#I think it would be really cool to make this into a book

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | Poly 141 x Fem Fat Reader

New Girl

You stare up at the sign reading ONE - FOUR - ONE in old English font. It’s an old building, all brick and stuffed in between several others. The windows have a thin, semi-opaque cover them to let in the light without allowing you to see inside.

You make your way to the front door, trying the handle and feeling stupid the moment you do. Your eyes connect with a small intercom beside you and you press it. There’s a small buzz, then silence.

A few beats go by, you debate pressing it again. You don’t want to be too insistent.

“Hello?” A voice comes through just before you reach up to press again.

“I, uh…” You stutter. Despite having many, many tattoos you somehow still feel like a poser every time you enter a new studio. “I have an appointment at one? With John?”

The man on the other side confirms your name before buzzing you in, the door letting out a loud click before you step inside. It both makes you more nervous and more relaxed - you can appreciate a closed storefront like that. Especially for something often as private as tattoos and piercings, but it still feels like you’re doing something wrong. Just a little bit.

The front room is lovely, though. The texture over the glass bathes the front room in a calm, iridescent light. There are a few waiting chairs, a low, black table piled high with books of flash. The front of the high counter is covered with posters and stickers from events going all the way back to the 90s.

The pretty man behind the counter repeats your name absently, obviously thinking about other things. Probably the half-finished design that sits abandoned on the iPad next to the appointment book he’s staring down at. You just nod in agreement.

“I’ll let John know you’re here.” He nods back, turning and pushing through a pair of saloon style doors to disappear down the hall. You take the time he’s gone to look around, flipping through yet another small book of designs on top of the counter. They’re good. Unique. Very gothic and interestingly detailed. Somehow both fine and bold simultaneously.

“Afternoon.” You jump, snapping the book shut and looking up to meet a pair of soft blue eyes and an easy smile. He looks you over briefly before extending his hand. “John Price.”

You murmur your name quietly, trying very hard to not stare at the incredible traditional work patched into a sleeve up his strong arm. Damn.

He leads you back to his work station - past a piercing studio and across from another room with the door shut and an IN SESSION sign on the door. The dull, buzzing sound of a tattoo machine drifts through.

“Now,” John says as he cuts down the extra paper around the stencil. “Just remember if you don’t like the placement we can move it. No problem.”

“Okay.” You nod, appreciative that he mentioned it. Sometimes these older men in the industry are gruff and have an attitude if you do anything less than treat them as if they are anything other than Absolutely Right and Perfect. Not that John came off that way. There’s a softness in his affect that relaxes your muscles and leaves you breathing easy.

“I know y’have several but I’m still going t’do a line and then see how you feel.” He murmurs, voice low.

It’s sweet, the way he’s walking you through it all despite the piece being small and you obviously having done with process several times. The sting of the needle is as expected and you murmur that it was fine before he really gets to work.

“Just let me know if y’need a break…” He mumbles, voice dipping even lower as he concentrates on his work. In any other situation that rumble would probably have you squirming in your seat. There’s a silence for a while before he speaks again, almost as if he forgot you were there. “This design have any significance?”

“I just wanted to get a new tattoo in my new hometown.” You snort - now at the point where most of your tattoos fall under the ‘because it’s cool’ category. “Probably stupid, seeing as I don’t have a job yet but… I don’t know. Feels like good luck.”

John grins. “Well then, thanks f’lettin’ me be your good luck charm.”

Your face heats at the rumble in his voice - glancing away nervously.

There’s another lapse of silence while he works, the only words exchanged are when he asks if you need a break and you decline. Eventually, toward the end you think, he asks another question. “What brought y’here then? If not a job?”

You would shrug, but you try to keep as still as possible while he works. “Just needed a change. Found an apartment easy enough - now I just need a way to make money.”

He hums in agreement. “What do you have experience in? Been around here a while - might be able to recommend somethin’.”

“Oh! Thank you!” You brighten up. “Receptionist work, mostly. Some admin assistant stuff.”

He pauses, cocking an eyebrow. “Y’know, we’re hirin’ right now.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head. “I don’t have, like, a resume with me.”

“You’ve got enough tattoos I’m assumin’ you know how the industry works. My apprentice is going to start actually tattooin’ soon, an’ I hate t’ have him still pickin up extra duties at the front.” He sits back, carefully smoothing saniderm onto your arm before turning and reaching for the ink-stained sketchbook behind him. “Tell y’what, you write down a few references for me and your number. If they’ve got good things t’ say we can do a trial period.”

You blink at him. He’s awful forward, and insistent, but you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. A temp job is better than no job. “Alright…”

Just like that, you gained employment by way of making a stupid financial decision.

John’s an incredible boss. He pays fairly (generously, but you know better than to accidentally negotiate your pay down). He gives you plenty of hours and trains you well - with the help of his apprentice. He doesn’t get annoyed when you ask questions, seeming content with your determination to do your job to the best of your abilities. The shop goes by appointment only - no walk ins and potential customers have to call to book. John keeps things old fashioned like that. All pen and paper and cash transactions. An ATM sits in the waiting area. The most complicated part of your job is changing out the cash box in it, and that only take a few days to learn. Not that you mind, it’s sort of refreshing to not deal with some fuckass new and “improved” register and appointment system.

Turns out part of the reason they operate in such a way (other than preference) is because John is a big name in the tattoo world. You hadn’t realized until he pointed out a couple of your flash tattoos were from his best-selling book of designs.

“Wait, you’re famous!?” You gasp, staring wide eyed at the old binder of newspaper clippings and book sales. ‘My Mum Wasn’t Impressed At First - Now Even She Has One’ reads the title of one of the older clippings - yellowed with age. John lacks his signature beard in the photo. It almost looks wrong.

John chuckles, crossing his arms and leaning back in his rolling chair. “You could say that. You really didn’t know about our shop before you booked?”

You shake your head. “Nah, I just saw y’all get recommended on Reddit.”

He barks out a laugh at that. It’s a low, pleased sound that sends a shiver down your spine. His beard only emphasizes the apples of his cheeks as he smiles. Yeah, that’s the other thing, having a hot boss is kind of fire.

Plus, he’s not the only one. The whole studio is full of hunks.

Kyle is easily the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Like, run for Miss Universe pretty. Big doe eyes with a little scar on his cheekbone - small golden hoops glitter from both his earlobes. They frame his face so well, creating a perfect diamond from them to his sparkling eyes to his pretty smile; curled and genuine with perfect teeth. He walks you through the booking process step by step, that first day, a warm hand on your back and the other tracing down the columns of the physical appointment book.

His work is as beautiful as he is. At least, the ones done on fake skin. John hasn’t let him tattoo anyone for real yet - but his practice sketches are immaculate. At least to a layman. Kyle himself never seems quite satisfied with them. He gets such vivid color, though.

“Tattooing darker skin is an art form in and of itself.” He murmurs as he works on a piece of very dark fake skin. “I want people like me t’ be able t’ get exactly what they want, with just as much color as they want.”

You nod along, sipping at your coffee from across the street that you’ve taken up stopping at every day before work. Kyle has so much passion for the industry. The look he gets in his eyes while talking about it or designing a new piece makes your heart flutter.

Simon, the other resident artist, you’re the least familiar with. You can’t quite decide how to feel about him, or decipher how he feels about you. John introduced you a couple days after you started, but all you got was a perfunctory nod and a ‘good luck’. You couldn’t help but feel starstruck, despite his blunt nature. Both thick arms covered in full, detailed sleeves. High quality, ornate black work. A man of stature - six feet and some change with a breadth that a barn would envy. Pretty, blonde hair cropped just short of turning to curls and dark eyes that bore through you to the very core.

Sometimes, when he comes to ask about his next appointment, you let yourself indulge in the fantasy that he stands close because he likes you. That his knee briefly knocks against yours because he wants to touch you - not that you’re crazy enough to believe it. Just crazy enough to be a tiny bit delusional for the fun of it.

You meet their resident piercer on the weekend. Apparently, he’d been away visiting family your first week.

He leans up over the counter, grinning at you from ear to ear. A well-built man only a few inches shorter than the others with a perfectly groomed mohawk. “Well, hello there. Aren’t you a bonnie little thing?”

You frown, hackles raising instinctually. “Uh, can I help you?”

“Och, they dinnae tell ye about me yet? I’m hurt.” He pouts, thick brows emphasizing the puppy like nature of his blue eyes.

“Let her be, Soap.” Kyle sighs heavily, walking to his area of the front with a fresh sketchbook.

“Soap?” You repeat.

“Aye. Cause apparently I need my mouth washed out.” He pokes his tongue out, only to reveal a silver piercing. He holds a hand over the counter. “Johnny MacTavish.”

Johnny is the most egregious man you have ever met - always touching you in one way or another when he checks in about appointments and so on. His Scottish brogue rings in your ears, every word loud and confident. A hand finds it’s way around your waist, a finger poking under the band of whatever bottoms you wear that day. At any other job, you would have considered it harassment and tore him a new one.

Johnny’s different, though. If you shrug him off he steps away, if you flinch he pulls back. Plus, he does it to everyone else just as much as you. More, if you’re honest. If Simon is within arms reach they’re touching. You noticed Johnny pushing a hand under his shirt at one point, grabbing at the soft layer over Simon’s abs. (A great view for you, frankly.) Hell, you saw him casually hold Kyle’s hand while they were talking over lunch. Even John isn’t immune to the clinging. You don’t think much of it. Body modding attracts all sorts of people. If Johnny’s just a touchy guy then he’s just touchy. Besides, you don’t mind that much when he slips an arm around your waist or hooks his chin on your shoulder to talk to you. Warm breath tracing the shell of your ear with a quiet ‘bonnie lass’ punctuating ever other sentence. A slight pinch to your hip before he trots away to set up his station.

You feel nauseous when your trial month ends. John sits you down across from him in the back office. A practical space with not much more in it than a desk, computer and the large safe. None of you spend much time back here outside of counting down the cash and dragging the trash bags through the back door to the dumpster.

“Think you’ve done really well, dove.” He grins. You try to ignore the way the pet name looks warmth in your lower belly. “You’ve picked up quickly, you’re good on the phone. Kyle’s been very happy about the extra time to practice.”

You let out the biggest, most relieved sigh of your life, shoulders slumping slightly.

“You don’t seem to mind Johnny, but if he gets to be too much let me or Simon know, yeah? He means well but he can be… well, you know.” John says absently as he reaches for something across the desk. “How are you feelin’?”

You nod. “I, uh, feel good. I like this position a lot. Everyone’s been very welcoming.”

John nods along. “Good, good. I see no reason to not hire you on full time. Here.”

You hold put your hands as John drops a small, silver key into them. Holy shit! You get your own key! Up until now they’d been buzzing you in, but they’re trusting you with your very own key!

John must see the excitement on your face because he chuckles and extends a hand. “Welcome aboard, kid.”

A/N: I was very wine drunk writing most of this and it has next to no editing but I hope you enjoyed it! I just want something I can write that’s episodic and not as serious/brain heavy as Fancy or Across the Way

[gabgabwrites]

DEUCE | Art Donaldson & Patrick Zweig

summary ⇝ Art has been so stressed about his match coming up against his ex best friend and denies it completely, you’ve begged and begged him to relax before he agrees, until someone interrupts.

warnings ⇝ language, unestablished? relationship, kissing, smut! 3sum, softdom!art, mean!patrick, oral (M & F), masturbation (M), handjob, cum eating, spitting, rough sex, unprotected sex, riding, spanking, minor ass play, groping, scratching, semi-public sex, slight voyeurism, not much aftercare, mdni.

note: this one is a little 𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀𝓎 also is shorter than most of my fanfics, more porn than plot

Tomorrow Art would be playing against Patrick Zweig, his old time best friend and part time rival. Art told you he didn't worry for his match, but you saw the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion and the bags under his eyes grew darker. You told him to take a sleeping pill when he slept but he said he was getting enough hours of sleep, you had to act like you didn't feel him constantly moving around at night, tossing and turning.

"Art, I really think you should relax today. I can book you an appointment with a masseuse to help your muscles, or, y'know, you could sleep," You chewed on your bottom lip after telling him this, Art sighed, stopping his upper body exercises in the small gym.

"It's fine, honey. I'm fine. I feel totally relaxed," He gave you a tight lipped smile before he picked up the orange resistance band and began to pull at it. You watched his eyes glaze over in focus before sighing yourself, pushing off the wall and leaving the room.

You knew better than to press further. Art was stubborn and determined, traits that made him both a fantastic athlete and a frustrating partner at times. You loved him dearly, but his single-minded dedication to his sport often left little room for self-care. As you walked away, you couldn't help but worry about the toll this match against Patrick was taking on him.

The evening passed slowly. You busied yourself with mundane tasks, trying to keep your mind off Art's impending match. The air in your shared apartment felt thick with unspoken concerns. Art, still in his workout gear, moved from one exercise to another, the rhythmic sounds of his routine creating a steady background noise. You watched him from the kitchen, your heart aching for the man who pushed himself so hard.

When dinner time rolled around, you called out to him, "Art, dinner's ready." He nodded, wiping sweat from his brow before making his way to the table. You had prepared his favorite meal, hoping it would bring some comfort.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, sitting down and picking at his food. You could tell his mind was elsewhere, probably on tomorrow's match and the strategies he needed to employ.

"You're really worried about this, aren't you?" you asked softly, trying to meet his eyes.

Art sighed, finally setting his fork down. "It's not that I'm worried, exactly. It's just... Patrick and I, we go way back. This isn't just another match. There's a lot of history there."

You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. "I know. But you can't keep pushing yourself like this. You're going to burn out."

"I know you're right," he admitted, squeezing your hand. "But I can't help it. I need to be at my best."

"I understand," you said gently. "But you need to take care of yourself too. How about we go for a walk after dinner? Get some fresh air, clear your mind?"

Art considered it for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

After dinner, the two of you strolled through the nearby park, the cool evening air a welcome change from the stuffy apartment. The rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot was soothing, and for a while, neither of you spoke. It was enough to just be together.

Eventually, Art broke the silence. "You know, sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, pursuing this career so intensely."

You looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's all-consuming. I love it, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on other things. Important things."

