#How to Register Mock Trading

[rpmemes-galore]

Jane Eyre ... sentence starters

"Do you doubt me?"

"Are you mocking me?"

"Do you think me handsome?"

"You won't be persuaded to stay?"

"So, you and I must say goodbye?"

"Just one last kiss before you leave."

"I need not sell my soul to buy bliss."

"Don't leave me. I like to have you near."

"And what is hell? Can you tell me that?"

"You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all."

"She's dying. I can't ignore her dying wish."

"All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you."

"Even for me, life had its gleams of sunshine."

"You're a strange and almost unearthly thing."

"He made me love him without looking at me."

"I hardly know. I have little experience of them."

"I would always rather be happy than dignified."

"thought you said you didn't have any relatives."

"Sometimes I have the strangest feeling about you."

"I have as much soul as you… and full as much heart!"

"You are my sympathy, my better self, my good angel."

"How can you be so stupid? How can you be so cruel?"

"I do not think, sir, you have any right to command me."

"Flirting is a woman's trade, one must keep in practice."

"Remember, the shadows are just as important as the light."

"I was wrong to deceive you. I see that now, it was cowardly."

"Who would you offend by living with me? Who would care?"

"Do you think I am an automaton? A machine without feelings?"

"You've saved my life. Don't walk past me as if we were strangers."

"I am not an angel … and I will not be one till I die: I will be myself."

"I shall never leave. You will never be alone for as long as I shall live."

"I have for the first time found what I can truly love; I have found you."

"can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances require me so to do."

"You would rather drive me to madness than break some mere human law."

"I know you; you're thinking. Talking is of no use, you're thinking how to act."

"Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs."

"Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless?"

"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being, with an independent will."

"I am not deceitful! And I am not a liar. For if I were, I should say that I loved you. I do not love you. I dislike you more than anyone in the world."

"I do not think, sir, you have any right to command me, merely because you are older than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have."

"If all the world hated you and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved of you and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends."

[plasticfangtastic]

Cozy Corner Kinktober. Prompt 6: Public sex, 10: Orgasm denial (sort of) Alt. Prompt: kink 0f your choice-- incest.

Day 3 (but day 1 for moi)

Thicker Than Water.

word count: 4.8K wods

A Homelander x Soldier Boy Fanfiction

TW: Incest, violence, bottom Homelander, bilander, bits of Butchlander and Meave x HL in theory, dark fic, semi-public sex, set during S3 obviously, canon divergent, not proofread.

A/N: this work contains INCEST, the author does not condone or supports incest... this is instead a what-if scenario of what could’ve happened during Herogasm– If this subject matter it's too uncomfortable or triggering plz do not read. if it doesn’t bother you, thanks for reading it! lowkey just wanted to get this one out of the way cuz its the most uncomfortable of my kinktober fics plz read the A/N at the end of the chapter for my thoughts.

Homelander walked the ruins of the once lavish home, the smell of cum, sweat, soot, fire and blood mingling in the air as a twisted version of Macy’s perfume aisle-- instead of overpriced bottles of whale sperm and civet musk– it was this warm animalistic stench tickling his nose. Homelander could hear the moans and wails of the burn victims and smell the sticky remains of some mini-hero wedged in the ridges of his boot.

Standing tall as his comrade laid unconscious on the floor, Soldier boy watched him annoyed, unimpressed at Homelander’s speech– he was no different than any of his old fans, not bothered when the young man got offended at his mockery, he pinned him straight into the wall, barely getting a wince out of the veteran, this was nothing but a tantrum from an overgrown baby in Ben’s mind.

Homelander and him began their fight, it was gleeful– it made Homelander smile, it made him warm, it made him feel painfully alive, so awake, so glad to know his hero may lived up to expectation.

They traded blows, for the first time in a very long time Homelander felt ache, each fistful and low kick more violently and more meaningful than the last, the whiny voice of Starlight urging her friend to leave barely registered as Soldier Boy smacked him below his ribs, the more the beast inside him woke up, the more he wanted Soldier Boy to challenge him, to dare prove him wrong– he was transfixed with the thought of killing him… with the thought of him.

Homelander could see just how handsome he was, the old film cameras didn’t do him justice, the voluminous brown hair, that soft beard and those perfect hazel-green eyes looking down on him, even the sound of his gasp were beautiful.

He threw him against the wall, lifting him up, hanging him like a portrait, the man struggling, his nails digging on the leather of Homelander’s gloves, he stared at him, looked at the heavy fabric wrapping his belated birthday present, he gave himself the chance to mock him privately, undressing him with his literal piercing gaze, the years locked in a tube has not diminished his wonderful physique, he licked his lips feeling his cock trying to make room in his tights-- he squeezed his victim’s neck, wanting to find relief as he killed his enemy.

“You really have me going there…” Homelander spoke.

Soldier Boy chuckled, and with enviable speed he kicked Homelander away from him, he flew back catching himself against the rubble, Soldier Boy had simply wanted the extra height.

Homelander held his stomach feeling a boot shape bruise forming under the padding, he spat, wanting to feel that force once more.

The violence amp-up, somehow Homelander began to lose footing, feeling the rust soaking his teeth, he gave him a blood soak smile, growling as the man destroyed the ground below Homelander’s ear– now he was the one pinned down.

From the moment he had seen him on that grainy black and white footage, he had been in awe– a teenage flame re-ignited as he emerged from that park, his shock had followed him all day creeping on his mind as he hid in his penthouse, he played one of his old movies. He played the dashing hero cleaning house, killing the baddies and rescuing the girl– everything homelander had ever wanted to be as a child, his lips miming the lines matching the cadence of his speech perfectly. He had seen his films dozens of times, he used to re-enact the scenes with his friend when bored, he loved to imitate men like this– he remembered impressing Voguelbaum by doing a perfect impression of Ray Liotta in Goodfellas and Rutger Hauer in Blade Runner but he always lose his approval when he copied Soldier Boy… so he kept it to himself.

He kept to himself how this one scene in th film made him feel… it was a rare shirtless scene, his teenage brain feed him dopamine, whenever he caught that scene he wished to paused the film but he never could, not when the orderly was around, not when the security guards hadn’t doze up– only in the comfort of the dark beneath the sheets could he pause it.

Now he had it live, feeling the heat, feeling his gaze… he gulped… the fantasy not too far from the real world.

“Time out!”

That made Soldier Boy fluster, shaking his head in confusion. Homelander pushed him off, he could not believe this brat had just demanded a time out, he stood up pacing himself and cleaning the soot off his legs, Ben threw himself at his direction but was only met with a bored evasion, he lifted his hands in ‘T’ shape, Ben scoffed, his eyebrows twitching harder than his lips as he tried to speak, Homelander paced himself like a caged tiger but feeling like a wounded deer about to be pounce by a jaguar… the two dancing on the razor’s edge, but Homelander just offered a dirty smirk, acting in control.

“What do you think this is?” Ben said with indignation.

“Not going to fight you… am just trying to think.” Homelander gave himself a minute, his ears picking up on Butcher’s irregular heartbeat, the man still unconscious but so close-by– You’re so much more beautiful in person… even your strength didn’t disappoint… you’re every bit as impressive as I hope you were.”

“Thanks for the compliment, Pal. But you’re not my type.” He wink at him more mockingly than anything– now can we…?”

Soldier Boy was quick to force him into a dance, their battle short-lived as Homelander took the upper hand, their tussling had Ben thinking he was gaining momentum as the man ended on the ground but it was a trap– he quickly set hero in a seated armband, no amount of tapping will get Homelander to stop but Ben felt his muscles and bones clattering and yelping, the burn buried deep into his marrow, the more he handled him the more Ben felt the humiliation, the tense and thick fabric of the younger man scratching at his cheek, Homelander cackling in between sharp wet pants as he forced the man head into his crotch.

“What da!?” Ben panicked, discovering the supes unsubtle secret, pure adrenaline gave him enough force to free himself– are you fucking hard!?”

“I have never been manhandled like this before” he purred, blowing loose strands off his face– It's not gonna go away… so either we call it quits which we know once William wakes up, is not happening. We could ignore it… or you give me… a minute or ten.”

Soldier Boy looked around at the destruction feeling glad and sorry that Butcher was unconscious, wishing he could waltz in and handle this gross motherfucker on his behalf.

“Or I could just keep beating you.”

“I might like that” he chuckled lightly, standing up effortlessly– seems I’m the improvement in all… manner of speaking” he purred lewdly.

Ben scoffed violently.

“As if a spring chicken like yourself knows what the fuck you’re doing.”  He remarked, rolling his eyes.

“Teach me then” He rested against a shattered pillar– just an intermission before I wear your skinned face for Halloween.” 

Soldier boy could not deny the absurdity of the mind of the world’s current biggest ego-maniac but there was a familiar charm to this... he had done the same in the past, sometimes a pretty face could be found in the battlefield, so why not? In the midst of war he had made love to Countess and many others. Being so close to death made a man eager to feel the warmth embrace of life, his mind lingering to the trenchest, all the death around made him cling to it, made him needy for it, perhaps this was the first time the young man experience the feeling– these people were soft, coddle from hardships, just pipsqueaks in their warm beds, who never would have the misfortune of meeting the rain of bullets, of watching dozens and hundreds drop like flies…  so he gave Homelander a proper look– The slightly disheveled man was classically charming, Vought had done a job worthy of a round of applause picking him but from whatever Kansas’s farm they’ve found him– tall, sharp jaw, beautiful cornflower blues, and striking blonde locks… give him a pair of tits and he would’ve been all over that five minutes ago, but he wasn’t too bad either, he had just enough wrinkles around his eyes to add character, the way his smile lines defines his chiseled cheeks, he had no babyface left just an aged boyish charm… admittedly had the younger man been 10 or 15 years older he wouldn’t even hesitate, had he had some salt adorning his temples he would’ve jumped him by now.

He looked back, catching a glimpse of the cracked skull slowly re-aligning itself, his bones ached and he would need a moment to recalibrate, he wasn’t betraying his oath to Butcher he was simply pausing the game.

“Then what are you waiting for?” He said in a deep gravelly voice, breaching the space between them noticing how not much taller he was from the caped Supe, with his boots on they stood near identical– show me that you want it” 

He took Homelander’s wrist by force, pressing it right against his crotch, Homelander shuddered, letting out a whispy moan as his finger relaxed under the pressure of Soldier Boy’s vicious grip, he gave him a squeeze feeling the girth under the wannabe cargo pants, just loose enough to provide space inside, he massaged this manhood and now he was that blushing teenage boy discovering himself for the first time, biting his lips as he felt it wake from its slumber.

Soldier Boy softened his grip freeing him, just to give him a little hand as he saw how timid his movements had become. He tried to keep cool but he could feel every micro movement, he could smell his arousal and hear the Supe’s heart rate– it was cute.

Soldier Boy was not missing any points in that department, he was girthy and veiny, it felt heavy under his own hand as he lowered his pants just enough to feel the hot dusty passing breeze on his ass, Homelander licked his lips unconsciously knowing Butcher barely living body still in the room, knowing there were dozens wounded still stumbling outside and still trapped under the rubble not far his area– he could get caught at any moment, his heart thumping at the thought of Butcher dying sight was him on his knees sucking off his enemy, Homelander had no desire to offer the hooligan the satisfaction of misunderstanding, but there he was squatting pushing his hair back like a dainty lady, his lips already parting to let his tongue take the first cautious steps.

Homelander moaned desperately as Soldier Boy shoved his head to let them meet all the way down to the base, his nose tickled by the coarse bush, he tried breathing but only met the salty and rich musky breeze briefly, it took a couple yanks and back and forths for Homelander to match his roughness, his tongue flat and wet undulating as he pulled, tightening his throat as the man forced himself further, sucking with enough force to rip a normal man dick clean off but to put the older man on edge, Ben hissed behind gritted teeth, chuckling as he felt his whole body wanting the pleasure of his blowjob, his hand pulling on those bleached locks as he slobbered into the ground, pulling him away to catch that debase look and dazed eyes filled with pleasure staring back at him, his tongue licking spit and precum off his lips, the young man barely needed a breather, he gave him a wonky smile as a gloved hand gave Ben a magical rush, gliding back and forth on the member pulling the foreskin roughly.

“So you can do more than kiss ass with that mouth”

Homelander growled, didn’t entretain him with a quip– right now all Soldier Boy was… was a talking dildo, satisfying a lifelong fantasy, he pulled him making the man winced but the pain died as he felt that slobbering tongue on his cock, he felt the leather twisting as he focused on the tip.

He would come soon, Homelander was too fucking good at this, whoever had trained him had done a splendid job, that or the man had a demonic oral fixation– his legs shuddered as he felt his balls twitching, his sight turning white when it all stopped. Homelander cackled lightly watching his hero whine and buckle his hips eager to finish but with his thumb and pointer trapping the base in a ring there was no way he would finish, he lifted the cock just for his mouth to give gentle kisses on those heavy swollen balls, he gave them a quick pop in his checks, the man was vocal and it was driving Homelander insane, to hear him, to know it wouldnt take much to make him beg.

“Is not fair if it's just you getting off… though it was your generation that was all about manners, old man.” He whispered as he slowly crawled up, still wanking him slightly, finding a pool of precum lubing his gloves– is not polite.”

“Thought a horny slut like yourself didn’t want a gentleman.” He hissed, feeling his nose crook as Homelander sped up his rhythm with his other hand, keeping his cock unable to cum with the other, it was more than teasing– a lesser man would’ve died by now– but I think  you earned being treated like a lady.”

“No, no, no…” he shushed letting himself the indulgance of kissing the man, the other hesitant at first, but he wouldn’t relent, Soldier Boy’s kisses were more than he could’ve ever dream off, the man pinned him against the nearest brittle wall his tongue taking the lead, Homelander needed to breathe for the first time, he was gasping as he felt his silky skin bruise, his hands still working on him and now the pain in his own trousers agonizing– I want to be fuck like a man… teach me a lesson”

Ben growled.

Homelander had no issue taking his pants off, wishing to undress more but they had no real time, more and more people were becoming conscious outside, Billy could still wake up not that the dying bastard could do anything about it.

His ears picking up on some screaming woman just a few meters on the other side of this wall, if she had super hearing no doubt she would catch them, it made him excited.

Homelander had been so distracted he didn’t noticed when Soldier Boy had lifted his hips, it had all been so quick, cursing and thanking his inhuman build as the man shoved two wet fingers inside him, Homelander squealed at the sudden sensation gasping into Ben’s temple as he pulled his shoulder close. Homelander wanted more than the fingers, he wanted that delicious girth inside him, the wet sounds of his accommodating body digging into his brain, it was in the neediness of his whines and moans that signaled Ben that this bastard would take him as he was.

Homelander saw heavenly white as he felt full, small tears forming on his eyes as he felt the blazing heat burn his navel, his hips bucking wanting to force the pleasure, wanting to feel just how much of his body this man could discover and expand, his cock was so hot, so thick… Ben enjoyed the wet velvet walls pulling him in, how happy this twitching body was to welcome him, breaking the walls of his bravado down with shameful pleasure. He was hopeless, Homelander took full advantage of his powers floating in the small space to fuck himself, he was leading this, and Ben had two choices: Remind the bastard who he was messing with, or let the slut fuck himself stupid.

He choice the latter, relaxing as they switched position, Homelander glad to be on top, glad that he could trust without care, feeling his body shrink and grow with every violent swing of his hips, the last time he had ever been able to please his crying prostate like this, had been with Maeve, she had fucked him with so much anger, but no amount of confused love could make that plastic toy feel as good as Soldier Boy’s cock was making him feel. He jumped and moaned as Soldier Boy’s hand began to please Homelander, his movements lazy, there was a smugness on his face that irked Homelander much liek Maeve had done so in the past but right now he was chasing the high, hearing the nameless dying man ask himself what was that noise, Homelander was moaning so loudly, he didn’t care if Butcher heard him, he didn’t care that the stranger was looking back into the mansion-- at his direction.

He threw a callous glance behind , seeing William's body twitch.

Then back at Ben, maybe that’s why he found him so pretty, so delectable… he moved his hands to the other’s neck, squeezing it feeling the muscles cave in but meeting too much resistance for it to break immediately and that smarmy grin still on the hero’s face– that beard reminded him of Butcher... a lesser version of the brit’s.

He closed his eyes, letting himself imagine things, wishing Butcher would wake up, wishing Butcher would facefuck him, thinking of Butcher luscious lips wrapped around Homelander leaking cock, pulling on his beard as he forced him to take it deeper until the older man’s throat milked him. 

He leaned forward wishing for Butcher to spread him further, his pussy would take it without worry– why did he have to cheat? Why did he had to fuck it up for them? Why did he have to ruin this thing they had by bringing others into their fight!?

He gasped as Soldier Boy slapped his ass red, he let go of the man’s neck, taking the offending hand, guiding it towards his own neck, Butcher would’ve choked him, given him a black eye if he could, cracked his knuckles down to powder if that meant he would break the other man’s ribs, he would fight and fuck him at the same time– why the hell did he hurt himself for this? So Benjamin would have to try to give him that lost experience… no… not good enough-- he thought.

He pushed the thoughts away with his idol’s cock, feeling the heat grow too much, he knew Soldier Boy was at his limit, he looked down with shining eyes, his expression menacing even when trapped around that neck-breaking vice, Soldier Boy enjoying himself, thinking he had put a collar on this neck for real.

Getting drunk on the poison, he speed up feeling the older man matching him, he let a deep moan escape his lungs, feeling his whole body shudder with adrenaline as his heart thumped inside his chest, feeling the thick heat filling him, Homelander had no break for the older gent was quick to mobilize and jerk him off, glad that the large prick had stayed outside... the boy scout did made him jealous in that department... Homelander came hard, spilling his thick seat all over Ben's hand, feeling euphoric and turning limp just as quick.

For a second caught in the moment, he wished it had been Butcher, That it was his enemy educating him, punishing him, making him feel a decade long of hatred, wanting to reduce him into something cheap, Butcher had promised him ‘scorched earth’ and delivered him nothing but a chinese burn, but this was good… Soldier Boy had lived up to his fantasies, shame they couldn’t make this last all night, or make it better.

They both chuckle, their bodies recuperating and while both men wanted to feel some human touch for a brief second or two neither of them could.

Homelander picked his pants and as if the moment he finished zipping his boots back on he was as if nothing had happened– catching his reflection on a mirror’s shard to make sure his hair was brushed back to perfection, Soldier Boy wished he could have a drink or a puff of a cheap cigar but he fixed his scarf and re-adjusted his gloves, instead.

“So where were we?” Homelander shot him straight into the nearest surface, filling the room with a faint red glow– ah yeah… me killing you.”

Their fight ensued, that desire for Butcher’s punishment faded away as the bastard woke up, tainted by dollar store V, then he brought that stupid twink…

He left angry, what would have been a near perfect evening ruined, the indignation, the humiliation, but at least he had felt something pleasurable before he had his heart shot right thru.

