#Happy Baby Organic for sale

[nakahras]

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི slow down • chuuya nakahara

synopsis • every week you find yourself in one of chuuya’s club, one reminiscent of a speakeasy. as his subordinate, you know of each and every one of his establishments. what you never expected was for him to show up to one of your performances. lucky for you he shows up to reward you handsomely for a successful show.

warnings • (buckle up this is gonna be a long one) fem!reader, swearing, alcohol, dubcon, intoxication (both parties), use of the pet names “doll” and “baby”, ņsfw, hair pulling, chuuya is a tease, power imbalance, grinding, very slight exhibitionism, fingering, finger sucking, oral (f -> m), unprotected sex, dacryphilia, wall sex, creampie, cockwarming, i cannot be blamed for what i wrote that wasn’t me

wc • 9.4k

a/n • this has been sitting in my drafts for so long waiting for me to find the will to finish the smut (⌒_⌒;)

the atmosphere is warm and inviting. a mixture of expensive perfumes, liquors and smoke builds an aroma that, although slightly suffocating, is also surprisingly delightful. it’s busy, just like every friday night, thanks to the main act. at least, that’s what chuuya’s been told. 

earlier in the week, his subordinates noticed that numbers for this club in particular, have gone up significantly. it’s now chuuya’s most popular establishment. friday nights, especially, are giving him high revenue. he isn’t complaining by any means, he just wants to know why so maybe he can bring that aspect of this business into his others — or at the very least thank whoever it is that’s responsible for these numbers. 

he’s come to realize that his sales have spiked strictly within the 9-10pm time frame—the peak of the friday night show. he allows performers, mainly singers, to take the stage at night. it’s somewhat of an experiment on chuuya’s end. speakeasies are far and few between; he wants to know if that’s due to the lack of interest or just the lack of organization. he’s happy to see that there’s still interest. 

chuuya wants to see it for himself. that’s what led him here, at his own club in the vip section. he’s sat forward, leaning on the table, his hands folded in front of his face as he anticipates the curtains parting to reveal the subordinate rumored to have captivated this entire club and its patrons. the ginger wasn’t given much to go by, but he knows it’s someone that works under him, it’s supposedly how they managed to get the most coveted slot. 

it’s clear, however, that their talent is what allowed them to keep the slot.

you’re nervous. it’s the first time since your very first performance on this stage that your palms are sweating underneath the leather short gloves you wear. you were told earlier this evening that you had a special guest tonight. when the stage manager told you “no pressure” your fingers twitched, itching to reach for the knife you kept holstered and hold it up to his throat. those two words always had the opposite effect and something told you the bastard knew that.

you take in a shuddered breath as you look at the backstage clock. it’s nearly time. those curtains are about to open and reveal you to whoever it is that’s so important on the other side of the heavy red velvet cloth. you shake your arms and take a few calming breaths as the lights dim further than they already are.

it’s showtime.

you make the decision to not look. you train your eyes to the ground as the curtain rises from the floor, slowly revealing you in your fitted black floor length dress. the thigh slit that reaches your hip leaves you feeling far more vulnerable and exposed than you’d like to admit. as you look everywhere but at the vip section you realize you may be revealing far too much skin with an important guest in the audience. the top half of this dress wasn’t any better either. the short sleeves felt as though they were simply a decoration — hanging off your shoulders exposing not only just your shoulders, but your collar bones and cleavage as well. 

you’re hyper aware of your appearance and now so is chuuya. his breath hitches when the curtain reveals you. you looked devastatingly beautiful, the kind that could ruin his life and he would thank you for it. how did he not know it was you? you’d always piqued chuuya’s interest. he paid closer attention to you than his other subordinates and he had noticed you were always busy on friday nights, but he never would have imagined in a million years that this would be the reason. chuuya didn’t even know you could sing but here you were, singing like a siren and ensnaring the executive in your trap. he was absolutely mesmerized, hanging on to every word you sang.

the executive desperately wants you to look at him but he quickly notices you’re adamantly avoiding the vip section — his section. do you know he’s here? does he make you nervous? the thought of making you nervous stirs something inside of him. something he thought he had suppressed a long time ago because it’s entirely inappropriate of him. chuuya desires you, deeply, desperately, dangerously. watching you on that stage, in that dress has him clenching his jaw. his self control is waning quickly. 

you get through the first song with a surprising amount of ease. your rigid muscles relax as you melt into the melody. your nerve endings igniting with the reverberations of the instruments behind you. you feel electric, everything buzzing as you make it to the last song.

luckily, for you, it’s only supposed to be a short set tonight, 3 songs total. so, when you reach the end of the final song you finally allow yourself a glance. your eyes widen and lips part in utter shock to find the very bicolored eyes that have been haunting your thoughts since you first laid your sights on them. as the curtain drops you reel at the fact that the important guest was none other than the club owner himself, your superior in the port mafia, and executive. chuuya nakahara. your vision tunnels and ears ring as you pretend to listen to whatever praises are being handed over by the crew. you manage to accept them with grace easily then dismiss yourself to your dressing room.

you don’t think much time has passed since the curtain dropped, but you’re proven wrong when you walk through the threshold of the dressing room and the door is promptly shut, revealing your superior. your posture turns rigid and chuuya watches you intently as you swallow thickly. you think the look in his eye is something akin to a predator gazing upon its prey. chuuya doesn’t miss your change in demeanor and the way your throat bobs anxiously. it’s all he needs to know that his earlier suspicions were right. he does make you nervous. 

you bow your head instinctively and offer him a respectful greeting, just like you’d normally do while at work. “i was told someone important was coming to watch my show tonight but i wasn’t aware it’d be you, thank you for coming, nakahara-sama.”

“chuuya. no need to be so formal here…” although chuuya would be lying if said you referring to him in such a way didn’t do something to him.

here you are, the most gorgeous woman he’s ever had the pleasure of laying his gaze upon and you’re being the respectful one. as much as chuuya wants to boast about you clearly admiring him as a superior, that’s not what he’s here for. now that he knows you’re the one that has brought his club popularity, he needed to reward you properly.

”you watch him carefully, making sure he means what he said — it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s being sincere. “right. then… thank you for coming, chuuya.”

oh. his name has never sounded so sweet. but when it falls from your lips like honey, he can’t help but to crave more. 

your voice is saccharine, a true gift from the angels. in fact, your superior isn’t quite convince you aren’t an angel after hearing that set. you truly must be otherworldly. it’s the only explanation.

“have to say, didn’t even know you could sing, let alone sing like that.” you watch as the ginger crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on the door. chuuya adjusts his hat and peers down at you through his surprisingly long lashes. 

you’ve never been a skittish person, but chuuya nakahara makes you nervous as hell. “i wasn’t keeping it a secret. you just never asked.” 

“‘spose i should apologize for that then, huh? i just assumed i always made it obvious that i paid special attention to you. but i guess in this situation, that still wasn’t enough. how do you suggest i make up for not asking, doll?” his bicolored eyes scan your face, an easy smile stretching his lips. 

you blink once, twice, three times trying to comprehend what he’s asking you. his smooth honey-like voice entrancing you and making your mind dizzy at the utterance of the term of endearment. your mind is simultaneously moving too fast and too slow. you’re buffering in real-time. you try to snap yourself out of your stupor but it’s hard when the most gorgeous man is standing in front of you, gaze lidded and hungry and directed towards you.

you swallow thickly again and manage to rasp out, “buy me a drink?”

the ginger cracks a smile and before he can even say anything, there’s a rap at the door. chuuya pushes himself off the wooden panel and swivels around. he only cracks open the door enough for him to peek his head out and speak with someone in a hushed tone. you can’t see anything and you think twice about trying to peer over the executive’s shoulder. chuuya toes the door shut and turns around presenting you with a wide grin.  

“why don’t we move this conversation back to my section in the club? i have a surprise waiting for you there.” chuuya steps closer to and casually reaches out and holds the middle of your bare back to guide you.

you don’t have time to form a single coherent thought to even think about declining. you’re being gently pushed towards the dressing room door that chuuya manages to hold open. his hand doesn’t leave your back for a second as you both walk to his semi secluded section. your head is dizzy again. the feeling of the smooth leather from his gloved hand sends a shiver through your spine that you swear he notices, if the smile he’s wearing has anything to show for it.

when you get close enough, you notice two empty glass flutes and the most expensive bottle of champagne this club carries sit atop the table of chuuya’s booth. it’s probably the most expensive bottle of alcohol you’ve ever laid your eyes on. there was no way that was the bottle you thought it was. when you finally get closer you quickly read the label. sure enough you were right, a bottle of dom perignon plenitude 2, brut champagne 2003. your eyes nearly bug out of your head and your mouth moves before you can even second guess your words.

“this is not what i meant, chuuya, this… i can’t accept this.” you stare at the bottle of champagne carefully, it costs far more than what you make in a night singing here.

chuuya’s smile is warm and reassuring as he sort of chuckles through his nose. “don’t worry, doll, you deserve this. it’s no sweat, just enjoy it, okay?” his hand slides up to between your shoulder blades and down again just above the swell of your ass then he repeats that action a few times, clearly trying to sooth your anxious mind.

you involuntarily relax and eventually concede. “fine, i suppose if you’re offering… who am i to refuse at least a glass?”

the grin that you receive from the executive is nothing short of triumphant. the way his nose scrunches a tad bit and the way the dimple on his left cheek becomes more prominent makes him look much younger and full of energy than his usual demeanor does. his smile is contagious, you can’t help but to offer him one of the same value. it takes his breath away.

you take chuuya’s breath away.

the ginger sits in his thoughts and admiration just a little too long. you notice his sudden daze and tilt your head in confusion. “you still here with me? why don’t you do the honors. it’s embarrassing to admit, but i’ve never been very good at opening champagne bottles.”

chuuya lets out a chuckle and reaches for the bottle. you watch in wonderment as he pops it open with ease. you figured chuuya would want the first pour but after filling the first glass he hands it straight over to you. you’re not sure if it’s true but you’ve heard something about the first pour after opening a bottle of wine was the best. you wonder if the same applies to champagne. 

at some point during your walk over to the booth, chuuya had taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. he must’ve gotten hot, you vaguely rationalize. you try, and fail miserably, to not ogle at the extra bit of skin and muscle the executive is displaying. maybe he had the right idea. it was getting hot in here.

 if chuuya notices he doesn’t say anything. 

he does notice, it’s hard for him not to. his lips curl slightly at the way your eyes not so subtly trail along his arms. you probably would have caught it if you weren’t so preoccupied. he thinks about making a remark but doesn’t want to embarrass you. so, instead, chuuya clears his throat and holds out his drink to make a short toast. 

you tilt your head with a look of curiosity, waiting for him to make his toast.

chuuya gets the memo and clears his throat almost as if he was nervous. “to your successful set tonight and to making this my most successful club.”

“this is your most successful club?!” you can’t help the obviously baffled guffaw that leaves your throat.

you knew this was a popular club. the public loves the idea of a speakeasy. an obvious difference in vibes from a modern day club — it was a welcomed change. after all, that’s what drew you to it in the first place too. 

to think that this club was so bustling because of you, however, was an entirely different thing. there is no way that this establishment is so lucrative based solely on your performances alone. you can’t possibly take full credit for it. somebody had to have come up with the idea of open mic nights. whoever that was, should be toasted to. not you.

chuuya chortles, clearly finding the shock in both your face and expression amusing. “yes, doll. friday nights specifically. they’re my best nights.”

oh.

yeah, you couldn’t exactly delude yourself into thinking the club's success isn’t because of you anymore. these were clearly your nights. the idea is far too much for you to wrap your head around. you never would have imagined that people enjoy your voice in general. so, to know they not only enjoy it, but they seek it out every week makes your head spin.

you need more champagne.

you finish off the last few sips you have left in your flute then reach for the very expensive bottle sitting next to chuuya. you’re not fast enough, though. chuuya’s nimble fingers wrap around the neck of the dom perignon to pick up the champagne. you think he’s trying to play keep away with you but you’re proven wrong when he tops you off — still with an amused lopsided grin gracing his features. 

you take generous and consecutive sips from your newly poured glass, downing almost all of it in one go. your eyes water and throat stings from the influx of bubbles filtering through your esophagus. the expression on your face scrunches up into a grimace, the sting from the champagne surprising you. you panic as you feel an air bubble traveling back up. you try your best to suppress the burp threatening to release from your throat. you're successful but in place of a burp you let out a squealed hiccup. it’s soft enough to where you think you may have gotten away with it but the look on chuuya’s face says otherwise.

the executive is clearly amused, displaying another wide smile. “thought you said you were only going to have one glass? you’re gonna end up too tipsy before i can even ask you to dance with me.”

you look at him in a daze. your face heats up and you come to the conclusion that it’s equal parts embarrassment and the alcohols affect. your whole body ignites, buzzing as the alcohol runs its course and makes your inhibitions loosen. 

this is dangerous. 

who knew all it took was two glasses of expensive champagne to have your head spinning and mind wandering to places about chuuya it shouldn’t. he is your boss, your higher up, your superior. it’s embarrassing, really, thinking the ginger would, in any way, reciprocate your interest. it had to be a ridiculous notion, right?

wait.

rewind.

he said dance with you. he wanted to dance with you? god, you now desperately wish you hadn’t drunk so much already. the thought alone of dancing with chuuya made your legs wobbly, add the alcohol in the mix and your leg muscles were turning to jelly. 

“dance? you want to dance… with me?” your mind clearly wasn’t wrapping around the concept.

chuuya gives you a curious look. “what? don’t think i can dance?”

you weren’t expecting his playful tone and that devilish smile that’s gracing his lips. as a matter of fact, this chuuya — the one here tonight — is a far cry from his usual self. although you suppose you’ve never seen the executive in a setting where he can be more relaxed. the port mafia doesn’t exactly allow chuuya much room to be a laxed 20-something year old. he’s the strongest ability user, after all. he’s also the port mafia’s most talented fighter, with and without his ability. he’s a forced to be reckoned with and it radiates off of him when he’s wearing his executive mask. a scowl is almost permanently etched onto his face. you actually used to think it was his resting face.

the aura he radiates is one of intimidation. stained red from the blood of his victims and scorching like a raging fire. you hate to admit it but you used to avoid chuuya. he terrified you. but the more you were around him and the more you saw of him that changed.

of course, every interaction you’ve had with him thus far has been strictly professional, naturally. yet, you won’t lie, there was more than one occasion where you’ve let your mind wander to what he’s like outside of his duties. you got glimpses of it in the way he interacts with those he’s truly close with. you think that chuuya it beautiful. a stark difference from the horrifying monster the lower ranks paint him out to be. 

but even when he’s with the people he trusts the most, he’s still at work. this is different. so, you decide this chuuya, here tonight, is refreshing. 

you’re not sure if the decision is solely based on your current inebriated state or not, but right now you could care less. you finally let yourself relax, nerves rolling off your body and evaporating. it’s a visible change that chuuya makes sure to take note of as you return his current energy.

“chuuya-san, that’s quite the assumption, don’t you think? what makes you think that i spend any time thinking about whether you can dance or not?” 

your lashes flutter almost flirtatiously (you blame it on the alcohol) as you tease him. you know well that he hates being referred to in such a formal manner — even by his subordinates. chuuya’s quick, though, and immediately catches on to your teasing. his bicolored eyes almost twinkle with amusement and he offers you a hand. the action is so smooth you don’t even question it, in fact, you don’t even react at first.

“first you question my dancing skills and now you refuse to dance with me? damn, doll, you’re breakin’ my heart.” chuuya snorts at the way your face twists in horror as you realize what’s going on.

