#But I like when she's depicted as ginger

[oifaaa]

Been thinking about Jason's villain era again and him dying his hair ginger not only to fuck with Dick but also bc Catherines hair was ginger

[cobragardens]

The Colors of Crowley

Black is the color Crowley uses to cover himself, red is the color that represents Crowley to himself, and yellow is the color that represents Crowley to Aziraphale. What each color symbolizes and how it's used give us important information about Crowley (and to some degree Aziraphale) and about the ineffable relationship.

I feel kind of dumb writing this post because I'm sure it's glaringly obvious to everyone else, but there's this Metro UK article of all things (the Metro is owned by the hardcore rightwing Daily Mail, btw, so please don't link to it) that mentions the red stitching on Crowley's gloves in 1867, and it made conscious some details I had only subconsciously noted, so fwiw to anybody else, here are my notes on the colors associated with Crowley in Good Omens and their significance in the context of the way each one is used.

I don't think we need to cover black-as-evil in Western color symbology. [And yet here's a long-ass paragraph about it anyway! --Ed.] Light:dark::good:evil has been a thing with Christianity since before Christianity was even Judaism. The Israelites picked it up from the Zoroastrians way back before YHWH had subsumed El as 'God,' which may have been before they were Israelites as well; I mean it was a LONG time ago. Good Omens has been using black and white to represent Hell and Heaven, respectively, long before the show. In the UK, the book was published in paperback with a choice of black or white cover with an illustration of the contrasting character in the contrasting color: Crowley illustrated in black, Aziraphale in white. The current hardcover is grey.

Crowley wears black, and the Bentley is black. At the metanarrative or authorial level this is obviously for the purposes of the black/white demon/angel contrast, but on the intra-narrative level, the Watsonian level, it's interesting to note that Crowley doesn't have to wear black. He's obviously not free to choose from the full color palette, but Furfur's shirt and sash are is dark emerald green, Dagon is in ultramarine (as befits a marine Elder God), and Shax has only been on Earth for four years before she's wearing head-to-toe oxblood. When she shows up later in battle dress she's got a lot of oxblood there, too. And yet Crowley wears black.

Authorial reasons aside, black suits Crowley for a couple intra-narrative reasons. For much of history, black was the most expensive color to dye and maintain in clothing, and as a result it has always been fashionable. And for several centuries in Christendom, wearing black was also a sign that you were in mourning, which was a social and religious obligation when someone close to you died. Whether you could wear other colors with it depended on how long ago that death had occurred.

Again: black is what Crowley chooses to cover himself, and as there is a sharp distinction between how Crowley presents himself to fulfill his obligations and who he thinks of himself as being, there is likewise a distinction between the colors that represent those two quantities as well.

Red is the color the show uses to represent Crowley to Crowley. The most obvious reason is his hair. This is another change from Book Omens, where Crowley is described as having hair that is "dark." A lot of fans in the UK hated the change when S1 came out because fans hate change and the British have a thing against gingers, but Crowley's red hair suits him better than dark imo because the Mother of Demons in Jewish religious literature, Lilith, is traditionally depicted with red hair. Red hair has been associated for more than a millenium in the Middle East and England and Wales with sorcery, witchcraft, demonic influence/possession, and satan-worship.

Crowley wishes his mom was this cool with snakes.

A good case can be made that Crowley genuinely likes the color red in addition to considering it demonically appropriate. I say this for three reasons. Firstly, because when he has a (limited) choice of (again, demonically appropriate) colors, he always chooses red. The marble of the desk in his apartment is not green or grey. He can have any color stitching on his gloves or lining of his jacket collar he wants, but it's always red. Secondly, it's not only red he chooses, it's almost always bright red.

We know Crowley's red isn't supposed to represent blood or violence, because we have another demon character whose use of red represents just that, and it's not the same red:

Compare Shax' oxblood and burgundy to

and

and

and

Crowley's red isn't just red, it's lipstick, cherry, crimson red. And in case we weren't sure that we should read this red as symbolizing passionate, romantic love:

Romantic symbolism aside, bright red is also the color of passion (romantic or otherwise), optimism, heat, vitality, life, (hell)fire, and warning.

Red and black says don't fuck with Jack.

The third reason I think we can safely say that Crowley actually likes the color red is that he hides it. It's always tiny little touches, some of which you have to look for to see. (I still don't know where they snuck in the red on his Elizabethan habit, e.g.) And we know this color is a risk for him, and that he is right to hide it, because Ligur, who doesn't approve of any of Crowley's less-than-fully-demonic embellishments and may share Hastur's opinion that Crowley has gone native, comments on one of Crowley's more noticeably colorful items.

And I think the red tells us one more thing about Crowley, too.

Bright red is the colorest of colors, you know? When we can choose only one color to represent all colors, to represent colorfulness itself, we choose bright red (even in cultures where red symbolizes other meanings than it does in Western art).

Remember how Aziraphale gives Crowley's jacket a tartan collar when he swaps bodies with Crowley and impersonates him in Hell because Aziraphale feels the need to maintain some small secret token of his identity, some tiny unremarked sign of something he loves and thinks is beautiful, when he is down there alone in the gloom among enemies?

Crowley is down there alone among enemies every second of every day and night, whether he's in Hell or on Earth. And he's already had his identity stripped from him once. If you were someone who said

about this

and then you got recruited by the fash downstairs bc the fash upstairs threw you out for not being fashy enough and you had to start wearing nothing but dark colors and more importantly had to hide everything that made you feel warmth or softness or joy, and that was it, that was the deal for eternity, but you could add one (1) little touch to everything you wore to remind yourself that there is some beautiful part of you left, something you loved once, that no one has yet been able to steal or brutalize out of you...what color would the stitching on your gloves be?

Lastly, Yellow represents Crowley to Aziraphale. I'm going to skip the chain of evidence for this bc I think it's obvious, but the way it's used also lends itself to some inferences supported in other areas in the show.

Here's where I think changing Crowley's hair to red from Book Omens' dark is a good decision in another way. Crowley always has red hair, and if he has any color in his clothes it's going to be red. Red is eye-catching; it always stands out, but it doesn't stand out as demonic. And yet the color Aziraphale associates with Crowley and calls "pretty" isn't red.

I suspect that when Aziraphale says he can make Crowley an angel again, Crowley hears "You're not good enough for me to accept you as you are, let me fix you" because these are words Aziraphale has said to him many times, and has meant some of those times. But

tells the audience differently. The color Aziraphale associates with Crowley, the color he calls "pretty," is the color of Crowley's only overtly demonic feature. Aziraphale doesn't love the angel he knew who isn't Crowley, he loves Crowley, the demon, the person he is now, his yellow demon irises.

Yellow appears in three other places in S2, and they're all symbolically significant, and in fact serve to establish another symbolic significance to the color yellow in addition to that of Yellow Is the Color of My True Love's Eyes.

One of them is a feather duster:

Crowley reacts to a feather duster like a cat confronted by an unfamiliar object

The other three are private conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley:

The walls that surround Crowley and Aziraphale when they speak openly about their situation and how they will handle it are drenched in yellow, and that is super interesting, because in Western color symbolism yellow is the color of fear. The archangel of whom Crowley and Aziraphale are both (rightly) terrified wields a tool the color of fear. The color of fear saturates the backdrop of conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley when they have to discuss their situation and their actions openly.

Remember how Aziraphale's voice shakes here?

Crowley realizes the crows have just handed an angel evidence the angel can take to Hell and use to have Crowley killed

Even the Bentley, that clear sign of Aziraphale's love for Crowley, is also a yellow coffin enclosing him. For Aziraphale, thoughts of Crowley are always entangled with fear, because Crowley is not just Crowley, he is also Crowley's Fall.

And I think fear is what Crowley's eyes themselves represent. For Crowley, fear is now a fundamental part of his perception, his nature, his identity.

The angel Aziraphale once knew is not Crowley, and yet from what we've seen, the chiefest difference in character between this sweetheart and this mischief-maker--

--is that the Starmaker does not know yet that he should be afraid, and the Serpent does. That knowledge and its fear has, shall we say, colored his view of the world.

Aziraphale learns that fear early by observing others rather than Falling himself, and knows enough that by the first time we meet him in the Before, he is already afraid.

Pink was once symbolically equivalent to red; in modern Western color symbology it is a color of innocence, youth, beauty, and first love. Hashtag just sayin'.

The cruellest thing this suggests to me is that, rather than rebellion or his propensity to ask questions, rather than the knowledge of good and evil, the Starmaker's Fall was caused by his innocence. it wasn't the questions that were the problem: it was that he didn't know any better than to speak them out loud.

Y'all, Crowley and Aziraphale do not suffer from communication problems. Despite both being male-coded and British, they don't even seem to lack emotional intelligence. What they do have is a universe of silence and fear they have to communicate within and around. What they lack is the safety to speak and love freely. The true color of Crowley is crimson, but someone gave him those eyes, and Aziraphale either watched that happen or knew about it, and now Crowley covers himself in black--which btw is also the symbolic color for mystery and secrets--and only lets Aziraphale see him as he really is now, because Aziraphale won't judge him for his yellow eyes (or punish and forsake him for his questions). Because Aziraphale carries that fear with him too.

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: escaping Hawkins was impossible, but he did it. when a ghost from your past shows up unexpectedly, bringing with him old memories and holding up a mirror to the train wreck life you’re living… you find it hard to trust him again.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ no minors, depictions of poverty, child neglect/ endangerment, drug use/abuse, alcohol use/abuse, endangerment, 18+ sex working, 18+stripping, violence, smut. no use of y/n reader has a name that’s introduced in the first chapter, and another “nickname” that is lightly used throughout this series. eddie also has a nickname given by reader.

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: this series switches pov’s between reader and eddie, thank you to @succubusmunson @joejoequinnquinn @choke-me-eddie @sweetsweetjellybean for helping me read through the first chapter, helped me brainstorm etc i love you

there are two easter eggs in this let me know if you catch em! like pokémon only not

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: here i come, but i ain’t the same

masterlist

Stupid fucking bitch.

One dial tone waned into another, a monotonous wave taunting you from the end of the receiver. Your fingers tap impatiently against the counter. How long could a phone actually ring before it stopped or someone finally answered?

Too damn long apparently. 

Giving up and counting your losses, you slam the receiver back on the wall, muttering more choice words as you skirt your hips behind the wooden bar, thumbing through the blue lined notebook schedule.   

Work was packed. More-so than any other Friday night, but since it was the beginning of graduation weekend for Hawkins High— every Sam, Dick, and Harry had wandered into the bar looking for a cheap escape and a sugary drink. 

Lucky for them, that was exactly what Queen of Hearts had on the menu. And if you talked to the right person, the luck didn’t stop there. 

“No answer?” Jolene called over her shoulder, hands full with a bottle of Jack Daniels. 

Scribbling an angry dark mark through the name Ginger on the schedule, you toss the notebook back into the drawer shutting it with your hip.

“Just rang and rang,”  you say, annoyingly jumping in to help her finish pouring three Jack & Cokes. The soda fizzes under your thumb, “and before you try to cover for her, this is the fourth time she’s done this.” 

She lets out an exaggerated sigh, taking the cans from you and tossing them into the trash.

“Really thought this one would work out,” her long legs cross behind you to slot the liquor bottle back in its designated spot, “she had kids.. poor thing needed the cash.” 

The familiar ache of neglect radiated through you, “I found a babysitter for the nights she was working, told her I’d help pay… that asshole she keeps around probably found out she was working here.” 

Jolene raises her eyebrows. Her slender fingers hold the three drinks with ease, setting them on a tray.

“Can’t believe Jackie skipped town with that rich salesman,” she sighs heavily, leaning an elbow on the sticky bar, “lucky girl, something like that would never happen to me.” 

Jealousy pings in your chest but you shake it off, “he was really dreamy huh? Those beauty marks? His hair? His ass?” You wolf whistle, “cut me a slice.” 

You weren’t jealous that Jackie was now probably driving a BMW, that her life would be nothing but luxurious from here on out, or even that her boyfriend was movie star hot. 

What made your blood boil over was the fact that she got out, and you were still stuck here like hardened gum underneath a table. 

The club was a part of you. Like an unwanted birthmark, this lifestyle was something you couldn’t get away from. Understanding at a young age, when most girls were playing with dolls, just exactly the kind of life you were destined to live, and unfortunately it wasn’t outside of these four walls.

“Your time will come,” Jolene smiled, looking into a compact and wiping a smudge of lipstick from her teeth, “you’re still young, Miss Assistant.” 

You rolled your eyes, placing the tray on her awaiting palm. Since Jackie was gone, her job was now yours.  Tacking on added responsibilities with no pay raise in sight. You found out all too soon what a fucking joke that title of ‘assistant’ actually was. 

“Told him I didn’t want it, but you know how that went.” 

“I do kid,” she sighs, looking down at you, her eyes sweeping over the still pink scar in your eyebrow, “I really… oh honey, you’re gonna be a busy little bee tonight!” 

You breathe heavily through your nose, dragging your hands down your face, “don’t remind me.” 

“I’ll help out wherever, ‘kay?” 

Jolene had taken you under her wing when you first walked into Queen of Hearts. Freshly eighteen almost down to the hour, naive waters brimming your eyes, forced into this life. 

Her motherly ways comforted everyone, only thirty-three but in this industry that was practically ninety. Just like you, Jolene had deep roots in this place. 

Her tall frame slinks over to the waiting guys sitting at the stage, a pleasant smile on her lips. Twirling the ends of her black hair twisted into schoolgirl pigtails, laying the charm on thick. 

Staring over at her in a forlorn gaze, you hated to think of yourself still here ten years from now, a permanent fixture to this place, like Jolene. The lemons of life were squeezed and you had made the lemonade, but it was sour, bitter.. you longed for something sweeter. 

The bubbly fantasy is popped when Mickey Fritz’ oversized hand hits the counter like he’s a toddler in a highchair.

“Hey sugar tits, I’m empty o’er here!”

Your nightmare reality comes back into view. 

The walls at Queen of Hearts were draped in deep shades of red velour, a cozy ambiance to invite strangers and locals alike. The bar was backlit and stocked with a decent selection of polished bottles of whiskey, gin and bourbon. 

His boots clapped along the wood floor as the pair walked further inside, leaving a plume of smoke in their wake, catching on the neon lights and creating a smoked crimson haze across the dark club.

The raised stage was centered, creating an aisle on either side of it, clad with leather backed red chairs surrounding it at every angle. For a night club in the middle of Indiana, it wasn’t half bad compared to the places he was used to out East. 

A row of booths were tucked onto the left side of the club, high top tables stood crowded with drunk college students, yelling loudly and making asses of themselves to impress the working girls. 

The music blaring over the speakers was a little cliche and too “pop” for his liking—fuck, had he really turned into one of those guys, questioning what a strip club was playing for music? 

He rolls his eyes at his own false pretentiousness, turning it into a wink at a cocktail waitress carrying a tray full of plastic flutes filled with a gut rot of pink liqueur. The gold thong she was wearing sat high on her hips, matching the cheap glittery cowboy hat on her blonde curls. 

Dark eyes follow her long legs to a nearby table, a fist to his mouth as he whistles and licks his chomps.

“Damn! Can you believe this used to be the Hideout?” Jeff squawked, not so casually adjusting himself as they slid into an open booth, “that was Gareth Emerson’s twin sister, she really grew up huh, remember him?”

He didn’t.

Much like anyone else Jeff had tried to bring up since he had agreed to meet up for a drink on the occasion that they were both home, he hadn’t given high school a second thought since the night he left. 

“Nah, man,” he said, grabbing for the sticky menu on the black table top, “I don’t.”

It had been years since he had seen Jeff, and he was surprised that he had recognized him at the gas station last night when he was filling up his motorcycle. 

His own appearance hadn’t changed much, dressed a little better, wore cologne now, normal shit that came along with getting out of puberty. 

Back then Jeff still had braces, a small lisp when he got really drunk. Now, he was a grown man. Living in Phoenix with a big important job at some company, home for the weekend to visit his parents, and watch his youngest brother graduate.

There would be no visiting family or old friends for him on this trip back to Hawkins. The thought of running into anyone he knew and having that painfully awkward small talk about the ‘good old days as a Tiger!’ made him cringe, as if that ever were the case for him. 

Having left this shit hole in the middle of the night seven years ago, he took nothing with him but some saved cash, his guitar, a full tank of gas and the clothes on his back. 

The heavy ache in his chest, brim filled with remorse, was an added carry on, something that didn’t go away with the miles he had put between him and Hawkins. 

He had planned to keep this town in the rearview, but life, probably karma, had other plans. 

Back in Hawkins strictly on “business,” that's what he told Jeff when the smiley old friend grabbed him into a bear hug in the checkout line, crushing the chips he was carrying to a powder in its aluminum bag. 

Technically, it was family business. But he hadn’t mentioned that to Jeff. He didn’t want the questions, didn’t want the pity.

He barely even knew his uncle that well anyway, but being the only living relative of the deceased, he didn’t have a choice when the call came through that he had passed. 

A week. That was the timeframe he told his job that he’d be gone for. Leaving just enough time to plan the funeral, and sell the trailer. 

Coming home to the haunting shadows of Hawkins was like playing in a graveyard filled with demons of his past. Sorrow filled every dark corner, looming around him like a fog, making him unable to forget the damage left behind. 

For years it had worked out fine, he had moved on. But every now and then, he had to push his inner demons down, and still to this day, years after the fact, they kept trying to crawl back up. The shame of his past coming to the forefront.

The music changes to another upbeat song that was popular on the radio, Jeff nods along to the beat, strumming his fingers against his belly like he was playing the guitar. 

He looked over at his old highschool friend and smiled for the first time since being back here, “still play?”

Jeff stretched a wide grin across his face, chuckling a little too loud, “only in my dreams… working seventy-hour weeks doesn’t really allow me to have that kinda freedom.” He nodded and smiled a little at the waitress who was coming to take their drink orders, “so what have you been up to man? It’s been years!”

He knew all too well about not having free time to spend the way he had wanted to. He didn’t even own a guitar anymore. The last time he saw his Warlock, it was sitting in a pawn shop in Nashville— the last of his many possessions sold to make ends meet. 

Ordering a beer, he counts his budget for this trip in his head, deciding to buy Jeff’s drink too. Maybe being back wouldn’t be so bad after a drink or two, a little liquid courage to get him through the night at least.

The pleather seat creaks beneath his weight when he leans back further into the booth, stretching his arms out wide. Trying to gain a sliver of comfort since being home. 

Working the pole to Ginger’s song of choice, Once Bitten, Twice Shy, you found it hard to get into music you could care less about. But you didn’t have time to complain. 

Legs crossed and spinning upside down, bare besides a face full of makeup and a red thong, you pretended that you were anywhere else but there. 

How nice it would be to not have to crawl across dirty dollar bills, teasing a faceless man with your body so that he would be eager enough to slip a twenty into your g-string.

Collecting your tips from your set, you tap them against your vanity in the dressing room, counting out loud your mind already knowing how much money will be put away after bills are paid. 

The long jagged crack in your mirror served as the only looking glass you liked to look in. The warped shapes of your face looking back at you made it easier to swallow the life you were living, as if it were a fever dream, a disturbed Alice in Wonderland type reality. 

In the mirror you weren’t a dancer at Queen of Hearts. You could be a nurse, a librarian, a cook in a shitty home town restaurant who went home smelling like grease instead of men’s cologne and wearing suspicious stains. 

It could be easy, simple really. Bus tickets weren’t terribly expensive. Going to any city, a map in your hand and the saved coffee can of cash tucked into your purse. You could almost imagine the taste of the ocean. The thought of even stepping outside of Indiana was enough to power you for the rest of the night. 

As easily as the daydream came it fluttered away when the boss stepped into the dressing room. 

His eyes loomed in a dead stare, sweat pooling on his temples. The ice in his glass shifted as it melted into the whiskey. A Colombian cigar tucked into his fat mouth had an inch long ash waiting to fall. 

He wasn’t much taller than you, barely older, but his attitude and small dick made him seem eight feet tall. 

“The hell are you doing in here? Fucking Christ woman, the girls are drowning out there, those needle dick college fucks are about to swing fists and you’re in here staring at yourself?”

“Just takin’ a little break Tommy, I gotta change.” 

“I don’t need any lip from you, better watch it before I match that other scar y’ hear me?” 

