contrary to popular belief, age regression is NOT a kink or even related to sexual intercourse whatsoever. Some age regressors refer to themselves as littles and to their significant other as "Daddy", "Mommy", or just as their "Caregiver" Since they'd typically take care of their "Little" as if they're an actual child.”

So his girlfriend was an age regressor. He didn’t feel any kind of disgust, or any type of negative emotion. Except sadness. Continuing to read the description, he realized that age regressors, or, “littles”, needed a caregiver to take care of them, and by the sight of all of her stuff pushed into a dark corner he had a pretty good idea that she didn’t have one. And that broke his heart, that his girl had thought he wouldn’t be open to taking care of her, even in a way that isn’t as common as usual. He deeply hoped that she didn’t feel scared of talking to him, like he would ever judge her or belittle her for something that helped her feel better.

He knew she’d dealt with a lot of trauma in her short life, problems starting at home and feeding into her adult life. She’d told him when they first began officially dating that she was terrified of having an angry man in a house with her, as her strained relationship with family did not help in the slightest. He had held her while she talked, tears had been shed, kisses on her forehead had been placed. It had been an emotional night, and the more he thought about it, the more childlike she had seemed by the end of it. There was no verbal change, but she had clung to him and not said much until she’d finally fallen asleep against him.

He slowly put more pieces together in his head. The cut up food, small snacks, juice boxes that she had claimed “were just easier to drink out of”, the multiple stuffed animals littering their shared bed, the comfort blanket that was always referred to as her “blankie”, no matter what. He smiled as he thought about the way that she had always stayed close to his side in public, clutching his hand tighter to signal that she was nervous. The way she had always relaxed into his side when he wrapped an arm around her, gently rubbing hers, the soft giggles that left her lips when he kissed her forehead and whispered a soft “I love you.” 

He wondered how long she’d been dealing with this alone, and how he didn’t notice. His heart wrenched when he thought about how rough overstimulation and sensory issues were for her to deal with when she was with him, making him not even want to think about her having to handle it alone. And not only alone, but in the mindset of a child, where she might not even understand what was happening, and by default, not know how to care for herself. He could see it far too easily in his mind’s eye, her, curled up with her blanket and a stuffed animal, possibly one of the pacifiers between her lips, tears rolling down her face as she feebly attempted to find a position, a feeling that didn’t hurt, something to soothe the bothersome sensations she was already struggling with. 

He was still in front of the closet, no longer standing, but instead sitting criss-cross, turning the items over in his hands. His hoodie was thrown over his shoulder, the smaller of the two pacifiers being held in his left hand. Peering at it, he could easily see that there was a small fairy on it, wearing a crown. The pacifier itself was an orange and pink color mix, the clear part obviously adjusted to fit an adult, telling him it was often used. Picking up the adult one, he softly ran his fingers over the beads decorating it, reading the lettered ones. He smiled when he saw that it read, “Little Princess”, the black of the letters strongly standing out against the stark white of the bead’s background.

Princess had been his nickname for her for as long as he could remember, even when they were just friends, back before mutual crushes were developed. He felt a small stir in his heart at the fact that it had meant so much to her that she’d put it on a pacifier, one of her most vulnerable things she owned. 

There was no hesitation in his mind when he turned over the idea of being her caregiver, just love that he didn’t think could grow stronger. He sat and thought of possible caregiver names. Mommy was definitely out of the question, but he was partial to bubba/bubby. But the only thing that he really felt fit was daddy. Daddy’s little princess. He just knew that she would blush dark red and let out those little giggles that he loved to hear. God, she was so precious. He hadn’t even seen her in her littlespace, and just the thought of it was so heartwarming to him. He already knew he loved her to pieces. 

She wasn’t home yet, and she probably wouldn’t be for an hour. That gave him about sixty minutes to figure out how he wanted to handle this. No, handle wasn’t the right word. This wasn’t a problem, this wasn’t something that needed to be fixed, it wasn’t something he was angry over. Those words should be included when he brings it up. He knows she’s anxious, and this might be a rough conversation for her. That reassurance is going to be incredibly important. Go about, would be the right phrase. He has to take some time to decide how he wants to go about this conversation. He’s going to have to be gentle, probably cautious, and she might panic. He’s going to have to softly remind her it’s okay, that he still loves her just the same, if not more, and that they need to talk about it, but that it is all going to work out. 

He takes all of the items, now known as little gear, and carefully places them on the bed. He leaves them there, along with her favorite stuffed animal and her blankie, and softly shuts the door. He walks into the kitchen, pulling up his notes app and opening the one filled with her favorite foods. It was now roughly 5:45, thirty minutes gone by, and she was expected home around 6:15. He easily pulled out some mac and cheese, currently the dairy free kind, but if she would rather the better kind, he can always change it. Slipping a new bottle of apple juice into the fridge, he figured it would have time to cool while he waited. 

He wasn’t entirely sure of what else he could make to go with the mac and cheese, but scanning through the list, he quickly took an apple out of the fridge, easily cutting it into thin slices and placing them on a paper plate. He placed it back into the fridge, wondering if the apple-on-apple part of the food would be too much. (He would later find out that it wasn’t, and she loved it. She also asked for animal crackers later, when she was fully in headspace. And it may or may not have been one of the cutest things he’d ever seen.) He watched the clock tick to 6:10, hoping she’d be on time. The mac and cheese was finished cooking, and he was easily putting it in small bowls, the colored ones that they’d always loved. 

She walked in the door at 6:14, face very clearly exhausted, an insanely long day wearing on her body. However, a genuine smile crossed her face as she noticed what was sitting on their counter. Her features softened, tiredness still evident, but love creasing her under-eyes as she smiled.

