#DRESS SHIRT WITH THE COLLAR PUFFED

[nereidprinc3ss]

hii i love love how u write spencer omds🥸

uhh i was wondering if you could write sth based off the song “we’ll never have sex” by leith ross? pls dont feel pressured to write this btw😭😭😭 hope ur having a good day lovely💗💗

hello my love i have no self control so this is extremely long and plotty but i love this song and i hope that this is any good at all crying emoji (i'm on a laptop LOL) enjoy!!

warnings/tags: angst/fluff, fem!reader, negative self-talk from reader, mentions of past sexual coercion/feeling used, mentions of past excessive drinking to combat social anxiety, ive been watching a lot of new girl lately and i think it shows, SO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, happy ending

You weren’t expecting to end up on Spencer Reid’s worn-leather couch at two in the morning, clutching a chipped mug of coffee in your hands as you listen to the sounds of the city from the street below. But there you are, sitting with your legs folded under you, in your favorite dress and first date-night makeup (now bleeding and smudged from all the crying.) And realizing that despite considering him one of your closest friends, you haven’t been to his apartment in a long time. There are, of course, good reasons for that—but you try to push those from your mind. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you sigh, staring at your warped reflection in the glassy black surface of your coffee. Spencer is coming out of the small kitchen, now bearing his own cup. 

“Please, stop apologizing.” 

You glance up, tentatively studying him from behind the safety of your mug. While he may not have been asleep when you knocked on his door ten minutes ago, lachrymose and barely verbal, he must have been getting ready for bed. He’s clad in patterned pajama pants, mismatched socks, and an FBI crewneck that is just big enough to reveal the collar of the tee-shirt underneath. He’s already taken out his contacts, and you were startled by the reminder that he also has glasses. 

“So...” he begins, bringing you back to the present moment, “we don't have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to, but...” 

You sigh, watching coffee bubbles swirl like stars in a galaxy. 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed. I didn’t really think, I just... ended up here.” 

“Yeah... where did you come from?” he laughs quietly. “Not that I’m complaining. But I recall you not living super close by.” 

“No, no. I was actually on a date. Kind of.” 

“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence, and ostensibly Spencer is waiting for you to say more, but instead you take a sip from your mug. “At two in the morning?” You nod dully, staring at the labyrinthine pattern of the Persian rug.  

“I’m taking it that it wasn’t a very good date...?” 

A whoosh of air escapes from your puffed cheeks. 

“No it was not. Not by the end, anyway. It actually started really well, which made it even more disappointing when he...” you laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “Well, when he kicked me out of his car on a street corner because I didn’t want to sleep with him.” 

You don’t look to see Spencer’s reaction—only take another long, baleful sip of coffee and ignore the heavy silence.  

“I’m really sorry. You... you deserve so much better than that.” 

An attempt at a jaded scoff from you falls flat. 

“Yeah, well. Tell that to the last three white house interns I’ve gone on dates with. It’s the same thing every time.” 

“Have you considered going on fewer dates with white house interns...?” The nervous humor is a thin veil over genuine critique. You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not just them. Every single guy I’ve liked since I was 15 has been like this. Even my past relationships, I felt like I was almost... tricked into, you know? I mean, these guys, they act all understanding and willing to take it slow or whatever, until you’re in a relationship, and suddenly they’re guilt tripping you so hard and making you feel so obligated to...” you catch yourself just in time, glancing up at Spencer. You’re not sure what to make of his expression. The drawn brow and slightly squinted eyes trained so intently on you could be sympathy, or anger, or pity, or apathy—you look away, not sure you even want to know what he’s thinking. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all about that. Basically romance is exhausting and since I’ll clearly be single forever I’m considering running away to join a nunnery.” 

When he doesn’t respond for too long, you look back up quizically. 

“I’m not sure you know what romance actually is,” he says as soon as your gaze meets his, like the eye-contact activated some kind of hair-trigger in his vocal box. 

You blink, lowering the coffee cup to your lap. 

Says Spencer Reid? 

“...sorry?” 

He flushes, stammering to clarify himself. 

“I just meant—I—I know I’m not exactly fighting women off with a stick—” he interrupts himself with a self-conscious (adorable) laugh— “but... but I have been in love, at least once.”  

“Maeve,” you say, gently—trying to shove down bitter guilt as you remember how jealous you’d been when Spencer had first told you about her. “I remember.” 

He swallows and nods. 

“We never even met—we just talked. All the time. I had no idea what she looked like. But it didn’t matter at all. Because I knew her, and I loved her. Maybe things would have gone further if I hadn’t been calling her from public phone booths, but that wasn’t the most important thing to either of us. We were still in love.” You try to shut out the sharp ache in your chest. Being jealous of the way he speaks about a dead woman is so wrong.  

“What I’m trying to say is that romance isn’t solely about sex, or even physical appearance. It sounds to me like you’ve been with a lot of men who don’t understand that. And it would be such a shame for you to write romance off in general before you even get to experience it. You are... an extraordinary woman. You’re funny, and intelligent, and kind, and so capable of being loved. One day, someone is going to see beyond your pulchritude and prove that to you. I hope you let them try.” 

More tears blur the pattern on the rug, pooling in the rims of your eyes before spilling down your cheeks in fast, fat drops. Shakily you set the cup down, resting your elbows on your knees and hiding your face in your hands. You sniff once. Twice. Shake your head quickly, attempting to wipe the tears away without further smearing your makeup everywhere. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Spencer breathes, leaning forward but obviously unsure how to comfort you. “Please don’t cry, I wasn’t--I was trying to do the opposite of this.” 

“No, I’m sorry! You didn’t have to—you didn’t—I’m sorry. That was way too nice.” 

But you're not crying because he was nice.  

Someone will love you, but not me. That’s all you can hear. 

His voice is a mere whisper when he next speaks. 

“I meant every word.” 

You take a shuddering breath, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve behind the peaceful black of your eyelids. You can’t be looking at his face when you say what you’re about to say. 

“I had a crush on you for the longest time, you know.” 

Ringing silence. But it doesn’t last as long as you’d imagined. It’s not as world ending. 

“Had?” 

The little smile in his voice is like a fist around your heart. 

“Yeah. You know what changed?” 

“What’s that?” 

Absolutely nothing. 

“Every time I got super drunk and started hitting on you, you’d just drive me home. And I did it a lot. Like, for months. But you were such a gentleman. It drove me fucking crazy. So eventually I figured you just didn’t like me and I gave up.” 

Another stretch of silence. A breeze comes in from the open window, fluttering the curtains and cooling the tears on your face. His response is sad when it finally comes. 

“You thought I didn’t like you because I didn’t try to take advantage of you when you were drunk?” 

“Pretty much.” You smile ruefully, fingertips still pressed over your eyes. “God, listen to me. No wonder I get treated like garbage.” 

“Stop. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Did you hear anything I just said?” 

You sniff, looking to the ceiling. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It was really sweet.” 

More silence. 

“But you don’t believe it.” 

A bitter laugh poisons the air around you. 

“I don’t know.  I’m kind of tired of waiting for someone to prove it to me. Just for once, I want someone to be interested in me beyond having sex in the back of their fucking... Range Rover, or whatever. Like, maybe all that stuff you said is true, but there’s no evidence to support it, and I know logically you’re probably right but I can’t help wondering if... if I’m the outlier. Maybe there just isn’t someone for me like that. Maybe I’m just gonna be the sex in the back of the Range Rover girl forever.” 

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces itself from your throat and you bury your face in your hands again, shaking your head. 

“Wow, I am so sorry,” you say a little too loudly, “I did not mean to be this honest tonight. Did you spike my coffee?” 

“You are not the outlier,” Spencer whispers.  

You sniff, lifting your head haltingly to look at him. 

“What?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he speaks. 

“You said you can’t help wondering if you’re the outlier, and maybe there just isn’t someone for you like that. That’s not true.” 

“Spencer, those are just words. You can’t possibly know that. Statistical probabilities don’t count.” 

“That’s... that’s not how I know.” 

Your heart drops as you study his face.  

No. 

Surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying. 

Surely he wouldn’t do this to you after you’ve just told him everything you told him. You have been harboring feelings for him for years. Since you met. He can’t just spring this on you one night because you’re a little bummed out. If he felt the same, you would have found out a long time ago; he had ample opportunity to tell you. There was a period of months where you practically threw yourself all over him at every chance you got, and he did nothing. So this... this is just cruel—something you’ve never known Spencer Reid to be. 

You stand up, trembling slightly with rage and grief and humiliation. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say things that you don’t mean just to make me feel better.” 

“What are you doing? Don’t--” 

You scoop up your purse, trying to get to the front door as fast as your gelatinous legs will allow. More tears are streaming down your face now and you don’t need him to see what he’s done to you—to see how much you care what he thinks. 

“It’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you around—” 

A hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks 

“Stop. Just... please give me a second to talk, okay?” 

With nothing left to give, you turn to him. 

“Don’t be mean, Spencer. Don’t act like you liked me too. That makes me feel... so much worse.” 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself. Tawny eyes bore into your soul, and you realize that there is so much sheer nervous energy radiating off of him it’s infectious. Your heart begins to pound as he speaks. 

“I’m not doing that. I’m being an idiot, because you just told me that you don’t feel that way about me anymore but... but I do. And I have to tell you now because for six months I tortured myself wondering why you would flirt with me so much when you were hammered and then act like nothing happened the next day. There were so many times I almost told you how I felt but I didn’t and now I am because even if it ruins our friendship you need to know that somebody... that I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.” 

Your heart is like an unmoored zeppelin in your chest, bumping against your esophagus and threatening to either burst or jump out of your mouth. You take your chances, whispering so quietly it’s almost inaudible. 

“You... you like me?” 

“Yes,” Spencer sighs. “I have liked you for a very long time. And I’m sorry—” 

Whatever ridiculous thing he was going to apologize for, you don’t give him the chance. Instead you launch yourself at him, capturing his lips in a kiss that feels so much better than it’d ever been in your fantasies because it’s real. You hear his sharp intake of breath, but it only takes a second for him to respond, cradling your face in his hands like you’re the entire world. For a moment, time bends. Years of longing, of buried dreams crash into the present in a brilliant, dazzling explosion.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a vacuum, so much worse now that you know exactly how it feels to have his lips on yours, even if it was only for a few seconds. How the hell did you live like that for so long? How are you supposed to live like that ever again?

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he breathes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he’s barely holding onto his self control. “You just want someone to comfort you, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state and confided in me which is manufacturing a false sense of attachment—” 

You grab his wrists, which still graze your jaw.

“Spencer, stop intellectualizing for thirty seconds. I promise you I am thinking clearly.” 

“You said you used to like me, past tense—” 

“Yeah, I did. Do you believe every single murderer who says he didn’t do it?” 

“No, but—” 

“Have you ever heard the phrase; a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts?” 

“Of course I have.” 

“Then what more could you possibly need to be convinced that I really like you? I already kissed you! What is stopping you?” 

Another deep breath is taken by him that seems to suck all the air out of the quiet room. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. If you really do like him so much more than he could ever like you.  

Until he looks back down, eyes so golden-brown in the dim light, so kind and full of affectionate concern as he carefully assesses every square centimeter of your face, looking for... well, you’re not exactly sure what. It’s like he’s extracting every thought from your head, turning them over like sun-warmed stones until he finds what he’s looking for. He smooths his hands over your hair, brushing strands away from your teary face. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath, he speaks. 

“I just want you to believe what I believe about you. But I don’t want you to have to rely on me or anyone else for your own self-worth.” 

“Well, don’t you think very highly of yourself,” you tease with a sniffle. He laughs—it's quiet, but his smile is so bright without even trying that suddenly you can’t remember why you’ve ever been sad. The small miracle of his laughter makes you feel so light, and you realize it has nothing to do with the way he makes you feel about yourself. It has everything to do with who he is. 

Once the giggles die down, you tentatively mirror his hold on your face. 

“Spencer, I don’t like you because you like me. I’ve liked you for an embarrassingly long time. I liked you enough that I gave myself a severe hangover at least once a week for three months just so I could have an excuse to flirt shamelessly with you.” 

A half-sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he gently swipes under your eyes. 

“You never had to do that. I would have welcomed your sober brazen flirting with open arms.” 

“Well... do you believe me?” you plead. His amber eyes shine. 

“I do.” 

“Will you kiss me?” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

You nod, rising on your toes to meet him halfway. 

When your lips meet again, it is sweet, and honest, and slow, and deep. Still, there is no desperation--no race to an imagined finish line, no clash of teeth and pawing hands. It is a kiss for the sake of it—as if it were the greatest intimacy. Not a precursor to sharing a bed, but something bigger than that in and of its own. Something just as worthy and important. For the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand romance. And while you wouldn’t mind if things did escalate, you also know that Spencer knows that’s not what matters right now. Because he actually understands you—he actually cares. He will wait until you understand that you mean so much more than that to him.

To that end, he pulls away, gently supplanting his absence with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It would be polite of me to offer you a ride home, wouldn’t it?” he whispers, like it’s the last thing he wants to do. You bite the inside of your cheek, coming up with reasons not to go. One ridiculous one arises from the depths of your memory that you know he won’t be able to say no to. 

“Or... I could stay here, and we could watch one of those nerdy foreign films you’re always talking about?” 

A slow, perfect, high-watt smile blossoms on his face, and you know you’ve said exactly the right thing. 

“Nerdy? Oh, my darling girl... Soviet-era filmography is far from nerdy. небесная машина will completely defy what you thought you knew about the life of an average Russian villager in the 1950’s.” 