His threats didn’t scare you, it was who he answered to that made you terrified. A bad report to the big boss and you’d be drinking your meals through a straw. You knew because it’s already happened. Turns out you don’t need your mouth to swing around a pole. 

“Loud and clear.” 

This type of life was the only one you had ever known. You quite literally grew up with this environment right under your nose, and everyone at the club knew it. 

The romance novels you kept in your purse were full of knights in shining armor type of men, another fallacy to your looking glass. 

The thought of anything else was only real in your daydreams. Escaping the festering wound of Hawkins was impossible, almost unheard of. No one with your background got out. 

But he did.

Shoulder to shoulder, squeezing in sideways with grimy singles fisted in their hands, the club was stuffed to the hilt with sweaty, drunk, and extremely horny men. 

“… here!” you slam two more drinks onto the heaping tray and shove it into Wendy’s hands, “take this to those asshats and tell them we are out of triple sec, no more Long Island Ice Teas, if they want a drink they can order beer like everyone else.”

Wendy swung her hips with the Long Islands in tow over  to soften the hearts of the college boys. Batting her lashes, sitting topless on their laps and letting them tell her stories of the parties they went to, the classes they skipped and the girls they fucked. Anything to keep them from hollering and starting a fight with the locals. 

Lisa Ann was working over the business men from out of town, their briefcases shining with a matte patent leather, expensive watches adorning their wrists. Her pretty Marilyn Monroe smile on display as she brought over their drinks, tussling their hair between her pink fingernails, putty at her fingertips.  

Between the rest of you rotating between pouring drinks, collecting payments and trying to wiggle past the grabby hands of Donny, the roar of the busy hour had started to lull. 

All of you were tired and crabby, legs cramping and toes pinched in uncomfortable shoes. Jolene wiped her brow and blew out a deep breath. 

“Take fifteen,” you said to her, “I got it from here.” 

She shot you a wink and disappeared into the dressing room. 

Peeling the soles of your boots from the floor you lean your back against the shelf of liquor bottles. Working your hands on the base of your neck behind your head.

The usual crink that ached when you were stressed was flaring up again. Causing your shoulders to tense up and sending a pinched dull ache from your back up to your throbbing temples. Radiating your jaw, with a heat so fierce it could melt glass and it wasn’t even eleven o’ clock yet. 

Your eyes are pressed closed in a tight squeeze, maybe you could shut the pain out by pretending it wasn’t there.

“Tiffs just about done in room D,” Veronica chirped, her bracelets jingling in a metallic tune, “the ‘doctor’ again,” she explains with air quotes chuckling to herself.

“He’s only here on nights she’s workin’” you say exhaustedly,  “she’s his favorite.” 

Being one of the few regulars that wasn’t married, he was somehow the slimiest worm in the dirt. Tall and slender framed with icy white hair, he seemed to stare down his nose at the girls, his voice an eerily calm when he asked for Tiff, handing over the crisp fifties to secure her for the allotted amount of time. 

Beads click together as she stumbles in from the back, adjusting her lipstick and holding the ripped strap of her bra, followed behind her like clockwork was the doctor, tucking his oxford shirt into his slacks. 

Your jaw felt like it was going to ignite, as if it were covered in tension rods and the gears were  cranking it tighter and tighter, sweat beginning to form on your back, “can you hand me my purse?” 

Rustling your bag from underneath the bar, Veronica hands over the canvas tote, her emerald eyes staring at you expectantly like a serpent watching its prey, “care to share those little party favors?” 

Rolling your eyes, you move your hand through the contents inside. Pushing past a checkbook, lipsticks, and the papered corner of a tampon. Finally your fingers close around the smooth unlabeled bottle. 

Two tablets land in your palm when you pop the cap, and you shake it begrudgingly to release another tablet from the bottle for Veronica.

She giggles and grabs two shot glasses, pouring bourbon into them both. 

“Only one,” you instruct, a serious look in your eyes, “I’m not picking you up from the floor later.” 

A coy little smile on her lips, she brings the shot glasses over, handing one to you, “you worry too much.” 

Placing the pill in her free palm, you clink the glasses together in a little cheer. 

“To us,” Veronica grins, “may our titties stay perky, our asses juicy, the boys pockets fat and our kitties not loosey.” 

You roll your eyes and she laughs, her lips close around the glass the same as yours, and you swallow down the liquor, wincing at the taste. 

Within fifteen minutes the temporary high coats your brain like a warm blanket, floating you to a place far away from shiny poles, 6 inch heels, and ass slaps, away from Hawkins. 

Jeff listens intently as he explains a very bland and watered down version of how he left Hawkins and traveled east, working odd jobs. 

Skipping the part about how he lied about his age to find work, and how he spent an entire month getting his ass kicked after dishwashing shifts at some swanky restaurant outside of Raleigh. 

He explained the good stuff, how he worked part time at a tattoo shop for one of his buddies he met in Philly. His full time gig being a lead shift at a factory. 

It wasn’t that impressive, he knew that, but he couldn’t make himself give a shit what anyone thought of him. For only being twenty-three, he was proud of having a paycheck every two weeks from a legit place. 

The click of the waitresses shoes on the floor had Jeff looking up, thanking her for the drinks. She was dressed a little more conservative than the other waitresses had been, wearing a black mini skirt and a see-through red long sleeved top, showing off black sparkly stickers that covered her nipples. 

But that wasn’t what had him taking a second look. At first glance he thought maybe it was just a note written in pen, a reminder of some sort on the top of her hand, lots of people wrote on their hands right? But when she set the drinks down, reaching past them and across the table to grab a napkin, sopping up spilled beer, he almost choked on air.

It wasn’t something written in pen, or a weird unlucky shaped birthmark. The marks on her hand were two small symbols, they had faded with time and were blown out a little on the edges. 

Of course they were, because the identical marks on his hand were blurred the exact same way. Two little symbols, done on the hottest day in July. The smell of his childhood room stung his nose as he thought of that day. 

A day when you were both only thirteen. 

The regulars were bellied up to the bar holding an aluminum can toast to their long gone friend, hollering for you to play some David Allen Coe in a final goodbye. 

Flicking through the jukebox to find “Never Even Called Me By My Name,” you were too busy to pay any attention to the toast of the deceased buddy.

Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have been completely blindsided. 

“Clovie?” A disgustingly sweet saccharine voice laced between bubble gum pink lips sang out from behind you, tapping you simultaneously on the shoulder, “be a dolly and run the drinks over to table 8, would ya?”

“Why c—”

Tiff was already gone, the door to the dressing room swinging shut in a shower of White Diamond perfume before you could even spin around and tell her where she could shove those aforementioned drinks. 

Outside of collecting her own tips, and pleasuring the doctor, Tiff never lifted a finger to help. 

Wiping your hands on the cleanest towel you could find, your muttering goes unheard as you cross back over to the bar and grab the cracked black plastic tray set with two large overflowing mugs of draft beer. 

The ground was sticky under your boots, like walking in half dried paint, sometimes you wondered if Wendy actually served a full drink to anyone. 

Balancing the heavy tray on your palm and shoulder, you pray that it won’t snap before you’re able to place the drinks down. 

Table 8 was occupied by a guy you had seen before but couldn’t remember from where, and a long dark curly haired woman who was facing away from you. 

The smile on your face was the fakest one you could make, hoping to maybe get a good tip before Tiff could notice and take her claim. 

“Alrighty,” your customer service voice sang with a false sweet sincerity, “looks like we have two Busch Lights?” 

The guy you had greeted smiled eagerly, moving his elbows from the table allowing room for the frosty mugs to be placed. 

Your fingers work gingerly to set the ruby colored drink napkins down first. The beer was placed carefully, his greedy fingers grabbing the handle before you could barely remove your hand from it. 

The second beer started to slide on the tray, and you over corrected causing it to land with a thud on the table, sloshing the pale ale all over the table—luckily not on the woman. 

So much for a tip, huh?

Apologizing quickly, you lean across the table and reach for the paper napkins. Wiping up the mess hastily you toss the wet heap onto your tray. 

Turning to the woman to offer her a look that’ll hopefully get you in her good graces— well enough that maybe her husband would reconsider tipping, “I’ll go fetch a rag and come back with another beer free of charge sweetheart,” you start to smile sheepishly, “I’m so s—”

The eyes you were met with were the deepest shade of brown, struck with astonishment, crowded by a grove of thick lashes, a look of dismay etched into them. 

Blinking once, twice, you couldn’t register if you were truly seeing this or hallucinating. 

You hadn’t seen those eyes in years, a flash of recognition drops on your face and the perky smile fades. Heart falling to the well of your stomach, punching the air from your lungs, heat rising to the surface of your cheeks. 

In an instant, you’re brought back to many years before tonight. When those eyes were younger, full of teenage angst and rebellion. 

Hell must’ve froze over, pigs were without a doubt flying overhead: Eddie Munson had returned to Hawkins. 

taglist: @mmunson86 @sidthedollface2 @winchester-angel @mrsjellymunson @joannamuns9n @tlclick73 @mewchiili @spacedoutdaydreamer @emxxblog @maybeisthemoon @str4ngergirlw0rld @chrrymunson @insertcoolnameherethanks @kellsck @prestinalove @mandyjo8719 @onegirlmanytales @mopeymopeymouse @veravee-blog @taintedcigs @eddies-acousticguitar @oeuryale @kthomps914 @bangaveragewhitewine @lil-quinnie @corrodedcoffincumslut @definitionwanderlust @madaboutjoe @littledemondani @eiightysixbaby @usedtobecooler

[queerponcho]

Transfixed | part 1

collage made by me with pictures from pinterest

moonknight!system x female!reader

a/n: been writing this fic for about a year now so it's nerve-wrecking to finally post the first chapter. I hope you'll like it!! (pls be gentle...)

thanks to the lovely @nexusnyx for motivating me a few weeks ago, would've never considered posting without having our convo the other day!! Thank you so much<33

Warnings: no use of Y/N, fluff, NOT beta read, gushing about the moonboys, flustered awkward dorks, plot-twists, (eventual smut, the chapters will be marked individually), inaccurate depictions of DID, egyptian mythology and religion (although I did extensive research I took liberty in changing some things to adhere to my plot...), if I missed anything or made any spelling mistakes pls don't hesitate to tell me!

Summary: You're a woman who as been visiting the same library for all your life. One day a handsome new face comes walking in. That's the moment when the ball starts rolling and your entire life changes. Will you accept the new challanges coming your way...?

2,200 words

You have been visiting the same library all your life. While you were in school you  would go there to have a quiet place to study. Since at home you always had a lot of family and busy energy around, you needed the library as sort of an...escape from all the noise. Later when you got into university, the library had become kind of a safe space for you. So you would rather sit in the bus for half an hour to and back to study there instead of the grimy and packed library on campus.

Even now that you work and have enough books at home to basically open your own library, you still can't part from your little paradise. Everyone knows you here and a few months ago the owners of the library even adopted a cat that seemed to really like you. So chances of moving on from here had definitely been ruined.

You loved reading all kinds of story based books, but spending so much time here made you curious, so you also picked up a few skill based ones. you had read a few gardening and science books but the ones you would actually start applying were the books that had to-do with art. Autobiographies of different artists and painters, different studies and research on colour and brushes. You became almost a bit obsessed at some point. So you started sketching and drawing things around you based on the knowledge you'd gathered from your extensive research. you would draw people around the library after work or before meeting friends in the nearby café. You'd never claim to be an artist but you were proud of your drawings nonetheless. for the past few weeks you had started to draw one very specific person. You saw them for the first time a bit over a month ago…

It was a rainy day and you'd just finished lunch with a friend. You said goodbye and you decided to head to the library to continue on with your sketches of the cute ginger kitten. After saying hello to the owners and giving the kitten a treat, you made your way to your usual corner in the back. Since the library wasn't very big you had a good view of the entrance and a few tables. you'd been sitting and drawing for about ten minutes when you noticed the kitten smelling your coat pocket in search of more treats. You smiled down at her 'hiiii kitty!' you picked her up and placed her on your little round table. 'you want another treat huh?' She looked back with big shiny eyes 'alright alright...there you go'. She happily chewed on the fish-shaped cookie while you continued drawing her. 

The familiar noise of the door opening caught your attention....a man came in, he was wearing a brown flat-cap which was obscuring your vision of his face. He reached to take it off with a gloved hand and pushed his black curls back to reveal the face, of what you could only describe, a Greek god. He had strong and angular features, a sharp jawline and a beautiful slightly crooked nose which you felt the need to trace over with your finger. He had crows feet decorating his eyes, you'd assume he had them from laughing but seeing his resting facial expression, smiling almost seemed to be a foreign task to him. He brushed the remaining rain off his shoulders and made his way to the history section. When he disappeared behind a shelf you were brought back from your trance and took the first breath in what seemed like minutes. 

You wondered what he would be looking for in the history section of this old library. You were in London, a place with alot of people, then again this library was old and in a secluded part of town so it was usually the same people walking in and out. You would definitely remember his face if you had seen it before. Whatever it was that he was looking for he had apparently found since he was making his way to the register with a thick leather bound book in his glove covered hand. You had a bit of a thing for hands and you knew you'd be sketching hands for the next few hours because of this stranger. He hastily left the library and was gone as fast and suddenly as he appeared. After that day you couldn't stop drawing that pretty stranger, you'd given him multiple names during this time. His name had been Jack, Edward, Steve, Malcom and many more. you'd started just drawing his gloved hands and his forearms but quickly you would switch to drawing his intense gaze and soft curls. The amount of times you fantasised about running your fingers through them and tugging slightly had you embarrassed. It had been weeks since you'd seen him and you wouldn't stop imagining him in your apartment just sitting next to you, sometimes you would also imagine him a bit closer and wearing a little less clothing…

A month had passed since you'd seen him and you finally managed to stop drawing him and went back to drawing people around the library. Though you still looked up when the door opened and a new customer came in hoping for your handsome stranger to come in and maybe stay a little this time so you could find out more about him and his movements, for drawing references of course...nothing else. It seemed the universe wanted to help you out, because the next time the bell chimed and a customer walked in, the familiar brown flat-cap wearing stranger entered. This time it was warm and sunny outside so he wasn't wearing any gloves and wore a white fitted polo. His muscles were visibly moving underneath the fabric of his sleeves when he reached up to take off his hat and ruffle through his hair with the same intention as last time. He was also holding the same thick leather bound book from his last visit to the library.

 According to the owners he couldn't buy that one since it was rare literature, so he got to borrow it for a month...you knew this because you may have asked about him and his purchase after he left. This was also when you found out that the book he borrowed was about an Egyptian god. During your time in this library you have read books on Egyptian history and it did peak your interest. All this time you’d never even noticed that book before? Recently, you’d been spending a lot more time studying in that part of the library, so overseeing such a unique looking book was very strange of you.

You see him talking to the owners, it was quiet enough to make out parts of the conversation. It was 10am on a Tuesday so you were pretty much the only customer here. He had a pretty strong Latin accent and you were pretty sure he was from mexico. part of your family is from south America so you grew up learning Spanish and you remember hearing them speak English with that exact same accent. 

He was thanking them for the book and asking if he could take a look around the library again. The owners kindly told him to go ahead and that he didn't even need to ask. He briefly nodded his head mumbling a quick 'gracias' and went over to the history section. You watched intently and spontaneously decided to head in the same direction. You felt a bit creepy lurking on this man but you were sure you wouldn't get caught since you were rarely a very visible person. it's not that you didn't have a strong presence but you know how to blend in really well and when to use that to your advantage. You hid behind the shelf of the history section facing his profile. He really was a pretty man, his eyes were squinting and his bold eyebrows furrowed. There was a stray curl hanging over them and you badly wanted to brush it back and feel his thick hair between your fingers...you couldn't of course, since you were too preoccupied drawing him at the moment. The window was creating beautiful shadows beneath his hooded eyes and high cheekbones. His jaw looked sharper than ever and his neck extremely kissable. His lips needed an honourable mention, they were like two squishy pillows that were begging to be bitten. You've been paying special interest to them and trying to get the details just right, so you didn't notice that he had moved from his previous spot. 

You couldn't see him anywhere and were actually kind of disappointed to think he probably left. you were about to turn around and go back to your discarded belongings when you accidentally bumped into someone while moving backwards. 'ohssshit! i- i am so so sorry um- i didn't mean to wal-'

you had managed to pick up your pencil, sketchbook, and hopefully all of the scattered pages- when you finally looked up just to be faced with the god-like looking man you had been fawning over for a month now. he was practically towering over you and… was that a smirk? If you weren't already kneeling on the floor right now you would've probably lost your balance. 'hola~ I don't mind this view but do you need help standing up, muñeca?' This is when you realised that you were on your knees in front of the most attractive man you have ever seen and you quickly scrambled to your feet 'nono um thank you-' 

'Jake, my name's Jake' he stuck out his hand and you introduced yourself after thanking him again. So his name was jake...huh pretty basic for a man like him. You were kind of joking when you temporarily gave him very basic names but you guess his parents weren't much more creative than you are. 

You realised you were staring when he raised his left eyebrow and started grinning.

 'So...why were you spying on me?' He asked cockily and it had you word-vomiting all over the place 'what? i wasn't-? I-I was just…drawing-?' pretty hard to sound convincing when finishing every statement with a question mark... 'yeah I know-' he looked you up and down and coming a bit closer 'I saw you get lost in your notebook and I just had to come see what you are drawing that garnered all of your precious attention, hermosa' 

The nicknames were really starting to get to you, making you feel all sweaty and nervous. you were clenching the book to your chest accidentally pushing up your breasts and making your cleavage much more noticeable. you saw him glancing down, taking his time in bringing his eyes back up your neck and finally to your face. This entire time you were basically pressed into his chest, you were leaning on the shelf and he didn't seem like he wanted to move anytime soon 'h-how long were you looking over my shoulder exactly?'

 'Long enough to see what had you so...como se dice...transfixed' Your breath hitched and he answered with a toothy grin. 

'I am flattered, preciosa. I really am, didn't think someone as pretty as you would follow me around the library just to draw my hands and ass' 

You push him back- 'I did NOT draw your ass! I-' You were interrupted by his chuckle and him moving closer again and grabbing your chin between his fingers and caging you in with his other arm. 'I know muñeca , I just like seeing you flustered...toda nerviosilla...it's cute.' At this point you’ve decided it's best if you just don't speak. '...maybe next time you can draw me shirtless? I would love to see you solely focused on my abs for half an hour.' He flashes you a toothy grin. Oh he’s getting too cocky…somehow you manage to move away from the bookshelf, momentarily getting even closer to him. After seeing his eyes flicker with surprise you move to the side, backing away from him. Turn around finally being able to take a breath of normal air that wasn't deliciously tinted with his aftershave. 

'Sure, next time you can waltz into the library without a shirt on and we will see how far you get before being kicked out' you say while looking over your shoulder. 

 'Seeing your reaction would be worth it, nena' he called after you, not even registering your feet carrying you back to your corner. you took a deep breath replaying what just happened. He should not have this effect on you, it's almost embarrassing how easily he got so close to you. You are a grown woman, damnit! How did you not shove him away and get mad at his advances? You should be creeped out but you notice how you’re wishing to bump into him again soon...you hear the doorbell ring and see him walk out. He takes one look back and holds up a piece of paper. ‘Oh fuck me’ you feel your feet glued to the floor when you see what it is…its a drawing you made of him. It was a closeup of his torso upwards. You had drawn him from above and he was laying in your bed with heavy lidded eyes and parted lips. you were absolutely mortified- he was grinning like an idiot and winked at you before storing the drawing in his back pocket, crossing the street and vanishing from your eye-line. leaving you in the library, plagued by his stupid masculine scent and his dumb pretty face.

a/n: I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter, I've got a few already locked and loaded sooo the next one should be posted soon. Pls like and reblog if you liked it<3 it would mean the world!

part two

[daisies-daydreams]

Hii live for your ao3 series it gives me life.. could I request a Köing x reader - where the reader spends a while making dinner for her and Köing, when they finally sit down to eat, she gets insecure about eating. you can pick the food. Thank you!! Xx (This is my first time requesting so sorry if it doesn’t make sense)

Always (König x F!Reader)

Image by 661ave

Pairing: König x F!Reader Category: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Depictions of Anorexia/Body Insecurity, Slightly (like barely) Suggestive Comments, Emotionally Vulnerable Moment Word Count: 1.9k+

A/N: Hello there! Thank you so much for your request. I hope it's alright that I based the story off of my personal experience with body insecurity and trouble with eating. Regardless, I hope you're able to find comfort in König's sweet actions. 🫶

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

You hummed and swayed side to side as you stirred the thick beef stew bubbling in the pot. You've been in the kitchen for quite some time, having made the stew and biscuits from scratch. Flour and bits of miscellaneous ingredients were scattered along the floor and countertops, some even caked on your cheeks. Your mouth watered at the savory scent wafting up from the soup below.