“Babe, you didn’t have to.” 

He crosses the room, tall body bringing her in for a hug, softly rubbing her back, softly placing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“You’ve had such a long day, I’m more than happy to make you dinner. We’ll eat, and afterwards, we can go cuddle, and relax for a bit. Does that sound good, princess?” 

Just like he expected, the pet name made her flush red, and a small laugh left her lips. He stepped back, both of them sitting down, him beginning to eat. 

“It’s dairy free, but if you’d rather have the other kind, I can make it. It’s no issue, I promise. I just didn’t want your stomach to hurt, especially not after you’ve done so much today. You need some rest, and I didn’t think that a stomach ache would make that easier on you.”

She sat there in shock for a few seconds, a smile still on her face. 

“No, it’s okay. Thank you, so much. I love you.”

“I love you too, darling. Why don’t you go ahead and eat, then you can change into some soft clothes, and I’ll lay with you for a while, yeah?” 

A nod in response, and in about fifteen minutes dinner was finished. He knew that dishes overwhelmed her, so he took care of it while he sent her off to go get changed, become more comfortable, momentarily forgetting about the stuff he left laying out. He didn’t recall it until about five minutes later, when he was wondering why she had gone so silent. He finished up the last piece of silverware, hurriedly throwing it into the dishwasher and starting the cycle, as he quickly got to the shared bedroom. He cursed under his breath when he saw that the door was not only shut, but locked. 

“Baby? Can you open the door, please?” 

He gently rapped his knuckles against the wood, patiently waiting for a reply. He got one in the form of a muffled “no.” He desperately tried to ignore the painstakingly obvious sob in her voice.

“Hey, we need to talk. C’mon, open the door, princess.”

The lock slowly turned, the door slowly swinging open. Johnnie walked in, noticing an empty bed, minus his girlfriend sitting at the head of it, tears pouring out of her eyes at a steady pace. He gave her a soft, sad look sitting down next to her and pulling her in close. 

“It’s okay, love. I’ve got you. Where’s all your stuff, angel?”

She shook her head, tears falling faster. 

“There is no stuff.” 

Johnnie gently ran a hand through her hair, softly shushing her, waiting for her to calm down a little bit.

“Honey, we both know there is, and that we should talk. It’s okay, I’m here. I love you, and I’m not leaving.”

She stifled a sob into his body, desperately wishing she had hidden all of her stuff better. When she’d walked in, she’d stood there in shock, and then quickly shoved it back onto a shelf in the closet. 

“Here, baby, will this help? C’mere, arms up, lovely.”

She brought her face up, noticing he had picked up his hoodie again, softly motioning for her to raise her arms up so he could gently pull the soft sweatshirt over her head. It didn’t make her feel little. Not at all. She ignored the soft, knowing smile on his face, immediately laying back into his arms, because as embarrassed and distraught as she was, she really needed some comfort. Even if it wasn’t the kind that she really wanted.

“Sweetheart, I know what’s going on, and you know that I know what’s going on. It’s okay, my love. I’m not judging you, I’ve always been here for you. And I am confident that isn’t going to change with this.”

He worried that he’d said the wrong thing when her body heaved and she sobbed harder, also clutching his shirt like her life was depending on it. She pulled back, gasping when the gray of his hoodie was stained darker with her tears. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He gave her a confused look, rubbing her back. 

“For what, little one?”

She looked so small compared to him, and he felt nothing but protective over her. Her tears had stopped, but distress was evident on her face.

“For getting your shirt, and your hoodie all wet.” 

He didn’t feel any type of upset with her, but her eyes were watering over as she peered up at him, tears threatening to spill over again.

“Princess, I'm not angry with you for crying. It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry for feeling your emotions, baby.”

A short sniffle was let out, him immediately pressing another kiss to her head. 

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this.” 

“Shh, honey. Deep breaths. Let’s talk, yeah?”

A nod into his chest, but no more spoken words, so he took it upon himself to start the conversation. 

“Alright, princess. I’ll talk, you listen. Just try to even out your breathing, you can interject if you need to. I found all your stuff when I was looking for my hoodie. I would never go to snoop and invade your privacy like that. I feel like that’s important to mention, just so you’re fully aware that I did not intend to scare you by looking for this. Secondly, I know what’s going on, thanks to some research, and I can’t imagine how hard this must have been for you to handle alone.” 

A soft, but confirming, noise elicited from the girl curled up against his chest. 

“That being said, I know you don’t have a caregiver. Can you look at me, angel?” 

Her eyes were still teary, but she raised her head to make eye contact, and he cradled her face in his hands. He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, getting a small smile out of her. It didn’t reach her eyes, but it was better than the semi-permanent frown she’d been wearing. 

“I love you, baby, you know that. I hope that you also know I would do anything for you. Anything at all. Do you want me to be your daddy, little one?” 

A sob tore from the back of her throat, making Johnnie believe he’d said the wrong thing… again. But his fears were calmed quickly this time, when she sucked in a breath, clearly speaking out a “yes”, before dissolving back into cries. He didn’t hesitate to resume comforting her, whispering soft praise and loving words, waiting until her cries slowed into hiccups and gasping breaths, before speaking again. 

“You’ve had such a long day, princess. Why don’t I go run you a bath, hm? I’ll even put bubbles in it, if that’s something you want, and I’ll wash your hair.”

She nodded, but her grip on Johnnie, her daddy, (she was still reeling with the new happiness), didn’t let up. He kissed her once more, helping her wrap her legs around his waist, looping his arms under them, and lifting her. She gently rested her head on his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge just how tiny she felt right now as her thumb slowly began to make its way to her mouth. However, it only took about three seconds for Johnnie to notice, and softly pull it away.

