#I want more button ups and flannels and jackets

[make-friends-with-the-rats]

The David Jacobs Costume Analysis. Or, if you don't like the 1992 costumes you are wrong and here is why (with pictures!)

We all know and love the change in David's costume in the 1992 movie Newsies. But this gradual change is more than just a loss of layers or a loosening of buttons. It offers a visual representation of David's character arc from the beginning of the movie to the end.

And historical dress/fashion plays a significant part in this achievement.

Let's begin at the beginning...

This is David when we meet him, and already without any historical context viewers can see a stark contrast between him and the newsies. His shirt is buttoned all the way to the top and fits him nicely, he's got a watch chain in his buttonhole, and this distinguished gentleman is even wearing a tie! But wait! Look to history! There's more!

Take a look at the vest David is wearing, specifically at the lapel shape. You may have noticed it before, because David's lapels (as far as I'm aware) are the only ones that have this particular shape among our main cast. This lapel type is called a peaked lapel (aka a pointed or step roll collar), and they just so happen to be the most popular or the most fashionable lapel style for men in 1899. They also have a reputation for being the most formal lapel cut. Additionally, if you take a closer look, the vest David is wearing when we meet him has a pattern that suggests that this vest is made from flannel. A very fashionable fabric for men's vests and trousers in the late 18th century. But why are these details of David's vest significant? Well, let me ask you this: did you know David wears two different vests? The right hand picture above is the last time we see David wearing his fancy, peaked lapel, flannel vest: during Seize the Day. For the rest of the movie when we see David in a vest, it's this one:

You'll notice that this vest has no lapel at all. This style is usually worn under a jacket as David does during the rally. It appears to be made from wool broadcloth or felt, a fabric generally seen worn by the upper class during this time period. Still, it is definitely less formal when worn without the accompanying jacket. But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. The main take away from David's costume at the beginning of the movie from both a visual and a historical perspective, is that literally none of the newsboys we meet are better dressed than David Jacobs. Why is that? I would argue that David is dressed the way he is because he's trying to convey a collected, and perhaps even a mature front. He cares about how people perceive him, and wants to be taken seriously. But then, as the movie progresses, we see this carefully dressed boy disappear. By the time we get to David's apartment and meet his family, his vest has already been unbuttoned. And, gosh golly, what is this? He's loosened his tie!

As we get to know David better, as he becomes better acquainted and comfortable with Jack and the newsies, he literally begins to loosen up, shedding formalities and layers one by one. By Seize the Day Reprise, he's even lost his vest! Which is more significant than you may think.

Vests were very important in the 18th century. Even laborers and working men wore vests over their shirts. It was actually considered improper or inappropriate for a man to appear only in his shirt. But David doesn't seem to care. Maybe he reasons that his shirt being buttoned all the way to the top makes up for the scandalous lack of a vest. You'll notice that even without his vest, David stands out among the other newsies who have all unbuttoned their collars and/or the top buttoned of their undershirts. (Mush has even shed his shirt entirely.) Or maybe he doesn't care anymore? This is also the first time we can see David's shirt unobstructed, and therefore the first time another detail stands out. It's just an ordinary button up shirt right? Nope. It's actually a popover shirt. This type of shirt is buttoned only halfway down so that it is pulled over the head instead of slipped into from the sleeves. This was how any old shirt was constructed until 1871 when the modern button up (or 'coat shirt' as it was first called), was patented in London. By 1895, button ups were seen as standard. And while the button up gained popularity the popover become something closer to a t-shirt. It was less formal and less fitted.

So, underneath his fancy dandy vast, David is wearing a much more casual shirt. Even if he does still insist on top buttons for a little while longer, he is getting much more comfortable as time goes on. Literally and figuratively. David's second shirt is also a popover. Although it is possible that this one might simply be an old shirt of his father's, as it bears resemblance to earlier evening dress shirts of the 1860s.

By the end of the move, David has shed his tie, lost his vest, and has stopped caring about buttons and shirts. He no longer looks any different from Jack and the other newsies, he is no longer putting up a façade. Not because he's stopped wanting to be taken seriously, but because he doesn't need appearances anymore. The David on the above left is the David who wanted to be respected. The David on the above right is the David who used his voice to demand that respect. (And the David who handed Pulitzer his ass on a plate.)

One final comparison between the way David wears his newsboy hat at the beginning and then at the end of the movie. Because while it isn't particularly significant historically (there's no proper 1800s rule for how to wear a newsboy hat), it's clearly significant to David as a character. (His curls have been freed!)

In conclusion, with every item subtracted from David's wardrobe, we see him open up and loosen up. Newsies 1992 does an incredible job of using David's clothing and these little details to visually show his journey as a character. It's something hard to replicate in the stage musical, but something I think we can all appreciate in every iteration that cares enough to include it.

But of course, in my not so humble opinion, Newsies 1992 did it best.

Therein ends my analysis/rant.

I apologize if it is ill organized. In my defense, so is my brain. :D

[yearning-butch]

My brain has been so Gender Hyperfixated recently. Not in a confused way but just in a Wow I Love Being Butch and I Want to Look Butch way

[naaddiie]

Dyking it up at Dunnes. Any of youse want anything?

[fangirl-writes]

Smosh, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging

Shayne Topp x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): swearing, thongs, gets kinda spicy towards the end but nothing too smutty (making out, hickeys, butt-grabbing lmao)

Notes: This was a rabbit hole I didn’t expect to go down, but here we are.

Summary: you and Shayne have been keeping your relationship on the down low for a while, but as much as you keep sharing clothes, you're just begging to be caught.

“Sooooo," Courtney said, leaning up against your desk. "Who’s shirt are you wearing?”

You choked on your coffee, quickly turning away from your laptop so you could cough it out. “What?”

She grinned. “The shirt. It’s definitely not yours, so who’s is it?”

You wiped your mouth, blushing furiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The shirt’s mine.”

“Oh yeah?” She said, a challenging look in her eyes that made you want to run to the nearest exit. “Why’d you buy a men’s shirt that’s too big in the shoulders and too long in the arms?”

“Uh…style?”

“Bullshit!” She exclaimed, laughing. “Come on, just tell me! Do I know him?”

“What’s going on over here?” Tommy asked, walking over to your desk with Amanda and Angela not far behind.

“Y/N’s wearing a guy’s shirt and she won’t tell me who’s it is,” Courtney explained.

You put your face in your hands. “Tell the whole team why don’t you…”

“Ooh, Y/N’s got a boyfriend,” Amanda teased with a waggle of her eyebrows.

You didn’t deny the accusation (which was true), so they egged on further.

“Where’d you guys meet?”

“When did you start having sex?”

“Do you borrow his clothes often?”

“Is he big?”

“Oh my god, you guys!” You shouted, burying your burning face into your knees. “Can we drop it?”

“Only because we have a shoot to do,” Courtney said. “When we get back I expect all the details.”

You frowned at her as the three of them retreated from your desk.

“They bothering you?”

You looked over and felt yourself relax. Shayne was standing there with a grin, hands tucked awkwardly into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Well, they seem to think I’m wearing a guy’s shirt,” you said with a small smile. “Can’t possibly know what they’re talking about.”

Shane chuckled, glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, and kissed you on the forehead.

It had been a bit of a running joke between you for a while, but you usually managed to sneakily wear something of the other’s around the office without anyone noticing.

While Shayne’s generally had to be smaller (he’d look pretty obvious wearing one of your shirts), you had more of a selection.

You wore his denim jacket, he wore your fuzzy socks. You wore one of his snapbacks, he wore one of your bracelets. You wore his crewneck, he wore one of your necklaces. You wore his beanie, he wore your belt. You wore his flannel, he wore your sweatpants.

It had been going on for a while, but Shayne’s button-up was the one getting the attention.

“Wait ‘til they find out I’m wearing your underwear,” Shayne whispered.

You blushed. “You are not.”

Shayne grinned, walking away from you towards set.

“Shayne, you are not!” You called after him.

He just laughed.

You dropped yourself back into your chair with a huff.

You and Shayne had been seeing each other on the down low for a while, not feeling comfortable to come forward about it just yet.

It was one thing if the relationship was going strong for a while and it was someone who didn’t work on the crew, but this was still new territory and keeping it to yourselves would make it less awkward if things happened to not work out.

Plus you were pretty sure Shayne liked the rush of sneaking around; stealing kisses when a space was empty (rare), going with you to pick up coffee or props (occasionally), staggering the way you entered the building when you rode to work together (nearly always).

And you could admit that it was pretty fun sharing secret glances or dirty looks that read “I’ll get you back for that later.” But trying to lie to your friends about stuff when they asked was hard.

Still, you could deal with it for now if it meant you could keep your little secret for a bit longer.

“No way!”

You snapped out of your daze, turning from the script you’d been editing as the shouts from set grew louder.

It was a TNTL shoot so nothing unusual about the loudness but something this time drew you towards it.

Saving what you were working on, you got up and went to see what the fuss was about.

You nearly died on the spot when you recognized the hot pink thong that you usually kept tucked safely away in your drawer at your apartment sticking to Shayne’s ass.

Granted, it was mostly covered by his pants but there was still plenty showing, as it was pulled up by the sides probably as far as he could get it.

Keith was in the hot seat but everyone had come out from behind the divider to see this.

“Oh my god,” was thrown around a lot.

Shayne looked pretty proud of himself for this one, a smug look on his face.

“Where did you even get these,” Courtney asked, incredulous.

“Bought them just for this.”

Lie.

He made quick eye contact with you, and you could tell he was trying not to burst into laughter again and give you away.

They fell into the usual outro spiel so you walked back to your desk to start working again before the girls could come finish interrogating you.

Suddenly, however, you found it hard to focus on editing.

It was a Beopardy video so it should be easy for you (you’d edited a hundred of them) but you couldn’t help but notice Shayne’s outfit.

It was a normal one: white shirt, khakis, jacket. But what caught your eye was your necklace that was dangling around his neck.

It was a (first initial) necklace that you’d had for years and, as far as you knew, no one had commented on it the day he wore it.

You felt an odd mix of emotions about this subtle “claim” of him, an obvious but quiet declaration of your relationship that nobody had questioned.

At least, not yet. The video wasn’t posted yet and fans had a way of deducing things about the Smosh team’s private life that they weren’t super comfortable with (whether true or not).

“Y/N!”

You screeched as Damien slammed his hand down on your desk.

“Don’t do that!” You chided, taking off your headphones.

He and Shayne had both gathered at your desk and were smiling, which was suspicious enough.

“What’s this I hear about you wearing a guy’s shirt?” Damien asked.

Damn it, Courtney.

“It’s my shirt,” you defended, going with your original excuse.

Shayne’s grin widened slightly over Damien’s shoulder.

“Well, let’s just see then,” he said, walking over and grabbing the collar of the shirt. “Calvin Klein, nice. Your guy’s got good taste in shirts.”