"It's too many calories-you don't want to have to weigh yourself again, do you?" the voice inside your head hissed. You shook your head and tried to refocus on the task at hand. Snowflakes danced just outside your kitchen window as you tapped the spoon on the side of the silver pot a few times.

The oven timer beeped several times, its screech echoing inside the kitchen. You smiled as you wiped your hands on your blue apron and grabbed the oven mitts.

"You put too much butter on those biscuits-better only eat half of one tonight," the voice advised. You bit the inside of your cheek as you pulled the pan out, the biscuits fluffy and finished with a crispy, golden top. You sighed as you set it down on a mat resting on the marble counter.

You perked your head up as you heard the sound of keys jingling outside the front door. You quickly flicked the burner off and straightened your clothes and hair. A gust of frigid wind rushed into the foyer as your hulking husband stomped his snowy boots on the mat. 

“Maus?” he called in as he slammed the large oak door behind him. 

“In the kitchen!” you called as you tucked your apron into the wooden cabinet nearby. König grunted as he unwrapped his thick scarf from around his neck and hung his coat on his hook. He shucked his boots off and set them aside before strolling towards you.

“How was work today?” you asked as he lumbered into the kitchen, his heavy footsteps echoing against the hardwood floor. Your smile grew as his ivory face came into view; his bright blue eyes gazing into yours as his ginger hair remained tousled from his thick winter hat. 

“It was alright. Mostly paperwork,” König shrugged as he slipped his hands into yours. You giggled as he spun you around and pulled you against his broad chest. You sighed and rested your chin on his pecs while swaying with him for a bit. “Hi,” he said softly. You pulled back and beamed as you craned your neck up.

“Hi,” you replied. The two of you held each other close as you reached up on your tiptoes. König grunted as you caught his chilly lips in a sweet kiss, your mouth lingering for what felt like hours before he tilted his head up. 

“I missed you today, Mein schöner Hase,” your husband sighed as he brushed his thumb over your cheek [My beautiful rabbit]. Your eyes sparkled as he kissed your forehead, his massive hand splayed against the small of your back. König inhaled deeply before his stomach gurgled. He chuckled and patted his toned belly. 

“You’re in for a treat tonight,” you winked as you led him over to the stove. König’s sapphire eyes lit up when he looked at the stew simmering in the pot. 

“Ah, biscuits and beef stew,” he said as he excitedly rubbed his hands together. "You really do know how to spoil me, Maus," your beloved beamed. You giggled as he pecked your temple before eagerly grabbing two bowls.

"Go ahead and grab your seat. I'll bring you a bowl," he said as he began to scoop some of the steaming food into the ladle. Your smile tensed as you clenched your jaw. There was no way you'd be able to measure out your portion sizes if he brought it to you. You took a deep breath.

"Okay," you murmured in slight defeat. You held onto your stomach as you shuffled over to the table. You pinched and squished whatever flesh was there as you nervously bit your lip.

"Not enough," the voice spat. König cleared his throat. 

"Ah, the Baumgartner's invited us to their place for dinner on Saturday. Would you like to go?" he asked as he plucked a fresh biscuit from the pan. You smiled nervously as you thought about all the food your neighbor's would make.

"Sure," you replied. "I can make my chocolate cake," you added. Your husband groaned as he turned around with the two bowls in his hands.

"Ah, I can taste it already," he licked his lips. You giggled at his antics while he took his seat across from you. “Something wrong, mein Schatz?” he asked as you shifted in your chair. You clenched your clammy hands and swallowed thickly. 

“No. Everything's fine,” you replied. König kept his eyes trained on you before setting one of the bowls on your mat. You curled your hands in your lap as he said thanks before diving in. You stirred your spoon in the thick stew, pushing the different vegetables and chunks of meat side to side.

"I was thinking that maybe after we eat and clean up, we could do a little...catching up in front of the fireplace?" König lilted as he gently brushed his foot over yours. You blushed and squeaked at his suggestion.

"G-Großer Bär," you bit your lip and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear [Big Bear]. Your husband laughed heartily.

"We don't have to. I just missed seeing you all flustered," he winked playfully. You smiled politely before your thoughts were quickly pulled back to the piping hot meal in front of you. You squinted your eyes in concentration.

Alright, it looks like he poured in two cups of beef stew into my bowl. The average calorie amount of one cup is around 235, so two cups would be 470 calories. The whole biscuit (with extra butter) is potentially 150 to 160 calories. That would total to about...630 calories.

You nearly gagged at the amount of calories despite the fact your stomach was painfully clenching on barely anything inside of it.

No matter, there has to be "safe" foods in here. Let's see...celery. Four stalks is 30, so that'll be good. Potatoes? No, too much starch. Starch includes sugar and sugar is dangerous. But then again, starch is a complex carbohydrate, so-

“The stew is wonderful, Liebling,” König cleared his throat [darling]. You snapped your head up to see a gentle smile on his face.

"Huh? Oh, thank you," you said before going back to pensively staring at your meal. Your husband’s spoon clanked against the side of his nearly empty bowl as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“(Y/N)...are you feeling alright? You haven't touched your stew at all,” he asked with knitted brows. You glanced up, letting your gaze fall on his mouth instead of his eyes. You frowned, eyes stinging with tears as a lump swelled in your throat. 

“I…” you paused and bit your lip. König waited patiently as you fought for the right words to say. You took a deep breath as you gazed at the surface of your wooden table, fear gnawing at your heart. “I…I can’t eat it,” you muttered. Your love leaned forward and furrowed his brows even more. 

“Can’t eat what?” he asked, a sense of urgency laced in his raspy voice. You felt your throat tighten. You were so hungry it ached you to the core, your body wracked with an unbearable urge from only eating a few crackers and a protein shake today. You felt your stomach flip as you shivered beneath your husband's gaze. 

“I can’t eat the stew,” you said a bit louder, the tips of your ears burning as you felt like a child about to be scorned. König blinked.

“Why-“ 

“I just can’t,” you interrupted. König’s face hardened as you stiffened in your seat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you," you said.

“It's okay," he assured you. There was a brief pause between the two of you, the only sound in the room coming from the crackling fireplace nearby. "Hase, please tell me what’s going on. I've seen the way you push your food around many times,” he said. "I don't think I've even seen you finish a meal in a while," König frowned. A blade pierced your heart as you sucked in a sharp breath, your heartbeat pounding inside your ears while your hand shook in his grasp. You sighed and hung your head. 

“I just…I can’t. I’m sorry,” you said. König waited, the fire popping in the background as you clenched your jaw. “You wouldn’t understand,” you muttered. You flinched as your beloved slowly stood up from his seat. He lumbered over to the chair next to you and gently wrapped his arm around you.

“Maybe not, but it won't stop me from wanting to help you,” he said with a firm nod. You tilted your head up, eyes wide and lips parted. 

“What?” you whispered. König squeezed your shoulder as he patted his lap with his other hand. You frowned as you climbed onto his thick thighs, your smaller frame fitting snugly in his lap.

“We've been through a lot together, (Y/N). Whatever you have to say won’t scare me or make me love you any less,” he reassured you before kissing your temple. Large tears spilled down your cheeks as your bottom lip trembled. You sniffed and wiped your eyes as your chest tightened. You flung your arms around your husband's torso and pulled him closer. He cooed and rubbed your upper back as you soaked his navy blue shirt with your hot tears.

“I-I’ve been struggling with making sure I eat enough,” you confessed. König continued to caress your back as he leaned in closer. You just barely glanced up before a bitter taste coated your tongue. “It started a few months ago. There really wasn’t anything specific that set it off, just a bunch of little things that snowballed. It...It all seems like a blur now,” you muttered, your body feeling unbearably heavy under your beloved’s gaze. You released a long sigh. “I’m so, so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I understand if you’re angry since I kept this from you. I-“ you gasped as König squeezed you in his hulking arms, pressing your cold form against his warm, massive body. 

“Oh, mein Schatz. I could never be angry with you,” he whispered before wiping a hot tear that trailed down your flushed cheek. You sniffed he cradled his hand against your face. "You are so, so precious, (Y/N). It breaks my heart to see you go through this, but I'm not angry or disappointed in you at all," your husband affirmed. His icy blue eyes were filled with such warmth, you thought your heart would melt right then and there. You kept your arms wrapped around your husband’s large form as you continued to sob into the soft fabric of his long-sleeved shirt. König brushed his fingers through your hair as he rocked you in his arms. 

“Shh, it’ll be alright, (Y/N). Mein Liebling,” he whispered as you cried into his chest [my darling]. He kissed the crown of your head, the sound of his steady heartbeat bringing a little comfort to your aching mind and body.

“I’ll be right here for you. Always,” König murmured softly.

————

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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[kokoch4n3l]

DEAD GIRL’S BEACH࿐ྂ KUROKAWA IZANA x f!oc x SANO MANJIRO

TWO — beachy dreams

“he had trauma stemming from childhood. abandonment issues? currently unsure. he says he has a house on the beach. rich? 100% sure. lol would he adopt me if I ask?” — MAYA'S ROUGH NOTES ON K.I

chapter summary: Maya finds herself at Chifuyu's place with his rowdy friends before hitting the club and she's drawn into flirtatious exchanges with a mysterious club owner. Tensions arise when a revelation links Maya's work to her social circle. Izana gives her an intriguing invitation.

chapter warnings: mentions of body image, clubbing, alcohol use, intoxication, mentions/implications of forced prostitution, mentions of gang violence, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, f!oc with zero self preservation skills

word count: 4764

moodboard | masterlist | previous | chapter 3

"didn't know you were keeping this pretty lady to yourself Chifuyu! How cruel" One of Chifuyu's friends, Mitsyua Takashi, says with a soft croon

It's 7 pm and Maya's just reached Chifuyu's place due to a change of plans. Originally it was supposed to be her and him going to some restaurant to catch up but Chifuyu's friends from middle school had also been pestering him to meet up which resulted in Chifuyu changing plans last minute and bringing Maya to his place to pre-game before going to a club. Chifuyu had picked her up from her apartment and brought her to his apartment where his friends had already come inside due to having the code for his door. "Mitsuya-kun, she's 6 years younger than you" Chifuyu hisses at Mitsuya, hiding Maya behind him

Maya felt her cheeks tinge pink at the attention she was suddenly receiving from all the people in Chifuyu's apartment. There were so many people there and she kind of hated Chifuyu for not warning her earlier. There were mostly only guys here and 2 other girls. Everyone was dressed in typical club attire. Maya herself was in a matching set, a lilac mini skirt and a matching crop top in the same colour. The crop top had a spaghetti v-neck line and was slightly cinched in the center. It was backless, held together by a button she had taken around 10 minutes to do by herself. Both pieces clung to her skin, accentuating her thin body and even somehow making her lack of boobs look bigger. Slightly that is(Maya unfortunately wasn't blessed in that area). The fabric of both pieces were slightly sparkly and she had done matching makeup with it and wore platform heels and a leather jacket on top and two diamond studs in her ears. Of course, she couldn't forget the two necklaces she was wearing. One was a gold oval pendant with a delicate border and the outline of a daffodil flower in the center of it. The second necklace, also gold, was a small butterfly pendant. Maya never exactly took these necklaces off. Yes, she was supposed to remove her jewellery for her job but Sunshine Grove was surprisingly lenient. But still, she always kept her necklaces tucked underneath her shirt and only ever wore stud earrings or none at all at work. "Oh well—"

"Oh my you're so cute" Maya feels her face being grabbed "Matsuno, where have you been hiding her!?"

Maya comes back to face with a tall girl with ginger hair and brown eyes. "Guys please stop scaring her and embarrassing me" Chifuyu grumbles in annoyance at his friends, pulling Maya out of the tall girl's grasp

Maya turned bright red and shifted on her feet, unsure of what to say in front of so many people who were clearly older. "This is Kaneko Maya. 5 and 6 years younger than all of us" Chifuyu says "stop scaring her I swear to god"

Maya waves nervously and the room gets quiet for a moment. She shifts. Oh man, this was a bad idea. She should have just told Chifuyu that they could reschedule but her damn lovesick brain just accepted the offer of going with him and his friends. What felt like hours to Maya was a mere few seconds to everyone else and they all started introducing themselves to her. Well, all except for the ginger-haired girl, Shiba Yuzuha's, younger but very tall model brother, Shiba Hakkai(he's apparently afraid of women). Maya doesn't usually drink much. So as the rest of them around her are taking a few shots, she sits on the sofa next to Tachibana Hinata who just doesn't drink at all. Maya can't help but notice the four leaf clover necklace she was wearing. "So when did you and Chifuyu-kun meet?" Hinata asks

Hinata seemed sweet. Like too sweet. Like an angel from fucking heaven. "uh... When I was in middle school... Like 7th grade"

Then comes Hanemiya Kazutora who leisurely takes a seat in front of both of them on the coffee table. Kazutora was Chifuyu's roommate and really the only other person Maya knew here. Maya knew about how Kazutora went to jail in his youth and got out recently but she didn't ask for what. "so how's your job with the crazy people doin' Maya?" Kazutora asks with a grin and Hinata gives Maya a confused look

Maya laughs nervously. "Uh... I'm a psychiatrist... I work at a psychiatric hospital"

"Oh wow... Must be hard work" Hinata says with a smile "That's great that you got hired this young. I heard hospitals rarely hire people fresh out of university"

Maya nods. "Yeah got rejected by everyone at first and ended up at this shitty psychiatric hospital, Sunshine Grove, just outside of Tokyo. They pay well but the place is scary"

"Sunshine Grove, huh" Kazutora says slowly as if trying to remember where he heard the name of the hospital

But Kazutora's thoughts are cut off by Draken, a super tall intimidating guy with a dragon tattoo on the side of his head, calling them and telling them it is time for them to leave. The room is filled with hooting from the boys. Maya can't help but laugh a bit. Chifuyu's friends were nice. "Come on Maya, we're gonna have so much fun tonight" Yuzuha says pulling her off the couch

They make it to the club not too long later. Maya is linking arms with Hinata and holding hands with Yuzuha. The lineup is pretty big and Maya wonders how long it will take for them to get in. But to her surprise, the boys are all walking straight up to the entrance. "Huh? shouldn't we get in line?" Maya asks Hinata

Hinata and Yuzuha look at each other for a moment then at Maya. "ah~ the boys know the owners" Hinata explains "we always come here since it's the safest out of all the ones they own"

Hinata's words raise a few red flags in Maya's head. Safest out of all the ones they own? What did that even mean? "a friend's I'm assuming" Maya says as they reach the bouncer

Yuzuha scoffs. "Please, the last thing any of them would call each other is friend"

That concerns Maya even more. If they weren't even friends, why the fuck were they here. They make it to the front of the line and instantly the bouncer starts letting them in but stops Maya. "Hey, she's with us too" Mitsuya says lowly and Chifuyu looks pissed now

The bouncer scoffs. "I know you guys are special guests of the Haitanis but I'm sure they wouldn't want a minor in the club either. ID"

Maya feels embarrassed by this. She pulls her phone out of the inside pocket of her leather jacket, takes her ID out of her case, and hands it to the bouncer. "Birth year?" The bouncer asks

Her cheeks burn in embarrassment as all of Chifuyu's friends watch the entire thing play out. "1996" She squeaks out

The bouncer looks between her and the ID card a few times then gives it back to her and lets her in. "Oh god that was embarrassing" Maya whimpers to Chifuyu who now has an arm around her shoulder, guiding her through the club up to the VIP section

"It's fine Maya" Chifuyu says with a laugh into her ear over the loud music "Can't control how young you look"

Her heart beats faster when she feels Chifuyu's breath against her skin. He guides her to sit in the VIP booth and then slides in next to her. His arm goes around her shoulders once again as he talks to his friends. Maya feels her face go pink. Thankfully the lights are dim and no one could tell. "let's go get the ladies some shots" Mitsuya says and drags Hakkai and Draken with him

"Fuck I have a feeling all of us are gonna black out tonight" Kazutora says with a laugh

The music is more muffled in the VIP section. Maya wonders if it's because of the connection Chifuyu and his friends have with the owners that they're able to be here. Honestly speaking, despite having known Chifuyu for so long, she's never been to the club with him. It was usually only restaurants, cafes, parks and just fun places like that. This was the first time Maya was out clubbing with Chifuyu. "You okay?" Chifuyu murmurs into her ear, her breath brushing against her skin

Maya's heart beats faster at the feeling and she suppresses a shiver. Chifuyu's arm around her shoulder tightens and he pulls her a bit tighter into his side. "listen, anything happens tonight, you're not feeling well, something does something, everyone is here for you. Not just me, okay?" He says and Maya almost flinches when she feels his lips brush against her ear "Understand"

She almost can't respond. "Y-Yeah... I understand"

Chifuyu is probably tipsy because he kisses her cheek and turns around to talk to Kazutora. Maya sits there stunned and if it weren't for the flashing neon lights, everyone would see how flushed her face was. She lets out a shuddery breath and gulps, hoping no one saw that. Thankfully everyone was too tipsy to actually notice and soon after Mitsuya, Draken and Hakkai bring more shots, they drink some more and everyone is drunk. Everyone except Draken and Mitsuya who were apparently the designated drivers for tonight. Jun thinks she's drunk, somewhat. She stumbles off the dance floor away from Hinata and Yuzuha to the bar where the music wasn't as louder. Everyone was scattered around, talking to girls or whoever. She's drunk out of her mind at this point and just one more drink away from blacking out. Just as she's about to call the bartender over, someone stands beside her. "haven't seen you before" someone says,

Maya looks up and sees a very tall guy. His hair is short, coloured purple and black. His skin is pale and his eyes are lilac. Woah he was handsome. "I doubt you could keep track of who comes and goes unless you're here every day" Maya tells him with a smile

The man chuckles. "This is my club sweetheart, I know who comes and goes"

Maya giggles drunkenly, too far gone to remember that Hinata and Yuzuha said the boys weren't that good of friends with the club owner. "Really? You're rich?" she asks and leans in closer

The man sighs and leans in closer as well, with a tentative finger brushing one of her wavy locks behind her ear. "All pretty girls are gold diggers huh?" he says it more to himself than to her

Maya pouts. "'m not a gold digger" She pokes his arms and has to tilt her head back to look at him despite wearing heels "I have student loans and need to pay them off y'know"

The man starts to laugh and he drapes an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in closer. Maya stumbles forward and he catches her against his chest. "I like honest girls..." He murmurs sweetly, sounding like he was crooning

Maya finds herself attracted to the club owner. Not just because of his money but he was definitely very charismatic. Her hands somehow find their way up, hooking her fingers into the belt loops of his pants and he smiles, seemingly satisfied by her action. His free hand comes up and cups her cheek, brushing his thumb against her cheekbone in a gentle affectionate manner. The same way she wanted Chifuyu to touch her. Maya's expression turns sour at the thought of her unrequited love and she turns away from the club owner. "Hey, what's wrong sweetheart?" he asks, holding her cheek again to make her face him "thought we were having a moment"

"Need a drink..." Maya says with a frown as the man keeps his arm tightly around her shoulder

He presses her into his side and chuckles. "yeesh, I know that look" he says and asks the bartender to make her a drink, on the house apparently

Maya looks up at the man and sees he's already looking at her. "So what's your name pretty lady?" He asks

"Maya" She answers, not smiling anymore

She needed more alcohol before she could smile again. The man, however, grins. He's charming and clearly doesn't mind Maya's mood swings. "Haitani Ran, owner of this as you already know"

Maya had a feeling she had heard this guy's name somewhere. She couldn't put her finger on it. But the bartender puts her drink in front of her so she doesn't think about it anymore and basically chugs it. Ran then decides to order shots and Maya might as well be blackout drunk at this point. But at least she wasn't thinking about Chifuyu anymore. "so cute, hm" Ran says pressing her into his side

His skin was warm and despite how sweaty the club was now, Maya couldn't help but like it. Ran smelled really good too. Like that expensive cologne she smelled at Sephora the other day when she went shopping with Chifuyu. Jo Malone if she remembered correctly. "You've got this lovesick look in your eyes" Ran says as he holds her cheek in one hand, making her tilt her head back so she is looking right at him

(Eye contact was important for Haitani Ran. It was the way into a woman's heart after all.)