“i- no! i’m not- that’s not- !” you stumble over yourself, words spilling from you faster than what your mind can keep up with. you take a breath and grab the ginger’s hand, quite aggressively, and pull him onto the dance floor. 

you’re not quite sure where this sudden burst of confidence comes from, maybe yet another thing to blame on the alcohol, but you roll with it. despite the look and feel of the club, it was still past midnight on the weekend. the speakeasy atmosphere has been replaced with a dj and modern music filtering through every conceivable speaker in this establishment. 

everything is vibrating, it makes it hard to discern whether your fingers are steady or not. god, you hope your fingers are steady as you guide chuuya’s hands to your hips — you also hope you’re not being too forward. the thought is distant and nagging, much like if someone was lightly hammering a dull nail to the back of your head. you let yourself slip into the anxiety spreading in your chest and for a split second, you think your fears are founded, because the gravity manipulator’s fingers ghost your hips, distinctly not finding purchase on your hips. 

the thought of him being nervous too isn’t plausible in your mind, so you don’t even entertain it.

just as you’re about to draw back and pull away, mortified by your own boldness, your breath catches. in fact it almost halts altogether because chuuya’s pulling you closer to him. with your back flush to his chest, you can feel the heat of his body emanating from him. distantly, you wonder if he just naturally runs hot or if it’s just the club, the people all around you, the buzz of the alcohol.

the heat is oddly calming, a reminder of his presence safeguarding your largest vulnerability. maybe that’s the reason he chose this position in the first place, the act of dancing was already exposing enough, you didn’t need to worry about your back being watched when chuuya is sheltering you so well. 

chuuya’s wandering hand splaying across your lower stomach and pushing down says otherwise, though. a pleasant chill courses through you, despite the humid air.

you need to steady yourself, his presence is entirely overwhelming, consuming you almost completely. 

all you can do, all you want to do, is breathe him in.

you need to ground yourself before you do something stupid. you reach up behind yourself and clasp your hand around the back of chuuya’s neck, fingers scraping against his skin lightly as you card your fingers through his hair. the tips of his own fingers on your lower abdomen bite into the fabric of your dress. his other hand grips your hip and guides you, moving you against him — with him.

it’s easy, moving your body in tandem with his. matching his movements was easy and you have to admit to yourself that he’s a really good dancer. chuuya has total control over his body and knows exactly how to move it. you don’t know why you’re so surprised, his extensive training in the martial arts and flexibility have to make for an excellent dancer and it shows. 

you’re so caught up in the feeling of him, the heat of him, against you that your source of intoxication shifts from the alcohol to him. you’re so drunk off the smell of him, off the closeness of him, off the way you can feel every hard muscle of his chest and abdomen against your back. your senses are so clogged up with him that nothing else is getting through.

it doesn’t help that your body is moving on it’s own.

or is it?

no. it’s chuuya, he’s guiding your body. your ass is firmly pressed against him, grinding into him and you hadn’t even noticed in your stupor. 

this is so inappropriate. he’s your higher up for god’s sake. this is wrong, right? but then again…the executive is the one that’s leading your actions, he’s clearly enjoying himself as much as you are. no harm in indulging yourself in him if he’s helping himself to you, right?

in the same moment, chuuya is dipping his head down, lips grazing and breath ghosting the shell of your ear. “you still doubtin’ me?”

you take in another shuddered breath. this man is killing you. he’s doing this on purpose, he has to be. you try to put the blame solely on his shoulders — you want this to be all him so badly. but you know that’s simply delusional because you’ve been drinking and you know very well how alcohol makes you act up.

chuuya teases you further by dropping his head down to your shoulder and nestling his face in your neck. you can feel his warm breath fanning over your skin. electrifying every nerve ending in your body, making your whole being feel like it’s buzzing. you don’t miss the way his lips stretch into a satisfied smirk. it’s then that you realize — he’s doing all this on purpose. the executive is toying with you, creating a game out of making you squirm and seeing how long your self control can last.

how cruel. he knows how stubborn you can be, showing that side of yourself in almost every mission you two have worked together. but he’s never had experience with you intoxicated (luckily for you). so, chuuya also has no idea just how far you throw your inhibitions out the window when alcohol is involved.

the ginger is taken by surprise when a small noise akin to a whimper is released at the back of your throat. if he wasn’t so close to you, he would have missed the noise completely, but he caught it loud and clear, much to your embarrassment. chuuya is stunned further when your backside presses into his front and grinds down harder than your previous slight brushing. you’re absolutely shameless about it, fingers digging into the base of chuuya’s scalp. 

you move your head and match his lidded gaze. “pleasantly surprised…”

in that moment you both move without thinking. it’s like something possessed you both, swam into your brain and took control. it happens so quickly too. one moment you’re simply staring in to eyes and the next, your lips are crashing into the ginger’s, meeting him halfway. it’s surprisingly smooth, an easy kiss considering your slightly intoxicated state. his lips are so plush and soft. you don’t know what you expected. you’ve caught yourself on multiple occasions watching him apply chapstick regularly and each time you were caught in a trance at the action.

chuuya knows exactly what he’s doing, almost as if he’s thought about this before — kissing you. his movements are deliberate and surprisingly soft for how eager he seems. your lips move in sync, slotted together and fitting in a way that makes you think that maybe you were made for one another. it’s a ludicrous thought, you know, but that doesn’t stop you from relishing in it all the same. this must be what dying and then going to heaven feels like, light and elated. 

you’re both moving your bodies to the music around you. it’s quite impressive how chuuya is able to still lead you into moving in time with the beat reverberating through your bones. you turn your body so your chest is flush with his and you bring your other hand up to cup the executive’s face. he takes that opportunity to hold you closer and deepens the kiss. the ginger nips at your bottom lip then shamelessly swipes his tongues along it, eyes open to gauge your reaction. another whimper escapes you and you feel his lips curve once more into a satisfied smirk. 

instead of deepening the kiss further, like where you thought chuuya was leading this, the man in question pulls away. you chase his lips but he’s too quick and you can’t manage to recapture them. how frustrating, it was just getting good too. your face scrunches in confusion.

“chuuya, no-” you lean in and leave an open mouth kiss on his neck and then suck some of his skin into your mouth and graze your teeth across his porcelain skin. chuuya lets out a shuddered breath but keeps his composure, for the most part. “more…”

your whine elicits a breathy laugh from the executive and he brings his hand up to gently stroke your cheek. he watches as your pretty eyes flutter shut at the slightest of touches. his imagination starts to run wild as he thinks of the types of reactions he can pull out of you when he does more to you. the thought alone almost drives him insane. you two need to get the hell out of this club and away from prying eyes.

“we have eyes on us, doll. why don’t we get out of here?” chuuya hums at you questioningly.

your eyes clear from their haze when the ginger’s words register. “...and go where?”

“my apartment. it’s not too far from here. plus- i brought a driver with me tonight. what do you say?”

the executive, your higher up, detaches himself from you and holds his hand out for you to take. your decision was made the moment you set eyes on him while on stage. you easily take his hand and allow him to lead you out to the car he had waiting for the two of you. 

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

the car is nice, again it was something that costs far more than what your level at the port mafia could afford, but you’re still surprised. chuuya enjoys driving, so you never imagined him using a chauffeur. although you suppose he’s responsible and since he’s been drinking at a club…this is clearly the chuuya thing to do. 

the chauffeur does his duty and goes to open the door for you. the younger man, someone you don’t recognize so he must be lower in ranks than you, is stopped by chuuya. the boy, you’ve decided he’s much younger than you — somewhere between 18 and 19 years old — startles at the executive’s hand landing on his shoulder.

“you can return to the car, kid. i’ve got the doors.” chuuya’s tone is light, but still, his words come out as a command.

the chauffeur looks absolutely horrified, obviously thinking he did something wrong and scurries back to the driver’s side. the ginger, on the other hand, clearly pays it no mind as he opens your door for you and offers his hand for help. you let out a light giggle and chuuya can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face.

“what i do now?” 

you shake your head at him in amusement. “that kid looks terrified. are you sure he’s even old enough to drive?”

“he is. taught him how to drive myself. trust me, he’s more than capable of driving us to my apartment.” he tilts his head to indicate that you should get moving into the car. 

instinctively, you do as he says and make your way into the car. your head is still spinning from the champagne you had earlier and suddenly everything is moving quickly. chuuya gets into the car and tells his driver to get moving before lifting the partition, separating the two of you from the boy up front. 

not even a moment later you find one hand gripping the armrest of the car door and the other gripping chuuya’s arm as he has his own ungloved hand shoved in between your thighs. his middle finger is toying with you, circling your clothed clit. your grip on him tightens when he shoves your panties to the side and gathers your wetness before focusing on your clit again. 

your hips stutter and head falls back. your hazy senses distantly warn you that maybe doing this in a car where you aren’t alone with chuuya wasn’t a good idea. what if the driver opens the partition to ask something of your higher up. once again you’re smacked in the face that this isn’t exactly right, you shouldn’t be headed home with your boss. 

you’re brought out of your thoughts when chuuya’s fingers dip down further and prod at your entrance. your breath hitches as he pushes his middle finger inside of you. his fingers are the perfect size, surprisingly long and not abnormally thick but not thin either. you’ve found yourself on multiple occasions staring at chuuya’s hands in the rare moments he actually removes his gloves.

you can feel a noise bubbling in your throat when he brushes his thumb across your clit. “chuu-“ you’re cut off when the ginger adds another finger.

you bite down hard on your lip, trying to not let any noises travel to the front of the car. chuuya notices and leans in, his arm reaching over to spread your legs open. his lips find yours as he does so and in that very moment he chooses to start languidly pumping his fingers in and out of you. you can’t help yourself as you let small moans escape you but the man pulling them out of you makes sure to swallow them up.

when chuuya pulls away from you his bicolored eyes watch you carefully. “no need to hide your pretty noises from me, baby. ‘s soundproof.”

at that reassurance you let out a string of curses while his hand still works you skillfully. you don’t think a man has ever been able to make you feel this good with just his hand. hell, you don’t think even a woman has pulled you so close to the brink this fast with just her hands. it’s almost embarrassing how good he’s making you feel. what’s even worse? chuuya notices.

“‘m i makin’ you feel that good already? gonna be good and cum for me, doll?” chuuya’s fingers speed up, both the ones inside you and the thumb he has brushing against your clit.

you squirm at the increased intensity. your abdomen feels like it’s on fire, the warmth spreads and your vision starts to become spotted. your other hand on the car door now flies to his arm too and you brace yourself the best you can.

“mm fuck- chuuya- gonna- oh m- cumming!” you let out a silent squeal, mouth hanging open as your head is thrown back against the headrest. 

your body convulses lightly as you plummet. the same warmth building from earlier now spreading throughout your entire body. your vision blurs and everything sounds muffled. moans are falling from your mouth but you don’t even register them. chuuya is merciless with his ministrations. he continues to guide you through your orgasm.

once you’ve settled down, all of your tense muscles relax and you slump into your seat. you let out a whimper when chuuya finally pulls away, leaving you feeling distinctly empty. you loll your head around to look at the executive. it’s all you can muster in this moment while you’re still trying to catch your breath. 

the sight you’re met with almost makes you cum for the second time. the ginger looks over to you, catching your gaze immediately. as he maintains eye contact, chuuya brings his hand up to his lips and pushes his soiled fingers past them. you watch as his eyes flutter and throat bob while he drinks up the juices you left behind on his skin. he lets out a sinful groan and you swear it’s the most alluring sound you’ve ever heard. 

you sit up straight and brace yourself for climbing over the center armrest but you’re both startled by a knock on chuuya’s window. that’s when you realize, you must be at his apartment because the car had come to a stop. you reach for your door handle but the sound of the executive behind you clicking his tongue draws your attention away from it.

you peer over at him and he’s giving you a disapproving glare. “don’t you dare touch that damn door, be patient, yeah?”

you feel your face flush, you don’t think you’ve ever been scolded for trying to open your own door. unable to find your voice you simply nod your head. a gratified smile stretches across chuuya’s face. he opens his own door and before he slips out he looks back at you.

“good girl.”

you choke on your own spit. 

those two simple words are enough to have your thighs rubbing together, ready for him again. you’re blaming all of this in the two glasses of champagne you had back at the club. there was no way one man (derogatory) was pulling this kind of reaction out of you on his own. that would just be utterly ridiculous. 

that’s what you try to convince yourself of when your car door opens and chuuya offers you his hand again. you gladly take it considering this time your legs are a little shaky. the gravity manipulator politely dismisses the driver and guides you into the building. 

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི•ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

the ginger has you attached to his hip as the both of you step through the threshold. the lobby is quiet and almost sparkling. you think that this lobby is nicer than the entirety of your apartment. the difference is almost jarring. the older man that’s sitting at the front desk waves politely at chuuya and the executive gives him a friendly wave back. 

“good evening, nakahara-sama. i see you’ve brought a guest.” the older man looks at you with a warm smile. “such a pretty young lady. it’s nice to see nakahara-sama with someone, he rarely has guests outside of his work colleagues.” 

you feel your face heat up in embarrassment. if only the man knew. but who are you to spoil his fun? in fact, you find yourself joining in. 

“it’s nice to meet you…”

the old man blanches and looks almost mortified with himself. “how rude of me! my name is tanaka.”

you introduce yourself as well and give the man a mischievous smile. “thank you for boosting my ego, tanaka. it’s nice to know chuuya isn't bringing home many women.”

the older man’s eyes widen and he tries to stifle a snort. 

“alright. you two are dangerous together. have a good evening tanaka.” chuuya quickly ushers you away with a sour look on his face. “to clarify, there’s a reason i don’t bring other women around and it’s not for the reason you think it is.”

you snicker and can’t help the sardonic smile that’s plastered on your lips. “then tell me, what’s the real reason, chuuya?” 

you vaguely notice you pass a hallway of elevators and instead walk directly to a separate one with a key card pad. 

“you. you’re the reason i don’t bring anyone else around.”

his voice is surprisingly soft and timid, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him say anything without full confidence. you blink, the switch in his demeanor is so staggering you buffer for a moment. that paired with the implications of his words has your mouth flapping like a fish out of water.

you try to attribute the fluttering in your stomach to your earlier activities and not his words, yet you’re unable to form a proper coherent thought. “what do you- what?”

chuuya finds your blanching absolutely adorable. the ginger lets out a short chuckle. he doesn’t explain himself. instead the ability user leans in and holds your face with his now gloved hand. he searches your eyes for a moment, you don’t know what he’s looking for but after a moment you think he’s found it because his face relaxes into a satisfied expression. 

he leans in all the way this time, capturing your lips with his own. the kiss starts off gentle but quickly turns fervent when he presses you into his and a wall. that’s when you feel a distinct bulge pressing on your stomach. the thought alone makes you whimper. 

you detach yourself from chuuya’s lips and press your head against the wall behind you, the ginger isn’t deterred as he starts to trail kisses along your jawline. “chuuya…have you been hard this entire time?”

you’re met with a grunt as chuuya all but ignores your comment and works his way down your neck. you let out an amused puff of air and look for the button for what you can only assume is his private elevator. all you’re met with is that damn keycard pad. your arm is snaked around his waist and you tap on his back to gain his attention.

“chuuya, call for the elevator.” your voice comes out far more strained and breathy than you meant it to and you watch as chuuya notices.

he pulls away from you, only enough for him to reach into his pocket and give you an amused smirk. “since when were you the one to give the orders, huh, doll?”

you give him a deadpan look, clearly not amused by his teasing. chuuya, however, evidently thinks he’s hilarious and chuckles to himself as he leans back and scans his keycard to call for the elevator. this was the port mafia executive everyone is scared of? the strongest ability user in all of japan, maybe in all of the world? to you, in this moment, he seems like just some regular 20 something years old loser. he’s so lame and somehow you find it utterly endearing.

the elevator dings and the doors open. a lightbulb goes on in your head and you have a brilliant idea. without wasting another moment you push chuuya into the elevator and before he can even get a complaint out — you knew it was coming by the look on his face — your hand starts stroking his clothed cock. the ginger lets out a hiss as he stumbles back into the wall.

chuuya lets out a shaky breath that’s a stark difference to his following words. “shit, no need to be so rough. ‘m all yours.”

“i don’t know…something tells me you enjoy rough, chuuya-sama.” your tone is teasing, referring to the title tanaka previously used with the executive.

you watch in absolute amusement as your superior’s eyes fly open and brows shoot up. he looks at you with the most scandalized expression. he’s only ever seen this side of you with his other subordinates, your equals. he never realize how much he craved this type of interaction from you until just now. you just gave him something so precious and you don’t even know it. 

chuuya is so astonished he can’t even formulate a way to tease you, his mouth is just blurting out words before his brain can catch up.

“where the hell did that mouth on you come from? just earlier you were trembling at the sight of me watching you sing.” you watch something flash in his eyes and his lips curl up devilishly. “y’know what? i think i deserve a reward for making you cum so easily in the car. what d’ya think, doll?”

you back away, a mischievous smile of yours matching his perfectly. you don’t keep the distance very long — someone had to hit the floor button to get this elevator moving. once you feel the soft jolt of the elevator you make your way to where you left chuuya, still leaning against the wall and watching your every move. the moment you’re close enough to him you sink to your knees. 

you’re face to face with the ginger’s bulging crotch and you stare at him through your lashes. “is this what you had in mind as your reward?”

”yeah, something exactly like this.” chuuya reaches down and runs the fingers of both his hands through your hair, he gathers the tresses all together and fists it all in one hand in a makeshift ponytail. you hum in appreciation. while still looking at the freckled man through your lashes you stick your tongue out and lick a stripe across his clothed length. 

the executive’s eyes flutter, a clear indication that he was sensitive, having been hard for far too long. his eyes momentarily leave yours and flit over to the floor number the elevator is passing. chuuya never thought he would ever value the slow ascent of this damn elevator but he’s found a new appreciation for it. you’ve only climbed 3 stories, which means you still have 20 more. that’s plenty of time, certainly enough for you to get his dick wet enough to slide right into your warm cunt once the elevator has made it to your destination. 

you’re quick to earn chuuya’s attention back when he hears the sound of his buckle being undone. he’s met with the sight of you using your teeth. fuck. chuuya has always known you’re sexy, but this? this might actually drive him insane. a sweet smile curls at your lips as you watch him unravel before your very eyes. 

you hasten your movements, popping the button of his slacks open and using your teeth, once again, to drag the zipper down just enough that his bulge in his boxer-briefs is freed. you do the same with his underwear and, god, when he’s finally free you have to take a moment to admire it. you think it’s the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, truly. that’s saying something considering you don’t necessarily find the sight of them attractive.

the length of it is just as pale as the rest of his body but the closer it gets to the tip, his skin turns into a soft pink. his veins are visible and pulsing at this point and his tip is already drooling. you notice how there’s a string of precum that’s attached to the wet spot on his underwear but you keep any comments to yourself. 

you look up to chuuya only to find him already watching you. he must have caught you staring because his breathing is shallow and his cheeks are flushed the same shade of pink as his tip. you smile at him again and dart your tongue out to gently lick the slit of his tip. the ginger's head immediately falls back and he lets out a puff of air. 

how is this man real?

you lick up his precum and it tastes absolutely divine. what the actual fuck is he made out of? and what the actual fuck is he doing to you? you actually think it’s insane how much you’re enjoying this. 

your lips wrap around his tip and a low grumble reverberates in his chest. you’re so fucked. down horrendous for this man. your thighs start rubbing together and he’s not even hitting the back of your throat yet. this is so humiliating, no, this is so pathetic of you. you gladly got on your knees for this man. what the fuck is wrong with you?