You frowned and pushed him away.

“Shayne, don’t you have a shirt exactly like that?” Damien asked.

You sucked in a breath.

“Yeah, I do,” Shayne replied. “We must shop at the same stores, Y/N. Maybe I’ll run into him. Maybe I know him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you guys have nothing better to do than bug me?”

“As a matter of fact, we don’t.”

You groaned. “Go bug someone else, please. I’m trying to get this video done.”

“You sure?” Damien asked. “Because when I came over here it sure looked like you were enthralled with Shayne’s muscles.”

“Oh, grow up,” you said, watching as Damien scurried away before you could swat at him.

Shayne, on the other hand, not afraid of a swatting, shoved something into your palm below the desk before following Damien.

Confused, you looked down at your hand to find your pink thong in all its glory and a note from Shayne that said, ‘sorry for stealing them. Maybe you can punish me later ;)’

You blushed again and shoved them into your bag before trying to get back to work, which had become nearly impossible now.

You finally got the video done by the time everyone was wrapping up for the day, and good thing, too, because you were ready to get the hell out of there.

“Hey, you need a ride home?” Shayne asked, casually.

You usually “ubered” to work, so it wasn’t unusual for someone to offer you a ride.

It also wasn’t unusual that it was mostly Shayne.

“That’d be great,” you replied brightly.

“Ooh! See if you can pull any more information about this guy out of her,” Courtney said, hanging over Shayne’s shoulder. “We’ve already got that he’s blond, works out, and is a white man.”

“Well, damn, Courtney, that could be half the guys in California,” Shayne joked.

“I know, that’s why your mission” -she poked him in the cheek- “is to get something else out of her.”

“I’ll do my best,” Shayne said, waving Courtney off before turning back to you. “Ready?”

If anyone was paying attention, they just might’ve seen the way you looked at each other and figured you out.

But since no one was, you walked out of Smosh Headquarters after another day of fooling your friends.

“Who do you think will find out first?” You asked when Shayne started driving towards your apartment (which was a little closer than his).

He hummed thoughtfully. “Probably Courtney. She’s got this whole sleuthing thing going on about your guy.”

You hummed. “Damian’s like your best friend, though, surely he’s noticed something different.”

“He hasn’t asked but he does think I’ve been seeing somebody and I’m not ready to introduce her to my friends yet,” Shayne replied.

You nodded. “We’ll have to come clean soon, you know.”

He reached over and grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it.

It was a simple gesture that he did often but it made your stomach flutter each time.

“I know.”

You rode in silence for a while, Shayne holding your hand. You guys hadn’t really discussed how you would tell everyone about your relationship but you knew the conversation was looming now that questions had been raised by your friends/coworkers.

Neither of you were ready for it just yet.

Shayne pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex and found a spot easily, which seemed to be a superpower of his.

“Shay,” you said hesitantly, squeezing his hand and stopping him before he could leave the driver’s seat. “How are we going to tell them?”

Shayne bit his lip before speaking. “How about we just… let them find out? Stop all the sneaking around and see who sees first? Then we can explain.”

“Okay,” you replied. “I think that’s a good idea.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your temple before you both got out of the car.

A memory surfaced and you brightened as you guys got into the elevator.

“You know,” you said. “There’s still a punishment in order for what you did to my poor pink thong.”

Shayne blushed but you also saw the way his eyes darkened in anticipation. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reached over and grabbed his ass before whispering in his ear. “You’ve been a naughty boy.”

Shayne suppressed a moan and watched anxiously for the elevator to hit your floor.

You sneakily leaned over and began kissing his neck, sucking small marks into his skin. An obvious claim this time.

One of his hands landed on your waist and a sound bubbled from his throat that spurred you on.

Sure, this was an elevator with a camera, but people had done much worse things in it.

Still, you weren’t keen on punishing your boyfriend in the elevator and eagerly pulled him along when the doors opened on your floor.

Shayne’s hands wandered as you fumbled with the keys to get your apartment door open.

You would hope nobody walked by, but that was a concern far from your mind at that moment as you pushed open the door and pulled Shayne inside, only to press him up against it as it closed.

Shayne relished in your control as you held his hands above his head and slid your tongue in his mouth.

He hummed into your kiss and chased your lips when you pulled away.

"Ah, ah, ah," you said with a silly waggle of your finger. "This is a punishment, remember?"

He groaned. "I'm gonna hate this, aren't I?"

You chuckled, pulling him towards your bedroom. "Next time, ask to wear my thong, and you might get a reward."

"How soon can I take you up on that offer?"

***

“Holy shit, dude!” Damien said. “How many hickeys did this girl give you?”

Shayne was cursing under his breath.

You knew this was going to happen, and he’d fallen for it like an idiot. A horned-up, desperate-for-his-girlfriend idiot.

You knew he was supposed to shoot today, but now they were going to push those videos back because it wasn’t going to work when his neck and collarbone were covered in bruises.

“Long story,” Shayne said.

Not a lie; it definitely would be.

“Oh, come on, you can’t say this is yours!”

The boys looked over to where Courtney was hovering around your desk again this morning.

You were wearing Shayne’s shirt from yesterday, and he nearly made you both late for work when he saw you in it.

You shrugged.

“Oh, come on!” Courtney almost whined. “It doesn’t even fit you! If you didn’t want me asking about it, then why’d you wear it!”

You shrugged again.

It was driving Courtney insane.

"Hey, Y/N, did you get that footage I sent over?" Anthony asked, appearing seemingly out of nowhere at your desk.

You nodded. "Yeah, I saw it in my email this morning. I can probably get that cranked out and sent back to you by the end of the day if you need it."

"That'd be great, but no rush. Just do your thing."

He paused, face contorting as he looked you up and down.

Courtney noticed that he noticed and hurried to get Anthony in on the gossip: “I know! She’s-“

“Why are you wearing Shayne’s shirt?”

Her sentence died on her tongue and Damien’s mouth dropped open.

“Shayne’s shirt?” she squeaked.

“Yeah, he wore it in the sketch yesterday. Ian sent me a picture of the thong thing- Y/N, why are you wearing his shirt?”

Your face was on fire, and Shayne, it seemed, had stopped functioning.

You could see the pieces clicking together in Damien’s mind as he connected the hickeys to the shirt.

“No,” he said, mouth still wide open. “You guys are-“

“Shayne’s shirt??” Courtney repeated, flabbergasted.

“Um…surprise?” You said, grinning sheepishly.

“How could I have missed that?!” Courtney shouted. “It’s so obvious now! You two are always staring at each other and shit! Gah!”

You laughed awkwardly, avoiding everyone's gaze.

"And you!" Courtney said, pointing a finger at Shayne. "How could you not tell me about this! I need details right now!"

"Courtney, quiet down, you're going to let the whole office know-"

"Oh, I'm gonna tell the whole office! She's been parading around in your shirts for everyone to see!"

You put your head in your hands, regretting every decision that's brought you to now.

Well, except for dating Shayne. Because while Courtney was raving and Damien was laughing, he was looking at you to see if you were okay.

You smiled softly, giving him a small nod.

He smiled back before jumping into normal Shayne mode and ripping right back on Courtney. "You had me try and find out, too! You asked her boyfriend to find out who her boyfriend was!"

You watched them amusedly as the commotion began bringing others around to see what was unfolding.

It wasn't until he cleared his throat that you remembered Anthony was still standing there.

“So,” he said. “Was the thong yours?”

[babyflorencee]

My flannel

Stiles Stilinski x fem!Reader

I awoke to an involuntary shiver coursing through my body. Instinctively, I stretched my arm out in search of my boyfriend, Stiles, but he wasn't there. Emitting a disheartened groan, I shifted my focus towards Stiles' side of the bed, only to discover the window agape, permitting the morning sun to cascade within, its brilliance so intense it could potentially blind those who dared to gaze in its direction. Flipping on my back, I rubbed away the remnants of sleep from my eyes before lifting the sheets away from my nearly exposed form. The moment that the fabric was off my body, the wintry breeze made its presence known, caressing my bare arms and legs. I got out of bed, stumbling over towards the window, almost falling down multiple times, but eventually managing to close and lock it.

I looked around the room, seeing my clothes scattered about. Sighing, I made my way to the open closet, rummaging through Stiles' collection of flannels and jackets until I found the one I wanted to wear. I pulled a multi-colored flannel out of his closet, putting it over my shoulders, and buttoning up all the buttons before descending out of his room, making my way down the stairs and into his kitchen.

Immediately upon entering the room, I saw Stiles sitting at the island table, scrolling through his phone. Sneaking up behind him, I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck, before placing multiple kisses from his jaw to his cheek "Morning," he mumbled, leaning back into my arms.

"Hey Sti," I murmured into his neck.

After a few minutes of staying in that position, I reluctantly pulled away, only to perch myself upon his lap moments later. Settling into a crisscrossed posture, I leaned back into his chest. "Am I just a chair to you?" He teased, a laugh accompanying his joke.

"Yes, and my own personal footrest," I retorted, offering a bratty smile before quickly turning away.

"Ouch, I feel so used." He faux- pouted, before dramatically placing a hand over his heart as if it was wounded.

Glancing back at him, I noticed his gaze fixed upon me. However, he wasn't looking at my face; he was looking at what I was wearing. He bit his lip before speaking up. "Is this mine?" He lightly pinched a portion of the fabric, tugging it lightly.

"No, it's mine," I asserted, looking down at my hands.

With an eyebrow raised and a smirk plastered on his face, only made my protectiveness over the flannel intensify. "My shirt," I declared, arms crossed defensively as I turned my head aside, a pout evident on my face, as I hoped Stiles wouldn't make me return his flannel.

Stiles lifted his cup of coffee to his lips, all while looking me dead in the eyes. "What does that say?" He asked, pointing to his name that was written on the the tag.

"Fine, it's yours," I said, sighing in defeat.

"I like how it looks on you," he pressed a light kiss to my temple, quietly laughing at the way my eyes lit up.

"Does that mean I can keep it?" I asked, offering the widest smile I could muster.

"Absolutely not. But you can wear it whenever you want." He said, his hands settling on my thighs, as he rubbed his hands up and down.

"I'll take it!" I said, grabbing his coffee and drinking out of it before making a face of disgust.

"Ew, what did you put in this?" I questioned, frowning as he laughed at me.

"I didn't put anything in it love, it's just coffee," he explained, pointing to the dark liquid in the cup.

"Well, you're weird for liking this; it's gross." I said, pouting even more as his laughter persisted.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 20

part 1 | part 19 | ao3

"Eddie! Hey!" he brightens. Tells himself to take it down a notch; schools his face and voice into something a little less pathetically eager. “What’s up, man?” 

“Not much, dude,” Eddie teases, one dimple popping out. He looks good. Dressed up. Red and black flannel with the top buttons undone; light dusting of chest hair on pale skin, the edge of a tattoo Steve’s never seen. He’s got his black leather jacket and black jeans with no holes and black riding boots on. All he’s missing is a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm.