“No, baby, let’s not suck on our thumbs. How about we go grab your paci, sweetheart?” 

He easily moved towards the closet, quickly locating the missing items, grabbing the bigger of the two pacifiers off of the shelf, and gently pushing it into her mouth.  

“Much better, baby girl. You look so adorable, don’t you? Daddy’s little princess.” 

Her arms were now wrapped around his neck, head resting on his shoulder, blush rising furiously to her cheeks as she could feel herself easily slipping into littlespace. 

Why was he so good at this? Maybe it was the gentleness, the softness, but either way, he was so effortlessly coaxing her into headspace. She’d never felt safer than she did right now, and she desperately hoped that she would have this for a long time. 

She didn’t know it, but Johnnie was thinking the exact same thing. She looked so happy, so comfortable, that he wanted to keep her there forever. He took a small amount of pride in being trusted with this, but even more happiness in being the reason she feels safe. 

“It’s okay, angel. I know you’re slipping. Shh, sweetpea, let it happen. Daddy’s got you.”

He loved this girl with his whole heart, and this new side of her didn’t affect that at all. He started a bath, checking the temperature on the inside of his wrist multiple times before softly helping her undress and letting her hold his arm and shoulder to sit herself in the tub. Quickly folding up her clothes and setting them on the side, he stepped out solely to throw a towel in the dryer with some fabric softener, setting it on 20 minutes, and to grab one of the bath toys he’d noticed but not set out previously. 

“Look what I got, bubba! Why don’t you play with this while Daddy washes your hair? Paint me a pretty picture, okay?” 

He gently handed her the set of bath paints, before grabbing the plastic cup he kept in the bathroom. He filled it up with water, pressing his hand along her head to keep the water from going in her eyes as he softly wet her hair. He looked down to see her intensely focused on the colors that were now decorating the bathtub wall, and couldn’t stop the smile crossing his face. He gently shampooed her hair, making sure to keep it out of her eyes as he washed it out, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she took a break from painting and leaned into his touch.

“Alright, sweetie, I’m all done! Wow, that is absolutely beautiful, baby!”

A huge grin spread across her face, now, as she brandished the paintbrush at him, getting a little bit of yellow on the end of his nose. 

“It us, daddy!”

He looked at the artwork, seeing two stick figures holding hands, a blotch of yellow as the sun, and some green for grass. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of it, immediately adding it to his favorites. 

“It’s perfect, angel. C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get out, so we can get some cuddles in before bedtime!” 

Just as expected, a pout formed on her face as the painting was slowly washed away, and the paint on his nose was wiped off.

“It’s okay, princess, Daddy has a picture so he can cherish it forever. Now, tomorrow, when it’s bath time, you can paint me a new one!”

That put a smile back on her face. He grabbed the soft, and warm, towel out of the dryer, wrapping her in it and softly toweling her dry. Grabbing the clothes she’d put on just two hours before, he gently helped her redress, scooping her up and placing her on the sink counter. He bracketed her body with his own so that she wouldn’t fall, setting up her toothbrush for her. 

“I’ll dry your hair while you brush your teeth, okay little one? Let me know if you need some help, princess.” 

Plugging in the hair dryer and being very careful to not have the heat too high or too close, he was about halfway done drying her hair when she finished brushing her teeth, spitting into the sink. He took his other hand, switching the sink on, washing it out, and then passed her the container that held her retainers in it. 

“Here you go, sweetpea. Pop these in, and then you can have your paci to suck on while Daddy finishes up drying your hair, alright?” 

She nodded, easily slipping them in, and he took note of the fact that she was barely verbal right now. He figured it had something to do with the emotions of the night, and wondered how verbal she was usually. He’d find out in due time, but he made sure to give detailed instruction, as well as comfort laced in his words, if it had something to do with fear or anxiety of the situation. 

Passing her the pacifier once she was done, it only took about five more minutes to finish drying her hair, and if he passed the time by singing to her, loud enough to hear over the hair dryer, but not loud enough to overstimulate her, nobody besides the two of them had to know. 

Unplugging the hair dryer and running his hands through her hair to make sure it was fully dry and no shampoo or conditioner was left in it, he picked her up off the counter, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and flipping off the lights on his way out. She let out a yawn into his neck, pacifier falling onto his shoulder. He grabbed it with one arm, the other still supporting her weight, and softly pushed it back into her mouth. She gripped his shirt in a tight fist, a small lisp sounding out around the rubber. 

“I seepy, Daddy.” 

He gently rubbed her back, bouncing her a little bit while he grabbed her blankie and favorite stuffie. 

“Oh, sweet girl, I know. It’s late for such a little one to be up.” 

He softly laid her down, heart breaking a bit when she whimpered and didn’t want to let go of him. 

“I know, angel, I’m here. I promise.” 

He tucked the blankets up around her, laying down next to her and pulling her close for a cuddle. 

“Get some rest, little one. Daddy will be right here when you wake up.” 

He smiled, the expression nearly permanent on his face, as he heard a few words. 

“Loves you, Daddy.” 

“I love you too, princess.”

[oneterabyteofkilobyteage]

original url http://www.geocities.com/Heartland/Valley/4091/ last modified 2008-04-12 09:50:07

[moonbrooke]

my dream address is updated ✨ visit moonbrooke on a rainy spring day at DA-8923-7894-4091

[wallwriterstuff]

A Little Blood Never Scared Me ||Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Female!Reader||

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption/drunkenness. Descriptions of injury, blood and violence. Descriptions of the disconnect between being home and being out in the field. A few swear words and so much fluff near the end your teeth will rot.