Homelander was unable to rest, still on the phone with that bumbling idiot, trying to help do her own job, he told her to spin it and fuck off, before he could relax the line was quickly busied by somebody else, the concierge seemed a bit hesitant to speak, sounding apologetic as he interrupted his boss evening.

He blushed a bit after the concierge informed him that this mystery caller claimed to be Soldier Boy– perhaps the man had found reason, ditched that lying bastard Butcher and wanted to meet up, perhaps after all the stress… he could get something nice… a nice reward.

“Is this really you?” he said nervously not knowing where to put his hands or unsure if he should look at the phone.

“We need to talk… the situation has changed…” The man spoke with a brooding tone caught on his tongue, something was brewing inside him– look–

Homelander cut him off, not daring him think he had emerged victorious from their altercation but then he started telling a tell, speaking of a penthouse, of a woman, Homelander was confused and slightly grossed out as the man spoke so crudely.

“Turns out Voguelbaum… made a kid… born spring of 1981…”

His voice was dark, something sticky on his mouth, Homelander eyes watered, his gaze staring into the ether, Homelander heart slowed down to almost a halt as Soldier Boy took a deep breath on the other side of the line.

“... what kind of father had you made me into…” he cut himself with a sharp breath– I'm going to kill you.”

Homelander stared at nothing as the line died, his ears and his voice screaming but he just stood there thinking of the word ‘father’...

So here he was standing in front of him, saddened to confess murdering Noir, saddened that Butcher would betray him yet again by bringing Maeve into the room but at least saddled up with him was Soldier Boy… no… his father.

He just wanted to talk to him, to make him understand how similar they were, tempting him with the power and security they could have by standing side to side.

“Unless we kill each other first…” He said coldly.

“Why…b-because he says so…? He’s only human.” Homelander remarked feeling anxious.

Butcher taunted Soldier Boy reminding him that this experiment wasn’t his boy, and that was all that Soldier Boy  needed to hear, but Homelander snapped back growling his words.

“Yes, I am your son! I am your blood!” He softened his shoulder slightly– that’s all that matters.”

Soldier Boy felt nauseous, his mouth burning as he swallowed vile. He had nothing to reply to him, frightened by this sight, knowing what had taken place between them, he wanted to both run from him and cave his skull in, but then he brought the boy– he hadn’t expected the boy, he hadn’t anticipated the shaky breaths and palpable anxiety exuding from Homelander either.

“You see… you have a family… you have him…  and you have me” He was on the verge of tears, he bit his thin lips trying to stay composed.

Soldier Boy scowled, disgusted, horrified, wanting to burn his skin clean off, thinking of what he had broken, how he had bed his own blood, how this man seemed to not care about what had happened, as if sleeping with him had been nothing but a glimpse to soem alternative reality.

As he took each step forward, trying to control himself, trying not to look at that young man desperate for his approval, trying not to catch a twisted reflection of his old self, he spoke.

“I wish… I wish I had been there… I wish… we could’ve been just father and son…” 

Homelander 's teary smile was so genuine, it had no right to be there, Soldier Boy tried to listen to his reassurance, how he almost begged him to be in his life.

“We don’t have to be alone anymore.” Homelander said shakily.

When his shoulder was touched, he began to feel light, relief, his nerves easing momenterily.

“I wish you weren’t so broken…”

Benjamin had come to realize that Homelander wasn’t depraved, he wasn’t some sick fuck persuing him– he wasn’t okay… there was somehting inside him that no longer work… better said never worked… the man was in pain clinging to something where he shouldn’t. Whether or not the young man realized the gravity of the situation, whether he had deleted the memory from his brain, whatever it was… Benjamin couldn’t nor did he wanted to understand, he wanted to erase his mistake, to delete the abomination dressed as man, he wanted to put John out of his misery… to maybe find a kindness in his desire to bury his terrible secret by terminating him.

Homelander was quickly ambushed hearing his son struggle to his side, arguing with Butcher.

“You can’t… You can’t do this.” he struggled to speak.

He looked at the man about to kill him, to the father he had always wanted, he had always needed, he had been a good son already and made his father happy! So why was he so upset? Why did he call him disgusting? Why was he looking at him with such revulsion and hatred? 

Had he not been good enough for him?

Why did his father unable to love him like before?

The end.

A/N: personally after all the hype from the cast, crew, Amazon and jensen I genuinely expected that episode to contain HL and SB action but alas that didn’t happen and I wish it had happened bcuz it would’ve been far more shocking/disturbing and insane if a sex scene took place and still included the reveal that SB was Homie’s dad– instead of just the most vanilla czech orgy basement porno out there.

I think herogasm just didn't deliver much in shock, the scene with Homelander finding out that was his dad was the best plus mirrolander but frankly meh episode... no wonder they didn't get the emmy nomination.

[jellyfishloveletterghosts]

A fill for @steveharringtonbingo Card 1

Square: B3 - To Shaky To Stand

Title: Bury The Hatchet

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,487

Ship(s): CorrodedKing (Corroded Coffin/Steve Harrington)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Slutty Steve Harrington, Gangbang, Blow Jobs, Multiple Partners, Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Wet & Messy, Multiple Orgasms, Holding Hands, Rimming, Felching, Come Eating, Bottom Steve Harrington

Summary: Eddie thinks it's time to introduce Steve to the band. It goes far better than he could have ever hoped for.

Bury the Hatchet

Dragging Steve to band practice turns out to be a terrible idea. Eddie thought it would be okay, Steve has got that gaggle of kids who all love him. Dustin especially makes it hard to hate the guy and one Eddie got to know him well how anyone can hate the guy is beyond him. Now that they are friends, more than friends by Eddie’s standard but he is not sure what Steve’s are. Regardless he thought it was time Steve met his other friends.

He debated who first, the band or the rest of the hellfire club and as the band is actually part of the club so Eddie figured going with his band first would make it easier to keep the peace. Jeff and Benjamin aka freak have been more welcoming or at least not outright hostile. Gareth on the other hand has been making rude comments from the get go, getting worse by the minute.

Eddie is pretty sure he is going to have to step in. Sure Steve was a prissy little bitch in high school but as far as he knows he never really strayed into their territory. Don’t venture near King Steve and you never register on his radar so most of hell fire outside of Eddie who has a knack for pissing off jocks never actually crossed his path.

Hell Eddie never really did either despite his usual shenanigans during lunch. Steve was always too busy coddling Tommy and Carol and trading portions of his lunch with them. The most contact Eddie had with him was the time he fell on his face in the cafeteria and Tommy tossed his jacket over him so that Steve could walk over the mess in mock chivalry. If anyone deserved all the ire it is Tommy Hagan.

So really if anyone should be holding a grudge it is Eddie not Gareth but he is the one practically spitting as he makes a comment about Steve’s hair. Eddie goes tense waiting for the killing blow from Steve. He can be an absolute bitch about his hair. This is going to go from a failure to a spectacular failure in a matter of moments he can feel it. As soon as Steve opens his mouth bombs are going to go off and he is never going to get them all on a friendly page. There goes his dreams of being more than friends with Steve.

Steve goes tight, mouth clenched as a complicated play of emotions slid over his face. Eddie is not the only one holding his breath waiting for the fall out, even Gareth has wilted a little sensing the coming danger.

Steve's eyes flutter closed for one long moment, dark lashes fanned over pale spotted cheeks. There are a few deep breaths before he shakes himself out and his eyes flutter open. He still looks ready to bite but what comes out of his mouth is a surprise to all of them, "What do I have to do to get you to get over who I was in high school?" King Steve really has changed more than even Eddie thought; this might be salvageable after all.

Read the Rest on Ao3

[wikiangela-fanfics]

don't know what I'd do if your tomorrow never came

[read on Ao3]

words: 1949

Eddie doesn’t know how he gets back to the station, how he changes into his clothes, how he gets home. He doesn’t register anything that’s happening, everything he does is automatic.

All he can think about is Buck’s pale face, his unresponsive body, his heart that Eddie was trying to- and he did, he thinks he did. All he can see in his mind is the doctors wheeling Buck away from him. He can hear himself yell “Do more,” because… 

Because he knows that “their best” is not always enough. He’s seen it, he’s lived through it, he’s been on the other side of this.

How many times on their calls one of them had to say “we’ll do our best” to a victim’s loved one, only for them to die, even on the scene. 

Just like Buck, his mind supplies.

Buck died. 

His heart stopped. 

It stopped beating, and he wasn’t breathing, and Eddie’s heart might’ve stopped as well. It certainly felt like it did.

But they didn’t stop, didn’t give up, none of them, they couldn’t, because it’s Buck. What would life even be like without him? Cold. Dull. Sad, that’s for sure. Eddie can’t even try to imagine it, because for him… for him there’s no life without Buck, only existence, trying to keep going for his son- for their son. God, Christopher… 

Eddie has to tell him, now. He can’t help but think that this is some kind of sick joke from the universe, which he doesn’t believe but he knows Buck would. “The universe is screaming at you and you refuse to listen” is what Buck said once, it feels like a lifetime ago. He didn't believe it, then, either. And now the universe is mocking Eddie, having him have to tell their kid about Buck, just like Buck had to tell him about the shooting. Eddie doesn’t know how Buck did it, how he had the strength, because he’s on the verge of breaking down and shattering into a million little pieces.

“Well, I’m listening now. You got my attention, universe.” he says into nothingness with a bitter laugh, looking down at his hands. This seems surreal. Everything seems surreal. He feels like he’s in a dream, like his body is not his, like he’s not even physically there.

He punches the steering wheel, only now realizing he’s in his car, and he thinks he screams. His throat is sore, and his voice is breaking down. He punches again, feeling tears falling down his face. He thinks he must’ve been crying for a while. His hand doesn’t hurt. He looks at it, and thinks back to his hands on Buck, doing chest compressions, and- and they helped, didn’t they? His hands helped, his heart started beating again. He keeps looking at his hands, the last things that touched Buck before they took him away, away from Eddie… “We’ll do our best.”

Do more.

Do fucking more, because it’s Buck, they can’t lose Buck. If there’s one person in the world that deserves to live, that deserves a miracle, it’s Buck. Eddie would trade places with him in a heartbeat. Buck has to live. If he doesn’t- he has no idea what would happen, all he knows is that it feels like it’s the end of the world. End of Eddie’s world, to be precise. The thought of waking up with the knowledge that Buck-

He jumps when he hears a knock at the window. He looks up, and he’s in front of his house. He has no idea how he got here. Carla is standing by the door on the driver’s side. She opens it, when he doesn’t move for a while, just stares at her.

“Eddie.” her voice is soft, tentative, comforting. Does she know? She must know that something happened, something so bad he’s screaming at himself in his car and punching stuff, trying to feel something. Maybe they already covered it in the news. He hopes it’s not how Chris finds out. “I was trying to give you a minute, but you’ve been sitting here for over half an hour now, and Christopher is getting worried.” she explains.

“Oh.” he takes a shaky breath, then moves to exit the car. His legs shake, and he leans against the car for a second. His son. He needs to be strong, he needs to keep together for a while longer, for his son. For their son. 

“Tough call?” Carla asks tentatively, reaching out to put her hand on Eddie’s shoulder. 

“The toughest yet.” he whispers, closing his eyes. He needs to go back to the hospital, to Buck, he needs to be there, he needs to see him- but first he needs to tell Chris. Eddie feels like his heart will break when he sees tears in his son’s eyes. Hell, his heart already broke, and a piece of it stayed with Buck. Keeping his beating, hopefully. “It’s, uh, Buck, he-” he takes another deep breath. He doesn’t need to say anything else, though, Carla seems to get it.

“I can take Chris for the night if you need to get back to him.” she says quietly, and Eddie is so grateful for her. He’s so grateful that Buck brought her into their lives. Buck changed every aspect of Eddie and Chris’ lives for the better, and if he-

“No.” he shakes his head. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

Once again, he doesn’t register walking to the house with Carla, taking his shoes and jacket off, and getting to the living room, and only vaguely notices her saying goodbye and asking once more if maybe he wants her to stay, or if he needs anything. He thinks he declines. She tells him and Chris that she’s a phone call away, just in case.

He only comes back to himself again, when he feels Christopher grab his hand. Eddie looks down on him.

“Dad?” he looks so concerned, and Eddie has to remind himself to keep it together. Just a while more, just until Chris goes to bed, and Eddie can cry himself to sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“Hey, buddy.” Eddie crouches down in front of him and tries to smile. His vision blurs. He has no idea where to start. How do you tell your son that his other parent is- how do you find words? “Can we talk for a second?” he asks, trying to stall, give himself time, because he just doesn’t know how to do this. Buck would know, he needs Buck, but of course it’s about Buck… He doesn’t know how to do this parenting thing on his own anymore, he needs his partner.

“What happened?” Christopher asks impatiently, while Eddie leads him towards the couch. He sits down heavily and takes a deep breath, while Chris takes a seat next to him. “Dad, I’m scared.” he adds, when Eddie still can’t talk. He feels like if he tries, tears will fall, and he can’t let Chris see how fucking scared he is.

“Listen, something bad happened at work tonight.” he makes sure to look his son in the eyes, and tries and fails to keep his voice steady. It shakes and wavers with every word. “Buck had an accident. He’s in the hospital now.” he adds quickly, not wanting it to look like he’s giving him even worse news. 

“What happened to him?”

“He was struck by lightning.” another shaky breath escapes him, as he thinks back to that moment, when he looked up and saw his lifeless body, hanging there, and… 

“Is it bad?” Chris asks, and Eddie can see the fear and worry on his face. He scrunches up his nose in that way he does when he wants to prevent himself from crying. Maybe Eddie should let himself cry in front of him, to show him that it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to hide it.

“I think you’re old enough for me to be honest with you.” Eddie decides after a moment, then puts his hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “It’s- it’s not good. He’s in a coma, and they don’t know when he’ll wake up.” If he’ll wake up. That thought makes tears fall down Eddie’s cheeks. Christopher moves closer and hugs him, hiding his face in Eddie’s shirt. Eddie wraps his arms around him and holds him close. “But hey, Christopher.” he pulls his son away just enough to look at him, and smiles. “He’s our Buck. He’s stronger than anyone. He’ll- he has to pull through. And he’ll be back at home with us in no time, telling us all the facts about lightning.” he chuckles, but it dies down quickly. His son does smile faintly, though.

“When can we see him?” he asks, wiping at his eyes.

“I was thinking you could skip school tomorrow, and we can go see him first thing in the morning. What do you say?” he knows what the answer’s going to be. Ideally, Eddie wouldn’t leave Buck even for a second, he wouldn’t let him out of his sight. And he won’t, ever again, if- when he gets better.

“I want to see Buck.” Chris immediately answers, tears streaming down his face now. “Why can’t we go now?” he complains, and Eddie explains that even though he wants to see Buck, too, so bad, they wouldn’t be allowed to see him now, that it’s late – it’s really late, he thinks Carla stayed longer than usual, he needs to thank her. 

After he manages to get Chris to bed, Eddie goes to take a shower. Where he cries, and cries, and cries, and tries to prevent himself from punching the tiles until his knuckles bleed, that would not be a good idea. He’s just so angry, and terrified, and- he can’t fucking lose Buck. Not him, not like that, not now, not ever. 

When he walks into his room, the first thing he notices is the neatly folded hoodie on his dresser. It’s Buck’s. He left it here a few days ago, and Eddie didn’t give it back, he didn’t even move it. Without a second thought, he grabs the hoodie and puts it on. It still smells like Buck, and feels like a warm hug from him. He might not take it off until Buck wakes up to give him an actual hug.

Eddie’s exhausted, but he knows he won’t fall asleep. He might not sleep ever again, unless it’s by Buck’s side. He needs to see him more than he needs to breathe right now.

So he gets into bed and stares at the ceiling, wide awake, until he hears quiet steps, and Christopher comes in. Without a word, Eddie pulls back the covers to make room for his kid, who then curls up against his side. Eddie hears himself let out a quiet sob, as he hugs his son closer, the only thing keeping him going right now.

“Dad?” Christopher asks after enough time passes that Eddie thinks he’s asleep.

“Yeah?”

“What if Buck doesn’t wake up?” he’s whispering, so quiet, as if he was scared to speak it into existence. Eddie’s blood runs cold. It’s one thing to have dark thoughts like that, but to actually hear it voiced… 

He desperately tries not to think about it, because he has no idea what would happen, what he’d do. Nothing would ever be the same. 

“I don’t know.” he responds honestly, with a sigh. Buck has to come back to them. To him. Otherwise, Eddie will never feel whole again. Their family will never be whole again. They need Buck more than anything. He’ll be okay, because he has to. There’s no other option.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sweetie! reader and Alfred just being friends

"Next thing I know," Heather said, shaking her head, "I look up and see this asshole," she broke off and jerked her head towards you, blonde poney tal bobbing, "running full tilt to scale the fence and hop it to grab the kid before the train got 'im."

"Good lord-" Alfred looked at you and blinked.

"She got him, somehow. Before Ron and his goon squad could even register anything was happening." Heather shook her head. "That was the worst ward."

"And that's why we say any day no one is holding eyeballs in their hand it's a good day."

"Word."

You trade a look with Heather that Alfred isn't sure how to interpret and she leans over to pat your hand. "I'll come by tomorrow. Help you season the rookies a little."

"You're an angel," you tell her, leaning against her side when she hugged you and kissed the top of your head.

"You shoulda called me," she scolded, tucking the tail of your scarf over your shoulder tenderly. "I'll see how many of your old crews I can get hold of. See who's still willing to follow you into hell." And before you can say anything, Heather flounces out the door.

Alfred watched her go and shook his head, refilling your tea cup and pushing your plate of cake closer to you. "You live an interesting life when none of us are looking," he hummed.

"I didn't have much of a choice. I just-"

"I don't know how you do it," he said, settling back into his chair.

"I've only ever been good at being helpful," you point out. "I guess I just found my niche."

He gave you a look, "Hows the pain?" he asked, "You aren't eating."

"I don't want to take the vicodin. I can't think when I take it," you sigh.

"Are you hungry at all?" he asked frowning. If you didn't at least nibble when he made cake for tea you were either upset or very sick.

"Nothing even sounds good," you murmur, smiling wryly.

Alfred hummed and patted your hand, "You need to eat, girlie. You're skin and bone."

"I'm trying," you assure him.

"Try some of that," he encouraged. "Couple bites? Get something in you for now. Dinner's not until 7."

"Want some help?"

"From you?" He chuckled, "Always. But not until you eat something. Don't want you passin' out on me."

When you crinkle your nose slightly he smiled a little. "Try," he coaxed. "When Harvey gets here I'll have him drug you up if you won't take it yourself."