“What’s with the, uh…?” Steve gestures to his outfit, because he realizes he’s sort of just been staring at the dip of his throat. Eddie raises an eyebrow. Steve clarifies, “You got a date or something?” 

“Oh, this?” Eddie laughs. “Uh, no. Nope. Can’t say that I do.”

He hops up backward onto the counter, his ass right next to Steve’s elbow, legs dangling over the edge, and he ignores Steve’s protests to get down from there as he leans in to ask in a mischievous hush, “Can you keep a secret?” 

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, twists into a bitter twinge of nerves. He can keep a lot of secrets. Maybe he learned that from his dad.

“Yeah…?” He leans in on his elbows.

Eddie moves in closer still, cups his hand around his mouth and whispers, “I totally forgot to do laundry last week.” 

Oh, my god. “You’re an idiot,” Steve laughs. “That’s your big confession?” 

Eddie’s smile widens. “Yeah. I got distracted with rehearsals. This was the only clean shit I had left.” He kicks one leg out straight to show off his boot. “I’m only wearing these so you can’t tell I don’t have socks on.”

“Gross!” Steve laughs harder and shoves at Eddie, who tumbles theatrically over the edge of the counter, flinging himself to the ground and rolling onto his back so he can fake a couple death spasms and then lie there with his tongue lolling out of his mouth like a fucking weirdo. “You’re so weird.” 

“This night sucked before I showed up, and you know it,” Eddie says from the floor. He opens one eye to wink at Steve, then he gives one final death twitch and drops the act, popping back up to mirror Steve’s pose, elbows propped on the counter between them. 

Steve’s arm hair stands on end. “How was your show, anyway?” 

“Oh, it was greeeat,” Eddie says. “Drunk assholes yelling slurs at me, Gareth barfing in the bushes. Standard Hideout gig.”

"Was someone harassing you?" Steve frowns. He knows the Hideout's a shithole — a ‘dependable dumpster fire where we practice for the gigs that actually pay us,’ as Eddie had put it — but he thought the people there were, like, accepting, or whatever.

Surely Eddie's style isn't any more out there than the rest of the regulars.

"Holster your eyebrows," Eddie sighs, "it was fine. Really.” 

“Holster my— dude, what?”

“Your eyebrows,” he repeats. He reaches out with the tip of his pointer finger and gently prods the space between them. “At ease, gentlemen.”

“So weird,” Steve says again. He rolls his eyes and swats Eddie’s hand away, and Eddie just laughs and says ‘There we go!’ because his antics actually did get Steve to unfurrow his face. Little bastard. “Were you gonna rent something, or…?”

“Hell no, my late fees are fucking ridic—”

Eddie cuts himself off, his eyes darting over Steve’s shoulder.

He goes skittish all of a sudden, starts backing toward the exit, stammering, “Ridiculously non-existent. Is, uh, is what I was gonna say. Obviously. Um. Right.” 

His back hits the front door, the bell jangling overhead, and before Steve gets a chance to ask what the hell his problem is now, Eddie starts rambling at triple speed that “Dustin wanted me to check in on you and now I have checked in on you so okay-gotta-go-bye” and practically sprints out of the store.

Doesn’t even look back to give Steve a parting wave. 

What the fuck?

What the fuck?

“What. the fuck…” Steve jumps a foot in the air at the sound of Robin’s voice. He whips around to look at her; realizes she must have been what spooked Eddie. Her nose and cheeks are bright red from the cold, her eyes bugging out of her head, and her jaw is halfway to the floor as she gapes at him, “...was that?”

—

part 21

tag list part 1 below cut comment if you want to be added tomorrow

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Leader of the Landslide 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, alcoholism, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Life with your alcoholic mother is tough and you problems only mount when the local sheriff takes an interest in you.

Character: Lee Bodecker

Note: I'm so tireddddddddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

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Love you all. Take care. 💖

The mobile home creaks with your movement. The tight walls of your room watch you dig around under your bed frame, retrieving the empty tea tin from under the slats. You pop off the lid as you sit back on your heels and slip out the small roll of bills. You keep cotton balls in the bottom to keep the coins from jingling, not wanting any listening ears to suss out your stash.

You take what you need and put the rest back. You snake your arm up to replace the canister in your hiding spot. You stand and dusty off your knees, the worn denim fading and thinning. You tuck the bills in your back pocket and grab your flannel jacket from the bed post. 

You look around the cramped space, a modest and meagre dwelling place. You don't think too much about it, you’ve never known any better. Just like the big spenders in their shiny cadillacs don't give you much thought. You find that money can only bring trouble.

You go out into the living room. Your ma's sprawled on the couch, one leg over the edge, yesterday's newspaper over her head, and an arm dangling like there's no drop of life left in her. You go to the slender counter set under the narrow cupboards and put the kettle on the single burner. You pop open the cupboard door and grab the instant coffee, adding a healthy dose to an empty mug. 

"Ma," you say in a crusty tone, throat dry from sleep, "coffee."

"Eh," she mutters but doesn't unveil herself from beneath the newsprint.

"I'm gonna grab some groceries on the way home tonight," you explain as you cross your arms and lean against the wall across from the short couch where she languishes, "why didn't you take out the bed?"

She grumbles and the newspaper slips off of her as she props her head up. She wobbles as she squints across at the dinette that converts to a cozy double. She shakes her head and lays flat again. You don't fail to notice the empty bottle beside her.

"Alright, then, I gotta head down to Ernie's. I'll make dinner tonight," you suggest.

She waves you off and pulls the newspaper closer to her face, hiding behind it.

"Think ya can grab more whiskey?" She croaks from beneath.

"You got whiskey money?" You challenge with a sigh, "ma, it ain't good for ya."

"Don't tell me what's good for me. I raised ya," she barks as she rips the newspaper away and sits up, nearly keeling over as she winces with her whole body, "urgh, what're you rilin' me up for?"

"Water's boiling," you say as you check your watch, the one with the silver chain your granny gave you before she passed. "If you gotta puke, do it outside."

"Aw, baby, please," she shakes and touches her temples, "don't leave me. I can't do it alone--"

"Ma, you just gotta pour the water and stir. It's that instant stuff."

She harrumphs but doesn't argue as you're already at the door. You pull open the door and let it close heavily at your back as you tramp down the front steps. You button up your wool-lined flannel as you come down to ground level, your boots kicking up dust.

You head up between the rows of mobile homes. Most of them are nicer than your own. The paint on the siding isn't all chipped and the doors don't creak so loud. Plus, there isn't a mess of dead plants rotting away in the garden plot.

As you head past Theo's picnic table with the bright red umbrella, the nose of a car pokes around from the next row. You stop and watch the cruiser roll by, a sheriff's star emblazoned on the brown paint. It's not that unusual to see a cop hanging around, they like to rove the area for vagrants.

The man in the front seat turns his head as he passes, meeting your eye with a nod. You don't know him, you've never seen him before, but his hat makes him seem rather fancy. He must be high up. You don't know why he's hanging around there if he is.

You wait until he's past you and cross the row and head up towards the entrance of the community. The place is an assortment of wealthy city slickers vacationing, comfy middle classers with their tots, and the dregs like yourself and your mother, living on pennies and nickels.

Work isn't far. You sit at the desk in Ernie's shop and tell the folks where to park their beaters and lemons. The men talk loudly over engines as you throw Rufus' bone and watch him bring it back to you. The place is quaint and a bit shady, but the only job that would have you.

You walk in and greet the old bloodhound as he raises his wrinkly face. He gets up, he rarely does that for anyone else, and follows you to the wooden desk where you perch and drink the burnt coffee they have on the burner.  He lays at the foot of your stool as you say hello to the first mechanic through the door. Glenn doesn't seem to hear or see you as he pulls down his cap and ducks into the garage.

The smell of autumn creeps in from the open door of the garage, blowing into your little nook. A lady with tattered tights shows up with a rattling pipe and you call in Jethro to have a look. She gives him a look, the type that may get her a lower price on the second-hand part.

You pull out the book you keep lodged underneath the desk with the cup of pencils and receipt pad. You open it, the broken spine laying flat as you read and pet the lazy dog's snout as he leans his large head on your leg.

The day wiles by as usual. Not abnormal, nothing out of order. The mechanics hang up their overalls and leave oil stained rags in the crate. You take those down to the laundromat on Wednesdays.

Ernie locks up as you leave, offering you a drive to the grocer that you gratefully accept. There, you walk the aisles with your list, choosing between one staple and another to fit your budget. A bag of rice will go further than potatoes.

You leave with a paper bag full of goods. A good amount to stretch until your next pay. You take your usual path back, cutting through the path behind Alfred Horsk's stables.

You enter the park. A man rakes his front lawn despite the leaf fall being sparse. Nellie, the old woman who complains about your torn jeans, sends a glare as you pass, and you shoulder her out of your mind as you turn down the far row.

Your mother's dented mobile home beckons you forth. You have no illusions, you know what people think, you know what they've seen. Your mother is hardly the paragon of virtue. And your father, while you don't know who he is, you're certain he's a deadbeat.

You slow as you approach. A white and brown cruiser is parked at an angle, just in the space between your mother's trailer and the next. The siren on top is dulled but shiny. The car is well-kept. Shoot, you're not prepared to talk your mother out of another fine.

The scene is even stranger as there are no officers to go with the vehicle. There's usually at least one keeping watch or listening to the scanner. Just as peculiar, the trailer is shut up and there's not hollering coming from inside. Typically, the door's wide open for you to stumble in upon your mother's latest turmoil.

You balance the paper bag in one arm as you climb the low steps to the door and twist back the handle. The door opens easy and you step into a low dim, curtains drawn and lights all out. There's still light in the sky but it doesn't touch the place.

Your mother's cackle jars you and the deep rumble in response puts you on edge. You let the grim dim of the autumn in behind you as you feel around for the light knob. You turn it and light up the glass shade over the dinette.

You nearly drop your armful as you find your mother on the bench, giggling as a uniformed man pours whiskey past her lips, the dark brown neck of the bottle glugging loudly. You recoil and stammer. It's not the first time you've stumbled on your mother with a man, usually she leaves a scarf on the door to prevent that. You're only thankful they are fully clothed.

"Sorry," you back up and spin out the door, snapping it shut behind you.

You hop down to the gravel and sit on the bottom step. You put the groceries beside you and roll your shoulders, trying to escape that grimy feeling. Really, a cop? Well, that might keep her out of trouble. Or at least, make the law look in the other direction.

You try not to think about it but your eyes are drawn over to the round headlight of the cruiser. You frown. It can't be the same officer as earlier. You rub your cheek and think. You can't tell, he was missing that wide-brimmed hat.

You tear your attention from the nose of the car and watch some kids run by in a game of tag. You begrudge your empty stomach and heavy head. All day you only wanted to be home so you could get the groceries away and turn in. Nothing ever goes to plan with your ma.