You stopped walking, turning to face him. "Art, you have a passion and a talent that's incredible. But it's okay to have doubts. It's okay to want more than just your career."

He looked down, his expression thoughtful. "I just don't want to let anyone down. Not my team, not my fans... not you."

"You could never let me down," you said firmly. "I love you for who you are, not for what you achieve. And I'm here for you, no matter what."

Art pulled you into a tight hug, resting his chin on top of your head. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."

The walk seemed to have done some good, and by the time you returned home, Art appeared more relaxed. He took a long shower while you prepared some chamomile tea, hoping it would help him sleep better. When he emerged, you handed him a cup, and he accepted it gratefully.

"Let's try to get some good rest tonight, okay?" you suggested, leading him to the bedroom. He nodded, sipping his tea thoughtfully.

As you both settled into bed, you reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. The room was plunged into darkness, the only sounds the faint hum of the city outside and Art's steady breathing.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.

"I love you too," you replied, snuggling closer to him. "We'll get through this, together."

That night, Art's restlessness seemed to ease. He still shifted occasionally, but there was a sense of calm that hadn't been there before. You stayed close, your presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of his thoughts.

The next morning, you woke to find Art already up, dressed in his gear and looking more focused than he had in days. There was a determined glint in his eye that made you believe he was ready for the match.

"Feeling better?" you asked, stretching and sitting up.

"Yeah," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I think I am."

"Good. I'll be cheering for you," You said, giving him an encouraging kiss. You grabbed his racket and headed for his car. Once there, you packed all his equipment in the back. He drove the car this time, to the stadium. You two had gotten there earlier, for many reasons like him relaxing before the match and for him to get last minute practice.

He told you he was going to the sauna for an hour or so, you told him you'd wait outside, on the small bench as you decided to flip through a magazine. As Art headed towards the sauna, you found a small bench outside and settled down with a magazine. The warm, humid air from the sauna seeped out, creating a comfortable ambiance despite the anticipation buzzing in your mind.

Flipping through the magazine, you tried to distract yourself with celebrity gossip and fashion trends, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Art and the upcoming match. You couldn't shake the worry that gnawed at your insides, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the glossy pages in front of you.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as you anxiously waited. You checked your watch every few minutes, unable to shake off the nervous energy that pulsed through you. Finally, just as you were starting to wonder if you should check on him, the sauna door creaked open, and Art emerged, white towel around his waist, his muscles shiny with sweat and his blonde hair darker and sticking to his forehead.

He called your name, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. You looked up from the magazine, your eyes meeting his intense gaze. "Yes?" you asked, your voice coming out softer than intended, laced with a hint of curiosity and a touch of anticipation.

He licked his top lip, his gaze scanning the room briefly before locking onto yours. "I realised I really do need to relax," he admitted with a sigh, pondering how to phrase his next request. "Come here, please?" His voice was soft yet tinged with a hint of longing, inviting you closer with a subtle urgency that stirred something deep within you.

You swallowed, placing the magazine neatly next to the pile of his disregarded clothes on the bench, before standing up and slowly walking towards him. "Yes?" His forefinger found the neckline of your shirt and hooked inside, before abruptly pulling you in making you yelp out in surprise. "Art?!"

"Shh-h-h, someone could hear you," He waited for you to stand up straight, after nearly being curb stomped by the sauna bench and turning to face him. His voice dropped to speak softer. "Help me relax?"

"Art, I-I don't—," The words got caught in your throat when you felt him pick up your hand and gently kiss your fingertips, lips moving to graze over each knuckle before they were on your wrist. "Anyone could walk in."

"They won't," he murmured against your skin, his lips lightly grazing the soft flesh of your forearm. "Please?" His plea was soft and earnest, his voice laced with vulnerability. You let out a gentle sigh, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin, before tenderly moving your hand from his lips to cup his jaw.

"Only because it's getting hot in here," You smirked, Art's eyes shone at your words before his fingers moved to help you peel away your shirt that was becoming damp with moisture. He waited until you were fully undressed, clothes a disregardment, scattered around on the bamboo floor, before kissing you.

Your body was still somewhat dry while Art's was slippery against yours, dewy with sweat. His one hand cradled the back of your neck as you pushed your tongue between his lips, happily obliging to feel you against him. He let out a groan, signalling he wanted more, he needed more. Using little control, he grabbed your shoulders and pushed down on them, forcing you to sit on the bench.

Your lips broke apart before Art smashed them together again. Your fingers went to the white, fluffy towel and began to pull at it, falling apart to reveal his cock, hard and pulsing. "You really are needy?" You murmured, Art whimpered to ensure your questions.

You pressed a hand against his pec, letting it slither down and collect little moisture before your fingers found the tufts of hair below his belly button, following the trail until you reached his cock, wrapping your fingers around the base and slowly pumping your fist.

Art let a gasp, swallowing his moan at your actions. "Sit down, Art," You told him, he basically threw himself down, now kissing you shoulder to shoulder, your hand wrapped around his cock while his left hand squeezed at your thigh and his right curling at his side. "This helping?"

"Yeah, mmm, yes," He groaned, slowly but surely failing to kiss back as you squeezed his cock harder, making his mind go fuzzy. "Please don't stop."

His head fell back, lips parting as he panted and moaned, the crown of his head resting on the wall. Your lips took action down the column of his throat, tongue lapping up at his sweat. You sucked a path down to his shoulder, before allowing your teeth to graze the skin there.

"Art, I want to ride you," You said softly.  Art was quick to shift his hips, snapping out a trance so you could slide onto his lap.

His fingers flew to your arousal, massaging at your aching clit to get your hole to relax. "That feels good."

Your fingers pumped his cock still, only at a slower pace. It twitched and throbbed, especially when the pads of his fingers moved and found your hole, feeling you drip onto his fingers. His eyebrows drew together in focus, fingertips breaching your pussy, sinking into it.

You ignored the initial pain of the stretch, humping your hips to sink onto him further. His fingers worked faster to relax your hole before they pulled out, too eager to have you around his length. He grabbed his cock and nudged the pink tip at your entrance, feeling your hands stabilise yourself on his shoulders, and drop onto him, both letting out a moan.

You bent your legs, for leverage, hips bucking into his to get friction while his hands grasped your hips. "You feel so good around me," He gasped. You nodded at his words, lips finding solace on his skin again to kiss his flesh.

It was pure bliss between the two of you, in the warm, sweaty room. Moans and wet sounds bouncing off the walls.

The door suddenly ripped open, a gush of cold air fanned your back. Your head whipped around to see what it was, or rather, who it was; Patrick Zweig, standing in all his naked glory.

Your hips didn't stop their movements, even though Art stiffened at the intrusion. A wicked grin cracked on Patrick's face at the sigh. "Huh. World renowned tennis star getting fucked like a whore in the men's sauna before a big game," Patrick whistled. "Who would've guessed?"

"G-Get out, Zweig," Art said, words stuttering from pleasure.

"No, no. I don't think so. I think I'll just sit here and enjoy the show," You watched him sink down onto the opposite side of the room, brown eyes looking from your face that never left his view, to where you and Art were connected at the hips. He couldn't help the stiffening feeling between his legs, not caring for his cock to slowly harden, and out in the open.

Perhaps you should've stopped and ran out in shame. Perhaps Art should have begged you to stop instead on having his fingers dig deeper into your hips, his own bucking up into yours. Perhaps you should've looked away when you saw Patrick take his own cock in hand and fist it, matching the same pace you fucked Art.

Perhaps it was all the reason you came too quickly, mouth falling open as moans tumbled from your lips, getting Art's thighs coated in your cum. You felt him curl up, his own high nearing. He slammed you down on his cock, before filling you up.

"Aw man," Patrick chuckled, though it was slow and rugged with lust. "The show’s over and I barely started jerking off." He sighed, throwing his hand up, no longer touching himself.

You turned to tuck your head between Art's neck. Panting from your labour. "What do we do?" You whispered to him.

"Wait until he leaves."

He did not. In fact, you heard the floorboards creak with Patrick's weight, until you felt a presence behind you. "Hey, Art," Patrick spoke. "You gonna move over so I can try her?"

Your heart dropped, at first in surprise before your mind mulled over scenarios. Art's eyes shot up and glared at Patrick, who just stood there and smirked. "Excuse me?"

"C'mon, man. It's not like it's the first time we shared her," Patrick had to bring up the one night you three shared in college, the one you never spoke about again. You didn't hate that night, in fact you used to think about it often, but Patrick grew to become a major prick thereafter, forcing you to forget about it.

Art stayed silent, until he sighed. Using his hands, he moved you to look at him. "You can tell him no."

You took in a breath, chewing on your bottom lip. You stared into Art's eyes, looking, searching for any sort of plead, or hesitation, but got none. Did he want to share you? Would he be willing to? "I don't mind," You whispered. "But if you don't want to, then we don't."

Art pried his eyes away from you to stare at Patrick, a multitude of emotions, ones that didn't look all too pleasant. "Only this once."

Patrick let out a grumble through his chest, happy you two agreed. Perhaps it would change the way on court.  "You got it, hermano," Patrick slipped a hand on your shoulder, pulling you off Art's lap to stand, back pressing against his chest.

His one arm was wrapped around your shoulders while the other was snaking it's way down, tips of his fingers brushing along your tummy in the ticklish area that had it convulse, until they pressed into your pussy, collecting the residue from both you and Art. When he was satisfied with what was gathered on his fingers, he brought them to his lips and let out a groan at the taste of both of you.

"It tastes so good. You should try," He don't give you time to protest before reaching down to collect more cum before shoving his fingers in your mouth, having you choke and sputter until your tongue licked away at the salty liquids. "God, if that's the way you suck my fingers then I can't wait until I feel you suck my cock."

His fingers left your lips, hand moving down to grope your left breast, squeezing at the flesh.

"Tell me something, Art. How rough do you fuck her—ooh no wait, how rough does she fuck herself on you?" Patrick asked, eyes flirting to Art who just glared at the brunette, knuckles paling as he gripped the bench. Patrick smirked at the silence he got, from both ends.

He roughly grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him, he clicked his tongue in fake pity.

"Poor thing, not treated right?"

"I'm treated just fine," You told him. "Thanks."

"Hm, we'll see." Patrick basically threw you forward, hands seizing your wrists behind your back, having you at a near 90 degree angle, face close to Art's. Patrick used his foot to nudge open your legs. You felt the tip of his cock brush your folds, before he abruptly shoved his entire length inside you, he wasn't as long as Art, but he was more girthy.

Your face screwed in pain, giving you no time to adjust before his hips snapped against yours, fucking into you at light speed. "O-Oh, fuck," You whined, head falling forward from pleasure.

"That's what I thought. Needed someone to fuck you right," Patrick chuckled, taking one hand and slapping your ass, making you howl in pain. Patrick's brown eyes found Art's, who was still glaring at him, yet he had a blush on his cheeks. Patrick smirked. "Take notes."

"If you only fucked her to be an asshole, then you can stop." Art growled, anger sizzling in his chest.

"Nope, just doing it correctly." Patrick nearly fell forwards when he saw a sliver of movements on Art's end. His tongue swiping to wet his bottom lip as he gave Art a shit eating grin. "You bastard. You getting off to watching your old best friend fuck your girl? Dirty, dirty boy."

Gasps and moans clashed in your throat, getting the strength in your neck to look up where Art was, indeed, fisting his cock. Your mouth salivating at the sight. "L-Let me help," You stammered out, letting your lips fall open. Art gently grabbed your head and positioned it lower, sighing when he felt your tongue lap out and lick his tip.

It was so contrasting, the way Patrick was manhandling you, tip nudging that one sweet spot deep within you while his fingers slapped, scratched and groped your ass and Art's gentle caresses on your hair. It was like heaven and hell, all in a sauna, perhaps you were limbo.

"You're squeezing me so tight, baby. I'm so close, gonna let me cum deep in your pussy?" Patrick moaned. Words slurred from drunken pleasure.

"Patrick—." Art warned, a damn near growl escaping his chest.

"Nuh uh, man. I can't pull out now."

"Patrick—."

"Fuck!" Patrick moaned, his movements sloppy as he spilled his seed inside you. Panting as he caught his breath.

He was quick to pull out before dropping to his knees. He grabbed your ass cheeks and spread them apart before he dove his face inside, tongue rolling against your clit.

His own cum spilling from you and onto his nose and top lip. That man ate you out like a starved man.

Art's hips jerked before he was cumming in your mouth, fingers tightening slightly in your hair as your name fell from his lips.

"Gonna cum," You moaned, words coming out unclear as your mouth was still full of Art's cum. You couldn't get the energy to swallow, it slowly dribbled out your mouth, along with your drool and back onto Art's cock, Art couldn't lie and say it wasn't one of the hottest things he's seen, not even phased that you didn't swallow.

Patrick grabbed your hips and pushed you further down onto him, mouth open as you came on his tongue, hips rolling on his face. He swallowed most of it. He stood up, with some of your cum in his mouth and his own spit. His hands still kept your ass spread, pursing his lips, he allowed for the concoction to dribble onto your neglected asshole.

He didn't do anything to penetrate it, only using his forefinger to spread the liquids from your asshole to your pussy, leaving you wet and sticky all over.

Patrick stood back, allowing for you to hobble towards Art and sit down on the bench next to him. "Let's make a bet. If I win, I get to fuck her again."

"Get the fuck out of here," Art spat, grabbing a towel to help clean you. Patrick just chuckled before grabbing his own towel, wrapping it around his hips before pushing the door open and leaving.

Art turned to you, his voice softer.

"Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah," You smiled meekly. "Just promise me this, you'll win."

Anyways, this was inspired by the beautiful sweaty sauna scene:

[positivexcellence]

Jared Padalecki Talks Boys Role (‘Just Let Me Know If I Have to Get Naked’) and How It’d Be a Supernatural Reunion

Jared Padalecki is hoping that if he visits The Boys, he’ll get to keep his clothes on.