“Oh, good. Because I’ve really been meaning to change the way I think about the average 1950’s Russian villager,” you smile, already closing in to kiss him again. 

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

epilogue

Three hours later, you’re crying because the life of the average Russian villager in the 1950’s was so much worse than you’d previously thought. 

“It was good, right?” Spencer asks as the credits roll over a bleak snowy sepia landscape, leaning back to get a better look at you. You sit up from where you’d been leaning against him, furiously wiping your eyes. 

“It was terrible! Why didn’t you tell me that everyone except the kid dies in the end?!” 

“Because that’s the whole point of the movie!” he laughs, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry. I probably should have explained how depressing this entire era of film was outside of the US.” 

“And also how long the movies were. I was not prepared for how many five minute long clips of empty fields there were going to be.” 

“You’re right,” he ammends, wrapping his arms around you in a way that gives you butterflies and makes you sleepy at the same time. “Next time we can watch whatever you want to watch.” 

Time passes like that—you in his arms, watching weak light slowly flood the room with half-lidded eyes and listening to the sounds of the city waking up from the street below, underscoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts float by like leaves on the ever-flowing current of your mind, and you’re happy to let them pass until one in particular catches your attention. 

“Spencer?” 

He hums, like he’d been deep in his own proverbial river of thought. 

“What does pulchritude mean?” 

It takes him a split second to remember the bit of conversation from earlier to which you are referring, but when he does, he chuckles, running his hand over your messy hair. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

And so you let it float away. 

[xob1tchs]

| mutual help ; l. berkshire

genre; smut 😜

warnings; bickering, NOT e2l sorry every1!!, no actual sex, mentions of blowjob, food play (?), oral (f receiving), public sex, fingering, dirty talk, name calling (baby, honey bc that’s readers nn and babe)

a/n; idk i saw these pics on pinterest and thought they were cute and then i just got to thinking abt how i could make smth and use them and yeahhhhh — but i actually like this a lot so im thinking this isn’t the end 😅😅 pt.2 maybeee

playlist; meddle about by chase atlantic, single by the neighborhood, cry baby by the neighborhood.

You smile around the ice cream filling your jaw, cheeks puffing out in a way that makes enzo's pants grow tighter, some of the pinkish-white cream dribbling from the corners of your mouth, making a mess that stains the pristine collar of your dress shirt.

He toys with the mechanical pencil in his grasp, running it along the seam of his lips, pressing them into a cat-like grin when you look up at him over the top of your textbook, eyes turning to crescents when your grin widens. Your book thumps against the table when you lean forward, caught between your chest and the hardwood, making you stutter over whatever you were gonna say, shiny lips falling into a confused pout, blinking down at the pages before you roll your eyes, nudging it to the floor with your elbow, letting it clatter against the wood without a care.

“You’re going to get us in trouble – ” Lorenzo warns, watching as the ice cream cone in your hand melts over your knuckles, seeping into the cuffs of your cardigan, forming sticky lines between your knuckles “Finish that, or i’ll throw it away.” he finishes, arching a perfectly trimmed brow as you bring the strawberry cream to your lips again, licking a thick strip from the base of the cone to the top of the cream.

You hum in satisfaction, ready to bring the cone back for another lick, when a group of students brushes past, one of their shoes knocking the back of your chair, grip on the come loosening for a moment before it topples from your fingers and lands in the crevice of your thighs. You gasp, scowling at the fifth years as they giggle, rushing around a corner.

“God damn it, honey” enzo growls deep under his breath, snapping his book shut, making you flinch as you look up at him from the mess between your thighs. Your brows draw together in confusion, used to hearing the nick name in a more saccharine tone. This wasn’t your fault.

You tilt your head “they bumped into me!” you whisper yell, uncomfortably rubbing your thighs together, only spreading the sticky mess further.

Frowning he scoots his chair back, leaning back enough to see the drying ice cream, something straight out of wet dream as you spread your thighs, chasing some sort of relief from the uncomfortable feeling - he can see your white panties, delicate lace trim along the edges and a cute little with bow just below your navel.

“You’ve made a fucking mess” his tone is annoyed, shoulders tensing as you gaze into his puppy like eyes, puffy lips parting in a pout once again.

This has been torture – weeks of tutoring you, dealing with the innocent pouts and whines, begging him to just lie to professor snape for you. Games of on and off, that he knows he’s definitely winning, because you were practically begging for his cock a fortnight ago. He’s thought about you so many times – thought about beating the shit out of the guys that talk about you.

He can’t fucking take it anymore, cock throbbing in his boxers as you squirm around in your chair, huffing out delicate breaths, wide eyes turned glassy – you look like you might even cry, and makes him tick, knuckles pale from how tightly his fists clench against the smooth hard wood table.

Gripping the table with one hand, and the hem of your skirt with the other, you sigh “I can clean it up enzo” you plead, nervous as he shifts in his chair, tugging the sleeves of his dress shirt up his forearms.

The whole library falls silent when he looks at you, rasping out a command that makes your eyes go wide “spread your legs” he mumbles. He drops to his knees not a moment sooner, brunette head of hair disappearing under the table, the drag of his chair back to the table making you gasp.

Fingers wrap around your ankles, forcing your legs apart, unveiling your clothed pussy to his sparkling eyes when your skirt rides up your thighs, the fabric is damp and stained with strawberry ice cream, molding your warm folds to the cotton, puffy pussy straining for attention against the threads. He blows out a soft breath between puckered lips, chuckling hotly when you squirm, thighs trembling against his strength.

“Lorenzo — we’ll be caught” you whisper, glassy eyes meeting his own dark ones, a gentle blush spread across the bridge of your nose and the apples of your cheeks. He tuts, leaning forward just enough for his nose to rub your clit, breathing in the musky-sweet scent emitting from your core.

“You don’t want me to help you out?” He murmurs, tongue darting out to lick a stripe along your seam, planting a wet kiss against your hole as one of his hands creep up the inseam of your thigh, toying with the outer hem of your panties.

You sigh, cradling your face in your palms, unable to voice the denial you thought you had wanted to say, overwhelmed by the heat from his breath ghosting your cunt.

“be a good girl and keep quiet” he mutters, peeking up at your flushed face between your fingers before he tugs your panties to the side, the threads snapping under the pressure, ripping the crotch right out of them, ruined as they fall to the floor.

he takes his time, as he leans in, eyelids fluttering closed, jaw hanging slack – pressing an open mouth kiss to your spread folds, humming in delight at the sticky slick seeping from your core, pressing in deeper for more, nails digging crescents into your sticky thighs.

his tongue toys at your entrance, the warm muscle prodding your tight walls until you let out the softest wine from above him, hips bucking forward against his face, pressing his nose into your clit.

“s’fucking good” he mouths against your cunt, shaking his face side to side, making your squirm against the wooden chair, thighs threatening to squeeze around his head if he were to let go.

“shit- enzo '' you chirp, drooping eyes casting a weary look around the library, despite knowing your meticulously tucked away study corner is shielded from most prying eyes.

one of his hands drifts from the inseam of your thigh, to the top of your pussy, pulling the hood up so he can wrap his puffy lips around your clit, gently tugging on the nub with his teeth, before giving it a lewd suck, slurping and smacking sounding from between your legs - he’s the one being fucking loud.

his other hand glides down your pussy as he pulls away, spreading your folds to watch your greedy hole wink, pulsing for something to fill you up - seeping wetness that runs down your asshole and the wooden chair, staining the hardwood floor below you even further.

he groans as he presses the pad of his middle finger to your pussy, watching as you suck him in, gliding to the second knuckle with ease “you can take more than that, can’t you baby?” you hum from above him, thighs spreading further in a silent agreement, etching a wicked grin across his lips.

he slides a second finger in with ease, cock jumping in his trousers when he feels the suction of your velvet walls around his thick fingers, clenching around him with need even when he doesn’t make a move.

when he leans in to flick your clit, your thighs clamp around his head, one hand tangling in the hair the crown of his skull, the other gripping the edge of a textbook so harshly you fear the pages will rip.

he groans against your heat, eyelids rolling back in his skull as he makes harsh thrusts in and out with his fingers, alternating between quick sucks and nips at your swollen bud, the weight of his cock in his boxers becoming unbearably heavy with every jut of your hips against his face, precum making his boxers stick to his length in an uncomfortable manner.

“m’so close enzo, baby please” you croon, leaning back in your chair to lock eyes with him, tears brimming at your lash line as you press a palm to your mouth, muffling the sounds that multiply with every passing second.

he doesn’t stop at your confession, the words spurring him on, desperate to swallow your cum and taste it on his tongue for hours to come, cock twitching at just the thought alone.

his hand drives into you with so much force that wet smacking sounds start to ring out, so fast and frequent that if anyone were near they’d surely know what you were up to.

it’s only a couple seconds later that you’re falling apart on his fingers, thighs squeezing around him so tightly that he begins to go lightheaded, surely not helped by the way he desperately laps at your seeping cunt like a man starved, groaning and moaning into your folds until he’s satiated, and your hips are squirming away from his mouth, pussy swollen and sensitive against the cool air of the library when he finally does pull back.

you look down at him through a bleary gaze, flushing at the sight, covered in a mix of sweat, cum and strawberry ice cream, smeared along his jaw and across the tip of his nose, you lick your lips, shaking your head when he meets your eyes “now we’ve both made messes” you mumble, using the cuff of your sweater to wipe some of the liquid from his face, glancing between his legs to where his cock strains against the zipper.

“now i should help you then, right?”

[bubblybloob]

There they all are in their feathery glory!

Explanations below

I didn’t want to do anything flashy for The Long Quiet, so I just gave him a simple scarf.

The Voice of The Hero I took a lot from my original design, I also kinda fused a cape with his wings? He can still fly? It’s just weird.

The Contrarian I gave a jester look, with a funky collar and some eye makeup

The Broken was one of the most interesting and fun. His wings have been cut off and his nails are broken beyond repair, as a representation of his lack of agency and readiness to hand his life over. He’s dressed in raggedy clothes with chains that he just can’t seem to pull off.

The Smitten wears a flashy, short cape, and flowers tend to bloom from his eyes and ears, he is blind and deaf to all but his love.

The Hunted is almost always puffed up, trying to look bigger and scarier than he is. His nails are long and sharp, and he wears camouflage to hide his bright white features.

The Paranoid needs a sense of security, and a cowl is the closest thing to a hoodie in medieval times. He’s so nervous that I feel he’d unconsciously pluck at his wings, they’re so disheveled that he can’t fly.

The Skeptic has this air of “I know more than you” to him? If that’s makes sense? So I gave him a poet shirt. Not much to it, I just really wanted to put him in a poet shirt. Oh and a ponytail.

The Cheated wears something a noble might, he has that sort of snarky attitude a noble might have. He also talks about cards and games a lot, so I attached a card theme to him. Sometimes they change card symbols, I don’t know if I’ll have it be mood based or not.

The Stubborn is wrapped up in a bunch of bandages, and the eyepatch and cleft ear is from that scene at the end with the Shifting Mound from the adversary’s perspective where your eye has been punched out and your ear looks like it might’ve been ripped.

The Opportunist I gave a thieving look, he has that attitude. As well as another ponytail, can’t have feathers getting in the way of the backstabbing move.

And that’s them! Now if you don’t mind me I’m going to go die now, my drawing arm hurts.

Edit: I forgot the Cold, damn

Someone suggested medieval assassin wear because he always insists on the princess being dead, and she usually is when he shows up. Also the wisps in his eyes? He has heavily impaired vision, because his worldview is so skewed.

[pleasantlyinsincere]

BRAVO September 1967 Shortly before his death Brian Epstein admitted to BRAVO-employee Thomas Beyl: The boys are everything to me

His face was white. His grey suit seemed to be too big. His shirt collar was opened widely, the black tie hanging crookedly of his neck. Brian Epstein had met death. He came from his father's funeral. That hot July day I met Brian Epstein for the last time. Six weeks later he was dead. As I was taking the list up to Brian's private office, I was desperately thinking about what to say to him. I knew Brian had been very attached to his father. I knew this loss must have rattled him deeply. There rarely had been a conversation with him, where he didn't mention his 'Daddy'. I didn't feel comfortable in my skin. Even though Brian had promised me once: "Whenever you come to London, come and see me. I'll always have time for you." It had always been like that. But now?

[...] Brian met me at the door. "Hello, Thomas! Do you want something to drink?" That afternoon I met a completely different Brian Epstein. I was startled when I saw him. He seemed broken and like he had aged years. He stood up from his office chair laboriously. He reached his hand out towards me. It was limp, his handshake without strength. "nice to see you, Thomas", he said. "Have you seen the boys? Have they come back relaxed from Greece?" He tried to act as natural and friendly as usual but he was a bad actor. Brian was quiet for a while, then he said: "I know why you came. Nice of you. But let's not talk about it. Please." On Brian's desk stood bottle of whiskey, next to it a glass. It was empty. Absent-mindedly he puffed on his cigarette and regularly his gaze would drift towards a big painting of his father on the wall. I felt out of place and was about to say goodbye when Brian said: "Stay for another moment. I want to tell you about a dream that finally seems to be about to come true. I'm planning a movie with the bullfighter El Cordobes, the dancer Nurejew and the boys. Cardobes and Nurejew have already accepted. I just have to convince the boys of my plan." The big dream was buried with Brian Epstein on 30 August 1967 on the jewish graveyard of Fazackerley, a suburb of Liverpool. Like so many great dreams of Brian Epstein, who had wanted to become an actor - and never became one; who wanted to write plays - and never wrote one; who bought a theater - and never staged one; who loved Mozart and Beethoven - and became manager of a beat group; who looked like a successful stock broker - and was at home on the stage of the pop world.