You place your chin in your hand and blow a raspberry. What kind of lawman feeds liquor to a woman like that? It's plain to see that your ma has a problem. It's slimy, really. Barely preferable to him booking her. There's something nasty about him holding that bottle, laughing at her desperation to sate her bottomless thirst.

Their voices come clearer through the thin wall of the trailer. You get up and take the groceries, hiding them around the back. Hopefully no one stumbles on them. You go back around and set off down the gravel. He should be gone by the time you get back.

The kids run by you, puffing and panting in their game. You watch them, mourning the days when life was as simple as that. For you, the carefree era of your childhood didn’t last long. If it ever was.

You hear a parent holler and one of the children disperses. The others disappear around the next row as they continue on in their back and forth. You cross your arms as the evening chill nips at your flannel. You loop around, making a full lap of the outer path of the park.

You come back in sight of your mother’s trailer. The door is open as the officer sits on your former perch, sucking on a cigarette. You think of turning back. You’re tired and the sky is getting dim. You just want to eat and go to bed.

As you approach, he looks up and blows out a cloud of smoke. You cross your arms as he bows and gives a half-salute with two fingers. He looks up at you as he flicks ash from the cigarette.

“Must be junior,” he stands with a grunt, “sorry to chase ya out like that.”

You shrug, “officer.”

He smirks, “I’m off-duty.”

You nod and look away. There’s something about him, something slimy. Maybe it’s the way his stomach hangs over his pants or how he lets the bolo tie hang loose down his chest, his top buttons still undone.

“Gotta grab the, er, groceries,” you excuse yourself.

You sweep around the trailer and retrieve your haul, thankfully undiscovered. As you come back to the front, the officer remains, crushing the cigarette beneath his boot. You go to the steps and he stops you, stretching his arm in front of you.

“What’s yer name, girl?”

You shake your head, “does it matter?”

“Ma’s a nice lady, ain’t she? I’m only curious…” he says, “if I’m gonna be comin’ around.”

You hug the paper bag and bite down. You don’t want to tell him. If he’s anything like the other men, he won’t be back.

Your mother calls your name as he she clatters against the door from the inside. She manages to tear it open as you cringe. She’s in her underwear and a tank top barely clinging to her shoulders. You unthinkingly bull past the cop and rush up the stairs.

“Ma, it’s too cold out,” you usher her inside, “Christ.”

“Hey, you watch your mouth,” she sneers.

“I just don’t want you to get sick,” you say as you put the bag down. You turn to close the door but it swings inward from the other side. It’s him, officer slime.

“So, Molly,” he leers at your mother, “this your girl, then?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” your mother grumbles and falls against the couch, nearly missing as the man catches her and sets her right.

You exhale through your nose. She wouldn’t be like that if he didn’t bring her liquor. You grab the mostly empty bottle from the table and go to the sink. You hover it over the drain as you mouth shrieks like a hurt cat.

“Don’t you be wastin’ that!” She howls.

“Ma, look at you–”

“Now, now,” the man comes close and reaches to put his hand around yours, “I paid for that.”

“Great,” you turn to him, “you can take it with you.”

“With me?”

“Have a good night, officer,” you let him have the bottle, “I gotta make dinner.”

“Don’t be rude,” your mother slurs, “he stayin’.”

“Staying?” you sneer as you eye the man warily.

“Now I raised you right, we don’t send a good man off with an empty belly,” she snickers and reaches for his hand, tugging him towards her, “we make sure he’s nice and full.”

“Ma–” you begin.

“You ain’t even introduced us, Moll,” the man kisses her knuckles before wiggling free of her grasp. He hands her the whiskey. “Sheriff Bodecker,” he grins at you, “Lee when I’m off the beat.”

You look at him, then your mother. She gulps down the whiskey sloppily. You turn back to the counter and hide your chagrin.

“Hope you like beans,” you utter in defeat.

“I ain’t picky,” he drawls as he leans on the table, watching you.

You peek over your shoulder. Your mother is barely conscious as she leans back, letting the bottle rest on the empty space beside her on the couch. The quicker she passes out, the sooner this man can leave.

[junkissed]

finals season

day one of junkissed's svt seasons greetings event

member — tutor!seungcheol x student!reader genre — fluff, mild angst, hurt/comfort ?, college au  word count — 2k synopsis — getting a degree isn't easy. fortunately, your tutor that you maybe have a crush on is here to help. warnings — frat president!cheol, mentions of math (yes this is a warning), mutual crushes but they’re both kinda idiots, friends (?) to lovers, really awkward confession scene oops, there's 2 screenshots at the beginning bc i wanted to! notes — lowercase intended; honestly idk how this happened i promise the rest won’t be angsty like this sjdgkfs it was supposed to be cute but then my brain just kept chugging so. um enjoy !

one reblog = one snowy frat party

you sigh and stand up off the couch, wrapping your scarf around your neck. as much as you hated doing math, you always seemed to jump at the chance to study with seungcheol. the weather had made you reluctant to leave the comfort of your home, but the promise of coffee (and your unfairly attractive tutor) was more than enough to lure you out of the house for a couple hours.

even though your major had almost nothing to do with math, you’re still required to take so many credits of the subject to meet your requirements.

you shrug on your coat and grab your backpack in the dark, shoving your laptop and charger in with notebooks and folders. turning to take one last look around to make sure you aren’t forgetting anything, you shut the door quietly and lock it.

the lady working the shift at the front desk smiles and waves as you walk through the lobby of your apartment complex. “where are you headed?” she asks, setting down her nail file.

“tutoring,” you say, pulling the strap of your backpack higher up your shoulder.

“ooh, that hot guy that comes through here every thursday?”

you giggle. “yeah.”

“well, good luck, baby,” she grins, giving you a very indiscreet wink. “have fun with you man!”

“no– we’re not together,” you explain, feeling your cheeks start to heat in embarrassment. not that you don’t want to be together. you don’t even know if he’s single or not.

“not yet! you never know!”

“i’ll see you later,” you laugh, walking out the front door with a wave behind you.

seungcheol’s house is on the other end of campus where the fraternity houses are. it’s not a far walk, but with the snow still coming down heavily you decide not to risk showing up at his door looking like a total mess. so instead of walking like you usually do, you wait at the bus stop outside your apartment, rushing to find a place under the overhang with a crowd of other students waiting to get to class.

fifteen minutes later, you step off the bus, trudging through the quickly growing piles of snow on the ground up to the door of cheol’s apartment.

it’s only friday afternoon, but lambda phi epsilon is already gearing up for whatever party they’re hosting this weekend. you can hear faint music playing from one of the houses across the street. you wonder why cheol, the current president of the frat, isn’t over there with them, but you don’t dwell on the thought.

you smooth down your jacket and check your hair in the reflection of your phone screen, then take a deep breath and knock twice.

the door swings open immediately, revealing your tutor dressed in his… pajamas. you almost choke, your eyes falling to his flannel pants and collared pajama shirt, the top buttons undone revealing an expanse of smooth skin. the material looks soft, so soft, and you have to physically restrain yourself from reaching out to touch him.

“hey! come on in, it’s cold out there,” he smiles warmly. you snap back to attention, drawing your gaze back up to his face.

“thanks,” you manage, stepping inside. “you look, um. comfortable.”

“i love the snow,” he explains. “perfect weather to stay inside and get cozy for the weekend.”

you raise your eyebrows. “you’re not going to the party later?”

“no?” he questions. “why, are you going?”

your cheeks flare. “no, i’m– work,” you laugh awkwardly as the entirety of the english language disappears from your brain.

he smiles. “cool. you can stay as long as you want, then, i don’t have plans. we can work until you have to leave.”

“sounds great,” you squeak out.

oh, it’s gonna be a long night.

but the night isn’t as long as you thought it would be. it actually goes by pretty quickly, once you sit down and start working. as distracting as seungcheol is, you’ve really gotta learn these concepts before your final.

after many tutoring sessions you’d already figured out that cheol is insanely smart, but it never occurred to you before just how smart he is. not only does he understand the material, he understands it enough to explain everything in a way that makes sense to you— something your teachers could never do. everything just seems to click in your brain when he tells you things like why the angle of elevation is below the shape and not above it. hell, he’s even made his own practice problems for you that aren’t in your book, and after hours of teaching you get them all right, all on your own.

“try using this equation,” he says, gently nudging your elbow.

“huh?” you realize you’ve been staring at him and you whip your eyes back down to the workbook in front of you, embarrassed to be focusing on him and not the actual reason you’re here.

what is the reason you’re here? you wonder, your mind wandering. you went to the math department and signed up for a tutor, and a week later you met him in a private corner of the library to get help before your exam. and after a while, you started meeting him at your apartment, because your sessions ran long after the library had closed for the night. and now you’re sitting in his living room, contemplating every life decision you’ve made up until this point and wondering how the hell you ended up studying triangles with him in his pajamas.

he calls your name again, and you turn your head to look at him. but when you make eye contact, you suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to cry.

“do you wanna stop for now? we’ve been on this for a while, we can switch to something else if you want,” he asks. his eyes are full of concern at the sudden way you’ve stopped responding.

how did you end up falling in love with him?

“i… i think i should go home now,” you choke out. your throat feels like it’s closing up from the effort it takes not to burst into tears in the middle of his house.

“oh,” he says quietly. “are you sure? i have more practice problems for you, here, you can take–”

“why are you so nice to me?” you say abruptly.

he pauses. “i– what?”

“our study sessions go way past the hour set by the university, you make practice problems for me, you invite me to your house in your pajamas. you don’t have to do any of that. you get paid no matter what. why?”

his gaze shifts around the room, from the workbook still lying open on the table to the posters on his wall behind you. “i’m sorry about… this,” he says finally. “we can meet in the library again if you don’t like meeting here. and i would’ve changed, if i knew the pajamas made you uncomfortable.”

“it’s not the pajamas,” you whisper.

“sorry?” he says, not hearing you.

“it’s not the pajamas,” you repeat, louder this time. “it’s you. i… i don’t think i need a tutor anymore,” you say.

your vision begins to blur with tears when you hear him say softly, “okay.”

you grab your things and pack your backpack in record time. cheol holds the door open for you as you shrug your bag onto your shoulder.

“i’ll, uh, talk to the tutoring advisor and tell her you don’t need help anymore,” he says awkwardly as you rush out the door.

“goodbye, cheol,” you say, and turn down the steps to leave.

the sound of the door closing quietly behind you is what finally breaks you. tears stream down your face, burning your skin in contrast to the freezing air.

the snow had stopped while you’d been in his house, slowly turning into slush. you plop down on the sidewalk, not even caring that you’re sitting in a puddle of dirt and ice. not only had you just lost your free homework help, you’ve lost a friend who might’ve maybe been something more, if you hadn’t panicked and run off at the first thought of him.

your nose starts to run and you cry harder, wiping your nose against your sleeve, but it does nothing. you sit on the curb outside in the cold for so long you start shivering, but you don’t have the motivation to get up. a part of you doesn’t want to leave, and you don’t know why.

without the extra practice from cheol, you’ll probably bomb your final, which means having to take even more classes for even more credits next semester.

you hear a squeak behind you, but you don’t look back. whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.