Supernatural creator and The Boys showrunner Eric Kripke has been vocal about his desire to get his former leading man on the Prime Video drama, calling Padalecki “the Pokémon I haven’t collected yet.” Thus far, Jensen Ackles, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Jim Beaver, Rob Benedict and Christian Keyes are among the Supernatural vets to pop up on the comic book series, while Alexander Calvert recurred on the spinoff Gen V.

Bringing Padalecki onto the show is a matter of “finding the right role. Look, I want to. I mean, even if it’s just for a guest shot,” Kripke told TVLine.

But with the announcement that there’s only one season left after this current fourth one, have there been any recent conversations between Kripke and Padalecki about how to make that guest spot a reality before time runs out?

“We talked a little bit recently. I mean, we talked today,” Padalecki told TVLine on Friday.

A month ago, Kripke called the actor following the cancellation of his CW series Walker, which will come to an end with this Wednesday’s episode.

“He’s like, ‘Hey, dude, a) so sorry about Walker. I know how much you loved it and great show. Would you be interested in coming to play up in Toronto [where The Boys shoots]?'” Padalecki recalls. “I was like, ‘Absolutely. Just let me know if I have to get naked or not because I gotta start working out now.'”

Despite the potentially urgent need to get into the gym, Padalecki notes that the role is still a ways off from actual production.

“He and I have talked about what it could look like. It’s not written yet. He said it wouldn’t really be until 2025. We wouldn’t shoot until probably January-ish,” Padalecki shares, adding that he’s game to “go play in the playground [of] the guy who created Sam Winchester. I’ve had good times in his playground, so I’m happy to do it again.”

As for what kind of character he’d like to portray, Padalecki has his sights set on a villainous supe, with “the power of wearing clothes,” he says with a laugh. “No, I don’t know. You know what’s funny is that, yeah, I have some ideas, but to Kripke’s credit, all my ideas for his time on Supernatural paled in comparison to what he came up with. So I wouldn’t even want to put anything in his head. I just want him and his f–ked up mind to think of something cool for me to come and do, and it’s going to be better than anything I could have dreamed up. The way his brain works is wildly interesting and outside of the box… So I’ll just go with what he creates.”

Of course, if Padalecki comes on The Boys, there is potential to have him in a scene with his Supernatural co-stars Ackles and Morgan, who play baddie supe Soldier Boy and CIA officer Joe Kessler, respectively.

“Let me just say that’s not the first time I’ve had a conversation where that has been pontificated. But yeah, that would be a lot of fun,” Padalecki says, before jokingly adding that all three characters would be naked for the reunion.

Well, Kripke does have a habit of putting Supernatural alums in nude scenes…

tvline

[someidiot-withadhd]

So uhm…

Sanders Sides Fantasy AU!!!

Hehe..

Please I’ve spent four days on this

Explanations and extra details under the cut! And close ups of everyone!!

Well there everyone is!

So, for some basic info, this is kinda based off of D&D but I’m too lazy to give everyone classes and stats, so they just get races!

This is set in a world that Roman created in the imagination, and dragged everyone along with him. Maybe by accident, maybe on purpose.. maybe he was just missing the others.. it had been so long since they’ve all been together, so why not take them on an adventure!

Patton: A frogfolk! He’s already one of the shortest, and even shorter now! That’s doesn’t bother him though, if anything were to bother him, it would be the memory of his past experience being a frog… But no matter! If they’re stuck in the imagination until they finish their quest, he’ll just have to do what’s needed! (And he’ll collect every shiny thing he sees on the way, even if it puts him in danger!)

Logan: A faun. Not his first choice, but whatever makes the others happy. Thankfully, he got to keep his tie, and his book. That’ll help keep him focused in this unfamiliar world. And if only his fur would stay neat, no mater what he does it’s always unruly, it’s irritating.

Virgil: Mr. Panic at the everywhere finally has a form to match, maybe. A phantom? Well that fits. Although why is he neither an animal or human? Is it because he’s left the dark sides..? No.. he’s getting paranoid again.. and why does he have a knife?

Janus: yes he may be the two-faced snake of the group, but that doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy! He’s trying to do better, honestly. And turning him into a Hydra seems kind of mean, don’t you think? No this wasn’t his doing, he never wanted to be here in the first place.. well, if he’s here he should probably make the best of it.

Roman: A dragon, just like his dreams! Of course, he never expected to be a dragon himself, but the tail and wings are really cool! And besides, why not make the best out of his forced family bonding time! It’s not like he’s scared to talk to them after they’ve drifted apart or anything! No, the great prince Roman is fearless!

Remus: oh, what do we have here? Roman and co. are in the imagination? Well why not turn this to my advantage! We’ll see how they’re doing in there, and maybe pull some strings, take this into my own hands, and twist this to my liking. And I better change to match, besides, it’ll be nice not being cold blooded for a while. This will be an amazing little adventure, won’t it, ————?

So, all the dark sides have animal traits right? Why not take this a step further, and make them full animals!

Woah, thanks for reading this far! I’m super excited about this, but still, it’s only a concept, and stuff could change!

[joanvisitsrome]

stars between us ch.1 - h.c

Welcome to the first chapter of Stars Between Us! I don't know how many chapters this is going to be, but I'm excited! Comment if you'd like to be in the taglist!

Summary: You hit it off with Hazel on the bus ride to a school trip.

Contains: Fluff, one bed trope, nerd!reader, Hazel being happy to make new friends i need her please

“You guys really want me to go to fight club?” You were talking with Isabel and Brittany while waiting for Mr. G to start the class.

“Yeah! It’s huge on like female empowerment and stuff!” Isabel explains excitedly. Brittany nods along, going along with what Isabel is saying.

“Yeah, but other than you two, who else is there? PJ? The PJ that told Brittanay that she could poop out a hot dog?” Brittany nods out of agreement.

“There’s also Hazel. I think you two would make really good friends actually. She’s a little nerd like you.”

“She likes books and astronomy!?”

“More like bombs, but that’s not the point.” You widen your eyes at the response, flabbergasted by this new advancement in what you knew about Hazel. Surely, she was on the less-known, nerdier side of the people, usually quiet in class, but you didn’t know she made bombs. You had to admit, you were pretty damn impressed.

You looked at Hazel from across the room. Her shaggy mullet was a mess, and she was wearing a matching olive green shirt and shorts set. She awkwardly smiled and waved at you, to which you quickly raised your hand and looked away.

“Am I really this awkward?” you mumble, aggravated, your head in your hands, “how am I even friends with you guys?” you ask Brittany and Isabel.

“Well, you are the cheer team’s manager. And you’re very pretty.”

“I guess. What time is fight club today?”

“Don’t you remember? The camping trip starts today! We don’t have fight club since we’re all going home to pack.”

“Oh yeah! I already brought my stuff to school, so I’ll be here until the bus comes.”

“You really like planning ahead, don’t you?” Isabel points out.

“It takes away some of my anxiety. If I’m unprepared, I turn into the most stressed person ever.” you admit, a bit embarrassed. Mr. G comes up to the front of the class and begins to teach. You open your notebook and begin taking notes, even though you knew that you were going to have to go home and research, since Mr. G never taught correctly.

You spent the rest of the day going through most of the works, classes, lunch, and whatnot. You weren’t looking forward to having to wait two hours at school. That was for sure. You hated being in an empty school. Even though you had your book, you knew things were going to get very boring, especially since the cell phone and wifi in your school was horrible. The end of the day did approach though, and you sat in a corner nearby the gym, reading Romeo and Juliet for the millionth time. Although it was a play, in old english, and probably one of the silliest love stories you had ever read, you found some sort of comfort in it. It had been your favorite thing that you read during your freshman year of high school, and something you ended up trailing back to each year. After finishing the book, you opened another book that you brought with you. You were desperate to stay entertained and not preyed on by the football players before Isabel and Brittany got back.

Eventually though, they did. You grabbed your things the second they approached you, complaining about how boring it had been for the two hours you had waited after school. However, your two best friends were able to put a smile back on your face almost immediately. You three were laughing and talking the whole way to the bus. However, it was only two to a group of seats.

“Hey, I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda want to sit with Brittany. I hope you’re cool with that.” Isabel says. You know she feels bad, and that Brittany probably is sitting with Isabel so she doesn’t have to deal with PJ.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.” You walk over to PJ, only to see her sit down with Josie. But then you see Hazel. She’s sitting alone, at the window seat, listening to music. You see her curled up to the window, the long, knitted sleeves of her bowler’s cardigan past her hands and near her face. Hoping Hazel wasn’t too weirded out by what happened in Mr.G’s class earlier, you hesitantly tap her on the shoulder.

“Hey, Hazel?” Hazel almost jumps with how startled she is by you.

“Y-yeah? What’s up?”

“Mind if I sit here?” Hazel nods and motions for you to sit in the seat next to her.

“I don’t think we’ve actually talked before. I’m uh, Hazel. Hazel Callahan.” An awkward smile paints her face as she holds her right hand out for yours to shake. You tell her your name and shake her hand.

“What music are you listening to?” You decided to at least make some conversation with Hazel. After all, Brittany and Isabel had said that you two would get along.

“The Smiths.” she says while nodding, and pausing the music.

“I love The Smiths.” From then on, you two were yapping the whole bus ride to the campsite. You told Hazel about your favorite books, as well as some star-gazing you were looking forward to doing. Hazel told you about a bomb kit she bought off the black market, as well as how she was looking forward to the weekend away from home.

“The stuff about the stars you were talking about was pretty cool,” Hazel admits, “you’ll have to tell me when you’re going out to go and see them.”

“Of course! It’ll be fun! It’ll be nice to go star-gazing with a friend.”

“We’re friends?” Hazel looks like she’s genuinely asking this question.

“Of course we’re friends. You’re so nice, and we have so much in common.” You can see Hazel have this new sparkle in her eyes. Finally, someone likes her for her and actually wants to spend time with her? Just then, the bus stops, and you have to get up to retrieve your things. You reunite with Brittany and Isabel, excitedly telling them about how you had made friends with Hazel.

“Well, that’s good, since you two are going to be sharing a cabin with us.”

“Wait, really?” you ask while you guys walk to the cabin.

“Yeah. The whole fight club was going to share one, but there weren’t enough places for everyone, plus, Sylvie and Stella-Rebecca didn’t want to go.” Just then, you see Hazel headed toward the same path. You give her a small smile and wave, and she does the same. You all enter the cabin, to see that there are three beds.

“Alright,” PJ says while unlocking the door, “Brittany,”

“Absolutely not.” Brittany says, cutting of PJ mid-sentence, “I will be sleeping with Isabel, you will be sleeping with Josie.”

“So,” Isabel continues to you, “that leaves you and Hazel.”

[yerimsdreams]

All Bark, No Bite

author's note: the way I planned for this to be something cute and then it turned into... this. lol.

zaros kymen atha'lin x earis!reader (they/them pronouns are used).

warnings: swearing. mention of death. tombstone. crying.

''Why won't you just tell me what happened, mother? It's about my own brother!'' The Earis exclaimed in frustration, following their mother like a lost duckling. 

Queen Roena shook her head, continuing to make her way out of the library. She'd originally gone to check up on her child's progression with their studies for the upcoming trial of debate, but it had quickly turned into another interrogation on her son's death and the late Atha'lin matriarch's involvement in it. 

''Mother! I deserve to know!'' Their plea went in vain once again as the Eminence almost reached the doors. 

''Mum, please.'' 

The Queen halted at the two words. They sounded like a child, one that would ask their parents to check under their bed to see whether there was a creature lurking there or not. She hadn't heard them sound so desperate in years, maybe ever. 

The older woman turned around, guilt dripping all over her face. The ruling monarch was not one to wear her heart on her sleeve. However, every emotion she was feeling in that moment was visible for the world to see. 

''I can't, my darling,'' she sighed, ''it's in the past. It shall remain there.'' With one last sad smile, she opened the doors and departed from the library, leaving her hopeless child behind. 

The Earis simply stood there, feeling the weight of their mother’s words pressing down on them. The library didn't feel like the warm and welcoming place it had always been for them, instead a cold breeze had settled over the vast book-lined hall. 

They let the tears fall, not blinking them back like they were used to doing. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness planted itself inside of them. Why couldn't anyone just tell them the truth? Why does everyone have to be so secretive and vague about the subject? 

Despite the grand state of the library, it felt as if they would be swallowed up by it if they stayed a second longer. It was as if the books were mocking them. Thousands of figures of history laughing in their face, the poems of the finest writers were pointing at them and falling over from amusement. 

Their shoulders slumped, the Earis turned away from the door and wiped the tears from their face. They needed to get out, to breathe fresh air and clear their mind. 

They made their way through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, moving swiftly towards the gardens.  The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the library. They let out a deep breath of relief once they were outside, the scent of all the various flowers providing a pleasant distraction. 

The garden was quiet, the only sounds being the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets. All the nobles had gone back to their own respective homes, while the staff of the Royal Family were done with their duties for the day and had retreated to their quarters. 

The heir walked along the winding paths until they reached their brother's memorial. They sat down next to the stone plaque that carried their sibling's name. 

''What really happened to you? Why won't Mother tell me? Why won't anyone tell me the truth of it?'' The questions that had been haunting them tumbled out in a whisper. Their voice broke on the last few words, and they buried their face in their hands, letting the tears flow freely again. 

"Out and about so late, my Earis?'' A familiar voice sounded from the shadows, breaking the comfortable silence that had been present. ''People might start to think you're engaging in promiscuous activities with a secret companion.'' Despite not looking at him, they could hear the smirk playing on his lips. 

''Begone, Zaros.'' There wasn't much energy behind their words, just pure exhaustion. They weren't in any mood to deal with his snarky comments. 

Zaros, sensing the weariness in their tone, stepped out from the shadows and approached them. His signature grin faded as soon as he saw the tears glistening on their cheeks. He stood there, uncertain on how to proceed. 

''What happened?'' He asked quietly, hesitantly taking a few steps closer to them. 

The Earis turned towards him, roughly wiping their tears away. ''Just go! I do not want to hear from you at this moment.'' 

He paused, concern etching his features. "Did someone harm you?" His posture straightened as the question left his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing. 

They let out a bitter laugh, shaking their head. "No, no one has harmed me. Just leave me be." 