”hah- doll, keep your pretty eyes on me, yeah? sh-shit- wanna see you cryin’ when you take all of me, got it?” chuuya’s bicolored gaze is somehow still sharp despite the obvious loss of a filter.

oh.

oh.

that’s what’s wrong with you. this man isn’t just a man. this is chuuya nakahara. port mafia executive, strongest ability user and apparently the owner of a silver tongue. your own had reaches up to his, the one that’s holding your hair and you guide him in shoving you down onto his length. you relax your throat and easily take him all in. your nose is buried in his pubic hair and eyes flutter as you test tightening up your throat around him. you gag around chuuya and he let’s out the most obscene moan you think you’ve ever heard. 

the port mafia executive looks a mess. his free hand is tightly gripping his hat atop his head and the perspiration forming on his face starts to trickle along his temples and down his jawline. his breathing comes out in pants and he looks absolutely destroyed. a flicker of pride spreads across your chest. sure, this man has you on your knees voluntarily but you think he would just as easily get on his knees for you. you have this powerful man in the palm of your hand. 

the hand tangled in your hair tugs on you just harsh enough to pull you off of him completely. “jesus christ, i can’t- fuck- doll. i can’t keep doing this, i need to be inside of you. right now. need to be buried in your pretty cunt, please-” 

chuuya doesn’t wait for your response, he lifts you off the floor of the elevator and hoists you up. his grip on his self control is noticeably waning as he momentarily uses his ability to skip stabilizing you on your feet and immediately has you wrapping your legs around his hips. your head is dizzy, everything moving so quickly. the ginger notices and instantly corrects that. 

he has one arm wrapped around you and it’s enough to keep you stable. “…sorry… i got carried away. are you ok with this. we can wait, just 5 more floors and we can go to my bedroom where i have condoms.”

his free hand strokes the hair away from your face. the gesture is soft, a complete 180 from his previous behavior. you lean into the touch, letting your eyes fall shut for just a moment to relish in how he calms you. 

you hum lightly and open your eyes to look at him earnestly. “no, i want you now too. think we’ve both waited long enough.”

chuuya smiles at you and leans in to steal yet other kiss from you. this one is soft but just as desperate as the rest of them. he sneaks his hand between the two of you and pushes your underwear to the side once again. you feel his cock nestle itself right between your folds. 

chuuya lets out a strained exhale and moves his hips to slide himself between your folds. “fuckin’ hell, doll. you’re so damn wet, could get off just like this. wanna feel how soft and warm your pussy is, though. can i, baby? please?”

your  hands tug at the hairs at the base of chuuya’s neck and he hisses. “chuuya, please, just fuck me already.”

that’s all the confirmation chuuya needs. he uses his free hand that’s still positioned between the two of you to grab the base of his dick and align himself with your entrance. his tips prods at you and as he’s sinking you onto him, both of you letting out an absurd amount of moans, the elevator finally dings. the doors open to reveal chuuya’s apartment to you. 

you would love to admire the vast living quarters but your attention is solely on chuuya. the way he stretches has you in near shambles. hiccuped whimpers leave your lips and you already feel so full. 

you weren’t going to last like this, there is no way in hell you’re going to last more than maybe 5 minutes. but based on chuuya’s reaction, incoherent babbles falling past his lips and hair matted to his forehead with sweat, neither was he. the mafioso’s present enough to know you’ve made it to his apartment. 

chuuya plants a hand on both sides of your ass and walks you into his home. he kicks his shoes off haphazardly and you let yours fall somewhere near his. your superior makes it all but 7 paces forward before he’s pressing you against a wall in the foyer. 

“you feel s’fuckin’ good, baby. s’tight and warm and soft. s’perfect f’me.” the ginger’s words are slurred, more so than when he was actually drinking.

you’re in no better condition as you whine out, “chuuya, need more. need you to move, wanna feel you moving inside of me.”

who is he to deny you of such a pretty request. you’re practically sobbing when chuuya’s hips roll into you before pulling back and bullying back into your fluttering cunt. you let out a loud moan, almost screaming, the kind that hangs on the walls and echoes throughout the room. before you can get too carried away, you crash your lips into chuuya’s and let him drink up your noises just as you do with him. 

his grip on your ass is bruising as his fingertips bite into the plush skin through your dress. god, your dress, it was one of the nicest articles of clothing you own and now it’s most definitely ruined. you hardly have the capacity to worry about that right now.

chuuya’s pace quickens to an impossible pace. he’s jostling you around so much that your head dizzies and you can’t even keep your lips attached to his. you let your head drop to the executive’s shoulder and your lips ghost his earlobe. your moans and whines are now loud and clear in his ear. 

a guttural groan escapes the ginger and his hips begin to stutter. he’s close, you identify it right away. he was going to cum soon and you were still on the brink, barely not there yet. 

“more, chuuya need- oh my god- need more, please…” 

chuuya hums out an acknowledgement — maintaining his pace, he frees one of his hands and reaches between the two of you once more. his middle finger locates your clit with ease and it almost sends you spiraling right then and there.

your forehead nuzzles further into chuuya’s neck at the extra stimulation. “chuuya- fuck- chuuya, chuuya, chuuya….”

your mind finally goes blank giving way to the man bullying into your cunt so deliciously. he’s all you can hear, feel, smell, taste and see. your senses are consumed by him. your eyes well up with tears at the immense amount of pleasure your experience. 

it’s only when you have enough sense to pick up your head to warn chuuya of your incoming orgasm that your fuzzy brain registers the encouragement and cooing he’s offering you.

chuuya’s voice is strained but his comfort is enough to send you into a fit of sobs as you finally crash into your second high of the night. this one is far more intense than the last. you feel your walls convulsing around chuuya’s cock, sucking him in and trying to keep him nestled deep inside of you. the aforementioned man seems to be at his wits end and his next words prove you right.

“o-oh- hah- fuck- doll, ‘m gonna cum- fuck- where do you want it, where do i- shit-“

you grip his shoulders desperately and let out a whimper, still incoherent and flitting in and out of consciousness as your orgasm still washes over you in waves. “inside- chuuya, want you to- mmm fuck- want you to cum inside of me. please, please, please-“

that’s it, that’s the only thing you need to say to have chuuya burying himself deep inside of your cunt and spilling into you. you can feel the way his cock twitches and pulses against your walls as he empties himself. you both breathe in unison as your try to catch your breath and come back to reality from the mind breaking pleasure you’d just experienced.

chuuya’s the first to come back. he straightens, letting his coat hit the floor. he’s gentle, moving you to lean into him as he continues to support you when he peels you off the wall. you hum in appreciation and vaguely realize you should wrap your arms around his shoulders, so you do. 

chuuya doesn’t take you far. you’re lifting your head the same moment he’s squatting down to sit you both on the couch. he hoists you up, ready to slip himself out when you let out a noise that’s a cross between a whine and a whimper. you’re shaking your head at him and how is he supposed to say no to your tear streaked face. 

chuuya allows you to cockwarm as he pulls his phone from his pocket and starts typing.

your head tilts in confusion and you furrow your brows at him. ”who are you texting?”

”the boss and akutagawa.” chuuya’s quick to answer as he types away still.

”…what for?”

he smirks and looks at you this time while he speaks. ”i need to tell the boss i’ll be missing our meeting tomorrow and akutagawa that you’ll be absent from assignment tomorrow. looks like we’ve both come down with a hellish stomach bug.”

your face flushes at his implication. it seemed to you chuuya didn’t plan on letting you sleep much tonight. you find yourself running your hands over his shoulders and chest. you wouldn’t mind seeing him completely undressed. when you look back at him, he seems to have the same thought as his eyes drink you in.

it’s probably for the best that he was calling you both off duty tomorrow. it seems like you have a long night ahead of you.

[heartfullofleeches]

[mentions of cannibalism, self mutilation, light angst/body horror]

Thinking about Liu [parasite Yan] overeating... I mean it would rarely happen considering they practically starve themselves as they don't really like eating people, but if there's enough "obstacles" in their way Liu might a little greeedy. Liu may also binge eat the meat they store their freezer when they haven't eaten in a while or at times of intense stress and not having their darling around such as them being gravely injured/in the hospital or out of town.

As briefly mentioned in a previous post, Liu has a limited range on their shape shifting abilities which can grow as they increase in mass from the human flesh they've consumed. For example, as a 6'5 person if they wanted to be taller they'd have to sacrifice tissue from another part of their body like organs. With all the eating they've done in this time frame, Liu would have left over meat they have to put somewhere. They start out with lesser notable areas like filling out their chest/hips or growing their hair longer. Might add an inch or two or give themselves more weight/chub - but there's still more tissue left. Their hair can't be too long given that they are a butcher and people are sure to notice if they make themselves any taller as they were already a tall person before this. At this stage they'll make bizarre modifications such as another heart or adding more length to their tongue(s). They hate having this much flesh as it just reminds them of what they've done wrong. Most of their body is made up of stolen flesh. They're a monster. They have to get rid of it.

Liu will chew off the excess flesh if they have to. It goes from biting the flesh off their fingers to chewing the entire finger off and burying them with the rest. They do it mindlessly at times so imagine the horror on their Darling's face when they bite off a finger at a moment they think they're alone. Imagining an angst scenario where their darling tries to stop them from mutilating themselves further, but Liu refuses to let them come beat them and see what they've become.

On a brighter note because I don't want my baby to suffer, Darling braiding Liu's hair when it's long and down their back

-

Reader: Hm.... Something's different about you today....

Liu, an entire foot taller than the were the night before: um.... I've been growing my hair out recently?

Reader: Yea! Mind if I brush it?

-

Reader, holding a stethoscope: Check out what I found at a garage sale. Hold still while I check your heart beat

[Reader places the tool on their chest - hearing two, nearly identical but still distinct heartbeats at the rate their beating]

Reader: ? Is this thing busted?

Liu: .... I'm really happy to see you?

[chronically-ghosted]

the only thing we have to fuck is fear itself

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5309

summary: You get drunk at a happy hour and tell Max to his face you don’t find him scary at all. He takes that personally.

warnings/tags: drinking, like two seconds of scary vibes, smut, (secret) established relationship, work hard, play hard, have secret sex with your coworker even harder

a/n: I’m so sorry to FDR for butchering his quote for the sake of a title, but i like to think that horny bastard would have loved my smut.

🤍AO3 Link 🤍 Masterlist 🤍 Get notified when I post new works!

Despite working at a place that was quite literally soul-sucking, your coworkers could throw one hell of a happy-hour. 

There wasn’t a bartender in a ten mile radius from the office who didn’t know you all by name, didn’t shout a greeting over the tightly-packed house the instant you walked in. Rarely was it just a single crew member at the bars – you often got accused of moving in a pack like a five-headed hydra that could drink double its own weight in liquor, beer, and frosés – and being only two-fifths human, the Monster Squad was an alcoholic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe because you actively promoted unity amongst the species, like poster children for positive and “non-toxic human-demon relationships” HR kept encouraging in their Monday-Funday email blasts, but your little group was something of a legend in the area. You thought any notoriety was more likely due more to your faces plastered all over the bars’ trivia night winner boards, but in the office, people tended to stare. Trish, a siren from Santa Barbara, loved the attention, said it was good for her skin – gave her a “dewy” look. Nita, the only other human in your group besides you, disagreed with Ken (a quarter leprechaun on his mother’s side) when Ken claimed the whispering came from the sheer volume of nonsense that started around 4PM in the office on Fridays and continued until you all left the office. Ken was of the belief that the notoriety was actually infamy – to which he was promptly booed and had to buy the next round. 

And yet, to yourself, to the quiet conversations you had in the bathroom mirror after two long island ice teas and whatever was in what the centaur bartender at Lucky’s called an “Ass Whooping”, you suspected there might be another reason the Monster Squad even had a name at all. Within your own fields, each of you were respectable – Ken and Trish were both heads of marketing and Nita oversaw a considerable team of engineers, with you of course a department leader over in legal – one member of your group was, let’s say, more well-known. 

Well-known because he was the flashiest, the loudest, and certainly the most demonic of you all: Max Phillips, VP of sales, money-maker extraordinaire, and a fan-favorite amongst your Overlords, the rest of the sales team, and anyone with working and interested sex organs in the near vicinity. 

To your complete and utter annoyance.

You don’t quite remember how you all came together, who brought who into the group, and when it was unanimously decided that you’d stop snatching up office workers like limes at $5 margarita night after Trish, but it was Max who kept you together, who set up the group chat (somehow mysteriously gathering all of your phone numbers after a very late night), who bullied anyone who responded to his weekly “winner winner liquid dinner” texts every Friday morning with a tepid maybe into coming out that night. He already seemed to know half of the bartenders in the city, all of whom were happy to send over a free round of tequila shots as a “thank you to Max’s friends”. While you’d never look a gift vampire in the mouth, you were suspicious of his influence. Was that vampire hypnosis real? Did he have a pack of lesser, baby vamps to send out to tenderize the hunting grounds?

One thing’s for sure, he definitely didn’t scare them into it. 

“Has Halloween, like, changed for anyone else?” Nita grouched over her second Sangria Spritzer two hours into another fantabulous happy hour at Heel Clicks. The four of you were huddled into your comically small booth up on the landing near the back bar – of course there were other seats available but this had the best view, the closest access to your favorite bartender, and at some point, the shoulder-to-shoulder proximity served as a way to counteract the tipsy swaying. 

Trish leaned around Ken, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Nita shrugged hopelessly. “It used to be one of my favorite holidays when I was a kid. I loved the candy, the costumes – all of it. But I really liked being scared the most.”

Ken sorted into his old-fashioned. “Well, if you’re still scared of things you were as a kid, Nit, I think you’ve got a bigger problem than seasonal preference.”

She elbows him and he knocks into Trish.

“Not like that . . . but, like, monster movies aren’t really scary anymore? I mean, I used to watch Ginger Snaps religiously around Halloween, but, uh, now that I know an actual werewolf and he’s the nicest little old man in accounting, I dunno . . . it’s just not the same.” 

“Sorry to burst your bubble on monsters,” Ken shrugged. “But I personally cannot relate. As a member of the Free Folk, my people have always been welcomed, seen as bringers of good will towards man.”

“You know there’s eight movies where a leprechaun murders literally dozens of teenagers, right?” You turned to Ken over Nita, your entire right buttcheek hanging off the edge of the booth. 

“Oh, yeah, baby Jennifer Aniston,” Trish mused, thinking. “If that’s what your uncle looks like, Ken, then I posit Halloween is still fucking creepy.”

“Halloween is definitely creepy and it sucks.” Your ringleader has returned with electric-green jello shots. Max Phillips carried a tray with one hand, his immaculate blue jacket gone to display firm forearms underneath his white, rolled-back sleeves. “Bunch up, kiddies, Daddy’s back with treats.” 

Half the group groaned, the other squealed in delight.

Max hip-bumped you, his ravenous cologne immediately making you think unwise thoughts, as he pushed his way onto the bench absolutely not made for this many people. He looked back at you as he passed out the drinks.

“Now why are we all in agreement that Halloween is a lame holiday?” 

“Nita claims that because she personally knows a werewolf – Ned, right? – she’s not scared of monster movies anymore.”

Max scoffed. “Well, there’s your problem right there. Werewolves were never scary to begin with.”

“What monster movies have you been watching?” Nita gaped at him. “Maybe it’s bad representation, but all the movie werewolves can tear you to shreds!”

Ken nodded solemnly. “This is why affirmative action is so important.” 

Trish smacked him over the back of the head. 

“So, what?” Max continued, crunching up the jello in its plastic cup. “Now that you know me, a vampire, you think all Dracula movies give blood-suckers a bad rap?”

“No, being a human-sized mosquito with too much hair gel is doing that all on its own.” You smirked, dead-eyed, at him. Behind you, Ken and Trish snorted so hard they almost spilled their drinks. 

Max narrowed his eyes at you, in a look he only gave you when you wouldn’t let him ease around legal loopholes “for the good of the business”. Only Nita seemed to be oblivious. 

“That’s a good point, Max.” She thoughtfully stirred her jello with her pinky, unsticking it from the sides of her cup. “I mean, I guess I never watched that many vampire movies to begin with.”

Max broke his heated staring contest with you to look around at Nita, elbow pressing up into your chest as he leaned forward on the table. “I can promise you, doll face, vampires have been and always will be more terrifying and lethal than werewolves.”

“Not the argument I think you want to make, mate,” Ken murmured as you shifted yourself to face Max entirely. 

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us all –,”

“Nope,” Trish called down the row, “we’re taking this shot before you two get into it again.”

“To Ned!” Ken yelled. 

“To Ned!” 

Plastic crunched, tongues slurped, as jello ungracefully slipped into every open mouth down the bench. You licked your lip, tip of your tongue green. Max watched the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“So, enlighten us, Max, why should we be so afraid of you?” 

Max grinned out the side of his mouth. “One, I’ve seen more bite out of a pomeranian than one of those Tribbles. And two, whatever-wolves can only get it up once a month. I’m all monster, all the time, baby.”

At this, everyone groaned.

“Dollar to the Dick Jar!” Trish smacked her hand on the table.

“Here, here!”

Max pouted as he took a dollar out of his wallet and slammed it into the center of the table, payment towards tips or the bill or whoever suffered the most due to The Dick. 

“Face it, buzz,” you shrugged as he put his wallet away. “You’re just not scary any more, if you ever were.”

“Is that right?” 

Fuck, you were in a lot of trouble. Beneath the table, his thigh soaked yours in heat. 

“That’s right.”

“You know what is really scary?” Ken muttered, digging around in his crushed up for the last remnants of jello. “Kelpies.”

“Ah – yes! They’ve got sloppy fangs covered in algae!”

“Hey – that’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

Heel Clicks was hands down one of your favorite bars in the area. Devoted to the local music scene in the area, the vibe was a mix of old 70s rock bands, modern steel, and whatever justified lots of mounted horns and hairy cow-skin stools. The drinks were great, seasonal too, and there was always live music on the patio out back. In a twist that you found particularly cool, the old rum-runners tunnels had been converted to comfortably spacious bathrooms in the basement. Behind the solid oak door, the noises from the above bar are nearly entirely muffled, making the slow descent to the bathroom something of an out-of-body experience when you’ve had a few and the sudden silence is almost an echo. 

Plus, these fucking stairs are a death trap. 

You embarrassingly clutched at the railing, the wooden stairs at far too sharp an angle even if you were sober as a judge, much less at a Monster Squad happy hour. 

Stupid Max and his stupid drinks and his –

What was that?

You stand up right on the third to last step, listening. 

In the half darkness in front of you, there are three paths available. To the left, employee storage, the lights above the door flickering, the sign reading “do not enter” pulsating in and out of visibility. To your right, another door, maybe an exit. Always unmarked and always locked every time your drunken curiosity got the better of you. 

And across from the stairs were the bathrooms, left women, right for men.

God, what year is it? Shouldn’t it all just be gender-neutral? You think to yourself, a tad bit more aggressive than you’d usually oppose the gender binary – primarily to wash out the rising concern at the back of your neck.

You are alone down here. It’s obvious. It’s not like there’s that many places for some dastardly villain to hide. Four shut doors and three hallways. Unless some maniac was curled up under the stairs, you are the only person in the basement. 