“are you okay?”

a familiar voice calls out, and you force yourself to turn around.

“i mean, you don’t look okay,” he adds. “you’re sitting in front of my house, in the snow.”

you hadn’t even noticed it had started to snow again. “oh.”

“do you want to come inside?” he asks gently.

“no,” you answer immediately, but the cold is starting to get to you. “yes.”

he smiles, and just that makes you feel better. he moves out of the middle of the doorway, leaving room for you to come inside.

you stand up, trying to wipe the snow from your backside, and walk back into his house.

a pot of coffee is already steaming on the countertop, and he pours a mug and hands it to you. “why were you sitting in front of my house, in the snow?” he asks after a moment, giving you a minute to warm up.

“i don’t know,” you admit, sniffling. he hands you a tissue. where did he get that?

as you start to calm down and take in your surroundings, you notice he’s changed into jeans and a sweater.

“you didn’t have to change,” you say quietly.

“i know,” he says. “i, uh… i decided i’m going to the party later.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

the tension in the room is almost unbearable, but you purposely ignore it, bringing his mug to your lips to drink with shaky hands.

“what did you mean, ‘it’s me’?” he says finally. “what you said earlier.”

you swallow. no running away this time.

“well. um. because you’re too good. at everything.” you close your eyes and sigh. “you’re good at math and you’re good at tutoring and you’re a good person.”

“oh?” he asks cautiously. “is that… a bad thing?”

“i don’t know,” you say,. “i don’t know. you’re too nice to me. i can’t figure it out.”

he smiles, and his hand moves at his side, as if he wants to reach out and touch you, but he stays put. “i–” he swallows. “i think you’re really great. and nice. and i wanted to, i guess, get to know you better. that’s why i suggested meeting outside the library. and why i help you so much. because i do want to help you, but, uh…” he trails off, staring at his feet. “i also want more than that.”

“you do?”

he looks up at you nervously, waiting to see if your reaction is good or bad.

“i also want more than that, i think,” you say quietly.

"do– do you wanna stay for a little while?" he asks, glancing out the window. "it's started snowing again."

you smile. "yeah."

his face brightens. "we can order food or watch tv, or– we could keep studying, whatever you want," he says shyly.

"i thought you were going to the party?"

"nah," he grins. "i’d rather stay right here.”

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[thenerdysewist]

I made a Moonshine Cybin Flannel to see NADDPOD Live at Carnegie Hall (featuring an embroidered PawPaw)

Read more for details on how I made this

Making the Shirt:

Like a week before I left for New York, I decided that I wanted to make my own NADDPOD clothes to wear since I don’t have a lot of merch. I remembered that JoAnn Fabrics had this mushroom flannel and so I ran out and bought two yards.

I used this button up shirt/lined jacket pattern from MCall’s:

The problem is that I’m right in between the largest boy’s size and the smallest men’s size. So I had to make some adjustments. I cut out the pattern, then shortened it at the waist because there wasn’t room for my hips in the original pattern. Then I cut out all the pieces: shirt front, shirt back, sleeves, pocket, collar, and cuffs.

I knew from using the pattern before that the sleeves were too big for the armhole, and I don’t like the look of gathered sleeves. So I trimmed 5/8” from both arm holes.

Once those adjustments to the pattern were made, I stitched the sides together.

Next up was the collar. I cut two collar pieces, stitched them with the pattern-side of the fabric facing each other, trimmed the excess at the edges and flipped it right side out and ironed it.

I pinned the collar in place around the neck and stitched it in place.

Next up was the sleeves. I stitched each sleeve together, leaving a gap open at the bottom so that the sleeves could be unbuttoned. I hemmed the opening of each sleeve so no raw edges were visible, the gathered the top of the sleeves so they fit into the arm hole.

I pinned the sleeves into the arm hole and stitched them in place.

I cut two cuff pieces, and turned down one edge so that once it was stitched in place, there wouldn't be any raw edges. Then I pinned it in place so the right sides were together and the excess fabric of the cuff was pointed towards the shoulder. I stitched it in place, then folded the cuff in half, right sides together and stitched the ends. That way when the cuff was folded out the right way, all the raw edges would be held inside.

With that, the main construction of the shirt was complete.

Next were my first attempts at embroidery. I found a reference image online that reminded me of PawPaw and printed it out in various sizes. I stitched together a breast pocket, and pinned it to the shirt. Then I was able to use that and my printed images to decide how big I wanted the embroidery.

Once I decided on the size, I unpinned the pocket and transferred the drawing to the fabric using transfer paper. I pinned the drawing and transfer paper in place, and traced over the image. It left a carbon copy on the fabric, and I traced over that with heat erase pen so it wouldn't rub off while I worked.

After that, it was lot of stitching with embroidery thread. Have some in progress pictures.

With the embroidery done, it was time for the finishing touches. Using the guides on my pattern, I marked off the places where buttons and buttonholes were meant to go.

I used the buttonhole foot attachment and setting for my sewing machine to install the button holes, then I sewed the buttons in place by hand.

To secure the embroidery I cut out a patch of white flannel and ironed heat and bond to the back. Then I placed the patch over the thread on the backside of the embroidery, and ironed it in place. The patch prevents the loose threads from getting snagged on anything.

After that, I hemmed the shirt and it was finished!

I literally finished this project the night before I flew to New York. It ended up being a huge hit at the fan meet up in Central Park.

[octuscle]

The new foreman

Charles didn't usually work out this late. He was usually at the gym first thing in the morning. Right at 06:00, when it opened. First thing, that way he could be at his desk at 08:00, freshly shaved and showered. Fit for the day. And second, he didn't want to work out with the big boys. He was bothered by the groans and grunts when they were lifting iron. And the noise when the dumbbells were thrown to the floor with their last ounce of strength after the last repetition. He wasn't here to build mountains of muscle. He just wanted to stay fit.

But today he had taken the morning off. His day started late today with a business lunch. He had taken advantage of that and worked out longer than usual. Around 09:00, the first group of musclemen arrived at the training area. Again, Charles had been annoyed by the loud alpha animals in the free weight area. Whereby he had to think about the guys again and again during the final sauna session. Yes, they were damn good looking. But to look like that, he would have had to start training years earlier. And coming here for an hour three times a week wasn't going to do any good.

Charles showered, shaved, and walked toward his locker with a towel around his hips. On the floor next to his locker, crumpled up, was a piece of cloth. Charles glanced around. No one to be seen. He picked up the fabric and realized it was a jockstrap. Had to belong to one of the big boys, it was still damp. And it was stained and crusty. Charles's pulse raced. How many times had he jerked off to fantasies of jockstraps pissed and jerked all over? He didn't think for a second and pulled on the jockstrap. And as fast as he could, he pulled his underwear over it. He could only hope that the scent of his freshly washed boxers would mask the stench of cum and piss. And he couldn't wait to press the jockstrap into his face after work. A stain of precum was forming on his boxers.

Charles was on time at the restaurant for his business lunch. His client was not there yet. The jockstrap story had been a stupid idea. His precum could be seen on his suit pants, too. So Charles quickly went to the washrooms to correct that a bit. Besides, he had to pee. At the urinal, he noticed that his boxers were gone. Had he forgotten them? That was even more unfortunate, hopefully the pants kept the stench of the jockstrap away. Although the stench made Charles horny. He stowed his magnificent cock, buttoned up his jeans and went back to his table. The customer still wasn't there. He was warm and the jacket was too tight. So he took it off and hung it over the back of the chair. The restaurant wasn't so posh that anyone would have minded. His customer was in the construction business and liked things a little more rustic.

He had to wait a solid half hour before his customer finally arrived. He stood up and greeted him with a firm handshake. "Call me Chuck," Charles said, and asked if he should order two beers. His customer nodded and said he was relieved. He'd been expecting one of those college boys. But would rather talk to a man. Chuck grinned, tucked his thumbs behind his mighty belt buckle and said it was much the same for him. Lunch wasn't about business for a second. The two men talked football, they talked politics, they talked hunting. Chuck was happy that they were both on the same page. Small talk was a horror to him. He was a simple fella and loved straight talk. And his conversation partner wasn't one of those tieflings, either. After Chuck rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt and undid two more buttons, his pal just grinned and followed suit.

After two hours, lunch was over. Chuck wanted to pay, but one look was enough to understand it wasn't his turn today. "Son, I have an excellent feeling about you. You're going to be a good foreman. I expect to see you at the job site on Main Street at 06:00 tomorrow morning. The two chimed in and his boss turned and left. Chuck grinned. He knew how to wrap people around his finger. He put on his cap, grabbed his gym bag and headed for his car. With the new job, he had to change his routines. Gym before work was no longer an option. But he could go lift some iron now. And head out for a few beers with the lads afterwards.

A deep bow to @stargazerguy for this and many other inspirations!

[dilf-din]

I Had a Feeling

Relationships: Joel and Ellie, Tommy and Ellie

WC: 1250

Warnings: none, hurt/comfort

Summary: Ellie calls him Uncle Tommy for the first time

Ellie sat on the edge of Joel’s bed jiggling her leg nervously causing the springs to creak. He gave her a soft look while he zipped up his duffel bag and she murmured a quiet, “Sorry.”

The graying light of winter filtered in through the window casting a dull glow on everything it touched. Stray flecks of dust floating in the pale streams spilled out in front of her. She ran her socked foot over the floorboards, a loose splinter catching a thread and unraveling the already worn toe. A frown crossed her face as she bent forwards to tug it loose, her big toe wiggling from where it was now poking out.

Joel sank next to her on the bed, the mattress dipping from the added weight.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me, kiddo,” he said softly. The back of his hand smoothing over her cheek before he tucked her loose curls behind her ear like he always did.

“You don’t know that,” she mumbled, eyes glued to the red thread of her sock running like a small river of blood below them.

“Tommy said it’s been years since they lost someone on patrol.”

“But it’s still happened,” she snapped her eyes up to meet him.

He gave a soft sigh and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, kissing her temple. She burrowed into his frame, nuzzling the tip of her nose against the breast pocket button of his flannel.

“Do you trust me?”

A simple question he had asked her dozens of times. The first time, their lives had been on the line in Kansas City, and she answered without hesitation. More recently in the walls of Jackson, it had come up like a promise. Any time Ellie was wary of a new place or person. Her first day of school, “Do you trust me?” Their first time eating in the corporate meal hall with the rest of the townsfolk, “Do you trust me?”