When you mock scowl at him he refilled his tea cup and took a bite of his own cake. Whatever the circumstances, he was glad of the company. It had been an unintended benefit of Bruce making friends- even if he still wasn't entirely sure what was happening behind closed doors. It meant the house felt less empty. And he could keep an eye on you.

[fatalism-and-villainy]

Have you finished Interview with the Vampire yet? What did you think? I just finished the finale and I’m still figuring out what I think about it.

I have! I think I'm....... also figuring out what I think about it.

To me, its framing feels quite moralistic, in a way that's grating to me. There are many ways it appeals to my id, but I think the show is determined to undercut that appeal, and wag the finger at the viewer for being compelled by the concepts and dynamics at play. The domestic violence angle, as I've said before, really didn't work for me - it felt like channeling the elevated, campy absurdity of Lestat through a register that doesn't suit the story. I saw someone say that they loved the fact that even though they were supernatural creatures, the interpersonal violence between the three of them was grounded in realism, rather than being at a remove, and honestly, I didn't. I hated that. The nature relationships between them are already somewhat divorced from reality - this is even touched on with the shifts in Claudia's status in that household - so the fact that they felt the need to lean into how the Louistat dynamic would function if it were a real relationship felt distasteful and patronizing to me. The overwhelming need for control and possession of another person due the paralyzing fear of loneliness, and the irresistible bending of one's thoughts and desires towards one person, even though they're evil, are both incredibly hot dynamics for me. But grounding those in the context of a real life abusive relationship, rather than a gothic romance, dulls that shine, and makes it harder for me to appreciate the more fanservice-y moments.

(I have some sort of argument here about how the writing in this show, coupled with some popular reactions to Dracula in the Dracula Daily fandom, reflect a cultural backlash against dark and violent eroticism and fantasy - not sure I'm phrasing that right, but it's definitely a trend I'm noticing, and that I don't like.)

I think there's plenty of room for ambivalence about vampirism - it is a trade-off! And a very lonely way of being! I'm fascinated by the vampire as being, in several respects, cut off from human life and connection (as well as the challenges of empathy when dealing with a being who's potentially sympathetic but also a bloodthirsty killer). But.... hmmm. This is certainly present in the source material, so I can't blame the show entirely for this. But I find the emphasis on murder, and being morally opposed to murder, to be a pretty boring tack to take with all this. Like, we know murder is bad. Agonizing over the ethics of killing people just makes me frustrated and impatient, rather than sympathetic. Angst of a much more selfish nature, like the impossibility of forming relationships and finding community, is much more compelling to me, and has much more of an interesting allegorical applicability for me. (This is probably why Lestat's selfishness landed much more for me, lol.)

And they were kind of getting at that with Louis and the queer analogy - the way he can't go back to his family, the way he's on the fringes of society, etc. But for me at least, that wasn't carried through with the potential it had, because there was so much more emphasis placed on the murder aspect, and on how grotesque Lestat's reveling in it was. When for me, the most appealing moments of the show were Lestat's gratuitous acts of violence. That scene in the finale of him draining that guy's blood into a wine glass while mocking his book was soooo fun.

And that brings me to Claudia, because I don't like the shift in her motivation in killing Lestat. I like the idea of it being a somewhat petty decision! Here, it's not based in spite over him turning her into a vampire, but rather Lestat's abusive treatment of both of them, which makes her seem much more righteous. It's too neat.

Claudia in general makes me a bit uncomfortable, which is unfortunate, because she really is an objectively interesting character, and the actress playing her is great. But there were a lot of aspects of her narrative that I found squicky, though to be fair, those are also not unique to the show. I'm thinking specifically of the emphasis in multiple texts on her body not maturing, rather than on the loss of adult identity and autonomy, which I just personally don't like. But her speech about how she could have had a husband and kids by now just felt, more objectively speaking, like a poor writing decision - there are so many reasons she'd be upset about not growing up, and centering it on never getting to be a wife and mother just seems stupid and sexist.

I didn't care for the thing with her dead boyfriend either, especially because the bit in the film so much of her fixations are with women, and wanting to look like them, and killing them because she can't become them - especially with a somewhat aged-up Claudia, there could have been much more queer potential to her character. Missed opportunity.

I also didn't like that they changed Louis being the one to kill Claudia. Both because I think it softens Louis' character a bit too much, and because it removes the interesting queer reproduction aspect of them both contributing to her vampirism ("I took your life, he gave you a new one"). Louis being able to read her thoughts, and Lestat being cut off from that dynamic, was an interesting result of this change, especially with both of them being Black. But again, this wasn't really explored symbolically to the degree that I thought it could have been.

Rashid-as-Armand... I'd seen the theorizing, but I was really hoping it wouldn't happen lol. Both because I really dug the D/s dynamic they had going on and Louis' dom vibes and didn't want it to be a bit, and also because I was interested in the concept of Rashid being not a vampire or a mortal but a secret third thing. And the method of the reveal was a bit silly.

Also, the writing was just straight-up bad and corny in a lot of places. That scene with Louis and Claudia on the boat where she asks "how does love work between two men" and he says "it works like love"... jesus, I can't even type that without feeling intense secondhand embarrassment. So much of it is grossly overwritten - I'm thinking of Louis' "a lie I told myself about myself" line in the first episode. It has no subtlety whatsoever, and not enough in a fun campy way, just in a "they think the audience is made up of idiots who don't understand themes and narratives" way.

(Another example - Louis saying "I'm a vampire" at the end of that one episode was quite silly. It would have been far more intelligent writing for him to say "I'm the devil", but "I'm a vampire" just sounds silly and makes it sound like he's coming out as a vampire. XD)

I also just hate the treatment of the women. What happened to Lily fully sucked, and the dehumanization of Antoinette was quite distressing. (It's possible she'll be only mostly dead, like Lestat, but.... I'm not optimistic at this point.) So many of the women just seem to be props in the story.

I think the last complaint I have (for now) is the way Louis' POV is dealt with. The "unreliable narrator" tactic is often never used to my satisfaction in media - especially visual media - and I didn't feel as if that element of the story was borne out the way I wanted it to be. (Though hopefully that'll be unpacked more in later seasons.)

Things I liked - I loved the horniness of the Louistat dynamic in the first few episodes. Louis saying "maybe we were put on this earth for a higher purpose" and Lestat saying "I put you on this earth. Your purpose is to enjoy yourself" was sooo hot, jesus. Louis' character backstory was great, and the race commentary added an interesting dimension to a very tone-deaf aspect of the original story. The fucked up hypocritical poly negotiation was a lot of fun. Daniel and Louis' dynamic in the present day as well. Even though I didn't love every aspect of Claudia, her actress was great to watch, especially in the chess scene where she's plotting to kill Lestat. I am curious to see where the show is going, and it's an enjoyable watch. But I do have a lot of quibbles, and generally feel talked down to in quite a few respects.

[clovercoin]

Hi, I'm a bit confused and can't find any page where this is mentioned - are pillowings a closed species? Who can make new pillowings? (alternatively, can you give a link to the rules regarding pillowings?)

EEEE I LOVE TO SHARE ABOUT PILLOWINGS!!!

First are the rules. AHEM.

Any of my adoptables can be gifted, traded, or resold without any limits.

Please contact me ahead of time if you would like to discuss purchase of commercial rights for an adopt I made.

I do not approve of the use of my artwork and adopts as crypto/nft/anything block chain related.

Now more fun stuff, Anyone can make a pillowing! YEP. LITERALLY ANYONE CAN MAKE A PILLOWING (Or cloverse species).

We register pillowings because they use to be a closed species, I have since removed the term from my community as it no longer applies. Registered pillowings and lintlings get to participate in group activities, prompts, the discord art trade game, and get the chance for free artwork from me!

Registering your pillowings is also just a really wonderful way to help the community and the CloverCoin owners to fund events, afford to take time off to work on the group, and just keep our bills paid so we can make more Clo content!

Sorry for our mess! We're currently stuck on Deviantart for the group and the masterlist where we register pillowings and lintlings.

I really wanted to move onto Lorekeeper type website to centralize it, but I sadly don't know how to do that on my own. And my husband Prov says he would much prefer to make a website himself for our own security. (As you can see, we are harassed often!) So we're just waiting on him to get that up and running for the mods and I to test out.

Otherwise here is the pillowings feature list with a ton of traits we regularly see in the pillowing species! Feel free to check out the masterlist for all the pillowings who are registered, so many creative designs in there it's INCREDIBLE.

We sell tons of pillowings (already registered with the group) on CloverCoin Deviantart page and CloverCoin Toyhouse! So if you want a premade one, no worries are have awesome selections.

Prefer to make one yourself? NO SWEAT. Make a dozen mock ups, share your fun! If you decide, "Wow this 1 pillowing is my favorite, I think I want to make them official?" YOU CAN! You just comment a register form on Deviantart for the mods to add them to the archive.

MYO Slot prices have always stayed the exact same since pillowings were introduced as an adoptable species~

Common - $25

Uncommon - $30

Rare - $40

Very Rare - $50

Special - $200

The feature tiers of customization trickle down. So if you purchase a Very Rare myo slot, you get to use Very rare, rare, uncommon, and common traits of your choice on the pillowing design. There are no limits on how many features, what colors you use, anything like that.

Loving the idea of pillowings so far? JOIN OUR DISCORD! We have a creative community that started out as Clo Adoptable Server but now it's more of an art share/open chat for anyone who wants to hang out. C: We love adopts, we love pillowings, & we don't allow anti harassment in server. (Bonus we have oldies NSFW zone for the adults to relax in.)

[petty-crush]

“The Garbage Pail Kids Movie” (Rewatch)

-I haven’t seen this film in well over a decade; last time I thought it might just be the worst film in existence (I was curious to see if still true)

-I actually really liked the opening; with the spinning trading cards credits over the trash can heading towards earth in space ala Star Wars 77

-it registers more now how this is very much a 50’s juvenile drama, with the kid just being bullied because that’s spine of the story

-actress Marjory Graue is a total babe in this (as Blythe, the leopard print wearing hench woman)

+it totally makes sense they do close ups of her boobs and thighs in her second scene

-there are hearty chuckles in set design details, such as the toxic waste pipes being labeled as “zoo”, “prime time tv”, “horse farms” “CIA” etc

-then the reality of this film sets in; it is exceedingly boring

-that’s really what knocked me out when I saw it first; I was curious to see a gross out gremlins/ghoulies type film and instead this flavorless mush drags on and on and on and on

-I’d like to be kinder to this film but it’s like eating a food that makes me spit it out; my body rejects it

-my initial screening was at home on tape, it took me three separate viewings to finish it

+in the wonderful New Beverley theatre, with comfy AC and the ability to stop it removed, it passed over like a looming (faintly odorous) ghost shop

-when I bought my ticket, I actually got a garbage pail kids trading card (“Well Done Sheldon”)

-I also had to put a stop to a near fist fight over a guy who cut ahead in line (by accident) of a family of three

-maybe I should have let it ride, witness the first garbage pail scuffle in many a moon

-anywho

-much has been made of films that are “so bad they are good”

-“garbage pail” is not one of those films

-I actually dislike that phrase and think a better one is “so garish that its inventive moxie has to be applauded”

-“Troll 2” is the film that “garbage” wants to be; a genuinely funny, well shot, complete absurd o tron, with preposterous effects, and an engaging child lead.

+that film kept my eyes glued the entire time; I wanted to know what would happen next

-the real sinker of “Garbage” is the character of Doger; he is firmly in the “boring ass white boy” mode the entire film

-I want to be precise; I don’t hold actor Mackenzie Astin at fault. He tries ; director Amateau cuts legs off in miscasting and in his directing

-the spine of this film is Doger wanting to impress unrepentant human toad Tangerine; she’s into fashion so he makes the garbage kids sew clothes for her fashion show

-structurally, the film never makes me believe or understand why Doger likes Tangerine, other than, I infer with great effort, boobs (fair)

-I like films that try different things but nothing about the fashion element(as opposed to a wave of pranks) ever seems more than lukewarm

-allegedly this was going to be a straight up horror film at first but FX maestro/director John Carl Buechler parted ways with the production

-irresponsible speculation; was he bitter and did he sabotage the film with very sub-par FX costumes, this forcing more time on the weak sauce Doger?

-incidentally, the same year as this film, Buchler directed the fantastic, punches way above its weight class, “Cellar Dweller” a lil low budget gem

-am I rocketing away from talking about this film at length because of allergic reaction?

+ I suppose I am

-the idea of the garbage kids interrupting a fashion show, the terrorizing of the beautiful “normies” (as it calls them) would make a great naughty comedy.

-this is not that film. That film would be a fierce roundhouse, this is very mild jab

-director Amateau has a comedy background, yet seems happy to just be working, limping to the finish

-the film def tries to mock the shallow love of beauty in the 80’s; it just never makes it entertaining

-some fucking twisted anarchy, zero respect for story would be lovely

-the plot point of “state home for the ugly” lies there like a dead squirrel

-there was some really good black lemonade soda at the concession stand

-is this really the worst film of all time? Naw

-I was bracing for it to be, but I’m just a different person now,

-as a kid, I wasn’t all that familiar with the monotony of deflated (film) expectations

-now as an adult, I’ve seen more of it, and my reactions can be more coherent

-that’s character development

-so there was a laugh (a desperate need for it) when Doger tells Tangerine “I don’t find you pretty anymore”...but doesn’t that undercut the film poking fun at shallowness?

-I get that the implied cruelty of the 3 stooges possibly turning a dog into a hot dog (the garbage kids go to a movie theatre) ties in with (the idea of) what the film wants to be

+ but it also really underlines the (mis)decisions this film made when it used a short with Shemp, not Curly

-I came not to bury this film, but quickly chuck dirt its way. I’ll gladly forget it within a week, and never more again

[starstruckfurypuppy]

The Real Estate Agency Landscape in Sydney: A Dynamic Market

Real Estate markets are extremely complicated. Price fluctuations in this market are often slow and elusive.The sort of investors who invest in the real estate markets is a key component in this. Understanding the underlying participants and their motivations is therefore essential to understanding real estate markets.

The number of investment firms, market share of large firms, product differentiation, diversity of buyers, and renters are just a few of the characteristics of the housing market structure, or Real Estate Agency in Sydney. These factors influence the cost and level of competition for housing in the city. In this market, which resembles an oligopoly, the major firms set the prices for homes that are available for purchase or rental.

On the one hand, private developers that focus on increasing profits and on the other, government organizations like the State Property Authority and not-for-profit organizations that primarily provide homes to lower income levels.

Overview of Real Estate Auctions in Sydney :

The government's Fair Trading Agency oversees the residential and rural property auctions in New South Wales, and specified laws must be adhered to during the auctioning process. One must provide identification documentation and an address while registering to bid on real estate in Sydney. The individual who submits the highest offer during the auction wins the item, but they are still responsible for any reserve prices the auctioneer may have. When this happens, the vendor only offers one price on behalf of the person or business selling the property, and he or she is required to state during the bidding process that he or she would only accept an offer that is in the best interests of the seller. No matter how good a bid is if it is made after the hammer has fallen, the vendor cannot accept it. Making a mock bid or conspiring with the seller to influence the outcome of the auction are both prohibited by law, and those found guilty face fines of up to $55,000 for their actions.

Sydney, the bustling capital of New South Wales, Australia, is not only renowned for its iconic landmarks and vibrant culture but also for its dynamic and ever-evolving real estate market. The city's growing population, strong economy, and high demand for housing have made it a hotspot for real estate activity. This essay explores the key aspects of the real estate agency scene in Sydney, examining the challenges and opportunities it presents.

Sydney's Real Estate Market Overview:

Sydney's real estate market is characterized by robust growth, driven by factors such as population influx, steady economic development, and attractive lifestyle opportunities. The city's diverse neighborhoods offer a wide array of housing options, from luxury apartments overlooking the harbor to suburban family homes. Consequently, the real estate agency sector in Sydney operates in a highly competitive and dynamic environment.

Role of Real Estate Agencies:

Real estate agencies in Sydney play a crucial role as intermediaries between buyers and sellers. They serve as vital facilitators in property transactions, helping clients navigate the complex process of buying, selling, or renting properties. These agencies provide valuable market insights, property valuations, and negotiate terms on behalf of their clients, ensuring a seamless and successful transaction.

Services Offered by Real Estate Agencies:

Real estate agencies in Sydney offer a comprehensive range of services, catering to various segments of the market. These services include property management, sales, leasing, investment advisory, property valuations, and market analysis. With a keen focus on customer satisfaction, reputable agencies strive to provide personalized and professional assistance to their clients.

Emerging Trends in the Industry:

The real estate agency landscape in Sydney has witnessed several emerging trends that have reshaped the way business is conducted. One such trend is the integration of technology into real estate operations. Digital platforms and virtual reality have revolutionized property marketing, enabling potential buyers to explore properties remotely. Moreover, real estate agencies have adopted data analytics to gain insights into market trends, buyer preferences, and pricing strategies.

Challenges Faced by Real Estate Agencies:

Operating in a thriving market comes with its share of challenges. One of the primary concerns for real estate agencies in Sydney is managing housing affordability. As property prices continue to rise, affordability becomes a significant barrier for first-time buyers. Additionally, real estate agencies must stay compliant with evolving regulations, ensuring ethical practices and transparency in their dealings.

Sustainability and Urban Planning:

Sydney's real estate market is increasingly focusing on sustainable development and urban planning. With a growing emphasis on environmental consciousness, real estate agencies are promoting eco-friendly housing solutions and integrating green spaces into urban developments. This approach not only benefits the environment but also enhances the overall quality of life for residents.

Future Outlook:

Looking ahead, the real estate agency landscape in Sydney is expected to remain buoyant, driven by continued population growth and economic prosperity. Technological advancements will continue to reshape the industry, optimizing customer experiences and streamlining operations. Sustainable practices will become integral to the city's urban development, influencing the choice of properties offered by real estate agencies.

Real Estate Agents in Sydney often work independently as sales representatives for registered brokers under a contract.

Conclusion:

The Real Estate Agency in Sydney is a dynamic and thriving industry, reflecting the city's prosperity and growth. With a range of services catering to diverse client needs and emerging trends such as technology integration and sustainable development, real estate agencies are poised for continued success. However, challenges, such as housing affordability and regulatory compliance, must be addressed proactively. As Sydney's real estate market continues to evolve, the role of these agencies as vital intermediaries in property transactions remains paramount in shaping the city's urban landscape.

[vroooom2]

🤣 sorry I can't stop laughing at that new Academia-Military-Disneyland Tour. How much do we need to pay for that fieldwork propagandist imperialist symposium? For those who have never been to Korea, and at the DMZ, you should go, but not with those experts, as you will hear the same stuff as South Korean tour operators.

HT Mudge

You'd better go with this grassroot movement instead, which is also supported by the Americans (Koreans), but that won't sell you so-called experts knowledge, which are information that you can read online.