But Zaros didn't move. Instead, he crouched down in front of them, trying to catch their gaze. ''Please, you appear burdened beyond measure. For someone or something to break your mask like this… please, speak to me.'' 

''Why? So you can use my hardships against me later?'' Their head snapped towards him, eyes blazing with a mix of anger and pain. 

He lightly flinched at the accusation, but remained composed. ''I have no intention of doing that. You're crying in the garden, all by yourself, everyone can see that something has transpired.'' 

They turned away, their gaze focused on their brother's stone, frustration boiling over. "You're only here to enjoy my suffering. Begone, please, at once!'' 

''I am not here for my own entertainment. We may no longer be as close as we once were, but I am not indifferent to your pain. Now, please, tell me what happened?'' Zaros insisted, his tone earnest. 

The Earis momentarily lifted their head to meet Zaros' eyes. They tried to find something that would tell them he had another impertinent comment waiting, but they did not find it. Instead, they found his soft eyes, and genuine distress on his face. 

They sniffed, and took a deep breath. ''I, uh, have been asking my mother about what you said about your grandmother, uh, snatching my brother,'' their voice became small at the mention of their sibling, ''she won't tell me anything, she refuses. I just asked her about it again, moments ago in the library, but she brushed me off.'' 

Zaros frowned at their admission. ''It was not my intention to cause a rift between you and your mother.'' 

They shook their head. ''I know that, it's not your fault. I just… I feel as if I do not know my family at all. Ever since the contention, strange things have been happening, and I don't know what or who to believe anymore.'' 

His expression softened at their words. ''I understand. I still believe it is not up to me to tell you what happened regarding your late brother, but… I do feel for you.'' 

The Earis sarcastically chuckled. ''You feel for me? That's a first.'' 

Zaros sighed, undeterred by their sarcasm. ''Stop that. Just because of what happened in the past does not mean I do not care for you or wish to see you discontented. I could have walked away the moment I saw you here, but I stayed. Do with that what you will.'' 

They wanted to believe him, to trust that his concern was genuine, yet years of bitterness stood between them like an impenetrable wall. ''You expect me to believe that you suddenly care about my well-being?'' 

''Yes, I do,'' he retorted, ''I am not lying when I say that seeing you like this pains me.'' He admitted, his full attention on them. 

The Earis stares for a few moments before groaning, their hands covering their face again. ''Why do you always do that?'' 

''Do what?'' Zaros questioned, confused. 

''One sentence you'll completely tear me and my character apart, and in the next you- you say things like that.'' 

Zaros shifted uncomfortably. ''I don't tear you apart, I simply say the hard-''

''Hard truths, yeah. You've said it plenty.'' They interjected, rolling their eyes. 

''So you do know it?'' The teasing gentleman made a small return. ''Anyway- I do not mean to hurt you with my words, I just want to give you a different perspective.'' 

''You simply wish to remind me of all my flaws, Zaros. Don't play dumb, it does not suit you.'' 

Zaros's smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. ''I speak harshly because I believe in your strength. I challenge you because I know you can rise to it. You are the heir to the throne. There is the possibility that you will become ruler, so I might just as well put both your feet back on the ground. It is for the good of the realm.'' 

They were still guarded, so they let out a scoff. ''For the realm,'' she repeated, ''for the realm or for the good of your own family? The, oh, so noble Atha'lin line who care about the smallfolk and their troubles while they drown themselves in the royal wealth, and feast on the food and wine which they pay for with the little money they have.'' 

His face tightened, their words slowly sinking in. ''Do not speak of my fa-'' 

''Not speak of your family? All you do is speak on me and my family. I understand your anger, and it is justified. But you are a hypocrite, Zaros. You bark and bark, but as soon as I turn it around on you, you put on your cloak of high morality and point the finger at me for everything that is wrong with Serulla,'' the gates had opened, and there was no closing them now. 

''You think all it takes for the common folk to have you in their favor is to lower some fucking taxes? You believe that by sneering at the noble families, the ones that will work in your Council if you become king, you will actually achieve change? Well, you are greatly mistaken. You know nothing about what it takes to rule a Dominion, especially not one like ours. Your mother is using you for her own bidding, to lift her own status- you are only too blind to see it.'' 

Zaros recoiled as if struck, his expression hard to read. It seemed to have taken him a few extra seconds to fully comprehend their words. Once it had hit him, he quickly stood back up, though he didn't move away from them. 

The Earis watched him in their peripheral vision, puzzled on why he stayed standing there, fully expecting him to have made his way into the castle by now. 

''You and I have more in common than we allow ourselves to think at times.'' He remarked, gazing into the Serullan night sky. 

Their own vision stayed on their brother's engraved name, hoping an answer would appear to help them out of this situation. 

Zaros continued at their silence. ''We both want the best for our families, and we'll both go to the absolute end for them- no matter the cost.'' 

''This is a high cost you are paying, Sarl Zaros.'' They uttered back, looking up at his figure. 

''It is, My Earis.'' 

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I want to write a horror book with characters that are not human but were a long time ago and now are something changed. What I want to do is explore themes of body horror, but what I do not want to do is be offensive or stereotypical towards physically disabled people. I have been doing some research and making sure the horror I am writing doesn’t have real world people it is affecting. (for example, characters with multiple eyes or arms or who have bare skeletons on their limbs) Do you have any tips to be non-offensive in my writing?

P.S. thank you! Your blog has been so helpful to me 💛

Hello beautiful asker!

We have a post on body horror right there! I would just do your research very thoroughly (read Sasza's part, he worded it much better than me). Characters transforming into something non-human is such a cool concept and cool to explore. And while this isn't our area, I would also research stuff like identity, race, body dysphoria, dysmorphia, Ethnicity, queerness, on their intersectionality with body horror, outside of disability and such. It's really interesting and it all intersects in such a fascinating way!

~ Mod Virus 🌸

Hi!

I think that as long as you're making sure you're not passing off symptoms of disabilities as said body horror, you're fine. If there's no connection between the two, then it won't be offensive to physically/visibly disabled people :-)

With that said, there's an incredible number of conditions that can be disabling (literally thousands). So to avoid including any of them as "body horror" or "gore" or what have you, you will need to do research.

There are disabilities that involve multiple fingers (polydactyly), multiple limbs (polymelia), multiple eyes (diprosopus), and other things that involve what's widely considered "body horror" by the genre. Yes, they're very rare (except for polydactyly maybe) but they're still very much real; the Witches movie tried to pretend that limb difference was just some magical scary thing rather than an actually existing disability, and it was horrible.

That doesn't mean you can't do it, just don't mimic it 1:1. Put the eyes on their neck, or make their fingers come out of their mouth, whatever. Things that don't happen to visibly disabled people, including the ones that die from complications of their disabilities - I think it's incredibly cruel for the horror genre to treat many of them as some sort of "evil creature inspo" because of severe congenital conditions.

That's just my view on it, I hope it's understandable! Good luck with your writing.

mod Sasza

[ancientschampionau]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Dawn

I am back because i got home from work and I got no chill! :D @spotaus

First one Prev drabble Next one

Okay. So why this one? Because i realised it was a while since i wrote a drabble from Horror's point of view and that is criminal and it is a great excuse for me to showcase some stuff from the quiet and very observing sockets of Horror! (also gives me an excuse to not think about the drabble order i got now and that thought i messed it up a bit which I need to think of a solution for)

Ready? Let's go!

*------------------------*

Horror makes sure to carefully close the door to the greenhouse. It is still early but he is used to those.

He enjoys the cool fresh air as he walks towards the house, small basket filled with fresh monster food. Horror is happy he got permission from Crop to harvest the plants in there for their meals.

He quietly opens the door and listens for a moment. He saw Cross leave the farm a little while ago to do his own morning workouts and by the sounds of it the other three are still asleep.

Which is good because he needs his own sleep. Horror knows very well that Dust is the one to wake up with Nightmare if something bothers him in his sleep.

He found the two of them awake and reading a book one too many times for Horror to believe they just had an allnighter.

Horror likes being up early. Maybe strange for him but he got used to it in his old universe. The best time to check his traps and search for food had been in the very early morning, or very late night depending on how you look at it, as most people would be asleep.

It is a leftover habit and he just kept going with it when he joined Nightmare's gang.

He puts the food away in all the right places and goes about getting the ingredients for todays breakfast. He notices the fresh milk and eggs and the choice is obvious. Some pancakes would be great.

He starts preparing the ingredients as he takes the time to measure it all. The milk makes him chuckle.

Watching Cross realises there was a cow had been funny. Finding Cross in a tree shaking with a cow under it had been hilarious. Crop ahd been apologetic as he explained that his cow, Betty (Killer had mutters "of course it is claled betty") was aparently mischievious.

Horror had his doubts but Cross swore that the cow would know when he left the farmhouse. That the cow would stand at the edge of her field and stare at him.

Cross did not go to the east side of the farm anymore. aparently that was Betty's territory in his mind.

Nightmare liked petting Betty however so you have your ups and downs.

Horror mixes the ingredients slowly but surely. Thinking about Nightmare, "Shouldn't you still be in bed?"

silence before a soft mutter "Not tired anymore."

Horror chuckles as he shoots Nightmare a look. He looks fully awake and adorable in his new wool sweater. Horror grins "God powers?"

Nightmare shrugs "I mean probably. I never needed sleep before. that is still new." They hadn't really noticed anything that could be connected to Nightmare's godhood at the moment. Maybe it had gone domant, at least that was Cross's guess. Dust just thinks Nightmare's magic is now focussed on healing instead of weird god shenenigans.

Speaking of healing! Horror gives him a stern look "bandages?"

Nightmare rolls his eye lights but mutters his answer "All still in place and good. Killer replaced them after the bath last night,"

Horror nods. With that secured he relaxes abit "Want to help?"

Nightmare is already by his side and stands on his tiptoes. Horror chuckles as he gives him a look "Need a chair?" he would offer a stepstool but the chair is more stable for him.

Nightmare looks at the counter annoyed before nodding his agreement. Horror grabs a chair and puts it near the counter. Nightmare climbs it easily.

Horror really wants to pick him up but they do have the rule that inside Nightmare should walk around himself to carefully train his spine. It is still much to early to already start carrying him. Horror knows that if any of them start they won't stop.

Nightmare reaches for the ingredients, some fruits for inside the pancakes, before pausing and staring at his sweater.

Nightmare has been very careful with his new gifted clothes. Horror himself is also very careful with the set of clothes Dust got him.

Horror frowns at the food he is making. He really hopes he can quickly find soemthing to do here to earn money. At the moment only Dust has something and it is starting to show, even Killer seems to be getting annoyed with himself over it.

Until now Horror and Cross helped around on Crop's farm. Which he was happy to do as it only seemed fair as a way to repay Crop for letting them stay. Horror has also been learning the basics about farming, farmland and farmwork from Crop. It is still a lot and not everything sticks in his skull, probably falling out of that hole. But he is getting better at it. He hopes with this Crop can maybe get the news out that both of them are more than willing to help around with heavy duty work and get a bit of cash flow.

Killer... Killer has a very specific set of skills. Sadly not specifically useful on a farm. Even if he is great with the animals and can herd pretty much anything, which is very useful but well. Most people won't let you near their animals unless they trust you and Killer is Killer.

Horror just feels bad that Dust is pretty much still Ngihtmare's main caretaker, got the rough end with the backstory they settled on, and has to deal with work to get cash. Only to spend all of it on them all.

Horror can see it is starting to wear him down. He just hopes they can figure out how to balance everything better.

It is another reason he loves these mornings. Because morning time means Dust, and Killer, both sleep in and Horror gets time to supervise their babybones. Horror adores the time wiht Nightmare. Especially when alone because then others don't watch them nervously the whole time.

It is exhausting to be seen as something dangerous even if he knows it is true. It is why they mean so much to him, they never treated him like that. None of them did.

A glance confirms that Nightmare has carefuly rolled up the sleeves and is taking extra care with cutting the fruits, using one of the duller knives which won't be able to cut bone. Horror turns back to getting everything else ready. He has to concentrate to push his intent into the food. He wants them to enjoy and like it. Feel the things he can't say to them.

Horror knows what he wants and feels but also knows none of them are ready to hear it. Horror has known that from the moment he realised what he felt was. The curse of being the only emotional stable one.

He still remembers all the way back near the start of them meeting and chuckles to himself. they did not get along at all.

Nightmare immediantly looks up "What is funny?" he looks adorably confused.

Horror thinks for a moment "Remember when you brought me in?"

Nightmare blinks before giving a slow nod "Yeah... I had hoped you would calm Killer and Dust."

Horror chuckles "Can't believe you thought i could do that."

Ngihtmare shrugs as he finishes up his task and just sits normally on the chair "I mean... It worked." his hands find the glass of juise Horror got him.

Horror pauses for a moment before nodding. Nightmare is kinda right with that one. It hadn't worked right away but he made it work. Mostly because he had had a lot of motivation.

Nightmare, still a fully active god at that point, had offered him that he would slowly but surely fix the food problem in his universe in trade for his service, something about it being too severe for him to be able to instantly fix but if Horror worked for him he would work on it. Horror had figured Nightmare had known about his little weird immortality situation with his own universe's core and accepted.

Turns out he just wanted him to fix whatever had been going on with Killer and Dust. Because they would fight. Constantly. And those two got very close to killing each other a few times.

Horror had eventually managed to somehow form a connection and bond with Killer. It had been rather easy and Horror was able to become friends with him over coworkers. Eventually find him not just annoying but funny. And later think fondly of his antics.

Dust took longer. Which had been a combination of Dust just being an introvert and not looking for connections or at least not in the way that made that clear to Horror. And well Horror heard bits and pieces of what Dust had done and had honestly been disgusted with the idea that Dust just murdered his whole universe and his own brother. Just to fight one human? Just to end a timeloop?

It was well after he managed to get them to stop, or at least contain the damage of, their fighting. Well after he started working for Nightmare more permanently that Horror realised how the multiverse worked.

And how fucking unfair it was.

Because aparently? stupid fate or some shit? That decided how your universe worked. His would always have ended up with a famine and starvation. Killer would always lose control and be controlled, abused and used by the human. Cross would always be the end of his universe. Dust... Dust would always have to kill his universe. No matter what he tried or solution he tried.