At least, the only person you can see. 

You don’t realize how sweaty your hands are until you try to continue your way down the stairs. You take a step and nearly slip, the eyes you know are on you somehow laughing. 

One blinking light. No where for anything to hide, so why are you so nervous? You are an adult woman, for god’s sakes. You make it to the floor, the most likely candidate for your demise behind you and –

The stairs creaked. 

The empty stairs that you just walked down creaked and you nearly leap across the hallway to put space between you. Heart in your throat, you make the monumentally stupid decision and call out, “hello? Is anyone there?”

As if the serial killer was just going to announce himself, give up the whole element of surprise.

Blinking through the bleary haze of too many drinks, you take out your phone and flip on the light. A white beam chases back the encroaching darkness, a frantic worried ghost peering through the gloom. And yet, like you consciously know, there’s nothing there. But the darkness feels heavier, the eerie distant noise from the bar above so quiet and removed the sound is more of a memory – the idea of what comfort and community should sound like. But it’s not. It’s too far gone – if anything were to happen, it’d be hours before they found you. If they did at all. 

“Oh my god,” you scold yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Get a fucking grip and go pee and then go back up those fucking stairs and –,”

Okay, that was definitely breathing.

Breathing, right behind you. Ragged, hungry, disembodied breathing, in your ear and your heart ricochets into your chest. Your own breath turns short, choppy, panic swelling into your ears, over your fingers. You think you might drop your phone, your fingers are so numb from fear, so you clutch tighter, the trembling throwing white light across the paneled wood in a craze. 

Be rational, this is crazy, there is nothing down here! 

The stairs snarl again and you squeak, all but bolting for the women’s bathroom, desperate to put at least some space between you and those fucking stairs, put some boundaries between –

The door is locked. When the fuck is this door ever locked?

Panic recedes to overwhelming rage because fuck, fuck, fuck, now you’re trapped in here – you can’t go back to the stairs – you rattle the handle, shaking the door against its lock –

“Fucking let me in!”

The light above the exit door goes out. And then the other. You throw all of your weight against the bathroom door. You claw at the handle, begging it to give way. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck – you can hear the darkness breathing –

No, speaking – it’s saying something, chanting, mocking, calling out – calling out your name –

The door suddenly unlocks and you stumble forward – into something solid –

Its hands grab you and like a fucking fool, you played right into its trap. 

It turns you, throws you up against the tile wall, its claws around your shoulders, cold tile against your cheek and you whimper. Whimper when you feel the soft pin-prick of fangs against the back of your neck – fuck, this is how it ends?? – and –

“Got you.” 

That voice.

That condescending, snide, bratty, little –

You elbow the solid body behind you and Max lets out a puff of air, staggering back. You whip around, nearly snarling in his smirking, beautiful face. The bathroom is dark, black tiled walls and floors with a faux-wooden sink and dim lights across the top of the mirror. In the flushed orange light, his eyelashes encourage thick shadows under his eyes and in the collar of his throat. If it wasn’t for that insufferable smile, he’d look painted from thin brush strokes and heavy scarlet paint. 

Caravaggio, eat your heart out. 

“Max, what the fuck was that?” 

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hit him, at the top of his ribcage. “Oh, c’mon, it was just some fun. Saw you sneak off after you got Nita’s drink and thought I’d mess with you just a bit.”

You sigh, willing your heart to slow down, throwing your gaze to the ceiling and dropping your head against the tile.

“God, you asshole, I thought I was gonna die.” You swallow and move your hair out of your face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I what?”

“You scared –,”

That smile, the crack of fangs across his mouth, widens, the bottom of his lip rolling back over the cut of his teeth, those brown eyes melting into a warm, obscene black, as he meets you hip first against the wall. 

His hands climb over your waist, as though daring you to hit him again, and your thigh muscles tighten. Your hands instinctively trace the exposed skin left by his opened collar at the dip of his throat when he comes closer, chest pressing up against yours, nose against your temple. 

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this easy for him. You sigh through your nose, eyes rolling shut, when he nips at your cheek.

“I think you were supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am,” you groan. “I’m livid. I’m enraged. I’m –,”

His thumb brushes your ribs – not tickling, not entirely touching, but just reminding. Reminding of the force behind his touch, behind his teeth. 

“Baby girl,” he chuckles softly, the sound running down your neck like rain, “you’re melting in my arms.” 

“This doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.” You focus on the softness of his hair between your fingers, the heat of the back of his neck beneath the pads of your fingertips – resolutely ignoring the radiating scent of his cologne coming from up under his collar. More than once had he come across you in his apartment bathroom, sniffing that bottle like some dopey perv looking for a quick fix. Of course, instead of admonishing you, he bent you over his sink and fucked the daylights out of you, his wrists singing with the smell of that cologne. Now he wore it to work wherever he wanted something from you, particularly to overlook some pesky lines of legalise. 

In the hallowed darkness of the bar’s bathroom, he drops a single kiss just below your jaw, inches beneath your ear. He grumbles when your pulse there quickens, and again his fangs find a curve of skin to press against – a reminder. 

Always reminding, always lurking, a threat without a promise.

And he knows exactly what that does to you. 

You release a full body shudder when his hands drop lower, guiding you back against the wall, fingers rounding around your thighs. Like interlocking pieces, your bodies slide together, your arms curling around his neck, the heat of his chest branding yours as it forces you against the wall. You’re breathing all wrong again, but for different reasons this time. You catch a flash of the ink-well darkness of his eyes when he nuzzles out of your neck to admire the mess he has made of your skirt.

“Can I fuck you in this or is this thing too tight?” He asks, like he specifically didn’t get on his hands and knees and beg you to wear that gray pencil skirt only twelve hours earlier. 

You lean up, snagging his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him roughly and showing him he’s not the only one with a little bite. He groans softly, one hand curling into your hair at the base of your skull, and he licks you, from the front of your lips up to the valley of your mouth. He tastes like the sweetness of his whiskey n’ coke, his tongue rubbing the flexing muscle of yours, the sharpness of your molars. You could spend hours just sucking on his plush mouth. 

Maybe he did scare you. Maybe he should have scared you more, the threat of anyone discovering your relationship a real danger to both of your careers. Maybe it should have scared you, how little you cared about any of that when he palmed your breast over your shirt. 

You inhaled over his mouth, popping off his lips with a moan, his hand cupping you roughly as he dove in to suck marks on your neck. Every moment that passes, you feel your skin ratcheting up with heat, blood almost hot. He thumbs your perk nipple through your shirt and you arch your chest, his massive palm nearly cupping your ribs to your spine.

“Max, either you figure out how to fuck me in this skirt or you owe me a new one.”

“You want me to rip it off you?” He slurs, eyelids heavy, his thigh slides in between your knees, the fabric preventing him from going higher, to the place where you both need him. You groan in frustration and his hands squeeze your hips at the sound. “Tell me fast, baby, because I can’t–,”

“For the love of – just fucking lift it up–,” His hands fumble over yours as your fingers curl under the hem, his own want making that brilliant mind for numbers almost stupid. His warm fingers overwhelm your own as they push your skirt up your waist, and then dig around the line of your pantyhose. 

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to Fort Knox me out of your pussy? Why are there so many layers?” 

You hiss at him as you slide out of your heels and shove your nylons to the ground, hopping on one leg to take them off your feet. “It’s like you’ve never undressed me before.” 

Freed of the chaos of your underthings, Max’s hands rush to his belt, the clinking of the metal sending shivers down your back and straight up your cunt. He doesn’t notice because he’s obsessively watching your thighs. “I’ve never undressed you with our coworkers a floor above us and probably becoming increasingly suspicious about where the fuck we are–,” 

You take him by the back of the neck, hand clenching around the starch white of his shoulder. He comes to you, zipper digging into your hip bone as he pulls you up off your feet. For once that chatty mouth is quiet, open and wet with desire as he takes in your flushed face, the blood pumping under your tits. Max is nothing if not almost supernaturally consumed by the look, feel, texture, and taste of your tits. 

The look on his face is one of those reasons you tend to throw caution to the wind, why your heart almost feels too big for your chest, whenever he’s around. 

He hooks an arm around your low back, tilting your hips forward. You feel the heat of his cock somewhere below you and it takes all of your strength not to grind down. 

“Max –,” he’s not even inside of you and you’re already begging. You bite down on his ear to stifle whatever was rising up your throat. 

“Hang on, baby, I gotta make sure you . . .”

Using your shoulders as counterbalance, he holds himself up against the wet warmth of your cunt, breath stuttering as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds. That bratty aloofness is gone; he wants to sink so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t even get you ready – but you’re already so wet –,”

You don’t resist grinding down now and he knocks his shoulders forward, needing movement, but fighting against the urge to buck up into you, gasping from the feeling of your cunt. 

“Please, Max, just –,”

“Yeah, I know, baby, okay, just, I gotta . . .” 

He angles himself and you arch your back, unable to watch with the mess of your skirt around your waist, but he finds it, finds your opening, the place he loves to mark, and without any warning, thrusts his length up into you. 

The stretch, the surprise, the ear-ringing split between being empty and then stuffed so full – you can’t help but moan so loudly, you sing to the ceiling. For a moment, your bodies hum with the stillness, the blood in your cunt pulsating around him, you claw at his broad shoulders, need him closer, needing that smell of him that haunts your empty bed as far inside of you as his cock is. His hips stutter and he presses one hand against the tile by your ribs, teeth clenched against the sensation. 

“When I fuck you, every time feels like the first time. Every goddamn time.” 

It’s not particularly the confession it could be, but you shake your head, clearing it of anything stupid like feelings for Max Phillips, your chin brushing his jaw, his nose against your ear. 

“Then do it,” you whine. “Just fuck me, Max.”

With a groan that could be mistaken for a snarl, he lifts you both up right, pushing your hips down and spreading yourself over him. You lock your ankles around his back a second before he pulls out halfway, then to jerk back in with such force and precision your eyes roll to the back of your head. He sets a pace that has pleasure weaving a tight drum just under your stomach. Each sweaty thrust fires sparks up your spine. He really is so fucking good at this. 

This is the release you need, you both need. Sure, it’s an after-effect of having a high-powered job, but it’s also more than that. Max fucking you is unfortunately very often the highlight of your day. He knows what you need, how you need it – how hard to drive his cock into you, it makes you tongue-tied and dizzy. The fast pump of his cock, how it feels to split you apart over and over again, the back zipper of your skirt digging into your back – it’s too fucking good.

“Don’t know where you get off giving me orders,” he grunts, the pounding of his hips into yours rapidly shoving you up your ascension. The slapping, wet noise in the empty room is obscene. “I’m a fucking VP, little girl, and I–,”

You tense your muscles around his cock and he fumbles, his knees buckling momentarily. 

“Do not fucking bring up the org chart right now,” you hiss, your own edge yanked away when he stills. “I’m almost there–,” 

Quicker than he’s been all night, Max lunges forward, mouth open and teeth bare. He bites your neck and then he bites you. 

Fangs puncture your skin, not deep, but enough that your body is thrown into a messy coil of nerves and adrenaline. It knows you could die like this, even if you’ve only ever called the vampire a mosquito to his face, and triggering a self-preservation instinct, your body trembles from the sudden blast of sensation.

Your pupils dilate further than they were, your skin becomes overly aware of every drop of sweat, every flutter of hair, every rub of flesh – and your fucking nerve-endings feel like static, as if brushed by lightning. 

Pleasure so-white hot it almost burns roars up your spine, slick coating his cock inside you, and you cry out. Wail in his ear. Begging him to make it better. To give you your release. The feel of his cock pounding up inside your now-overly ripe cunt brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck – Max, p-please –,”

“Can you handle it if I touch you?”

You shake your head. “Yes, yes, please, touch me.” 

“You can’t keep screaming like that,” he scolds you breathlessly, the punch of his hips bouncing you against his cheek. For all his vampire stamina, the flush of exertion across his cheeks is truly staggering and a triumph for your ego. Flecks of blood dot his mouth. “Someone’s going to come looking.” 

“I don’t care,” you groan, angling your hips to take more of him. His hand not on your back cups under your knee, tugging it higher up his torso. His pace is relentless, overwhelming – with his weight on top of you, and his cock up under you, inside you, you’re consumed by Max Phillips. “Whatever you do, d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“You scared I’m gonna?”

“Yes,” you whine. You can feel your heart pounding out its shape into your ribs. 

“Good girl. And good girls get to fucking come.”

Balancing your increasingly limp body, he holds you up right, his hand snaking beneath your skirt, between the sweat of your thighs and his torso, and –

He thumbs that buzzing bundle of nerves, “come for me, baby”, and you do. You come screaming, the tension snapping, vision sparkling with stars, and you are shoved over the edge. You don’t know you’re wailing his name until he comes too, all concern for getting caught seemingly gone as he begs you to continue as he fills you up with his pearly, gooey cum:

“That’s right, say my name. Say my fucking name, sweetheart.” 

His hips thrust weakly, some instinct choking him until he makes sure every drop of him stays in you. You’re going to be dripping for hours. 

His skin is fire-hot beneath his starched white shirt. You’ll be thinking about that for days afterward when you see him in the hallways of the office. 

This is what scares you the most. When you realize it's over and neither one of you want it to be. 

Shaking from exertion, Max slowly sets you down, unwinding your legs from his waist, your ankles trembling against the cold tile. You couldn’t imagine putting your nylons back on, the thought of that pressure against the curve of your lower stomach while you are so full of his cum practically unbearable. 

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes intentionally avoiding you as he inspects where he bit you, breath coming in ragged, long gasps. Sweat darkens the hair at his temple and that post-fuck blush is staggeringly gorgeous on him. He pricks his thumb on the sharp edge of his fangs and with a scarlet bead balanced on his thumb, he smears his blood against the puncture wounds, like someone would wipe dirt away from a loved one’s skin. 

It doesn’t really hurt, but the effects leave your neck tingling. You’d never say this out loud, but you fucking loved when he did that. 

He steps away without looking at you, giving you time to adjust your skirt, your hair in the mirror. You help him straighten his collar because it’s not like he can use the mirror to check himself.

He grins, the flush fading far too rapidly from his cheeks. 

“What are you going to tell them?” You nod to the stairs on the other side of the wall. “This can’t look good for us.” 

“You got attacked by a werewolf on the way to the bathroom. I saved you.” 

“Thought you said werewolves weren’t scary.”

He shakes his head, smirking, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Just said I was the bigger monster between the two of us.” 

“My hero.” You turn your head until his lips drink in yours. 

It is dangerous, your feelings for him. 

He taps you on the butt, pulling away. The lines around his eyes do an excellent job of masking the hurt in the brownness of his eyes. 

“Gimme five, then you come up. Can’t have you looking so completely debauched.”

He kisses you again, betraying whatever amounted to “cool and collected” he attempted for, and without another word, he slides out the door. 

His smell lingers in the air long after he does. The throbbing of your cunt also serves as a fantastically bitter reminder.

You go back to the mirror because yes, you could not have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign that said, “hi, yes, I did just get my back blown out.” You try to fold your hair around your ears at least a dozen times before pulling it back in what you hope to be a casual pony-tail. You toss your nylons into the trash can, pleading that the “oh, I tore them in the bathroom” excuse might hold an ounce of water. 

You think about what’s waiting for you a floor up and your stomach clenches. 

Fucking Max could upset the dynamics of your little group, your little Monster Squad. Whatever the stupid office bylines were, your happy-hour social group is one of the bright spots in your life, especially while working at a place run by those bastard Overlords. 

And Max knew that. He didn’t want to risk your long-term happiness for his short-term. 

Max didn’t scare you because he was a monster.

He scared you precisely because he wasn’t.

You open the bathroom door and return to the world. 

[howlingday]

A Most Unusual Unit

Good morning, or rather, good evening, "Nightshade". Excellent work on your last assignment. Thanks your efforts, the councilman has lived to see another day, much to the great benefit of Vale. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I have another assignment for you already. Your new target is the leader of the Spiders organization, "Little Miss" Charlotte Malachite. She is a grave threat to peace between Vale and Mistral. Your mission is to get close to her and gain any information that may be related to seditious activities.

In order to do this, you will have to marry and have a child.

Blake: (Spits out her coffee, Coughs) EXCUSE ME?!

Little Miss is a reclusive woman and is notably suspicious of others. At this point, she operates almost entirely behind the scenes. Her only public appearances of late have been her attendance at the elite private school her daughters attend. These events act as informal get-togethers for the upper crust of society and the lowest of low in the criminal underworld. You are to enroll your child at this school and gain entry to these events. However, admission deadlines are approaching fast. YOU'VE ONLY GOT ONE WEEK.

Blake: (Rips encoded-cypher paper in half) THEY EXPECT ME TO HAVE A CHILD IN SEVEN DAYS?! (People stare at her, Ahem!) Excuse me...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blake: Listen up, little girl.

Penny: I'm Penny!

Blake: Listen up, Penny. From now on, you are my child. As far as everyone knows, however, you have always been my child. Understood?

Penny: Understood!

Blake: You will address me as "Mother," as the elites do.

Penny: Mama!

Blake: Very well.

Old Woman: What an adorable girl~.

Blake: Thank you. We're the Belladinas. We just moved in.

Penny: I'm Penny, and I have always been Mama's child!

Old Woman: Huh?

Blake: (Thinking) You don't need to say that!.

Penny: Mama, I want a silenced pistol~!

Blake: If we see one on sale.

Old Woman: What a strange family...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jaune: (Answers phone) Hello, Arc residence.

Jaune: Oh, Saph!

Saphron: (Via phone) How are you doing, baby bro?.

Jaune: Good. Everything's good. I'm still hard at work in Vale!

Saphron: Still as weird as ever. Don't make me worry about you.

Jaune: You don't have to sound so mean about it! And I am not weird!

Saphron: Jaune, when are you going to get married? You find a good lady friend yet?

Jaune: (Thinking) Not this again...

Saphron: Listen, I might be offered a big promotion here soon, but that'd mean I'd be too busy to look after you. I'm not gonna say no right off the bat, but it doesn't feel right for me to abandon you in the big city. Like I always tell ya, I'm forever grateful for you taking care of me all this time, and that's why I want to make sure you're happy.