Or if you really want South Korean national insights, Dramas (TV series) are great. Why? Because, they depict the political powers at play in the peninsula, the role of the Chaebols (the conglomerates) in policies making. An issue that is never mentioned by the American so-called experts, who only focus on the nuclear demonization of North Korea. The Axis of Evil, the Bush administration foreign policy/national security rhetoric haunts those experts' subconscious. Honestly, were you reassured when Trump had access to the Nuke code? Do you remember when I proposed to give him a false code?

[Donald Trump insulting Kim Jong-Un as Little Rocket Man]

[Donald Trump and Kim Jong-Un Love Letters]

[Donald Trump and Kim Jong-Un In-Person Meeting]

In South Korea, Dramas screenwriters and producers have more liberty than the press. As an Anthropologist, I think it's because of the popular theatrical tradition to mock the rulers (the aristocracy, the governors, the buddhist monks, etc). Once a year in every village when TV didn't exist. This liberty is now implicit, and useful.

If you know how to analyze audiovisual storytelling, you get access to precious knowledge when watching Dramas, while being entertained. You can understand the social dynamics, the international trade agreements through product placement, the politics, the economic system: a framework invisible in foreign news outlets and foreign scholars papers, because the so-called experts are either scared to lose their seats in their ivory towers, or incapable of thinking outside the box to connect the dots, or just lazy.

[actingdeep]

[IP] Record Store

So there was Preston in the back storage room slash business office with his feet up on the desk reading Tess of the D'Urbervilles picturing Colin Farrell as Angel Clare right around the part where he's carrying Tess and the other milkmaids across the pond and tuning out easily at this point the steady rumbles of what's obviously Mary and Jer disintegrating into the void to 'Xtal' by Aphex Twin up front, the equally steady pot smoke creeping through the cracks, creases and that still unseemly hole in the door Tanner brought to perfect life Last Summer and he heard the bells jang as September came in with everyone's pick-up orders from El Borrego with her magic voice announcing "Buuur...iii...tooooo's" to the tune of Thus Sprake Zarathustra, sending the signal it was time to find a good place to leave off the novel and fall back into the fold. "Unda Prez-a," Jer was totally vibing. Preston carefully plucked out the grusomely funneling joint from Jer's outstretched arm struggling to grip the shabby and dessicated roastbone without burning his eyes or lips, only half-succeeding in getting a decent hit, mostly because of Jer's terrible joint-rolling skills but also partially because a portion of his focus was on currently fire-engine-red-haired Septy whisking by him with a definitely-something glance and a bag of smelly Mexican goodness. The EDM or IDM served well as an assuring mutual friend slash smoothing harbinger for the smoke and it's subsequent high. "No drink, Presty?" Preston heard September asking with a smile as she sat down on the register counter two massive bulging plastic bags, gently shooing away Andy, one of Mary's many in-store male cats. "Must be reading. What was it...? Tess of the Baskervilles, somethin?" "Yes but done for the day. Was about to grab a Yuengling, you want?" "Are you crazy, man? El Boreggo night calls for Modelo, no substitute. Drink Yuengling with like, a cheesesteak or somethin," said Jer, horizontally-compromised joint in mouth, coming over and grabbing his molettes and salsa verde. "No mo Modelo, ese. Yuengling, Hamm's, Michelob, or Redd's." "Don't touch my Redd's," said Mary jokingly and pointing with mock authority, seatting herself behind the register and struggling to unpack her huareches and tripe tostadas above and around Andy, all grey and meowing pathetically, circling round her lap and sniffing precariously with black nose the plastic bag handles. "Yuengling it is," Septy answered, holding out to Preston his classic steak tacos with cilantro, onions and lime wedges parallel to her other outstretched hand, indicating the trade. "Damn, man. That's major rough-goings," Jerry admitted, settling for a Michelob. "Verge? Redd's?" "You already know." Quiet munchage amidst the sonic fog of the Selected Ambient Works, Marvin, Andy, Cheech and Jupiter all in subtle greedy cat-orbit and Septy looks up and says: "Do you guys realize literally how many movies there are? For example." She set down her massive chicken-steak-carnitas burrito and wiped her hands. "How many Pink Panther movies do you think there are?" "Six." "Seven." "Eight." "Nine." Fucking nine? "And that's not including remakes. Technically, theres at least eleven that we know of," she added, reassuming her attack on the steaming rito. "Fuck. Killer." Jer. "And how many have you seen?" asked Mary while trying to convince a skeptical grey Andy into tasting a piece of tripe. "I've seen the first one." "Kinda buff are you?" Preston poked, knocking back a glug of beer with eye contact. "I know." "Don't blame you, Sep--that cartoon is fucked. That music is fucked. Major bad vibes," said Jerry, spilling salsa on his shirt. "Oh, come on, man..." "Thing is Jer they're not totally cartoons, that was a kids show based off the movies. It's got actors. Peter Sellers." Preston informed him. Mary was laughing at Andy's nervous nibble and traumatised flee. "So wait, is he in all nine?" "Basically. Maybe like, six or seven," September answered, glib as always about her obscure knowledge of the medium. "So why only the first, Septy? Wasn't a fan?" "Not that. Just far too many original films out there to be wasting time on sequels. I never watch a sequel." "Bullshit," accused Preston, closing the styrofoam box lid which just popped right back open. "Empire Strikes Back? Terminator 2?" "The Godfather 2?" Mary added, Preston pointing madly at her with reinforcement and going "mmm..! mmm..!" since his mouth was occupied with incoming beer. "Cheech and Chong's Next Movie?" Jer threw in. "Okay--Empire, yes--but only because I was a kid, and hadn't developed my own movie-watching proclivities yet. No Terminator. No Godfather. No Cheech and Chong. Sorry, Jer." "So you mean to tell me that assuming you've watched Star Wars as an adult, you decided not to catch Empire Strikes Back?" Preston. "Yes, because I already saw it as a kid! And before you ask, yes, same goes for Return of the Jedi." "So you didn't like Star Wars," Mary, attempting to clarify. "No no, I did. I liked all of them." Confused looks and incredulous upturned palms. "What I'm saying is, is, okay. That particular trilogy was made purposefully to be just that--a trilogy. The story of Luke and Leia and all of em was designed to spread over three films, correct? And since I have in fact seen all three, I have completed the experience of the the whole story. Thus, I have never felt the need to rewatch Empire or Return of the Jedi by themselves, because it's only part of the story. If I want to experience the story again, it would require that I watch all three, start to finish, or else it would seem too strange." "I get it, I think," Jer was nodding, basically following, throwing back what was left of the salsa verde like a shooter. "Fair enough, but here's my question," Mary continued. "So according to that logic--well, before I ask, I'm assuming you have indeed seen Godfather, willingly, as an adult, yes?" "Of course--a bit overrated, bad sound mixing, screaming babies and all that, seven-point-nine outta ten--but yes. I know where you're going with this, I think." "You watched all three Godfathers for the first time all in a row," Preston concluded aloud, this time Mary being the one mid-gulp with the excited hums and concurring pointing. September smiled, looking coy. Good detective work, buddies. Only one problem. Before she spoke up, Jerry, whom the other three friends just assumed was not really even listening, made clear the answer. "No, she didn't. Coppolla never wanted there to be sequels." "Eeex-act-ly. I'm impressed, dude," said Septy, giving Jer a proud slap o' the leg and head tilt. Mary was impressed, too--by Jerry's basically enigmatic success in his conclusion-drawing, yes--but mostly with Septy. Is she a little closed-minded? Sure. But, hey, no blatent hypocrisy as far as she could tell. Preston on the other hand was feeling something a little less satisfying, something in the realm of 'I gotta hand it to em' with just a splash of violent rage, because well of course there's that Nietzschian-level pride of his and can you fucking believe it that goddamn Jerry out of all people figured a thing out before he did, although virtually none of this could be detected on his face.   "Gotta hand it to you, Jer." Preston raised his bottle to him--already back to happy normal--having in the last ten seconds recognized the sorrowful re-emergence of this contemptible pride, it's recent wound, it's subsequent patching and tending to, and finally his psycho-doctoral prescribing of something like concentrated ego-poisoning magnanimity for the allowance of it's recovery and subsequent re-dissappearance, now directly returning back into the fluid intangible abyss, if for nothing else but a necessary energetic reattuning if you will for both the short- and long-term betterment of his double-crossing, ever-wayward, fickle blackguard of a soul.  "So you guys get it, right? If it's a truly worthwhile story, it must be enjoyed from the beginning. Preston. You know what I mean, right? Have you ever started reading a book for the second time, and just start in the middle somewhere?" "All the time." "Oh...okay. Well." "Still, you really ought to see Terminator 2. Whether Cameron planned it or not, I don't know. Same goes for Godfather 2. Not all sequels are a waste of time, you know," said Mary. "Wayne's World 2? Del Preston? You mean you haven't seen Del Preston telling the story about Ozzy and the brown M&M's? That's a fuckin' shame, Septy, really," added Jer. "Oh, shit! Del...Preston! Prez, I'm totally calling you Del from now on!" Preston smiled. "I had to beat them to death with their own shoes." Septy cupped her chin, considering. "I suppose films are films. I dunno. I'll think about it, I guess." Mary smiled, encouraging: "And all those horror movie sequels? I mean, come on." "Speaking of horror shows. Tanner will be back tomorrow for sure, right?" Preston asked Jerry. "Pretty sure. I mean, unless his Dad does somethin, which, I mean..." They all muttered in understanding. When Tan's Dad fell into that coma Last Summer it took weeks before he stepped foot back into the Store, and only then it was a quick in and out to pick up a small stack of records, CDs and an old player that, when accosted by his slightly concerned friends, he claimed were his Dad's favorites over the years. 'Soon enough,' the others figured. Just let him be. It wasn't until somewhere around the week before Thanksgiving that they had all agreed that no longer could they stand Zack Mixon being Tanner's replacement, the fact that he wasn't being paid nonwithstanding: the kid was just too fucking annoying. After catching Tanner one grey November day in the back, slumped down on the low sofa with half the lights off, two empty Olde English fortys at his feet with one also in-hand plus two more unopened ones laying next to him along with some small white dots of cocaine speckling the table in front of him, half-listening to Placebo's "Without You, I'm Nothing" and barely keeping in his mouth a mass of wet sunflower seeds, Mary and September had exchanged glances, sat on either side of him, decided this was not the real Tanner they loved at all and attempted to put together a soultion that would combine everybody's interests. Spending nearly every day at the hospital wasn't doing him any good at all at this point, they said, and not to mention that they're all seriously missing him at the Store and how him returning for at least a couple or three shifts minimum a week starting after Thansgiving would be the implementation to get Tan back to himself. After this plea from the girls, Tanner consented immediately, knowing in his brain already this was basically the thing to do: return to work, fall into routine, drop the worrying. Just needed to hear it from someone else. Everyone was finished eating. Mary was collecting the miscellaneous scraps of meat or cheese from everyone's styrofoam and putting them on four small plates used for teacups and spreading them around the floor, the cat's making a cute but rather obnoxious onrush of meowing all the while, the ones finishing first being greedy and moving to a different cat's plate. Preston grabbed another beer, took a swig, set it down and proceeded to clear from the tables everybody's trash: picking up napkins and wiping up salsa, collecting unopened plastic silverware, empty pico de gallo side cups and  bits of chip and tomato, all with a certain you could say urgency. Septemeber was looking at him like boy oh boy look at the clean freak. Jerry, having finished and crushed his empty beer can handed it to Preston and said to Septy, noticing her gaze: "Like Jack Lemmon in The Odd Couple, eh, Septy?" "You're on a roll, today, Jerry."

***

Jerry was due at any moment to clock in. So far today there came in about ten people since opening, most of them twenty-something semi-regular browsers who stop in once or twice a month and usually head straight to the Newly Acquired section, having browsed the regular shelves pretty much to their full extent already. A middle-aged mom came in saying she was only killing time until her dentist's appointment around the corner. Is it me, or does something smell in here, I can't place it? Day off for Septy. At the register, Tanner was staring sideways out of the windows and noticed an older couple approaching the entrance. The husband carried a cane, and Tanner placed the both of them anywhere between seventy and eighty years old. His wife walked directly beside him with her arm through his, leading him forward with affection and staid dilligence.The old man had a countenance that revealed a steady resilience of mind. Tanner checked him out, and could tell this old man was going to do what he wanted, when he wanted, despite the latent haze of tainted logic, begging for surrender. A look at the wife, and you could notice her admiring this quality in her husband, proving his air of steadiness not to be stubbornness and resenting, but humble, dilligent nobility. After a few seconds of watching the couple approaching the curb, Tanner noticed he had been spaced out for he didn't know how long, not really thinking, but not really content. His brain finally jostled itself loose when he noticed the white-haired wife bracing herself just a little in order to help get the husband up onto the curb. He hurried around the counter to pop outside and assist them to the door. The wife smiled with tender gratitude, and asked that Tanner first help herself onto the curb, at which point she would be able to help her husband up on her own. Once they got inside, Tanner holding wide the door for them, the wife sat her husband gently down into the nearest chair. Once her husband got comfortable, she turned, smiled, and asked Tanner politely if they sell here a CD copy of something by Waylon Jennings, anything would do, but preferably a greatest hits compilation. She talked briefly on how her husband sang in a country-western band back in the day that often covered Waylon songs. She went on, telling how they had a rather long drive out-of-state to attend a funeral for one of the husband's former band-mates. They were leaving the day after tomorrow, and it came into her head that maybe her husband would like to hear some of the songs they used to play as something to do for their car ride. Tanner found this very thoughtful of her, but did not smile. He checked the shelves and after a moment returned with a few different discs for the couple to choose from. He fanned out the handful of CDs for the two, and moved them over to directly in front of the sitting husband at the wife's request, so as to let him see better and choose. Tanner did so (speaking a little loudly, also requested by the wife) and pointed out the ones that were greatest hits. The husband looked them over carefully one at a time, and Tanner could see a flash in his eyes as they passed over 1967's Waylon Sings Ol' Harlan, at which Tanner loudly asked if he recognized that one. "Yeah. First one I bought from him. Wasn't forty-five, though. Big thirty-three. Do they have a thirty-three?" He turned to his wife. "This is for in the car, Richard. Them albums can't play in those. It's a CD, not a forty-five. Is that one a compilation, honey?" she asked Tanner. "No ma'am, I don't believe so. I know this one and this one is," Tanner pointed out 1979's Greatest Hits, and a 20th Century Masters comp. "But not this one?" She pointed to Waylon Sings. "I don't believe so. I can't be sure, because I actually haven't listened to this one yet." "Oh, you like this old music? Well do you know which one would be good?" Tanner, having never heard a Waylon Jennings song once in his life, decided to point out Greatest Hits as his favorite.   "Okay. Richard. This one isn't a compilation, it's just a regular album. Do you want this one or do you want one of those others? Because these others he said are compilations." "Hm?" "This one right here? This one you said you liked? It's not a compilation. So you won't get as many songs. Is that okay, or would you rather have one of these here, with more poplar songs?" "Uh-huh. No, no." "So which one do you want, this one, or one of the compilations?" He looked from her back down to the fanned CDs, pulled an arm up and set a finger on Waylon Sings. "Yeah. I had that one. Big thirty-three." "Alright, we'll get this one," she was talking to her husband, slow and loud. "But I'm gonna get this one too, that he recommended, okay? Just in case this ain't as good." After a few seconds, the husband gave a gruff sound of consent. "We'll take these two, honey. Thank you so much. Can you ring them up for us while I'm bringing out my purse?" "No problem, ma'am. You guys can just stay right there, and I'll be right back to let you know how much it is." Tanner was a little loud saying this, in hopes that the husband would register that they would be done soon and wouldn't grow unnecessarily impatient. The husband did not display any outward sign at all that this would likely happen, but Tanner's acute empathy as always suggested he ought to pre-ameliorate and so he felt that possibly humoring him couldn't hurt. After allowing the wife a minute to pull her husband to his feet, he handed her the bag of CDs and brough her her change, quickly heading back and forth from the open register to the couple. He opened the door and was eager to help them all the way to the car, but detected that likely the two would rather be alone again quite quickly, so he simply took them to the curb before returning inside. There also came in before the older couple a father and his boy who were around thirty-five and thirteen, respectively. They had been coming in as a pair like clockwork, twice a month since around the new year. Their tradition was to find a good day when neither of them had any previous plans or obligations, usually a Saturday, and to go to breakfast together followed by a drive someplace else on town, so as to spend his (the son's) allowance. At breakfast, when the father asked his son where he would like to go after they'd finished, the son would always answer with "the record store." Upon their entrance, the father, who gave a friendly nod to Tanner and browsed at a leisurely pace, let the son take as much time as he wanted (well, to a point). Tanner didn't mind working weekends as some of the others and so it happened that almost every time the duo made their ritual appearance, Tanner was there, manning the register or going through boxes somewhere. He began to grow quite fond of spotting the boy, making his way with care up and down the aisles, full of enthusiasm at discovering a hard copy of his own nascent musical interests. He smiled at seeing the kid so excited, because Tanner could tell that this was and has been for a while the highlight of the kid's week. Tanner could tell the son was introverted, a bit neurotic for his age, but brightly open-hearted and just stewing in quiet passion. Once inside the Store, the kid would remove his hat and gloves with care, head for the closest shelf and slowly work his way toward the edges of the Store. He would deliberately look down one side of an aisle, then come back up the aisle scanning the opposite side, doing this down every aisle, in order, usually twice. Suddenly, something would grab his attention, an album or sometimes DVD that he recognized, and if he was interested in buying it, he would give it a thorough look-over and leave it sitting on top of the section to go find it later, so as to have free hands throughout this whole blessed experience. If he saw something he recognized and approved of, but didn't want to buy, he would show it to his father, smiling. He would always get get a manly and approving "Yeah" or "Nice" and would put it back right where it was to continue on. Sometimes he would browse for over thirty minutes, at which point Tanner or whoever was there could tell his father was understandably growing a little impatient. With this, the son would return to whatever items he had left out of place and either collect them or put them back, head up to the counter with pride and shyness, check out calmly, but giddy on the inside, grab his bag of goods and tear them open as soon as the two were back and sitting in the car. In back, Mary and Preston going through shit and bopping their heads or singing along to the last chorus of 'Before They Make Me Run' by The Stones, from their Some Girls album, smoking a vape pen with a high-content THC cartridge. They could hear the bells jang and a muffled Jerry's voice greeting Tanner with over-the-top clownish vocal inflections. "Heeey, Mr. tambourine man!" "What's up dude. Having a jingle-jangle morning, I see." "It's tight, I guess." Jerry sniffed. "So, affirmative?" "I got you, man." Jer handed Tanner his baggie and headed towards the back room and the music. "Get outta here. Be up there in a minute." Jerry approached the door and tapped speedily on the wood with both index fingers like a drum roll before entering the back office slash storage space, Tanner hearing the music heighten and lower again as he went in. Once he was alone, Tanner pulled out his keys and pressed Unlock twice. After a side-to-side look, he drove one of the keys into the baggie and took a bump. He continued staring out the front windows, spacing out once again rather than auto-starting the car. "What's up, sluts?" "Well, well. The actual beast of burden. Uncanny," said Mare as Jer shut the door. "Where we at?" Mary cleared some albums off her lap and pushed herself up and out of the Indian stance with unexpected grace. "So this box needs dusted, and these still need tested, both sides." Preston was also standing up and stretching, pointing at the work they had left and handing Jer the vape pen. "As far as the testees go, You got a Kings of Leon, a Linkin Park or two, some other shit and still about a thousand Cat Stevens in the back, if, you know. I dunno what else. But I saved you a Prodigy. You're welcome. I'm outta here." "What! No shit, which one? Mare? Who the fuck brought a Prodigy?" "I, don't..." "The other day, I forgot to tell you. Just some old dude with a dopeass Killswitch shirt, had lots of nineties and aughts stuff," said Mary, throwing on a jacket and pulling out shoes. "He brought everything there. Besides the Yusef, obviously." Jer went up to the box of testees Preston had indicated and the two headed out the back door for smokes and Jer rifling through, going "Jilted, not Fat...Jilted, not Faaat..." The dorky-but-somewhat-likeable eighteen-year-old Zack Mixon single-handedly brings in an average of eleven percent of the Store's revenue from the past year, September found out one day. He also came in today. Usually it's around four p.m. every other day for him, but it was indeed Saturday, so he showed in the morning, before the middle-aged mom, and the older couple and the father and son. Once dressed for outside, Mary squeezed a tube of purply brown soft cat food onto a plate, set it down on the floor and clicked her tongue. "Preston's out, I'm just going to smoke. Bee arr bee."