It wasn't until later Horror learned that Dust had tried everything. Multiple times. That Dust had learned to play multiple musical instruments in the time of resets. That he had learned to cook, and tinker. He master chemistry. Everything in the hopes it could give him a solution.

But the fates had already decided his ending, much like for all of them there was only one ending possible for them. And in the end locked him in a dead AU make by his own hands when no other options was left. Just like all of them had been.

Horror has to admit it took him a long time to get Dust to admit those things to him. Msotly because Horror had been standoffish before and that he accidentally gave Killer advice to treat Dust like one of the many stray cats he interact with.

He hadn't specifically said that. horror had just told Killer that maybe Dust would like Killer more, or at all, if Killer learned to respect his boundaries. Horror had mentioned how Killer could learn each cat's limits so why not Dust?

Worst part was that it actually worked.

Horror rubs his face "I give him cat advice." his voice sounds pained. Dust had been so mad at them both.

Nightmare nods "I remember. Dust left for three weeks." he snorts "which really is very catlike..." more thoughtful "And then you two got mad at me for not telling you where he went." He blinks and shrugs as he drinks from his orange juice.

Horror ignores the cat comment as he looks at Nightmare "Why didn't you tell us?" Dust had actually been recruited to help Nightmare with the balance. Something Horror only started to do after helping Killer and Dust be less homicidal.

Nightmare blinks at him wiht those wide sockets "I didn't want to force any of you... If you wanted to leave..." he speaks softer and softer "I wasn't going to stop you if you wanted to leave... if you didn't want to stay..."

Horror frowns and picks Nightmare up. He embraces him and hums "I am sorry we left..."

Nightmare shrugs as he pushes clsoer to him "You came back..."

hah... yeah they did. Much like Dust did all that time ago. He was gone for a few weeks before returning after killing Ink bringing back one of his fucking sketchbooks as proof. Obviously killing Ink does little in the long run but it was quite the powermove. Dust had glared at them daring to say anything. Killer of course had muttered something about Dust bringing back a kill much like a cat.

Horror is still not sure how he managed to stop Dust from Killing Killer that day.

Horror puts Nightmare at the table and gets a small yogurt and fruit snack ready for him. Just so he can eat a tiny bit. See how his magic will handle food today. Nightmare starts eating it when offered and that is a good sign. Means his magic is actually sending out the signal that it needs food today.

Horror goes back to flipping pancakes. Horror tries to stay in the here and now but his injury makes his mind likely to wander. and with already having been thinking about them.

He still remembers one of the early missions, after Horror learned about fates cruel games. Dust had still acted the same but Horror had tried to be more friendly. He had been close to giving up on it as clearly it wasn't working as Dust was still standoffish. Only for Dust to pull him out of the way of an attack from Ink, getting hit instead.

Later Horror had demanded why he did that and Dust had just shrugged. He hadn't had an answer for him. It confused Horror to no end. Horror was immortal because of that fact that his magic had been used in the core and bonded to that. Meaning as long as the core in his universe was fine he would return to life.

The gang had known this and Horror knew that Dust knew this. And yet. Dust had heard all of that and looked at the large monster Horror had become saw soemthing worth protecting. Something that needed protection.

Horror thinks he fell a little bit in love that day.

Much like how one day Horror just realised he couldn't stand the idea of not being near Killer or never seeing him again. That even if Killer could be annoying that he didn't wish him any pain or harm.

How it warmed his soul that Killer, and Cross later, would hide behidn him. Seeing him as someone safe that would protect them. See him as someone trustworthy.

Cross, so eager to please and desperate for affection and affirmation. but once he relaxed so smart and funny. Loyal and always ready to help...

But now is not the time to try and see what any of them thought or felt. They are dealing wiht a lot at the moment and they need to concentrate with trying to make staying here work.

The front door opens and Cross walks in quietly. He sneaks a glance at them and smiles when Horror catching him looking. Cross waves to Nightmare "Hey guys. All good?"

Horror nods "Nightmare helped." he flips another pancake as Nightmare drinks his juice with a smug little smile.

Cross grins "Good to hear. I will quickly get cleaned up and help. Dust and Killer?"

Nightmare hums "Still asleep." and he sips his juice again.

Cross nods "Good to know. be back in a bit" and he goes towards the bathroom. The pipes groan softly as Cross no doubt turns on the shower.

Horror finishes the last pancake and gets to wrok on getting the drinks and coffee ready.

Another day for them to figure out how this will work. Horror is just happy they are all here, everything else can wait as long as they stick together.

*-------------------------*

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[lover-of-mine]

Low key on Oliver and Ryan. Since we know they watch us. I think he was offended at people turning on Ryan. Sure they probably don't have scripts yet but they know the direction and were probably already told you know? It's why he never promoted the pairing or followed Lou. Especially when the other side made the attacks on Ryan so personal. It's a double offense really. They built this ship. Do you think Oliver is cool getting all the accolades and leaving Ryan behind for a wal mart version of Eddie??? Just know the other side, Oliver is judging you!!

That's my Roman Empire 😂

Full conspiracy theory, but I keep saying Ryan has known where it's going and that's why he was locked into pr jail, and Oliver was just brought into the inner circle and that's why he looks so frustrated, but here's the thing, Oliver and Ryan know what they have in their hands when it comes to the impact buddie could have, there's no way they don't, and obviously, they would want that, the amount of exposure they could get from this is insane, and Oliver seems annoyed, just look at the way he refuses to talk about bt long or like you said, didn't follow Lou, or the absolute insanity of opening his Instagram after 710 just to like a video of the thumb thing and nothing else. Realistically dude is probably frustrated that Buck being bi stopped being about Buck, trapped him in a ship war and made people turn on the thing they've been working on for yeaaaaars and the way Lou was encouraging it probably didn't help. I don't blame Lou for capitalizing, if people wanted to pay me 145 dollars to talk out of my ass about a ship I would be doing it too, hell, I'm running this blog for free kapakapka. But my thing is, the plan was Eddie going first and that got switched mid production, so, again conspiracy theory, my thought process here is that Oliver and Ryan were told "okay abc is cool with it, we're pulling the trigger" because that would explain the way they were acting that week leading up to the season premiering, the way Ryan was just saying shit and Oliver was in a perpetual state of blushing, but then T was better received than expected and the showrunners decided to capitalize on that for longer than anticipated, because looking at it from a business perspective, they already had s8 confirmed and they are probably expecting the same level of exposure they got from Buck being bi to come from Eddie being queer, especially because Eddie being queer means buddie going canon, so delaying Eddie's arc because they want to make the most of the publicity makes sense (rip Eddie confirmed queer by family feud, we will make it true, I promise), it would explain why Ryan changed his tune during the promo for 707 and 709, but switch back after 710 and it would also explain why Buck was pushed to the background during that space too. Tim keeps saying he doesn't have a plan, while I do believe he doesn't have the exact plot, I REFUSE to believe someone can manage to setup a love story like buddie accidentally and just going with the flow. A show is a living organism in a way a book or a movie won't be because it needs to adjust to the circumstances in which it's airing, but I cannot believe they don't have some sort of outline with the ideas they want to give, the general way they want to get there and the endgame of the situation. And I've been saying this since s6 and the very blatant switch in tone with Buck and Eddie in 6b when they thought they were gonna get cancelled that they promptly pretended wasn't there once s7 started. If I, a girl with a blog in the middle of nowhere Brazil getting absolutely nothing out of it, can see that buddie can accomplish something that doesn't exist in media, there isn't a slow burn queer relationship where both characters were not introduced as queer that go through so much together they can't help but falling in love in a media that isn't about queer themes, hell, I can't think of one from something about queer themes, you think people who have been working on this for years can't see it too? Come on, Oliver knows that Buck ending up with walmart Eddie is worst case scenario when compared to the thing he could have if buddie goes canon. And Ryan is his friend, Buck is this thing he pours his soul into, of course he will want the best possible thing there. He so is judging the other side. Dude admitted to crying in the shower to buddie edits. They read fanfiction. Like, come oooooon, they are driving the clown car, cocaptains of the ship.

[kaybreezy3000]

You say five likes blonde women, I think five doesn't give a shit what color someone's hair is. Dolores usually has no hair at all, does that mean Five likes bald women?

No it doesn't, it just confirms that Five doesn't give a shit.

Dolores even has brunette hair in one episode and? Five doesn't care, if Five cared he would have said something about it.

Saying that Five only likes blonde women because he looks at a dancer and flirts with a woman who has blonde hair is kind of weird.

Dolores most likely had a blonde wig on at the beginning, which is why he imagines her like that.

Wow. There's some very anger laced 'shits' dropped in this one and I even got passive aggressively called a weirdo. This is me after reading this.

Just kidding. I am not Ron Burgendy and I didn't get this unpleasant message while in a telephone booth.

(Added-6-21 I just want to say thank you to the kind person that did an ask to respond to this and the nice things you said. I don't want to reply to that through the ask option because it won't come to you directly, but just know that I got it and I really appreciate your words and support. ❤️)

This is not my first comment on here that's not all that nice, and I am not shocked by it at all. I figured there'd be people who would get bent out of shape by my reply, but this anon ask I received today makes me think about people I care about on here who have been hit with mean spirited comments. It's so sad that people feel the need to do this in this way, and it worries me because there are people of all ages on here just trying to chat and make friends with people who are into the same things as them.

My point in answering it is not to start a pissing match. It's to make note of what my real reply actually said because this person got it all sorts of wrong. I also want to make people aware that this stuff happens a lot on here and other sites, and it really shouldn't.

I think we all agree that this is not the place to spread hate and angry speeches at people. This fandom is a kind one that is full of enthusiastic people that love the show and the characters and just want to have fun talking about them and speculating all sorts of things. With that, many in the past have made fun intended posts pointing out that the Hargreeves men tend to have a thing for blondes, that being Grace is blonde, Sissy was blonde, Dolores was blonde in Five's trippy spit goober moment with her, and even Lila dyed her hair blonde. That said, we all know that Sloane is not blonde, and Harold wasn't either, but that was not the point, and it didn't even occur to me to blast them with shit bombs of anger about it. It was just an innocent musing, and I am assuming the person who wrote this for me would take issue with that innocent musing as well.

The point is, sending anonymous asks to people like this is not a cool thing to do, but I am guessing the person who wrote it is aware of that. People on here and A03 and Reddit get hit with this kind of negativity all the time on their ideas, stories, and art, and I wish those that feel the need to so bash others would think twice about it and look back at themselves and try to figure out why they are so mad about such silly things and if it really makes sense to feel that way at all.

That said, I seemed to have hit a sore spot with this person with my response on the original 'ask' someone gave me on Five maybe liking/or having a preference for blondes.

Link to the original post.

To the person upset, keep in mind that Five is a fictional character from comic books and a Netflix show. Five Hargreeves, in his mind, one that isn't even real, other than in what the actor gave us with his brilliant insight and the helpful direction of the producers, and what we individually like to imagine for him, may not as you said, 'give a shit what color someone's hair is or have any preferences when it comes to attraction.' But there is no need to be so upset or blow me up like this about it and I'm not so sure you even read my response because I myself fictionally see him with many other kinds of people.

You apparently by what you said above, have direct knowledge of what this fictional character would say or do, so maybe instead of posting this to me in your anon mad person style, you can do a post and speak your mind on the topic and give your reasons for your thinking and back it up with stuff from the show or comic or don't back it up with anything at all-anything goes on here, not sure if you noticed that yet.

I am sure you are not the only one who thinks I am 'weird' for what I came up with and my reasons. You are not the only one out there that thinks I am horribly wrong for my interpretations of these scenes. And maybe you are right that Five would 'say it out loud if he cared one way or another if someone was blonde or not.' Not that you agree based on your emotional statement, but to me, that really is neither here nor there because the show didn't have that happen and the topic didn't come up for Five to say anything like that. I was only basing my reply off things actually shown us, so that's why my response was stated the way it was. You can think and do as you please, just please don't fire your opinions so vapidly and maybe do it with your actual username next time. If you really feel this way, you will have no worry putting it out there for people to respond directly to you.

I'm not a beautiful blonde or a sexy club dancer and I don't feel called out by the show making it look like Five likes blondes and likes watching girly shows, so I am not sure why you'd be so miffed about the idea the show gave us or it being discussed between fans of the show.

Someone can have a liking to a certain attribute in others but not have it be the only way they like things. My intention in answering that ask was in fun and simply looking at the things that point to yes, based on the show and the parts it gave us with Five and him eyeing up women, it does give the impression that he likes/enjoys blondes. The dancer part doesn't really matter, but he was at a club with scantily clad dancers so... yeah again, try to chill out about that, it wasn't even a point in what I was saying, it was just what the show had him doing.

I never said Five only likes blonde women because he looked at a dancer and flirted with a woman who has blonde hair. It's weird to me that you read all that and that's the take on all of that you chose to get disgruntled about.

The main part of what I wrote that matters was that if Five didn't like blonde hair, he never would have envisioned Dolores as a blonde in season 3 when he had no reason to otherwise. That said, for all I know, he could have seen her with a different color of hair every other day or even as a bald piece of plastic like she really was.

Again, my reply is only based on the source material they gave us, not my own projections.

Dolores's wig was actually brown-ish auburn in the store when he found her there in season 1, so it's probable it was still the same wig she had on when the blast happened. Five may not have seen that though because it may have been ruined and it may not have mattered to him in what he later saw her as. I mention that in my post and in the comments on the original post after someone else pointed that out who seemed upset, and I also said many other things in regard to Five and his seemingly being into blondes on the show, and that I personally feel very flexible on that idea. I write and read about him with other types of people-not all blondes.

Five Hargreeves is just a fictional character, so we can all put our own take on him and his preferences and that is all good with me and I encourage it. The post I did was merely intended in good nature to chat with a fellow fan and to discuss the show's version of him based on the scenes they gave us.

Perhaps trying to look at it less seriously and go with kindness towards yourself and others, and perhaps doing some personal reflection next time if something so unimportant sets you off is a better place to spend your time.