Jaune: I know, Saph. Thank you.

Saphron: I think I know some cuties out here in Argus. Maybe I could put in a good word for you?

Jaune: Ah! N-No! You don't need to do that! A-Actually, I'm heading to a party this weekend... and I'll be bringing someone!

Saphron: A girl?!

Jaune: Uh, y-yeah, I guess that's one way to describe her. So don't worry about me, okay?

Saphron: Alright. So, who's throwing this party? One of your co-workers?

Jaune: Mm-hm!

Saphron: Great! I'll have Pyrrha give me the full details on this girlfriend of yours!

Jaune: Eh?

Saphron: No offense, Jaune, but you can be pretty naive. I just want to make sure the girl you're digging isn't just digging into you, right?

Jaune: Uh, well-

Saphron: And I'm gonna hold off on this promotion until I know you're happy!

Jaune: Y-You don't need to-

Saphron: Can't wait to hear all about her, baby bro! Ciao~! (Click)

Jaune: (Hangs up, Pacing) What do I do?!. What do I do?!. I need to find a girlfriend now!. If Saph finds out I lied, she'll think there's something wrong with me!. Then she'll never get that promotion, and Terra'll be mad at me!. Adrian will never play with me again!.

Jaune: (Phone rings, Answers) Saph, listen! About what I said earlier, I was just joking! I-

Boss: (Via phone) Having family trouble?. That's unusual for you.

Jaune: Oh! Headmistress! I'm so sorry, I was-

Boss: Good evening. I have a client for you, Rusted Knight.

Jaune: (Eyes dim)

Boss: The Glass Unicorn. Room 1220.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jaune: Excuse me.

Proprietor: Oh, hello again, Jaune! How can I help you?

Jaune: I'm going to a party tonight, so I need my slacks patched up ASAP. Er, if that's okay, of course.

Blake: (Flinches, Thinking) How did he get by without me noticing?!. Jaune... Hm... Right. Jaune Arc, 26 years old, never married, and never divorced. Parents deceased. Seven sisters, six dexeased, one surviving, couple years older. They're both ordinary civilians with nothing on their files. Maybe I'm getting sloppy-

Jaune: Um, miss? You've been staring at me since I came in here. Is there something I can help you with?

Blake: He sensed me watching him?!. How?!.

Blake: Oh, uh, no. I just thought... you were really cute. Excuse me for being rude.

Jaune: Wait, so... I'm good looking to you?

Blake: Um, yes?

Jaune: Miss-

Penny: Mama! I got measured! Huh? Who's she?

Blake: He's another customer, like us.

Jaune: (Thinking) I almost asked another man's wife on a date! I've heard stories of men being murdered for things like that. BUT THIS TIME, I'D BE THE ONE TO DO THE KILLING.

Penny: !

Jaune: No! I can't even fantasize about a thing so horrible! It's thoughts like those that'll expose me as an ASSASSIN.

Penny: (Thinking) A- A- A- A- ASSASSIN?!.

Blake: (Spy)

Jaune: (Assassin)

Penny: (Telepath, Starved for entertainment) SOOO COOOOL!.

Blake: I thought he'd make for a good fit for the husband role, but his intuition could threaten my mission.

Jaune: I thought she'd be able to pull off the girlfriend role, but I can't afford any kind of unnecessary bloodshed.

Penny: (Looks down, Covering her face) Oh, boo hoo hoo! I am so sad about Papa!

Blake: P-Penny?! What are you-?!

Penny: I just miss my papa so very, very, very much! If only he could see me in my pretty dress!

Jaune: Oh, is your husband away?

Blake: Ah... You see... My husband actually passed a few years ago. I've been working hard to support my daughter as a single mother.

Jaune: Then... Then no one could try to kill me if I asked her!.

Jaune: Um, excuse me...

[gingerjolover]

HOLIDAY REQUEST SEASON EEEE HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! okay so we know that julien definitely isn’t enthralled by the holidays because of the stereogum interview buuuut i cant shake the vision of julien and soft!gf facing off in a (ginger)bread (see what i did there!!!!!) house battle like idk i could just imagine soft!gf running errands at the store, coming across a gingerbread house kit and being like…..yes!

omggggg... also i see what u did there teehee

im gonna hc this bc this is sooo cute

i feel like soft!gf and julien compromise a lot in their relationship, like they show up for each other in many different ways even when the other isn't super stoked

jb shows up for you EVERY. CHRISTMAS. like yeah she doesn't love christmas but she looooves you so she indulges your every whim during the holidays

if we are in the same universe (soft!gf and julien have moved to LA and the house needed renovations/the end of touring/lots of events taking place and so on, so their holiday party/housewarming is taking place around the holidays) then you are zooooming around running errands trying to prep

thankfully munagenius is helping a lot and you thank your lucky stars for bff!kelli bc boy does she come thru for you

but it's exactly like that, soft!gf sees these gingerbread kits at like world market or something and there's a sale on traditional ones but then there's a midcentury modern kit and a camper one (these are real)

so you get a couple of the traditional ones (maybe for a mungenius hangout or group date night) and then get some of the cool ones

and you come home so excited and julien is matching your excitement because she doesn't like christmas but she likes how excited you get around the holidays and the constant twinkle in your eyes

julien greets you in the driveway, one of your dogs at her calf as she waits for you to park, her tattoos out and about in her linen button down

"didja buy the whole store?" julien asks teasingly, her hand pulling you into her by your beltloops, kissing your cheek and jaw in quick succession

"we have like 25 people coming over jay," you say unamused but unable to fight the smile at her affections, starting to grab bags

but boyfriend!julien is lowkey jacked and can get 95% of the bags in her arms as she quickly waddles into the house

julien is rifling through the bags when you get inside, pulling out the gingerbread houses before you can even butter her up

"i saw them at the store and i thought it would be so fun...look," you say grabbing the midcentury modern house and showing her the box

julien sees how excited you are and loves a good craft so she acts like its such a chore but once dinner has been eaten and the dishes have been washed, julien is putting plastic down on the dining room table and organizing all the supplies as if it was her idea

and lets be real, julien gets into it, okay?

soft!gf is a little genius so there's extra icing and candy and toppings for the houses on the table

and julien is constructing a masterpiece, murmuring to herself, "need a good foundation...good bones," or something like that

"i bet i could build us a real house baby..." "im sure you could jules."

and somewhere between letting the houses set and decorating, julien gets competitive

"i thought you wanted us to decorate it like it was our real house jay?"

"i do but im just going to do it better than you :)" and she smiles so sassily you're like fine, game on

and julien is soooo messy

she has icing all over her hands and on her cheek

and she's popping candies into her mouth left and right

"jay stop i needed those for my roof!" "you're roofing too slow babe, 's not my fault"

and there's Christmas music playing softly in the background, the dogs are sleeping underneath the table at y'alls feet and as it gets dark the Christmas lights husband!julien so diligently crafted around the house on a timer go off

and for the first time in a long time julien looks around and is so genuinely happy with the christmas-ness of her environment

and its silly like her and soft!gf are literally making replicas of their house out of inedible gingerbread and its so christmassy it should make her sick but she sees the streaks of icing on your cheekbone and how you've placed little m&ms in a repetitive pattern on the roof of your gingerbread house and she decides that the focused look on your face with your tongue peeking out, an almost ethereal glow behind your head from the Christmas lights is worth dealing with some of the lingering anger and resentment she has during the holidays if it means she can create new traditions with you and learn to love Christmas

<3 sorry its late guys

i feel like ive forgotten how to write and post and im in my imposter syndrome era ;P

[bit-odd-innit]

Fic: Somewhere That’s Green

[based on a post I made about Eddie’s future]

It’s a hole in the wall just off the main drag, the kind of place you can’t find unless you know to look. In a previous life it had been a pizzeria, which explained the bright green vinyl awning Eddie had no intention of replacing. He’d kept the pick-up window, too, used it to host “office hours.” (“Office hours” was supposed to mean “deliver personalized music recommendations to interested passers-by.” Now it means “help harried, double-parked parents reschedule music lessons.”) 

He’d also kept the apartment upstairs. They have a house now—a nice one, with a wrap-around porch and a big backyard and a cluster of hedges Steve always insists are “a mess”—but when Eddie trips into an inventory hole and loses track of time, it’s nice to have a place to crash. If it’s not a school night sometimes Steve joins him, and they’ll relive the halcyon days of their early twenties, buoyed by cheap beer, diner curly fries, and giddy infatuation. (The infatuation has only grown and flourished even as his tolerance for salty food has withered. Acid reflux is a bitch.)

He’s happy they kept the apartment. He happy knowing that if someone needs it—someone scared, broke, desperate for a lifeline and a scrap of no-strings-attached kindness—it’s something he can provide. 

Initial plans had been to focus on music, just music. It was supposed to be the utopic all-metal record store of Eddie’s nightmares.  But as he started to build stock, he remembered how hard it had been to find merch for the things he liked. How a pin or a patch or poster he’d dug up at a garage sale four towns over made him feel more seen than anything on offer at the local mini-mall. How he wanted to be a hub for the weird shit not everyone liked, but the people who did loved. His horrible little magpie brain fluttered from shiny thing to shiny thing, and by the time opening day rolled around the store was a one-stop shop for all things music, merch and whatever wacky knick-knacks tickled Eddie’s fancy. Or horrified Steve. Or both. Both was best.

The Corroded Coffin guys slotted in easily. Francis always liked doing promo for their gigs, was good at it, too. But by the early 2000s, his methods were apparently so outdated his daughter begged to let her take over. (“He’s stapling fliers to telephone poles, Uncle Eddie. You don’t even have a website.”  

“What is a telephone pole covered in fliers if not the working man’s web-ed site?”

“Oh my God give me your credit card I’m buying you a domain name.”

“A what?”)

Jeff got his CPA and took over the financials, reeling Eddie in whenever he was struck by the urge to make a impulsive, outlandish purchase. (“I genuinely don’t understand how you make money.” 

“It’s cause I don’t do my taxes.”

“I do your taxes. At a great personal expense.”) 

Gareth was instrumental (heh…) in building up the music program—soundproofing the basement and hiring instructors and coordinating concerts and organizing payment plans, all the nitty-gritty non-music stuff that made Eddie’s head spin. At some point it just made the most sense for Eddie to cede control, let him operate it however he saw fit. (“This is your baby, dude. It’s a baby that took form within my own, much larger baby. But it’s yours.”

“I’m touched by your words and appalled by your phrasing.”

“That’s the only way I could have said it.”) 

(Gareth also once described the store as an “Elevated Hot Topic.” Eddie still hasn’t decided when he’s going to kick his ass.)


Momentum grew. Ideas compounded ideas. A kid asked how to sew a patch to his backpack and it snowballed into the Build Your Own Battlevest Workshop. Wayne suggested knocking out the connecting wall between the walk-in freezer and the pantry, and now thrice weekly Eddie runs table-top games for varying age-sets and skill-levels. (At Steve’s request, the elementary school group is called H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS FIRE CLUB. Not because he thinks it needs to be censored. He just thinks it’s funny.)  (He’s right.)

It was supposed to be a record store but now it’s so much more. Now there are listening parties and movie screenings and little league teams with his store’s name on the back of their jerseys and and and—

Eddie used to think, if he got lucky, he’d last a year. Now he’s closing in on 30. He was profiled by the local newspaper. They called him “a pillar of the community.”

Wild. 

It’s a warm, sunny April morning. He’s sitting at the takeout window, sipping coffee from the bottom half of a teapot-teacup combo that reads, in a menacing blood-red font, THIS FREAK DRINKS TEA. His hair is gathered in a loose braid, the ends still damp from his post-run shower. (Sometime in their mid-thirties Steve tricked him into maintaining a consistent cardio routine, and now he’s the type of person who gets out of bed at the crack of dawn to knock out an “easy three.” He’s a monster, a husk of his former self. A husk with a much-improved lung capacity and thighs that can juice a watermelon but nonetheless HUSK.) The middle school is about a half mile from the shop; he pulls faces at all the students filtering past. (Steve’s kids, current and former, refer to Eddie exclusively as Mr. Munson’s Husband. It never fails to thrill him.)

He’s leaning back to flip the record piping through the store’s speakers (“Dustin I don’t care if it’s ‘easier’ to ‘create a Spotify account,’ whatever that means. We play vinyl only! Let me be pretentious about this one thing!”) when he hears a meek, polite cough coming from just beneath the window. He peers out and on the sidewalk stands a girl. She’s small, too little to be one of Steve’s. She clutches the strap of her backpack, blue eyes huge with nerves and determination. 

“Hail and well met, weary traveler!” He’s speaking in what Steve calls his Dork Voice, the slightly tuned-down version he uses to put shy kids at ease. “How might I be of assistance?” The girl purses her lips, sets her shoulders, shakes her shaggy bangs out of her face. Eddie thinks suddenly of Nancy and Robin and his heart clenches.

“Do you like games?” She asks.

He smiles softly. Drops the act. “Yeah.” He rests his scarred cheek in the cradle of his palm. “I like games. Do you like games?”

The dam breaks.

“Yes!” She replies at once, breathless with enthusiasm. “My family plays a lot of board games, like Game of Life and Monopoly, and they’re okay but kind of boring, but my brother taught me how to play Settlers of Catan and I really liked that, and my friends and I played Werewolf at a sleepover but we made up a bunch of extra rules to make it harder, and my cousin showed me this video game where the ending changes based on what choices you make and that’s so cool—”

“Alright, slugger.” Eddie can’t help but laugh. “What game are you looking to play?”

The girl collects herself. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, so. So I like it in games where there are rules, but also you can make stuff up? And you can do something weird that might ruin everything but also might pay off? And sometimes you have to work with other people to accomplish your goal, but alliances can break?” Eddie nods. “So there’s this one game. It sounds like so much fun, but nobody I know plays it. They play it on this show I like, well, okay, it’s not really a show, it’s, uh, okay do you know what a podcast is?” Eddie beams.

Steve swapped study hall coverage so he could pop in for lunch. Tonight is parent-teacher conferences, which means Steve’ll be home late, which means Eddie will get absorbed in a project and either crash upstairs or stumble home well after Steve’s gone to bed, which means they’ve got to snatch the time together they can get. They split a sandwich, a salmon burger from Costco Eddie threw in the air fryer and smashed up with avocado and grilled poblano pepper. (”It’s heart healthy!” “You’re heart healthy.” “Aw.” “I meant that as an insult.” “I’m not taking it as one, mwah mwah mwah.”) Eddie eats too fast, as he often does, and drags his nails over the veins of Steve’s forearm to distract himself from his gastrointestinal tract turning inside out.

“🎶Myyyy babyyyy myyyyyy babyyyyyy,” he hums against the shell of Steve’s ear. “You’reeee my babyyyyy sayyyy it to meeeeee🎶.” “Alright,” he huffs, tapping his fingers to the knobby bone of Eddie’s wrist. He presses a kiss to the underside of Eddie’s jaw and rises. “I gotta get back.” He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder, gathers the papers he’d promised he’d grade but didn’t. Eddie watches him readjust, watches him smooth down the salt-and-pepper hairs dusting his temples, watches him push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He catches Eddie watching and asks, slyly, “What?”

Eddie wants to say, I love you. He wants to say, you’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be. He wants to say, I’m so grateful I built this life with you. 

But he’s still himself, so what he says is, “Those khakis make your ass look great.”

Steve scoffs, and with a bitchy eye roll he sinks his weight onto his back foot and says, “I KNOW,” and there he is. There’s the man he married. He looks over his shoulder before he leaves, his honey-warm eyes liquifying Eddie’s spine.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I love you too.” Eddie kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.  Pretty good life. 

[originallandlockedmariner]

2023

Pickleball. Generative AI. Lula takes office in Brazil, Amazon Rainforest throws a party. Prince Harry refusing to stop talking about his frozen penis no matter how many times society begged him to stop. UFOs are real. Viral cat dubbed ‘largest cat anyone has ever seen’ gets adopted. Pee-Wee’s big adventure ends. Musk & X. Turkey-Syria earthquake kills thousands. India surpasses China as ‘country squeezing in the most peeps’. Tucker Carlson ousted. Miss USA and her 30 lbs moon costume. Wildfires in Kelowna and Hawaii. Macron tinkers with retirement age of the French. Paltrow can’t ski. Big Red Boots. Bob Barker leaves us. Alabama mom delivers 2 babies from her 2 uteruses in 2 days. Charles III. Ukrainian counteroffensive against Russian forces as the war drags on. Taylor Swift is Time’s Person of the Year. African ‘coup belt’. Flo-Jo dies in her sleep. Chinese spy balloon shot down. Hollywood writers strike. Human ‘nice mugshot’ Shitstain and his 91 indictments. Highest interest rates in 2 decades. The Bear’s Christmas episode. War in Gaza. Shinzo Abe is assassinated. Alex Murdaugh. Ocean Cleanup removes 25 000 lbs of trash from the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. Vase purchased for $3.99 sells for $100 000 at auction. Barbenheimer. A third of Pakistan is flooded. Lionel Messi is the GOAT. Travis Kelce. The Sphere opens in Las Vegas. Regulators seized Silicon Valley Bank and Signature Bank, resulting in two of the three largest bank failures in U.S. history. “The Woman In Me”. WHO declares COVID ain’t a thing no more. Titan sub sinks, rich people die. Matthew Perry drowns. Dumbledore Dies (again). Massive sales of ‘Fuck Trudeau’ flags for jacked-up micro-dick trucks. Everything Everywhere All At Once. June-August was the hottest three-month period in recorded history across the Earth. Tina Turner dies. And the Beatles release a new song?! Wow… You got big shoes to fill 2024.