***

Return To Sender: Dive into Remembrance. Bathe in Everlasting. Dissolve and be Whole. TONIGHT: Stylings of Hakim Papoola. Nervous Muskrat Lounge. 9PM.   Drinks tonight at the Muskrat. Mary had a plus-one: that being Reggie, or, Rigaud, Lagnier, Blandois. Preston had met dark-eyed Reggie outside the Pump and Dollop a couple months back, well after all the hubbub from Last Summer had burned out; lanky, shirtless and looking like a blackguard playing loosely on an oversized acoustic guitar various Latin and raggae-ish melodies to passer-bys and singing with open guitar case at his feet. He looked to Preston rather vivacious and forward-looking for a bum, around his age, billy goatee, newly homeless he could tell--possibly by choice; decent clothes, no smell, no loitering bags of any kind: plastic, trash, or sleeping. Total Dharma. In the late morning light he moved in a way that, to Preston, made him come off as replete with a strangely drawing blend of dissonant and primordial energies. Pres was walking in to grab javas when he spotted Reggie singing powerfully and playing with almost dubious fervor; like he might have been planted and had grown instantaneously to create some impromptu and natural distraction. Anyway, Preston dug him. Coming out from P&D he gave a hallo in Reg's direction, and after introductions the two agreed that Reg aught to come by the Store, address here on this business card, to set up and do his thing sometime this weekend, maybe. These days Reggie sets up out front about twice a week, typically Thursday and Friday night, playing for passer-bys usually when Mary or September is working, because the men often grow tired of the music he plays. When that happens, Preston will tell him to take a break or put on his headphones; Jerry will put on a record and drown out the sound, sometimes inviting Reggie in; Tanner will run out there and tell him to fuck off for a while, sometimes smiling. During her smoke break, Preston and Mary headed down the street a couple blocks toward the Nervous Muskrat Lounge to see if anything good was going on that night, talking along the way and stepping to avoid puddles of melted snow. "Chu gonna do all day?" "Would love to get some writing done." "Well that goes without saying. What else?" "Hmm. Space Golf on PlayBox." "Gotta get that eagle," said Mary, hitting her cigarette and looking up at the Walk/Don't Walk sign. "I'm also rewatching Cosmos on VHS. Carl Sagan. O.G." "I've always wondered if he was pronouncing Uranus correctly." "Got that turtleneck and chain." "Sagan got a a chain? Ayy." "How much my chain cost? Billions and billions." "He never really said that." "That book made me cry." The pair had only to walk a couple blocks down and take one turn before they could see caddy-corner from them the familiar brown bricks and triangled corner building with the long vertical sign of tubey lettering reading MUSKRAT when you looked up to down, all dead and dark and not yet the neon. Posted in the leftmost window near the street was plastered a Hendrix-y colored poster with classic hippie-inspired and the-most-impossible-to-read-font-until-death-metal-came-along lettering that moved in circular spiral-like directions that normal sentences aren't usually supposed to go, enveloping the image of Gustav Dore's depiction of Satan from Paradise Lost, but modified so that in this depiction, the fallen angel is wearing eight-bit sunglasses and smoking a joint. Mare read out the title, struggling through the acid font. "In this window?" Preston pointed, looking over at Mare. "Yeah." "I'm gonna invite Septy. This might be good." "Is she not working tonight?" "I dunno." "Maybe I'll ask Reggie." "Girl, if Blandois saw this sign, I'm pretty sure he's already goin." "Oh my god, stop calling him that." "Did you see this one? 'Bathe In Everlasting.' 'Scuse me?" "Yeah bro. Should be a trip. I'm headin back." "I'll hit you up later. Enjoy the Prodigy."   "I will!" The thwack of Preston's deadbolt, and inside he went. Flipping every light switch from front to back, he sat down a grocery bag on the island between the kitchen and living room, making sure not to set it on top of his copy of Tao Te Ching he likes to leave out from the bookshelf for easy access before carefully untying his shoes. After putting away sundries,  he flipped on his console and television; not to play or watch anything, but so as to have an aesthetic background screen rather than a blank, black mirror. He changed into pajama pants and opened a beer, pouring it out into a glass down the side proper. He thought about September. He grabbed another cigarette and went out to his balcony with Lao Tzu. Mary was balancing herself against the wall as she pulled off her shoes; her bottom half being rather disproportionate once it hit below the small waist. She could hear the muffled glitches and grinds of 'Voodoo People' from out front. She pulled her coat off and walked over to a lounging Cheech to rub his belly, and gave a general hallo to all her cats that were appearing out of corners and under shelves with nap-end back arches and toothy yawns. She slid into her foam sliders which she always wore at work rather than her regular street shoes before going to the front where Jerry was obviously going ape or ham on the vape pen. "Hiroyuki Sakai!" Jer yelled with a beckoning gesture. "Chen Kenichi!" Mare pulled out the barstool next to him, the one Tanner occupied at day shift. "The ever-explorative Verge, the Redd queen of the highway. What's good?" "Just a-swingin." "With those thighs, I reckon so." Jer leaned over and turned down the Prodigy a bit, not noticing an older male customer on the upstairs-landing Jazz section giving off a sidelong stink eye like "finally" and upward appeal of passive-aggressive kind of "Thank God" relief. "Talk shit, get hit." "Middle school cool kid." "That's me, alright." "Really? Cuz I coulda sworn you were Roksaburo Michiba!?" "Only on off-days, Fukui-san." "Speaking of being off, you got plans tonight?" "Dude, me and Preston saw the wildest poster at Muskrat just now." "Oh, shit, you went down there? How long you been gone? Damn." "Preston wants to go pretty bad, so we were thinking me, him, September and Reggie if I can find him." "What kinda music?" "I don't know if it even is music, it just had a guy's name, Hakim something. If it is, probably psychedelic doom type shit from what the poster looked like." "Oh, shit. I'll be there." "I could be totally wrong though. Didn't feel like a band poster. It said 'stylings.'" "Ah, you shoulda said that before. Poetry--not my thing. Anything else? Ryot Gear perhaps?" The back wall of Stewey's was where they kept all the clear liquors, which is where Preston had been shifting from foot to foot for about three minutes now. At checkout, he ended up with a three seven five of Tanqueray, a picollo of moscato, three plastic waters, and a single plastic shooter of New Amsterdam peach vodka.  He was twisting the cap of the gin once he got outside and across the street; but just as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he felt the vibrations in his pocket and saw the confirmation text from Septy that she'd be off at eight, and would be able to get there by nine thirty. He smiled, replied, and put away the gin and instead chugged the moscato, and tossed the empty mini bottle in a sidewalk hedge with a flourish of inspired artistry as he made his way downtown toward the Muskrat.

***

"Love letter leaf Are you just Passing through Or are you Waiting for me?

"Gust of rose Covers up dust Sense so bright It hides in light All where it goes.

(light applause)

"Emerge from the Earth. Immerse me in mirth. Your cruel love questions What wonder is worth.

"Fall below best. Rise above rest. Your body feels free, Fair, unbound and blessed.

(light whistle)

"Jesus died for you. Jesus lied, it's true. Death will be barren. Heaven shall fall through.

(light applause. Preston whistles with pinky fingers. September smiles. Reggie crushes beer can and whoops).

"I just came down with a case of the rhymes from the attic. Never a witness. Dust off the table and unroll the art. Here comes the illness. Put it on my chart. I must insist.

("Okay." Light whistles)

"I just came up for a quick kiss to boost your self-esteem. You need to taste yourself in a way not so profound. You don't need to waste yourself in a way that won't astound.

("Damn!")

"After all, I'm the one who's supposed to go down.

("Maybe." "I can dig it." Loud whistle. "Okay.")

"Takes time for other minds-- The ones that I wish were mine. On days like these, I make myself obsolete.

("Oh!" Applause. "Go there." "Okay." "I see it.")

Well there's this, at least. The brilliance is earthshaking-- So effortless, it's painstaking-- Even my failures are groundbreaking."

(Large applause. Many whistling. Mary shouts: "Gat-damn, that's whassup!")

"I'm faded so far away from anything relatably debatable. I'm unstable and unable to remain in the same stable."

("No." "Yes.")

"Table tennis of the mind.

("Yup.")

"Take a tip from passing time ("Stop.")

"To say when, And stay bent. Same place and mind As a stint in an insane asylum, Ay."

(loud, long applause. Long whistles. Many shouts and cheers. Reggie barking like a hound. Jerry flashing ironically. September and Preston making crazy-eyed glances of surprise).

The stage of the Mukrat was adjacent to the three-by-ninestool bar, and covered only a small pocket of the north-east corner of the main drag  of the inside of the building; giving a band of five or more members a nice opportunity to reach out and platonically touch fingers, whenever they so desired (as if the practice room weren't enough). Hakim was alone; just him and an ambient background score he put on via laptop and connector cable. Some scrappy notepad papers in his left hand, and he performed the final leg of his act, bringing forth a healthy final applaud. Behind the bar was Voodoo Mama, as always. She bartends any night the Rat is open for business. Off hours, over half the crowd will stay for a majority of the nights of the week well past closing. Mama never cared. She'd always just sit at that table on the second floor landing and count money. She never had a security system. Just her peeled eye, peering like a lion behind the grassy green gen-pop income. It was around ten forty five when Hakim left the stage, and the house band returned; re-dressed, and well smoked, and well doped. It was of course Reggie, with his beach bum energy and Bob Ross-esque inviting type of tone that lured the lone poet forward, not ten steps from the stage. "You halal, mah brotha?" Reggie sounded off, ripping  the skinny Hakim into Mary's empty chair; her having  went out for a smoke with Septy, but just now returning. Preston noticed the layer of sweat and pushed over an unopened water bottle over to the wide-eyed performer (Preston kept plastic bottles of water well on-hand when out in public--to save money, he claimed). "Anyone smell sushi omelette? Conger fishmeat?" Jer. "Voodoo Mama?" "Don't be rude." Hakim laughs sorta. "You ever been someplace between a greem chili gizzard shad and a Japanese horseradish ice cream?" "You'll have to forgive Mary and Jerry, here. They have their own language that for some reason revolves around phrases most commonly found on Iron Chef," Preston informed. "You people are odd." "Seven Eleven." "I can't argue that," Papoola replied to Blandois. "Wer' nut always doin' business, but wer' alllways open." Septy, downing a bluey Cuervo shooter Preston snagged 5DD). "Yo, but that poetry was straight wrong." Jer. "Forreal, what are you on, man?" Preston inquires. "Mamas milk brutha. My shit don't come from nowhere that ain't purific." "Shame." "Forreal." "Still though." Mary grabs Jer's vape pen. Septy pounds back well shots like a commercial interruption. She keeps on going. Preston keeps on giving languid looks to poor ol' Jer with his attachable interest. Mary watches. "You ever feel less than, hoople-head?" Septy slurs at HP. "No. Not really. I do my thing." "Ain't that the purest form of nigger logic." "Yo, Sept. That ain't cool. Sup wit chu?" "Why did she call me 'nigger'?" Preston wonders. Am I a nimrod, or is this hard-on genuine? Reggie asks: "Are you from here?" Mary eyebrows lift. "Egypt." "No shit?" "How bout that water erosion?" "What? What do you mean?" "I nose the truth! Can I get an Amen for pussy?" "Seriously, Sept. stoppit." "Eat my ass, Presley. I'm all shoo-kup." Mary looks at Preston, then September. "Hey Septy." Mar. "Y-yyyes, ma'am?" "Enough is enough." Mary looks at Jer. ( Oh no. Here it comes, the Russian sleeper code). "Enough is enough! I have had it with these muthafuckin snakes on this muthafuckin plane!" Septy shifts to feet to declare, overpowering the round little table. Preston rolls his eyes. Hakim chuckles. "Unboud and blessed." Voodoo Mama lightly encourages the audience to give it up as the house band--one drummer, one guitar, one standup bass and one pianoman--finishes their set, coming back in twinny. Joint press, no doubt. Preston kisses her cheek as he goes to the main for a refill like any used mechanical vehicle. Mary and Rigaud make nice. Jer laughs hysterically at Hakim struggling to be polite to a drunken September he did not expect and puffing lightly on that same vape pen. He tries to pass it to Preston for a minute straight before realizing his chair is empty. "He's outside, Jer. Give it to me." Mary. Mary hits the vape, turns it to Reggie for his for-the-roader as they both stand and head after Preston and the band for the back alley via the band entrance. The couple lean against a shadowy wall along the widespread flannel-tearing cement with red and white make-out fury for a brief hop and spell out of time except for that squeaky-ass metal frame door that squawls each and every set change. Down the line a bit, and Preston is grabbing a three-point-five from the band's guitarist, which Preston figures probably came from the vocalist. "Perfect, man. I'm gonna head back." "Woah, woah, woah. Forget somethin?" "..." "The bread, ese." "Right. Yes. I knew I was forgetting somethin." "Ight, we good. Thanks, mano." "Great set last weekend. With the black chick...?" "Thanks, mano." Preston comes in the band entrance, right between the stage's edge and bars end. He spots September and Jer at the bar right under that one working overhead light, and they're both very into whatever topic they're into along with Voodoo Mama on their opposite. He was about to head straight for them with the good news, with the intention of bringing them right back outside to smoke, but decided to wait, as he noticed Hakim looking like he was preparing to go back on for another set (you know--all focused and staring forward; wrapping a scarf without looking down; drip of spit.) "Round 2?" "Yes. Wish me luck." "Who needs it?" "Exactly, my friend. Exactly." "Did I strike a nerve? Whadduyu mean?" "To be honest, tat is the truest thing anyone in this whole town has said tonight to me. Luck is not real. Trust me, man, I know. What I have been through? What I thought was right, and what I was told would be honest, humble, and brave? Everything we are, everything we think we see and know? It is all nothing but history, energy, and circumstance. We are animals. Yet, we are also conscious. My promise to you, Presty. Take it easy. Anything else would be overkill."

***

"It's so cool that we're all here." "Hey, Mar. Should i put on Yumeji's Theme?" It's 10:36 AM, at the Rcord Store. The next day. "No Septy. We are not in the mood for love." "Ohmygod. Nothin tingles my pringles like a reference understood!" "You made us endure a full viewing of that one, if'n you don't recall." "What? In the Mood For Love?" please. You could never do that live." "Yeah, but hey man, at least it wasn't as bad as Salo." "Oomph. Hard times." Mar. "Or Human Centipede 2." "That was a rough one." "I'm starting to feel really glad I never went to those." Tanner. "You're a horse with no name." "If that were true, there'd be ain't no one else for to give me no pain." La laaa, laa...la-uh le-luh luh..." The playlist turns to California Dreamin' (Single Version). (Silence, until Jer kicks in singing after the panpipe solo.) "I've been for a wa-aaalk..." "On a winters' day..." "[Got down on my knees...]" "You're all like..so gay," says Tanner. "Hey, you guys. What if I told you I have invented an idea for one of the most profitable apps to ever exist?" Jerry inquires. "I'd say where's the stock?" Mar. "What's the app?" "Okay. I call it QuickHook. Say you're on Instagram, and you see that your ex is at Starbucks. Okay. So. You show up there, and pretend you're just getting a coffee and minding your own business. But then, you get on QuickHook, and you connect with a hot chick thats only 1 mile away! You have her show up, make out with you for 20 minutes, and then leave!" "Why?" "Why?" Because a hot chick is in to you, of course! Think about it. What sells? Anything that lasts forever. And what lasts forever? Jealousy. And that's what QuickHook is about! Shallow green leads to deep green." "It's like Grandeur Grindr!" Septy. "It's like insecurity insurance." Tanner. "It's like beta bait!" Preston. "Cuz I'm good, yeah I'm feelin alright..." Jerry grabs the phone with audio connnection. He checks for a second. "Oh L'Amour." "App would never work, Jer. Not enough folk out there quite that level of petty." Preston. "And plus besides who even uses Instagram anymore? Specially pins," September mumbles from under her heaped-over dozy carcass. Voo-teevah, mon," Jer yells from the aux station. "Ya'll don't know. It's a wild world." "Don't bring Yusef into this." Mary, petting Jupiter in her lap. "Hey ya'll, I think I need to drive her home," Tanner feels, indicating September. And look at that. Tanner brings September back to her apartment. Nothing too crazy there: a tiny dog, some Xmas lights, a few dozen modern paintings and a wok. Loose hairties, wadded up toilet paper, smudged Whitney Houston lines of white dirt here and there, conter-wise, a pot and dirty pan. "What is she?" he asks. Tanner stays a few steps away. "What is she, really?" "Can we please? Please, Tan. I need you." He undresses her, in that drunken friend way to prepare her for bed. But. That rack looks back at him from a certain past. He can't resist. In he goes. She says "Yes." But that's just a response here. What it really means is more than can be explained. "What even happened to you?" "Protect me." He rolls her into bed. "Tanner, why can't you be with me? Why...cuz I miss you and stuff." "Because." "No because. Because yer dad." "Yeah." "B-cuz yer dad...is dyyy-iiiing! And you don't like that." "Pretty much, Septy. You're too much right now." "Right now...or right nooow now?" "Just now." "So what am I now now?" "Now now, you're just a fuckin' fuckin drunk Tom Hanks bullshit baby." "HA! Yaaaaay, Wils-ooon! But that's not yer dad. your dad is FELD-son. Right?" "Yeah. Martin Feldson." "His name sounds plaid. Like if plaid color had a name. ALso, he's dead. HAAA." "He was a good man, Sept." "Sure, suuure, sure. Yes. Yep. I bet he was. I love you." "I wish he could have met you." "HE HAS! I went nd saw him?" "Yeah. But. I dunno." "Tan." "Sept." "....." Outside is hot. Bugs fucking everywhere. Tanner slams the door and slams they key but doesn't know what to slam when it comes to the window, his wondow into her heart. There she ism basically fucking Preston at this point, blacking out every weekend, talking about such random shit and leaving me back for the rats, the roaches. Where is her mind? I'm sorry, but seriously. We used to work. We used to fuck like crazy. What even is this?" I need to see Dad." Tanner is 25, and his mom has health insurance, and she knows this whatever kind of stuff. September coughs blood. "This is weird." "Hello, September." "Yes. Hi, weird. Why are you the weirdy weirding weird?" "It's been eleven hours since you've been anesthetized. Are you feeling this way still, truly?" "Tcherr-tr-trueee. Trueee. Blue as true is blue is you. And me. And pee. And poop. Ha-ha-ha...poop. Poop the scoop. Scoopy doop. Scoops for me, Scoops for doop, and choc and choc and chocolate chip and rocky road, yo, gimme a goad...toad...Frodo froad..." "September you need to listen." "Skoad, chode, listen." "Yes, I'm Doctor McNamara and you need to listen to me." "To me...tooo me. Toomee. Toomee. Yes. Listen to Mac Na-Romalds." "September? September? Please. THis is important. Very, very important. I need you to listen." "Neeeeeeed...ta listen-eeen. Nee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-eeeeeeeeeed. ta liss-eh-heeeeeen." "Okay. Sir. Are you the next of kin? A friend?" "Just a friend, yeah. I'm real sorry, Doctor. SHe is usually chill, but last night was..." "I don't care in the slightest what happened last night, son. It's whats going on now. September is sick. You need to realize that, even if she cannot." "Sick. Okay, can you be a little more fucking specific dude?" "SHe has cancer. In her stomach. Not to mention a couple of ulcers. It's bad, son." "Tanner. " "It's not looking good, Tanner." "So is this from drinking? The ulcers? I mean I know cancer runs in the family. Her dad had it." "Tanner, cancer does not run in the family. It's not congenial. SHe just spent too much time drinking, yes; but much more of this is from smoking, It's a problem we must deal with. Now, I'm afraid." Do you know of any immediate family I could contact?" It's a matter of legal procedure, Tanner. I know your support alone might suffice just fine. But as I've said, this is serious. So please cooperate, and stay positive." "Dude..."