Tags: Written (very late, sorry!) for @glitterypirateduck 's October 141 writing challenge because I currently have an unhealthy obsession with Modern Warfare. Prompts used include 2 characters (Gaz and Price), Damsel in Distress, and Taking Care of Each other.

Words: 4091

Summary: It can be difficult to readjust to civilian life without appropriate distractions. Or - the story of how Gaz can't help but play the role of knight in shining armor despite being on leave and meets the best distraction yet.

It’s never easy to come home and rejoin the real world.

Out in the middle of some war-torn territory it’s easy to forget how…mundane, it all is. When he exchanges the hard smoothness of his rifle for the hard smoothness of a whisky tumbler at the local pub it all feels very surreal. There’s nothing more foreign than the flimsy weight of a kitchen knife when your used to a combat blade. Hell, even his nose keeps twitching because the shower gel he uses at home isn’t the same as the standard issue soaps he’s used to at the barracks. He’s gone from scentless to being a human Yankee candle and it’s making his skin crawl almost as much as the clattering of pool balls, pinging in his ears like the deafening roar of a mortar strike. That being said, the burn in his throat is a welcome distraction, as is the company. Price has a way of putting it all into perspective he’s just yet to master and if Kyle has chosen him as his own personal Obi-wan, well, Price doesn’t need to know.

“You called your mum yet?” He asks him, eyes crinkling at the edges as he smirks a bit at Kyle’s obvious wince. Shaking his head, the younger man taps his fingers against the side of his tumbler before lifting it to his lips. He pauses, briefly, eyes lifting to meet piercing, amused blue.

“Will when I’m ready, you know what she’s like.” He sips, savouring the grounding burn in the back of his throat. With his glass safely back on the table he lifts his cap, running a hand over his hair. It’s grown uncomfortable long, definitely not as short as he usually has it, but maybe that’s just him being overly aware of the regulations he doesn’t need to adhere to as much on leave. Price grunts a bit in acknowledgement, watching his sergeant carefully, and Kyle hates the feeling that somehow, he’s being looked through instead of at. Price has always been good at that to, the man’s instincts borderline supernatural, at least in Kyle’s opinion.

“Worrying about her son? How dare she.” There’s not a hint of mockery in Price’s voice but the underlying message is clear to Kyle. Get your head right and call your mother, you prick.

“Think she’s more worried about my sister at this point, what with her due and all.” Kyle deflects him from the crux of the matter with practiced ease, but he knows he only gets away with it because Price lets him. He’s not really sure he wants to delve too deeply into the idea that home feels like coarse sand in his boots and the smell of gunpowder instead of the plush carpets and excessive luxury of a 60-inch TV screen in his apartment.

“Due already? Thought she’d only just got knocked up?” Price’s eyes flicker about, tracking something over his shoulder. Kyle immediately feels his hackles raise but the subtle stiffening of his muscles is something he just about manages to push away with another admittedly large sip of his drink. It’s only someone exiting the bathroom.

“Watch it, might be my Captain but that’s my sister you’re talking about.” He warns lightly. Price grins a bit. Kyle let’s his eyes slide over the pub. They’ve chosen a table off to the side, tucked out of the way of prying eyes in such a position that let’s them see the entire room – not even Price can kick that instinct. There’s a middle-aged couple that appear to be on a date in the corner booth, smiling and ignorant of the world around them. A few rowdy regulars that the bartender dotes on at the dartboard let out another cheer as someone hits something remarkably close to a bullseye. It’s a bog-standard pub all in all, from the exposed wooden beams to the threadbare carpet that reeks of long-spilled booze and something that attempted to clean the spill. Nothing here to fear.

“She ready for the little one to arrive?” Price asks the question as if he has any way of knowing the answer. The disconnect between him and his family after months away is just as surreal to him as the prospect of cooking his own meals again rather than ripping open an MRE and praying it was somewhat edible this time. Price leads the conversation with the mastery of knowing the steps to the dance. It’s an easy routine, a simple one, and it brings him more comfort than he dares say. There’s aimless chatter and there’s noise but not too much noise, a good drink, and a warm atmosphere that almost, almost, mimics the heat of whatever godforsaken dessert he’s traipsed through this time. It’s grounding and mundane and a slow ease back into the reality of what everyday life tends to be when you aren’t being shot at or hanging from helicopters. By the time their three drinks in, Kyle feels less like a rattle snake coiled to strike and a little more human again.

The group at the dartboard have only gotten rowdier, and they’ve stumbled their way back over to the bar for another round. A shared glance is all it takes for Kyle to know this will be their last drink tonight, better to leave before anything kicks off amongst the herd of drunken fools and sets them back into fight or flight mode.

“I’ll call my Mum tomorrow.” Kyle relents finally, meeting Price’s eyes for a tad longer than necessary just to show he means it.

Price gives an approving nod, “Good lad.”

He glances over at the group at the bar, the boisterous laughter turning his head as he watches a woman gingerly skirt her way around them to head for the bathrooms. His eyes narrow in distaste as a particularly loud wolf-whistle makes your head duck and your pace increase. He understands their attraction, you’re easy on the eyes, but you clearly don’t want to be bothered either and he can see the flush on your cheeks is just as much down to embarrassment as it is alcohol consumption.

“Alright, who’s paying then?” He asks, tearing his eyes from your figure once he knows your safely tucked in the ladies out of their eyesight. Price tips his head, reaching for his wallet and producing a coin.

“Call it.”

“Tails.” Kyle’s response is immediate, eyes keenly tracking the coin as Price flips it. Judging by the disapproving grunt and the mild annoyance in his eyes, Price has lost this round, and he can’t stop the smug grin twitching his lips upwards. It falls quickly as he hears the hollering from the crowd at the bar.