Not only him, does she trust his judgment. His ability to assess risks and make a good decision, a safe decision. Month after month, he proved himself trustworthy. And he was never smug about it, he never rubbed it in her face. He looked at her caution with softened eyes. He gave her space to heal and open up in her own way in her own time.

She nodded her head from where it still rested against his chest, aching to squeeze out a few more seconds of listening to his steady heartbeat before he left, hoping it would tide her over until his return.

He held her there for several more minutes, always waiting for her to be the first one to make the move to let go, never rushing her.

She eventually straightened her spine to lift from their tangled position. Imprints of his shirt fabric had pressed lines into her cheek from where she had so tightly held him, drawing a small smile to his lips.

He traced a finger over the crease before standing and slinging his bed over his shoulder. They plodded down the stairs, neither one of them particularly looking forward to saying goodbye. It would be her first night on her own since they met. He was just as worried as she was terrified. Worried he wouldn’t be there if she needed something. If the snow knocked the power out and she needed to get warm, or if she had a nightmare. God, he hoped tonight wasn’t one of those nights. He had suggested she stay at Tommy’s and she spat back, “I’m not a baby, Joel, I’ll be fine.”

But he was standing at the door pulling his jacket on and slipping gloves over his stiff fingers, and she looked like she was going to be sick. He didn’t want to push the issue though. Her pride outlasted her fear by a country mile. He knew his stubborn girl would be alright.

“Now remember, just go to Tommy’s if you need anything. There’s some leftover meat and bread from last night’s dinner. I’ll be back first thing in the morning, okay kiddo?”

She forced a smile and gave him one last hug. “Don’t freeze to death on me old man.”

He cracked a smile and braced himself for the biting wind that awaited him on the other side of the door.

Ellie spent most of the evening curled up in Joel’s armchair lost in a novel. Or rather, trying to get lost in it. Her mind kept wandering every few sentences. She checked the clock over and over hoping that morning was was almost here. She gave a defeated sigh around 9:45 and decided to try to get some sleep.

She brushed her teeth and let her hair fall from her usual ponytail. It had grown since Maria last cut it, hanging well past her shoulders now. She gave herself a thumbs up in the mirror before flicking the light off. She grabbed Joel’s pillow off of his bed and tucked it under her head, bundling the covers around herself. The house was silent without the small signs of him. The floor creaking as he tidied up the dishes, his soft snores passing through their doors. The snow had piled higher than they expected by now, a thick layer dampening the sounds from outside. She tossed and turned for a while before eventually nodding off. Her thoughts wandered to sheep ranches on the moon, but she ended up in Silver Lake again. Thrashing wildly she launched herself from her bed. Her breath coming short and shallow, in sync with her pounding heart. Hair clung to the back of her neck and sides of her face from the sweat pouring down seemingly out of nowhere.

She had to get some fresh air. She would go to Tommy’s. She didn’t care if she looked like a big baby. Her jacket quickly pulled on over her sweatshirt and sleep pants. She hurried downstairs not bothering to keep her steps quiet, startled at finding a side table light on in the living room.

“Ellie?” Tommy’s sleep heavy voice called to her. He was sitting up from the bed he had made on their couch, sleep heavy in his voice and eyes.

“Everything alright?” he asked and she rushed to his side throwing her arms around his waist. He brought his arm down and rubbed her back.

“S’alright darling, you’re safe. You’re in Jackson,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He whispered reassuring words to her until her breathing steadied, and she pulled away to face him.

“Did Joel ask you to do this? I told him not to bother you, I—“

“He didn’t ask me. It was snowin’ pretty hard, so I made my way over here in case you needed anything, the roads were piled pretty high.”

She smiled softly, thankfulness heavy in her eyes. Her hands were fidgeting, picking at a hangnail.

“Can I stay down here with you?” she asked, eyes glued to the floor, bracing herself for a no.

“Of course you can,” he smiled scooting further over on the couch. She shucked her jacket off and pull the blanket over both of their legs, nestling into the crook of his chest again.

“Goodnight, Uncle Tommy,” she said, suddenly overcome by sleep again.

His heart swelled in a way it hadn’t in almost twenty years.

“Goodnight, honey.”

[bluravenite]

I would love to hear any little headcanons you have about the ghouls, perhaps thoughts about the different ghouls styles if that’s something you’ve thought about :)

I do have ideas for their style but it's something very abstract in my mind so I'mma try to explain it to the best of my abilities??

Dew: black band shirts ripped years and scrappy leather boots chains and jewelry.

Rain: flowy shirts, very frilly, fitted clothes, fitted pants and jeans, either flat sneakers or fancy boots, he often wears dresses too. And he has lots of simple pretty hats to keep the sun off his face.

Aether: dad. But fashionable? Lots of cardigans and vests, button up print short sleeve shirts, and cuffed slacks, with fancy mm but comfy flat shoes.

Mountain: he wears tank tops with layered solid color button up cotton short sleeves. Usually with some kind of cropped or cuffed pant or shorts. He also wears lots of open toed shoes, or flats sneakers on occasion. He can be a fancy boy though.

Phantom/aeon: he's low-key the dress up doll of everyone so he will wear frilly shirts or button ups, normal black tshirts, lose or fit pants, he cares more about looking nice in whatever he's wearing than what he is wearing, he also has nice shoes but prefers sneakers and likes being comfortable in his clothes.

Swiss: leather jackets, flannels, tank tops, tshirts that are too tight for his own good, muscle tanks, lose pants, sweatpants, nice shoes or sneakers depending on occasion. On hot summer days he wears open button up shirts with no undershirt, shorts and open toed sandals or something of the like.

Aurora: she's like the vampire goth girly, she will wear frilly blouses with big sleeves, puffy dresses and sheer fabrics and either Mary Jane's or demonia style boots. She's kinda like a Gothic academia and very mild pastel goth. If you ask her what her inspiration is, it would be Morticia Adams in her fashionable youth, before she became a fashionable milf ofc.

Cirrus: she's pretty laid back but likes to look nice, she will wear the fancy cocktail dresses and look so hot everyone wants to melt into the pits of hell. She wears fitted clothes and a sort of comfortable but polished style, you'll never see her in just one style of clothing though, she's kind of like a really well dressed hot millennial.

Cumulus: LOVES lives comfy stuff, anything that's like soft or cotton she loves wearing, so she will often have fluffy cute sweaters or pretty tops shiny tops she loves showing her skin but also being cozy so skirts, shorts and sweatpants or cute fitted pants are always the way, she also loves pretty flowy sundresses and cropped or flowy shirts. The ghoulettes spend HOURS helping her find just what she wants and making it fit perfectly just for her.

This is the main ghouls but!! Lmk if you want a part two with other ghouls like zeph, ifrit, alpha, cowbell, etc!!

[theragethatisdesire]

fic-d here, please, i desperately need the smut abc for plug eren because i am OBSESSED with him.

and i also need to know exactly what kind of clothes he wears, for … unrelated reasons.

hiiiii mooty moot <3 can i just say i'm thrilled you asked this. fair warning for anyone about to open below the cut, this is going to be an absolute MONSTER of a post. and i'm going to love every second of writing it lol.

okay first, the outfits. plug!eren is very like, stoner/streetwear type. LOVES layers, lots of hoodies and flannels and jackets, always wearing Vans, really favors a graphic t-shirt (thrasher, anime tees, has a really impressive collection of vintage band t-shirts and limited-edition supreme drops) i shall attach some reference photos:

idk if this is even the right vibe, but just very casual, whatever-works type of clothes. owns like, two button downs vs his 1001 sweatshirts lol.

and now...onto the nasty stuff LOL enjoy lovebug

PLUG!EREN nsfw headcanons under the cut <3

A. Aftercare

plug!eren is 25, yes, but he's also kind of just a boy at heart lol. it takes him awhile to understand the whole concept of aftercare and just laying and spending time together after sex because he bounces back fast, and is already jumping up to cook dinner or get both of you ready to go to a kickback or something like, two minutes after. once you explain the concept to him, he develops a complex for awhile that he "hasn't been treating you well", and goes really overboard LOL but eventually it evens out. becomes a big fan of snuggling afterwards but would never admit it.

B. Body part

eren was a thin kid growing up, and he's super proud of all the work he's put in to change his body over the years. especially proud of his back, it's his favorite muscle group to work and the one he tracks the progress of the most for sure.

on you, plug!eren is an asssss man. like, he's the king of ass men. constantly running up behind you to land a light smack, grabbing it, holds it while you're cuddling etc. also loves your hips? like, he loves when you ride him specifically so that he can hold on tight and grab at the fat around your hips. i cannot overstate how much he loves it.

C. Cum

plug!eren def has a face-painting thing. he loves to cum in you, and it takes him a few hook-ups to tentatively throw out there that he'd love to cum on your face, but after you let him do it the once, it's over. wants to cum on your pretty face and take pictures of you all covered in him every time you fuck.

D. Dirty secret

being an engineering/architect student, eren's not bad with a pencil and paper. loves to sketch the human body as much as he loves thinking up random building designs. not going to elaborate much here bc spoilers....

E. Experience

LMAO plug!eren is absolutely ran through, so yes, he knows what he's doing.

F. Favorite position

for eren, it's a toss-up between doggy or letting you ride him, both of which stem from his thing for your hips and your ass. i think he would say riding him solely because you usually cum harder that way and eren loves watching you cum, but if it's winning out over doggy, it's only by like, an infinitesimal amount.

G. Goofy

it takes him awhile, but once eren's comfortable, he can be such a goofball during the act. like, will giggle with you when you bump your head on the headboard, full-blown belly laughing when he tries to shove you up against the wall and knocks a few picture frames down. once, one of the legs under his bed broke and you both laughed so hard about it that you couldn't even finish the act. absolutely had a photoshoot of both of you pulling ridiculous poses right beside the now-broken bed.

H. Hair

eren's not like, full-blown bush or anything, but i don't see him doing much more than just trimming. he's terrified of nicking his balls or something if he fully shaves LOL.

on you, eren would never tell you what to do with your body (again, ran through enough to know that's a big no-no when it comes to women), but i think he secretly loves when you're completely bare because he's really into watching how you take him. it gives him an unobstructed view, whether he's eating you out, fingering you, or fucking you, he loves to be able to see every bit of you.

I. Intimacy

plug!eren struggles with being intimate, and while he craves it, he hides it under constant rough sex. after you've been together for awhile though, you have a huge, blowout, nearly-break-up fight, and when he fucks you that night, he's slow and sweet and definitely not tearing up, whispering little i love yous into your skin while he rolls his hips against you. making love is definitely in him, it just takes him awhile to get up to that point.

J. Jack off

24/7. no question. this man's sex drive is unbelievable and honestly? sometimes you're too sore or just not in the mood, really. my favorite thing about plug!eren is that when you just can't go another round, he'll have you sit up all pretty and naked for him and just jack off staring at you, making you talk to him and tell you how good he made you feel. lovesick little baby.