[quindolyn]

Can I request a Sub! James Potter? Where he did something bad, and reader had to punish him, with some amazing aftercare afterwards?

Permission || James Potter

Word Count: 3016

A/N: This was also requested by @triciam06 and I hope you all enjoy it! I’m the biggest sucker for sub!James. His punishment isn’t anything too severe because I a) don’t think that James would ever break a rule more severe than the one he breaks in this piece and that’s because he’s the most obedient sub and b) I love him but he couldn’t take a hardcore punishment. 

Warnings: Mommy kink, sub!James, overstim, light punishment, aftercare

Masterlist

It was funny really, how easily you could get him off on your hand alone. Desperate to be your good boy James was trying his very best not to buck up into your hand as you lazily flicked your wrist up and down his shaft, your thumb occasionally brushing over the blushing tip of his weeping cock.

You dragged your eyes over his perspiring form, his strong hands balled into fists, clenching the soft material of the sheets in between his fingers. He had his back arched against the bed, messy black hair fanning out around his face which was flushed, painting his cheeks a pretty rosy pink. With tears swimming in his eyes, which were there from the tremendous effort he was putting into delaying his orgasm until you said he could cum, your Jamsie was the picture of obedience. 

Continuing your hand’s movements on his throbbing cock, a lopsided smirk caressed your face as you moved the hand not on his member to grope at your breast, it only seemed fair that you got to touch yourself as you watched this.

“M-Mommy,” He stuttered out, blinking up at you owlishly, his glasses were still perched atop his nose, but now resting crooked on his face. 

Your hand abandoned your breast, instead moving to correct his glasses, “On or off baby?” You cooed gently, gazing down at him adoringly, he was being such a good boy for you, not cumming until he was told he could. He always followed instruction so well.

“Off please,” James whimpered, turning his face so that you could more easily access his eyewear. 

“Such good manners,” You praised, folding the legs of the glasses in towards the lenses before you set them down on the nightstand table. In your efforts to discard his glasses you had to lean a bit meaning that James’ painfully hard prick slipped from the palm of your hand, slapping against the hard muscles of his lower abdomen.

You grinned wickedly at the small whimper that left his mouth, watching as he flexed his fingers you knew he was just desperate to get one of his hands on his cock, he was so close to cumming and the both of you knew it. 

“Aww baby,” You crooned, eyes never leaving his member, “It looks so pretty right there, lying on your tummy,” You extended a single finger, running it up the length of his prick, following a particularly pronounced vein, “Thinking that I might just let it sit there, be a shame to mess up something so pretty.”

“Mommy,” James sniffled, “Mommy please, I need your hand, I need to cum pretty please, I’ve been your good boy, I deserve to cum.”

You let out a dry chuckle, expertly recapturing his cock in your hand you resumed your hand’s motions on his length. Your movements were considerably quicker than they had been, as you tugged on his prick you tugged him closer and closer to his orgasm until the tears pooling in his eyes leaked out of the corners. Leaving twin trails down his temples as his pleading eyes stared into yours.

“You think you deserve to cum baby? You think you deserve for Mommy to let you make a mess all over her hand?”

“Uh huh,” He whined, squeezing his eyes closed as he nodded his head vigorously, James pulled the soft cushion of his bottom lip in between his teeth, biting harshly before releasing it in all of its swollen glory.

“I don’t know pretty boy, I think you can wait a bit longer, yeah? Be mommy’s good boy and wait till she tells you you’ve deserved it.” You countered.

Not satisfied with your answer James protested, “But Mommy-” But you quickly shut him up with a quick slap to the inside of his thigh. Not hard enough to actually hurt, just leave a pleasant stinging sensation as you rubbed your hand over the offending skin.

“Be quiet Jamie, you’ll cum when mommy says you can cum and not a fucking moment sooner,” A scowl formed on your face, evidence that you were not pleased with his contesting your ruling. Wanting to punish him for his not listening to you, you pulled even more harshly at his cock, wanting to get him so close to orgasm that he was but a subby puddle, ready to do your bidding. 

“Look at you,” You cooed, your voice now carrying slight mocking as traced a delicate finger along the planes of his toned abs, following the dips and ridges, watching as he shuddered under your touch. “So pretty like this, all splayed out for me, you look so beautiful baby, so beautiful.”

“Thank you Mommy,” James groaned, “Mommy’s pretty too.”

“Good boy,” You smiled, leaning over to smear a gentle kiss along his brow, never once releasing his cock from the confines of your hand. “But if you think flattery’s gonna make Mommy let you cum, you’ve got another thing coming.”

You took a sick delight in watching him writhe and whimper beneath you as you torturously denied him his orgasm until it was too much for him to take. 

His movements had him flailing around the bed as he tried so hard to listen to you, but he could feel the fire burning in his belly and it was becoming harder and harder to ignore, no matter how desperately wanted to.

“Mommy I’m gonna cum,” He screamed, bucking his hips into your hand, “I need to cum Mommy please, pretty please.”

“No,” You snipped, “Mommy’s already let you cum tonight baby, twice, no cumming until she says you can, you know the rules.” And you were right, you’d already allowed him to cum down your throat twice as you took him all the way to his pubic bone.

Your words didn’t seem to completely register with him as he continued to buck into your hand before eventually releasing his load, “Mommy I’m so sorry,” He screamed as he came on your hand, coating it in his sticky release. 

“I’m cumming, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” He cried as his orgasm washed over him, completely overwhelming him in pleasure until he could barely even mumble out apologies. 

Watching as he trembled beneath you you continued jacking him off, using his cum as a lubricant, making it easier to move your hand along his shaft. 

“Baby,” You crooned, wiping the tears off of his face with the pads of your fingers.

“S’too much Mommy, too much.” His whines were positively pathetic as he pushed his hips into the mattress, trying to put distance between his cock and your hand.

A frown found its way to your lips, “But you came without permission love, can’t just let that go unpunished, what kinda Mommy would I be if I did?”

“I know,” He whined, shamelessly squirming, trying to get out of your hold, “I’m sorry Mommy, I didn’t mean to, I just couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

You understood that, you had edged him for the past hour or so and you weren’t sure if even you could’ve lasted that long but he didn’t get to cum without permission, he knew that. 

“Don’t wanna hear your excuses Jamie,” You were increasingly aware of how his oversensitive prick twitched in your hand, “I know it was hard baby but you know you’re not allowed to cum without permission don’t you?”

“Yes Mommy, I know.”

“You gotta take your punishment for me then baby,” You explained, moving your hand to tweak one of his nipples before pulling the sensitive bud between your fingers, where you then pinched them.

“P-punishment?” He stuttered out, his wide eyes, drowned in guilt, staring back up at yours. 

“Yes baby, punishment, you broke one of my rules didn’t you?” If only the boy lying in front of you knew just how much power he had over you. He wasn’t even trying, but just watching him get off was enough to flood your panties. 

“I’m sorry Mommy, I didn’t mean to be a bad boy,” He sobbed and the frankly pathetic tone of his voice as he apologized to you for the umpteenth time in the last couple of minutes was almost enough to make you relent, but not quite.

“I know my love, and you weren’t a bad boy, just a naughty boy,” What you did next counteracted the sweetness of your words as you poked your tongue out just enough to kitten lick the sensitive tip of his cock, taking immense delight as more cum leaked out of his prick. The taste of his seed was the usual perfect salty sweet blend it always was but something about that cum being, for lack of a better word, forbidden, made it taste all that much better. 

“J-just naughty? Not bad?” He pleaded with both his eyes and his words, needing the praise he was so used to.

“Just naughty.” You confirmed, releasing his prick for a moment before lightly slapping your open palm against it, reveling in the way his entire body jumped at the sensation. “Now Jamsie, you gonna take your punishment like a good boy, yeah?”

“Yes,” He forced out through gritted teeth.

“Yes who?”

“Yes, Mommy.” 

“That’s better,” You praised, continuing to overstimulate him, relishing the noises he made until whimpers turned into him bawling as fat teardrops raced down his face and down his neck.

“M’so sorry mommy, m’so sorry,” James cried shamelessly trying his best not to move.

“You were so eager to cum baby, just giving you what you wanted,” You condescended running your fingers through his locks once again to get a solid grip on them before yanking pulling a strangled moan from his lips. “Is this not what you wanted baby? Thought this was what you wanted when you came without my permission? Just giving you what you clearly want, now are you gonna be good? You said you would.”

In response you recieved a gasp as he released onto your hand again, somehow even more than last time. Feeling both selfish and wicked you bent forward, trading your earlier kitten licks for engulfing the entirety of the head of his cock, slurping on it as one would a lollipop. 

The moan that ripped it’s way out of his throat was pornographic as his sensitive cock was overstimulated by the feeling of your warm, velvety mouth wrapped around it. As you allowed his cock to rest against the flat of your tongue you noticed that his cries for you to stop, that he was sorry had quieted to muffled whimpers explained by the hand clamped over his mouth. 

The sight sent a surge of pride through you, here Jamie was being as obedient for you as ever because he knew what he had done was not okay. That he had broken Mommy’s rules, it was why he was so rarely punished.

Inhaling deeply through your nose you took him all the way down your throat so that the tip of his dick rested deep inside of your throat. You could feel him twitch inside of your throat and if it wasn’t the most amazing thing to feel that you didn’t know what was. Smiling around his length you decided that if his silence was anything to go by James had learned his lesson. Feeling merciful for the first time that night you swallowed around his cock, feeling him shoot what would be his last load of cum for the night down your throat. 

Once he was done you eased him from your mouth, careful to keep your teeth away from his softening length.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson baby?” You asked the ruined boy beneath you as you rose to your full height before bending at the waist to smear a kiss along his cupid’s bow.

Too fucked out to use his words James gave you a small nod, his eyes lids resting closed with his lips parted, taking deep inhales of breath as he recovered from his orgasms.

“Can you use your words for me?” You lilted brushing away the hair that couldn’t seem to stay out of his face.

After a deep inhale he did, “Yes Mommy, I’ve learned my lesson,” His voice was hoarse, he sounded parched and he probably was.

Easing him up so that he was leaning up against the headboard you plucked his glasses from the bedside table, beginning to ease them onto his face before you noticed how sweaty he was. Letting the glasses rest in your lap you pulled your wand from the drawer of the nightstand using it to summon a glass of water and a damp washcloth from the bathroom. 

Beginning with the cloth you wiped the sweat from his brow before tracing the damp fabric down the sides of his face, calming the heated skin as praise after praise tumbled from your lips. 

“Such a good boy for me Jamie, took your punishment so well my love.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” He was still breathless.

“Don’t need to thank me anymore my love, s’time for Mommy to clean you up, yeah? Gonna help you get cleaned up for bed.”

“M’not tired,” He insisted, though if his closing eyes were any indication, he most definitely was.

Suppressing a chuckle you laid the washcloth on his thigh to soothe the warm flesh there as you brought the perspiring glass up to his lips, easing them apart to allow the cool, sweet liquid to drizzle down his throat.

“There you go darling,” You eased the glass apart from his lips to set it down and replaced it with the cloth that you continued to trace his skin with, brushing it up and down his chest and stomach, careful to avoid his sensitive nipples.

“Glasses please,” He mumbled, his hand groping at your leg, “Wanna be able to see you.”

“Of course,” You smiled, balancing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose allowing the world to come back into focus for him as he smiled at you. “Can you take another sip of water for me, pretty boy?” You asked, slipping the glass into his hands, allowing them to bring it to his lips.

He did as you asked before holding the glass in between his legs, “Did I do a good job for you, Mommy?” He looked at you with wide eyes, “I’m sorry I came without permission I just-”

“I know baby,” You cut him off gently, “You didn’t do it on purpose but Mommy still had to punish you, you understand right darling?”

He gave you a bashful nod.

“Good my love, it doesn’t make you any less of my good boy,” You gently reached for his member, handling it with the utmost care as you brought the wet cloth to it, knowing that it wouldn’t be a pleasurable experience for him you were efficient in cleaning the cum off.

James hissed at the sensation, once again squirming to escape your grasp. “Gotta clean you up baby, be quick I promise,” And you were, not wanting to prolong his discomfort any further. 

As James took yet another sip from the glass, one he very much needed, you pushed yourself up from the bed, traipsing over to the dresser where you removed a pair of sweatpants for him and a pair of panties to wear with one of his t-shirts for you.

You offered to help him put on his pants but James insisted that he was fine, standing up to slip the pants over his feet before pulling the waistband up where your fingers found the cord, tying it in a loose bow. 

James’ body was malleable as the two of you settled into bed, with you curled into his chest you faced each other, drawing a single finger up and down his sternum. 

“I really am proud of you baby,” You whispered, feeling as though if you spoke too loudly then it would disrupt the peace that had settled over the room. 

“Just wanted to make you happy (Y/N),” He admitted quietly, his lips pressed into your scalp muffling his words slightly. 

Throwing an arm around his waist you pulled your body even closer to his allowing you to rest your head up against his chest so that you could listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart inside of his rib cage. 

The two of you laid there for so long, just absorbing the presence of the other person that you thought he must’ve fallen asleep for it was often difficult for the dark haired boy to stay silent for all that long. But as you pulled away slightly so that you could slip his glasses back off of his face so that he wouldn’t break them in his sleep you found hazel eyes staring back down at you.

“You’re not asleep,” Though your words were accusatory, your tone was not, more observational than anything.

“Neither are you,” Your boyfriend countered.

You giggled gently, “Touche.”

It was so easy to get lost in James’ eyes, that maybe you held eye contact for a few seconds, maybe for a few minutes, maybe for half an hour. But it broke as you let out a yawn, a give away to your state of exhaustion. 

“M’tired too,” James said, smiling at how beautiful you looked, even mid yawn.

“We should go to bed,” You reasoned, though your eyes locked back onto his.

“Uh huh, probably,” He agreed, he too not breaking eye contact.

And though you were both exhausted you laid there, in each other’s arms, gazing into each other’s eyes, both of you refusing to be the one to shatter the intimacy of the eye contact and close your eyes first.

That was until James eyelids became too heavy with sleep for him to fight and they gently fluttered closed. Not a minute later he started emitting, soft snores and you knew he was asleep.

Craning your neck you pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose whispering to him softly, “I won.”

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa @superbturtlemakerathlete @reallyraunchyrory 

[cyanide-latte]

Sunshine [A Fear Street drabble]

Written for Fear Street Appreciation Week 2022

Day 1 (June 26): Pre Canon or “Hide”

Originally posted to AO3 here (if you’re interested in my author’s notes, that’s where you’ll find them; please consider leaving a comment and kudos, even if you’re a guest!)

Rating: Teen (playing it safe)

Word count: 1717

Characters: Solomon Goode, Sarah Fier

Warnings: not a ship but hints at the beginning of fixation and obsession, hints of grief spiraling, Solomon is his own warning

    At what point does change become something to taunt a man with?  When is it that offers of hope and a better life ahead stop sounding like a promise and grow akin to mocking cruelty?

    Your faith is lacking, Solomon, he chided himself automatically, but even that private admonition was beginning to ring hollow.  What good had faith done his wife and child, now nothing more than marked, raised earth?  Less good than even the widow Mary, who had at least tried to use her knowledge to save Cecelia after the babe died.

    He rubbed at his face, pushing the heels of his palms against his eyes before his gaze could go to the graves not far from the front of the house.  They were a month gone now, and he’d already wept plenty.  Even had he been willing to listen to his brothers’ persistent belief that trying to tame the land here was a wasted effort, he could never leave now.  Even if time ate him away to nothing, he would die in this house if he had his way, for it was death that bound him here.

    Faith has given me nothing, he thought, not for the first time nor the last.  And at this point hope is just something to throw in someone’s face for the chance of a cruel laugh at their hurt.

    They’d come here because they wanted better things.  Their fortunes were supposed to have improved, not worsened.  They were going to live off the land, trade with their neighbors in the settlement, grow and build a home for their family for generations to come.  And now…

    Well, now it wasn’t likely that there would be any future generation of Goodes, not from him.