Or...my suggestion to all of us on here would be that if you see something you don't like, ignore it. My ideas and thoughts and art and stories are nothing but jack-shit in the big scheme of things that matter. So, ignore the post I made like so many other posts out there that I am sure don't agree with you.

As always, ☮️&❤️ and long live TUA fandom-you are a uniquely passionate crew and I love you all,

Breezy

[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 7

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When Parker starts to let go of her initial assumptions about a man that makes a lasting impression, she starts to see that there's more to him than meets the eye. Yet, she can't help but wonder, why does he insist on acting like an asshole?

Read the story here: prev / ...

Parker was dying.

Had to be, anyway, because her organs felt something like slushy-mud water inside her chest, and there was something pounding against her skull that made it hard to think. She couldn't remember the last time she felt like this—her own birthday, maybe—and though she didn't put a lot of emphasis on her own personal health, she was certain that this time she was dying.

Really, really dying.

"I fucking hate Colt," she muttered, cheek pressed against the cool kitchen counter as an antacid tablet dissolved in her cup of water with a looming zzz. It almost hurt to watch, and when half the tablet broke into a chunk to send a torrent of bubbles up to the surface, Parker grimaced. "...blonde bastard."

Her sentiments went unheard in the empty kitchen.

It was still early, and her body ached to return to the couch. It wasn't comfortable by any means, worn in all the wrong places with scratches lining the surface, but it was horizontal, and it didn't involve sorting through books while greeting customers. If she hadn't been so adamant about setting three alarms the night before, Parker surely would have left the bookstore locked up all day.

But, as it was, she needed money, and a Saturday was too good a day to be an irresponsible property owner. So, here she was, crying on the kitchen counter watching her antacid dissolve in hopes that it would miraculously cure a hangover.

She grimaced at the sticky dryness of her mouth.

In hindsight, that last beer probably hadn't been the best idea.

And, in further, more truthful hindsight, neither had been the beer she drank after that one in the parking lot while waiting for their Uber. It had been Dan's challenge to do it under thirty seconds, prompted further by Colt's off-key acapella rendition of We Are The Champions, and though Parker wasn't good at many things, shotgunning a beer was something she was good at.

Who was she to waste a talent?

Her stomach turned at the thought, and she was in the middle of contemplating puking all over Colt's kitchen, when footsteps approached her from behind.

"Well, you look peaky."

Parker groaned low and deep while pressing her face further against the kitchen counter. Jodi offered an amused smile before moving towards the fridge. Despite yesterday, she looked good. Bouncy skin, tousled blonde hair, Colt's t-shirt that didn't so much hang as it laid against her thin legs. Oh, and the happy features of someone that were clearly not suffering from a hangover.

Bastards, Parker thought glumly, the both of them.

"Want some?" Jodi asked, jug of orange juice in hand. She had the benevolence to at least look tired. Though, not nearly enough in Parker's opinion.

"D'rather have a lobotomy," Parker muttered.

Jodi somehow managed a smile and a wince at the same time. "You did drink a lot," she said. The idea of drinking anything had Parker paling, and Jodi quickly moved past it to add, "but it was really fun. I think everyone enjoyed it."

She wasn't particularly in the mood for conversation, but Parker supposed the more she talked, the less she had to think about making herself presentable for work, which meant the less she thought about work itself, so she did her best to tamper down her headache with a slow sip of her water.

"S'definitely better than last year's," she said. There was sunlight streaming through the kitchen blinds, and while Jodi didn't hesitate to pull them up, she responded by pulling her sweatshirt hood further down over her eyes. Another inhuman noise, before, "thanks for helping plan it."

Jodi beamed at the gratitude.

Though, Parker noticed with a growing self-hatred, the Englishwoman seemed to do that naturally. "I'm just glad that I could pitch in. It was a lot of fun. I've never played paintball before."

"Really? Coulda' fooled me. I think my welts have welts."

"Oh," Jodi said, hiding a giggle behind her glass of orange juice. "Sorry about that."

Parker got the feeling that Jodi wasn't very sorry at all. In fact, from the way Jodi and Colt had tore it up on the paintball field, Parker had a strong suspicion that the woman was just as competitive as the boys were.

Waving a hand at her, she said, "don't be sorry. You won, afterall."

"Oh, did we?" she chirped. "I barely noticed."

"Hmph."

"I didn't hit you too hard did I?" she asked, actually sounding curious as she leaned onto the counter.

There was a very large bruise on Parker's back side that would argue differently, but Parker instead shook her head. It sent the room spinning, however, and she just as quickly had to lay her head back onto the counter. "Had me a little scared out there, though. If anyone on set has ever given you shit before, you should just take a paintball gun with you to work."

Jodi laughed. "There are one or two," she said. From the look in her eye, it was obvious she could name them, but she didn't. Instead, her eyes darted to Parker.

"Ah," she said. "Well, you had your chance yesterday to shoot him too. I hope you took the opportunity."

At the joke, Jodi seemed to relax a bit. Her mouth tugged into a crooked smile as she popped some bread into the toaster. "I tried, but he was a little harder to get than I thought he would be..."

Her voice trailed off, and Parker arched a brow. "What?"

"Er, well, I guess I was a little surprised that you invited him. We all were, I think."

Unbidden guilt crashed down onto Parker's shoulders, and she caught her face in her hands. "I know, I know, I'm sorry... It was a last minute thing. He had stopped by the store and then we were just talking and, well, I don't know..."

Jodi's back was to Parker, but she peeked over her shoulder with curiously arched brows. "I didn't realize you were friends. Certainly not after that introduction on set."

Just the thought of that introduction had Parker grimacing. Worse still was the realization that somehow, somewhere in her mind, that Tom was in no way connected to the Tom she had brought alongside her last night. It was as if they were two totally different people, and the reminder that they were actually the same person had her stomach rolling.

Or, that could have been the hangover. Whatever.

Parker picked at a loose thread on her hoodie. "Was Colt upset?"

"That you brought Tom?"

"I didn't ruin the night, did I? I know that he can be a total prick, and that everyone else has bad feelings towards him from work, but... well, I guess I was hoping that everyone else enjoyed last night as much as I did. I mean, I know he's a prick, but he's at least okay to be around sometimes."

"Can you remember?" Jodi teased from beside the coffee maker. It beeped as she fiddled with it, before she was puling mugs out of the cabinet. Obviously, she had been here before.

"Does Colt hate me?"

Her smile was soft and graceful. "No, he doesn't hate you. I'm not sure he could, if I'm honest. He talks about you a lot, you know."

Parker didn't think that was necessarily a good thing, but she wasn't about to scold her brother for talking about her on dates. Not when he was actually going on them and she was at home marathoning trashy reality tv.

"And, as for last night," Jodi continued, "everyone did have a lot of fun. No nights were ruined."

"Not even...?"

"The Uber driver was actually quite nice about it," she said, skipping over the issue entirely. A good thing too considering the thought of last night made Parker woozy, and she certainly didn't want to relieve that car ride home. Or the two stops they had to make for her and Colt to throw up on the side of the road. "Honestly... I was pleasantly surprised."

Parker frowned. "By the Uber driver?"

"By Tom," she corrected with a laugh.

"Really?"

Jodi shrugged. "Granted, I don't know him nearly as well as Colt, and he was an awfully sore loser. I mean—really awful—you should have heard him after paintball."

"Oh, I did," Parker said. "I just blocked it out."

"And yet..."

Parker arched her brows.

Jodi smiled, then shrugged once more. "He wasn't nearly as bad as I thought he would be. Losing, I mean. He didn't threaten to fire anyone or sue anyone—"

"Speak for yourself," she muttered under her breath, cup of liquid antacid looking more unappealing by the second.

"And by the end of the night... well, I think he was actually getting along with some of the others. Not really well, mind you. He is still a prick."

Parker snorted. "I don't think anyone was doubting that."

"But a manageable one. It actually felt like he was hanging out with us, you know, rather than dictating on set."

Parker tried not to sound too hopeful as she tugged on her thread. "Yeah?"

Obviously, she failed, because when Jodi smiled there was something conniving to it. Something suspicious twinkling her eyes. Yet, the woman didn't dig in deeper. Just moved on. "He might not admit it, but I think Colt was more pleased than he let on when Colt said he was a great stuntman. I was too. Mind you, on our last film, Ryder asked Colt if he could get a jaw implant to look more like himself."

Parker made a face. "Yeah, I heard about that."

"I think this was the first time he ever complimented Colt. In, like, a decade of working together. Can you believe that?"

She could. The guy was a prick. But also, Parker didn't want to believe it—struggled to envision that as the same guy that had come to her bookstore twice now—and so she sipped her water so she didn't have to respond.

Jodi, however, noticed all of that. "Since when have you two been friends?"

"Friends? We're not—it's not—we just... know each other."

"Hm," Jodi hummed, clearly not buying it. "Yet you brought him to Colt's birthday party. And apparently you talk."

"I don't plan when he come to the store," she said defensively.

That surprised Jodi, and as she filled the mugs up with coffee, she said, "oh. When you said you were talking I didn't realize you meant in person. You literally dragged him to the birthday party, then."

"I wouldn't say I dragged him," Parker muttered as she accepted a mug. The coffee was low quality and definitely burnt from Colt's stupid machine, but just the smell of it had her feeling better. She cradled the steaming hot mug between her hands with a deep inhale. "What did you think I meant?"

"I thought you meant you were talking on the phone."

"Colt told you about that? It's so weird. I still have no idea how he got my phone number," she mused, chancing a sip. It burned her tongue immediately, but Parker didn't care. She was not a morning person, and didn't function this early unless she had three cups of coffee. Hangover or not. "The prick."

Jodi hedged from her cup of coffee, but didn't say anything.

Parker shrugged. If Jodi didn't want to rail on Tom Ryder being a prick, that was her decision. Moving on, she added, "anyways, I really did appreciate your help with the party, even if I ended up fudging the team numbers by lugging Tom along. You were a life saver with getting everyone's phone numbers."

Whatever Jodi had been thinking passed over, and she smiled. "Yeah, of course. Thanks for letting me help. I know... you know—Colt's your brother—I'm not trying to, er... step on anyone's toes."

It was funny to watch her get flustered, and Parker gave the woman an impish smile as she took another sip of her water. "Colt's a big boy, and he can do whatever he wants," she said. "Besides, I think you're great. Why would I have a problem with you wanting to help plan his party?"

"You think I'm great?" Jodi asked.

To that, Parker rolled her eyes, and though it had the pounding behind her temples start up again, it felt worth it. "You get enough compliments from my brother, you don't need to go fishing for them with me too."

"Me? No. I hate fishing. Detest it, really."

Parker harrumphed, but couldn't help but snicker as she took a deep whiff of her drink. "Well, if you aren't fishing, then I don't need to tell you that he doesn't act like this with just anyone," she said before taking a long sip. Too long, and it burned her mouth immediately. "Fuck!"

"Hot?"

"I thought you weren't fishing anymore," Parker muttered while wiping drool off her chin.

"I was talking about the coffee!" Jodi cried in response. But then she caught the haughty look Parker was shooting her and couldn't help but laugh. The sound hurt her ears, but, god, if everything about the woman wasn't perfect. "You and Colt, honestly. The things that you say are so ridiculous."

She vaguely remembered Tom saying the same thing the night before. A smile pulled at her burnt lips. "Tom would agree. He said something similar last night."

That look returned. "You know, for not being friends you've come a long way from calling him an asshole. I thought you were going to break his nose that day on set."

Parked moaned. "Oh, not you too."

"I'm just saying," Jodi defended from behind a steaming mug of coffee. She blew on it coolly, as though the answer to her question didn't matter in the slightest. "I just couldn't help but notice how well you were getting along last night. Spent a lot of time together, too."

"Shah, because some Englishwoman came and stole my brother from me," she retorted blithely. "I always knew boomers complained about immigrants stealing jobs, but stealing drinking buddies is a little vindictive. Even for the English."

"Oi!" Jodi exclaimed, though it ended in a laugh. "You and Colt spent plenty of time together last night. If I recall, we were trying to get away from you lot and that ridiculous game of yours."

Parker perked. "Game?"

"Something about a cat in the woods."

She thought through the previous night's events, and when the card game came to mind, her stomach rolled a second time. Moaning, she willed herself to disappear into a universe where responsibilities didn't exist. "Ugh, no wonder I feel like I'm dying."

"It was a ridiculous game. The amount you drank was ghoulish."

Something rolled in her stomach. "We don't have to—"

"And the rules didn't make any sense. It's all about drinking, drinking, drinking—"

And yep. That did it.

Parker barely made it to the toilet before she was puking up a stomach full of last night's drinks. The bathroom floor was cooler than the kitchen counter, at least, and as she caught her breath, she vowed to never drink again. Or play that retched game.

From the doorway, Jodi grimaced. "Sorry."

Parker haphazardly waved her off. "S'fine. Just do me a favor and kill Colt for me, will you? The bastard..."

Jodi smiled. "I think he might already be dead."

"What?"

Jodi inclined her head to the left, and Parker turned to find her brother curled into a ball in the bathtub. He was wearing his Miami Vice jacket backwards, and his bucket hat was drawn low over his eyes. He was so pale that she might have actually thought he was dead if it wasn't for the quiet groan of misery he let out.

"He's been in here for an hour," she said in lieu of a proper explanation. "Ran in here, threw up, and then passed out in the shower because it felt nice. I decided to leave him. Just seemed easiest."

Parker didn't doubt that.

"What a fucking idiot," she said instead, and though Jodi didn't respond, when the blonde sipped her coffee, the smug grin she was wearing made it obvious that she agreed.

---

Two coffees, a greasy bagel, and an antacid tablet later has Parker feeling moderately like a human being. The hangover is still there—teasing the inside of her skull every couple minutes—but it's better now. More manageable, at the very least.

Of course, manageable hangovers at work don't make for good working environments, and as the door rings with the sound of a brass bell, Parker adjusts the sunglasses perched on the edge of her nose.

"Hi, welcome in," she says. Though, when she looks she realizes that it's not a customer, but instead a tween girl with far too much trouble in her eyes. "Oh, it's you."