K. Kinks

huge pleasure dom. "can't cum again" is not in eren's vocabulary- he knows you can and he knows he can make you, so what's the harm in one more? not sure if this counts as a kink, but eren's obsessed with the way you smell. not just like, your arousal, but your perfume, that little scent that everyone has that just smells like them really gets him going. every time he stays at your house he can't keep his hands off of you, loves to steal little things like a pair of panties or a dirty shirt just to have at his place for when he misses you. could get down with a daddy kink if you were into it. i struggle to think of the word for this, but he's just nasty. his favorite kind of sex is freaky, nasty, flat-out disgusting sex with cum everywhere and the sheets ruined. big marking kink, loves to leave bruises and hickeys all over you as well.

L. Location

plug!eren is very possessive, what's his is his, so not really into the public sex thing, but will take you absolutely anywhere he knows no one could catch you and get a glimpse of what's just for him. really into sex in the kitchen for some reason?? shower sex too, god that is his favorite, just having you soaking wet and pinned up against the shower wall. up against a wall in general, actually. again, he's worked really hard to get all these muscles, and it definitely gets him off how easily he can just scoop you up and fuck you in his arms. might be an ego thing but hey, who are you to complain?

M. Motivation

anything that reminds him you're his. like, if he catches a glimpse of his hickeys on your neck under your makeup? you're going home from dinner early. you're walking around in one of his tshirts? he's bending you over the counter and you're not taking that shirt off for a second. eren's also a very detail-oriented person, so if he tells you he really likes red lipstick for example, and you wear it the next day, he knows it's for him and for some reason the thought of you choosing something to wear that you know will turn him on makes him feral. you're his pretty little thing, and he loves when you show off a little for him. LOVES lingerie. like, the complicated, full-set bells and whistles of garter sets and stockings and the whole thing. embarrassed at first because he can't figure out how to take any of it off of you, but when you just smile at him shyly and pull your panties to the side, he debates leaving you there to go buy an engagement ring LOL.

N. No

surprisingly, anal. eren's very well-endowed and a girl he was seeing for awhile talked him into anal, and even though they prepared well, she was still in too much pain to really enjoy it and it scarred him a little bit. he likes to hurt you within reason, but that's crossing a line for him, so no more than a finger or two and even then, only if you really want it.

O. Oral

LOVES GIVING HEAD. like, could die happy between your legs, it's his favorite part of sex type of loves giving head. has to beg you for it, but his favorite is when you ride his face. also loves receiving. really big into pulling out when he's getting close and having you finish him with your mouth. also loves eating you out after he's cum in you, then spitting both of your cum into your mouth. again, he's a nasty nasty man and i love him.

P. Pace

eren fucks fast and hard, especially once you've gotten used to his size. he has to ease you into it at first, he's not a total asshole, but once you've gotten adjusted, it's all gas no brakes with him. all those hours in the gym really pay off when he can have you bent over for what feels like an endless amount of time, crying and wailing under him.

Q. Quickie

weirdly, LOVES a quickie. totally gets off watching you limp off to work/class after he bent you over the bathroom counter in the middle of you doing your makeup just to make your legs a little extra-shaky for the day. you're both busy, what can he say? absolutely pulls your panties up with his cum in you and tells you to keep it in there for him.

R. Risk

eren's down for whatever you're down for. he's already fleshed out most of his kinks and fantasies at this point, other than a few things he really needs a committed partner for. it really turns him on when you take the initiative to shyly ask if you can try something, and when you come over one day tentatively holding out a pair of handcuffs? oh he's done for. the one thing he doesn't love is being submissive. he'll let you have your fun, choke him a little, ride him, etc., but he really isn't into being a full-on sub and being made to beg. i think that would be his other really hard no, come to think of it.

S. Stamina

eren is, again, ran through, so he's got some stamina. usually can last at least half an hour, sometimes he can even put himself off longer. he loves to try to go multiple rounds, but honestly, he wears himself out LOL. that doesn't mean you're off the hook though. eren might not be able to get it up, but he's got a mouth and some talented fingers and he loves to make you cum over and over just for his own entertainment.

T. Toys

toys are friends, not enemies! eren specifically loves your vibrator, it's small and easy to use in multiple different positions. his absolute favorite is to have you on top of him, fully seated and grinding against his hips, while he holds your vib to your clit. no chance of him getting enough friction to bust early, and he can make you cum at least two or three times like that until you're in tears and begging him to actually fuck you. yeah, that's his fav.

U. Unfair

eren's not so much of an intentional tease (bc he will accidentally work himself up too much and have to leave the bar early lol), but he's just so unintentionally pretty he doesn't have to try. i mean come on, he's beautiful and he's naturally so charismatic and flirty that he can tease without trying. and when you both get home and you're all riled up and pulling his clothes off, it's so entertaining to him. he loves when you tell him how pretty he is, how he got you all turned on just doing nothing but being himself.

V. Volume

plug!eren is a big dirty talker, but he's actually pretty vocal on top of that, too. loves to moan and groan and tell you exactly how good you feel, whether that's with a noise or his words. he's the loudest when you give him head, it just feels so good and he can't help but ramble on and on about how good you are to him. his "tell" that he's about to cum is when he starts rambling, words slurring together and it just seems like he can't shut up.

W. Wild card

eren loves when you're a little drunk, lowest of keys. not so drunk he's taking advantage of you, but when you let the responsible, professor mask slip and just really let yourself go and have fun, it drives him crazy. he loves seeing you happy, and in an honestly almost-perverted way, he loves seeing you go absolutely crazy with your friends. it just makes him so hard to see you uninhibited and dancing in the middle of the club like you own the place, all eyes on you.

X. X-ray

i think this was pretty well covered in the fic but.....yeah it's big. like, a solid eight inches, girthy, veiny, pornstar dick. eren's blessed and he knows it and uses it to his advantage. your favorite game together is to see how much of him you can get down your throat and eren's obnoxiously cheering you on like a coach. "you're almost halfway babe, have you been practicing on bananas or something?" "shut up eren! i'm trying to concentrate!"

Y. Yearning

okay i feel like it's basically canon that eren's ready to go at all times, no matter what, and plug!eren is not exempt from that. on top of this, though, he's really turned on by...idk, mundane things? like when you stretch with your arms over your head and he can see the outline of your breasts through your shirt, the curve of your neck, when you stick a pen through the bun on top of your head. like, the silliest things turn him on, only adding to his super high sex drive.

Z. Zzzz

eren's usually still bouncing off the walls right after, loves pillow talking and staying up late and discussing any topic he can think of under the sun. he's very restless as a person, so it takes him awhile to go to sleep, especially plug!eren. you usually fall asleep first. always has to go rip the bong a few times or he's just got 0 chance of knocking out, but he always sleeps better when you're snuggled up to him <3

[winchester-girl67]

My Father's Daughter

Summary: Y/N gets nervous when her anti-possession tattoo heals overnight. On her second attempt to make it stick she meets a boy that she might have more in common with then she thinks.

Requested by @rachelcarroll1819​ : “Can you do ome where the readers is the daughter of luicfer that john and bobby found as a baby bobby ends up raising her as his owns then when angels show up her powers finally show up also and sje in a relationship with either dean or sam ( whichever works for me)”

Pairing: Dean x Nephilim!reader

Square: Tattoo @supernatural-jackles​

Word Count: 5,805

Warnings: some SPN spoilers for season 12-15 (mainly surrounding Jack, and nephilim), not canon, language, adoption and related topics, implied relationship with Dean before the reader’s 18th birthday (reader and Dean are both 18), implied minor allergic reaction, injured!Dean, injuried!reader, blood, a little violence (involving guns/angel blades), angst, a little pining, kissing, fluff

A/N: This is before Castiel joins the Winchester’s side, I also took some liberties with the nephilim lore. Jack is such a fun character to write for, I had to include him in this request… Enjoy :) Also written for @supernatural-jackles​’ Tell Me a Story bingo.

_____

“What the H-E-double-hockey-sticks?” You gasped at your reflection in the mirror. “Balls, that can’t be a good sign.”

You held open the collar of your flannel and traced your fingers over the unblemished flesh below your collarbone. It was easy to ignore when it happened the first time. A pencil standing on its point for three seconds longer than it should’ve was easy to play off as an illusion soaked in extreme boredom at the time. Strange occurrences were common especially around the Winchesters or anyone involved with the Winchesters, but this was- wasn’t possible. It was your eighteenth birthday yesterday and Dean brought you to get your first tattoo, an anti-possession symbol. You had it inked into the left side of your chest over your breast, just like him, but now it was gone as if it had... healed.

You decided not to tell anyone and buttoned your shirt a little higher than usual. You would just go back to the tattoo parlour today before you met up with Dean. You kept the little anomalies like this to yourself more often than not lately, after finding out you were adopted and who your biological father really was. Lucifer. Talk about daddy issues. You didn’t want anyone finding out that you had inherited anything from him. Eighteen years without a single sign of angelic anything and now you couldn’t deny there was something filtering through you, trying to get out. It felt like power.

“Meeting Dean this early, pumpkin?” Your father, Bobby, asked as you bounced down the stairs and into the kitchen. You nodded, not wanting to lie to him but it was for the best, “Do your old man a favour and grab something to eat before you head out.”

“Alright, dad.” You said, grabbing an apple from the fridge.

“You make sure that boy gets you home in time for dinner,” he cocked an eyebrow at you, “I mean it this time, Y/N. I will get my shotgun out if you’re a minute past six, got it?”

You were his little girl, but he wouldn’t actually shoot Dean, right?

You laughed and nodded, playing it off as a joke. He could only be about eighty-percent serious, at most. You didn’t have a curfew but tonight was an exception. There were family and friends and family-friends, coming over to celebrate your birthday, since yesterday was a weekday and Bobby had steaks marinating in the fridge.

“We’ll be home on time, promise. Bye, daddy.” You pecked him on the cheek and turned his cap around so the visor was in the back.

“Always with the damn hat,” he grumbled as he fixed it back to the front.

You giggled as you twirled out of the room and bit into your apple. You took a couple of bites before holding it between your lips as you laced up your boots and slipped on your jacket.

Outside, you chucked the core into the tall grass opposite the house and climbed onto your motorcycle. You started it up and pulled your hair into a quick braid for the wind, otherwise it would tangle to an extent that could never be brushed out, and took your helmet off the handlebars. You secured the strap under your chin and revved the engine as you kicked it into gear, fish-tailing around before speeding off down the laneway.

Leaves were changing colour and it was cooler outside now. For a moment you wished you had remembered your gloves but you would power through, the tattoo parlour wasn’t too far away anyway. You chose a different parlour across town than the one Dean had brought you to, just in case the artist that tattooed you the day before was on shift today too. Too many questions would be asked and you didn't have the answers.

It was easier this time around, since you knew what to expect and how much it would sting, but you hated that Dean wasn’t there to hold your hand. The woman wiped away the excess ink when she was done the final flame and held up a mirror for you to see. You grinned at the permanent ink, marring your flesh the same way it did Sam and Dean and Bobby and every other hunter you knew.