"I do?" she mumbles drunkenly, practically leaning into Ran at this point who didn't mind, holding her up against his side

"Yeah, someone break your heart?" Ran's tone is condescending but also holds a sense of curiosity in it

Maya groans. "Not yet" she pouts, her words starting to slur together "he doesn't like me back... Haven't confessed to him 'cause I know he doesn't like me... Says 'm too young for 'im"

She feels dumb dumping all her feelings to a stranger but she's far too intoxicated to care. There was no harm done anyway. "poor little girl" Haitani Ran coos, his tone almost mocking as he runs a hand through her hair "I guess he's missing out on the fun of younger girls, hm..."

He sounds dangerous. Scary. Had Maya been sober she would have run far away from Haitani Ran the moment he came up to her. But with the mixture of the alcohol and her lovelorn state, it was hard to really get a grasp on reality and the dangers of this situation. "younger girls are adorable and real needy" Ran murmured, looking down at her "You sure are needy"

Maya wanted to retort, say something back but she finds herself getting a bit lost in her own head trying to come up with a response to him. She just stares up at him until she's suddenly ripped out of Ran's arms. "Hands off Haitani" A familiar voice warns as her back is now pressed against someone's chest

Maya looks down at her waist where a strong arm is tightly wrapped around her and she faintly recognizes Mitsuya's rings and watch. "Oh, this one of yours Mitsuya?" Ran says with a chuckle "C'mon don't be greedy. Was just havin' some fun"

She feels Mitsuya hold her tighter and Maya's knees feel weak so she leans back against him. "We all know what your version of fun is. Take videos and use them till they're dead. Leave her alone" Mitsuya says angrily

Maya can't see Mitsuya's face but she can assume he's probably pissed as hell. "What's going on?" she slurs, turning her head back to look at Mitsuya

Mistuya and Ran are having a staring contest— Mitsuya looking pissed off and Ran just smiling like nothing is wrong. Maya on the other hand is too drunk to really care. Mitsuya is pissed off and Maya is admiring how hot he looks angry like an absolute idiot. Were all of Chifuyu's friends this hot? She sighs dreamily, admiring the way Mitsuya's neck tensed when he got angry. God-fuckin-damn. "stay away from her Haitani" Mitsuya hisses

Ran only laughs. "You're not a part of Toman anymore Mitsuya, I have no need to listen to you" He walks closer to them and leans down so he's on eye level with Maya "We've only kept our hands off Shiba and Tachibana out of respect for Mikey and Kisaki and for the sake of old times... Else—"

"Shut up" Mitsuya says before Ran can say anything else and looks down at Maya, hoping she is too drunk to remember any of this

Chifuyu had explicitly told all of them he didn't want Maya to they used to be a part of Tokyo Manji Gang and Mitsuya wanted to respect his wishes. "Not her" Mitsuya says and it's not up for discussion

Mitsuya drags her back to the booth and makes her sit down. He's standing over her, holding her face in his hands checking for injuries or something. Maya doesn't know. Mitsuya's cold hands just feel really good to her heated skin right now. "You sure have a thing for attracting dangerous people, hm?" Mitsuya says with a laugh, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear

Maya just stares up at Mitsuya, openly admiring him now and he laughs. "fuck you're cute" He coos and ruffles her hair like she's a little kid

Maya doesn't really remember what happens after that. She was up with a pounding headache in Chifuyu's room, lying in between Yuzuha and Hinata who were snoring away. They were both still in their outfits from last night as well as Maya. But she had a familiar zip-up hoodie over her two-piece outfit. Chifuyu's grey hoodie sits on her shoulders and Maya's heart flutters. Had she not been feeling like absolute shit, she would have been squealing and kicking her legs like a middle school girl. But Yuzuha and Hinata were still sleeping so she kept herself quiet. She carefully gets off the bed, trying her best not to wake the other girls and picks her purse off Chifuyu's bedside table and heads to the bathroom connected to the room. She closes the door and turns on the light and gasp seeing her face. Her mascara was running down her cheeks like she'd cried and her lipstick was smudged. Maya shudders at the thought of all of Chifuyu's hot friends(and Chifuyu himself) having seen her like this and pulls out makeup wipes from her purse. It was a good thing she kept makeup wipes, moisturizer and things like that in her purse. Thank god for Sephora and other brands selling mini versions of their products. Once Maya gets her face clean and fixes her hair she leaves the bathroom and picks her phone up from the bedside table, leaving her purse there instead. As expected, her phone was dead. She puts it on charge and sighs. Yuzuha and Hinata were still dead asleep. The digital clock in Chifuyu's room shows it was 10:45 am. Maya zips up the hoodie about half way and heads out of the room silently so she didn't wake the other girls up. As she heads for the kitchen, she hears voices.

"Haitani is a fucking bitch" That was Draken

"Did he try anything?" Now Chifuyu

"She was too drunk to tell me anything but I don't think so" Next Mitsuya

Huh? What were they talking about?

"All that matters is that she's alright" Now that was a new voice

Maya pulls down the end of her mini-skirt and walks over to the kitchen. Immediately their conversation stops. The boys all look at each other nervously and before Maya could say anything, Mitsuya speaks up first. "Good morning Maya, I made soup. You probably feel like shit"

Maya just nods and looks at the newcomer who was wearing a suit and looks slightly awkward right now. "Oh yeah uh... this is Tachibana Naoto, Hina-chan's younger brother" Chifuyu says "and Naoto this is Kaneko Maya"

They both greet each other and Maya takes a seat at the dining table next to Kazutora who looks like he doesn't want to be up right now, his duel coloured hair sticking up in multiple directions. As Maya looked over at the couch she could see Hakkai knocked out, snoring away, sleeping in a somewhat uncomfortable-looking position. As Maya slowly sips the soup Chifuyu starts talking about what Naoto does. "He's a detective. Handling the Tokyo Manji Gang case right now" Chifuyu says with a grin

Maya nods. "Oh that's cool. I'm a psychiatrist"

Naoto seems genuinely interested. "Really? Where do you work?"

"Sunshine Grove. It's like outside the city—"

"Sunshine Grove?" Naoto's voice completely changes "You work at Sunshine Grove?"

Maya nods slowly. "Yeah..."

Naoto looks worried and that makes the rest of the boys worried as well. "Why what's wrong?" Draken asks the detective

Naoto shakes his head. "Uh... Insider info. I found out Toman's number 3 is possibly admitted in there for cocaine addiction"

Maya raises a brow. Now that was news. She had no idea someone like that was admitted to Sunshine Grove. "Wait seriously?" Kazutora is wide awake now and the rest of them have dark expressions on their faces

"Apparently," Naoto says "It's not confirmed but, it's what my sources say"

They all look toward Maya as she's drinking her soup. Her eyes widen realizing they were expecting an answer from her. "O-Oh... I wouldn't know. I don't work with the patients who are there for addiction. That's second floor, I work fourth floor with the criminals"

Mitsuya starts to laugh while Chifuyu groans. "C'mon I thought I told you to tell them to switch you to another floor" He complains

Maya only pouts. "4th floor makes more money"

Mitsuya laughs even harder at that. "see I told you. She just attracts bad people"

"Do not!"

Later when Hinata and Yuzuha wake up, Naoto insists on exchanging numbers with Maya. "I know there is this whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing and I won't push it... But um... If there is ever anything wrong, please tell me" The detective says with a small smile, his suit jacket now worn by his older sister

Maya nods and they exchange numbers. Hakkai and Yuzuha leave not long after and then followed by Mistuya and Draken. "I saw that~" Kazutora teases

Maya pulls the hood of Chifuyu's hoodie over her head and collapses on the couch. "Saw what?" she asks, bringing her bare feet up on the couch, sitting in a kind of fetal position

"Naoto's got the hots for you~" He says in a singsong voice

Maya narrows her eyes. "Nah uh!"

"100 percent. I saw it too" Chifuyu says teasingly from the kitchen where he is washing the dishes "he was blushing so damn hard. So fuckin' cute"

"Shut up" she grumbles

Maya had in fact not noticed any of what Kazutora and Chifuyu were talking about. She had been too preoccupied looking at Chifuyu to really look at Naoto. Now she just feels bad. Naoto was about 4 years older than her, of course, Chifuyu was encouraging this. Chifuyu had never been a huge fan of age gap relationships especially if it's more than 3-4 years. Maya, as a psychiatrist, does not blame him. But oh how she wished she was born earlier so Chifuyu would at least look at her as something other than a child that hangs around him. She figures it was alright. Even if she were the same age as Chifuyu, she wouldn't have confessed anyway.

Why?

He just doesn't like her that way.

Monday comes along pretty fast as usual. Maya clocks in and greets the other doctors leaving from the day shift. She does her usual, give all the 4th-floor patients their food, collect their trays, bring the cart back down to the 1st floor then come back up and give either Mr. Ueda company or talk to Mr. Kurokawa if he is awake. "You know, you're rarely asleep," Maya says taking a seat on the chair in his room "When do you sleep?"

"I'm in here all day, I sleep when I want," Izana says simply with a shrug "You on the other hand doctor, I still don't understand why someone as young as you would take the night shift. You still have a lot of living to do"

His words sounded oddly ominous. But Maya just shrugs that feeling off with the thought of it just being her nerves and not yet used to the night shift among criminals. "I do my living on the weekends, Mr. Kurokawa," Maya tells him "went out clubbing this weekend and got blackout drunk... Wait you don't have a problem with alcohol do you?"

Maya realizes she had a slip of the tongue. She wasn't supposed to be talking about alcohol or things like that with patients. "Calm down doctor, I think we're past the point of a normal doctor and patient relationship. I basically know everything about you. And no, I don't have an alcohol problem. I'm not here for that" Izana says with a lazy grin "How about you continue your story"

Maya shifts a bit in her seat. She looks at the small notebook in her hand and flips through the pages to where she had written down possible offences and the possible things wrong with Izana. She crosses off alcoholism. So far the ones circled were abandonment issues, mommy issues, narcissism and sociopathy. She was starting from scratch with him so she had to make some assumptions. "Um... Well... Went clubbing with that guy I told you about on Friday. He's..." She pauses trying to find the right words "Older... like about 5 years"

"You like older men, doctor?" Izana is teasing her and it works, her cheeks flush

Maya clears her throat. "Anyways..." she grumbles "I met his friends for the first time... They were nice. We went to a club, and got blackout drunk. Everyone ended up crashing at his place and in the morning one of the girl's younger brother came to get her... He was a police officer and now my crush is trying to set me up with him"

Izana laughs. "Police officer? A psychiatrist and a police officer. That sounds chaotic"

Maya just shrugs. "Forget that, he's trying to set me up with someone else and it's just... ugh" she groans

Izana laughs even more. He seems to be enjoying her misery. "Don't laugh at me" she whines "You're probably single too"

Izana gives her a mocking smile. "I don't have a lack of ladies, doctor"

Maya doesn't doubt him one bit. Izana was handsome. She can imagine him being the center of attention wherever he goes despite his condescending behaviour. Some girls were into that after all(Maybe Maya too). They end up dropping the topic and soon another starts and then another. Izana tended to avoid talking about his past, particularly his childhood. Maya would try her absolute best not to push it. However, after spending hours of the night just talking, the topics would shift into typical first-date or ice-breaker questions. "So if money wasn't a problem where would you live?" She asks

"Money isn't a problem, doctor. I'm rich" Izana tells her "I can live where I want. What about you?"

Maya thinks for a moment. "The beach"

"The beach?" He repeats "Really?"

Maya shrugs. "Yeah, why not? Warm weather all the time, nice view. It'd be nice"

Izana hums, seemingly agreeing with her. "I can agree with that. I have a beach house. Bought one recently because my younger brother likes the sea"

Oh? He has a brother? "that's sweet... how much younger is he than you?" Maya can't help but start jotting things down in her notebook again

Izana watches in amusement. "3 years. An annoying little shit sometimes but he does what I say because I'm all he has left"

Now that was ominous. "hm... What do you mean?" Maya asks slowly, furrowing her brows

Izana doesn't say anything after that. At the end of the night before Maya leaves, Izana speaks up. "You know when I get out of here, you can come visit my beach house" He suggests with his usual lazy grin

Maya laughs a bit. "I don't think that's very appropriate Mr. Kurokawa"

She bids him goodbye and Izana sighs, staring at the metal door. "Well see about that, doctor"

notes: I’m creating a tag list for this fic so if you’d like to be apart of it tell me :)

[caretaker-of-the-toys-au]

I'm curious: If the Caretaker, Celestia, and Devin were critters and the critters were humans, what do you think they would look like, and how would they of met?

I'm normal-

Oh, interesting idea!!

I would draw it but I've got a lot on my plate with art right now so I'll just answer in a block text:

Dogday would definitely be a preppy kid. Slacks and a letterman jacket. He's absolutely a ginger and has freckles. His pendant would be in the form of a necklace.

Catnap is a hoodie kid, black jeans and a choker with a moon. I see him having longer hair? Almost like it's mimicking a tail.

Crafty would be the maxi-skirt and croptop combo for sure. Her hair is braided down her back, it'd still be blue, and she'd keep her flower hairpin.

Bobby is a sweater person. Not just a sweater but one with a heart over her chest! That's where her pendant is. Chubby, brown hair and big old brown eyes so full of love it.

Hoppy is all for racer back tanks and shorts. Probably a pixie cut or something even short, her hair would be in her face too much otherwise. She'd still keep her single ear piercing.

Kickin' would match Hoppy, except a baggy t-shirt and shorts. His bandana is a must! He likes his hair really long, it makes him feel cool so he refuses to cut it past shoulder length.

Bubba... Hmm... He's a bit more complicated. Cardigan for sure, same with the lightbulb broach he has. Glasses too. He keeps a backpack with him with a first-aid kit and maybe a few snacks. He's just ready for anything. I think he'd wear polos too, only polos or button up shirts.

Picky would be all in general neutral. Not because she's enby or anything, she just doesn't care. She'd have longer hair, definitely blonde, and she'd keep it in a bun. I can see her tying off her shirts in a knot on her hip and wearing jeans.

Sunny and Moon would be either babies or actual pets.

How would the MC, Celestia, and Devin meet the kids? They'd be made for the kids!

MC, with how I depict them, would probably be designed a lot like Bobby is in canon, just a bit bigger. Their symbol would probably be a hand, a green one!

Celestia would be.... I can see her being a turtle or something. Her symbol would be a butterfly, I think. Sometimes she gives me Garnet vibes and that's just what I think about when I think of her.

Devin's a wolf, absolutely. Namely because of his origins in general, not necessarily here in the fanfic. His symbol would be a rose.

I think they'd get along well with the kids too. It would probably be the kids working to save them and trying to get them out of the factory, maybe even actually managing it!

That would be an interesting AU....

[softguarnere]

hi dove! i can't believe i've never requested anything on your blog! could you possibly write a enemies to lovers - lewis nixon x reader? maybe where feelings are discovered after one of them gets hurt/captured/something like that! you know i'm a sucker for angst with tons of fluff! thanks for being awesome!

mads <3

Coming Clean

Lewis Nixon x reader

A/N: omg hi Mads! Thank you so much for the request 🤗 I love your work (especially the way you write Nix) so I really hope you enjoy this! I edited and wrote the last half of this fic while sick, so if this is totally incoherent, that's why - and I'll just have to do my best to fix it when I'm better😆 (As always this is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) 💕🕊️ Warnings: language, mentions of war

“I am not being overdramatic,” Nixon insists in what can only fairly be described as a rather theatrical tone. 

Dick only glances up from across the table, an eyebrow quirked as he studies his friend. He nods slightly. Thank you for proving my point, the gesture seems to say.

“Nix,” he says, his tone serious, even though he opts for his friend’s nickname instead of a more reprimanding Lewis. “I don’t think comparing anyone to Sobel is fair.”

Nixon drops his fork and holds his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, okay. All I said was that if she wanted to, (Y/N) could give him a run for his money. That’s all.”

“They’re nothing alike,” Dick deadpans.

Nothing alike? A bit nondramatic, in Nixon’s opinion. An understatement for sure. He starts to protest, but Dick cuts him off.

“I think the two of you just got off on the wrong foot.”

Scoffing, Nixon leans back in his chair. “Well, I wouldn’t call overhearing someone explicitly talking about how they think you’re unqualified for your job getting off on the wrong foot. But close enough, I guess.”

“That’s not what I said.”

The voice is enough to startle both Nixon and Winters – although the ginger presses his lips together in a way that suggests he’s only just managing to repress a smile as he takes in your arrival on the scene. Nixon, on the other hand, has to forcibly close his mouth to stop from gaping at your sudden presence.

“What I said,” you continue. “was that I wasn’t sure how well a Yale man would hold his ground amongst the other officers.”

A frown tugs at the corners of Nixon’s mouth. For once, he’s grateful that part of his upbringing included lessons in how to conceal one’s true emotions lest someone gain the upper hand by using them against him. He presses his lips into a thin line and steels himself.

“Remind me where you studied again, Lieutenant?”

Your face pales. Bingo! You may have had him there for a second, but he’s struck a nerve.

“It was just a joke,” you say, your voice quiet.

Nixon only shrugs before turning back to Dick. There are footsteps as you walk away, but he doesn’t turn to see you go. Instead, he tries to concentrate on his tray of food. Tries being the operative word, since Dick seems intent on staring at him with that look of utter disappointment on his face that could make a saint feel guilty.

“What?” He stabs some broccoli with his fork, not looking up.

Dick sighs. “It was a joke, Nix.”

The potatoes on the corner of his tray are his next victim. Unseasoned and questionably cooked as they are, Nixon still puts all his focus into getting them firmly on his fork.

“Why does it bother you so much?”

Now he looks up. “Huh?”

“The joke,” Dick clarifies. “Why did it bother you so much?”

It’s not so much that the jab at his alma mater bothers him. It’s just . . . Huh. Why does it bother him? The way it’s said, perhaps, or the people it was said in front of. After all, it was one of the first things that you said upon Nixon’s arrival after his promotion. Not a good look for a newcomer in such a prestigious position. If he wanted people to poke fun at him despite his achievements, he could have just stayed home.

Sure, that’s probably it, he tells himself. You’ve just hit a nerve. No need to psychoanalyze this whole thing.

To Dick’s question, he only shrugs.

His friend, thankfully, does not press the issue.

. . .

Lewis Nixon, you’re beginning to realize, does not forgive and forget.

Well, that’s too bad, because all the other officers seem to think that he’s funny and charming. And they’re right. But clearly those qualities are not on display whenever you’re around. And you’re not about to ingratiate yourself to him by groveling for forgiveness over some stupid offhanded joke.

Too bad. Because you’re a big enough person to admit that despite his flaws, Lewis Nixon has his good qualities – not to mention that he’s handsome.

“Why are you staring at me?”

The sudden question draws you out of your thoughts. You blink, back in the present moment.

“Pardon?”

“You’re staring at me,” Nixon says. He doesn’t look up from the stack of mail that he’s censoring, intent on his work.

You avert your gaze, trying to ignore the heat you feel rushing to your cheeks. The words on the letter in front of you turn to nonsense the more you try to focus on them. If you work hard enough, you won’t be tempted to let your thoughts wander to the man sitting across the table from you.

“Here.” A letter lands on top of the one you’re reading as Nixon, once again, interrupts your thoughts. Startled, you look up to find him looking at you rather expectantly.

The letter he’s tossed to you looks familiar. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s written in your handwriting – a letter that you wrote to your family back in the states. When you glance up at him, he turns back to his own work.

“You spelled accommodate wrong. Thought you might want to fix it before sending it off to your family.”

Oh of course he would point out your mistake like that! Anyone else would have let it go. Your family will be so thrilled by the letter that they wouldn’t even give the misspelling a second thought.

The sigh that you push through your nose comes out louder than you expect it to. Nixon, however, doesn’t look up. Swallowing your pride, you aim for a tone that’s halfway pleasant.

“Thank you, Nixon.”

Is it your imagination, or does the corner of his mouth twitch slightly? A smirk, perhaps.

“You’re welcome, (Y/L/N).”

. . .

Though the world no longer trembles with the barrage of artillery fire, you keep your hands pressed firmly over your ears, staying low in the foxhole. Is it the cold causing you to shake, or the adrenaline that still courses through your veins?