“Go on son!”

“Get some!”

“Don’t fumble it mate!”

From the corner of his eye he sees a tall brunette man stumbling his way from the bar, and something about the look in his eyes sets him on edge. It’s almost predatory in nature, the kind of look that you see in nature documents as predators stalk their prey, and he twists his body instinctually to face the oncoming threat before he even fully comprehends what the threat is. He’s not sure what about this drunk buffoon sets him so on edge but he learned early on in his career that trusting your gut was usually the safest option. That and the idiot does look like a bit of a dick.

“Might come up with you to the bar anyway.” He says.

“Suit yourself.” Price’s voice is calm, unbothered, but it’s as natural and easy as breathing to Kyle to put himself as one more barrier between a potential threat and a friend. Neither of them even has a chance to get up from their seats before three things seem to happen at once.

1, you emerge from the bathroom.

2, the brunette man from the bar trips over his own feet.

3, the pair of you collide and create some cosmic chain of knock-on collisions that Kyle has only half a second to decide whether or not he can stop or if he just has to embrace it.

If he doesn’t want a broken wrist, embracing it seems to be his best option.

Fate deposits you in his lap not a second later, ribs cracking painfully against the tabletop and your hand slapping into his glass, even as he tries his best to steady you. You’re both covered in beer from the brunette guy’s drink as it sloshes from the pint glass and onto your clothes, and Kyle wrinkles his nose a bit against the sudden yeasty smell. There’s a sharp cry from both fallen parties and a soft grunt from him as your arse lands not so gently on more delicate areas of his body, but despite the jolt of pain in his thigh and wrists he’s otherwise doing far better than you, though he thinks you’re a bit too shell-shocked from the fall to recognise there’s blood dripping from your hand.

“Way to go Mark!”

“Fumbled it mate!”

The rowdy bar crew irk him more than he lets on as Price hauls up the idiot, Mark. His face is red from a mixture of alcohol, embarrassment, and anger, anger he swiftly lets loose on the three people in front of him. Price holds his hands up in surrender as Mark shirks him off rather violently, almost falling again when he twists too hard and quick in his uncoordinated state.

“Ge’off! You! You made me spill my beer!” The accusing finger pointed your way seems to snap you from your stupor and you wriggle out of Kyle’s gentle grip with wide eyes.

“I didn’t – what?” Your voice is a pitched squeak of disbelief and shock. Kyle stands, grabbing a wad of napkins to press it against your wound. “Ow! Hey! What the – oh my god…” You stare wide-eyed at the rivulet of blood rolling down your arm. It’s soaking through the napkins quicker than Kyle would like.

“Keep your arm up, above your heart. You won’t have hit anything major, it’s just the alcohol thinning your blood.” He reassures you, keeping his touch light and unintrusive. You could easily push his hand away but you don’t, surprised Y/E/C eyes flickering up meet his own.

“You even listenin’ to me you little bitch? I said you owe me another drink!” Mark’s words are so slurred that another drink is clearly a terrible decision for him.

“Oi, leave the lady in peace.” Price suggests. Knowing his Captain has him handled Kyle focuses his attention on you, gently moving the bloodied napkin from your palm. It sticks a bit, and you wince as the coarse material comes free of your broken skin.

“Sorry, sorry…you’re going to need stitches.” He informs you. There’s a jagged line that won’t stop pumping red, the flesh torn open with a glint of glass inside.

“Stitches? Oh no, not needles. I – shit I feel dizzy.” You turn whiter than a sheet at the thought and Kyle’s quick to adjust his grip on you to help you sit, keeping your arm elevated while you put your head between your knees.

“Easy, deep breaths, you’re going to be alright,” he crouches beside you, hearing Price and Mark squaring off behind him, “I’m Kyle. Can you tell me your name?”

“I’m Y/N.” your voice is a little weak. “Sorry for, you know, sitting on you.” Kyle chuckles a little at that, glancing up as Price hands him a towel. Price has angled himself between you two and the drunken fool as his friends come to collect him.

“Don’t worry about it, glad you landed on me and not the table.” He focuses on wrapping the towel around your hand, apologising quietly when the pressure makes you wince.

“Oh no, I landed on that to. I landed on all the things.” You groan a bit, good hand massaging your ribs. Kyle grimaces slightly.

“Can I check nothings broken?” he offers. You look up at him, search his gaze for any ill-intent, and then you nod. He makes sure to give you a reassuring smile as his hand finds your side, fingers gently applying pressure and watching your face for any signs of discomfort. It feels more intimate than is appropriate for a first meeting but your nerves bottle before his does and you look away with pink cheeks, which is a feat in itself because Kyle had been sure you’d lost a bit too much blood to blush like that.

“But she owes me a beer!” Mark is still insistent, even as his friends try to drag him away. Kyle huffs, annoyed now as he glances back at him over his shoulder.

“She owes you about as much as any other woman on the planet. Nothing. Now piss off and sober up mate.” There’s enough warning in his voice that Mark’s more sober friends hurry to comply with the thinly veiled threat.

“You got anyone who can get you to hospital love?” Price asks, standing as still as stone until he’s sure there’s no chance of Mark making his way back to you. Kyle keeps the pressure on your hand, seeing a bit more alertness to your eyes now.

“No, no we’ve both had something to drink.” You grimace, looking at Kyle with big doe eyes he finds more endearing than he’d care to admit. “Do I really need stitches?”

“Yeah, you do, and for someone to pick the glass out the wound,” Kyle’s smile is a tad sympathetic now, “But the good news is your ribs aren’t broken. You may have landed on all the things but you’re not too bad off for it.” His light teasing brings a twitch of a smile to your lips, a smile that quickly falls as Price questions if you have friends or a partner here to go with you. Though your eyes search the pub thoroughly, they fill with frustration and regret when you see no familiar face in sight.