It was 26 June 1966. BRAVO-Beatles-Blitztournee. 7000 fans are screaming their throats hoarse inside Hamburg's Ernst-Merck-Halle. They are waiting for 'their' Beatles, who had come back to the place their careers had started after four years. It's just minutes before the 'returnees'' concert. A security guard addresses me: "Are you Thomas Beryl? You have to please come outside. There is a young guy in front of the main door, who has been trying to come in for half an hour even though he has no ticket. He claims he is the Beatles famous manager Brian Epstein. He thinks we're stupid." I rip the dressing room door open, calling to the Beatles: "Wait a moment. They aren't letting Brian in." The Beatles double over with laughter. "Once again", chuckles Ringo. John shouts after me: "Tell him he should get a belly befitting of his status, so that people recognize him as a manager!" The 'young guy' was indeed Brian Epstein. During the concert he said to me: "Look at the boys. I have never seen them this happy on stage. It has to be an amazing feeling to return to where you once have started small. That's when you really realize that you've made it. Frankly - I am a bit jealous because I wasn't with the Beatles during their first Hamburg stays." He watched his boys beaming faces - and beamed along with them.

No, Brian Epstein wasn't a typical manager. He preferred to wear suits in muted colors and subtle ties. His luxurious London apartment proved his exquisite taste. Brian loved antiques and chose with great care and knowledge. His appearance was quiet. For a manager he was modest and shy. Brian kept in the background so much, that sometimes the Beatles didn't even realize when he was missing. But still Eppy - as the boys called him - belonged to them as five fingers do on a hand. And Eppy was the thumb. Brian didn't like to hear such words. "No, no", he denied. "I am not the fifth Beatles but the Beatles' number one fan." Similarly he fended off the claim that the Beatles had him to thank for fairy tale career. "The boys would have made it without me", he told me. "At least I have just as much to thank them for as they do me. I'm known as a successful manager and have a big enterprise. But I was only able to do that because four electric boys became my friends."

The boys have a different opinion. John: "Without Brian we would have gotten out of our greasy leather jackets too late and the Queen would have never invited us to her palace. No one but Eppy was ready to help guys like us financially. Without him we would have been stuck in basement pubs. When he proposed to become our manager, we thought he had a screw loose. That's how little we believed in ourselves." George: "It was our luck that the Epstein family shop was so close to the Cavern, else Brian might not have found us. Then it would have been good night, Beatles!" Ringo: "I owe everything to him. Without Eppy I would never have become a Beatle. He was the one who acquired me." Paul: "Without Eppy the Beatles wouldn't exist anymore. There was a lot of truth to the rumors that we were breaking up. We had a few crises within the group. So heavily that we were about to go our separate ways. It was Eppy who repaired the cracks. He was our friend and we trusted him endlessly." The Beatles trustee is dead. His short, hot life ended 27 August 1967. John, Paul, George and Ringo didn't attend his funeral. They respected his biggest wish even after Brian Epstein was dead: He never wanted to be the center of their performance.

[beansprean]

Commission from @vampireshmampire for their fic “The Things We Can’t Take Back”, which I highly recommend!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Movie poster for the fic, multiple characters on a background of blue dahlias. At the top there is a border where the dahlias turn burgundy, and there are several excerpts from comments on the fic: "Traumatizingly wonderful" -Readwing; "...worth the humiliation of crying on public transit" -Bisghettio, "Masterfully done" -BuruRaven, "...this is the fic I've been looking for..." - Duckbrain. At the bottom is another border where the dahlias turn burgundy, showing the fic title in sharp vampiric font: "The Things We Can't Take Back". Below it says "written and directed by vampireshmampire" and "poster design by beansprean". In the bottom right corner is a mockup of an MPA rating block with the ao3 logo, declaring the fic rated M, marked as m/m with 13,007 words, tagged "characters turned into vampire, angst with a happy ending, love confessions, heartbreak, miscommunication" and that no archive warnings apply. In the main section of the poster, a bust of Nandor sits in profile in the top left, facing away from center. He is wearing a patterned puce coat with a bronze collar and buckles, matching cravat at his throat, and is holding an ornate golden goblet filled to the brim with blood in one hand, looking forlornly down into it. A bright red ribbon is tied to the neck of the goblet and then loops around behind him, whipping back and forth around the poster with a will of its own. In the top right, ribbon whirling around them as if to pull them in closer, are Nadja, Laszlo, and Colin Robinson. Nadja and Laszlo are wearing matching red and black finery with intricate damask patterns: Nadja in an off the shoulder dress with twice puffed sleeves, a bustle, and ruffled lace at the low bustline with bronze buttons; Laszlo in a suitcoat with a downward peak lapel, low cut double breasted waistcoat with bronze buttons, and silk waterfall cravat. They are clearly dressed to impress for an important event. Nadja is half turned away from the viewer, eyes suspicious and lip curled as if seeing something distasteful. Laszlo has an arm around her waist, the other on his hip, glaring in the same direction with a frown. Colin, in a beige and cream tux, keeps behind them, looking vaguely worried. In the bottom left corner are two OCs from the fic: Terry, Guillermo's familiar, and Lord Montague, a prominent vampire intent on Guillermo's affections. Terry is a stern and organized-looking woman with shoulder length orange curls with bangs, wearing a pale purple button down and holding a clipboard poised to take notes. Montague looks like a younger Rufus Sewell playing Jay Gatsby, all slicked back blonde hair, blue eyes, and a curled smile. He is wearing a black tux with a red pocket square and an ornate pinky ring, hand raised as if welcoming someone in. The ribbon whips itself around Terry, but leaves Montague out. In the bottom right corner, a bust of Guillermo sits in profile, facing away from center. He is clearly a vampire, skin desaturated, nails grown out, and cheeks flushed blue, wearing a red-violet and black waistcoat over a dark lace collared shirt, pale violet pussybow tied at his neck. He is gazing sadly down into a matching gold goblet full of blood in his hand, to which the other end of the red ribbon is tied. In the center of the poster, the space between Nandor and Guillermo, the ribbon is frayed and stretched, tearing itself apart with only a few threads keeping them connected. Text on either side reads "Can you get what you want...without losing what you had?" /end ID

[wh0relibrarian]

welcome to my loft

content ahead: soft!toji, shy!reader, black!coded reader, dry humping, clit rubbing, nipple play, princess is used once or twice, nothing rlly crazy, more plot than porn, toji is soo soft, he’s not a father in this!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

word count: 3.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

And there it was. His large palm caresses the underside of your jaw. Looking into your eyes like they held the most fine jewels. You don’t know what’s going on, or why it’s going on, but you can’t deny the way your heart has been resting at the bottom of your stomach all night.

This was supposed to be a first date. A chance to get to know one another outside of work. When Toji asked you out, you tried your best to act cool about it. Part of you knew this was coming, maybe from the way he lingered a little longer at your desk when coming back from his lunch break; or when he started asking you questions about what you do in your free time. He’d always end the conversation with, “what time do you leave today,” hoping that your response would be “whenever you get off,” but to his dismay, you were always working the night shift. He was lucky to even get a word out of you before he would clock out of his morning shift.

But see, today was different. For once, you worked early in the morning, and by the time Toji made his rounds toward you, it was already time to go. This time when he asked what time you were leaving, you responded with “right about now actually,” and you watched his lips force down a smile, eyebrows raising slightly, surprised at your answer.

“Oh, really? Doin’ anything after this then?”

“Mm, I don’t think so. I’ll pick up something to eat maybe, then I’ll go home.”

“So you’re free, is what you’re saying.”

You offered a half-hearted laugh. “Well, I guess that is what I’m saying.”

“How long can you wait to eat?”

“How long do I have?”

“As much time as it takes for you to get ready. I wanna take you out to dinner, if that’s alright with you.”

And this shocked you. There was a part of your brain that really didn’t want to believe he had been flirting with you all this time. Maybe it was his looks that bullied you into that way of thinking. His general frame was huge, shoulders broad, puffed out chest that had a hard time remaining restrained underneath the collared shirt he wore. His muscles were always visible, even during these now cold months, his arms were never covered. You couldn’t lie and say his presence didn’t make you nervous. You never failed to immediately start sweating as soon as he came near you. You weren’t used to talking to men in this sort of casual way. It was either full on sexual, or nothing at all. So when he first started talking to you, or asking about your day, you truly ignored it. Just another man pining for your looks. But you soon realized Toji was different. He looked you in your eyes when you talked, he remembered things you told him weeks prior and would ask about them, he’d even go as far as bringing you a drink or snack when he’d go on his break.

Long story short, you were more surprised than Toji probably expected you to be. You both exchanged numbers, and once he gets back to his seat, you immediately receive a text.

Toji (work): I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear whatever you want, of course. Just send your address whenever you see this.

You: okay haha, my address is 123 Tumblr Lane. it’s my parents house btw lol

Toji (work): *Toji (work) hearted a message* That’s fine? Lol

To be honest, this will have been your first date like, ever. Yes, you’ve had different experiences with guys, and yes, you would tell them you wanted to be taken out on a date, but none of them lived up to your expectations. So your standards for tonight were pretty low. You thought about allll of the “dates'' you've been on while you got dressed. You weren’t sure what to wear, realizing that nothing you owned really made sense for a date. But nonetheless, you find a simple maxi dress, all black with a slit down the side. It was long sleeved, but it wasn’t enough for the November chill, so you paired it with a black fur coat, along with a black shoulder purse. Your hair was braided a few weeks ago, thank god, you thought, because there was no way you’d have enough time to style your natural hair. It was almost seven when you took a final glance in the mirror, you started second guessing your all black attire, thinking maybe it was too simple for Toji. But before you could even think about an alternative outfit, your phone dinged.

Toji (work): Hey, I think I’m at the right place. Is it okay if I ring the doorbell?

You: sure! no one’s home, just me, i’ll come down.

A second barely passed before the sound of the doorbell reverberated throughout the house. The sound rang in your stomach as your nerves finally started to rise. God, when was the last time you wore heels? You practically slide down the stairs. Once you make it down, you open the door and the first thing you see is a beautiful bouquet of pink roses. It was big, like you knew it was expensive, big. Once your eyes meet his, you feel your cheeks burn. He finally breaks the silence.

“Hi, y/n,” he says sheepishly. His eyes started to scan your figure softly, luckily you wore black, because you were practically a waterfall under your arms. “You look… really good.”

You smiled, “Thanks Toji. Are these for me?”

“Oh these? Nah, just my accessory for tonight.”

“Haha, real funny….. Or are you serious?”

“Of course not y/n they’re yours.” He hands you the bouquet and stretches his other arm towards you to latch onto. His arm was bulky, you knew this, but feeling it was so different. He walked you to his car (an all black Dodge Challenger) and opened the door for you. This is when you began to take notes on how many things he does for you that no one else has done. So far, this is the second new thing for you. First, the flowers, now, him opening your door.

The car ride was so far, the best part of this night. He played some songs you never heard of, but instantly fell in love with. When you ask him the artist’s name, he starts telling you everything about them and how he found their music. This leads to some other side conversations and you can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this hard. Not only was he the sweetest eye candy, but he was crazy funny. Your nerves started to relax a little into his verbal embrace, you felt so comfortable around him, it felt otherworldly.

Once you arrived at the restaurant and actually saw the name of the place, your heart sank. This was probably one of the most expensive dinner spots in town. You brought money of course, but you weren’t prepared to spend more than $30 on a meal. “Oh, Toji, this is… a lot. I don’t know if I can–”

“I know it’s expensive, I’m the one taking you out. So I’m the one paying. Relax baby.”

Baby. Baby, baby, baby. You’re his baby? Not his but… anyway, you were flustered to say the least. He told you to wait in the car so he can grab the door for you. He held his hand out for you to stabilize yourself with, and he never let go until you two were seated at your table.

The date was everything you could’ve dreamed of. It was filled with the same energy that the car ride had, the conversation was never dull and he always kept you laughing. Two hours absolutely flew by, and when it was time to pay and leave, you couldn’t help but feel a pinch of sadness in your chest. You never wanted this night to end.

As you approached the car, he asked you what your general consensus of the night was.

“Well, the food was amazing, so you already get a ten for picking the spot.”

“I am the best food picker I know.”

“... Right,” you gave him a slight shove and rolled your eyes. “The food was good and you're excellent at having a conversation.”

“I’d fucking hope so, damn. Those are two very normal things for a date. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a good conversation with a guy.”

He was opening the car door when he said this, and you looked up at him sternly, trying to give across the message that no you had never had a good dinner date with a guy.

Before saying anything, he walks around the car to get in. The first thing he did, before even starting the car, was ask you a question.

“This was your first date?”

“What?! No! Well… no okay, no this is not my first date. Just the first one I could actually remember having a good time, that’s all.” You looked at him meekly, but he didn’t look at you. There was a comfortable silence for a minute and you felt like you said the wrong thing. Would he think you were immature in some way? Is he wondering why you haven’t succeeded in a relationship?

Then, he looks at you.

“I kinda don’t want this night to end… would you be open to going to my place?”

“Sure, yeah…” you said without a second thought. What were you thinking?? Going to Toji’s house on the first date is not what you expected, part of you was excited, the other part was worried about what he thought was going to happen when you arrived there. He started the car and before he drove off you said one more thing.

"I hope you aren’t expecting sex.”

“Welcome to my loft.”

It was just as you pictured. The front entry way led you both right into the living room. The first thing you noticed were the amount of plants Toji had. They were luscious and all varied in size. He had a lot of mood lighting, and the space smelled so good. You felt like you were in a trance.