You had been out making rounds when the shelling began, just trying to make sure that the rest of Easy Company was okay. The shellings are always unexpected, but this one caught you out in the open, exposed. You had had to dive into the nearest foxhole, hoping for the best as you hid from the explosions just outside.

Someone had grunted when you fell into the foxhole, your elbow connecting with their stomach. There had been no chance to apologize over the loud, cracking booms that filled the air.

After a shelling, there always seems to be a moment – a split second, really – of silence before it all goes to hell again. Then the calls for a medic will break out and everyone will jump into action, throwing around orders amid the screams and groans of the injured.

Now, as you wait for the few seconds of silence, you feel the person beneath you shift.

“Sorry,” you mutter, your arms shaking as you attempt to push yourself off of them.

“Christ,” a familiar voice grumbles. “My fucking ribs.”

Nixon’s voice is all the motivation that you need to push yourself the rest of the way off of him. Still full of adrenaline, you push yourself back on your heels, staying low in the foxhole, but ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

The Princeton man rubs his ribs. “You came out of nowhere. That really – “ He pauses, his expression shifting into one that you’ve never seen on him before as his brows furrow. Gently, he leans towards you. “Hey, (Y/N). Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine.”

“You look – “

Ka-BOOM!

The air splits in two as the second round starts. The shell must hit somewhere very near your foxhole, because the reverberations its impact sends through the ground cause you to topple forward, straight into Nixon.

Before you can even think about pushing yourself away from him again, something strange happens: you feel his arms wrap around you, drawing you in, close and tight, as the barrage continues. You bury your face in his shoulder.

When the second round ends, you both remain still, breathing heavily as you wait for whatever comes next. Only when it’s clear that the Germans are no longer firing do you pull away from each other. Neither of you looks the other in the eye.

“Sorry about your ribs.”

“Huh? Oh. They’re fine.”

Neither of you leaves the foxhole until absolutely necessary. And the next time that the Germans begin firing, when you somehow find yourself back in the same foxhole, neither of you seem to question how easily you wrap your arms around each other, bracing for the impacts and explosions.

The fog of war is a hell of a thing.

. . .

“Medic! We need a medic!”

The call is so unexpected that Nixon actually stops midsentence and turns his attention towards the panicked voice. Several others follow suit. After all, in the middle of Berchtesgaden, who would need a medic? It’s not like they’re in combat. And there’s nothing and no one around that should be putting anyone in danger.

Dick jumps into action immediately. Of course he does; he cares so deeply for his men – anyone can see that. It’s especially evident in this moment as he steps forward to intercept the panicked looking Talbert.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“(Y/L/N) needs a medic.”

Despite his wishes, Nixon feels his heart skip a beat at the mention of your name. It’s because of the startling and unusual news that Tab is delivering, he tells himself.

“For what?” he asks at the same time that Dick takes charge of the situation, charging down the street they’ve been standing on, yelling out that he needs to find Doc Roe.

As soldiers snap to attention trying to find the trusted medic, Nixon moves closer to Talbert.

“What happened to (Y/L/N)?”

Talbert takes a step back, his eyes wide, like he’s being confronted by a madman. Sure, Nixon’s tone was a little demanding – a little worried – but there’s really no need for the other man to look so shocked.

“A couple of us were out exploring the woods,” Tab explains. “She caught her ankle on a root and tripped. Might be just a sprain, but it looks pretty nasty.”

“Where is she now?”

“We got her back to the house that she was quartering in – Hey! Nix, where are you going?”

Talbert’s voice fades behind him as Nixon rushes down the street. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s vaguely aware of people stopping to stare at him as he passes, his pace a barely restrained run.

Several shocked faces look up at him when he bursts into the house. He stops in the doorway of the living room, staring into where you are.

You sit on the couch, one leg propped up beside you. Other than the swelling in your ankle, you look okay – if not a little surprised, that is, to see Nixon gaping at you like this. For what it’s worth, the few Easy men who are scattered throughout the living room look just as stunned.  

“(Y/N),” Nixon breathes. Coming back to himself, he clears his throat, willing his heart rate to slow down to normal levels.

“Um . . . I think we should – we should maybe clear out, yeah guys? Give (Y/N) some room to breathe,” Babe suggests.

Casting glances between you and Nixon, the other men squeeze past him in the doorway as they make their way out of the house. Behind him, the door closes, but Nixon doesn’t move. Somewhere within the house, through all the silence between the two of you, a clock chimes to signal the top of the hour.

“Can I help you?” You finally ask.

“We’re at the end of the war.” Nixon’s voice, once again, is louder than he intended it to be. He clears his throat again before pushing on. “We’re at the end of the war, and you somehow got hurt.”

“I tripped in the woods. So what?”

“So what? I was worried about you!” The words are out of his mouth before they have his permission to be spoken. They’ve escaped before he truly grasps the gravity of what he’s just said.

You quirk an eyebrow – a rather sarcastic expression that he’s come to know on you, but your voice is quiet when you ask, “You were worried about me?”

He was worried about you, he realizes suddenly. And he’s been worried about you for some time now, though he can’t place when his feelings towards you softened, when he started to care.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I want you to get home safely.”

“Why is that?”

His head spins. Maybe you should have been put in intelligence, the way that you’re pressuring him for answers while keeping a collected tone. It’s exasperating, honestly, how you’ve somehow gained the upper hand.

But part of him . . . likes the feeling it gives him when the two of you spar like this.

Something tugs at the corners of your mouth. It might be a smile you’re trying to suppress, or one of the smirks that he’s come to know so well.

“Nixon, I think you’re very bad at expressing your emotions.”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” With your propped leg taking up the space beside you on the couch, you instead gesture to the chair that sits nearby. Without knowing why, Nixon takes a seat. It’s a bit like waiting outside the principal’s office, the anticipation of it all. “But,” you continue. “it’s kind of cute to see you so flustered.”   

You’re messing with him, surely. Yet he can’t find any sort of witty comeback.

After a moment of staring at each other, you nod with the assurance of someone who has finally made up their mind and is resigned to their fate. “I think it’s time I finally came clean.”

“About?”

“I think you know. But just to watch you squirm, I’m going to start at the beginning.”

He’s heard you tell stories before. The two of you could be here for a long time.

But, he thinks as you start your narrative, he’s starting to realize that he wouldn’t want it any other way.

[lavendersartistry]

As much as I want to draw the form, horror art is still new to me to work with and it would be years before I suck it up and draw horror.

Which is why I write:

Let it be known when this was a poll, lotta people were warned of what the fic would entail. This is canon to ALL interpretations of Eve, mind you. Her "award-winning smile". If you read it for context of what I'm going to say about Eve for Space Riders, here's your warning now.

Space Riders AU - @onyxonline

Eve's Rage.

I had always depicted Eve in Space Riders as someone who nearly never gets upset. The sincere, sweet, genuine character who just is pressured by the status of a role that came too soon.

Which is why this post exists:

(better example here)

If you never noticed, I take lots of inspiration from mythology. Which is why Eve and Ginger K are themed after mythology.

Eve's species are technically demons, but go with the common saying: "wolf in sheep's clothing." Specifically because despite the sweet face, Eve can and will kill you at any given time.

Remember the reference sheet I made of Eve? On her fighting style and her demons? This is what I mean.

There's many ways Eve's demonic nature can go, no matter the universe she's portrayed in. Her character is like her species: alluring but deadly.

[fishwithtitz]

The Five Times I Hooked Up with Mary Goore (and the One Time I Couldn’t) - Chapter 3

Summary: I swallowed roughly and let out a shaky breath. What I was experiencing wasn’t feelings. No, it was need, and the anticipation of an orgasm from Mary paired with my own touch deprivation was all it took to bring me to the edge. 

And I hoped that tomorrow he’d fucking push me off.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Mary Goore x OFC / 11.4k words

Warnings: language, vaginal sex, graphic depiction of manual stimulation, recreational drug use, alcohol, mention of death/post-mortem care

aO3 link

Chapter Three : Hook-up #3: The Kitchen

It had been a while since I’d been out in public past 3 am. Hell, it’d been a while since I’d made it to last call. 

Tonight had been one of Thomas’ band’s bigger shows, and this time, it didn’t take much begging from Des for me to join in on the fun. It was the weekend which meant work was a distant thought easily shelved to the back corner of my mind. After a couple too many cheap tequila shots and a peer-pressured beer before drinks were cut off at the venue, I felt loosened but content, and I made no argument to Mark’s suggestion to hit up an all night restaurant for some greasy food to soak up the booze that coated our stomachs. 

So, here Mark, Des, and I sat at a rounded booth at a 24-hour diner as we waited for the rest of the group to join us. Cracked vinyl scratched against the backs of my knees and the dark yellow foam all but clawed its way through the time-worn rips. As I crossed a leg over the other, my arms came to fold underneath my chest and rest against the chipped tabletop, lost in unimportant thought. 

“Doll,” A hazy voice tickled my ear and began to break me from my daydream. “—hey, Dahlia!” 

I jerked a bit as I felt a hand brush my shoulder and looked up to see Thomas, Greg, Mary, and another one of Thomas’ band mates that I couldn’t remember the name of for the life of me. 

“Mind letting us in?” Thomas asked, hand just barely reaching out to motion to the empty booth seating beside me. 

“Oh! Yeah, sorry,” I chuckled a little, tone more embarrassed than I’d like to admit, and slid out of the booth to let Thomas slide in next to Des. The momentarily nameless drummer and Greg popped in beside Thomas, leaving myself and Mary to squeeze in last. Mary gestured to the seat as if to nonverbally say ‘go ahead,’ and I crammed myself in next to Greg. Mary slid in beside me, weirdly careful not to accidentally knock elbows or brush his leg against mine in the close quarters. I tried not to think anything of it.

Greg dipped forward over the table and grabbed at the small stack of menus. He tossed one to Mary and I before distributing a few more across the table. I pushed the sticky, laminated menu closer to Mary and relaxed my forearms against the stained tabletop. 

As everyone settled, chatter about the show was drummed up and compliments were slued around the table to the three sweaty musicians that occupied the booth. They explained that they were held up by the venue and a nearly stolen guitar, though luckily no fists were thrown and the instrument had been misplaced by the bassist by accident. 

The conversation was cut short by an older employee approaching our table, apron tied high over her robust hips, and she looked around at our motley crew before asking what we wanted to order. She had a gritty voice — tone so rough that I could visualize the sandpaper coating her vocal cords — but her kind, tired eyes showed through the otherwise roughened demeanor. 

We took turns ordering and by the end of the ordeal, I debated submitting the waitress’s name for a Presidential Medal of Freedom for the sheer amount of patience she demonstrated with a group of overly drunk adults. 

Thomas and Des had decided to share a fairly large breakfast platter and a ginger ale (and due to the queasy look on Des’ face when Thomas ordered it, I imagined that most of the food would be sanctioned to Thomas while the ginger ale was her futile attempt to even out the alcohol-to-stomach acid ratio in her gut). Mark insisted on a burger, and Greg had (almost too quickly) insisted on an entire chocolate silk pie. The drummer, who I was now certain was named Vince, stuck with the carafe of coffee we had requested, while I ordered French toast and extra crispy bacon. I had jokingly requested it to be nearly cremated, which did not amuse the waitress. Mary stuck with pancakes. 

As the waitress bustled off to ring in our food, Greg raised an eyebrow at Vince. 

“You’re going to try to eat my pie, huh, asshole?” He said disbelievingly. 

The drummer shrugged and leaned back in the booth. “Ask me nicely enough and I’ll eat your ass, too,” he said with a wink, puckering his lips for a kiss before earning a swift shove in the shoulder and what I swore sounded like a “fuck you”. I heard Mary and Mark laugh and I couldn’t help the chuckle that seeped past my lips. 

Feeling a little bolder after settling down with our anything-but-ordinary group, I leaned a couple inches closer to Mary, our height difference putting my cheek close to his jaw. 

“Never pegged you as a pancake man, Mary.” I said quietly enough for him to hear (or at least I had hoped). “It’s oddly endearing.” I smirked at him from his side, flashing my own grey eyes with a snarky glance. 

Mary raised his eyebrows with near mock disapproval. “Almost as endearing as you giving post mortem instructions for your breakfast side,” he quipped, his own stare never leaving mine as he fumbled with the paper tie on his silverware.  

“At least I didn’t order something with a face on it,” I shot back, referring to the whipped cream and strawberry smiley face that came with every stack of pancakes. 

Mary shrugged. “Cremation tends to get rid of the face, doesn’t it? I’m sure your order had one at one point.”

I shot him a glare that bordered on playful and somewhat offended, and before I could even open my mouth to retort, the waitress returned with a large carafe of drip coffee and enough mugs for each of us, announcing that she would be back with Des’ ginger ale in a moment. Vince all but tackled Greg to get to it, knocking elbows as he quickly filled up his cup. The acidic, distinct smell drifted across the table to settle between us, and after Greg poured his own mug, I filled a couple for Mary and I. 

Vince took a sip of the blackened liquid in his mug and almost groaned, while Greg shook his head, adding a packet of sugar to his own. “Oh, hey, Mary,” Greg began, “you think you could fill in on bass on Wednesday when we play at The Shredder? Pete has to work and if he calls out again, he’ll get fired.”

Mary took a sip from his own steaming mug. “Can’t man,” he said. 

Vince looked past me to Mary, leaning forward a bit over the table, “Fuck, why not?” he asked. 

Mary shrugged and looked down at his cup. “I have plans.”

Greg raised his eyebrow at Mary. “Dude,” he began, his tone growing a little more combative and most definitely annoyed, “if you don’t want to do it, just say so.”

“I fuckin told you man, I’m busy.”  Mary’s voice was now somewhat louder as he leaned forward to peer around me and back at the two bandmates, his sandy hair falling like a curtain over his left side as if to unknowingly shield other tables from the conversation. 

I could feel the tension building between the three men. In my still drunken haze, I reached forward to grab a single-serve plastic container of coffee creamer and stabbed the paper top with my fork. 

“Can’t you reschedule or something? This is important. We can’t cancel this gig,” Vince pleaded, his own tone much more reserved, and if anything, a little desperate. 

 “Sorry, I don't know what to fucking tell you,” Mary started, lifting his hands up halfway in the air as if to punctuate his point, his annoyance now glaringly obvious. 

I could feel the anxiety at the conflict rising in my chest as he spoke. In the middle of his sentence, I had turned the creamer cup upside down and squeezed it into my coffee, four streams of the thick, room temperature dairy squirting audibly into my cup. “Mooooooooo!” I droned out in a low tone as I roughly milked the container like an udder. 

“-I can’t exactly fucking reschedule my mom’s birthday- why the fuck are you mooing?!” Mary’s gaze shot over to me as he interrupted himself, a look of frustration painted on his features. 

I didn’t exactly know what to say, so I kept my widened eyes locked on his, fingers still kneading the plastic creamer as it let its last few drops into the mug. A round of snickers bordered the table at this and I licked my lips and swallowed.

“Just, uh…breaking the tension…” I murmured, folding my lips under my teeth in defeat. 

Luckily, Vince’s voice sliced through Mary and I’s tense moment. “…you’re missing a show for your mom’s birthday?” He looked at Mary as if he had grown another head and chuckled incredulously at him. 

Thomas, who has been chatting with Mark and Des on the other side of the table, must have overheard this as he suddenly cut in with a serious retort. “Don’t talk shit on Mary’s mom, man. She’s fucking rad.” His face stretched into a defensive scowl as he turned to Vince. 

Mark, who had decided to finally get his own mug of brew, quickly poured the rest of the carafe into the final mug. Thomas must have gotten his own cup earlier. “She helped out when they couldn’t afford some of their gear,” he explained emptying some creamer into the now cooling coffee, sans mooing, “used to drive us to shows when we were younger, too.”

I knew that Mary and Thomas definitely went back a ways, but I had no idea they had been friends for that long. Even more surprising was that Mark was also included in their history. I suppose I had assumed that they would have all been in the same band if they had been close for so many years, which even in my intoxicated state, I realized was ridiculous.

Tail between his legs, Vince mumbled something to the effect of “let us know if something changes” and shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he drank from his chipped mug, eyes cast down at the stained laminate. 

The table grew awkwardly silent for a quick beat, which luckily was broken as the elderly waitress sauntered over with a couple of large, oval-shaped plates in hand. She set down what appeared to be the greasiest burger I’d ever laid eyes on right in front of Mark. Thomas and Des’ shared heaping breakfast platter of eggs, bacon, and hash landed at their place setting and Des (who looked notably less queasy) quickly snatched a triangle of sourdough toast to munch on. I took the opportunity to break the ice with Mary while everyone was distracted by the wafting aroma of diner food. 

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s sweet of you,” I said softly as I leaned in, just close enough so that he could hear my compliment. I looked up at him and flashed him a softened smile. 

Mary looked at me with a millisecond of surprise before his own features relaxed a bit, and I swore I could see a hint of a redness creep onto his cheeks. I filed away to save for later - I had made the infamous Mary Goore blush. 

“What are you getting your mom for her birthday, Goore?” Des’ mouth smacked on her toast as she all but sputtered out the words. Yep, I thought, looks like she’s feeling better enough to pry. The girl may be hot, but she wasn’t always the most couth.

Mary ran a hand through his hair, raking his fingers through to the nape of his neck. “No clue” he sighed, “she’s fucking difficult to shop for.”

“Why don’t you just make her something?” Des replied, crumbs dotting her lips and threatening to fly as she chewed. 

Mary let out a chuckle and grinned in response. “I gave up on the macaroni crafts years ago,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm. 

Des rolled her eyes and reached over to grab a strip of bacon from the breakfast platter, earning her a side-eye from Thomas. “I meant, like, dinner,” she clarified. 

The waitress returned with Greg’s pie and a stack of small plates. She sat down the pie in the middle of the table and Vince reached towards it, Greg slapping his hand as he swooped in to scoot the pie closer to him. He waved his hand as if to say “we won’t need those” as the waitress tried to set the dessert plates on the table. 

Mary shook his head at Des. I couldn’t tell if he was used to Greg’s antics or if he just wasn’t paying attention. “Already have that part covered. We do Chinese takeout every year. Birthday tradition.” 

By now, Thomas was stuffing eggs into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and I was impressed with Des’ fortitude in keeping a straight face at the sight. “Dessert?” he said after swallowing. 

“Just make her a cake or something,” Mark added, dipping a fry in the ketchup slathered on Thomas’ eggs. 

“Or a pie!” Greg added. I turned to my right to see him with an abnormally large slice of chocolate silk in his hand, filling and chocolate shavings dripping down his fingers as he began to chomp at it like a slice of pizza. This was apparently the line for Des — she looked at him with an expression of pure disgust— something short lived as her face seemingly lit up with an idea.  

“Doll could help you!” Des waved the stub of bacon at Mary, before motioning it towards me. “She’s great at baking.”

Mark groaned in delight, eyes rolling up at the ceiling dramatically. “That cake you made Tommy was killer. Are you sure you didn’t put crack in it?”

This earned a genuine laugh from me, and I took a small sip of my now cooled coffee. “The only powder I fuck with is sugar,” I jest.

“Seriously, Mary, you should have Dahlia help you,” Des said soberingly, earnestness etched in her voice, “This is her wheelhouse.”

This time, it was my cheeks that began to flush. She wasn’t wrong. I had spent years honing my baking skills and often used them to cope with stress or as a way to show my love for friends and family. Hell, I’d made her more snickerdoodles than I’d like to count. Despite this, I still felt a deep discomfort at my talents being broadcast in front of a table of much more talented musicians. I’d always longed to have a “real” talent — one I could hang my hat on at the end of the day — but whatever higher power that existed (if one existed) decided to grant me the power of edible chemistry. To humor me, they also added a slow metabolism and abysmal self-control. 

I paused for a couple of seconds before turning my head to look at Mary. He had been staring at me, for how long I wasn’t sure, but I drank in the strands of hair that framed his sharp jaw peppered in stubble, tracing the line of his strong brow bone that seemed to mellow whenever I tried to study the meaning behind his eyes. I wet my bottom lip with the tip of my tongue before casting him a small smile, hoping he’d pick up on the telepathic signal that of course I’d be happy to help, and curl my fingers around the pitted ceramic glaze of my mug. 