“No…I was on a date,” you look a bit embarrassed to admit it, “Guess he snuck out while I was in the bathroom.” Kyle tilts his head slightly, carefully helping you to stand when you attempt it.

“More fool him, look at all the fun he could be having.” He says it just to see you smile, enjoying the tinkling of your laughter in his ears.

“Oh, bucket loads right? Christ…that stings.” Your smile falls away into a wince again, and though he knows he’ll get shit for it later from Soap when Price inevitably tells him, he can’t stop the offer from tumbling out of his mouth.

“I’ll go with you then.”

You sigh, “It’s okay, really, no need to ruin your night any more than I have.”

“Who said you’d ruined my night? Come on, let’s get you seen to.” He’s already gently guiding you out of the pub with Price on your other side, knowing you’re likely to protest anyway from the look on your face. You pause only to grab a jacket from your table before the cold night air envelopes you, Kyle keeping your arm up and sticking close to ensure your warm enough – the last thing he wants is you going into shock on him.

“Are you sure?” you ask for the hundredth time. Kyle silences you with a single look that has a shudder crawling up your spine, one he can feel ripple into him since you’re standing so close, and he feels a little smug at the reaction he gets from you. He’s seen your eyes lingering once or twice to, and he’s starting to thank whatever’s watching over him the evening took this turn.

“Gaz!” Price calls his name and Kyle turns to see him standing, holding open the door of a cab not 50 yards down the road. Bundled in the back of a cab that’s probably breaking a few speeding laws to get you both to a nearby hospital, he feels those instincts tugging at the back of his mind, trying to claw him back into work mode. There’s blood, there was the threat of violence, and it’s got all of his hackles raised a bit, even though he’s trying to be soft with you. You’re clearly in pain and still a little shocked by the nights events and he doesn’t want to be too stoic or too harsh and make it worse, so he focuses on the gentle smell of your perfume and the softness of your hair tickling the side of his face. It crosses his mind then you might be uncomfortable with his proximity, and he subtly tries to shift away only to find you follow him, naturally wanting more of his warmth as the blood loss and shock make you feel cold.

“Just to be clear, I don’t usually do this.” You say softly. Kyle glances at you with a raised eyebrow, your voice and the rumbling purr of the engine is all quiet and helps soothe some of his louder thoughts right now.

“You don’t usually bleed all over strangers at the pub? A shame, I was looking for someone who shared my hobby.” He tries to joke, feeling a bit rusty and out of practice, and realises too late how goddamn creepy that probably sounded. He’s thankful to hear your quiet laughter.

“No, well, yes, I don’t do that either, but I meant hopping into cabs with strangers.” You nudge his side lightly with your elbow and he relaxes a little more.

“We exchanged names and I’m covered in your blood, not sure we can call ourselves strangers anymore, more like…strange acquaintances.” He suggests. You hum in agreement at that, and you lapse back into silence with him once more. It’s a strangely comfortable one, but then again Kyle’s never really been a man of many words. He keeps half an eye on the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the pallor of your skin. Your bathed intermittently in warm orange light from the street-lights outside, and his breath hitches a little in his chest. Maybe it’s been a little too long since he was allowed to think of anything other than what the next target is, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take the opportunity to admire the way your long lashes brush your cheeks, or the perfectly shaped outline of full, painted lips.

“Thank you, for coming with me.” You look up at him, your smile so sweet it makes his stomach flip. It really isn’t the best of circumstances, he knows so, but he rarely gets the chance to charm a pretty woman and, well, your night’s been a bit shit, so he feels obligated to cheer you up some.

“When a pretty woman falls into your lap, you’d be amiss to pass up the opportunity to play knight in beer-stained armour.” He chuckles. He’s taking most of the weight of your arm but he ignores the discomfort in his own. Your eyes are pinched with pain, and he can only imagine how badly your sliced palm must be throbbing, knowing from his own encounters with combat knives how deeply the sting of a cut can run.

“Bold of you to assume I’m a damsel in distress. I sliced open my hand perfectly well without your help.” You quip back. Kyle grins. You’ve got a wicked tongue and the wit of the devil. As the cab pulls up, he tips the driver an extra £20 before helping you into the accident and emergency ward. It’s crammed wall to wall, every chair full and an excess of patients standing around, and the strong burn of disinfectant in his nose has him taking slightly shallower breaths to avoid the smell as best he can. You look even paler under the fluorescent lighting and he’s determined to get you seen to quickly, the bright red of the blood-soaked towel on your hand standing out starkly in this pristine white place.

You give your name and details, checking in with the receptionist who looks at your hand like she wishes it would disappear from her line of sight, and then your led to an over-flow waiting room where there’s a chair hurriedly snapped open for you and the promise of a nurse seeing you quickly. Kyle crouches beside you again, looking over the mess of blood and beer on the pretty dress you’d been wearing that night, and quietly wonders how your date found enough faults in you to run out. For the five minutes he’s known you Kyle’s found you to be attractive and quick-witted, a good sense of humour, so he can’t imagine the conversation was that bad.

“Do you want some water?” he offers, thumb jerking to the water cooler not too far away. You nod a bit and leaves you with your hand raised to go fetch you both a cup. He watches you sip it slowly and he does the same, eyes flickering to find all the nearest exits out of habit. You’re like a magnet though, a beacon burning brightly in the night, and he finds his gaze quickly drawn back to you. The bubble you two have created is one of quiet comfort, the kind that warm blankets on cold days provides and is found in the deep hearts of forests or the embers of dying fires.