Toji gave you a mini tour, and once he was finished, he asked if you needed anything. “This may be weird but, can I borrow some clothes? I’m dying in this.” And he happily obliged, running and grabbing a simple t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. Afterwards, you both decide to put on Home Alone, claiming that it was only right to get into the Christmas spirit.

It was clear neither of you were interested in the movie.

“Ya know, I’d never take you home on our first date in the hope of having sex.”

“That’s not why I brought that up, Toji.” Both of your eyes never left the tv screen, but after a few moments, Toji turned his body facing you, and manhandled your body to face him. His eyes were serious. Your gaze almost looked bored, but really, you’ve had this conversation with other men and none were able to understand your point.

“What? You’re a virgin?”

“No! Not that…I’ve never— like, okay. I’ve had sex but– I don’t know. There were times when I didn’t want to, but I was horny? And I guess that confuses guys, so I’d do it anyway…” Your eyes were moving sporadically around whatever was behind Toji, anything to keep from looking at him head on. You could tell he was looking at you with curiosity, though, you watched his arm raise from your peripheral vision and you flinched slightly as he moved a few braids from in front of your face. His hand brushed your ear and you felt your body go limp.

And there it was. His large palm carressing the underside of your jaw. Every memory from tonight clouded your head at once and you swore the room was spinning.

“Y/n, why do you think I’d care about that?” His tone was gentle, low and firm, you couldn't help but tear up. “I don’t know Toji, I just— I don’t want to start something I can’t finish. But I want to start it? I don’t want you to be mad at me if I want to stop.” He scooped your chin up to force you to look him in the eyes. He was such a beautiful man.

“Awh princess,” he said deeply, almost as if he was tantalizing you, “I could never be mad at you. You can stop anything anytime and I will always respect that.” His eyes never left yours, and you know this moment is sweet and wholesome but you can’t deny the wet patch forming in your panties. This is all you’ve ever wanted and god was it attractive. You licked your bottom lip and he mirrors your actions. The silence was so peaceful, you could stay just like this forever.

The kiss is warm, that’s the only way you can describe it. His lips are so soft and his hand stayed resting on the side of your cheek. You started pawing at the hem of his large t-shirt, whimpering as his tongue made its way inside your mouth. You were so hungry for him, he was so hungry for you, but he wanted you to take your time and show him what you wanted. When the kiss finally broke, you two stared at each other with your foreheads pressed together. The silence was long gone as the sound of your heavy breaths filled up the room. You weren’t sure why you did this, but you felt the urge to wrap your legs around him, straddling his waist and wrapping your arms around his stomach. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he did nothing but rub small circles on your back. As he adjusted his position to get more comfortable, you felt the incredibly hard and incredibly large bulge in his pants. It made your hips jolt up and a small gasp left your mouth. You could tell he was trying to be careful with you, he stopped trying to get comfortable to give you a chance to say something if you didn’t feel comfortable.

You were the very opposite.

Now you were repositioning yourself, slowly swaying your hips back and forth. No words had been spoken between you two, and this didn’t bother you. Toji could sense your desperation to get off, it was cute to him. You were so much shyer than he thought you’d be, but this was not a problem. His hands found their way to the sides of your waist, kindly guiding your hips as you continued humping him. You were practically crying at this point, your speed revved up ever so slightly and the whimper you let out right next to Toji’s ear made him feel like jello. You could feel his dick get harder and harder.

You finally picked your head up from his shoulder and could see the mess that was Toji Fushiguro. His hair was disheveled, sticking on beads of sweat on the sides of his face. His mouth was partly open and his eyes, oh his eyes were lustful. Dark green orbs sending electric shocks straight to your heat. He smiled at you, and gave your lips a peck as his hands traveled lower. Massaging the flesh and encouraging you to pick up the pace. There was something so lewd about using him to get off. You know it had to feel good for him, but it was you who was feeling all the friction. The friction created by your panties and the sweatpants he lent you were enough to send you dry heaving and clutching onto his chest. You were almost embarrassed by how sensitive you were.

“T-that’s it baby. You okay? This feel good?” You could do nothing but nod your head repeatedly and whisper yes yes yes as you kept striving for your release. “Mm, princess, you look so good like this. All a mess f’me.” His breath was ragged, you looked down to see a wet spot forming on his pants, the sight was all too much for you. This whole night was way too much for you. The amount of non-sexual foreplay that led you to this moment made it so much better than it would’ve been without it. Soon enough, your hips began to sputter, and your motions weren’t following a pattern like before.

“M’gonna cum Toji, I’m gonna c-cum–”

“Yeah? Baby’s close?” His hands found their way under your shirt and he started playing with your sensitive tits. Finding your nipples and rubbing the bud in between his thumb and pointer finger. That sent you into overdrive. Your head fell back and your grip on Toji’s shirt only tightened. You were too incoherent to form a sentence– a phrase even. All you wanted to say was thank you, but between your pants and his, Toji wasn’t able to comprehend it. “Mm, I’m so proud of you, doin’ so good bein’ a slut f’me.” His fingers started sliding down your stomach, making their way to the edge of your panties. "Is it okay if I touch you here princess? You can say n-"

"Please please please Toji, please touch me," and with that, he stroked two fingers against your soaking cunt. He spread the lips softly and found your clit, puffy and throbbing. He started making small circles on it, his fingers got more slippery with each motion. His eyes never left yours in these moments, and it was driving you insane. You were so overstimulated by everything. The way he smelled, how he was touching you, the way he caring for your body-

"Oh my god Toji right there right there, please."

"Right here baby? Mm, so wet for me. You gonna cum? I can feel your pussy throbbing. I got you all worked up like this?

Your orgasm washed over you like a giant wave, his last words made a yelp escape from your lips and you crashed down into the crook of his neck as you rode out your high. He pressed open mouthed kisses up and down your neck as you composed yourself, and his hands found their way right back your waist like before, rubbing in those small circles.

“I’m s-sorry. I finished too fast I swear I’m not like that it was just so much and you were-”

“Shh, shh. I understand princess, it’s really no big deal. I like that actually, it shows how much likeeee me,” he teased, and you pushed his chest playfully like before. You both were smiling like children and you don’t know why you guys were laughing, and you were okay with that.

Thanks for reading!

[rottenblur]

After hours|J.PEÑA

Javier Peña x reader

Summary: Going to Colombia with your friends sounds exciting right? Only if the whole reason you were here, wasn’t to be their translator. One night they drag you to a bar, you’re downing shots by yourself when a certain brown eyed man approached you. When you started flirting with him, you didn’t think you’d be back against a stall door, moaning his name. 2k ish

WARNINGS:SMUT!!! Unprotected p in v (wrap it up yall) degradation for like two seconds, my terrible spainish, dirty talking, public p in v (bathroom) alcohol, head f receiving, fingering f receiving

“he reaches down hikes up your dress, and pulls your panties to the side as he gets on his knees. You can feel him breathing against the bare exposed skin “fuck all this for me? So fuckin wet” ”

Walking in the crowded streets of Medellín, you and your friend group search for a night club with decent music bumping out of it. After about five minutes of walking around, your friends finally find a club they like. Entering the loud, packed and sweaty night club you head straight to the bar as your friends run quickly off to the dance floor, dancing to songs they didnt know, nor understand.

You were the most understanding of spainish out of the group and that was honestly a insult the whole language. Sitting at the bar in a stool closest to the wall, slightly muffling the loud, upbeat, club toons. You order a round of tequila shots for yourself, lighting a cigarette, sticking it between your lips, and inhaling.

Looking down at your bare legs adjusting your tight, sparkly, black, slip dress. Puffing away at your cigarette, creating a cloud around your body, as your shots arrive.

You thank the bartender, reaching into your purse and paying him. Putting your cigarette in the ash tray, downing your shot then sucking on a lime slice.

By your fourth and final one, youre on your third cigarette, the music sounds better and you’re seriously considering finding a attractive stranger, just to grind on them.

Looking down the bar, at the girls with their pretty dresses, paired with fruity drinks. The men with their collared shirts and dark liquor, one about four stools down from you, catches your gaze. He gets up and starts walking over towards you, he stands next you leaning on the bar.

“Qué estás bebiendo, cariño?”(What are you drinking, baby?) He leans towards you, taking the cigarette from your lips, stealing a puff and smirking.

You finally check him out. Black shoes, tight blue jeans, a tan button down with three buttons undone revealing his chest, sweat clinging to scattered hair.

His face is terribly handsome, his hair sticking to his tanned forehead, a thick moustache covering his top lip, the smirk that makes you wanna squeeze your tighs tightly together. Youre blaming the alcohol for the blush on your cheeks right now.

“Tequila, y tú?”(and you?) You wince at your terrible spainish accent praying it wont turn him away, he now takes a seat in the stool next to yours, angling his knees towards yours.

“Whiskey.” He takes a gulp, his ice clanking in his glass, as he lifts it to his lips. Laying the empty glass onto the bar counter, he looks at you. “Whats your name, baby?” Your face fulls with relief.

Thank god. No more shitty spainish has to be embarrassingly said to this poor man, it was bad enough that calling it “rusty” would be a insult, you’re pretty sure that the only reason your friends brought you on this trip was for your knowledge, even with the lack of said knowledge. They were too busy focusing on all the clubs they were gonna hit.

You tell him your name then ask him, “was it my accent that gave it away?” You cover your face with your hands, he pulls them away holding them in his “Or its your tolerance for that tequila you’ve been downing.” He laughs, you watch the way his dark brown eyes soften, practically disappearing when he laughs.

“Mines Javier.” He sounded proud of his name, it was meaningful to him. His eyes drop to your knees, slowing panning up your thighs, he drops his hand to the bottom of your thigh, you gasp.

His large tanned hand travels up your thigh slowly, occasionally looking up to your face to see it screw up the further up he gets. He stops at the top, moving up the hem of your dress, then dragging his hand to your inner thigh right on your tattoo. Rubbing slow circles then adding a squeeze, he smirks at you.

That tipped you over the edge, you squeeze your thighs together, begging for some attention to the aching in your panties.

He grazed the wet spot on your panties causing you to rut into his hand, then he removed his hand completely. “Fuck. Your spainish is better than your ability to hide how much you want me right now, cariño.” You almost whimper at his words before you can respond, he’s already calling the bartender over to order more tequila shots. Fuck you didnt need them. He was intoxicating enough.

The bartender lays four shots of tequila paired with a bowl of sliced lime, Javier pays him and pulls them closer. He slides two over to you, two for himself “No lime this time, cant be a bitch bout it.” He says squeezing your leg, you gasp sarcastically.

He raises his shot glass, you follow his lead lifting yours up and clinking it with his. You both bringing them to tap the bar before downing it, you cough and shake your head looking over at javier hes laughing at you with a much more calm reaction to the burning liquor.

Before you can address your struggle, hes already reaching reaching for the second one. “Vamos, hermosa!”(come on, beautiful)You pick up the glass, before you cheers with him your favourite song starts playing.

You down your shot “OHHHH SHITTTTTT.” You grab javiers hand, hop off your stool and start pulling him off his stool. He downs his shot, slamming the glass on the wooden bar, letting you pull him towards the dance floor. “What are you doing.”

He questions as you use your whole body weight, to pull him towards you “you gotta dance with me, i wont dissapoint you!”

He pulls you close to him by your waist. Feeling the music, you turn around facing away from Javier, you start to sway your hips to the music.

He holds your hips pushing your ass flush against his crouch, you move your hips more, still on beat. You swear you here a groan fall out of him followed by a quiet “Mierda.”(shit)

You wrap your arms around his neck pushing your back right against His chest. You can feel the tightness in his jeans on your ass, you can feel his throbbing and rutting when you sway your hips a certain way for god sake.

He takes a long sigh then spins you around, takes your face into his hold, and kisses you. A kiss of desperation, hes been holding it in all night, his mouth taste of cigarettes and whiskey. His tounge passes through your lips and teasing your own. He pulls away “fuck you for making me want you so bad hermosa.”

He grabs your wrist before you can reply pulling a gasp out of you, he pulls you like you once pulled him onto the dance floor towards the bathrooms. Your face heats up knowing exactly whats bout to happen,

He pushes the door open, scanning for anyone else, you lucked out there was no one.

He finds the cleanest stall pulling you in and against the door, it shakes as he presses up against you, grinding himself, while kissing you. “Are you clean?”

You nod “and on the pill.” That pulls a grin out of him, he reaches down hikes up your dress, and pulls your panties to the side as he gets on his knees. You can feel him breathing against the bare exposed skin “fuck all this for me? So fuckin wet”

he licks his lips then spits on your mound, attaching his lips this pulls a whimper out of you. His tounge draws experienced circles on your clit, dropping down to lick slit to clit every so often.

When your back starts arching, on the stall door Javier mutters something against you, feeling the vibrations of his words, but not hearing them.

He looks up at you with his sweet brown eyes, your face is screwed up with pleasure.

Keeping the eye contact, he lifts your leg placing it on his shoulder then, plunges two of his thick tanned digits into you, first gathering some slick, mouth still attached. This pushes you over the edge, as he pumps the length in out of you, curling his fingers to hit your sweet spot with ease.

You throw your head back letting out a moan “fuck javi.” You feel him smile on you, he quickens his pace, his fingers filling you up, mouth leaving no drop go to waste. You feel your orgasm approaching, squeezing Javier’s fingers like your life depends on it, he pulls them out and stands up.

“Fuck, you’re delicious baby.” He kisses your neck and unbuckles his jeans, releasing his throbbing need. You almost gasp at its appearance, its fucking beautiful, the perfect length and girth.