He returned the look, and for a moment, I felt as if my guts were melting into my ass. I’d been staring, AGAIN, and not only had he caught me, but he seemed to be figuring out just how to make my knees weak as he spoke. “Yeah, maybe.”

Much to my relief, the waitress came back once more, nearly out of breath as she plopped my french toast down in front of me. She muttered out an apology and explained that a few more tables had arrived and they were understaffed. Mary’s plate came next, sliding across the smooth surface of the table as it landed inches from the edge. 

I grabbed a crisp piece of bacon and chomped down on it as I looked at Mary’s stack of flapjacks. The once beaming face of fruit and whipped cream had turned into an almost unrecognizable blob of melted goo and droopy berries that weirdly resembled Sloth from The Goonies, only incapacitated. A giggle bubbled up from my stomach and I clasped a hand onto Mary’s shoulder, leaning in to murmur in his ear. 

“Looks like yours is ready for post-mortem care, afterall, Goore.”

 🜏🜏🜏

A few days and a pounding hangover later, I lazed on my living room couch with a homemade smoothie in one hand and my phone in the other. My cat, Bones, was perched in my lap as I listened to the light rain pelting the window pane across the room. It was a lights-off kind of evening. Although it was still bright enough for some of the glow to filter in through the glass, it was dim in the small front room, and I felt it the perfect ambiance for comfortable socks and silent scrolling. Nights like these weren’t made for the radiant glow of TV against the walls. 

To put it simply, today was shit. My coworker, who was habitually late to arrive, showed up hours late to work with not as much as a peep as to why. Though I wasn’t the kind of person to continuously cover for her irresponsible ass, I knew that if both our responsibilities weren’t done by the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter who arrived on time and who arrived late: we’d both be fucked. So, in true pushover fashion, I sped through both of our laundry lists of tasks in remarkable time. The clock was pushing 4PM when I finally sat down to shove a KIND bar in my mouth as some sort of respite meal. 

After any other difficult day at work, I’d likely be downing a glass of wine or sucking the life out of my vape pen, but the taste of this past weekend still hung heavy on my tongue and threatened to turn my stomach every time I thought of it. I’d seriously contemplated skipping dinner and going straight to bed. Still, my grandmother’s voice hung heavy in the back of my mind as I passed the fridge and I begrudgingly plopped some frozen fruit, spinach, yogurt, and juice into my blender. If I didn’t have the energy to cook my meal, I’d just have to liquify it. 

As Bones purred aimlessly in my lap, I rubbed my feet together in circles, enjoying the feel of my cotton socks on my sore soles and the comfort of the throw pillow tucked haphazardly underneath them. I swiped past various poems, artwork, and occult content on my screen, sipping my green drink intermittently, and tried to mollify my anxious (and still very much frustrated) mind. Unexpectedly, my phone vibrated, a message popping up in the notification bar on my screen from an unrecognized number. 

hey 

I crinkled my eyebrows and opened the text message. There was no history of a conversation and a quick search of my contacts turned up nothing. I contemplated just ignoring it, but I could see the unmistakable three dots dancing underneath the text.

is that offer still open?

I rolled my lips over my teeth in thought and wracked my brain to try to think about what the mystery person was referring to. Nothing came to mind. I quickly typed out and sent a response. 

Who is this?

Again, the three dots flashed - this time just briefly before the sender replied. 

Mary

All the progress I’d made in stilling the stressed leech feeding in the pit of my stomach instantaneously vanished. Mary and I weren’t really on texting terms. We’d seen each other around more than a handful of times since the first night we officially met at Thomas’ house party. Yes, we’d gotten to know each other in ways that I didn’t know my other friends, but in no way were we close. We didn’t make any efforts to see each other — especially just the two of us. Just like Mary said during our roof rendezvous: we were two people engaging in some platonic head. There were no feelings, no complications, and no expectations. Still, just the thought of exchanging words back and forth made my chest palpate and my muscles tense. Why the fuck am I anxious right now? I found myself thinking. I let out a slow breath, shook my head, and tapped out a response, his own lighting up my screen a split second later. 

Oh hey. Which offer?

The baking one. For my moms birthday It’s cool if you cant

I barely realized the smile pulling at the corners of my lips. Mary hadn’t seemed that interested when we talked about it at the diner. I felt a tug of pride swell deep within me that he’d reach out to me privately for help with something important to him. 

I can help. Are you wanting a cake? Orrrr

Yea sure

Flavor?

Shit I didn’t think about that. Ummmm Not chocolate

I let out an audible snort at his answer. From the little I’d gotten to know about Mary, he wasn’t one to extrapolate. 

Very specific, Goore. Thanks.

Her birthday is Wed. When should I be over there to help and what do you want me to bring?

I stared at the screen for a minute and chewed at the chapped skin forming on my bottom lip to quell the flop of the smoothie in my stomach. I’d just assumed that Mary had wanted me to make the cake for him, but no, he wanted me to help him make it. The two of us. And apparently, at my place. 

I opened the calendar app on my phone and scrolled through Tuesday to confirm I hadn’t committed to anything else before shakily sighing and typing out a text back.

Tomorrow at 5? I have everything here.

Cool. Address?

394 Rosway

See ya then

I plopped the phone down on the cushion space beside me and inwardly groaned. This would be the first time that I’d be intentionally meeting with him alone. I hadn’t really hung out with a guy in a pre-planned way since I’d been with Brody. Each time Mary and I had been around each other, the night had started with another purpose in mind, another social reason to share the same space. 

Bones chirped from my lap, his yellow eyes nearly glowing up at me as he studied my response in the muted evening light. Had I known any better, he was using the moment to comment on my reaction. 

 “It’s just a friend helping out a friend. I’d do the same for Des,” I said, reaching out to pet his soft fur before quickly adding, “-or Thomas, for that matter.”

Bones exhaled, his arms reaching out in a stretch with claws curled before spiraling into a sleeping position, chin resting on my thigh. I followed suit, sinking back into the comfort of the couch cushions that enveloped me, shutting my eyes as my smoothie glass found its way to the side table. It took a conscious effort to bat away at the butterflies rounding about in my gut. I didn’t know why my body was reacting this way. Friendships with guys weren’t a new concept to me, and that’s what this was — a friendship. One still in its infancy. 

Nevertheless, snapshots like movie stills stretched across my closed eyelids. My dress hugging Mary’s thighs as he moved his fingers inside me. His hand clasped against my mouth as he purred out “Shhh,” emerald eyes hooked on my own slate ones. My legs squeezing the sides of his head, golden brown locks of his hair brushing past my thighs as I came undone on his mouth. His spend dripping down my thr-

I swallowed roughly and let out a shaky breath. What I was experiencing wasn’t feelings. No, it was need, and the anticipation of an orgasm from Mary paired with my own touch deprivation was all it took to bring me to the edge. 

And I hoped that tomorrow he’d fucking push me off. 

 🜏🜏🜏

I’d managed to leave work a whopping ten minutes earlier than I’d expected to, which I’d hoped was enough to allot extra time to take a shower before Mary stopped by. Luckily, working through lunch had actually allowed me to leave my job an hour earlier than usual, so I was ahead of schedule. I’d managed to make a strawberry filling for the cake before I’d left earlier this morning, and I’d crossed my fingers multiple times throughout the day hoping that it’d be set enough to use by the time he arrived. 

After filling Bones’ bowl with kibble and tossing my keys on the counter, I kicked off my shoes and beelined to the bathroom. I glanced down at the clock on my phone. 4:30. I only had a half hour. 

Tying my hair up in a claw clip, I stepped into the steam of the shower and soaped up in a matter of minutes. After a quick shave and final rinse, I stepped out, dried off, and reapplied some basic makeup before unclipping my tresses.

I ran my fingers through the strands to release the few tangles that had gathered throughout the day and made my way back into my bedroom to scout my closet for something to wear. I found myself flipping through the hangers of dresses before stopping myself. I had zero reason to dress up. I was baking, afterall, and this wasn’t a date or a social outing. I opted for a pair of black leggings and an old Misfits tee, leaving my feet bare. 

The next fifteen minutes began with me setting out the ingredients and baking tools we’d need, but my flow was continuously interrupted by my mind’s need to tidy the house. After the fifth interruption, I scolded myself. You’re not inviting the damn Queen to dinner, Doll. I shook my head and threw the shoes I’d absentmindedly picked up back in the living room. A living room needed to look lived in, after all — and the dishes in the sink could go fuck themselves.

A knock on the door brought me back from my mental argument and I padded through the short hallway with a withheld breath to unlock it. Beyond the oak entryway stood Mary in a ripped Carcass tee, jeans, his infamous leather jacket, and Chuck Taylors, his hair falling around his shoulders in messy light brown waves. His left hand clutched onto a couple of grocery bags, while his right was miraculously slid into the tight confines of his studded pocket. 

“Hey,” I stepped to the side and shot him a quick warm smile. “Come on in.”

Mary made his way through the threshold and I clicked the heavy door shut behind him, turning to watch him take in his surroundings. His hand still shoved in his pocket, I studied his reaction to my small home, the bag hung around his wrist swishing slightly as he scanned his head from left to right. 

The house I occupied was fairly small — just about 1,000 square feet — and was old. I didn’t mind the size. On the contrary, it was the perfect set up for a single person and I felt that the old cottage feel gave the home character. The breezeway into the house was short and opened up to the left into the quaint living room. Just past the end of the living area, a doorway led straight ahead into a dinette attached to an open kitchen poised on the left, while a doorway at the right opened up into a hallway that turned to the bedrooms and bathroom. 

“This place is yours?” He asked before craning his neck to look at me. 

I nodded. “Yep. Just me.” I went to shove my hands in my own pockets before remembering that I’d chosen leggings and awkwardly sliding them down my thighs as if I’d totally meant for it to happen. “Well, and Bones,” I added as I felt the black feline rub up against my ankle.

Mary crouched down and offered his hand out to the cat, who tentatively sniffed it, whiskers twitching, before slowly approaching the leather-clad man. Bones rubbed his cheek against the outstretched hand and let out a soft purr when Mary began scratching under the feline’s cheek. My mind flashed back to our conversation as we’d walked from the convenience store to the roof that one night so many weeks ago, and my lips curled with nostalgia as warmth pooled in my gut. Mary wasn’t joking about being an animal person. 

I realized that he was still holding the bags and I suddenly felt like a huge asshole and terrible host for not offering to help. “Here, let me grab those,” I said as I reached forward, taking the plastic bags before pivoting to move down the hallway. The bags were heavy. “What the hell did you bring, Goore?” I asked him lightly with a chuckle as I walked through the threshold to the kitchen area, plopping the bags on the countertop with an audible thunk. 

Mary followed and came up beside me, battle jacket having been discarded and thrown somewhere in the living room, before pulling the plastic sheathing down to reveal two bottles of cheap red wine and a two liter of Coca Cola. While it suddenly made sense why the bags were so heavy, I still had no idea what his thinking was behind the combination of drinks. 

“Red wine and Coke?” I questioned, turning to look at him quizzically. 

Mary was balling up the plastic bags. “You’ve never heard of a calimocho?” He slid past me into the kitchen over to the sink and opened up one of the cupboards beneath, closing it quickly before snapping the next one open to find the trash can. 

“...I can’t say I have.” I replied as he tossed the trash in and made his way back to the wide, open countertop, grabbing one of the bottles of wine. Luckily, he’d bought one with a twist-off top, so there was no need to worry about a cork. He mirrored the action with the bottle of Coke, and I shifted to grab a couple of tumbler glasses from the cabinet before filling them with ice.

I set down the glasses and watched as he poured in enough red wine to fill the glass about halfway in each. He topped both off with the cola and gave each a quick swirl before handing one off to me. I accepted the glass tentatively from him and lifted it to my nose. The smell was distinctly soda-like, but the earthy, sweet, spiciness of the wine came through as I took a large inhale. 

“The last time I trusted your drink-making choices, Mary, the result was a watery beer in a leaky gas station cup,” I said as I lowered the glass from my nose. 

Mary scoffed. “That was an impulse buy. This is a real drink - one of my Basque buddies introduced me to them a few years back.” He reached out his cup and clinked it against mine, causing a bead of the liquid to drip down over his rough fingertips. I felt a pang of heat in my core as I thought about those fingers curling inside of me. Stop it, I scolded to myself. 

We both took a sip and as soon as the drink hit my lips, I let out a surprised noise of delight. He wasn’t lying. It was ridiculously good. I took a small gulp before setting it back down on the counter. “Touche,” I admitted in defeat. 

A quick beat passed as Mary leaned back against the counter, sipping his drink, and I shook my head and clasped my hands together awkwardly. “Right, so,” I took a few steps to the counter space that hugged the near wall, facing him, “I was thinking of a vanilla bean cake with buttercream frosting and strawberry filling. Is that okay?”

Mary shrugged, but I could sense that instead of his usual nonchalance, his posture insinuated trust. “You’re the expert. I defer to you.”

We both put our drinks to the side and washed our hands in the clean side of the sink (me trying not to imagine where those hands had been as the sudsy water slid over the chipped black paint that donned his fingernails) before setting up shop at the larger run of counter. I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail with the spare tie on my wrist. 

“Okay, so you have your dry ingredients and your wet ingredients,” I started, hand motioning to each pile of pre-organized ingredients that I’d set out for us. 

“Are the dry ingredients hard to please or are the wet ones just perpetually horny?” he asked with a smirk. I shot him a look and he put his hands up to his chest in defense. “Just curious!”

I ignored the comment and grabbed a glass bowl to place in front of him, before playfully shoving a box of cake flour to his chest. “Put three cups of cake flour in here. Be sure to level each cup so they’re equal.”

Mary obeyed the instructions carefully, then added in the leavening ingredients and salt as I gave him directions for each, mixing them (albeit somewhat awkwardly) with a fork. 

“Dry ingredients are done. Now for the wet-” I shot him another look when he wagged his eyebrows at me with a smirk, “-unwrap both of the sticks of butter and plop them in here.” I pointed to the mixing bowl, then moved the paddle attachment aside to give him room. 

After the butter was added, Mary cautiously measured out the sugar and added it into the mixer. “I thought you said these were wet ingredients?” He questioned, pointing to the sugar. I let out a chuckle. 

“They are. Sugar is considered a wet ingredient because of how it acts with moisture.” I could see another one-liner brewing behind his eyes, but he must have gotten the hint that I was at least trying to be serious, because he bit his tongue. 

After showing Mary how to cream the sugar (“Gently - I don’t need to scrub chunks of butter off the walls!”) I watched in amusement as Mary tried to crack each egg without getting shells into the batter, a litany of curses following each egg as he had to fish the slippery pieces out with pinched fingers. Some vanilla bean paste and almond flavoring later, and we were ready to combine. 

“Okay, so we’re going to add the dry ingredients and the buttermilk in batches,” I said, turning my head to pick up the carton of buttermilk. As I looked away to grab the last ingredient, Mary dumped the flour into the mixing bowl and turned on the mixer, bumping the lever to full speed. 

A cloud of flour poofed up into the air, swirling around the both of us as if a midwestern tornado, and I fought the urge to cough as I tasted the salty baking soda that coated my lips. I flung forward and shut the mixer off. 

Turning around, I saw Mary shaking out his shirt with a guilt-ridden grin. A light dusting of the dry mixture coated his cheeks and brows, with some of it clinging to his hair. I let out a puff of air to blow the flour-smattered strand of hair from my eyes and looked at him with a seething glare that did a piss-poor job of hiding my amusement. 

“You’ve lost mixer privileges.”

Ten minutes and a quick sweep later, the batter was finished and poured into three round cake pans. After throwing them into the oven and setting the timer, we dusted ourselves off a little more thoroughly, grabbed our drinks, and headed to the living room to wait. 

I sunk into the right side of my plush brown couch with a large exhale, Mary rounding the other side of the couch to follow. Plopping my feet up on the coffee table, I leaned back, head rolling to the side to look at the metalhead next to me. 

I was expecting to meet his eyes, but instead, he was taking in the decor of my living room. The walls were a jewel-toned green (a painting project that Des and I took on a couple of years back) and the furniture, which was nearly all old and thrifted, contrasted the cool tones with warm wood and brass accents. An out-of-commission fireplace sat just in front of us, while a line of bookshelves stood soldier-straight against the right side of the back wall. A bar cabinet and plant shelves hugged the far right side of the room, while the left side held a series of paned windows floating above an old record cabinet. 

As Mary surveyed the room, I chewed on my lip, trying to drink in his reaction. His eyes roamed across the various paintings and prints I had hung on the walls, some of a more occult nature, while some boasted a more classic mix of impressionist influences. When he saw the record cabinet, he popped up and over, sitting cross-legged as he started to thumb through the crate of records beside it. 

“Quite the mix you’ve got here,” He said as he held up a Carpenters record with a smirk. I chuckled and nodded, turning to face him as I snuggled into the arm of the couch. 

“I like a lot of different types of music. Some of those are inherited, some I bought.”

I took a sip of my calimocho and watched as Mary perused the collection, stopping as he pulled out an Alice Cooper record. I nodded towards the turntable as if to say “go ahead.”

With Billion Dollar Babies playing in the background, Mary popped back onto the couch, converse skating across the tip of the coffee table as he leaned back with a sigh. My head was still turned to him, fingertips clutching the sweaty tumbler glass, and I took in the curve of his eyelashes and slope of his cheekbones. 

Other than the sounds emitting from the turntable, it was oddly quiet. Time with Mary was usually filled with easy conversation, but I was having trouble knowing exactly what to say. He must have picked up on this because he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me, smirking.

“Do I still have shit in my hair or something?” he asked as he caught my stare. 

“Shut up,” I laughed, reaching over to throw a pillow at him. The tension seemed to break as he laughed, throwing the pillow back at me playfully. I smiled at him and brought my legs to criss-cross underneath me. 

Mary took a sip of his drink before setting it back on the coffee table. “Thanks for, uh, this. All this.” He reached up to scratch at the back of his neck somewhat nervously. 

I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s what friends do.” Reaching down, I dusted a little smear of leftover flour from my knee and continued. “She seems really special to you. Your mom, I mean.”

Mary mirrored my posture by turning to face me a little more head on. “Yeah, she is. She’s fucking great.” He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back a little, moving his legs from the table to cross one ankle over his knee. “She’s never been anything but supportive. Even when I fucked up. Or when I was too stubborn to listen to her.”

I cast him an encouraging smile, a look of both understanding and empathy on my face. “Just the two of you then?”

“Yeah,” Mary said with a sigh, reaching over to take another long drink of his calimocho. “Dad died when I was young.”

My eyes widened a little at this admission and my expression fell to one of concern. “I’m sorry. That’s-” I let out a shaky exhale, “...that’s really shitty.” I didn’t do well with death. I never knew how to comfort those who’d lost someone important to them. I mentally cursed myself for such a bland response, but Mary didn’t seem to mind.

“Eh, shit happens.” he swirled the half empty tumbler glass, ice cubes clinking against the cool shell. “Besides,” he shot me a playful smirk, “it left me with just the right amount of daddy issues to farm sympathy from hot chicks with nice tits and a penchant for leather.”

My face dropped for a split second before I let out an incredulous and obviously uncomfortable laugh. “Jesus Christ, Mary. What the fuck.”

He laughed and raised an eyebrow at me in response, taking another sip of his drink before standing up. “Refill?” he asked. I nodded and he disappeared into the kitchen to pour us another round. 

As I reclined a bit, my vision moved to study the patterns that danced across the painted plaster of the ceiling. Mary was starting to open up to me (even if it was in his usual “sarcastic Mary” way). I wondered if that meant there was an expectation that I also open up to him, or if sharing anything too personal would scare him off. He already knew about my bad breakup with Brody, but the majority of our conversations centered around music, movies, and our mutual connections. 

Mary gently clunked my glass against the top of my head to alert me that he was back, and I grabbed it with a small thank you. This time, he plopped down a little closer to me — our legs brushing up against each other — and I felt the skin prickle underneath the fabric of my leggings. 

“So, how’d you score such nice digs?” he asked, his right arm coming up to rest across the back of the sofa. 

I looked down at the ice in the cup. He must have replenished it, because the cubes were bigger, and each breath I took seemed to shake them just barely within the cup. “I inherited it,” I began, “From my grandma. She left it to me in her will when she passed.”

“No shit?”

“It’s been a point of contention in the family ever since.” I paused for a moment, trying to hide the sad smile that automatically painted the corners of my lips. “But I like it. It’s perfect for just me. I don’t have to worry about a house payment, and I’ve been able to transform it into my own space over time.”