“This really doesn’t bother you, does it?” you question, pulling him from his thoughts. He glances up at you from his spot crouched beside you, head cocking. “This. Blood, hospital trips, confrontation. You’ve been completely unphased by this from the start.” You elaborate on your thoughts and Kyle finds himself blinking in surprise, adding the word observant into the file with your name on that he’s starting to compile in his mind. He’s almost reluctant to say what he knows is the answer to your unspoken question, knowing it’s often a crossroads for all relationships waiting to form in his life. He doesn’t want to give up the soothing balm that is you just yet. There’s just enough intrigue to make him want to know more, and yet he braces himself for the rejection he’s sure is inevitable from such a sweet thing as you.

“I’m a soldier.” He almost holds his breath once the truths out. The rest of the sentence can remain unspoken, you don’t need him to tell you of the horrors and misery he’s seen, everyone knows what soldiers see even if they don’t talk about it. You surprise him once more.

“Ah, I see.” The quiet acknowledgement is just that, a statement of fact that promises he’s been heard without delivering judgement, and he feels there’s hope he might still have a chance at knowing you.

“That bother you?” he just has to be sure.

You smile a bit, “Depends, are you here because you’re duty bound to protect innocent civilians?”

His head tilts a bit; he sees that inquisitive little gleam in your eyes, a spark of interest, and he catches it quick with the intent of nurturing that spark into roaring flame. His head’s completely quiet now. He feels like he can go back to the silence at home and survive it if only your voice fills the empty space instead.

“No…here because I think that what tonight’s shown me, is your hand fits nicely in mine.” The line is absolutely terrible and he knows it, but the way you fluster and smile at the ground has his own grin widening. When the nurse calls your name, you look up to her, then back at him, biting your lip. For the first time that night, you don’t try to be brave, you let him see your apprehension and offer him your good hand, wanting him to come with you.

“Prove it.” You say.

Kyle does, and when he returns to his apartment in the early hours of the morning, he can still feel the warm imprint of your lips on his cheek. Your perfume has stale beer has cloyed in his nose and the imprint of you is behind his eyelids when he closes them to try and sleep. The echo of your laughter rings in his ears and the reminder of your smile as he’d suggested late night waffles at a dessert place nearby your apartment. The phone on his nightstand seemed to hum with anticipation of using your now saved number tomorrow.

It's never easy coming back to the real world, but the real world certainly has it's perks.

[warehouse-staff-blog]

Lot 4091 USN SKIVVY SHIRTS 【2023 S/S & MID SUMMER】

こんにちは 名古屋店 コジャです。

春夏・盛夏のSKIVVY T-SHIRTSが入荷しました。

. . .

WAREHOUSE & CO. Lot 4091 USN SKIVVY SHIRTS USN ＼6.930-(with tax)

プリント、見えてますか？笑

ネイビー以外は今までにないくらいの薄っすらステンシルプリント。

炙ったら出てきた感。

よく見るとプリント物という。 無地でもなく無地っぽくもあり。

"USN"自体は聞き馴染みがありますが、 掠れた上に薄いのが最大のポイント。

NVYボディーのプリントもこのボディならではで良い雰囲気です。

. . .

WAREHOUSE & CO. Lot 4091 USN SKIVVY SHIRTS SAM BURKS ＼7.260-(with tax)

バックプリントのステンシルスター（←勝手に呼んでいるだけですので(^_^;)）。

バックネック付近にちょこんと入るお星様。 小さくとも星を見かけるとグッと惹かれます。

さり気ない最高の味付けがセンス爆発してますねぇ。

フロント胸元の小振りなステンシルも◎

. . .

WAREHOUSE & CO. Lot 4091 USN SKIVVY SHIRTS S.H.S. ＼6.930-(with tax)

「S.H.S.」は過去にも異なるプリントでリリースしたことがありますが、 その時も【NAVY】関連だったのでこちらもそれにあたるかと思います。

このボディーへのステンシルプリント、 更に【海軍】関連となると相乗効果で雰囲気マシマシですねぇ。

. . .

WAREHOUSE & CO. Lot 4091 USN SKIVVY SHIRTS U.S.N.88 ＼6.930-(with tax)

こちらも【U.S.NAVY】のプリント。

両面ステンシルで、 フロント左胸にワンポイントで[U.S.N.]。

バックプリントは潜水艦から放たれる魚雷のように感じますが、 皆様はどのように捉えましたか？

. . .

全てステンシルプリント。

スキブTEE（SKIVVY）、 所謂、海軍の肌着のこのボディに落とし込むステンシルプリントは相性抜群。

サイズ感は身幅にゆとりのあるパターンですが、名古屋店スタッフはいつものサイズ選びをオススメしております。

☆のプリントに目の無い私はやはり「SAM BARKS」推し。

179cm,69kg SIZE:42(NON WASH)

髙木はSKIVVYが気になるようで、 どのプリントにするか迷っています。

173cm,60kg SIZE:40(NON WASH)

髙木が何を選んだか答えを知りたい方は是非名古屋店へ～。

皆様はどれに反応しましたか？ 是非店頭でも御覧になって下さい。

では失礼致します。

-----------------------------------------------------

☞[LINE FAIR]

期間：2023年8月11(祝・金)～2023年9月10日(日)

条件：WAREHOUSEのLINE公式アカウントをお友達登録していただいているお客様が対象、且つ、御精算前にWAREHOUSEの公式LINEアカウント画面の提示

特典：恒例の特典

※WAREHOUSEの公式LINEアカウントをお友達登録して頂いているお客様が対象となります。 WAREHOUSEの公式LINEアカウント未登録のお客様はお会計の際に御登録頂ければ特典付きで対応させて頂きます。