The veins popping out, the clean patch of hair above his base, you stare at it almost drooling.

He lets off your neck with a pop, you already know he marked you up. He spits on his hand and starts pumping himself, he pulls the tiny straps on your dress down.

Rubbing your shoulders then pulling the front down and his mouth opens. “Oh cariño, such pretty tits.” He takes a handful then attaches his mouth, sucking dark spots all over. A whimper slips out, forcing a groan out of him “Please javi, i need you.” You pull his face up, thats all that he needed to hear.

He grabs one of your legs placing it above his hip, rubbing the leaking tip on your wet folds. He looks up at you, placing a hand behind your head as he pushes the tip in.

You gasp as you feel just the tip entering, he pauses then pushes his full length in you the head hitting your cervix, making your knees buckle.

He moves his hand down to your hip keeping you up, “If you’re gonna dress like a slut, you’ll get fucked like one.” He smiles slamming back into you.

Your mind is blank. The sounds of groans, grunts, whimpers and moans is all the words being spoken other than javiers occasional dirty mumblings.

“Fuck, youre so fucking tight”

“This pussy was made for me”

You throw your head back, feeling your second orgasm approaching, all you can focus on is the sound of skin slapping together, and the wetness of the two of you connecting.

Javier knows it before you can collect your thoughts enough to tell him “Youre choking my dick up baby, is this sweet, little pussy coming for me? So fucking easy, baby. She needed me.” That threw you over the edge.

You flutter all around him, squeezing him so tight he can barely move. He fucks you through your orgasm, shortly after he cums inside of you, filling you up.

He pulls out, keeping your leg on his hip watching him leak out of you. You can feel yourself pulsing around nothing, already missing him filling you up.

“So fucking pretty.” He kisses your cheek, tucks himself away, adjusts your dress, finishing with a smirk.

You smile back at him fucked dumb. “Thank you for that-“, he opens the stall door walking you out of the bathroom and out of the club. A arm tightly wrapped around your waist, keeping your legs from buckling from under you.

“That was seriously the best sex I’ve ever had.” He smiles “Doesnt feel like you get much of it baby.” He slaps your ass, you nudge him and laugh

“Need a ride?” You nod, your friends haven’t noticed you were gone by now you’ll be fine ditching them. He walks you to his car, your eyes go wide. “Youre a fed? Only feds have this nice of a car here. Did i just fuck a fed.” You say, giggling.

He opens the car door for you, you jump in. He walks over to the driver side, putting the key in and starting the car. “This “fed” just gave you the best fuck of your life time, dont be bitching.”

He was right. He pulls up in front of your hotel, you’re almost sad you have to say goodbye. He takes a pen from his cup holder, clears his throat then, messily writes a number on your arm “Call me. Early morning, sorry cariño.” You smile, lean over, give him a kiss goodnight and hop out.

You may have leaked all over the seat the whole ride there, at least he wont forget you?

my masterlist

AN! JAVI FIC???? for once not joel. I started this yesterday morning since i feel theres a lack of javi fics? Excuse there spainish i barely speak it myself, i provided translations! Please if you speak spainish message me so i can fix it.

[okkos-ferrum]

some alien stage design parallels

I am always captivated by alien stage's designs so here's me likely over thinking small design details between character parallels

Sua vs. Luka

These two are directly paralleled due to both their similar personalities (on the surface level) but opposing relationships with mizi. sua is mizi's universe, but luka manipulates mizi by imitiating a confession by sua during round 5

anyway here are some fun details in their official artwork designs

Both have white their dominant color, with black as a compliment, compared to ivan's all black, hyuna's various colors, ivan's grey and red, and mizi's multi-color hair. however while white/light colors are predominantly in luka's top half, masking the black underneath, sua's black hair frames her face at the top, while she is dressed in all white underneath

Sua's bow is at the front of her chest, meanwhile Luka has a ribbon tied to his back. They aren't the same thing, so it might be a stretch, but to me shows sua's more honest intentions with her affection to mizi, while luka is more duplicitous in his "kindness" to mizi

though contradictory but maybe a connection, sua has her hands gloved, meanwhile luka does not cover his hands at all.

Sua's sleeves are puffed out -- im no fashion person so idk if there is a name to them -- making her top heavy design-wise, while luka's sleeves have the extra frill for a more bottom heavy design.

speaking of which, the one-sided trail follows luka around, giving asymmetry to his design. It's pointed and dynamic, giving a sense of instability, and in luka's case, distrust. It's like a snake in how it follows him around. meanhwile, sua has perfect symmetry to her design, displaying how she was a relaible support for mizi.

Sua & Mizi

Obviously these two are built as strong contrasts. but while the subtler differences between sua and luka's similar designs are to depict their clear distinctions, mizi and sua's strong contrast is to instead show how they perfectly fit together ahhh i love them sm

from the get go, there are numerous differences, both to establish the contrast in their personality. Similar to luka, there is asymmetry in mizi's design through the gloves as well as the multi-color hair, while sua has a sharp bob and symmetrical clothing to show how sua is the calm to mizi's excitement

There's the obvious black to sua's pure white, another show of mizi's spirited nature in comparison. mizi's puffed skirt is a contrast to sua's puffed sleeves, sua's boots contrast to mizi's thigh highs, and mizi has a covered shoulder while sua's dress is an off shoulder dress. Hell, even their eye colors are complimentary colors on the color wheel (just realized luka also has yellow eyes haha). in every respect, these two characters share zero similar features which can tie them together. But it instead shows how they compliment each other as polar opposites!

in terms of the only connection i can pull, the gem mizi often is featured with is shown here at the center of her chest, the exact placement to sua's both. perhaps representing their love for each other being their centers???

Till vs. Ivan

The other major relationship ... the more tumultuous of the two -- also have the heavy contrast to link them together. but both share an intrstic desire of wishing to be with another they can never have, so there is a strong parallel there. in a lot of ways, it is similar to how contrast is played up between mizi and sua, with one being the refined, calmer one while the other is far more hot-headed

To get over the obvious, ivan's fitted trenchcoat is in all black while till is seen with a oversized white t-shirt. till's rebelliousness is seen through his lack of shoes or sleeves, showing both how open he is regarding his emotions as well as his lack of care for himself. meanwhile, ivan is knee high boots and gloves over his long sleeved coat, representing his closed off intentions/desires

ivan's collar (seen also in the flashbacks when they were kids) is symmetrical and close to his neck while till is always choosing an off shoulder look, the real collar (not a shirt collar, like ivan's) always a seperate piece on his neck. again, showing ivan's supposed submission to the system while till is blatant in his hositility against alien stage, only controlled through force.

however, while it can be pointed out till is primarily in white, he isn't and thats what is the contrast between the two. while ivan wears only one color, showing his undying devotion to till (whether that may be love or trying to let him go when going into round 6), till has his red underneath, which shows his split in motives.

till similarly wants to escape from alien stage, seen through round 3's flashback in him accepting ivan's escape. but due to it meaning leaving mizi, till has to reject ivan to return to the system he hates so much, all for mizi. from basic color psychology, red is the color of passion and temper, which is clear in how till makes decisions. he makes his hatred for alien stage known, but he is fueled by his desire for mizi to keep him from leaving.

Hyuna vs. Luka

last one just cuz these two now have a confirmation over what their relationship was (my guess: hyuna showed a very isolated luka some affection, luka grew obsessive and plotted to kill hyuna's brother to have her attention on him) with luka being alien stage's biggest success and complacent with the system, hyuna stands on the opposing side by taking hold of her own freedom, even if that comes at the cost of her safety

(side tangent: i really dont like hyuna's design here. like its the color placement between the top and bottom and the weird gradient of blue to muddy green to cool yellow. dont even get me started on those shoes ... hell she doesnt even her outspoken nature. ear them in her own music video. but im including it just since its official artwork and hypothetically what she preformed with)

honestly hyuna sticks out so much more compared to everyone just due to the abundance of colors in her design. She only has some black, but there are various hues used throughout her design. Just about all the official art work for the other character depicts them in outfits with some black or white, with luka the most apparent by the balance of both colors.

luka looks almost artficial in how he wears only whites and blacks. its only furthered by his blonde lashes -- the only character with such a trait -- and especially the blues at his fingertips. hyuna in contrast is the only brunette of the series, and colors like brown are often associated with more earthly tones, making her seem more human than luka.

hyuna, like till, has no sleeves, showing some part of her outspoken nature. but to me, what hyuna and luka both share is their strong asymmetry. Hyuna through her sleeveless (???) tank top and luka aforementioned trail thing. they are at such polar opposite ends taht it could almost fall into instability

anyway off to manifest round 6 ending with hyuna and mizi rescuing till and ivan and then luka randomly exploding on the spot :3 (its probably gonna kill off till or ivan)

apologies for any bad grammer im too lazy to revise this

[hopefuloverfury]

Elliott Scrap 🦀

Elliott being a smitten man, as usual. Fem!Farmer, she/her pronouns. No other warnings necessary. I'll find a place for this scene eventually.

Elliott’s boots thunk softly against the stone bridge leading into town, his route illuminated by warm yellow light. He looks up at the rusty lamp posts, his breath puffing out into clouds of vapor in front of his face. It’s two days into Spring already, but frost still clings to the emerald green grass framing the cobblestone path, and Elliott tucks his nose low into the collar of his jacket.

The windows of the saloon burn a fiery orange, and Elliott picks up his pace. After hours of staring at ink on half-empty pages, and with no solace found in the sounds of waves kissing the shore outside of his home, he needs a distraction.

Tied to a post outside of the saloon is a horse, its ears flicking back and forth as it grazes on the overgrown grass breaking through the cement. Its coat is dusty brown, with a dark brown mane, and a very new looking saddle strapped to its back. 

The horse picks its head up, sensing his presence. Its ears flick again, and if Elliott knew anything about horses, he might say it looks curious. He doesn’t though, so he walks past without a second glance, and up the steps.

He pushes the door open. It’s not a slow night by any means, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the cheery jingling of the bell above the door as Elliott pushes inside. The warmth from the fireplace hits him square in the face, and he relishes the way it melts the chill settled into his bones. Gus looks up to greet him, and Elliott knows it’s more out of habit than anything else. Just standard, to welcome a guest.

Elliott looks around, expecting to see Leah at their usual table next to the jukebox, but surprisingly, she’s nowhere to be seen. He frowns, resigning himself to a night of drinking alone, when something catches his attention.

The farmer stands alone at the bar, loosening the strap of her shoulder guard. 

The last time he saw her was at his shack on the beach, two weeks ago. He’d poured his heart out into a heap on the floor of his shack, and she carefully placed every piece back into his palms. She’d been wearing overalls and brown work gloves, with steel-toed boots and the straw hat she won the spring prior for achieving first place in the egg hunt. She’d looked like a proper farmer, and a little like an angel.

But here, in the flickering firelight of Stardrop Saloon, she looks like she’s stepped out of an adventure novel. Dressed like a heroine whose only goal is to slay foul beasts and protect those weaker than herself, there’s a small array of leather holsters criss-crossing over her torso, cuts and bruises on her arms, and fresh white bandages wrapped around her knuckles. There’s a large black stain on the front of her shirt, and he wonders what the hell she’d done to get it.

She looks up, and their eyes meet.

Recognition passes over her face, and then she smiles.

He makes a beeline for the bar, the restless buzz in his chest getting louder with every step, like a swarm of cicadas in the summer.

“Hello, Farmer,” Elliot says, the buzz starting to make his ears ring. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Elliott. I was hoping I’d see you tonight,” she says softly, a smile spreading across her lips. Elliott blinks, and thoughts he’d never dare entertain flicker like firelight over the inside of his eyelids. She’s so pretty. Why is she so pretty? “I thought about stopping by your cabin, but I figured I should check here first, just in case.”

Elliott feels lightheaded. “You were looking for me?”

She hums, nodding as she turns away to search through her bag. “Last time I dropped by, you looked like you were running out of ink.”

“Ah. I was planning to purchase a refill from Pierre in the morning.” Elliott winces. He’d put it off for too long, and his plans to write well into the night were dashed when his fountain pen ran out of ink in the middle of a chapter.

“No need. I collected some for you.” She turns around, a glass inkwell standing proudly in the center of her palm. “I hope this is enough, but if it isn’t I can bring more later.”

Elliott’s lips part on a breath as he plucks the bottle out of her hand. The glass is heavy, sturdy between his fingers and sapphire blue. He whistles softly, a reverent sound. “It’s lovely. Where did you get it? The ones at Pierre’s don’t look like this.”

“Oh, no, I made it.”

Elliott jerks his head so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. “You made this? All of it?”

“Well, not really. I harvested the ink from squids, but I had leftover corks from my wine bottles, and the bottle is made out of glass shards I collected from the beach.” She chuckles, tapping her fingertip against the glass. “Who knew smelting furnaces were great for glassmaking?”

[starryriize]

picture perfect | leehan

part 1- the invite

a/n: the long-awaited release of part one! i have absolutely loved making this and it’s taken me longer than i’d like to admit :( this is the first time i’ve written more than 1k words😫i sincerely hope that you all enjoy this!!

1.2k words

pairing: photographer! Leehan and model! reader

summary/preview , part one , part two

-- ✧ --

"Leehan! Did you see the interview?" He turns to his friend, feigning innocence. "What interview?" Taesan rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue before chiding, "Come now, you saw it!" Leehan did, in fact, see the interview. The one that featured the CEO of Omega Watches shaking hands with some high-ranking representative of a model that Leehan didn't care about. He ran a hand through his hair, wondering why Taesan was so excited about a normal interview. It wasn't anything new for a CEO to have new models for the new collections.