Mary’s tone sobered a little as he shifted in his place on the sofa. “Do you like living alone?”

I pinched my brow in thought for a brief moment. “Most times,” I let out a breath. “It does get lonely. Des used to practically live here, but she’s got her own thing going now — which, good for her, of course — so… it’s just me most of the time.”

Mary leaned back a little, body still facing my own as he looked up and craned his head around to gaze at the decorated walls. “I’d love to have my own place. No one to clean up after except yourself. Walk around naked. Put shit wherever you want.” He stretched out his legs to rest on the coffee table once more. “I room with Mark and he can be a huge dick sometimes,” as if to make a point, he pointed the glass towards me, finger aimed dramatically, “and he snores.”

I let out a laugh and felt that warm, comfortable joy that Mary seemed to bring with him creep back into my stomach. “You’re welcome over here anytime you feel the urge to put a pillow over his face while he sleeps.”

Mary chuckled. “Cool, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Shifting in my seat to bring my legs underneath me, I took a long gulp of my drink, now feeling the buzzing effects of the red wine. I’d drunk enough that I was past the point of feeling drowsy and had safely arrived at feeling loosely confident. “Not to disappoint,” I started, a smirk blooming across my lips, “but I don’t walk around the house naked.”

“That’s easy to fix. You’ve already got the ‘put shit wherever you want’ part down pat.” Mary motioned towards the pair of shoes that I’d thrown earlier that sat towards the wall and I felt myself bristle, a touch of embarrassment coloring the apples of my cheeks (or maybe that was the wine?)

“Wow, asshole. Thanks for pointing out my flaws as I do you a favor.” I tugged my thumb backwards to motion towards the kitchen behind me, doing my best to ignore the innuendo he clearly wanted me to catch. 

The long-haired man in front of me leaned to the side to set his glass on the coffee table, kicking his feet off as he snaked his body closer to mine. “Sorry,” he began, legs adjusting as he started to close the distance between us, the volume of his voice lowering in both pitch and volume, “let me make it up to you.”

Mary’s hand reached out to clasp right above my knee, his thumb pressing into the meat of my leg just enough to drive home his point. By now I could feel his exhales dancing across the pores of my lightly freckled skin. It seemed that things had gone from zero to sixty in mere seconds. I lightly swallowed and my eyes traced a path across the Carcass logo hugging his chest and up his neck, landing on the lips that were now dangerously taunting me. 

I didn’t realize that I had been inclining towards him as well until his free hand grasped onto the back of my neck, my hair catching between his fingers as he pulled us together. Immediately, I noticed the tang of the Coke and wine on his lips and caught the faint smell of smoke lingering in his hair from a hours-past cigarette. 

A noise that was somewhere between a squeak of surprise and a whimper tumbled from my throat, just barely audible as it escaped into his own mouth, and I brought my hand to curl across the curve of his shoulder, thumb pressed to his fabric-covered collarbone. Nearly as soon as our lips met, he pulled away, but before I could complain, he dove back in with a tilt, opening his mouth to swipe his tongue across the soft bend of my bottom lip.

As we kissed on the couch, his thumb now curving around to press lightly on the side of my throat as he gripped my neck, the world seemed to pause in time. I was completely consumed by his taste, the feel of his fingertips against my skin, and the aggressive need that both of us breathed as our movements became more hurried. 

Mary’s right hand began to travel up the expanse of my leg, inching along to rest against the curve of my hip and ass, and I felt fire shoot through my ribcage as he squeezed the flesh there. Without another thought, both of my hands moved to slip underneath his shirt and dance along the skin underneath, warm and surprisingly soft against my fingertips. 

With a loud jolt, the timer to the oven began to sing, causing me to jump and Mary to pull away simultaneously. I cleared my throat just barely and raked my hand through my hair. “Timer to the, uh — cakes are ready to be taken out.”

I sprang up and into the kitchen to turn the blaring alarm off. Luckily, a quick test of the pans showed that each cake was almost perfectly cooked. I pulled them out and set them on the range to cool, tossing the tea towel I’d used as a potholder aside as I turned to face Mary, who’d followed me into the kitchen. 

“We, um, need to make the frosting while they cool,” I explained, motioning back toward the mixer. 

I couldn’t quite decipher the look on Mary’s face. He clearly wasn’t flustered by the quick makeout on the couch. In fact, he looked oddly composed, if not a little arrogant at my excitement. 

Pulling out a spare mixing bowl, I gestured towards the makeshift workstation with a slight swing of my head. Mary came up behind me and rested a hand on the countertop, caging me in. 

“You’ll want to add in both sticks of butter,” I said as I wet my lips, handing him the two sticks. He unwrapped them and plunked them into the bowl. As I turned it on, one of his hands came to rest on my hip, the other returning to the countertop. 

“What next?” His lips were just a couple of inches from my ear, eyes cast forward as he watched the rotating paddle. 

“V-vanilla,” I stammered out as I felt his fingertips squeeze at the meat of my hip. I closed my eyes and let out a breath. He picked up the vanilla and one of the measuring spoons, waiting until I nodded in response to his guess at the amount before letting it drizzle into the whirling mixer. 

His other hand grasped the other hip before traveling down my thigh, grasping onto the front as he twirled his wrist inward to dance between my legs. “...and then?”

My arm jutted out as if in reflex to grab the bag of powdered sugar resting against the backsplash. “Dry- urm - w-wet ingredients.” 

“Hmm,” his voice now sounded arguably more sultry — reminiscent of when he was shushing me on the couch with his fingers deep inside me — and I felt a shiver run down the length of my spine. “I’d help, but I lost mixer privileges. Maybe you should show me how to do it?”

I nodded and dumped half the bag in, pulsing the speed so as to not recreate Mary’s cloud from earlier, and waited a beat before pouring the rest in, repeating the motion. Once it combined, I drizzled some heavy cream in, fighting the urge to slam my eyelids shut at the chuckle that fluttered across my neck as Mary fought the urge to undoubtedly make a cum joke.

Careful not to elbow him, I scraped the sides of the bowl and mixed in the last bits of the dry powdered sugar before detaching it and setting it aside. Slowly, I turned around in his arms and looked up at him. The iconic Mary smirk was permanently etched into his face. I could tell he was having a field day with my reaction to him, and I cursed my inability to keep my shit together in front of the bullet-belted thrasher in front of me. 

It was silent for what seemed like ages but in reality was probably a few seconds. I half expected Mary to resume what we’d started on the couch, but after staring directly into my soul, he pushed back and dusted his hands before shoving them in his pocket. 

“Alright, what’s next?” he said coolly.

I nearly glared at him. Instead, I took a mental breath and grabbed the frosting, shoving it a little harder than I’d intended to into his chest. 

“The part you’re best at: getting frosting everywhere.”

Mary beamed. 

🜏🜏🜏

Mary continued his cool demeanor as we leveled the cakes, only breaking slightly when I gave him a piece of the scraps and he nearly moaned at the taste with a “Fuck, I made this?”

I showed him how to set and frost each layer, and when I turned around to grab the strawberry filling out of the fridge, I pretended not to see him swiping a taste of the frosting out of the bowl. Moments later, the cake was filled, the crumb-coat was completed and briefly chilled in the freezer, and I was showing Mary how to put on the final coat of frosting. 

He stood at the counter with the icing spatula in hand, rubbing the frosting against the side of the cake gingerly. I almost snorted at his dainty touch and reached around him, my front to his back as I grabbed his hand and directed it against the confection. 

“You can be more forceful. It’s not a porcelain doll.” 

Mary shot me a smug look. “Is that a subtle way of telling me you don’t like it rough, dollface?” 

I felt the familiar pang of heat at my insides and I fought back another groan before realizing the compromising position we were in. Taking matters into my own hands, I gripped onto his wrist a little more forcefully, pushing myself up against him as I peered around his height at the cake. 

“Not everything needs a delicate hand, Goore.” I snapped back, pushing his hand with the knife down to evenly coat the side of the cake, my other hand wrapping around him to turn the cake plate. As much as he tried to act unbothered, I could feel his breath pick up as my leg brushed against the back of his. 

We finished the final coat and I handed him the remaining strawberry filling, watching with amusement as he pooled it on top of the cake, letting it drip down the sides while commenting on how it wouldn’t be from him if it didn’t look at least slightly bloodied (which, to be fair, earned him a solid laugh from me). 

“Voila,” I said, standing back with my hands on my hips. Mary mirrored my action and I felt a soft warmth in my chest as I watched his proud reaction. “I’ll be right back to help move it into the fridge. Just give me a sec.”

I popped down the short hallway to the bathroom and quietly shut the door. Leaning over the vanity, I looked at myself in the mirror and studied my features. There was still a tiny bit of flour at the back of my scalp, and my leggings had a smattering of white fingerprints across them. Reaching down, I rinsed my hands with cool water before splashing some on my neck and drying it with a cool towel. This punk was going to be the death of me. 

When I returned to the kitchen, Mary turned around abruptly, the frosting bowl in one hand while the other was scooping a finger full of frosting into his mouth. 

“Go at it,” I chuckled, “You earned it.”

I met him in the kitchen and leaned back against the counter peninsula, arms crossed over my chest as I watched him with poorly hidden glee. 

“Just had to make sure you’re not trying to poison my mother,” he reasoned, and I laughed again, shaking my head. “This is seriously fucking tits, Doll.”

I felt the heat tinge in my face again. “Thanks, Goore.”

He moved toward me, taking his finger to scoop a bit more frosting before setting the bowl down beside me, his body now inches from mine. He held out the icing covered finger just millimeters from my lips and I thought about his chipped polish digging into my thighs. 

Parting my mouth, I dipped my tongue out just enough to lick at the tip of his finger before bringing it between my lips. He was right — the frosting was fantastic, but as I savored the sweet and salty creaminess that coated my tongue, I let my mind wander to how he tasted in my mouth not long ago as I lapped up the spend he shot down my throat. Maybe it was that thought that caused me to start sucking at his finger, eyes gazing doe-like upon his, while I swirled my tongue across his fingertip. 

I could have sworn that I saw Mary’s emerald eyes physically burn as he watched me, moving from flirty to completely feral as he popped the finger from my mouth and dipped his head in, tongue tracing against the line of my bottom lip. 

He pulled away, hunger still nearly evident as he grabbed onto the curve of my hipbone with his now frosting-free hand. 

“I think I missed some.”

With that, he crashed his mouth into mine, this time much harder, and he immediately shifted to deepen the kiss and roll his tongue against my own. His hands moved down to box me into the countertop and I whined, snaking my own arms up to loop around his neck as I pulled him fervently into me. 

All of my self-reserve clambered from my body. Despite feeling fairly sober from the mixed drinks, I knew my core had been poisoned with need — lust-drunk and willing. If Mary tried to take things further, there was no way I’d be able to resist. 

Gripping the backs of my legs, Mary pulled me to sit up on the wide, open countertop, and used his knee to kick my legs open as he gripped onto my lower back, all but shoving me into his lean frame. 

His hips rolled to grind against me and I let out a pleased hum against his lips. As my tongue danced against his own, lips moving as if in song, I could taste the saccharine proof of our time spent together, the vanilla mixing with an aftertaste of coke and wine and the flavor that was so distinctly Mary. I inhaled deeply against him through my nose, and felt my senses beam with the mix of smoke and his since shed-leather and my own growing arousal slick between my legs. I thought about his torso on top of mine, of the length I’d only felt in my mouth finally pumping into me, and my abdomen tensed at the vision painted behind my eyelids. 

My legs moved to wrap around Mary’s middle and he growled before he broke the kiss just briefly to pull at the hem of my tee shirt to rip it over my head, my bra immediately following. My arms returned to his middle and I began to fumble with the clasp to his metal-adorned belt, struggling just briefly before I heard it fall to the floor with a loud, heavy clunk. 

Mary took the opportunity to tear his own shirt off and toss it haphazardly behind him. Our lips came back together hungrily, nearly tearing at each other like we would wither without taking and giving and taking and giving, and I’m certain I almost broke the button to his jeans as I aggressively popped it open and ripped down the zipper fly. 

Even with the painted-on tightness of his jeans, they were down his legs in record speed, and he reached a hand down to awkwardly pull on the laces to his converse before shaking and kicking both them and his pants off, earning a giggle from me against his lips. His hands returned to my sides and I felt the pads of his thumbs dig into my pelvic bones wantonly, aggressively. As if I wasn’t just Doll, but his doll.  

Pulling back, I took in the sight of the man in front of me. My eyes flitted over the tattoos on each of his arms, raking over his shoulders and pecs as they trailed down his abdomen and to the trail of hair framing the waistband of his boxer briefs. This was the first time I’d seen him so exposed, skin on display, and I mirrored his feral gaze with my ashen eyes as I raked a hand through his golden brown locks, pulling him eagerly back to kiss me. 

Mary’s fingers dipped into the waistband of my leggings and he began to roll them down, almost hesitantly as if asking silent permission, so I moved to grab onto the edge of the counter and lifted my lower half to allow him to push them, along with my panties, down past my ankles. 

After I kicked the remaining clothing off my body, the cool air kissed at my skin, and I swallowed the feeling of exposure away while Mary closed the gap between us. I could feel his warmth as it tickled my goose-bumped flesh. His lips traveled down the line of my jaw to my neck, and I instinctively craned it to the side to allow him better access to the spot above my collarbone that made my knees putty. I could nearly feel myself dripping onto the counter beneath me, and his still-clothed cock twitched against my inner thigh. 

“Mary?” I let out breathlessly, eyes still closed at the sensation of lips on skin. 

He let out a low hum. “Mmm, dollface?”

I reached past the band of his boxer briefs and wrapped my hand around his shaft, holding it firmly before I started to stroke it. He let out a choked noise and I, myself, sputtered out, “Condom?”

Mary detached from my neck hastily and reached down to his jeans piled on the floor, rifling through the pockets until he found his wallet. I heard the unmistakable wrinkle of foil as he pulled the condom out, and I reached forward, snatching it from his hands eagerly before ripping it open. Mary shoved the fabric covering his cock down his legs, kicking them off mere seconds before I grabbed his length once more, expertly rolling the condom down to the base of him. His head dipped forward to my shoulder and he groaned out a breathy “fuck”. 

Reaching between us with one hand, Mary grabbed his member from my grasp, his other hand pulling my hips closer as he slid the tip of himself against the wetness of my pussy. He flicked it up and down teasingly, and I whined out, hands coming to clasp at his neck. 

My slick now coating him, Mary pushed my inner thigh to the side and lined himself up with my entrance before pushing in tantalizingly slow. It was as if he wanted me to feel each inch of him while he felt each clench of my muscles around him. 

We both let out breaths we didn’t know we had been holding. Mary pushed in to the hilt and I let out a slight gasping noise, an intake of breath at the pure fullness and stretch of him, and my forehead came to rest against his as our lips all but brushed against one another. 

“You are so goddamn tight,” he purred, pulling out halfway before sinking back into me. I uttered a moan, helpless and wanting, and he began moving more steadily in and out of my core. My legs wrapped tightly against his hips and backside and I finally connected our lips again, though the jolts of each of his thrusts served as distraction from my attempt to all but swallow him whole.

We moved like that, rhythmically at first before he picked up the pace, a hand coming to cup at my breast, thumb pressing at the nipple as he fucked me into the counter. My head unwillingly tipped back and though my eyes were open, my vision clouded with swirls of grays, purples, and fiery oranges at the heated sensations between my legs. 

Mary grabbed my breast roughly before reaching up to pull my chin down, thumb on my lip as he looked me directly in the eyes. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he grunted, his other hand gripping roughly just above my backside as he pulled me into his hard shaft. I looked down and saw my arousal gathering around the base of his dick and I bit my lip, feeling that tugging in my abdomen increase with every movement. 

My hands moved to wrap under his arms, curling around his back as my fingers dug into the flesh there, half moon shapes and scratches likely patterning his skin as I held on like letting go would mean certain death. 

On his next thrust, Mary shifted his hips up and grazed against my sensitive spot, resulting in an unrestrained cry of pleasure from deep in my lungs — a noise I didn’t know I was capable of making. I looked back into his eyes, my own threatening to water from complete overstimulation and ecstasy, and he used his free hand to rub over my mound. “Please,” I choked out, not above begging for him to slip his fingers against my clit. 

His lips tugged into a devilish smirk, and the dark Mary that I’d heard whisperings about throughout town flashed before me. “You want me to touch you, babydoll?” he practically growled out. I nodded restlessly, biting my bottom lip as I held back another keening noise bubbling in my throat. “You promise to cum on my cock?” he asked, beginning to stroke the circumference around my clit as he maintained a powered look into my eyes. 

“Yes,” I breathed out, swallowing roughly as I pushed my hips back against his to show my enthusiasm and obedience, “Yes, Mare, I promise.”

He grinned at the nickname I’d never before used and danced his thumb across my nub like a whisper before bearing down harshly, flicking it twice before shoving his hips roughly against mine in quick succession. My vocal cords all but melted from my throat as I groaned out, completely depraved and taken, and I squeezed my eyes tight at the sensation. Mary let out his own string of curses as I clamped down around him. 

“S-so-...close,” I rasped out. He must have been too, as I could feel him increase his speed in his thrusting, his chipped black fingernails digging into the flesh of my backside as the other hand stroked me sloppily yet steadily. The pulling that had been building since our collision on the couch began to spill over, and I felt the electrical bolts spreading like lightning down each limb, across my scalp and to the tip of my nose. “Mary!” I shrieked out, my restraint betraying me, virtually screaming as I came undone around him. 

As each part of my body tensed from my orgasm, Mary picked up speed, removing his hand from between my legs to grasp at my other hip, fucking into me with wild abandon. His own moans were nearly as loud as mine, and each movement burst starlight through my cunt. Mary’s body trembled, pelvis stuttering as I felt him twitch inside of me. Mere moments passed before I could feel his cock roughly kicking inside of my walls and for a split second, I wished that we’d forgone the condom so I could feel his spend as it coated me. 

After a few more pumps to ride out his high, Mary leaned forward, hands bracing himself on the counter around me as his forehead rested against my shoulder. We were both breathing heavily, him more so, and I reached up to play with the sweat-dampened hair at the nape of his neck, kissing against his shoulder. 

He let out a breathy laugh and slid out of me. I could feel him pulling off the condom and tying it, but as he moved to throw it away, I caught his wrist and pulled him back into me. 

“Stay for a second,” I asked, surprising even myself at the request. He humored me and ran a hand up my thigh to rest there, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. 

“Was this the real reason you came over?” I asked after a minute had passed, our breathing now somewhat evened and the chill of stillness pricking at the sweat on our bodies. 

Mary shook his head. “It was just the icing on the cake.” He flashed a grin at me, and I groaned, slapping his chest playfully and earning an “ow, fuck” in return. 

He stepped a few feet away to throw away the condom before returning, hands rubbing soothingly at my thighs as I tried to ignore the feeling of the edge of the countertop biting into my ass. 

Extending his arm out, Mary brushed some of the scarlet hair matted to my damp forehead. I closed my eyes at the touch and allowed myself to smile at the sweet gesture. The smile was short lived, however, as I thought back to his joke.

“Fuck…” I said, eyes opening to stare back at him, “...we forgot to put the cake in the fridge.”

[covered-in-kisses]

why is it usually asami the one covering korra in kisses? just askin

Well, it's because in-series Asami is always depicted as wearing lipstick. This puts her in a small group of characters that wear lipstick (some others being the Suki and the Kyoshi Warriors, June, Ginger, and Azula.) With her red lips being such a unique and eye-catching part of her look, as well as helping tie together her status as 'the pretty one,' it's only natural that whatever ship she's a part of would have her being the one to give lipstick kisses to the other. Plus, the fact that Korra fits into the butch/tomboy category and thus has never been shown to wear prominent makeup means that it's just not very in-character for her to wear lipstick.

Under-informed theorizing below the cut.

A bit of speculation now, and please note that I have yet to finish the series. Korra is a prime target for lipstick kisses from Asami in particular. Korra, when first meeting Asami was jealous of her. At the time it was primarily because she was with Mako, but it was also because Asami is more conventionally attractive than her, triggering some insecurity. As time went on and Korra's traumas, mental scars, and insecurities piled up, Asami became a major emotional support.

A while after Korrasami became official, there was the subplot where Korra struggled to say the L word to Asami. In my mind, this is due to a combination of things that have haunted Korra for a long time.