Archives for context:

2020

Kobe. Pandemic. Lockdown. Koalas on fire. Harry and Meg retire. Toilet paper hoarding. Alcoholism. Impeach the f*cker. Parasite. Bonnie Henry. Tiger King. Working from home. Sourdough bread. Harvey Weinstein guilty. Zoom overdose. Dip your body in sanitizer. 6 feet. Quarantine. OK Boomer. Home schooling (everyone passes). Murder hornets. Dolly Parton. Don’t hug, kiss or see anybody, especially your family. Chris Evans’ junk. TikTok. Glory holes. Face masks. CERB. West Coast wildfires. Stay home. Small Businesses lose, big box stores win. F*ck Bozos. ‘Dreams’ and cranberry juice. Close yoga studios, but thumbs up to your local gym. Speak moistly to me. George Floyd. BLM. F*ck Trump. Phase 2, 3 and Summer. RBG. Baby Yoda. Biden wins. Bond and Black Panther die. No more lockdown. Back to school and work. Just kidding... giddy up round 2. Giuliani leaks shit from his head. Resurgence of chess. UFOs are real. Restrictions. Dave Grohl admits defeat. Monolith. “F*ck... forgot my mask in the car”. No Christmas shenanigans allowed. Bubbles. Alex Trebek. Use the term ‘dumpster fire’ one too many times. Jupiter and Saturn form 'Christmas Star'. Happy New Year Bitches!!!! 2021... you better not sh*t the bed!!

2021

“We love you, you’re very special”. Failed coup attempt at the Capital. Twitter, FB and IG ban Donny. Hammerin’ Hank goes to the Field of Dreams. Bozo no longer richest man but still a twat. Leachman, Tyson, and Holbrook pass. The economy is worse than expected. Kim and Kanye split. Brood X cicadas. Dre has an aneurysm and nearly has his home broken into. Bridgerton. MyPillow CEO is a douche. Covid restrictions extended indefinitely. Captain Von Trapp dies. Proud Boys officially a Terrorist Organization. Richard Ramirez. Cancer takes Screech. Travel bans. Impeachment trial (again?… oh and this was barely February? WTF??!!) Suez Canal blockage. Myanmar protest. Kong dukes it out with Godzilla, while Raya watches. Olympics. Friends compare elective surgeries. F9. Canada Women’s Soccer Gold. Free Britney. Multiverses. Residential Schools in Canada unearth children’s bodies. Kate is Mare of Easttown. Cuomo resigns. Disney and Dwayne cruise together. Wildfires. Delta variants. Musk passes Bezos. Candyman x 5. Capt. Kirk goes to space. F*ck Kyle Rittenhouse. Astros didn’t win. Squid Game. Goodbye Bond. Dune is redone. Angelina is Eternal. Astroworld deaths. Meta. Omicron. Three Spidermen. Tornados in December? World Juniors cancelled. Pills against Covid. School opening delayed. And Betty White dies. 2022… my expectations are ridiculously low…

2022

Wow… eight billion people. Queen Elizabeth II passes away after ruling the Commonwealth before dirt was invented. The monkeypox. Russia plays the role of global a**hole. Wordle. Mother Nature rocks Afghanistan. Hover bike. Styles spits on Pine. Olivia Newton John, Kristie Alley, and Coolio leave us. Pele was traded to team Heaven. FTX implodes. Madonna and the 3-D model of her vagina. Pig gives his heart to a human. Beijing can brag that it is the first city ever to host both the Summer Olympics and Winter Olympics. Uvalde. $3 trillion Apple. Keith Raniere gets 120 years. The Whisky War ends with Canada and Denmark going halfsies. Mar-a-Lago. Nick Cannon brood hits a dozen. Shinzo Abe is assassinated. Inflation goes through the roof (if you can actually afford to put a roof over your head). Volodymyr Zelensky. European heat wave. Bennifer. Salman Rushdie is stabbed on stage, Dave Chappelle tackled, and Chris Rock is only slapped. Thích Nhất Hạnh. Heidi Klum goes full slug. Cuba knocked out by Ian. Liz Truss and 4.1 Scaramuccis. Taylor Swift breaks Ticketmaster. Human shitstain Elon Musk ignores helping mankind and buys Twitter instead. Riri becomes a mommy. NASA launches Artemis 1. Trump still a whiny little b*tch. Music lost Loretta Lynn, Christine McVie, and Meat Loaf. Democracy died at least three times. Pete Davidson continues to date hottest women on the planet (no one understands how?!) Microplastics in our blood. Alex Jones is a c*nt. So is DeSantis. Argentina wins the World Cup. Meghan and Harry. Eddie Munson rips Metallica in the Upside Down. tWitch. Roe vs Wade is overturned by the micro dick energy of the Supreme Court. CODA. James Corden shows he is a "tiny Cretin of a man". Amber (and the sh*t on the bed) Heard (round the world). Sebastian Bear-McClard proves he’s one of the f*cking dumbest men alive. Latin America's ‘pink tide’. Anti-Semitic rants by Ye. Bob Saget. A verified blue checkmark. Godmother of punk Vivienne dies. And, Tom Cruise feels the need for speed yet again. 2023… whatcha got for us?!? Nothing shocks me anymore.

@daily-esprit-descalier

[popculturebuffet]

Transformers: More Than Meets The Eye Retrospective: Rememberance Day (Issues 12-16) (Patreon review for Brotoman.Exe)

Hello all you happy autobots! And welcome back to my long retrospective of Transformers More than Meets The Eye: The greatest comic about robuts in the known universe.

After a long road, a beetle themed detour and tons of tie ins, one shots and other needed stuff, we're FINALLY almost at the end of Season 1 and to help speed things along, Brotoman gave me some extra money to get through Dark Cybertron. That also means we have a pretty baked in schedule through april so here it is: After this review i'll be covering Remain in Light, the season 1 finale, next week. January is a recap of MTMTE's sister series Robot's in disguise. I volunteered for this one as I felt with Dark Cybertron relying heavily on RiD's history, I should reaquaint myself with it.

We'll then take another break for a Fizzarolli retrospective in Feburary, and then begin dark cybertron in may, with the plan to have it in two or three parts. After that barring any other side trips or what not, it's SEASON 2 BABY, the series best. It also means easing up a bit on the sidetrips: there's still two whole minis to go into and a christmas special but both are shorter and with our two issue schedule the pacing won't be as nettled.

As for the present these two arcs represent MTMTE hitting it's stride: The books always been good and these reviews have been almost two years of gushing. I have ocasional gripes but overal the series is just pure excellence. This is simply the best of the best: all the character and plot setup for the season paying off in the most awesome, heartbreaking and horrifying ways possible. These arcs are great, but I dreaded getting to them as they will rip your heart out of your chest guaranteed.

See while John Roberts built up an impressive cast of characters, almost all from characters' whose history before this could best be described "That one guy over there in the background" or "That transfomer you got at a yard sale that was a bitch to identify", he wasn't afraid to say goodbye to his creations, even the main characters, and got that this story.. needed life and death stakes.

It's how death SHOULD be handled in comic books: not a publicity stunt done half assed and undone in months, not a massacre to "raise stakes", simply when the story calls for someone to die.

So the question to those of you who haven't read it is simple: who dies tonight? Well i'll tell ya'll under the cut.

Before and After

Admitely these first two issues are less an arc and more two more standalones. As usual for MTMTE these are ripe for setup and Before and After feels like an out and out prelude to Reemergence Day, so the bundling fits.

Before and After has a unique structure, flashing both to the Autobots preparing for a strike on a Decepticon fortress on Sensenica. It's the first real Autbots Vs Decepticon battle we've seen: while there was one in Ratchet's arc, it was more a smokescreen for Pharma and Fort Max took them down quickly and messily.

Here it's an actual battle: a bunch of decepticons who shall remain nameless and largely unimportant to the overall scheme of things have been bleeding organic's dry for energy, so our heroes go down to stop it. For the sake of clarity i'm not going ot be covering the issue as structured as it's a lot.

The good news: our heroes are able to take the fortress, free the organics, save the day. The bad.. is there is a lot of injuries in the process, and that's the real intresting part of this issue: while the battle is neat, I often forget it and it really just kinda comes and goes: what's important.. is the after effect: Swerve, Rewind and Cyclonus were all horribly injured and we don't find out why till the tailend of the issue for the latter two.

For swerve.. he shot himself in the face while trying to figure out his gun while Chromedone and SKids fought a giant dinosaur. This guy is snapdragon and yes I looked him up on the grounds he fought two characters while transformed and apparently bathes in the blood of his enemies when he can't find sludge as he has a senstive butt.

So while this goes on it's down to Rewind and Tailgate. Tailgate is, allegedlys, a bomb disposal expert, and thus has to take out a bomb hooked to the organics with Rewind's help. Also of note is that Rewind and Chromedome are fighting.

Rewind is PISSSEEED Chromedome keeps hacking heads, while Chromedome is mad Rewind won't stay out of action. So naturally it's the perfect time for Rewind to go boom as the two little guys simply can't stop it. Rewind stays to mitigate the blast... and Cyclonus tosses Tailgate out taking the blast himself.

The prognosis for both.. isn't good. Rewind is a tiny bot.. and that means it's harder for him to bounce back from this, with Red Alert floating his Spark Jumping idea from his intro arc, a nice call back I honestly forgot about. Of course it'd crop up again and naturally, Chromedome is a spark type match for Rewind.

While Chromedome recovers from it as the process.. isn't exactly plesant. So while he recovers he talks to Tailgate. Chromedome admits when he's told Cyclonus still survivied that it's a shame... though what I like is when Tailgate asks him fi he really meant that.. he admits it.. but also admits he shouldn't of said it to Tailgate and apologizes, admitting thigns are just stressful. Tailgate calls rewind Chromedome's best friend

That flub aside, Chromedome admits that he's not #1 in his boyfriend's heart.. there's someone else, just above him.

So we get Rewind's backstory which as usual is important for later: Rewind was a member of what was called at the time "The disposable class". There aren't many left and it's easy to see why as the disposables were basically slaves, with Chromedome flat out admitting that's what they'd call them now. It makes him one of the oldest and is why he has a memory stick of all alt modes: he was made for just one purpose and that purpose was being a comically large usb drive.

This changed when Rewind met Dominus Ambus, Scientest, Doctor, Author Explorer and that one ex of your partners you can never live up to. Tailgate for his part says he hates the guy. That's a good friend tailgate.

Anyways Ambus used Rewind as a memory drive but treated him kindly, giving him premium energon instead of the cheap stuff and realizing in the process that the disposables were just autbots and just as sentient as any other, and started campaiging for their rights. He seemed to succeed but trying to find a cure for Cybercocis he and Rewind left to find Luna 1, Cybertron's missing moon because like any missing thing of legend, you just gotta assume it has the cure for anything.

They failed, and what's worse they came back to a planet at war. All hell had broken loose and the two underwent the right of the autobrand.

So cut to years later in the war and Chromedome, already not having the best mental health for his years in psi ops and other traumas, has decided to unalive himself. Which is harder than it sounds for a transformer: their bodies are built to be nigh on indestructable and Chromedome can't really try sucicide by comabat as it'd put others in whatever unit he was in at risk. So instead he went to a relinquishment clinic, with what clinics left offering assisted suicide.

This ends up saving Chromedomes life as he hears a scream.. and it turns out to be Rewind who was checking the bodies. And that, dear readers is the main reason Rewind's on the lost light, the reason for the snuff film footage he got earlier: he's been looking for Dominus anywhere there's bodies in hopes of getting closure with Chromedome along for the ride. Dome assumes that's why he goes into battle.. but Tailgate has a more optimstic take: Rewind loves him and simply wants to be there to support him.

Either way things aren't looking good as it turns out chromedome's spark has a low yield. As he stated earlier he was born dry and thus dosen't hae a lot of ennermost energon. Ennermost energon is a brilliant concept: it's the energon closest to a bot's casing, their essence. Being robots, Cybertronians naturally run into a ship of thesus paradox oftne with most of their original parts long gone. The innermost energon is the part of them that's always there, the one part that, along with the spark itself, will always be then

So as a gesture of love when someone is dying, possibly may survivie may likely not, a bot puts a portion by them. Tailgate hearing this.. decides to do the same for Cyclonus. This being Cyclonus he's not only not quite dead, but an asshole about it, saying he dosen't care about tailgate they don't have a bond, etc... but in a touching moment instead of keeping up his abuse of the poor guy after smashing the jar.. he goes to help him pick it up. Despite trying to distance himself, despite trying to push Tailgate away.. they have a bond. And he can't deny that.. I mean he will, it's Cyclonus, he has the emotoinal maturity of a very angry stump, but he's at least TRYING to not be as closed off.

As for Chromedome he's not doin so hot and in his lowest moment a mysterious voice says something VERY prowl like: the decpitcons are still a threat and this proves it and there's something Chromedome can do to help. He wants to show him something in the basement.

Thankfully Rewind's alive, and of all people it was whirl who donated.. and whose uncharcatristically nice. It's almost as if he's hiding something and.. yup as we find out in the final pages turns out he locked the door to attempted murder cyclonus and Rewind got caught in it.

Cybertronian Homesick Blues

CHB is a fun issue, what SEEMS to just be some fun shenanigans and an excuse to make human forms for the cast.

So Mags is wound tighter than usual, having thrown several people, Swereve included in the brig for general nonsense.. which as Rodimus notes is all kinds of fucked up. I mean it'd usually just be two or three kinds, but they have dangerous criminals down there now along with Fort Max, who is dangerous but isn't out to hurt anybody anymore, so he's not exactly going to prison shank anyone.

Rodimus can see a problem coming and decides to help: the Lost Light's approaching Hedonia, a vacation planet ala Risa from Star Trek, but saying the quiet part loud. He asks Swerve to take him to relax, threatning the bar if he dosen't, and Swerve to his credit genuinely tries to bond with Ultra Magnus, bringing most of his close friends to help with the task: Rewind, Rung, Skids, Tailgate and Whirl. Whirl isn't exactly a close friend but you try telling Whirl he can't come and see how many limbs you have left.

Due to anti robot prejudice , our heroes can't enter EVERY section so they set up Holomatter Avatars to go into those sections and drink it up, having disabled Mags DiD chip. Said chip keeps fuel from hitting transformers at full impact, i.e. keeping them from getting plastered unless they WANT to get plastered.

Naturally as you can imagine Mags is going through something and is thus a pretty depressed/angry drunk and has a full on breakdown

It's very obvious that Ultra Magnus.. is having a crisis of faith. His whole point is to be unflinching unchanging and as seen in the Annual the idea of NOT being that is propsterous to him.. and now we see that even with his acceptance in that story.. ti's not easy. Change.. often involves a lot of backsliding first. Personal growth is not easy, take it from me, so naturally the idea of being more than the tight ass he's SUPPOSED to be is tearing the poor bot apart. He also takes it out on swerve saying people like him because he's funny and that he's shirking his responsibliteis iwth the bar plan, not beliving Swerve's half hearted defense of it... causing the little guy to open up.

It's a deeply painful sentence.. and one that's all too damn relatable. I often feel this way wondering if people like me for anlysizing shit and being mildly amusing or for me.

MOst of the rest of the issue is holomatter hyjinks, as our heroes are forced to cary Magnus, who accidently drank something REALLY strong across a human section in their disguises. The disguises.. are really neat, with special note to Tailgate as a baby, Rung's neat hat, Whirl as a murder child and my faviorite, Magnus.. using Verity's likeness. A nice little nod, make sme hope the two do actually meet again.

At any rate our heroes succeed, but we have some important story stuff before we move on to the main event: first I forgot how the story really started.. with Drift busting in to stop Cyclonus from.. singing. Turns out no one was in danger, it was just ancient cybertronian and beautiful, with Rewind recording it.. only to be hastily shouted to get out.

While this seems lke Standard cyclonus.. he was covering. Turns out Tailgate's stories about being in the primal vanguard, being important, all his big puffed up stories are a lie. He wasn't even bomb disposal, he's WASTE disposal, he was just able to bluff himself through the bomb just enough. It's all a lie. Yet it wasn't to feel special or anything.. it's for much more tragic, entirely understandable reasons.

It's a painful moment.. and an understandable one. He should've been found easily.. but got lost for CENTURIES.. and no one cared. No one noticed. It's not hard to see why the little guy didn't want to admit that. While cyclonus is right Tailgate can't keep lying forever.. he sees why he started it and sees that Tailgate might be the ONLY person who understands his pain, the only person who knows what it's like to wake up in a world that just left you behind and dosen't seem to have a place for you. So he teaches Tailgate how to sing cybertronian.

And from that heartwearming moment.. more depression as this issue was Swerve trying to commuincate with Blur.. only it turns out like Tailgate that was a lie. The two never knew each other, swerve only met him once with a plan and the bar is sipmly.. trying to fill the space with something. He also offers Ultra Mags to be roomy.. but Mags coldly shoots him down, saying their not friends. It's a pretty solemn ending to what SEEMED to be a wacky one off... and it's only going to get worse from here.

Rememberance Day:

We begin wtih the story of Overlord's birth. Two hapless minors find his, call it in and their superior calls for someone to come down. That someone is Three of Twelve, one of the functionist council, a loose council that preached functionism, aka alt mode dictates class, the kind of prick Dominus Ambus was rallying against. These guys will be important next season but for now he's just here to point out how important that is, give the guy who called it in an award and tell the miners they have 6 hours to live from the radation.

Overlord is a point one percenter. A point one percenter is a green spark found in the tiniest fraction of the cybertronian population. Said sparks are treasured and their wielders are often the toughest, most nigh unstoppable bots out there. It's why Overlord is such a juggernaught and why it took so much to bring him down on Garrus 9, as well as a retroactive reason why the deceiptcons he had under his boot didn't just revolt. Other phase sixers for scale include Fortress Maximus, Ultra Magnus, Optimus Prime, Megatron, Scorponok, Shockwave, Tarn, Roller and of course, He, Grimlock, with Megatron weaponziing this fact, hence why so much of this list is purple.

We then cut to the finale of Last Stand of the Wreckers, just before overlord went boom.. and find an univitied guest; Chromedome. Turns out he's been going into Overlord's mind looking for something, and makes the fatal mistake of telling him about it, mostly becaues he needs to rummage. Overlord is a Phase Sixer, what Megatron would call in to finish off a planet along with most of those guys mentioned. As a result the only person whose really easlily pummled overlord.. is Megatron himself.