※オンラインショップや通信販売、ビンテージ商品、及びセール商品は対象外となります。予めご了承下さい。

☞ [営業時間のお知らせ]

平素よりウエアハウス直営店をご利用頂き有難う御座います。 ウエアハウス直営店では営業を下記の通り変更しております。

《2023.8.13.現在の営業時間》

◎東京店　【営業時間：平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】無休 ◎阪急メンズ東京店 【営業時間：平日 12時～20時　土日祝 11時～20時】無休 ◎名古屋店【営業時間： 平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】水曜定休 ◎大阪店　【営業時間： 平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】 無休

■ ウエアハウス大阪店は準備の為、営業時間を変更します ◎ 2023年8月11日（金、祝日）～13日（日）／12時～18時 ◎ 2023年8月14日（月）～8月19日（土）／12時～19時 ◎ 2023年8月20日（日）／12時～18時 ◎ 20238月21日（月）／15時～19時

◎福岡店　【営業時間： 平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】 無休（※【2023/8/16(水)】は臨時店休日） ◎札幌店　【営業時間： 11時～20時】  木曜定休

今後の営業時間等の変更につきましては、 改めて当ブログにてお知らせ致します。 お客様におかれましてはご不便をお掛けいたしますが、 ご理解の程、宜しくお願い申し上げます。

.

☞ 『WAREHOUSE直営店の LINE公式アカウント開設』

WAREHOUSE&CO.直営店からのお得な情報や、エリア限定のクーポンなどを配布しています。

LINE���式アカウント開設にあたり、 2019年3月26日（火）以降、提供しておりましたスマートフォンアプリはご利用できなくなっております。 お手数をおかけしますが、今後はLINEアカウントのご利用をお願いします。

ご利用されるエリアのアカウントを「友だち登録」して下さい。 ※WAREHOUSE名古屋店をご利用頂いているお客様は【WAREHOUSE　EAST】をご登録下さい。

※直営店のご利用がなければ【WESTエリア���をご登録下さい。

.

☞[リペアに関して]

弊社直営店で行っておりますジーンズ等のリペアの受付を休止させて頂いております。 ※ご郵送に関しても同様に休止させて頂いております。再開の日程は未定です。

ご迷惑お掛け致しますが、ご理解下さいます様お願い致します。 ※弊社製品であればボトムスの裾上げは無料にてお受けしております。お預かり期間は各店舗により異なりますのでお問合せ下さい。

.

☞WAREHOUSE公式インスタグラム

☞WAREHOUSE経年変化研究室

☞“Warehousestaff”でTwitterもしております。

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー

WAREHOUSE名古屋店

〒460-0011 愛知県名古屋市中区大須3-13-18

TEL：052-261-7889

《2023.8.13.現在の営業時間》

【営業時間：平日 12時～19時、土日祝 12時～19時】水曜定休 ※2023/8/16（水）は12時～19時で営業します。

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Unearthed Fears

by Beth4LC After a few sleepless nights, Jason's ready for a change of pace. Meanwhile, Dick works to find a balance in his relationship with this little-kid version of his brother. Words: 4091, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 7 of Soft Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Additional Tags: Nightmares, Late Night Conversations, Batfamily (DCU), Domestic Batfamily (DCU), Age Regression/De-Aging, Kid Jason Todd via https://ift.tt/fcBN61J

[sexylonestar]

Sock # 4091

[ao3feed-tf2ships]

Baguettes n Bacon

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/58017640

by Her_AngelEyes

Engie and Spy's daily life 4 months in.

Words: 4091, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of Mpreg Spy series

Fandoms: Team Fortress 2

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Engineer (Team Fortress 2), RED Engineer (Team Fortress 2), Spy (Team Fortress 2), BLU Spy (Team Fortress 2), BLU Team (Team Fortress 2)

Relationships: Engineer/Spy (Team Fortress 2), BLU Spy/RED Engineer (Team Fortress 2)

Additional Tags: Fluff, Domestic, Cooking, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Comedy, Two Shot, Cuddling & Snuggling, Spooning, Spy head briefly implied, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I could not care less about comic and in game lore lol, Dialogue Heavy, Bickering, Love Confessions, Uhhh I think that's it for now, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/58017640

[homestuck-fanauthor-coalition]

Confessions of a Wizard

Confessions of a Wizard (4091 words) by Madam_Melon_Meow, sarcasticcelery Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Homestuck Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: The Condesce & Rose’s Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde, Rose Lalonde & Rose's Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde, Jade Harley & Rose’s Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde, Grandpa Harley | Beta Jake English & Rose's Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde Characters: Rose's Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde, Mentioned Rose Lalonde - Character, Mentioned Jade Harley, Mentioned Grandpa Harley | Beta Jake English, Mentioned The Condesce Additional Tags: Side Story, Rose’s mom is not “adult roxy”, Hurt No Comfort, POV Mom Lalonde, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Vomiting, Cutting, Self-Harm, Burns, ritual self-harm, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Actual Wizard Roxanne Lalonde, Alcohol Withdrawal, Hallucinations Series: Part 4 of Monsterstuck: Suburban Catastrophe Summary: Every Sunday, Doctor Roxanne Lalonde must confess to her Goddess. What does Her Illustrious Candescence wish to hear?

@thegoodthebadthealternative brings us another fic set in the monsterstuck universe! find out what price a wizard must pay for power. find out what secrets mom lalonde keeps.

[evil-comic-artis-t]

I DONT HAVE ANY FRIENDS THAT PLAY SPLATOON, IS ANYONE WILLIMG TO PLAY WIFF ME

my friend code is: SW-4091-7783-9030