    Dappled, gentle sunshine was lighting up the world outside.  He watched out the window, unwilling to weep, but unable to shake the melancholy.  The beauty of the day outside did nothing for the dull, dark-gray shadow that crept over his heart and mind.  What was a man in pieces, that he could still walk and work and feel?

    Should I give up?  Perhaps my brothers have their wisdom as well…

    “Solomon!”

    He blinked, trying to shake himself out of his gloomy contemplation at the sound of the voice calling his name.  How much time had passed?  He should have gone out and at least begun the work by now.  Instead another of these spells had come over him once more.

    “Solomon!” the voice yelled again, its owner closer now as she approached the house.  “Solomon Goode!  Are you home?”

    His legs were heavy, the weight like stones dragging at him and trying to hold him in place, but he pushed himself up to stand regardless.  His eyes finally registered her now, walking carefully through the trees into the little clearing before the house, hauling a heavy, woven satchel near to overflowing with goods.  Blinking, he forced himself into action, throwing the door open and half-stumbling out onto the threshold.

    “What on this green Earth?” he said, looking agape as the young woman lugged the sack along, despite it being nearly the same size she was.  “Did you bring me half the town in that, Sarah Fier?”

    Her mouth twisted in a crooked smile that many people in Union found to be unladylike as she answered him, “Just about.”

    The stones that made up his legs grew lighter and lighter with each step as he walked towards Sarah, reaching out his arms to take the burden from her.  She accepted with a whooshing exhale of breath, her shoulders sagging once she was free of the sack.

    “Thank you,” she said gratefully, moving her forearms up and down as she breathed hard a moment.  “I’m amazed I got this far, it's so heavy.”

    She wasn’t exaggerating; he lifted it easily enough, but he could tell from the weight that it was difficult enough to carry over the course of a long walk, and the path to his home from Union wasn’t the easiest to begin with.  And since she’d come alone, he could only assume Sarah had had to stop and set the sack down more than once.  She was far too stubborn a girl to have gone back and asked for help when she was determined to see something through.

    “It’s I who should be thanking you,” he said, shifting the weight of the gift so he could turn back to the house.  He looked at her and nodded.  “You didn’t have to do this, Sarah.”

    “Aye, but would you have come over to Union to get yourself any supplies, to trade anything, to see anyone?” she replied.

    He pulled a face at that, turning his gaze away.  “You must have woken early, to see right through me,” he remarked, trudging back to the open door.

    “Wakin’ early has nothing to do with it,” Sarah replied, letting out a good-natured chuckle as she followed along behind him.  “I can always see through you, Solomon.  You make it so easy, you know.”

    He crossed the threshold, walked a few paces, and set the sack down on the floor with a thud that rattled the boards beneath it as he shook his head.

    “I suppose I must,” he said, managing a very small laugh in return.  “I won’t lie, I have been hurting more than I should like anyone to know.  Sometimes I wonder if being so alone out here doesn’t make missing them any worse.  I feel their absence all around me, every day.”

    He glanced to Sarah.  She’d stopped in the door and now she was looking back over her shoulder at the small markers over the graves.  Her expression slipped into a frown, and she was slow to return his gaze.

    “Is it true?” she asked, and when he continued to stare, wondering what she was on about, she clarified.  “The rumors that you took Cecy to the widow Mary.”

    He inhaled deeply, pushing strands of his hair away from his face in a rough motion, then exhaled all at once.  “It is true I took her to the widow to ask for her help once the child died,” he said, grabbing one of the chairs by the table and seating himself in it, motioning an offer for her to sit in one of the other chairs.  “If there are rumors flying about Union, I don’t know of them or what they claim.”

    Sarah took the other chair, watching him carefully.

    “They speak of witchcraft,” Sarah answered.  “Many of them think the widow cursed your wife instead of helping you, made her pass.”

    He shook his head vigorously at that, agitation bubbling up like boiling water.  “No,” he said.  “I don’t know who is saying that, but I swear on both Cecy and the baby that the widow was only ever trying to help.  She was the only one who had a chance at making a difference.  The medicine she learned from the Shawnee was the best chance we had at saving Cecy.”

    The tears were lingering there, behind his eyes.  One moment they hadn’t been there, the next they were ready to fall if he wasn’t careful.

    “But we were too late,” he said, voice thick as his throat threatened to close up on him.  “Mary did what she could, but…”  He inhaled, bitterness in his mouth, and shut his eyes, unwilling and unable to look at Sarah.  “But I suppose my family were called home, weren’t they?”

    “Solomon, I’m sorry,” Sarah said quietly.  He could hear the thickness in her voice too; despite being several years younger, she had been good friends with Cecy, and to a degree himself as well.  The Fiers and the Goodes had largely been on amicable terms, and when Solomon had wanted to build a home for his future family outside of the settlement, Sarah had remained one of the few who still happily ventured out to visit them.  Often, Solomon had felt that Cecy adored Sarah as a younger sister, however wild and strange she was, and over time her visits had become commonplace.

    And now…  Well, now, she came around less.  Not due to any desire to adhere to the way Union saw the outcast Goode, but because she had become essential to the Fier family household running smoothly, after the death of her mother.  She’d been out a couple of times since Cecy died as well, many in Union had.  But she was perhaps the only one outside of his brothers Solomon felt truly understood his loss and mourned with him.

    He opened his eyes and looked at her again, saddened by the look of stricken hurt and compassion on her face.  It warmed him, gave him something to feel better about.

    She wasn’t like the rest of Union.  She never had been.  She didn’t attribute any sense of religious righteousness or doggerel to his loss; she simply knew it and felt it with him and shared in his mourning.

    Sarah Fier would be wasted on Union’s people, wasted on any of the young men there who might seek to court her.  They would try to tame her, break her like a spirited yearling.

    Does she know that?  he wondered, only to then immediately decide, Whether she does or doesn’t, I won’t let that happen to her.  Whatever wildness burns in her mustn’t be snuffed out.  It’s too beautiful to let suffocate and wither.

    It was a strange thought to have.  But then, was it, really?  Sarah was growing into a woman.  Perhaps her beauty was as different to Cecy’s as night was to day, but it was undeniable all the same.

    “Thank you,” he said at last.  “You’re a blessing and a gift to me, Sarah.  Sometimes I don’t know how I’d go on without you coming around.”

    She worked up a smile, her eyes still tender.  “Oh, now, Solomon.  I know you’d manage somehow!  You’re grieving, but I still think you’d manage without me.”

    “Kind of you to say,” he murmured.

    Because the truth was, he wasn’t sure he would manage without her.  Not anymore.  He was succumbing to a slow, slow death in the dark, and Sarah Fier always brought the light with her wherever she went.

    His entire being was starved for it.

[visd3stele]

Remus image - angst & fluff

*mostly angst with a tinsy bit of fluff

*forced marriage trope

summary: you're a Slytherin pure blood dating Remus Lupin, but your family has other plans

TW: none

A/N: any thoughts and opinions are welcomed. I'd love your reviews. Requests are open, too, if any of you are interested in that

masterlist

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

You're staring at the high ceiling, wide awake and way past the middle of the night. In your hands, an envelope is twitching with every move of your fingers, twisting its corners anxiously. You received it at dinner that night, the letter from your family. And wisely waited until the privacy of your room to open it. Around you, pure bloods Slytherins were sound asleep. You made sure not to let any emotion show, on your face or voice. Something everyone in between the walls of the Slytherin residence could most likely do.

You read it once. Then again and again until each word, each letter carved its mark in your brain. Carefully, you folded it back, wrapping it in the thick layer of the envelope. Despite having stopped reading it, the news your family dropped on you kept on repeat in your mind. Over and over and over. Marriage. They found you a perfect, pure blood spouse to marry. No matter that you were still in school. And only sixteen. And already having a boyfriend.

But of course, that last part might be exactly why your blood supremacist family decided to take your love life in their hands at last. For you were dating Remus Lupin, head boy of Griffindor. Involuntarily your lips moved upward at the mere thought of him. The way his soft brown hair feels under your palms when he lays his head in your lap in the afternoon – that is when you convince him to take a break from learning for a change. Your smiled deepened. The way his scarred hands stroke your face right before he leans in to kiss you. You blushed in the dark. The way his eyes sparkle after one of the Marauders notorious pranks. The way he rolls his eyes and leave a snarky comments to any Slytherin who mock your relationship and how it only masks his own fears and self doubts.

Now you were crying. You'll have to break up with him. You'll have to break up with him without bringing the marriage up. You didn't want him to think back on what could have been years after. It's better if he thinks there is no chance anymore to be with you. And you had to do it quick. News spread in the pure blood community and risking lying about your parents intention only to fool yourself a bit longer with stolen happy times was as self destructive as it can get at this point.

You slipped your body on one side. And tossed. The envelope fell off your bed. You didn't bother to pick it up. But someone did. You felt it rather than hear it, someone picking it up and placing it on your nightstand.

" 'Morning," that sweet voice you loved so much whispered. And you snapped your head towards it in shock. Only to find a very uncomfortable Remus Lupin, switching from leg to leg, smiling awkwardly at you.

"It's five in the morning." He stated before you could find your words through the foggy veil of your thoughts. "And the sunrise is about to start..." Remus went on, looking anywhere but at you.

More tears sting your eyes, threatening to slide down your cheeks and getting completely out of your control. Here he was, your perfect boyfriend, sneaking in your bedroom to take you to see the sunrise. For you, this boy defined romance and no amount of scars, secret disappearances on the full moon and mysteries surrounding it could change that. You were more than willing to give him time, let him open up to you when he feels like it. After all, he has great friends to share secrets with and you wouldn't get in between them.

Biting your lips, you closed the distance and hugged him tight. After less than a second of hesitation, Remus put his hands around you as well. You needed it, the proximity, the safety, the warmth and love. When you were sure your voice won't break, you breathed a question to him. "And how are you planning to sneak me out?"

Remus saw right through your attempt. He pulled back a little, enough to brush his fingers over your swollen face. "Have you been crying?" Worry clouded those beautiful brown eyes. You shook your head, snatching yourself from him and desperately wiping your tears. You should do it now. Tell him it's over. Spare him – and yourself – for the pain and torture of stretching it longer. It was time to face it: your relationship was doomed from the start.

But you couldn't. Not yet. Just a little more time, you bargained with yourself. Just that sunrise together. One last date. You promised to no one. So you made yourself swallow and said instead "My family," dismissing any further remarks.

Remus pulled you back into his lean body, long arms the only thing holding you together. He needed no other explanation. Thanks to that friend of his, Sirius, Remus knew exactly what those two words meant coming from a pure blood kid. He pressed a kiss on top of your head, caressing your back in soothing large circles. Voice dipped with concern, he asked "Do you want to talk about it or do you want me to distract you?"

"What about taking me to see that sunrise you mentioned and we'll figure it out from there?"

He nodded, led you to the now slightly opened window and motioned for his broom flying within reach.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

The sun beamed from between rare clouds, spread amongst a royal blue sky. Orange light crowned the ascending golden disc, fading into a soft purple and light pink at its edges. The curtain of morning mist broke the rays in matt bliss, wrapping around your entangled figures.

A wet coldness flew on with the tentative mist, but Remus planned everything ahead, it seemed. He had a wool blanket at ready, different bits and pieces of clothing, threads and patches sewed together.

"Don't tell me you picked up knotting, Moony." You didn't know when it happened, but you had taken on calling him by the silly nickname his friends did.

"No. My mother made it, actually." The scar on his lip pulled up as he patted the spot next to him. He had laid a blanket on the freshly cut grass near the Black Lake and held his mother's gift in a silent invitation.

You snuggled in, circling his waist with your arms and nuzzled your nose in the crook of his neck. "Y/n!" he exclaimed, a shiver running through him at the contact with your cold skin. You sent him a grin that had nothing to do with apologies and you both snickered before turning awe filled eyes to the sunrise.

Remus let his own head lean down on your own, brown hair slightly brushing your forehead. His hand found its way to yours and as your fingers laced together he rubbed his thumb on top of your palm.

Content silence settled in. Only birds dared sing a sharp note once in a while. Your boyfriend knew how to choose a date spot, you were more than happy to give him that. The marvelous sight the sky presented doubled in the lake's still waters. Calmness washed over you. Here and now, with Remus' hand in yours, your head resting on his shoulder, everything pieced into place.

You turned your face, meeting the warn off material of his shirt and placed a kiss there. Lifting your lips upward, you kissed his exposed neck as well. Then his cheek, lingering close to his lips before stopping to murmur "I love you, Remus Lupin! So, so much."

He met your lips with his own and you were thankful he said nothing about the pang in your voice. "And I you, my darling." His glittering eyes, filled with adoration and care, were too much for your heart to bear. It was all you could do to close your eyelids tight and press into his side even more.

"Is something wrong, y/n?" Remus asked, shifting his arm to welcome your new position.

"No. Nothing. Just overwhelmed by everything I feel for you." And in a way, it was true. Not the whole truth, but as you couldn't give him that...

An unsure smiled played on your lips. He brought your face to his again, laying a kiss on your nose. You scrunch it up and made a face at him. He tried to bit back his laugh, but failed as a bundle of it escaped in a soft breath, tingling your flushed cheeks.

Remus kissed you again, this time on the bridge of your nose. Which earned him a giggle and a wide smile. Bringing your hands to his face, you cupped his cheeks and touched your noses together.

"We're missing the sunrise. And you put so much effort in this."

"Hmmm," he mused, leaning in your touch. "The sun does much of the work, to be fair." You burst in laughing at that, shaking your forehead against his.

You two traded more kisses – and then some more, bathed in the dawn light of a new day.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

"Where have you been?" You heard James Potter asked your boyfriend when you bumped in him and the rest of the Marauders in the hall.

Peter waved at you, while Sirius gave you a knowing smirk at which you rolled your eyes. Truth be told, their demand wasn't misplaced. You and Remus didn't show up at breakfast, and run late for the first class.

"Down at the lake, Prongs. I should know better than to ask for notes, right?"

"Not to worry, Moony, you didn't miss much."

You left Remus to his friends, brushing your lips to his as a form of good-bye. You headed to your room. Thoughts swirled in your mind, flying by so fast you barely registered them. You passed Narcissa and Lucius on your way. They have been married since year four, something you found very unsettling. At that time, you belittled Narcissa for not fighting off her families wishes, like her sister and cousin. But now, that you found yourself in her place? You started to understand. To understand that courage is not so easy to haul up from whatever pit it lays dormant in one's being.

So lost in thoughts, you haven't noticed the guy sitting on your bed until he spoke, voice laced with disgust. "You better kick that sorry excuse of a wizard away before we make our engagement public, honey."

You startled. "Who...?"

"Why, your new husband, of course."

"Future husband. And Remus is a fine wizard, greater than you could ever hope to be."

The stranger only rolled his eyes and huffed. "Whatever you say, honey. Just make him gone by noon. I have plans for us before the ceremony."

A ceremony that would take place in a few months, once summer blooms, you realized, dread chilling your blood in your veins. The tight line of your lips followed your betrothed until he left and swiped the door close.

Noon. Break up with Remus by noon. Make it look like it's over because there is no love anymore. Let him think you choose this smug, full of himself, brainless, boorish brute over him. It's the right course of action. So you told yourself. And so you did. Any hope for standing up against your family gone.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Wind howling outside, rain pouring, you thought the weather mocked you. It just happened to turn gloomy and morbid all of a sudden, when you were about to break the heart of the most precious boy in the whole school. And yours too in the progress.

"Remus, can we talk for a second?"

"Sure, what is it?" He turned his whole focus on you, dropping mid conversation with his mates about whatever prank they were up to next.

"Moony!" three offended sighs followed you as you dragged Remus to a more private spot. The way he no more than waved at his friends, giving all up for you, knowing you had a bad day, strung a painful chord in your soul. You did not deserve this boy. Maybe the wedding was a good thing after all.

"Hey, y/n, talk to me," Remus whispered when you came to a halt. His fingers searched for yours, trying to turn you around to face him. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm here for you. We'll fix it."

"No." You said, and cursed your weak voice. You still didn't face him. "No we won't fix this." You spoke again, this time with more surety, allowing a sharp edge to it.

Bless his too kind soul, he didn't balk away. Instead, he took one stop forward, resting his head on your spine and bringing his long arms around you. "Everything's gonna be fine, y/n. I promise."

It took a superhuman effort to break free of his embrace. And you finally swirled to meet his soft brown eyes. Tears rolled down, dripping from your chin, but you didn't let him comfort you. Shacking your head, you took another step back, building distance between you, as if the following words would hurt less that way.

"Everything's not gonna be fine, Remus. Not with us. Not anymore."

For a couple seconds, he stared at you, confusion painting his beautiful features. Then, realization sunk in. And in that moment, you were sure nothing could ever hurt you as badly as his pain struck expression. His parted lips, moving in vain to form words that doesn't exist. His frenzy eyes, looking all over yourself, searching for any sign of a cruel joke. For a trace that you weren't being serious. Eyes that begin to water when he found none.

But he refuse to let the tears flow. Remus led his stare to a dark, far away corner of the empty hall. Heat colored his face, a light shade of pink that not even the cool from the open window couldn't beat down. "So that's why you were distant this morning?" Your boyfriend asked, bitterly even as his voice was small, lost. "That's why you avoided me all day and didn't look me in the eye once, more than a passing moment?"

You knew better than answer. You had nothing to say anyway. "I'm sorry, Remus. I've been meaning to tell you earlier..."

A razor sharp laugh bit your words off. "But you took pity on the poor half-blood."

No, no it wasn't like that, you wanted to say. Those remained only thoughts as you wiped your face and crossed your arms to keep them from reaching out. Reaching out to him, reassure him, hug him. Whatever he believed, you'd roll with it. If he thought you an evil pure blood, then fine! You'll be that.

An image of your mother's face, lips curled in disgust at the last Quidditch match when Slytherin lost again in favor of Gryffindor, served as model for the expression you forced your own face into.

"I didn't want it to be like this. Goodbye, Remus Lupin."

You turned. And left. Just left. You kept your back straight as you walked away from the boy who tickled your heart. Who placed feather light kissed on your cheeks, and nose and forehead for days into your relationship, too shy to initiate something more without your worded agreement. The wizard who helped you with assignments, not thinking anything less of you when you weren't perfect. Who let you fall asleep in his lap at Hogwarts' few parties that you couldn't stand due to your family. This guy who gave you everything you were too afraid to dream of. And you just walked away, as if couldn't be bothered to care.

His fist thrumming once on the hallway's wall filled your ears, a sound forever carved in your brain. The thud that followed, of him sliding down on the floor you guessed, printed an image in your mind you'll pray to forget. Remus' silent sobs, though, almost made you turn around and run towards him.

You didn't so much as cast a glance back, knowing what you'll see and too much of a coward to bear it. His body shaking with crying, knees cradled to up to his chest where his chin digged in, covered by lean arms with palms crossed over his head.