Taesan sighed loudly, plopping onto the couch as he leaned his head back, slightly closing his eyes. If there was one perk to living with Leehan, the furniture was always comfortable and stylish. Interior designers should be glad he took up photography, Taesan thought to himself. Facing where Leehan was sitting, Taesan grabbed a plain white envelope. He took a stray pen from the round living room table, sliding the pen through the seal. Taking the paper out, Taesan went silent. It was an invite to the New Year's Gala hosted by Omega. Every year, this dreaded gold-lined invite came, and every time, Leehan refused to go. Events were incredibly draining, filled with hours of talking to people, and doing so-called “networking.”

“Oh? Taesan, what’s in the letter?” Leehan stood up, leaning against the wall, gesturing toward the paper with a quirked eyebrow.

“The New Year’s Gala for Omega. Apparently, the theme this year is fairytale.” Taesan said while smirking, already planning his outfit to capture the hearts of many at the party. Leehan sighed in annoyance, knowing he’d have to go to the Gala this year. There was no avoiding the CEO, but more importantly, he had to keep good relations with the CEO. 

“I’ll come with.” Leehan paused, “I have to make sure I still have my contract with Omega.” Leehan muttered under his breath, not wanting to admit that he did want to see the newest collection of watches. Leehan, despite all his complaints about parties and not caring, did in fact enjoy the socializing. There was a rush of adrenaline that he got from the flashing lights, the sparkles, the car ride from their shared apartment, and the whole feeling of living life fully. It was the same rush that he got from being in the airport. He loved moments where he felt like time was suspended, as it made him feel like the main character of a New York Times bestseller. 

But Taesan wasn’t stupid, he saw right through his friend. Shrugging, Taesan smiled. Sarcastically commenting, “Sure. You’re definitely going for the contract talks.” He paused before adding, “Also Leehan, I hope you know that the Gala is this coming weekend at 9 pm outside the Omega Pop-up store.” Taesan continued talking about the details of the party, where to park,  who to avoid, and most importantly what to wear. As far as Leehan was concerned, he wasn’t interested in the who’s and what’s of the party. But Taesan was right, they needed outfits, and ones that would fit the theme perfectly. Taesan retreated to his room, spending what seemed like hours, deliberating over which silk shirt looked best. Deciding that he needed his friend’s opinion, he called Leehan to tell him what he thought about the silk.

Leehan sighed for the fifth time, muttering, “I say this with love but the silk isn’t it. You look like a dress up pirate not a fairytale prince.”

Taesan audibly scoffs as he flicks through the various shirts before pulling out a hanger. “Yes. Yes. I’ve found it!” He turns to Leehan, holding a white ruffled shirt with puffed sleeves and a ruffled collar. It was the epitome of a fairytale if he were in Tangled that is. "I think I look good." Taesan smirks at himself in the mirror, proud of the "princely" fit he pulled out of his closet.

"But what do I wear?" Leehan sighed, staring at the rows upon rows of shirts. Flicking through the blues and whites, he stopped, staring at a navy blue dress shirt. Pulling it off the hanger, he placed it down, moving to find a matching vest or jacket. After he finally found a suitable vest, embroidered with white crystals and made of white satin. He figured that would be enough and that he'd plan the rest of the fit later.

-- ✧ --

12 hours away, you'd gotten the same letter. You knew this wasn't an event you could call sick to skip mainly because your face was going to be all over the adverts at the entrance of the party. Glancing down at the letter, you read it out loud, wishing the flight wasn't so expensive and wondering which outfit you could possibly wear.

We cordially invite you to our New Year's Gala. We plan to introduce our newest "Timeless" collection. Our theme this year is fairytale! We hope to see you there. Yours Truly, Omega Watches.

Smiling, you knew you could finally pull out the butterfly top that you'd been influenced to buy when you were shopping with your close friend, Yunjin. Carefully removing the resin-jeweled top from its protective covering, you quickly grabbed your favorite pink satin skirt.

Glancing at the clock, you realized you had less than two hours to catch your flight to Incheon. Gingerly wrapping your outfit in a small carry-on, you grab your mother's Yves Saint Laurent crossbody and begin locking up your apartment, double-checking everything. You knew that your manager had already sent your pre-packed bags to Incheon, so what else did you need? You glance your eyes over your jewelry, stopping at the gold heart bracelet. Deciding you can never have enough jewelry, you grab the bracelet and place it in your purse.

Soon you were on a plane, miles from Incheon with adrenaline filling your veins. Just thinking about finally seeing your adverts in person, meeting new people, and socializing, words couldn't describe how excited you felt.

Upon landing in South Korea, you were taken aback by the stunning views and how it felt so much like home. You had been to Korea once before, but you were so little, that everything was a blur. The hustle and bustle of Incheon Airport made you feel calm, suspended in-between time, where you were neither here nor there.

Taking out your phone, you snap a quick picture of the views from the airport entrance before scanning the taxi lane for your scheduled car. You were told to look for a black Jaguar XKSS, remembering your manager saying that the car was "vintage-looking" and something "out of James Bond."

Some 10 minutes later, you see a car that looks as though it came from the Bond films. Ah, that must be my ride. You thought to yourself. The front door opened and a tall, somewhat American-looking man strode to where you were standing. You glance toward him, analyzing his movements as he opens the trunk for your luggage. The man offered his hand for you to shake, introducing himself as Jaehyun. You confidently shook his hand, introducing yourself as well.

"Let's get you to the hotel." Jaehyun jumped excitedly, placing your luggage into the trunk. The car's capacity was, well, smaller than you expected. You knew it'd be a vintage car, but you didn't think it'd be as tiny as you thought. It was a two-door car, so you had to be seated in the passenger seat.

Just as you were getting comfortable, Jaehyun mentioned, "Going to the Omega Party? Ah, you'll get to meet Leehan and Taesan!" Leehan? Why was that name familiar to you? You tried to remember why he was familiar but then gave up remembering that you'll probably see him at the Gala.

-- ✧ --

For both you and Leehan, the moment you enter the doors of the Gala, lives shall be changed.

[aralezinspace]

Masquerade

Combining two requests, both from Anonymous: Morpheus and s/o doing each other's makeup, Morpheus and reader kissing, reader teases him until he's at their mercy

A/N: The inherent eroticism of a masquerade *chef's kiss* partly inspired by All Yours by @roguelov (I love your writing so much!) Enjoy! Tagging @fangirlmary - If you want to be tagged in any of my writing let me know!

~~Requests are open!~~

“Morpheus?” I called from my bathroom, “Are you almost ready for me?” I knew time passed differently in the Dreaming, I still couldn’t help worrying we were going to be late. The Faerie realm was hosting a huge masquerade ball in honor of Cluracan’s birthday, and as rulers of the Dreaming we had both been invited. I had never been to a faerie masquerade, so I was more than a little nervous- even newly immortal, I was still only human, about to be surrounded by beings with more power in their pinkies than I had in my entire body.

I heard Dream’s footsteps pad from our bedroom into the bathroom before I saw his reflection in the mirror. I applied the last touch to my lipstick before turning to get the full effect, and my heart stopped in my chest.

He was dressed in his usual black, but the material seemed to be deeper, darker, a void where even the brightest of stars diminished. Within that void there swirled sparkling lines of blues, greens, purples, and reds, dotted with large silvery sparkles I’d bet were diamonds sewn into the fabric. The shirt and pants seemed painted onto his form they fit him so well, moving with him, not even creasing when he walked or moved his arms. The shirt’s collar covered his neck, and his hands were wrapped in black silk gloves.

The cloak he wore when being Dream of the Endless, Ruler of the Dreaming and Nightmare Realms was attached to his shoulders with silver brooches, each cradling a sapphire the size of a walnut. A silver chain connected the two pieces, swaying gently when he moved. Flames still flickered at the bottom, but this cloak was made of the same living void as his shirt and pants. His hair was only slightly more tamed than usual, which only added to the affect. Black pointed boots with slight heels and soft soles were on his feet.

I needed to stop gaping, before a dream spider crawled into my mouth.

“Holy shit,” I gasped, taking it all in again and again, the words hardly doing my sentiments any justice. He was ancient and beautiful, distant and awe-inspiring. “You look incredible.” He smiled gently at me, and I could have sworn his chest puffed out just a little bit as he approached me.

“As do you, my star,” he replied in a murmur. His eyes roved up and down my body, taking it all in as one would a piece of art. I could feel the slight tremor in his hand as he brushed a stray piece of hair away from my face. “Although there are no words in any language to do justice to your beauty.”

I felt a blush rise to my cheeks and bashfully glanced at the floor. “Flatterer,” I teased, but did a little twirl anyway before going back to the mirror.

He was right though, I looked just as otherworldly as him in the clothes he fashioned me. If he was attending as a galaxy, then I was the star at the very center. The whole ensemble was silver-blue and shimmering, made of countless layers of a light, floaty material that swirled around me like mist when I moved. The gown had a sweetheart neckline, and sleeves of fine silver mesh covered my arms, making them appear longer and more graceful. Moonstones and diamonds dotted the dress and sleeves, catching the light and reflecting it back. Small diamond earrings went in my ears, and a strand of silver and moonstone was around my neck, with a large opal pendant hanging just below my collarbones.

I had a cape of my own, made of the same shimmering material and dotted with flecks of gold, flowing out behind me from my shoulders. My makeup had the same slight rainbow and silver shimmer, my eyes outlined in pale blue liner. I looked every inch a monarch.

“Just have to do your eyeliner,” I said as I gestured for Morpheus to sit on the stool in front of my vanity. He swept across the bathroom and sat on the stool as if it were a throne while I gathered my liquid and pencil eyeliners, along with a few shades of eyeshadow. “Close your eyes and hold still?”

Morpheus smiled and did as I asked. His lashes were long and dark and utterly gorgeous against his pale cheeks. He was holding still as he could for me, which was the equivalent of a marble statue. Leaning over him, I carefully lined his upper lash lines in black ink before buffing it out with a brush. “Open and look up?”

Tongue between my teeth as I concentrated, I did his lower lash line as well. The black liner made the blue of his eyes even more startling, and I just knew that his eyes would appear even more like bottomless pits if they shifted to their usual black and silver over the course of the night.

“Okay, look ahead?” Rather than look straight ahead, Dream decided to look up at me, stopping the breath in my lungs with his gaze. With slightly clumsy fingers, I put the eyeliner back in my makeup drawer and grabbed the two eye shadows I had picked for him: a slightly sparkling red, and a shimmering silver. Using my fingertip, I gently pressed some of the red into the outer corners of his eyes, and some of the silver into the inner corners.

If I thought he looked incredibly beautiful and powerful before, I was wrong. Just adding the eyeliner and colors around his eyes had made him arrestingly gorgeous, and I couldn’t look away. My eyes widened at the being before me, heat flooding my entire body. That hint of red and silver was the most beautiful mistake I had ever made. It added more than a hint of mischief to the blue of his eyes, gave the power of dreams the attitude of the devil.

Oh, I was going to have a very hard time keeping my hands off him for however long we stayed at this party.

~~

The fae had truly gone all out for Cluracan’s celebration in a dazzling display of magic, wealth, and the otherworldly beauty of nature. The giant ballroom hummed with life, my skin tingled from the strength of the collective vibes. Even as my eyes absorbed the vibrant colors and wondered at them until they burned, I felt distinctly out of place. Just a tiny human at the side of an Endless, almost like a pet. I wanted to shrink into a gilt corner and hope that none of these beings paid me any mind. But, I was a monarch of the Dreaming. If Morpheus couldn’t hide in a corner, neither could I.

I could tell from his slightly tense grip on my hand that he’d rather be anywhere else. Even with our masks covering the top halves of our faces, it was easy to see how much he detested being here. There were too many people, and wearing the face of a monarch for all of them was taxing. I gently rubbed circles into the back of his hand with my thumb as we waited in line to pay our respects to the king and queen, taking in the sights and sounds and smells.

A beautifully haunting waltz came from the musicians on the modest stage at the back of the room. Fae and gods and other creatures of myth mingled and danced, their movements flickering like mirages. A shiver went down my spine.

The fae herald announced us to the waiting monarchs, and Cluracan sitting beside them: “Dream of the Endless and Lady Y/N, monarchs of the Dreaming, rulers of the Nightmare Realms.” I plastered a smile on my face as we approached the thrones. Morpheus gave a slight, respectful bow, and I dipped my knees in a little curtsy.

“Lord Morpheus!” Cluracan yelled with a beaming grin, extending his hand for Dream to shake. “I am so pleased you were able to attend! Both you and your beautiful wife.” Morpheus shook his hand with a strained smile. “Thank you for the invitation, we are honored to be here.”

Cluracan then extended his hand to me. I did what was expected of me, and placed my fingers in his waiting grasp. “Your visage this night is a true blessing,” he murmured against the skin before brushing his lips over my knuckles with a flirtatious smirk. I could feel Morpheus tense beside me.

Dream exchanged the necessary pleasantries with the king and queen, something I was content to let him handle. After the fae monarchs wished us well with the encouragement to enjoy their hospitality for as long as we wished, we were finally free from royal obligations to enjoy the party.

Morpheus was a wallflower at social engagements on the best of days, but I could tell that being in a ballroom surrounded by fae and magical creatures of every kind made him especially uneasy. His hand never left my lower back as we mingled with the other guests, sipping on sweet wine to take the edge off.