"You could sound a little more enthusiastic about it," Melissa chides, arms jingling with the sound of too many stacked bracelets to count. She looks pretty today—she looks pretty every day—and though Parker isn't in the mood for vibrant conversation, she can't deny that it's always nice to see her most loyal customer. "I am your number one, afterall."

"Number one...?"

"Customer!" Melissa chirps with a smile as if she can hear Parker's innermost thoughts. She swings closer to the counter with dancing eyes. "I have a couple more ideas I wanted to run by you before tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Sunday," Melissa says slowly, blinking. "Hello? Does painting sound familiar to you?"

Parker pinches the bridge of her nose with a sigh. She's all out of interest in paint; the welts on her ribcage haven't been forgotten, and she can feel something tweaking in her lower back from being bent over for hours at a time.

God, she's old.

"I thought we were about finished."

"Finished? Not even close," Melissa corrects her. She settles her tote bag onto the counter. Her nose scrunches distastefully as she glances around. "We only did the walls. We still have to do the shelves. And I think those will take longer since I want to add some cute detailing to them. Have you thought about shelf liners?"

"What the hell are shelf liners?"

"You know," she gestures. "Like wallpaper, but for shelves."

"That sounds expensive."

"And totally worth it. Look," she sticks her phone across the counter, Pinterest page already pulled up, and starts scrolling. The speed at which she's doing it, however, as Parker's eyes going crossed. She sits back with a groan. "It's not that bad!"

"No, no, it's not..." she starts, then stops. "Can we just talk about this tomorrow?"

Melissa pouts. "Fine, but we'll probably need to start painting first thing, since you can't put the books back up until the shelves dry completely."

"Are we sure this is even necessary?"

"Completely," the girl says, and there's no room left for argument as she pops her hip out. "I told you this place looks so much better already, but the shelves will be worth it. It'll really help everything pop. And I have some ideas about stickers we can use to make cute signs for all the book sections."

Parker sighs. "Don't you go to school?"

"Yeah. And?"

"How do you have time for all of this stuff?" she asks, a floppy hand gesturing half-heartedly to the room around them. She doesn't mean to offend Melissa in any way, but she can't imagine that there's a teen girl out there who spends all of her time dedicated to fixing up a dilapidated bookstore. "Shouldn't you be in, I don't know, cheerleading or something?"

Melissa shoots her a tart expression. "Cheerleading is so totally dated, Park. Sexist, too. They just have skinny girls wearing tiny little skirts for the objective male gaze."

"...right."

"Besides," she continues, bracelets jangling as she pops a piece of gum into her mouth. "I love this place."

Even more bewildered, Parker repeats herself. "...right."

"Speaking of—" Melissa says, and when she leans against the counter there's a waft of vanilla and lemon perfume. Parker almost gets sick at the strength of it, and she sips her coffee with a grimace. "When are you going to hire me?"

"I already did."

"For real," Melissa asserts, digging her heels in. "You said you'd think about it, and you've had plenty of time. I mean all you do is hang out here."

"Okay, ouch."

"I want a job."

"Can we talk about this tomorrow too?" Parker whines. She knows she's the adult in the situation, but... well, she really doesn't want to be. The idea of doing math and taxes has her head spinning painfully. "I'm—I have a headache."

Melissa narrows her eyes at that. Smarter beyond her years, the girl doesn't miss much, and when she leans across the counter, Parker wishes her sweatshirt would swallow her whole. "What's up with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look bad."

"Oh, gee, thanks."

She waves a hand indifferently, and squints. "Not like that. I mean you look like you're sick. Are you sick?"

Her stomach roils, and Parker tries to hide the uncomfortable wince behind another sip of scalding black coffee. "A bit."

"You were fine on Wednesday."

"Must have caught something," she lies. The last thing she needed to do is be blamed for being a bad influence on a teenager.

Melissa furrows her brows, reaching to plant a palm against Parker's forehead. She tries to duck it, but only manages to send the room spinning a second time. "You don't feel like you have a fever."

"Twenty four hour bug I guess," she says, waving a hand as if it really was that simple. It wasn't, and when she bends down to scoop a pile of books off the ground her vision flashes white. Colt was such a fucking bastard. "Ugh."

"Oh. My. God."

She slams her eyes shut, head steepled between three fingers, already knowing what was about to come. Parker really can't handle Melissa's high-pitched tone of judgement, however, and considers just giving the girl the keys to the store right then and there. "Don't."

"Are you—?"

"No."

"—hungover?" Melissa finished anyways. She whispered the word like it was some big secret, but by the way that her eyes widened and her mouth pulled into a sneaky grin, it was obvious that the news was all too interesting to her. Especially when Parker didn't answer her right away. "Oh my god! You totally are!"

The boom of her voice had Parker's head hurting, and she let her head fall into her hands with a groan. It was a saving grace that the store was empty.

Well, not entirely a saving grace considering she needed customers, but...

"What happened?" Melissa pried. "Did you go on a date last night?"

"You think I would get black out drunk on a date?" she asked.

The girl shrugged. "I don't know, maybe it went really well."

Parker rubbed her temple wearily. "You're not going on dates are you? Because you shouldn't be getting black out on the first one, ever. That's dating one-o-one."

"Oh, whatever," she flipped a perfectly manicured hand at Parker before settling further onto the counter. It was obvious that she had sunk her teeth into the subject. The last time she done that, she convinced Parker to repaint the entire store. Hopefully, this one wouldn't be as expensive. "Not a date then. What'd you do?"

Parker sighed. "It was Colt's birthday party."

Melissa ooh-ed with a dreamy smile. "I can't wait until I can drink. Legally, I mean. Obviously I've tried beer before," she said with batted eyelashes. It seemed that she was completely ignoring the very real reality of what happened when one drank too much, and Parker rolled her eyes. "Why did you come in today? When my brother drank a lot at Christmas he was in bed until dinner the next day. Mom said he had the flu, but, like, come on."

Parker gave a half-hearted hum. Any other day a glimpse into Melissa's home life would have amused her—teenagers nowadays really did baffle her—but at the moment she didn't have the mental capacity to do much other than try not to die. "I had to open the shop."

To that, Melissa grinned. "Well, if you had another employee..."

"Oh, please, Melissa," Parker threw up a hand with a groan. "Seriously. Not today. I'm weak willed. I can't have this conversation; I'm not in the right mind, and nothing will be legally binding."

"I'm just saying!" the girl threw up her own hands with a laugh. There was something conniving about it, though. Something glittering in her eyes. "If you had another employee, then you would be able to take a morning off every once in a while. How is that a bad thing?"

"You're taking advantage of me," Parker pointed out with a sour frown.

"Actually, you could argue that I'm trying to help you."

"Hmph."

"But, now that we're on the subject," she continued, eyes flapping like Bambi as she walked a slow circle. Only, Parker got the distinct impression that she was a hen stuck with a fox, and as she wiggled her sunglasses nervously, she tried to remind herself that she was the adult in the conversation. "The store looks way nicer, and you've been getting compliments from people, and I still have a lot more ideas for what else we could do. Don't you think that hiring me would benefit us both? We could start doing work throughout the week which means you would get your Sundays back to yourself."

Parker slumped onto her hands. "Are the devil?"

"Parker," she whined, returning to the counter where she delicately propped her head on two palms, ever the essence of beauty and grace. "Please?"

The throbbing in her head hadn't gone away, and the sweat dripping down her back was as uncomfortable as it was gross. Parker had avoided every mirror in her house that morning knowing that however she looked wasn't pretty, and having someone actually pretty blinking at her made Parker feel slightly violent.

And sick.

And, well, maybe having a second employee around for the days that she was sick wasn't the worst idea out there. Not to mention that Melissa had garnered her lots of compliments over the past couple of weeks, and the store did look the best it ever had. The girl had good ideas, Parker couldn't deny that. And she certainly didn't lack a work ethic. She had been begging for a job for weeks now, and didn't once skimp on her painting responsibilities when they came together on the weekends. If anything, she was giving herself more to do every time she came.

She let out a long, self-suffering sigh. "...alright."

Melissa froze. "Really?"

"Part time, three days a week, and Saturday mornings."

"Really?"

"And I'm not paying more than minimum wage."

Her eyes were the size of saucers, waiting on baited breath, as she asked a third time, "really?!"

Slowly, Parker nodded. "Really."

Melissa jumped, squealing, and if her head hadn't hurt earlier, it was like an elephant coming through in a parade. Hand up, she said, "okay, okay, but you have to stop before I hurl. Seriously, this energy is... not a good way to start out as an employee."

"This is so sick," Melissa said anyway, unfazed by Parker's white-washed face. "I still think we should do liners for the shelves, and little gold accents, but that'll take a while, so maybe tomorrow we just start with painting this section—"

She gestured as she talked, and she talked a lot. And though Parker was only half paying attention, she hummed and nodded when appropriate. Afterall, the store did look so much better, and she could use another employee. Particularly one as clever as Melissa.

Sipping her coffee, she smiled.

Until she felt another wave of nausea.

One of these days, she swore, she would seriously kick her brother's ass.

---

Crave Cafe, only two blocks down from her own bookstore, was like stepping into a different world. The cafe itself was beautifully decorated, vintage artwork on the wall, string of pearls hanging from rope baskets in the corners, with soft LED lights in the shape of lightning bolts and cappuccinos on the wall. Discolored and misshapen mugs could be seen scattered throughout the inside, with every odd table occupied by varying individuals. Chatter echoed throughout over the sound of coffee grinders and a Spotify playlist, and though Parker was always a little sore that Crave's clientele didn't show much interest in her own storefront, she had to admit that it was her favorite place around.

Not just because the coffee was cheap, the bread always freshly made, and the general ambiance, but also because the manager, a young man named Harry, was always happy to see her.

"Don't tell me you're working again today," he said while setting about putting her order together. "I thought you were closed on Sundays."

Parker shrugged. She felt much better today, having a full night's sleep and a long shower, and though she was about to go back to more painting, she was in an arguably good mood. "Melissa's taken over the store, I'm afraid. She keeps seeing stuff on Pinterest that she's wants to try."

"Too scared to tell her no?"

"Is it lame if I say yes?"

Harry laughed, slinging a pink and yellow patterned towel over his shoulder. "I can't say I blame you. Kids nowadays are frightening. I have my own group that hangs around for hours that I'm too afraid to shoo away. When did girls get so intimidating?"

Parker followed his line of sight to a trio of teen girls. They ducked their heads at being spotted, giggles erupting from their table. "I think you're teens are a little different than mine," she pointed out with an arched brow. "Namely, Melissa isn't hoping I'll ask her to the prom."

Harry laughed at that. Parker didn't wonder why there were teen girls ogling him—he was an objectively attractive guy, white teeth, nice tattoos, good sense of humor, and the odd finger painted black, he was practically a knockoff Pete Davidson. Apparently, that was what every girl wanted nowadays. "Not that you know of, anyway," he teased while working the frother. "I'll have to come over and check it out for myself. Bet it looks nice."

She rolled her eyes with a snort. "Anything looks nicer than it looked before," she said. "I did finally get rid of that weird smell though. Score for me. Only took three gallons of Pine Sol and way too many candles. Which, I think are actually toxic but whatever. A wins a win."

He laughed again while sliding her coffees across the counter. "How late do you think you'll be there today?"

"Knowing Melissa? Till midnight. She's a bit of a hard ass."

"Perfect. I'll stop by after my shift."

"That's very presumptuous of you," she chirped, smiling. It was hard not to smile when talking to Harry. She wasn't naive enough to ignore his flirting; particularly when she stopped by three times a week for her caffeine fix. But Harry was like every other surfer in California—flaky, flirty, and trouble. Not her type in the slightest, but he was a friend, and often gave her coffee on the house. "But, if you must, bring me a bagel?"

He winked. "Anything for a pretty girl."

Parker shook her head with a smile and gathered her coffees and sandwiches up before leaving. The table of teenagers shot her dirty looks when she walked by, to which she smiled right back.

The walk back to her shop was short, stalled only when she stopped to pet a slumbering bulldog along the sidewalk. The bell overhead jingled when she entered. Despite the CLOSED sign on the door, she never bothered to lock up when they were painting. If someone was stupid enough to stumble in, she figured they would be stupid enough to fork over some cash on a book or two. And Parker would never say no to cash.

"I got the coffees!" she called when Melissa didn't immediately come to the front. Music played softly on the speakers, but the store seemed empty. Shelves had been shifted to the side with stacks of books off to the other, and the tarp crinkled under her sneakers as she walked over it. "Melissa? Hello? Did you...?"

Trailing back further proved that Melissa wasn't ignoring her, but instead in an adamant conversation.

A conversation with none other than Tom Ryder.

Parker stopped short. "Tom?"

The pair turned to her. Melissa's face was flushed, and her cheeks were split in two from the width of her smile. Her chest was heaving as if she had just been talking nonstop. Which, likely, she had.

And despite the fact that he was being mobbed by a teenager, Tom didn't seem to mind one bit. In fact, he was standing casually bent against the ladder, brows relaxed, shoulders loose underneath his expensive leather jacket. And though she expected him to greet her—like friends did—the first thing out of his mouth was, "I was wondering when you got a sense of style, before realizing that you were outsourcing to this one."

"I—what?"

Tom gestured to the bookstore as Melissa grabbed her Chai latte out of Parker's hands without so much as a thank you. "The color is much more modern, and the gold accenting really brings things together. Could use some better wall decor, but I'd bet anything nice is out of your budget."

Parker blinked. At him. Then at Melissa. "What?"

Melissa, still grinning, waved an emphatic hand at the celebrity standing across from her. "Mr. Ryder—"

"Melissa, come on, I already told you to call me Tom. We're friends, aren't we?"

She paused, flushing under his gentle comment, before tucking some loose hair behind her ear with an even bigger grin. Parker rolled her eyes at the act of it all. "Tom stopped by to talk to you, but since you were out, I let him in. He was wondering what we were painting, so I showed him what we are doing today, and then I showed him what we've done the last couple of weeks."

"Stellar, really," he chimed in. She beamed beneath his praise, and Parker swore a helicopter could have caught the brightness of her teeth from a mile away. "I think she's done a great job so far."