After a few more cups of punch to the face we find what Chromedome's after: the memory of Overlord's true birth. He was put in Megatron's fucked up super solider program, using a very unstable very rare Ununtrium, the same stuff used to make Sixshot. While Rossum, the tech and likely the person responsible for naming Rossum's trinity, pumps him full of goo. Megatron isn't AS suicidal as he sounds doing this sort of supervillian origin story, having had SHockwave throw in a killswitch. Overlord awakens.. and takes after his new dad, smashing Rossum's head as his first act of new life.

This seems to be the end: Rossum warned during the procedure the heat could kill him and the substance itself could kill Megatron: While he's currently assumed dead by the crew, Chromedome is sure he'll come back.. and is right as he returned towards the end of RiD season 1 and plays a key part in both Dark Cybertron and this series from Season 2 onward.

Then.. things take a turn. Overlord remembers where he met Chromedome before: the New Institute. Turns out Chromedome was a brainwasher, with Zeta Prime redubbing the insittute.. but not really changing it and using it for the same brainwashing. Overlord broke in in the early days of the decepticons and stole Trepan, who we met in Shadowplay.

And that theft is WHY Overlord now has taken control of the situation and is going into Chromedome's memories instead: turns out Overlord tried to dabble in mnemosurgery, thinking he could use it against shockwave and undue the killswitches. Megatron isn't stupid though and the second he got wind of what was going on killed Trepan. So while Overlord can't hack int oa mind, he learned enough to take it over, not helped by the fact that Chromedome is scared shitless of the guy , as anyone would be and despite his attempts to hide it, overlord easily picked it up.

So we instead go back to the day of loading.. and a conversation we hadn't seen. In a twist i'd honestly forgot but is entirley brilliant.. Prowl had already MET with Chromedome... and it was about Overlord. As for why he's in tact, Bumblebee has mercy and didn't want to abuse POW's, so he rebuilt the body.

Prowl's intrest is in making their OWN phase sixers: while most Autobots, Chromedome included, assumed they were just freak accidents of nature, Prowl is right about something for once: there's so many that are decipticon, WHY is that. So he wants to find out why, and wnats Chromedome to do it despite being a MASSIVE risk.

Chromedome, as you'd expect tells Prowl to go fuck himself in the poltest manner possible: the war's over, this really isn't necessary, and Rewind really woudlnt' want him doing this. Prowl then enters peak dickhead.. and for once actually suffers for it.

It's a horrible act that has legit consequences over in RID, leaving Prowl free to be brainwashed. Yet.. it's hard to feel too bad as Prowl was trying to blackmail his ex to do something highly shady and ENTIRELY not approved by the rest of Autobot High Command, something that would've likely destroyed Cromedome's relationship anyway. So it's a bad act.. but it's on a deserving victim and seeing Prowl crying no as he's abotu to be brainjacked is just.. so satisfying.

We then finally get the face behind this conspiracy: Drift. The last person you'd expect as he takes Chromedome to talk to Brainstorm. Brainstorm made the cell and is in on it.. but unlike Drift knows what a stupid idea this was, calling it project: total insanity and project :end in tears. Both accurate. The only people who know about this , as far as Drift says, are in this room as Shock and Ore did the loading but as we know both died horribly. Drift is the one who suggested the idea nd brings up the slow cell, Overlord's prison that slows down time for the user.. and that despite his best efforts to stop it, Chromedome's memory shows Overlord how to unlock.

Overlord locks Chromedome in and since, as Overlord figures out, Chromedome did this without anyone else knowing, Overlord now has a lead to go kill people. As he chillingly puts it "Run as fast as you can Chromedome, your already too late".

Under Cold Blue Stars:

Before we get to the tragedy above.. we have to get to the tragedy bellow: Chromedome escapes.. but thanks to the slow field it's been half an hour... and what he finds...

Yeah our heroes.. aren't doing so good. It's something that, despite reading this comic twice before this... had never registered; Overlord.. is strong enough to take on the ENTIRE lost light and WIN. It's taking EVERYONE they have just to hold him BACK. It does make perfect sense: not only is overlord a literal monster, able to tank hits he's spent his career wiping out planets and autobots and his last experince before this was months as the horrifiying dark god of his own planet, most of which was a game of "how many ways can I have my minons creatively murder and torture autobots?". Our heroes, despite their ragtag nature on paper, are GOOD, but their in tight quarters trying not to hit each other while overlord would gladly use one of them to smash through the others omniman style if he had a way to. He wants to kill EVERY , LAST, BOT simply as a warmup. He COULD leave to go find megatron, maybe by killing everyone on cybertron and using the bodies to spell out "HI DAD". But he just can't resisit the torture it'd put chromedome through. He's a sadist... while his main motive may be

He has hobbies.

So you may say to yourself: well, how did we get here, so we go back 30 minutes to the start of this rampage. We see Pipes again, who I honestly forgot existed and whose asking blaster if commuincations are back with Cybertron yet, and since Pipes intended recipient is a friend of Blasters, Blaster goes ahead and forwards it while Whirl, whose naturally there to blow shit up, mocks him.

I didn't think much of this... till Pipes runs into someone.. overlord, who gladly squishes him under his boots with Pipes getting a fairly effective and horrifying death: bleeding out, scrunched to hell.. he uses what little spark he has left for one last push to do the one thing he CAN do to warn everyone else

It makes me tear up.. and again, I FORGOT THIS GUY EXISTED. Roberts is just that good a writer, taking a character whose last major part in things was back in issues 3 and 4 and then NOTHING, and making you feel gutted the poor guy is dead... using what he had left to warn everybody.

So we then rewind again to where everyone was when the emergency alarm went off:

We start naturally with Rewind, whose worried about Chromedome and came to Brainstorm's lab to talk to him. Swerve's just here to accidently activate a meta bomb that gives him forth wall powers. Or make him thinks he has them, like with Deadpool it's left vauge. Rewind is wondering where his boyfriend is and is suspcious of Brainstorm since CHromey keeps saying Brainstorm's name.. though not in a sexy way but in a screaming it as he wakes up way. Brainstorm for his part, while very good at subterfuge to a point. .blabs about a secret project, wtih Swerve distracting them before the alarm goes off.

Rodimus is having Perciptor, the less fun genius aboard look at the map to the knights of cybertron and after having him dumb it down a few shades we get to the point: the thing can't be copied. This setup with the finale is interupted and we go to Rung, whose gone to Visit Fort Max. Max invited him down.. to apologize, planning to give a speech but realizing that was more for him and admitting the shock, waking up after garrus 9, he was in bad shape and genuinely asks if Rung can forgive him. And Rung.. instantly does. Not only has Rung been around for eons.. but he's a therapist. He spent the whole hostage situation trying to talk max down best he could. He can forgive.

Finally we have Skids wondering why Cyclonus is on the warpath.. thankfully JUST a metaphor, otherwise there'd be more than two corpses today, but he's mad Tailgate is hosting movie night at their place.

We end this catchup with Ratchet, whose pissed off Rodimus is being caviler about this, both because these don't go off for some reason.. and he made a joke about Ratchet's hands. Come on rodders.. that's way too easy. You can do better.

Drift is out and about to investigate.. and happens to benearbye as both bots see Overlord. We also get a really nice moment of bonding with the two, showing tha tbeneath their constant bickering.. they care about each other. More over time but we'll get to that. When Drift tries to get Ratchet to barricade himself in.. he refuses. He'll lock down the clinic.. but they fight and if needed die together. Ratchet calls Rodimus to get EVERYONE down there and tells him if he dosen't make it.. tell first aid he's ready and tell all his patients they'll have to make new apointments.

Thankfully one of the best characters in this comic dosen't go down swinging as everyone arrives to throw down. They do their best, but naturally their best bet is the only other .1%er they have... Magnus. And while he SEEMS to do well, pounding Overlord's face in as he heavily regrets not being there on G9 when everything went to shit.. only for that classic reveal that always means your fucked.

IT's a shocking, horrific moment as one of the main cast, one of their leaders and seemingly their best hope.. is down. Magnus hoped to make up for Garrus 9.

It's also why I feel last stand is necessary to read these books after this read througH: while you CAN without it, Overlord's appearnce just dosen't have the same impact till AFTER this.. and just how badly Magnus falls here dosen't. After feeling he was slipping more and more.. he once again fails.. this time in a way he simply can't cope with. And the consequences.. will not be great.

And not suprisingly "Sword through the chest" seems incuriable: his spark is detaached and while First Aid can slow it down.. he can't stop it, and while everyone else is trying their best.. they can't do much. So drift has Swerve give him the com to call for backup.. the one person whose NOT here.

So just as Overlord has Rodimus by the throat he makes the mistake of asking for last words.. as the natural "Till All Are One" you'd expect... sends him panicking .. and leaves him wide open for..

God that felt good. It's not remotely over though as we find out why Fort Max had this opening: turns out Domey , while recklessly charging into a known mass murderer's brain, was still JUST smart enough to leave a trigger in there in case Overlord got out, something that would make him feel he was loosing which , since Overlord is deathly afraid of defeat, would send him spiraling. And in one of the best uses of a gag as a chekov's gun i've seen, only topped by something in next season's finale, he made it till all are one because Rodimus won't stop saying it.

As Rewind lays in shock,w ondering what the helld omey's been up to, Chromedome inacts plan b, asking Fort Max to drag overlord over yonder back to his cell. While Prowl is many things, most of them varations of rat bastard motherfucker, he IS prepared and made Overlord's cell detachable for if, or if your smart like Brainstorm WHEN this stupid plan backfired. Problem is there's a sword jammed in the way of the hatch... someone has to go pull it out.. and rewind is small enoguh, brave enough, and sad enough to pull it off, saying a tearful goodbye to cromedome as the pod detaches. To make matters even worse... Cromedome then has to blow the fucker up as he'd rather not leave the love of his life who was just about to leave him anyway with a sadistic murderer. And all that's left.. is

IT's one of the saddest moment sin the whole comic, and trust me there will be more and one of the best character death's i've seen. A big as screwup as bringing overlord aboard, a bigger one of him getting out.. it needed weight. LIke I said, Roberts knows it's best to kill a character when it's NECESSARy.. and Rewind going out lik ea hero sacrifcing himself so his friends and lover can escape, sadly bidding farewell knowing he's about to go through hell? It's a lot. It's a perfect sendoff to a great character, and a truly painful moment. Also if your wondering about the blood, Rewind took Chromedome's arm along with his heart.

The Gloaming

The gloaming starts with foreshadowing for the next arc: we see a bunch of ops with Ultra Magnus from the war.. but two things are off. The first is that he looks slightly diffrent each time.. and the second is he looks very dead at the end of each one.

This will make sense later but for now we're in the aftermath of overlord's attack: Drift is being repaired, and Ratchet is TRYING to repair mags.. but it dosen't look good. Using a death clock, a device that predicts how long a bot has left, he only has ten days at best and poor Tailgate breaks down over how unfair it all is: one friend is dead, another close to it...

And there aren't easy answers for everyone else either: Chromedome responds a little to Skids but it's very clear he's not remotely okay, while Rodimus has torn up his office. Rung tries to help.. but he's held back by the fact he dosen't know why Rodimus is REALLY upset: Rodimus thinks it's magnus, Rung thinks it's because he lost.. which is a good guess.. but it's not the right one. We'll find out why next time but for now with Rodimus launching an investigation into the incident.. he and Drift need to have a talk.

After that we get the funeral: Rodimus gives a wonderful speech as he's returned to the stars spock style pointing out how EVERYONE he met was better for having known him. Except Prowl, nothing can make that guy better> it's a sweet earnest speech.. which makes it odd that Rewind's actual partner.. can barely say a sentence.

Brainstorm notices.. and goes to confront dome. Not about the speech, most bots would likely chuck that up to bottling up his grief. But it turns out these two go back a ways.. and as a result we find out just WHY Chromedome has so little innermost energon and I really wish I could share the full scene as it's powerful and shows a more emotional side of the usually flippant Brainstorm we haven't seen till now: He knows what Chromedome's abotu to do and to prove it rattles off a bunch of names. All ones Chromedome dosen't recognize.. because they were all former Conjux Endura's. And after they died he wiped his memory of them to not deal with the pain. It's a hard reveal, and a well done one and throughly proves Rewind right about mnemosurgery being an addiction for him: After all grief is hard, loosing someone even harder.. if you had the option to just make that pain temporary it'd be incredibly tempting, near impossible to turn down. You loose the person.. but you also loose the knife in your gut every time you think of them and realize their gone. Sure you could say "Well i'd want to rmemeber them i'd want the pain" and the strongest among us probably could turn that down.. but it's harder when you have that option. It's why i'ts such a comeplling hook here and why the next part hurts so damn much

It fleshes out their friendship and Brainstorm a lot: he's had to watch his friend erase those he loved again, and again and again, tried and failed to talk him out of it time and again. All because he KNOWS what it's like to loose someone.. and that while the pain never goes away, it's better to have them with you. We'll get into how he knows that pain next time. For now the slug is the only reason history may not repeat itself.

So we get two scenes intercut: One is Rodimus before the rest of the crew.. as Drift takes full responsiblity for what happened and is stripped of his autobrand, banished and boo. It's a loss that hit harder this time as i'd gotten more attached to the guy, seen him nearly sacrifice himself, his deep faith, his argument flirting with ratchet.. it's hard to see him go even if he damn well deserves it after all this cost. There's no.. joy in this.. no catharsis. he screwed up, sure.. but it dosen't bring Rewind or Pipes back. It dosen't undue the pain and grief everyone has or fix anything. It's simply assining blame. I'm not saying Drift or a certain someone else we'll get to next time shoudln't be held acountable, but it dosen't make it easy to see him go.. or see Ratchet be the only one to comfort him showing that despite arguging constantly.. they ultimately were close as anyone could be. With this... Rodimus is alone, his command staff gone and it's not going to be easier to wear the crown going into the finale.

The other is a touching moment I can't really share in full here, two page spread and all, btu Rewind pieced together a message for Chromedome, knowing what he'd do if he was gone. He begs his partner to go on without him, that injecting will kill him.. and that he deserves to be happy. The New Institute isn't him anymore. And as one last note because he dosen't say it enough

It's a scene that's now become one of my faviorite: while it's hard to follow because of the various footage, when you put it all together.. it's a message of courage. Despite the guilt, despite the pain, despite al lthey went through.. rewind loved chromedome, as he was, for who he was.. and wants him to stay that way. To keep him with him. And so .. Chromedome , for the first time, sheethes his claws.. and chooses to live with the pain.

We then end on a cliffhanger: Ultra Magnus.. is missing. Someone stole him, he's just gone.. and if that wasn't enough.. Tailgate goes under the death clock light.. and dosen't have much time left.

If it wasn't obvious by now I love these issues: their heartbreaking, well done and read even better this time around: It's a tragic loss that's expertly crafted, and used entirely to push the characters forward, to really push them with one forced to leave, one seemingly kidnapped and one facing his own crippling issues.. .and finding the courage to live

Next Time: We finish season 1! If you thoguht things coudln't get worse for the lost light.. your wrong as they face an attempted genocide , a character we've seen named a lot but not actually met till now, an old foe and a cool as hell new one. Until then thanks for reading

[pbandjesse]

I'm writing this post really late because Evan and Noelle are here and we have been having such a nice time hanging out. It's been a really fun evening. I didn't feel amazing at points. But I powered through and emotionally I am in a great place.

I slept. Fine. Last night. I would wake up a few times. Had weird dreams. But I woke up alright.

I got washed and dressed and me and James gathered ourselves to go to the market. And today was going to be a surprisingly stressful and chaotic day.

We all knew there was multiple things happening. Besides the farmers market, there was a clothing sale on the pier, and then later in the day the funk festival was happening.

But everything, very quickly, became a bit of a mess.

When we got there we were confused as to why there was a tent set up in the parking lot. Not with the farmers market. And we found out from Ginny that some people had come by to start setting things up at 630am. What?? The funk festival wasn't supposed to start setting up until noon. But that apparently didn't matter. Because they all started showing up and causing a huge mess.

The organizer started caution taping off huge section of the parking lot. And we are like what are you doing?? Meril had to step in and forced him to take it down, only for him to do it somewhere else. Then dozens of vendors are loading in during our market. Turning out vendors and customers away from the parking lot. They were mad at us and we were like you are hours early!! The organizer also just was the type of person that doesn't take no for an answer and will keep asking until he gets what he wants and it was just. So stressful. I was really glad I wasn't in charge today.

I had my table going, and I had a table with BMI information. And while it wad very busy I was not getting many sales. That was alright. I was getting paid to be there today and I was enjoying talking to people about the museum.

I would also get a ton of knitting done. Which was great because I accidentally left my pick tool at home. James brought me a letter opener and that worked well enough until right before I finished my 6th square and I broke it. Disappointing. But I appreciated them helping me out.

They were very stressed. Vendors had been coming in from the music festival and demanding their money back but the event hadn't paid the museum yet, plus it also wouldn't be out responsibly??? Talk to the event coordinator?

It ended up getting so bad that Paul and Beth had to come in and Jesse had to leave his vacation to come back to town to help. Like the stress was so bad on Meril she cried! That's not fair! She's so strong!!

So it was really bad at times. Thankfully I was able to mainly stay out of it. I was having a good day beyond all the craziness.

Ann would have to leave a little early to go to a baby shower. So I became in charge for the last hour or so. I would have to coordinate moving some cars that parked in loading zones. And smooth out some stress with our vendors. I tried to make some connections and traded out business cards. Honestly I was having a pretty good time. And thankfully my car was not blocked in at all. I was starting to not feel good so I was very happy when everyone else was able to get out and I could leave too.

I went to say goodbye to James. They told me more of the nonsense they had been dealing with. And I was off.

I went to the grocery store and got a few things. Stuck to my list. Spent $25. But I felt like I got a lot for my money. And then I went home.

Not a moment to spin. I was falling apart slowly.

When I got back here I would put my food away. I had queso and guacamole and chips. I sat on the floor of our bedroom and cleaned up my cuticles. And eventually would lay down. I took my medicine early because I was already feeling so bad.

I would fall asleep eventually. But I didn't feel better when I woke up. So I kept resting.