After we took our leave of some forest spirits, the orchestra struck up a tune I recognized as old Dreaming folk music. I gave Morpheus’ hand a squeeze and whispered excitedly in his ear, “I’ll bet you anything Cluracan asked them to play this for us. It’d be rude not to dance.” I gave him my best sparkling puppy dog eyes. “Please? May I have this dance?”

Dream sighed, but agreed with a small, loving smile. The image of a perfectly refined and dignified ruler, he led me to the dance floor, holding my one hand aloft while the other rested at my waist. We swept around the dance floor in time with the music, our garments flowing out behind and around us- a supernova and a black hole, swirling around each other in perfect harmony.

“They’re all staring,” I breathed, my eyes darting quickly to the assembled crowd.

“They cannot help but be entranced by you, my darling,” he purred back, “And neither can I.” My eyes flickered up to his, my heart stopping in my chest and lips tugging up into a smirk when I caught the expression on his face. There was no way he hadn’t noticed the hitch in my breath, or the flush in my cheeks, and his tiny smile became unbearably smug. Oh, so that’s how he wanted to entertain himself tonight. Well then, two could play at that game.

“They’re staring at you too, you know,” I breathed against his lips just before he twirled me out and then back in to his waiting arms. “You’re easily the most powerful being here, I bet they’re trying to decide whether they want to be your ally, or stab you in the back. Not that I’d let them.” The hand that was resting on his shoulder slid up, up, so that I was caressing his neck. “And I bet the women are just burning inside, aroused by your demeanor and aggravated their husbands could never hope to measure up.”

It was soft, but I could hear the growl that rumbled low in Dream’s chest. I could feel the way his fingers tensed into the flesh at my waist. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly- he now knew I had caught on to his game, and was not only willing to play, but playing to win.

When the song was over, I pulled away to bow to him, low and slow and graceful with a smile that was anything but submissive. Dream returned the gesture, a perfect gentleman, one who knew exactly what effect he was having on his partner. Rather than take his hand to leave the dance floor, I turned away from him, throwing a flirtatious smirk over my shoulder as I walked towards the buffet. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as he watched, intending to follow, but stopped by a fae lord wishing to speak with him.

I could sense Dream’s growing tension as the night wore on and I refused to stay by his side, rather flitting just out of reach. I made small talk with the other guests, even exchanged a few more words with Cluracan- that really got him going. It was only a matter of time before he came to sweep me away. I intended to beat him to it.

It was hard to evade the stare of an Endless, but I managed well enough. Just enough to catch Dream’s eye before leaving the ballroom and disappearing around a corner into a quieter hall. I could hear his footsteps following me, letting him catch the occasional glimpse of my skirt fluttering around a corner. Almost there…

I turned the next corner and hid in the darkened space between two stone columns encircled with vines. My heart pounded as Dream drew closer. When he was about to pass my hiding place, I reached out and snatched his arm, pulling him into the shadows with me and pressing him against the wall. The air left his lungs on impact in a breathy moan. I stepped in closer, pressing my nose into the hollow just below his ear and taking a deep breath. I was already warm and fuzzy from the wine and fae magic in the air; breathing Morpheus in only made it more so.

With a soft hum, I gently pressed my lips to his, moving them slowly, carefully, testing just how far I could push him. I teasingly ran my tongue over the seam of his sweet lips, and he immediately parted them for me. I flitted in for the slightest taste, the sweetness of the wine still lingering in the corners of his mouth. I pulled away the moment he tried to deepen the kiss, letting him lick beggingly at my closed lips.

One hand cradled his chin while the other slipped under the edge of his mask, mussing his hair slightly as I lifted it over his head and let it fall to the floor. He gasped against my lips and his breath immediately hitched, like he had been caught in the act of showing just how much I was affecting him.

His hands found their way to my hips, fingers digging in to soft fabric as he tugged me closer. My fingers threaded into his silky hair, gently caressing for a few moments before tightening around the strands and giving a gentle yank to expose his neck. Another gasp left him, his eyes fluttering.

I attached my lips to his jawline, kissing and nipping, just hard enough to sting. His fingers bit into my hips, holding me closer. I chuckled low in his ear, more than a little proud of how little it had taken to tease him into a gasping, trembling mess. “I think we’ve stayed long enough,” I cooed, “Unless you’d rather have another dance, or talk with Cluracan some more…”

Dream’s eyes flashed open, no longer ice blue, but deep black, and somehow still burning and sparkling. I had been right before: the eyeliner and colors at the corners of his eyes made me want to sink into those bottomless pits that looked as though they wanted to devour me whole. A breath shuddered out of my lungs and heat flooded my body. Dream smirked, smug and feral.

A hand left my waist to rip off my mask and cast it aside. Dream’s eyes raked over my face, eyes burning with desire. “My little star…” his low growl rumbled through me like thunder. “You are making it incredibly difficult to keep my composure.”

I slowly licked my lips, smooth and sultry. Dream’s eyes tracked every movement of my tongue. I stepped in even closer: “Then let it go.”

When I felt the vortex of sand carry us back to the Dreaming, I knew I had won this round, and also that Dream was more than alright with losing.

[empirearchives]

Portrait of a woman with her two children

Circa 1804, Napoleonic era, by François-Joseph Kinson

This family portrait is very interesting because it illustrates the fashion of Napoleon’s time. The mother wears a velvet dress with the characteristic high waist and puffed sleeves. Her dark blue dress with a short corsage is set with decorations inspired by military uniforms. Kinson very carefully painted these brandebourgs of gold thread and the matching knotted string with two tassels. The daughter is portrayed in a fashionable white silk dress finished with a fur strip. Her updo is very similar to her mother’s: with a parting in the middle, a chignon at the back of the head and graceful ringlets along the temples. Her brother is depicted in a dark-colored suit with a white shirt underneath with a stand-up collar. The luxurious red cashmere scarf on the velvet upholstered sofa completes the empire portrait.

(Musea Brugge)

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 57, 28 mai 1887, Paris. No. 16. — Toilette de promenade. No. 18. — Toilette fantaisie. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 16. — Toilette de promenade en lainage deux teintes. Première jupe, plissée à larges panneaux, recouverte par une draperie de teinte plus claire, attachée et retenue en bas et sur le côté par un large nœud de ruban. Cette draperie est la suite du corsage, formant corselet et sur la poitrine et sur les épaules. Elle est froncée à la taille devant, pour former la pointe du corsage. Celui-ci est posé sur un plastron-chemisette en dentelle noire perlée, doublée d'un transparent noir. Col et parements semblables, avec manches longues.

No. 16. — Walking ensemble in two-tone wool. First skirt, pleated with large panels, covered by drapery of a lighter shade, attached and held at the bottom and on the side by a large ribbon bow. This drapery is the continuation of the bodice, forming a corselet on the chest and on the shoulders. It is gathered at the waist in front, to form the point of the bodice. This is placed on a shirt bib in black beaded lace, lined with black sheer. Similar collar and facings, with long sleeves.

Métrage: 10 mètres lainage grande largeur. Capote de crin noir, très petite, garnie sur le devant par des coques de rubans en aigrette.

—

No. 18. — Élégante toilette de fantaisie en petit drap de dames ivoire. La première jupe, plate, est recouverte par une seconde jupe, droite et plate sur le devant, et retombe en pouf plissé et droit derrière. Cette tunique est ornée, tout autour, par une riche broderie d'argent, qui se continue en un large et court revers, formant coin, dans le bas. Ce revers est retenu par un bouton d'argent. Corsage moyen âge, plat, ouvert sur un plastron de drap boutonné, entouré par la même broderie que la tunique. Une pièce cuirasse, brodée de la même façon, orne jusqu'à la taille le devant du corsage. Manches bouffantes, retenues sur le bras par un bouton d'argent. Une basque, forme habit, descend derrière sur le pouf de la jupe.

No. 18. — Elegant fancy ensemble in small ivory ladies' cloth. The first skirt, flat, is covered by a second skirt, straight and flat on the front, and falls in a pleated, straight pouf at the back. This tunic is decorated all around with rich silver embroidery, which continues in a wide and short lapel, forming a corner, at the bottom. This lapel is held by a silver button. Middle Ages bodice, flat, open on a buttoned cloth bib, surrounded by the same embroidery as the tunic. A breastplate piece, embroidered in the same way, adorns the front of the bodice up to the waist. Puffed sleeves, held on the arm by a silver button. A basque, in the shape of a dress, descends behind on the pouf of the skirt.

Métrage: 7 mètres de drap ivoire.

Capote en toile d'argent, ornée sur le devant par deux ailes de mousseline d'argent, doublée de velours bleu saphir.

Silver canvas hood, decorated on the front with two wings of silver muslin, lined with sapphire blue velvet.

[bettyfrommars]

S1 * 💗

Pretty please

Melll I'm so happy to see you in my asks you don't even know

Your Person is Hybrid Steve, your Place is a Concert Venue, and your Thing is Dealer's Choice, so I will give you Farrah Fawcett Hairspray

word count: 830

Steve is mostly just a vampire in this, a few visceral visions of gore, blood, drinking blood, allusions to tracking someone down and killing them. Hybrid Steve is a complicated boy, his primal urges take him to dark places every so often (babe I had no idea it would go this way 💀)

18+ONLY

"Let me see," you pulled Steve aside, ushering him closer to the bathroom of the hotel room. "It needs more...fluff."

You fingered the wave of a curl that bounced on his forehead, smoothing down his mutton chop sideburns with a satisfied hum.

"I look stupid," he mumbled, running a hand over the buttons of the loud Hawaiian print shirt you'd bought for him. It was an especially sultry night in Vegas, and he also had on a pair of chinos that hugged his ass just right. "I'm dressed like my dad."

"Close your eyes," you held a hand over his face while you sprayed his coif thoroughly with his favorite brand of hairspray, bursts of aerosol puffing everywhere. Once it was set to perfection, you adjusted the collar of his shirt, fingering the tuft of chest hair that was visible there.

"Do I look okay?" You stepped back, twirling to give him the full view.

"You always look good," he mumbled again, turning to give his reflection a dirty look in the hallway mirror, scratching the stubble on his jaw. "You really like it when I wolf out like this?"

You lifted your eyebrows a few times in eager approval.

"Good thing Eddie's not here, I'd never live this shirt down."

"Type O before we go?" There was a martini glass full of plasma on the counter, and you handed it to him before gulping the last bit of your wine. The Flamingo Hotel had an entire wing of the establishment dedicated to their vampire clientele, right down to the automatic blackout curtains and bottles of freshly extracted blood. Your boyfriend liked to drink his out of a cocktail glass, pinky out, because he was fancy like that.

Steve Harrington, the most reluctant vampire you'd ever met.

He took three big swallows, finishing the entire thing before setting the glass back down. "I'm not wearing flip flops like a dork."

"Your converse are right over there," you busied yourself with making sure you had everything you needed in your bag.

Once he had his shoes on, you handed him the spare key. "Keep this on the chain around your neck? In case you go into beast mode and I lose you."

"Beast mode" otherwise known as Steve changing into his hybrid wolf form and losing all control, hadn't happened in months, not since he'd done the arduous work of trying to control it. He'd made friends with the monster, as his therapist would say.

You preferred to feed him from your own vein, but that was another trigger, it tended to flip some animalistic switch inside of him. Once he began to change into the beast, there was no going back.

By the time you made it to the venue to see a world-famous vampire Elvis impersonator on foot, Steve was sweaty and grouchy. You were about to get seated at the designated red velvet booth you'd bought tickets for, when a big man going the other way bumped into Steve, knocking him in the shoulder so hard he stumbled to the side.

"Watch where you're going, Fanger," the other man hissed, continuing on his way. The term Fanger was a derogatory word for vampire used mostly by right wing extremists who didn't think they should be allowed in polite society, or even be allowed to exist, for that matter.

"The fuck did you say?" Steve's normally chocolate eyes glowed amber gold, and his fangs ejected. You stopped to grab his face in both of your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"Baby, breathe," you coaxed, shuffling closer. "Not tonight, Stevie, you promised."

His breaths were coming out forceful, like a bull about to charge, nostrils flaring. You held his face with all of your strength until you saw his eyes melt from tiger yellow back to brown suede again.

"Sorry," he huffed, pulling his fangs in, trying to avert his gaze, slightly embarrassed that such a small thing could rile him up and flush all the personal development he'd done down the toilet.

He'd hold your hand and watch Vampire Elvis jive around the stage in his bedazzled jumpsuits and he'd enjoy it. He'd try not to think about how good it would feel to rip that dude's body apart limb by limb, to drink from his bloody head like a cup. A smile quivered at the corner of his mouth as he thought about how horrible the screams would be while he shredded that knucklefuck with his bare hands.

You squeezed his knee, leaning in while the performance was going on. "That's the first time I've seen you smile all night."

Steve leaned into the grin letting his teeth show. He wanted to put you at ease and make you proud. He'd never loved anyone like you before and he'd do anything to keep you.

He'd track that guy later, while you were asleep, and then everyone would be happy.

Except for knucklefuck, of course. He'd be dead.