"I helped," Parker reminded him indignantly. Not just because he was quite obviously playing it up for the attention, but also because she was so thrown by his presence in the first place that she felt uncomfortable having walked in on them talking. "Paid it for it, too."

He acted like he hadn't even heard her. "I'll have to come back when it's finished. What design of shelf liner do you'll think you'll get?"

"I'm not totally sure. I really like the dark, forest style, with the birds and branches. But I also think that the brighter gold style would look good set against the books."

"Wait, I thought I said no to the shelf liners?" Parker interrupted.

"To which I reminded you that it would look so good," Melissa shot back. When she remembered who she was talking to, however, she gestured shyly to Tom. "Besides, he thinks it would look good too. So, that's two opinions against one, right?"

"What—he doesn't work here!" Parker exclaimed, feeling a bit like she had stumbled into the Twilight Zone. Since when did Tom Ryder have any opinion about her store besides thinking it was dirty? And since when did she care about his opinion in the first place? "It doesn't matter what he thinks."

"Should," Tom added. He looked much too smug in that moment, yet, when Melissa glanced at him, his smirk became gentler. "I mean, I do have a good eye for this sort of thing. And I'm a paying customer. Doesn't hurt to listen to your customers every once in a while does it?"

"I have the right to kick out customers, you know," she warned.

Melissa didn't like that one bit, and her voice pitched in horror. "Parker! You can't—come on. He's—you know—Tom Ryder," she said, enunciating every syllable as if Parker wasn't aware of who had stumbled into her store when it was supposed to be closed. Tom, on the other hand, pointed right back at Melissa smugly.

As if to say, yeah, I'm Tom Ryder.

Sighing, Parker pinched the bridge of her nose. Yesterday's headache seemed to be coming back full force. "I know who he is, and I don't care. And I think it's time for your break now. Sandwich?"

Melissa glanced between said sandwich, her boss, and her celebrity crush for a long moment, before accepting it with a frown. "Thirty minutes?"

"Sure."

Her mood was obviously glum as she glanced between them both once more before stalking towards the back room. She paused in the doorway. "It was nice meeting you."

Tom, for what he was worth, never missed with a grin. "Likewise. I'm glad that someone working here has a sense of style."

And just that like her glum mood vanished. Melissa smiled, blushed, and disappeared into the back room with a pep in her step. When she was gone, Tom returned his attention to Parker.

"Is that for me?" he asked. Though, he didn't even wait for an answer before he was swiping the coffee out of her hand and taking a sip. If looks could kill, it was a good thing there was already a tarp spread out beneath his feet. He furrowed his brows. "Is this an americano?"

"Yes. Mine," she snarked, grabbing it back with a huff. "Why would I have gotten you a coffee? I didn't even know you were here."

He shrugged. "Feeling generous?"

"Why are you here? We're technically closed today."

"The door was unlocked," he said, and Parker's thoughts returned to her earlier sentiments. Stupid indeed. "I do like the paint. Looks cleaner. Not so sad, anymore."

"My store wasn't sad."

"Alright, ugly."

She trailed towards the front counter with a sigh. Part of her was amused—it was nice to have someone to banter back and forth it, particularly someone like Tom—but the more sane part of her was annoyed. Only he would come drink her coffee and then insult her bookstore.

And only he would be allowed to do that. Why was that?

"Are you here for more book recommendations?" she asked, forcibly moving the conversation along as she began to unwrap her turkey, cheese, and bacon sandwich. The bread crumbled in her hands, and Parker's stomach growled at the smell. "Obviously it's a little messy right now, but I could pull a few more out for you."

He shook his head; both to shake loose fringe out of his eyes and to give her a undiscernible look. "You seem to have recovered from the party Friday night. I was pretty certain either you or Colt would be dead by now."

"And yet you didn't call," she deadpanned. "How touching."

Tom's mouth quirked at the side, and he took another long sip of her coffee. He didn't even seem to care that it wasn't his own. "Is he alright then?"

She hummed around a bite of turkey. "By the time I left yesterday morning he was sleeping it off in the bathtub. So, not really any different than last year."

"What did you do last year?"

Parker couldn't really remember, she just knew that there was a whole lot of alcohol involved, and someone set off fireworks that got them in trouble with the neighbors. "Had a poker night, I think. I don't really remember much after someone got the absinthe out though."

To that, he did laugh. Though, he shook his head and glanced away as if he didn't want her to know that he did. "I always thought that Colt was trouble, but you're no better, are you? The two of you last night drank half a cooler worth of beer."

She shrugged, completely unperturbed. Mostly because she knew he was teasing, and only slightly because she knew his partying habits would outshine hers any day. "If I recall I was asking you to drink more with us," she pointed out with a snooty look. "You were the one refusing to join in. Something about the drinks being too low brow or something."

"It wasn't the brand that kept me from drinking," he retorted. Parker didn't believe that for a second though, and when he caught the arch of her eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. "I couldn't keep up with your stupid game, alright?"

"Just admit that you're a lightweight, Ryder. I won't judge you."

"I'm not a lightweight."

"Acceptance is the first step."

"You're so fucking annoying," he said with an eyeroll. But then he was peeking at her over the counter and when their gazes met, the pair dissolved into a fit of laughter. It was a nice sound; one that she quite liked earning. Parker remembered he laughed a lot at the beach, even if she didn't always remember why he was laughing. "Whatever. You better not drink that much at my party or else I'll have you kicked out myself. Just because there's any open bar doesn't mean you need to drink everything in sight, yeah?"

Parker furrowed her brows at him. "Party?" she asked.

Tom shifted on his feet, pushing off where he had been leaning on his elbows to pluck a nearby book off the counter. Absentmindedly, he flipped through it. "My party on Friday. To announce my part in the movie. You and Colt are coming, aren't you?" he said, as if this was a conversation they had before, and not something he was springing on her out of the blue.

Her first response was to make some sort of scathing response about how she wouldn't be caught dead at one of his parties. But, Parker couldn't help but notice how he shifted on his feet, how he was avoiding her gaze.

What could someone like you ever have to be anxious about? she had asked him that fateful day in the bathroom. It was so out of character then.

But now?

Tom Ryder was an asshole, but he was also a person.

She set her sandwich down onto the parchment paper. "I didn't realize we were going to be invited. Is that alright with Gail?"

He responded with a derisive snort. "It's my party. Besides, there's over a hundred people on the guest list. She won't even realize you're there. As long as you don't dress like you normally do, that is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His blue eyes swept over her hair, to her paint stained sweatshirt that he had now seen her wearing twice, and then to the store around them. "It's going to be an upscale party. Important people are going to be there. I can't have you and Colt running around like idiots, getting drunk, and ruining mink rugs."

"Do you have mink rugs?" she shot back.

"Of course I don't have mink rugs."

"Then problem solved," she said, waving a hand at him. It certainly didn't answer all of his points, however, and when Tom stopped flipping through his book to shoot her a glare, Parker conceded with a sigh. "Alright. We'll dress nice. I won't spill anything on my pants. And Colt will be on his best behavior."

"Good."

"On one condition."

Tom's eye twitched. "You can't be serious."

"Colt get's a plus-one," she said anyway, ignoring the knit of his brows or the pull of his mouth. He responded just as she expected, with a long suffering sigh and an eyeroll. "Oh, come on! He'll bring Jodi, and no one is better at keeping an eye on him than her. Plus, you're right. We're not going to know anyone there. We'll stay in our own little pathetic poor people bubble. And if you do get annoyed with us, you can kick me out yourself. I bet you'd love that."

He sighed a second time, relaxing onto the counter. "I don't invite set hands to my house," he pointed out. Though, it was a bit of a moot point, wasn't it? Considering the fact that he was doing just that—and, if Parker had to guess—without Gail's stamp of approval. Not to mention the fact that his tone was soft. Not harsh or judgmental.

Just arguing for the sake of arguing.

Parker smiled at him. "First time for everything, right? I'll even tip off the pap. You might get some good press out of this," she teased.

And though he was playing the victim, Tom's mouth curved into a crooked smile anyway. Still, he made a roll of rolling his eyes a second time. "Fine. But seriously? Best behavior."

She wiggled her fingers at him in a mock salute. "Promise."

They stared at one another. His eyes, deep and bright, searching for something she wasn't quite sure. Her own, light and gentle, taking in everything. It never cased to surprise Parker just how handsome he was—no matter how much she wished that she was just making it up, or that his ego wasn't deserved—Tom Ryder was beautiful.

And when he smiled, she couldn't help but think he looked so much better like this than he did in all those over-touched advertisements. Here, now, he looked happy. Effortless. Real as he took another sip of his coffee. Eyes crinkled and teasing, mouth curved around the plastic lid, hair air dried but perfectly swept towards his temples.

He was—

"Hang on a minute. That's my coffee you ass!"

The ass, knowing now that he had been caught, set the empty cup back onto the counter with an empty thud, before attempting to make off with her sandwich too. And as he laughed, she was certain that she was finally starting to see the real Tom Ryder.

She kept that in mind when she let him see the real Parker Seavers, and leapt across the counter after him.

[triglycercule]

i think the creators in the undertale multiverse is SUCH a creative concept and even though it's fourth wall breaking it's so amazing that it deserves to break the fourth wall

everytime other medias and games or stories break the fourth wall it's either taken unseriously (like pinkie pie from mlp or family guy cutaways) or people shit on it for being out of place and just a deus ex machina or something (hi3 i will NEVER hate you for including the players in the final arc) but the undertale multiverse completely subverts that. actually the entire MULTIVERSE is BASED on the concept that people are willing to make media and art and writing and that is what keeps these ocs and worlds and creations going and alive

the utmv isn't even a real thing. like it's not a fandom that spawned from a book or a movie or a show or game or comic. ok well it technically is but the undertale fandom and the undertale AUs fandon are two different things i think. like undertale aus ofc came from undertale but that's a whole seperate branch of things and sometimes those aus have NOTHING to do with undertale (looking at you dreamtale. and others.)

but the fact that a whole seperate branch of a fandom was created just because people wanted to expand on one tiny game and had so much love for it that it spawned this clusterfuck of a fandom is just so amazing to me. i don't think any other fandom has THIS extensive of a multiverse with aus where the people holding the pencils and typing words are so heavily engrained into the lore (ink and error i will forever love you for being aware of creators I AM AWARE OF YOU TOO!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!)

in other fandoms there's a strict canon for medias but in the utmv a lot of aus are just a brief concept and maybe some charactization and that's it (dusttale ily 4 this. dusttale is peak fiction). and if you like the concept enough you can make another concept based on it. and if someone else likes your au enough they might make another au based on it or write headcanons for it. and it's so cool that this fandom is kinda self sustaining in a way. undertale's probably never gonna get another update or game and even though deltarune has its connections its a completely seperate thing. but somehow the fandom is alive and still pumping out tons of amazing content

and the fact that we control all of these character's actions is so daunting but also so cool. like these characters do these things because we basically script them to do. we as creators are the ones drawing the angst or writing the shit posts. if a character is self aware of the creators that's just because we MADE them aware. so are they really aware or are we just pretending that we are. if a character is powerful that's just because we made them powerful. if a character hates the creators we made them hate us. if a character destroys aus we make them do that. but they don't actually feel that way or do those things, that's just what we tell them to do and i think that's really cool

ive yapped a lot about this topic (i still have so much more to say) but i'll hold it back and just talk about one last thing and that's headcanons and interpretations. I LOVE PEOPLE'S INDIVIDUAL INTERPRETATIONS!!! I LOVE PEOPLE'S HEADCANONS FOR CHARACTERS!!! i love seeing how other people think the mtt (or other characters but i am a murder time trio fanatic) would interact or how they would act. i love seeing people's dumb comics of them bickering or making out (errrmmmmm) because it's all different. all these people came up with their own ideas and thoughts on how to expand these relatively basic concepts and it's all different because everyone's different and gone through different things <333

all in all i love you undertale multiverse. this fandom is one of the most unique i've ever had the joy of being in and i hope it never dies out (if it dies out what will happen to all of the amazing creations and worlds and people we've made 😕😕😕 ink will be sad. so pls don't die utmv)

[dragonpigeons]

Scene from Chapter 1

[Story takes place after the events of Part 3]

Jotaro throws a China cup at Shizuka during their first encounter. The actual scene is more serious than I make it sound here. Shizuka is asked by her homeroom teacher to visit Jotaro after he's been skipping school for a month to tutor him on all the missed lessons. She goes over there, comes across the photo of the Crusaders in the desert and Jotaro throws the cup at her so she doesn't touch it. Since Shizuka knows nothing about what this photo means, she runs out of there thinking Jotaro is crazy, because who throws a cup at someone for seemingly no reason?

It's not the best first impression, but Shizuka never had a good opinion of him to begin with, so this encounter just made things worse. In her mind, this act of aggression consolidates his reputation as a violent brute; this good-for-nothing delinquent known as Jotaro Kujo is simply a danger to society. And since he's not the type to bother explaining himself, nor does he care what others think of him, it's easy for misunderstandings to grow between them.

Poor Shizuka, she deserves better. And Jotaro needs a timeout in a bathtub of ice.

[scribefindegil]

As much as I adore conlangs, I really like how the Imperial Radch books handle language. The book is entirely in English but you're constantly aware that you're reading a "translation," both of the Radchaai language Breq speaks as default, and also the various other languages she encounters. We don't hear the words but we hear her fretting about terms of address (the beloathed gendering on Nilt) and concepts that do or don't translate (Awn switching out of Radchaai when she needs a language where "citizen," "civilized," and "Radchaai person" aren't all the same word) and noting people's registers and accents. The snatches of lyrics we hear don't scan or rhyme--even, and this is what sells it to me, the real-world songs with English lyrics, which get the same "literal translation" style as everything else--because we aren't hearing the actual words, we're hearing Breq's understanding of what they mean. I think it's a cool way to acknowledge linguistic complexity and some of the difficulties of multilingual/multicultural communication, which of course becomes a larger theme when we get to the plot with the Presgar Translators.

[iambrainrot]

Very quick sketch of the postmaster himself i did last night. The day I learn how colors work will be the day that I die

[moonilit]

Thinking about these two beautiful strong ladies becoming best friends 💙🤎

*psst* chapter 19