His friends would find him. They'd help him. Remus will move over and forget you. Each sentence was another step. Each step, another crack in your heart. By the time you reached your room, collapsed in your bed and twisted in a similar position to your boyfriend's – ex boyfriend. It made you understand, showed you far too clearly why he'd sit like that. The pure devastation and despair, the attempt to contain a hollowness within, to replace a part where a whole, happy heart used to beat.

You broke Remus Lupin's heart. And yours was just as shattered. And there was no going back from it now.

PART 2

[ceruleanchillin]

5 Day Stay

| Or, Angel down bad for a week |

Angel x F!Reader

Warnings: language, infidelity, Angst (?), lil bit chili spice at the end

Mon:

Angel felt he was too young to consistently feel so bone-tired, yet that’s how his day had been ending for weeks now. Sometimes it was all he could do to get off his bike and make it to the door, only to have to rest his head against it to prepare to make it to the couch and collapse.

Tonight was one of those nights, and he wanted to be dead to the world until it dragged him back into it.

It was the smell of mixed spices that hit him first. It felt like he was in suspended animation, and slowly being released as different things started to register to him.

His TV was on, someone was rummaging through his kitchen, and music played faintly from his desk. Thinking back to the last time an unwanted guest was in his kitchen, he placed a hand on the holstered knife fastened to his back.

The fridge door closed, and you appeared in the window, eyes focused intently on whatever you were cooking on the stove.

He exhaled, feeling like complete shit. It only spoke to how weary his mind was that he could forget you were staying with him for the next week. Especially after the conversation that led to it.

“I don’t know Angel…really I can afford a motel for a few days.”

“Here? Rusted-through pipes will be the last thing your landlord is worried about when you bring back bedbugs and shit.”

Your eyes had widened at that, but still you brought up the thing that had been chained to your hesitation. “I mean….do you think it’s ok to do this? After we…Nails..Ang-“

He remembered a flash of irritation, more so at himself than you, when you said that. “Yes querida, fuck. If you’re so scared, I most likely won’t even be there the way things are going. Nails is out of town til’ next weekend…”

“Relax Ignacio.” you had cut your eyes at him, and he’d felt his dick jump like it did whenever you gave him attitude. “I’m just not trying to be a problem.”

Your voice calling his name brought him to the present. He caught the last part of your statement, that you didn’t know he’d be back.

“Yeah, we got in earlier than expected.”

“While you’re standing there like a weirdo, let me shame you real quick. How does a man in his thirties still have the kitchen of a frat boy?” You leaned on the sill of the divider. “You’re lucky I already knew you were sad in the kitchen. I had to bring my own tagine.”

He stepped into the kitchen, his stomach coming alive with interest. “One, I don’t know what that is, two, I can’t help it if the kitchen isn’t my preferred room of work.”

He peeked over your shoulder, but the unique pot kept him from seeing what you were making.

“Neither is the bedroom, unless that work is piling up dirty laundry.” you stuck your tongue out at him and turned back to your simmering dish.

“Ha ha. Dinner and a show, she does it all folks!” he collapsed at the table, the day catching back up with him. “Should put your ass on the club’s payroll. End the cashflow problem real quick.”

You turned to him, concern etched on your face. “I heard from Hank about that…sorry. I know now isn’t a great time for that at all.”

Things got awkward like they always did when you referenced the recent changes of his life. He wasn’t sad about getting another chance at fatherhood, this one more tangible than the last. However, he wasn’t entirely sold on everything he’d accepted along with it, and he was pretty sure you at least suspected that. It threw the previously comfortable confusion that was your relationship off track when it was touched on.

“No, it’s not.” was all he could manage.

It was quiet for a beat, the simmering of the food and quiet Neo Soul the only sounds.

“Well,” you started, turning off the burner. “At least you don’t have to eat like a ‘we got food at the house’ meme for once.”

He laughed, a genuine and needed laugh. “Ok, you know what? Keep talking about my pantry stocking skills, and I might take it personally.”

The rest of his night went that way. Anytime you and Angel got together, things were just…easy…better. You spent the evening eating in front of the TV (Angel getting all the way to thirds for what turned out to be olive chicken and roasted potatoes), trading jokes, and going over the finer points of Golden Girls. Angel learned you took it very seriously, and mocked you for being “old”.

It wasn’t until you were nodding off, and he was left with his own thoughts, that he realized he hadn’t enjoyed coming home this much since he moved in.

Tues:

Angel had dreamed he’d been back in his childhood home, but as a grown man. There was music coming from his parent’s room, and when he got to the doorway, his mom was at her dressing table. She hummed along to the soulful seventies music and smiled at him from the mirror. She said something, but he couldn’t make it out, and woke up in the frustration.

He jerked up from his position on his stomach, and slowly came to. With a grunt he wiped his hand down his face, glancing at his phone to find it was six in the afternoon.

It then occurred to him the music wasn’t just in his dream, it was coming from his bathroom. He got off the couch and followed the sound.

“Hey coma head.” you grinned at him from where you were doing your makeup.

He shook his head, trying to let go of the last vestiges of the dream, and how eerie the scene before him was.

He focused instead on the nightmare of products and alien looking tools surrounding you.

He kind of liked the mess, even if he couldn’t see the counter anymore.

“Hey hurricane Ulta.”

You made a face that was a cross between being amused and suspicious. “You sleep in your jeans and buy your shirts in pack form. Don’t act like you know what that is.”

He made a face of mock offense. “That’s so classist.”

This time you paused completely in you what you were doing and twisted your body to meet him. “Uh oh…let me find out you’re actually learning something from EZ.”

“Angel Reyes can know something about something, damn.”

You laughed, lowering your hands from where you’d been lining your eyes to avoid a mistake. “I’m only teasing you Angel Reyes.”

“Looks like you plan on teasing more than me. Some clown is gonna get his hopes and tiny dick up for nothing.”

“There’s this new club in the city that Belinda’s getting us into. It’s bad luck to buy your own drinks on the first night at a new place.” you adjusted the bodycon mini-dress for emphasis. “You doing anything?”

“Club shit.” he started picking through the products, sniffing them every so often. “Then I think I’ve got a call with Nails at some point.”

“You think?” you popped his hands when he got too close to the good stuff, or the things you were using currently.

“Yeah..I think.” he shrugged, only realizing how short he sounded when you winced.

He didn’t know why he got so annoyed when she was brought up around you. He wasn’t like that with anyone else, and he knew you were only trying to support his incoming changes.

“Ok..”

Awkward silence settled in before he found the words to break it.

“Why do you wanna know? You want me to be that clown?”

“Never.” you pinched his cheek, tone pure saccharine jest.

He muttered in Spanish, stepping around you to the toilet.

“Angel!” you exclaimed.

“What?! It’s my bathroom, I have to piss.”

“You better never make me angry Reyes, I could end your whole Casanova game with ease."

Wed:

“You holding on a little tight there mami!” Angel called over his shoulder with a laugh. “You said go fast."

“Shut up!” you giggled, but he wasn’t lying.

You’d asked Angel to take you to work on his bike since even though you spent so much time with bikers, you hardly got to ride one. You were going to the same place anyways. He had been all too happy to shake up his commute, but your speed challenge took it over the top.

He didn’t know how you were up so early, he personally felt like the bags under his eyes were like a PEZ dispenser. You’d gotten in at two am, and still got up with him at eight.

He loved watching you in the morning, you managed to be cheerful without being obnoxious, and it worked better than coffee for him.

He loved how much he was learning about you.

As he pulled onto the street beside the cafe you’d asked him to stop at, he felt your arms uncoil from around him. He may have pretended to shift just to make you pause and hold him a few seconds longer, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge that.

“I didn’t scream, and I’m not shaking, so you still have to buy my breakfast.” You unclipped your helmet, grinning the whole time.

You looked so pretty to him, with the sun hitting your eyes and hair just right. He could catch you at just the right moment, and you’d look so gorgeous, he struggled to believe you were real.

He cleared his throat, afraid his voice would crack if he didn’t. “Fair enough, come break my pockets then.”

You laughed, squeezing his chin and pointing out his pout. “You don’t even have to tell me once sir, I know my worth.”

Once inside, he trailed after you to the counter, using your head like an arm rest when you reached it. “That’s good.”

“Boy!” You swatted his hand away, and it was his turn to laugh at your adorable pout.

“New bet,” he stepped around you while the customer ahead of you wrapped up. “If I get your entire order just right, you buy lunch.”

“Deal.” you leaned on the counter, eyebrow raised at him in challenge.

Angel knew the best part of his day would be watching your expression go from smug to shocked out of the corner of his eye. He nailed every pastry, the iced coffee, and their preparation with ease.

The simultaneously impressed and amused barista looked to you for confirmation. She got a shocked nod in response.

“I know my worth too mama, so don’t skimp on lunch.”

“Fair enough.” You shook off your shock as you repeated his earlier words and shrugged. “Can’t complain I guess. I trained my work husband too well.”

He scoffed loudly, and the two of you went back to swapping smart ass barbs while he tried to ignore the lingering dip his stomach did when referred to him as “husband”.

Thurs:

Angel was a grown man, with years of grown man experience, yet he was sitting on the edge of his bed feeling like a teenager again.

The end of your stay was nearing, and every time he thought about you going back home, he felt weird. He was pretty sure that’s why he’d been a little snappy and annoyed easily at the club the past couple days. He just wasn’t ready to delve into that too much.

Regardless, he had to admit you had some growing effect over him. All morning, while he should’ve been resting and preparing for a charter visit, he was fighting off hard-ons thanks to you.

“Can I borrow your kitchen for the day Angel?” He mimicked your voice in a nasally mocking tone. “I’ll save you some when I’m done baking.”

He’d thought nothing of it when you asked the night before. Really didn’t even feel like you had to at that point.

He realized why when he saw that the desserts you were making for your friend’s brunch were elaborate as hell. The effort took all your attention, and unfortunately for him, his too.

You were baking a lot more than dessert and didn’t even know it.

Now he was hiding in his room, fighting off arousal he knew wasn’t appropriate. You weren’t his and he wasn’t yours.

That didn’t change the fact that you in a short silk lounge set, singing in French (how the hell did you know French?), doing domestic things in his home, did it for him.

He ran a hand over his hair, still damp from his cold shower, and forced himself to finish getting dressed. He had to be ready to face a room of dangerous bikers and prove his patched in worth. He couldn’t be thinking of weird little fantasies and parallels to his parent’s marriage.

He must’ve zoned out again, because you startled him enough to almost make him hit his wardrobe.

“Oh my god Angel try this! I think I did magic.” You excitedly thrust a red cookie his way.

Angel took the offered treat, and found it was a red velvet cookie. “It’s fucking good mi dulce.”

“Really?” You looked so hopeful, so beautiful, that he would’ve lied if the situation called for it.

“Yes, but you know you kill it in the kitchen.” He turned away to put on the flannel he’d fished out.

Now you were in his personal space, smelling amazing, and all his senses were under attack. He couldn’t trust Angel jr. at the moment.

“Baking is different. It’s a whole thing for me...I go all in.”

“I noticed your little Broadway production in my kitchen.” He kneeled down, pretending to look for his shoes as something to do while you were there.

“Don’t shame me.” You pressed your foot into his back, gently pushing him. “It makes for better results.”

‘shit.’ He cursed mentally at the contact.

Luckily, he heard you turn to leave the room. “Oh, EZ said to tell you to hurry up or pick up your phone.”

He rose up once you were gone and checked his phone. Sure enough, he had several missed calls and texts from Gilly, Coco, and EZ. He cursed aloud this time and finished getting ready, determined not to get distracted again.

Of course, his boys having to physically come in and get him when he did just that destroyed that promise.

Fri:

It had come down to the last night of your stay with him, and what he thought was a favor to a good friend, turned out to be more for his benefit.

The hell with the club seemed so far away when he was home now, and he’d laughed more times that week than he had the previous few months total.

Tonight though… Tonight had him so in his head he didn’t know if he was coming or going.

You, sensing something was going on with him, had invited EZ and Felipe to dinner. He didn’t know how you got the latter to agree, his dad had never even been in his home before, but you did it. It went over a hell of a lot better than the last time they tried it too.

The missteps that reared their head when his family tried to talk to each other at length were mitigated by you. You were the perfect buffer, able to get them to engage with you and then each other.

He saw his family in an unfamiliar, but favorable light. His father was actually enjoying his time with him in his house. He knew that night wouldn’t have happened if not for you.

Now, as he distractedly dried the dishes you’d washed, listening to you hit all of the high notes in Loving You, it hit him.

‘She should be my wife’ the thought came so quick, and was so loud he almost jumped, confused if it came from him or someone else.

“Hey dishwasher-less!” you nudged him with your hip. “Move those hands.”

“Why can’t we be a thing?” he blurted.

You dropped the silverware you’d been washing, eyes wide and focused on him. “Um..excuse m-…what?”

He knew that wasn’t the most tactful way to introduce his thoughts to you, but it was his way. Fuck…he didn’t even understand them fully himself.

“You heard me querida,” he put the dish down on the counter, turning to you. “When I stayed with you that weekend that my head was all fucked up-“

“Angel.” your tone made it a warning, but he kept going. He was never afraid of a challenge.

“I was inside you so much that weekend I forgot that’s not how I came in this world. I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud, but I felt home cause I was with you-”

“Stop it!” you hit the sink, rattling the contents.

“Fuck that!” he shouted back, startling you both. He stayed silent for a moment before speaking in a calmer tone. “Fuck that. Why can’t we talk about it? Why couldn’t we talk about it then?”

You didn’t say anything, but he saw your chest heaving with adrenaline, and realized you were just as affected by the conversation as he was.

“You just decided it didn’t matter and put it in this space we can’t touch now. It’s all fucked up!”

“Because,” you hissed. “If you remember, it was all over that Adelita chick, and I don’t know what kind of hold she has or had over you, but it was deep.”

He cringed at that, and turned his attention to the light fixture over your head, unable to meet your heated gaze.

“Whatever feelings I have for you Angel, I put them away in a place where I can still be your friend and keep things in perspective.”

“Feelings you have for me?” he latched on to the lack of past tense, hopeful.

You inhaled sharply. “You are having a baby and just got engaged. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing..I mean a lot, but nothing to do with this. I know-“

“I know,” you pushed away from the sink and reached up to cup his cheeks. “That you’re scared Angel. You’re scared, because you’re gonna take two steps you’ve never taken before at once, and you’re trying to sabotage it.”

He shook his head, taking your hands from his face and holding them tightly in his own. “No..mi dulce, no. I’ve been struggling with this all week, longer if I’m being honest. Tonight sealed it.”

You snorted humorlessly, looking around the kitchen as if something in the room would help you get through to him. “I cook you some big boy meals, and treat your speakers to some musical taste, and you’re ready for vows?”

“Don’t put this all on me. Tell me you don’t feel it. Right here and now, to my face.”

He watched your expression soften, and let you put one hand back on his face, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. “Ok, I can’t do that, but I also can’t just fall into a situation with you either.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “We both know we didn’t just fall into anything. We sat here and let it build and didn’t say shit, and now I have to. This week just made it too real not to.”

He placed his forehead to yours, his own hands cupping your face. “Please…”

He watched you have an internal battle by your changing features before you finally leaned into him. The moment you did, his lips were on yours.

He knew it was more than just a kiss a few seconds in. Everything he’d felt that the previous week was alive and confirmed between you too. He could feel you telling him you had moments like his own.

He palmed your thighs under your sundress before grasping them tightly and lifting you up. He placed you on the counter while you two separated for air. Your chests heaved in unison, and neither of you had to say you wanted the other touching you again before it happened.

He gripped your hair, tilting your head back for access to your neck. The smell of vanilla and cocoa butter surrounded him as he worked his mark all over your skin.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pressed yourself against his jeans.

He hated he couldn’t feel the heat he knew was emitting from your core through the thick material of his jeans, and slid his other hand up your thigh to your panties.

Your entire body twitched when he ran his fingers over you through the thin cloth. It wasn’t just hot it was soaked.

“You need me that bad mami?” he pulled away from your neck, satisfied with his work, and beginning to work at his jeans.

“And quick.” you breathed into his ear, your tone and the sensation making him shudder.

The ache against his jeans didn’t need to be told twice to find its way into your heat. He slid your panties to side and pressed his thumb against you. You jumped, whimpering your need again, and he pulled your panties way from you.

You’d gotten them around one ankle before he was inside of you, and they were no longer your focus.

You clung to each other so tightly there’d be evidence on both of you.

In the quiet, he wondered if your mind was racing with the same thoughts that his was. What now? How do we get this again?

He pressed kisses to your cheek just as he started to move. You inhaled, your nails sliding down his back. Not quite catching the skin, but enough to set him on fire all the same.

He mapped out a rhythm by your whimpers and how you grasped at him until he crafted the right one.

This was the conversation he’d needed. Every thrust from him, every cry from you, every bit of give and take to heighten the other’s pleasure. The two of you were admitting that everything that was between you was deeper, realer than you’d wanted to admit. He loved you, and you loved him, and you were engraving that on one another.

The flirtation, the way you could be yourselves around each other, the heatless jabs. Good friends was always a ruse.

Your face was buried in his neck, and when he felt dampness he knew came from your tears, he hiked your legs higher, moving deeper.

You cried out so loudly it echoed in the kitchen, drowning out the soft crooning of an eighties songstress.

“I know baby, I feel it too.” his voice was choked by the threat of tears of his own.

He’d never been here before. Not with Adelita, not even close with Nails. He was terrified. Terrified for it to end because he never felt so good. Terrified for it to end because it might never happen again.

“Angel..” your voice sounded so small, but it was strong enough to anchor him back with you. “I’m close, I’m so close.”

“Let go,” he encouraged. “Let me have it querida.”

Your body seized up with your release, his name the only thing he caught in your unintelligible babble.

You clenched up repeatedly in the aftershocks, and that drug him over the edge with you, biting your shoulder.

His vision tunneled, pinpricks of pleasure traveling up and down his spine. Your hands smoothed up and down the area, and he realized it was because he was shuddering.

He gripped the counter for support, pulling back slowly. He was searching for a way to ask if he’d changed your mind, but the act hadn’t made words for his thoughts any easier to find.

It didn’t matter, before he could even speak you stopped him. Your eyes were glazed over with tears that had nothing to do with pleasure this time.

“That was all that I can give you Angel. It’s not right, none of this is, but it’s all I can give you.”

AN:

Am I the only one who wishes she had reference photos for their home/club layouts? Lol, it’s such a weird non-factor thing, but still. From memory, I’m pretty sure Angel only has one bedroom though.

No shade, no hate but this was partially inspired by how over Nails Angel looked when she was putting her back into it….🥴

I played with a few canon-timeline things + knocked the dust off my smut writing ability (I’m going under my humiliation rock now, no calls plz)