Firstly, while I do think Korra has always felt inferior to Asami competence-wise, that insecurity pales in comparison to the angst she felt and likely continues to feel about her inadequacy in her role as the Avatar. Secondly, all the traumatic events and personal crises over the course of the series piled on top of the complexes she developed from her unorthodox upbringing had to have created a feeling of being undeserving of love, especially from someone who she holds in such high esteem like Asami.

So the idea of Asami, the picture of competence and beauty, using her iconic red lips to shower her trauma mama gf in love-affirming kiss marks is a fairly natural image to picture. At least for the fandom.

NOT SURE WHAT THE OFFICIAL WRITERS AND ARTISTS ARE WAITING FOR THO.

[goldenchocobo]

2023 Art Dump

Not as much as last year, which would be a feat. A lot of Kingdom Hearts art, still, as well as OC things.

In the Keep Reading below, you can learn about each thing, if it interests you;

From Left-to-Right, Up-to-Down:

-Baldr and Bragi's battle stances (specifically from when they were fighting Cerberus in the Underworld). wanted to draw them like this, but never found a reason to post it as-is. I was going to include it in another compilation that sat in my Drafts for half a year (with other art on this dump).

-Character art for a friend's KH D&D character- a 'Nort replica with no memory of who he is, only that he's running from Vexen.

-Art in that compelation. It's from the first time you speak to Demyx. I like how it's the first thing he ever asks Roxas; I was going to do more, but... didn't.

-Interpretation of the Keyblade from Missing Link's promo image. I needed it for my KH D&D, as I was going to give the players a keyblade based on the stats they chose in their DttH. The keyblade didn't end up being used.

-Silly Bragi/Luxu doodle. I think he'd have to try hard not to ace any history exams, or at least know more than what he's currently being taught.

-Aerith and Cid shop 'interface' I drew for my KH D&D. I wanted a visual for my players instead of just vague descriptions, so I drew these, the portraits are the characters currently in the session.

———————————————————

-Young Xehanort headshots. I was going to do more each time I wanted to draw, but didn't know what- but these two were the only two that I did.

-Working out the design for a Minotaur Heartless that appeared in my fic, Working Together, for Ventus and Vanitas to fight.

-His Dark Materials AU Sora with his Daemon Amica. I was going to draw some battle poses with them, but I honestly never felt like it, and didn't want to force myself.

-figuring out a design for Vanitas's glider for my fic.

-Ventus holding an escapee-flood from a WiP fic, (continuation of Working Together) Trial by Light.

-New Unversed Vanitas makes when he and Ventus are on 'kind of okay' terms, that Ventus calls a Mawkeepit from my fic. I wanted to nail out a design for them, so I could describe them better.

-New Unversed Vanitas makes when he felt betrayed. They're currently unnamed- as I'm having trouble coming up with a portmantu or word-association for 'Backstab, Weasel or snake' for the WiP fic. These aren't going to feature as heavily as the Mawkeepit, but I wanted to draw them so readers could get a better idea of how they looked.

-Art of the Mawkeepit crowding an Unconscious Ventus while being surrounded by Heartless for my fic.

———————————————————

-Chocopuffs. Art from a Nyancave stream of Final Fantasy XVI, where the Northern British actors pronounce the 'cho' in chocobo the same way as the 'cho' in 'chocolate'- the result was chocopuffs, a cereal.

-Diabloceratops getting its toe bitten by a territorial turtle. didn't finish the WiP.

-Bi frog I drew for my Bi friend who likes frogs.

-Absolute monster of an art dump for my OCs, Lupin an Iberis. I wanted to give them a more modern take, so I drew them in modern clothing, with only one being of an older time period (bottom right) based on a photo of two men sitting together like that. I have refsheets for them and may post them if I routinely draw and post more are of these two.

-Neovinator in a pond/river based on a photo of a Grebe, and Daurlong sitting based on a photo of an emu.

-depiction of a woman I dreamt of. The dream was very real, and I'm certain I met death, and that is what she looked like. If you're interested in it, let me know and I post the rest, because it's long.

-Warrior cat OCs (and my friends) all from different clans going to a fourth to ask to speak to their medicine cat. the ginger one is mine and his name is Flipleaf.

———————————————————

-Nyancave Sonic OC. I think they were playing Sonic 06 or Shadow the Headgehog when I drew it, I can't remember.

-Drawn when there was a Subathon and the Nyancave were playing Final Fantasy XII. The memberships were a steal!

-Painting of their cats (now older) Dante and Nia, looking at Christmas lights.

[britts-galaxy-brain]

Sunny stole his story from ginger . You are awful for standing by someone THIS heinous. Do you just not care, Britt? That it? I mean you already abused your ex and are now helping Courtney coach a teenager just because “trans girl bad”.

You’re pathetic. Go drink bleach. Tell sunny he can too because he doesn’t deserve a shred of compassion after he’s lying about grooming.

Get the fuck out of my inbox, Lily. And get better suicide bait. It's obvious when it's you.

For whoever else who may be reading this, I've spoken about ONE of my exes publicly. The one who financially, emotionally, and mentally abused me for two years after I left my parents' house. The one who almost ran my mother over with her car after blowing up at me because I refused to pay her $100 after she stole $300 from me over the course of three months.

Your accusation makes no goddamn sense. Sunny didn't steal shit, he had his own experiences that happen to be similar to Ginger's. Because Lily treats everyone in her life pretty much the same. She gets way too close to minors, allows them to interact with her sexually under the guise of plausible deniability, posts sexually charged and outright explicit shit around minors to normalize it, then swoops in and dates them as soon as they're old enough for her to get away with it.

The feelings Sunny has described line up perfectly to what a grooming victim would feel. And given things he's talked about concerning his past, he'd be susceptible to someone like Lily's predatory ass.

Go read my fucking chat logs. She's admitted to being attracted to minors. She's made up stories about raping a high school girl out of "nothing but pure malice". Her porn accounts are filled with depictions of children. She sexually abused ME the entire time I fucking knew her because she wouldn't take "I'm uncomfortable" for an answer. Went as far as to create a FAKE ACCOUNT to steal compromising photos of me and try to coerce me into cybering with her. Get FUCKED.

If anyone deserves to be drinking bleach in a ditch, it's you.

[neodecadentism]

Cruising – 19th April, 2024

It’s kinda funny how fast the days have been passing. It’s kinda sad. We’ve been going along for quite a while, I’m on my bike and she’s on her roller skates, but I think she’s starting to pick up a bit too much advantage. I fancy her, quite a bit actually, but I’ve never had the guts to tell her. She goes on like nothing happened, like nothing ever happens, one might even say she’s oblivious, but I think she knows.

The clouds are coming. How beautiful are they, their overbearing presence in the sky, their ability to dictate the rhythms of our lives, no matter how hard we try to hide from them. I think she knows this too. It’s kind of a morbid fascination. A great depiction of our tendency to love what we hate most, what we must endure to keep on skating down the boulevard. We even almost start to love the destination, though our hearts keep the peace by believing those construction sites ahead will be torn down before we have to pass them.

I watch her ginger hair flow with the wind like an unruly sea. I don’t even know where I am now. I forgot to look around a couple times on the way, and I lost track of where we went. We’re surrounded by skyscrapers, tall and imposing like giants, slim and agile like birds. They’re everything I am not. And they’re everything I can see. At this pace I can’t even see inside the first floors, they go by so fast I can barely recognize them, they go by so fast I can barely make room to remember them. The sound of her skates is slowly getting farther.

The clouds up there seem stuck. It’s like I’m not moving at all. It’s like they don’t see me go on. I’m starting to doubt I’m moving at all. Maybe the Ground has been moving below me all this time. But my calfs hurt, and my feet are tired, and my breath is labored. I really don’t feel that great. But her legs have already decided to abandon me, and I’m not ready to give up the privileged view on her secrets I’ve acquired during the years.

So I keep pedalling, I think, sometimes trying to speed up to see if I can catch a glimpse of her freckled face I saw so often and fell in love with a few years ago. Back when we seemed so ready to get on with our trip together. Sometimes I succeed. The dark clouds loom on the horizon of my shoulders like a bear that wants nothing of this world but to sink its teeth into my tender flesh. It’s so beautiful it’s almost sickeningly sweet. It reeks of disaster and I want nothing to do with it. It reeks of magnitude, and there’s nothing I want more than that. And I hope, with all my strength, she doesn’t stop to get a coffee in the cool new bar across the street.

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

44: A random fact about anything?

Oh I have a good one. In my Catholic middle school they put on an annual play depicting the Life, Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. Our principal was really into it and every year there was like a different angle to it or it was based on a different gospel or something like that. It was very strange in hindsight. We also didn’t try out for parts, the principal just picked who he wanted to play what, it wasn’t even like an optional thing we spent class time practicing and everything.

Anyway, when I was a 7th grader, the principal chose me, the weird autistic ginger kid, to play the role of Judas Iscariot, the man who betrays Jesus and is frequently the one blamed for it all by people who miss the point. The person chosen to play Jesus was a kind of annoying popular guy in the class above me, who my sister had a crush on.

In the Bible, Judas famously betrays Jesus by kissing him. Now they didn’t make me actually kiss him but I had to get very close. It was awkward but it also meant that at the time I could make fun of my sister by saying I got closer to kissing him than she ever did

My peers never made fun of me for it to my face, but the people who did were a group of 3rd graders that would point at me and call me gay whenever they saw me. It’s weird being a middle schooler and having elementary schoolers make fun of you, you can’t exactly do anything about it. But honestly it’s especially funny because they ended up being right

[hatbox-apologist]

Love's Dark Afflictions

Chapter 2

Warnings: romance, murder, death, gore, blood, optional smut not depicted but there is a link if ur interested

Preface: No spoiling this one, just remember to check the warnings.

You and Florence start out at high noon, and ride in silence until you reach the river. The sun shines through the old oak trees and illuminates the leaves and Spanish moss in mid-afternoon orange. A cool breeze wafts delicious scents of pastries, breads, cakes, and pies, to your nose, telling you that you’re close. “Ah I always love the smells when coming here.” Florence says wistfully. “It is quite delightful.” You say smiling. Then just as you round a corner, you see the grist mill bakery, with its water wheel turning in the river beside it. You tie up your horses on a pair of unique looking hitching posts that have the head of a white stallion with a bit in its mouth as the hitch. You open the door for Florence and the doorbell rings as you open it and walk inside. “A customer!” A voice says from above you, and footsteps are heard walking over to a small spiral staircase. A smaller statured woman with ginger hair wearing a tattered old shirt and apron covered in flour, descends down the steps. “Ah, Florence, how nice to see you again. Oh, and who’s this looker?” She asks, looking at you. “Y/n L/n,” You say, taking their hand. “A pleasure to meet you.” You kiss the back of their hand with a smile. “Show off.” Alistair huffs at you with intense jealousy. “Oh my, well what can I do for you.” she says bashfully. “Just here for the usual order of pastries is all.” You say releasing her hand and leaning against the counter. Florence hands over the list to Mrs. Moonie and she reads it over. “I can get those out for you in just a moment.” She says with a wink and walks back to a large pie cabinet in the corner. “You didn’t tell me you were such a charmer.” Florence nudges you. “It’s a fine tool and I only use it when necessary.” You say looking at Florence through your eyelashes, making them blush and turn away for a moment. You giggle at their shyness and walk over to look at a bread rack. “Remember what you’re here for.” Alistair says. “The theatrics are for a reason, Alistair. If I charm them enough, they’ll bend to my every will.” You say under your breath, but you feel Alistair’s disbelief. “It would make it easier to kill them if they trusted me when I told them to pull off the road, would it not?” you whisper. “Ugh, I suppose it would.” Alistair huffs in defeat. “I understand your jealousy but I promised you would have fun later, did I not? By these means, you shall have it, just allow me to work.” you reassure him. “Fine.” He sighs. “Order’s all ready.” Mrs. Moonie says placing a wicker basket with a hinged top on the counter. “Ah, perfect.” Florence says, taking the basket. “I put an extra scone in there for the charmer.” She says giving you a wink. “Aww, you didn’t have to.” You say. “Don’t worry, I baked a few extra this batch anyway. But do come back when you can, I’d love to chat with you anytime.” She says. “Then expect me soon.” You say, opening the door for Florence. “Good evening Mrs. Moonie.” Florence says with a wave, walking out the door. “I’ll be seeing you, Florence.” she says and you close the door behind you. 

Florence ties the basket to the horse’s saddle while you untie your horses. The sun is almost upon the horizon when you get back on your respective horses and start out on the road again. “I suppose I lost track of the time, we should hurry back.” Florence worries. “Afraid of the dark? Don’t worry, the stable boy gave me a lantern.” You reassure them. The ride goes smoothly as the sun sets and you light a lantern for the path ahead. After quite a while, you come to a crossroads and stop the horses. “What is it?” Florence asks. “Which direction did we come from again? Was it North East or East?” You ask, pretending like you can’t remember the directions. “It was North East I believe.” Florence says. “Are you quite sure?” You ask, making her question her judgment. “Oh, now that’s clever.” Alistair says. “I- Well… I’m unsure.” She says. “I say we go east and if we find we don’t recognize the road, then we head back here and go north east.” You say. “A-alright.” Florence says, becoming more confused. You turn your horses in to the East and ride for about 30 minutes out until Florence breaks the silence. “I don’t think I recognize this road, I think we should turn back.” They say stopping their horse. “Hmm, I don’t recognize it either, but we aren’t turning back.” You say dismounting your horse and keep the reins in hand. “What are you doing?” Florence asks. “I hate to ruin your trust in me, but I’m the highway robber,” You say, taking out your black cloak and bowing with a flourish. “Well, not a robber, per say. All that I’m stealing is your soul.” You finish, taking your dagger out of your boot. Florence just looks at you dumbfounded and you take the reins of the horse so they can’t flee. “Get off the horse.” You demand in a tone you have never used or even heard before. “Oh, now this is what you were made for.” Alistair says. They dismount and begin to cry. “Ugh, stop your crying. It’s pathetic. And don’t make any attempts at running, I shoot to cripple, not to kill.” You say finally showing your true colors. You take the basket of pastries and toss it onto the ground so they spray out onto the road. With your dagger you carve the initials of a highwayman you heard about in the papers, JA for John Alexander, into the leather of the saddle on Florence’s horse and then let go of the reins. You slapped it and it reared back, neighing, then galloped off into the dark beyond. “W- What are you going to do to m- me?” Florence stuttered out between sobs. “Well whatever I do, you definitely aren’t coming back from it I can assure you that.” You say in a sort of reassuring way. You untie the rope from your bag and tie Florence’s arms together with it. “Alistair you may materialize now, if you’d like.” You say with a firm grip on Florence’s restraints. He materializes next to you from the top hat down. “You brought me such a cute little gift.” He says and you smile at him while Florence stares gaping at him, so you take a handkerchief out of your waist coat and tie it around their mouth while they have it open to keep them muffled. “I know no one would hear you this far out, but I don’t want any ringing in my ears when this is over. Now where should we start?” You ask, toying with the dagger in your hand. 

“How about the legs. Tougher to run while injured.” Alistair suggests. “Hmm. Very sensible.” You say, and almost in an instant you pull out your already loaded flintlock, cocking it, and shoot a hole through their left ankle. They scream in agony at the sudden searing pain and fall to the ground. They almost take you with them, but you let go of their restraints before they can. “Mmm,” Alistair hums beside you, “how I missed the screams.” Florence writhes on the ground in pain, face soaked from sobbing, and ankle at an unnatural angle now covered in fresh red blood. “They can still limp if they really want to escape.” You say displeased. “Let’s try the other one then, shall we.” Alistair suggests. You reload your flintlock with haste. “No, please, just kill me.” You kick their legs apart so you can get a good aim, “That would be a kindness.” You say and blow another hole, this time through their right knee and blood gushed out onto their clothes and the dirt. Florence cries again but then they grow quiet. “Sounds like they’re slipping away.” Alistair points out. “Oh no, you’re not leaving us just yet.” You say hoisting them up under their arms, making sure to only get blood on your cloak. You drag them to the side of the road, laying them against the base of a tree. They look at you through hazy and lidded eyes, like they’re about to faint from the pain and blood loss. “How should we finish this then? It’s not fun when they aren’t screaming and begging.” You say, mulling over all your options. “How about, the hatchet?” Alistair asks, and your ears perk up. “Well how was it for you?” You ask, intrigued. “It did take a few chops, my staff had terrible aim. But I’m sure you have a much better swing than those goons.” He says. “Might as well try.” You say and take a good swing at their throat and blood sprays everywhere, while making perfect contact with their jugular. It cuts clean through, just as Alistair said, and their head rolls off the end of the hatchet to the ground, and settles between their bloody legs. The rest of their body slumps back against the tree as the hatchet stays fully embedded in the tree. 

You breathe heavily as your heart races in your chest from the adrenaline, your eyes are wide, and your pupils dilated. You watch as a steady flowing cascade of blood gushes out from their neck and drenching the rest of their body below. Alistair stares at your face as you’re entranced by the sight of your crimes. “What?” You pant, feeling his eyes on you, but keeping yours on the corpse… the fresh one that is. But he doesn’t answer. He reaches out and turns your chin to him and his features portray a deep adoration. Slowly, he steps in close, cups your blood splattered cheek, pulls his arm around to the small of your back. “I love you more than murder, my dear.” He whispers and kisses you deeply. You take a moment to process but then close your eyes and lean into the kiss, finally openly accepting your love for him and not shying away from it. You coil your arms around his waist as he moves his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, smearing streaks of blood across your face as he does. It feels like he begins to levitate. With his cloak billowing in a ghostly wind, he dips you perfectly and it feels like the world falls away and you could live or die in this moment forever with him. He parts from you, and you gaze into his glittering golden eyes for just a moment more while he slowly floats back down. "You are more than I could've ever wanted out of life. It's just unfortunate it had to be after my demise." Alistair says, holding you close to him. 

Optional smut scene: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50721625/chapters/128128714

"We need to clean this up. Before a real highway robber finds us." You say, going back to your bag and grabbing the oil flask and lighter. You walk back to the decapitated cadaver of Florence Huet, take off your cloak, and lay it over their head. You pour out the flask over it, dropping the flask on it when it's drained. You grab your lighter but remember a very crucial detail. You turn to Alistair and take the dagger from your boot, "Stab me." You say handing the hilt to Alistair. "I beg your pardon?" He looks at you confused but intrigued at you. "I need to look like I've been a victim of highway robbery. Don't pierce anywhere vital though, I still need to ride back to the mansion." You say, and Alistair takes your dagger in hand with a mischievous grin. "Ah, understood." He says, and swiftly slices a thin but noticeable cut across your cheek. You hiss and hold your hand up to the cut. "I said stab me, not give me cuts!" You exclaim. "There needs to be signs of struggle." He says, and before you can retort he swipes your forearm. You thrash your head back. "Stop it." You grit your teeth. "If it doesn't look like you fought back then they won't believe that you got out alive." He says smiling wider and slices the back of your hand. "Enough!" You yell and try to get the dagger from Alistair. But as you step forward to take it, he buries the blade in your thigh. You still from the sudden stinging pain and your anger fizzles away into shock. "Don't worry, it only looks bad." He says, watching your face as he twists the blade so enough blood seeps out to soak your clothes. You cry out and grasp his shoulder to keep upright. He grins at the pained expression on your face and seems satisfied for now. "There, all bloodied up just as you wished. Unless you believe this isn't enough?" He asks, still keeping pressure on the dagger. "I think anymore, and William would faint." You whimper. Alistair pulls out the dagger swiftly and you wretch in pain. "Keep pressure on it so you don't bleed anymore, or you'll be the one fainting." He says, and you take a spare handkerchief and cup your hand over the wound. 

You turn back to your handy work with your lighter, spark it, and set the oil covered cadaver aflame. You limp back to your horse and struggle to mount your steed. "Need a hand?" Alistair asks mischievously. "If I can't mount my horse, they won't believe that I got away on my own." You say, and finally get atop your saddle. "There, now I need you to be completely dematerialized until I'm fully alone again." You say keeping pressure on your still gushing wound in your leg. "Yes, yes, I know." He huffs and dematerializes. You spur your horse into a full gallop with your good leg. For the rest of the ride, you think about how your performance will play out with William and Madame Leota as your audience. 

Optional smut internal dialog sequence: ^same link as above, just the next scene down^

Chapter 4