James would get home and would be very frazzled because a car cut them off and caused them to snap their bike chain and really scared them. But they would cool off and calm down.

I would sip water and try to gather myself. Because Evan and Noelle would be here soon!

And then they were here. I was so happy to see them. And show them our house. We finally exchanged Christmas gifts. Only 8 months late. And it was so fun giving them the tour. We would all sit in the backyard and talk and it is always just so comfortable with them. I hate that we barely get to hang out and I really hope we can do it more often because they are just really fun.

James would suggest we go to Mathews. And it was such a good call. I was only able to eat a little bit I have leftovers now so that's good. I was enjoying the company and the conversation but I was struggling. My stomach just hurt so bad and I just desperately wanted to be horizontal. We would get our leftovers packed up, and Grace, the waitress that always is so nice to us, gave us a free cannoli which was so sweet of her.

We drove home and I was right. Almost as soon as I was laying on the couch I started feeling better. It took a while but I would be okay.

We sat down and showed them the slideshow of Africa and told them all about the trip. And it was just laughs and questions and storytelling. I was having a great time.

James has made jello eggs last night so we had those. Evan was like. I remember these?? Why?? And texted his mom and his grandma used to make them for Easter! Just like my mom. It was fun sharing that.

We would open gifts and played with sweetp and it was just a really lovely night. They have to leave in the morning. Busy bees. But I am so greatful that they were able to come even just for the evening.

We stayed up talking until 11. But now we are all winding down. James got the guest bed set up and I'm going to go grab a shower now. Tomorrow should be a nice restful day. I hope it is. And I hope I don't feel so poorly.

I hope you all have a good day. I love you all.

Good night!

[imaginedreamwrite]

I think snowbird is happy to go with Curtis the first time. He’s eager to show her what he does, and she’s eager to learn more about him. She’s heard the other wives talking about it as well. Without a doubt they’re not leaving without some baby goats, a couple alpacas, a miniature cow, and a miniature donkey. 🥰 Snowbird wants to start dying her own wool to knit with, and making goats milk soap.

“I’ve never been to one of these, honestly I’ve never even seen equipment this big.” Coming from California and within concrete cities, you’d never been around farm equipment or any of the tools Curtis used.

“Do you want to walk around here? Or come with me to the other building?” Curtis kept close to you, his hand on your lower back and his broad chest touching your left shoulder, a constant security and affectionate display.

“You’re going to the bull sale?” You turned your head and looked up at him, your eyes meeting his bright gaze and brilliant soft smile. “To buy…cows?”

“Bulls,” Curtis drew his hand under your chin, every endearment bleeding through his gentle touch, “you can wander around here.”

“I’ll meet up with you, then.” You felt your flesh becoming warm under his touch and your eyes fluttered closed as he kissed your cheek before drawing himself away.

“I’ll be in the other building, and I have my phone if you need me.” Curtis reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing it to you with. “Get anything you want, I mean it. Everything or anything.”

You grasped the leather and slipped it into your purse, watching Curtis walk away from you. As he stepped out of sight, you’d taken another look at the piece of farm equipment that towered above your head, and then side-eyed the booths set up around the arena.

“Mr. Everett,” Curtis kept his back to one of the livestock organizers, but a smile broke on his face and he was tempted to chuckle under his breath, “we have the transportation for your cattle arranged but-”

“Mrs. Everett bought some animals?” Curtis reached for the papers held out for him, the documents detailing the health and history of the animals he now had partial responsibility over.

“A few mini-cows, goats, an alpaca-” the assistant spoke and Curtis looked over the list with a lopsided grin.

“A whole zoo,” he let his laugh slip, flipping over the requisition to read the other side, “Mrs. Everett…”

“We can arrange to have them transported or if you’d like to pick them up yourself…well you know…” Curtis nodded his head in agreement and then turned back toward the pen with the few cattle unable to be transported today.

As he waited, Curtis saw you from the corner of his eye. He turned to face you and rest an elbow on the green metal tail, waiting for you to step onto the dirt path and continue toward him.

“I bought some things…” you we’re sheepish, stepping toward him with caution as if you were afraid he’d reacted in anger. “Some animals…”

“Mrs. Everett,” Curtis drew you against his chest, one arm a slipping around your waist and the other removing his hat from his head to place it upon yours, “I wouldn’t have cared if you bought a thousand animals.”

“You wouldn’t?” You preened under his touch, shivering when his lips brushed against yours. “You’re not mad?”

“No, sweetheart!” He fixed his cowboy hat on your head, brushing his hand up and down your back. “I’m glad you had fun. Although I’m going to have to build another pen for you and your critters.”

“You wouldn’t mind? I promise I’ll help.” Your hands snaked up his chest to the lapels of his jacket, fingertips grazing the edge of his jaw.

“I’m looking forward to it, Mrs. Everett.”

[kitsoa]

I just finished up my 3 days of teacher training today (and there's more work days and meetings next week) but while I'm putting some finishing touches on my classroom, taping up the floors, stapling posters and loading up supply bins, I got an email.

My choir. The chorus that's I've been the proud Principal Alto for going 10 years now... the choir is dissolving. There will be no 51st season. They voted on it yesterday at the board meeting... the member enrollment is down. Ticket sales are low next to all the expenses. It's the standard excuse. I don't see the check books. I can't know.

But to say this was unexpected is an understatement. It's always been a small but passionate organization. It serves the metro-east side of my area, missing out on the competition but also patronage of the greater St. Louis arts scene. We get a lot of older airforce families and young music graduates in the fold. I'm one of the few paid singers, poached for the role while I was still a baby in college, but I take a lot of pride in it. And since I'm one of the younger people they all kinda dote on me. I love these people so much. They are passionate and supportive and appreciative. I love making music with them. They are the kindest people to ever surround me.

The director is someone dear to me. He's taken me in as his protege. He's a model of professionalism and respect. He never let's the many years and familial relationship between us get in the way of holding firm boundaries. He always asks to consent to additional projects and was keen to make sure I understand my professional value. He'd never let me do things for free and made a point to make sure that was clear. He was very firm in fostering loyalty with his principals in the best way possible-- abundant respect and clear communication. I could never leave him for a competing chorus. Even now I moonlight at the church he plays for. He puts me on recording projects for his compositions. I get a bottle of wine from him for Christmas every year. I love that man and all he stands for.

But it seems all that love and loyalty is hemorrhaging out with nowhere to go. I feel so lost. All of those concerts and rehearsals and Gala dinners and beautiful songs and opportunities, just gone and over. I'm at a loss. I seriously thought I would be there forever. This was my singing home. My music family.

I couldn't finish out the 50th season with them because of my voice injury. I was devastated sitting in the audience for both of the spring performances-- wondering when I would sing with them again -- desperate to sing with them again. Yeah I have my church job and I love those people too but this group was the choir I wanted to return to. I wanted to get better to sing for that director again. I imagined my triumphant return and how happy that would make me.

And that's not going to happen again. I feel like a ship that's lost it's mooring. It's a cavity in my heart. Those people I want to see. The music I want to make. God. It's too much.

Of course the logical step is that I look for another chorus. There's a group that would take me, hopefully as a principal but there are a million and one drawbacks not to mention I can't join them midyear when I expect to be in proper singing condition so it's an automatic gap year. I won't be able to enjoy the company of most of those singers since I was technically a transplant outside their area in the first place. I don't really want to think about it. I miss everyone already. I never realized I could miss them forever.

I just feel the need to eulogize something vital to my identity. A group I gave my heart to. I'm so sorry.

[foster-the-world]

Finished

Spent a few hours shopping today. Needed to get the kids and myself winter things. I think the kids are set. The girls winter coats from last year still fit. Still need to press order on a new winter coat for myself. I've lost about 25 pounds recently enough so all of my old pants didn't fit. I'd like to lose another five or so - so that I can gain it back at Christmas :) Although, generally happy to maintain. Feels good to be more health conscious.

I've been searching for a great pair of comfortable winter shoes. Probably an Ankle boot type that I can dress up or down. Any suggestions of super comfortable shoes are welcome. I'm happy to pay more for something that will last. In the past I've ended up buying things that aren't comfortable and wearing sneakers instead. I already have a food/fashionable pair of Nikes, a pair of snow boots and a pair of rain boots. The snow boots/rain boots will last at least a decade and I get good use of them in NYC. I did order a returnable pair today. Will see if they are comfortable.

The Jewish Community Center offered a mini photo session. I think I have outfits everyone can wear but need to double check. I think I have everything ordered for Halloween.

Sometimes the third kid stuff feels overwhelming. One of baby boys classmates asked us to carve pumpkins with them this weekend. I missed the message so we didn't go. It reminded me that soon enough I'll now have a third kid that wants to have friends over, etc. Now that he's in school I'll need to plan Halloween treats for his class, also. That means 45 bags total and that's only because of our small class size. With most NYC schools I'd be looking at 3 classes times 30 kids in each. Our school doesn't have a room parent situation. I'm not sure why? I generally offer to send in a Halloween craft, cupcakes, juice, etc to help out the teacher. I also make it clear there is no obligation. I figure if I don't do it the teacher will pay themselves. My Aunt always sends the Micheals craft kids - so those are covered. So far, all of the teachers have happily taken it. The PTA also plans a Fall Fest I'm helping organize. The Police Athletic League is offering jumbo games and a blow up football field (not sure what that is??). They are asking for candy donations - so I got a huge bag on sale this weekend. Its a simple event but the kids love it.

I'm thinking of doing a party in baby boys class the day he is adopted. The adoption should be online so it won't have much fan fair. I thought it might be nice to bring cupcakes and read a book about adoption and/or how there are many types of families. The girls will join. I thought about seeing if we could do it in the gym with all three kids class. The party/event will mean more to the girls then baby boy. Previously I had thought about not celebrating at all but have since revisited the idea. I'm hoping its appropriate to celebrate as long as we also acknowledge the loss in the long run. He's three now so none of it means much to him. He does tell us he's adopted. He does understand he has two dads, two mom's, etc. Beyond that who knows what he gets? We will keep talking so he keeps learning more.

Our first foster daughter is 7.5 and lives with her Grandma. Her mom has had three more children. This past weekend the youngest kid (9ish months old) was removed and given to Grandma. I don't really understand how its safe for the other two to stay but not him?? Grandma said "she has them for now"?? Grandma never seems particularly stable to me but I hope it all works out. Poor babies. Poor Grandma. Poor Mom.

[livmondcole]

19, 26, 28 for the ask game :3

Thank you angel 💜

19. Favourite thing about the day? - The sunrise, I like to get up very early and have my quiet time to organize my things, I like the light that comes into the house very early in the morning and at the beginning of the day

26. Fave colour and why? - For clothes I dress in black, it is a color that I love, anything in that color looks perfect. For other things I love blue and violet, they are colors that I see and I get very happy, they transmit happiness and I have a thousand things in those colors.

28. Do you collect anything? - Funkos? hahahaha If the amount of books I have falls into that category then yes hahaha. Now seriously one of my collections is very nice and the other one is maybe a bit weird. I collect notebooks, I have a lot of notebooks with different covers, if I see a cover that I like I have to have it and I use them because I am a person who likes to write what happens to me, things I have to do (apart from my agenda obviously). And the most beautiful collection I have are some dolls of babies that a foundation against childhood cancer puts on sale and the price that cost the babies goes exclusively to children with cancer and for the reform of hospitals, I could say that I have about 20 babies each with a theme

[still-a-morosexual-help]

Unnamed GN! Demon-MC × Human-Mammon Fic

Overall Summary:

In a world where demons are marginally more demonic, a human ignores all the various red flags and makes a strange new (lifelong) Friend

Chapter 2 Summary:

Would you care to sell your soul? For a new Friend and an eternal place in the line for on sale pudding cups?

Tags:

• Angst • Angst with a Happy Ending • Hurt/Comfort • Enemies to Friends to Lovers • Possessive Behavior • Protective Lucifer • Self-Hatred • Dubious Morality • Oblivious Mammon • Parental Lucifer • Mammon Needs a Hug • Self-Esteem Issues

Leave a comment? Because honestly feedback means the world to me

Tag List (if you want to be added like this -> post. If you want to be removed lemme know);

@ashplsstfu @kadythethief @aspiring--cryptid @wanderwelle @millk-caramel @heinlqi @sansarawheelvictim @deanobsession @nagitokomaeda-the69th @knight-clover @atlas-like-the-book @emmajustemmaaa @swagstells @mcx7demonbros @noodlethyst @believemeimeverywhere @weareparanoidcynicalpeople @jolynetodd @lunaslemon @iameliseposts @silverinnia @val3nt1n3-h0ney @alexeizzo @obervation-subject-753 @niacks @naughtybodypillow @juwuuzuo-blog @baby-jeonginnie @oldghostartist @ask-angel0 @yourimaginaryfriiendd @whatamidoing89 @mammonismyfirstman @trinket-n-geode @kuro-personal @dreanadolie @urmomondeez @michyrants @pandapantslovesyou @kawaiiartsstuffowo @novanight87 @joxther @oooowl @twst-shrimpy @pajamasatepb @saccharineconcinnity @yourboyhack @itzblazekun @medicinalkiwis @heavenly-greed

[dragonflavoredcake]

So about basic tailoring... This might be an easy to answer and dumb question but I feel slightly overwhelmed when I go to google this myself.. where do you start learning? Ideally for as little money as possible. Clothes are difficult to fit to my body type and I have some items I would like to repair so i really need this.

Don't apologize, I'm always happy to get asks! Number 1 piece of advice: don't be afraid to be dumb. I've only been sewing for two years; I had to Google how to thread a needle and it took me three days to learn how to thread a bobbin on a machine.

This got very long so the rest is below the cut

In my experience, a good-sized spool of machine thread usually costs about three dollars. If your local grocery store sells general merchandise, they might have some common colors in a "sewing center" section, which will almost definitely be cheaper than if you go to a dedicated sewing shop. They might even sell sewing kits with basic supplies. Hand sewing thread tends to be cheaper than machine thread. You can use machine thread for hand sewing, but you can’t use hand-sewing thread on a machine. If your hands tremble a lot or you're not confident, some places sell pre-threaded needles.

There are a lot of sewing supplies available, but you really don't need much to get started:

thread that's roughly the same color as your fabric

some pins

sharp needle that's big enough for you to comfortably thread and small enough to not poke way bigger holes in the fabric than the thread warrants

a pair of scissors. They don't even need to be fabric scissors! I used regular craft scissors for a year and a half until I found some fabric scissors on clearance. You're not going to be cutting fabric as a beginner anyway, just thread.

One rule for baby’s first repair/tailoring job: make it reversible. You’re going to make mistakes. You’re not going to start out knowing everything there is to know. You can always cut threads or take off buttons, but you can’t un-cut fabric or magically reverse huge holes.

For tailoring: find a piece of clothing you like. I recommend starting with a no-frills sleeveless shirt with non-adjustable straps. Buy it to fit the biggest/widest part of your body. The looser it fits, the more room you have for adjustments.

Put it on inside-out, figure out where it’s too big, fold the fabric in, and pin it in place. Carefully take the shirt off, lay it out flat, thread your needle, consult a video tutorial on how to prepare the needle and thread for sewing (never forget that double knot), make the first stitch where the knot of thread won’t irritate your skin, and sew the fold in place.

When in doubt, leave more room than expected, because your body is constantly changing to accommodate your organs’ various activities; something that barely fits you when you first wake up is going to be causing actual pain by midday.

Small jobs that are low-risk and can help boost your confidence: shortening tank top straps (fold fabric over and sew in place), reinforcing or re-attaching buttons, and doing simple hems (cuff fabric, fold over twice, and sew in place) on pajama pants. Fuzzy fabrics tend to be very forgiving and naturally hide messy stitches.

If you need fabric, do not automatically head to the fabric store. Yes, they’ll have a huge variety, but it’ll be sold at a premium and you’ll have to machine-wash your fabric before using it to remove the shrinking (an additive that helps the fabric lay flat on the bolt). Look in thrift stores and garage sales. 

You can get a lot of mileage out of a men’s extra-large T-shirt. If you need more fabric than that, look for secondhand sheet sets. They’re the closest thing you can get to straight-off-the-bolt fabric that isn’t sold as an expensive hobby product, plus there’s some elastic in the fitted sheet. I’m currently in the process of making a dress with a circle skirt using fabric from a 4-piece twin sheet set I thrifted for sixteen bucks. Buying that much fabric at a fabric store would’ve cost several times more.

If you’re still worried, take a breath. Whatever you don’t know, you will learn. Google is a powerful tool and YouTube has heaps of tutorials. The worst that can happen is that you make a mistake. Mistakes can be fixed. Mistakes are how you learn. The worst mistakes often make great stories.

TL;DR: you only need four things, buy clothing to fit the largest part of your body, get cheap fabric from thrift stores, and don’t be afraid to make stupid mistakes!

[ellejos]

How to: Apartment 101

Felling at home in your apartment gives you a much needed feeling of security. How to: Apartment 101 will give you some tips and ideas on a better living in your own four walls.

Implement cleaning routines and try to stick to them. It's often helpful to visualize it on a planer and check your tasks off.

Interior is a process and you really shouldn't stress about it. It takes time. Nothing is perfect from the get go and just a kindly reminder that everyone started minimalistic.

Watch out for bargains wether it's online, second hand, on sale or at a flea market. You can get an eye catcher so much cheaper. Please don't waste your money on impulsive shopping.

Make lists of things you still want or need for your apartment and categorize them.

Save and invest your money for projects, furniture or just things that make you feel more home for example a beamer or a sound system.

Make yourself some space for a passion of yours like a small gaming area, a home gym, a reading corner, etc.

Be kind to your neighbors and get to know them better. This is a game changer imo. Make little presents on a small budget from time to time and try to get along with them. You never know when you'll need your neighbors help so try to stay on good terms.

Organize your apartment documents, it saves so much time and trouble!

Use your space wisely! Personally I use Planner 5D to visualize my apartment.

Explore your area and get to know the neighborhood.

Textiles and plants, baby! That's what it's all about to make your home cozy. Rugs, pillows, curtains, plants and flowers. Trust me on this one. Alternatively you can go for artificial plants.

Remember to stay happy and healthy!