[ellieloves2draw]

i was in the car for seven hours today ✌️

id under the cut because its so long orz

(ID: pencil sketches of the various cats from “cats: the musical”. the cats all have a more detailed drawing of their eyes next to them.

mr. mistoffelees is wearing a black tie tuxedo with tails and a bowtie. his sclera are black and the tip of his tail is white.

rum tum tugger is wearing a leopard print jumpsuit with a v-neck and a fur collar. he’s also wearing chaps. he has striped fur and eyeshadow.

bustopher jones is wearing a black tie tuxedo with a cravat, cummerbund, spats, and monocle. he has folded ears.

macavity is wearing a pinstripe suit with aggressively peaked lapels, spats, and a top hat. he’s holding a decorative cane. his sclera are black.

skimbleshanks is wearing a low-cut vest, a white collard shirt with billowing sleeves, puffed pants, and a conductor’s hat. his whiskers are styled into a long, curled mustache.

growltiger is wearing a short captain’s jacket. belts, an eyepatch, puffed pants, and pirate boots. he has a snaggletooth jutting from his bottom jaw and bushy eyebrows..

jennyanydots is wearing a fringe muumuu studded with pearls and a nursemaid hat.

old deuteronomy is wearing a loose robe and a low-cut vest. he’s resting on a cane.

grizzabella is wearing an open-shoulder robe with a fur lining. the edges of the robe are tattered and moth-eaten.

gus is wearing a pageboy hat and a simple suit. he’s leaning heavily on a cane. his fur is grown in the shape of a bushy mustache.

jemima is wearing a simple low-cut sleeveless dress and no shoes.

griddlebone is wearing a white dress with puffed shoulders and thin sleeves, a pearl necklace, and a large white hat with a feather plume.

victoria is wearing a short, simple low-cut dress and ballet shoes.

mungojerry and rumpleteazer are both wearing plaid slacks and black suspenders. mungojerry’s eyes are slightly narrower than rumpleteazer’s.

munkustrap is wearing a large suit jacket and grey slacks. end ID.)

[theloveablesociopath]

Mistress of darkness

Where all my goth bitches at?? Yeahhhhhh baby this is for you. 🦇got to represent my fellow, gothic Eddie simps. (Please tell me what you think!)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x goth! reader

Warnings: swearing, bullying, not much else.

(She/her pronouns used. (I think)

Summery: moving to a new school, you try to find your crowd, feeling lost, when you stumble upon a strange candlelit room.

Description: think 80s goth. Wild, teased, and hair sprayed black hair, the perfectly, imperfect Siouxsie Sioux, eyeliner. And don’t forget the beauty that is fishnets, leather, and studded belts.

Let’s not forget the very queen her self, Elvira. An iconic inspiration for style.

———————————————

You’re not sure if you where all that nervous about this new school. Sure, your style was less then typical, but in your old school their where plenty of other people who shared your love of all things dark and mysterious.

There would defiantly be people here that where the same right?

Boy how you where wrong.

The morning of your first day, your hands where still frantically pushing and pulling at a teasing pick, entangled into your dark hair and puffing it up before snapping it in place.

Hair spray misting through the air in thick clouds.

You stared at yourself in the mirror of your vanity, trying desperately not to panic when you realized one half of your eyeliner was significantly longer then the other, intern making the brows that connected them incredibly uneven.

You sat for another grueling hour, shoving face cleaner and eyeliner in and out of your pours.

Ok. Ok ok. That’s good enough, no one will notice will they? You thought surely everyone’s been there and they’ll understand

You tapped your foot violently on the floor, jittering your legs in anxious muscle spasms.

I hope they like me. Your mind flooded again. What if they think I’m just a wanna be? What if they don’t want me to join their table? Or worse What if…. Oh god… what if they think ultravox is goth?!

So maybe music was a bit important to you, more importantly the very mention of music being placed in the wrong gene categories.

You took a step from your vanity smoothing out your tinkled, fishnet sleeves. You had already gotten dressed, which was always the first thing you did. Specifically to protect the poof of your teased hair, against a flatting shirt collar.

Lastly, you jammed your foot into tall leather boots, lacing up the miles of laces against their zigzagged hooks and tightening the strap right above the knee. Insuring the right jeans you wore where tucked Nicely underneath them.

You stood up, grabbing your old cross body bag adorned with patches of your favorite things, Elvira, Siouxsie Sioux, and the evil dead. shuffling for your keys among the clatter of items they where stuffed within it.

Calm down, it’s go time.

Ripping open the door and cautiously stomping down the staircase to head to school you heard you mother call from the kitchen.

“Have a good first day! Love you!” She yelled happily, her colorful polka dotted apron smeared with flour.

“Thanks mom! Love you!” You yelled back, jolting out the door and down the sidewalk to your car.

You wished you drove a hurst, or an impala or even just any nice sleek looking ride.

Instead, you threw your bag across the sun cracked seats of an old amc pacer. The paint chipped and rusted from the outside, adorned with dents from your ‘not so easy’ driving lesson. And the worst part of it all, was the loud mustard faded yellow that covered the entire thing.

You reached in, jolting the car alive after a ton of rapid ticks and rumbles of a struggling engine.

—————

You swear if your speakers weren’t blown out you would have jammed all the way to school, letting your first day jitters melt into the seats.

Since that obviously wasn’t happening all you could really do was park quietly and open your creaking rusted door.

It’s fine, everything’s fine, and this is gonna be a great day.

As you walked across the parking lot, seeing the bustle of students crowding the pavement, you quickly noticed the eyes on you.

You where used to it, it’s not like stares have ever been surprising, it happened everywhere you went, but today you where having a lot harder time ignoring them.

Especially when their hushed comments were never as quite as they thought they where.

You’ll find your crowd. You told yourself. Theirs always a crowd.

Walking through the doors of school you began looking for your locker, checking a million times that it’s number matched the paper in your hands.

“766, 766” you repeated quietly, eyes trailing the metal numbers amidst the blue.

You suddenly felt yourself slam into someone, realizing in your hunt you had failed to keep your eyes on the bodies walking the opposing direction.

You stumbled in your boots catching your self on the floor as you bag skidded to the side.

“Sorry!” You shouted behind the roar of students. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Oh it’s ok I-“ he began before chuckling loudly. “Wow….Didn’t expect more freaks to roll in this year.” He jutted.

You looked up at him, green letterman jacket hanging on his body like an attention craved rag. You stood up, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Hmmm yeah, haven’t heard that one before.” You rolled your eyes.

“Do us all a favor and get a new hobby, your concern with others style is more desperate then you think.”

He scoffed, laughing with a firm scowl dampening his face.

“Style” he said sarcastically

Before pushing past you, giving a shoulder check that made your bag slump to the ground again.

Of course. Their in ever school.

You went on your way finally finding your locker and quickly fumbling through the combination.

Once you had your books all settled you happily tapped your ‘siouxsie sioux and the banshees’ magazine clipping to the inside.

My queen, may she guide me through the year.

Heading off to class you began to notice quickly you had yet to see a single person like you. Your gut starting to twist. You really missed your old friends, it was a lot easier battling snide comments when you had like minded people beside you.

The day dragged on, bringing more and more insults and back handed compliments.

“I like your costume.” A classmate sarcastically said, her lips practically dripping in malice.

Sure because that was really a compliment…

By the time lunch hit you finally came to the realization that out of all the groups, clubs,and cliques there was not a dark music lover one.

The nerds, the sporty, the plastics and the normals but even through the geeks, not one looked like they’d share your interests.

Don’t be shallow. You thought. Maybe theirs gems among you.

You pumped up your courage, letting your boots clack and clutter heavily as you walked, the chains around your belt dangling and slamming against the metal studs, as you approached a table.

You sat down in an empty seat in a low crowded table, a couple of people listening to their walk man’s and some playing chess. They looked up at you, quirking their brows befor scoffing and getting up to move.

“Wait I-“ you started before realizing it’s useless. You really shouldn’t judge people especially when this is what your met with from those who judge you.

Your not sure why people assumed the way you dressed effected your personality.

Not all nerds where shy, not all cheerleaders where bitchy, and not all goths are depressing.

You mostly thought of yourself as the snid, funny type. Sometimes mean, sometimes sarcastic, but most of the time funny and fun loving.

You sighed loudly at the empty table, pushing your tray Aside as you began to people watch.

One group stood out to you, but after hearing the screaming comments of their leader you got a little nervous to approach them.

Still you did admire that at least a couple people looked like they where outside the realm of the casually dressed.

He looked like a metal head, adorned in denim and leather, chains and patches. A twing of punk and thrasher slewed into his attire.

I’ll buck up the courage… you thought. Hmm maybe tomorrow? I just can’t Walt’s up to them, that didn’t turn out so well last time.

Your courage was smashed a little when the boy glanced at you, a confused and puzzled looked on his face before turning back to his friends and muttered something, laughing lightly.

You really hoped he wasn’t judging you, he really had no room to talk.

When lunch was over you continued with the long drowning day, finally reaching the end.

Ready to head out, you stopped at your locker before noticing your science textbook was no where to be seen.

Fuck. I can’t loose it on the first day. You thought. Iv got to keep my grades up this year.

You pondered for a moment, scanning your brain for places you’d been. Right after science was drama, a class you never wanted to be apart of but was told it looked good on your record. You sighed heading to the other side of the building, hoping the doors where still unlocked so you could grab it and get the hell home.

————————————-

Eddie slammed his fist down on the table, knocking game pieces away in his excitement. Raising his hands in the air.

“The heroes where trapped! Scanning the darkness around them in terror as the floor boards creaked.” He began.

“Undead moaning lurking in the darkness around them.”

He let out a loud guttural howl, as the group watched intently at their dungeon master.

The candles bringing soft light around his theatric form.

He put his hands in the air notching his fingers into claws as he creeped towards the table.

“Before they could run, they saw a figure emerge from the darkness-“

He was cut off, as the door to the room opened, and a dark tall figure walked in.

“MISTRESS OF DARKNESS!” He yelled, motioning to the door frame as the door slammed shut behind you.

“Ahhhh!!!” The group yelled, eyes wide with fear. As Eddie began to laugh wildly. Before quickly gaining his composure, trying to work with the sudden uninvited guest.

You stood there frozen in place hands stopped in front of you with mouth wide.

What the fuck did you just walk into. Oh god where’s your book, should you run? What the hell is this. A room filled with candles and man screaming names at you while laughing? Shit shit shit.

“The mistresses approached the table towering over the heroes as her undead fangs snarled.” He yelled out motioning you to come into the light.

You had no idea what to do, running seemed like an embarrassing option, but so did standing their silently. so you complied, taking a couple of loud echoing steps towards the boys. As they visibly tensed.

The candle light washed over you, revealing your extremely puzzled face.

“I uh- uh..” you stuttered. Say something say anything!

“Hero’s! Nows your chance! Will you banish the mistress to the shadow realm! Or let her suck your soul from your body!” Eddie continued, never breaking character and honestly you where kinda amazed that he just played along with this distribution. But you half wondered what the hell this whole charade of stories was.

Sucking souls from bodies??? What the hell. I mean cool but also why you?

“Banishment!!!” Dustin yelled! Pretending to hold a sword up in his hands as he stood.

“Roll for initiative young barbarian!” Eddie yelled back as Dustin through a d20 on the table.

Seemingly devastated as it bounced onto a 2. He slumped back in his chair as the others groaned.

“Mistress! How will you fight back against the forces of light?!” He asked motioning a hand to you.

“I uh- well I-“ you started.

Pull yourself together. Your fine (y/n). It’s some sort of game. Play along! Who knows maybe you’ll make friends!

“I’ll- uh- suck out his soul from his nimble body!” You awkwardly shouted. Pointing at dustin and raising your hand into a fist.

Eddie stopped for a moment, eyes fixed on you. She’s really playing along? He thought. No one ever plays along. He smirked

“Right! Roll for initiative!” He yelled tossing you a dice from the table.

You awkwardly fumbled with it in your hands, and threw it across the surface, landing on a beautiful 18.

You pumped your fist. Not sure what this means but you knew 18 was higher then 2 so that’s a good sign.

“The mistress extended her arms, grabbing the barbarian as he screamed. ‘Your mine now!’ She screeched pulling the soul from within his body. Delivering the finely 10 points of hit damage.” Eddie yelled

“No!!! Come on man I was so close!” Dustin yelled.

“Your the one who kept bugging the orc in the first room dustin! You have no life points left!” Mike jutted.

“Saving throw Eddie please!” He begged

“Silence, defeated hero! Your eagerness was your downfall!” Eddie finished bowing and looking up to you.

He slapped his hands together laughing.

“That was fun mistress! Didn’t think you’d play along.” He said watching as your still embarrassed form fiddled with the straps on your bag.

“Uh yeah it was kinda neat, I uh, just needed my textbook.” You said sheepishly.

All eyes where fixed on you.

“Ah! Thought it was yours.” Mike spoke up grabbing a book from under the table and handing it to you.

You noticed the bat book mark sticking out of the top and figured that might have given it away.

“Thanks.”

“Your the new girl right? Just moved here?” Dustin asked starring up at you.

“Yeah, yeah I uh, just moved to Hawkins from Indianapolis.” You confirmed scratching your neck nervously.

“Well welcome to the worst town of the state.” Eddie pipped up smirking. “Pretty brave of you to show up dressed like that your first day”

“Uh. Brave? Like that?” Your eye twitched, he may have been fun a second ago but it really ticked you off when people said stuff like that. “If I’m ‘brave’ for wearing,’this’” you motioned to himself “then your brave for playing this game… who cares if it’s what you like. I don’t think it’s all that weird to have a different wardrobe.” You scoffed.

“What’s next your gonna tell me I’m wearing a costume?” You jutted.

He laughed. “Feisty thing aren’t you?”

“Bitchy thing aren’t you?” You shot back, turning to heads towards the door.

He smirked. “Thanks for visiting mistress of the night! I look forward to your next attack!” He yelled across the room.

You put your hand on the door pushing lightly.

“Anytime metal boy.” You scoffed sarcastically. “Look forward to eating your soul!” You yelled back as you walked through the door.

((Let me know if you want a part 2 or a series form this I have some ideas))