To anyone else, they’d probably think it was odd but to you it meant protection and family. It was pretty, even with the red raw edges that would eventually flatten out as your skin healed. You loved the way new tattoos raised the skin and appeared to jump out at you. You felt like a badass sporting your fresh ink and bit your lip at your excited smile.

The artist snapped a pic for her portfolio and the shop’s website and you noticed a boy about your age smiling at you from behind the gap in the privacy curtains. He was sitting in the waiting area with his hands on his knees and just staring. At. You.

“Hello.” He said when you passed him on your way out.

His blonde hair was combed to the side, unlike Dean’s whose was always spiked up like an angry hedgehog. You gave him a nod of your head and nothing more. Glancing back at the parlour as you climbed onto your motorcycle, partially just to make sure he didn’t follow you out. He didn’t give off any creeper vibes but he was… odd.

“Ow,” you hissed suddenly as your chest burned. You pulled aside your flannel to see the tattoo glowing white hot before it fizzled out. Your body healing itself again and your tattoo disappearing. You looked up at the tattoo parlour sullenly, there would be no point in trying again. “Shit-balls.”

Just when you thought puberty was over. What the hell was going on with your body now? All you could think was that your bio-dad’s genes were finally kicking in.

It would be easy enough to hide it from Bobby, not so much Dean. Things were getting heated between you two lately and it was inevitable that he’d see you in a bra again. The thing was, the only people who knew about your bio-dad were John, who had passed away a couple years ago and Bobby, who promised never to tell another living soul; especially the boys. Sam would probably understand but he was four years younger than you and he couldn’t keep a secret from his older brother. Dean on the other hand, thought of things in black and white and anything tainted with the blood of a monster must be a monster in and of itself. And Lucifer was a monster, you heard the stories.

You wanted to be like Bobby, not your bio-dad and you wanted Dean to keep loving you. Which you weren’t entirely sure was possible if you told him that you were a nephilim. Until recently you had been questioning it yourself but you couldn’t ignore the weirdness surrounding you anymore or the dreams you’d been having of a man with glowing red eyes, a raspy voice calling out to you. You always woke up in a cold sweat and now you were thinking they might be more than just dreams. Maybe if you’d said something Bobby could help you make them stop.

You started up your motorcycle and pulled on your helmet, glancing back at the parlour one last time and watching as the blonde boy walked down the steps. He still had a smile on his face when his blue eyes met yours and he raised his hand to wave. Then he started walking towards you and you didn’t stick around to find out what he wanted. You weren’t in the mood to be hit on, although you didn’t get that vibe from him. He had more of an innocence about him. You still weren't in the mood.

You must’ve drove past the laneway to your house six times before you decided you couldn’t face your father or everyone else who had congregated there for your birthday dinner. Bobby had bragged about you finally getting your anti-possession tattoo and becoming a real hunter and what if someone asked to see it? How could you explain that?

You went to the one quiet place where you could always think. The graveyard on the west side of town. You didn’t know anyone there but you felt it was nice if someone visited them from time to time. You were always respectful and you liked to sit on the bench at the back between the overgrown trees. The spot was hidden from the road and you could hear the resident owl from time to time.

It was late now and well past six, when dinner was supposed to be ready. Bobby would likely be fuming or worried as hell, probably both. On the brightside, Dean would be with him and everyone else so Bobby would have no reason to blame him or shoot him. Except it was possible he still might try.

You checked your phone to find too many messages from both Bobby and Dean, all asking where you were and when you were getting back. One more recent one asking if you were in trouble. You typed off an ‘I’m fine’ when you heard the leaves crunch under the weight of a sneaker.

You whipped your head around to find the blonde boy from the tattoo parlour peeking out from behind the trunk of a tree. He smiled brightly as he slowly approached you, waving again and if you were about to make a run for it, you no longer felt the need.

“Hello, I’m Jack. I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. This is my first time..." he paused, seemingly struggling to find the word, "-talking." He grinned again.

“O-okay.”

Did he just break some sort of oath-of-silence or something?

You were still skeptical even if you weren’t scared. He wasn’t all that big, kinda skinny, you could take him in a fight if you had to.

“Are you following me?” You asked, he smiled and nodded like he didn’t understand how creepy it was to admit to following someone. “Why, -the fuck?” You almost laughed, it was so awkward, but you settled for a single puff of air. “How’d you find me?”

"I've been looking for you, I’ve been wanting to meet you, you're not easy to find, I can only sense you some of the time -This place is nice." He glanced around, it was hardly the word you would use to describe a graveyard but what-the-hay there were stranger things at foot, “You seem troubled. Can I help?"

"Um, no? I'm just a bit confused. You ‘sensed’ me?" You asked, squinting your eyes up at him.

"You put off an energy when you're stressed and I could tell you needed me. It smells like... sour strawberries -Are strawberries good?" He asked and tilted his head. Dude was weird, but probably harmless.

“Um, yeah, when they have chocolate on them, otherwise they make my tongue feel funny.” You shrugged, Dean had bought you chocolate covered strawberries for Valentine’s day, almost made it worth the itchy throat. “Why do you think I need you? I don't need you, I don't even know you.”

“We have more in common than you think.” He alluded and you wanted to wipe that smirk off his face as he stood there.

“I’m getting impatient, Jack, and you won’t like me when I’m impatient.” You quipped and he tilted his head in confusion. Dean was rubbing off on you, after all those hours watching ‘classic’ movies with him. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you feel so familiar?” That was the feeling you were picking up from him, a closeness; you finally figured it out.

“I’m your brother.”

Your face blanched, “The only person I’d consider a brother is Sammy -even if it is a little awkward since I am dating his actual brother- but we’re not related, we just grew up together, sort of... our dad’s knew each other and we hung out… quite a bit actually but that’s not the point. I don’t have blood relatives, up here, anyway.”

“But we have one in common, down there." Jack pointed as he laughed and sat down beside you.

You scooched over to the end of the bench, "So... Your father...?"

"Is Lucifer, yes, and so is yours." He said.

Did he always smile? He seemed too cheery to be a descendant of the Devil himself. At least you had the decency to be unbearably irritable once a month.

"Prove it," you smirked back snidely. Yup, too much time around Dean.

"Okay," he pulled a long silver blade from his jacket, one you knew as an angel blade and levitated it in the air. He moved his fingers and the blade mimicked his motions. "Pretty cool, huh?"

You nodded and remembered the pencil; could you do something like that someday? Maybe you had to focus more or less, he didn't seem to put much effort into it.

"Do you want to try?" He asked, grabbing the blade from mid air and handing it over to you. "It's easy, just focus on what you want it to do and make it happen."

You focused on the blade in your hands and squinted your eyes, picturing it spinning in a circle like a top. You almost burst a blood vessel in your eye before you huffed and gave up, "It's no use! I can't do it."

"You're just trying too hard. We can work on it," he smiled again and you handed him back the blade.

Jack wasn't a threat, somehow you just knew, but how long was he planning on staying? And if he stayed you'd have to explain yourself and him to Bobby, that wasn't something you were looking forward to.

"Do you have any tattoos?" You asked.

"No, should I?" He asked, his smile fell and he looked worried for a moment as if you wouldn't like him if he didn't.

"I tried to get one, twice now, but it keeps healing." You pulled open your flannel a little to touch the skin where the tattoo should've been. "Kinda sucks, you know? I've been injured on hunts before and I have scars, so it doesn't make any sense to me. Why now?"

"Maybe..." he thought and tucked the blade back into his jacket, "Your powers are only developing now because you grew up slowly. You had a normal adolescence."

"I'd hardly call my childhood normal," you rolled your eyes. You were raised as a hunter and Bobby took you out for target practice every Sunday and when John and the boys were in town, you would have to participate in sparring and weapons training, all before you could read. And when you could read, lore was added to your studies along with your typical -normal school work. "How come you have your powers already then? You're about my age."

"I had to grow up faster than you, there are things -people here that want to hurt me and I needed them to protect myself." He explained, “That’s probably why yours are just showing up, your body feels it too.”

“Feels what?”

“Our father, his return.”

“Bio-dad, Lucifer?” You huffed, “Uh-yeah, I don’t think so. My surrogate dad sealed him in a cage eighteen years ago with the late-great John Winchester, you might’ve heard of him? Trust me, dude, we’re safe.”

“You can’t feel him? Maybe I can help you along,” Jack reached out to touch your forehead with two fingers and before you could push his hand away your body was flooded with images, feelings, light, dark, energy -it was too much and you pulled away, trying to catch your breath and blink away the numbing headache.

You gulped and met his blue eyes, “How are you only a day old?!”

Not only had he transferred everything he felt to you but also every memory he ever had, tracing back to even when they were just feelings in the womb of his mother. You didn’t remember any of the same stuff from your own life. How could you be the same but totally different? You were stressed beyond belief, your mind racing a mile a minute and that’s when you noticed the pulsing light coming from your palms.

“Um, Jack,” you said, inspecting your palms and turning them to face him as the light got brighter and pulsed more frequently with every heavy heartbeat. “What’s happening to me?”

“I helped you find your powers, they were -uh… hidden. I just pulled them to the surface so now you can access them.” He smiled and you gaped as a single pulse of light left your palms, hitting Jack like a force field and knocking him off the bench. He landed a good ten metres away but shook it off and stood back up, “-Ouch.”

Voices filled your mind as if multiple people were whispering in your ears all at once and they kept getting louder and louder until all you heard was a blaring hiss as if a radio was in the midst of tuning. You fell off the bench, clutching your ears with your hands, squeezing your eyes shut as if it would help.

You screamed over the noise though you couldn’t hear yourself, “Jack! Jack!”

You felt his hands rest over yours and a moment later the noise faded away. You sighed and blinked open your eyes. Your ears felt as if they were bleeding and you touched them to check.

“What the balls was that?” You asked, catching your breath.

“Angel radio, I forgot to warn you it can be overwhelming but you’ll get the hang of it. It gets easier to tune out with practice.” Jack said, helping you to your feet.

“I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“All I really heard was buzzing, will I be able to understand them? When I get the hang of it.” You could hardly believe this was your life now, hearing angelic voices in your head and pulsing shockwaves from your palms.

“Yes,” he nodded, “The pain will always be there though.”

“What were they saying?” You asked, noticing the dirt on your jeans and brushing off your knees.

“It was a distress signal about Lucifer.” Jack explained, brushing some crumpled bits of dried leaves from your shoulder.

You heard someone approach, heavy on their heels, “Get away from her!” Dean yelled with his gun drawn, eyeing Jack like he was ready to kill.

But you didn’t want him to hurt Jack, your little brother, “Dean, No!” You spun around and held up a hand. You didn’t mean to release another shockwave and it sent Dean flying into the tree behind him. He hit it back first and slumped to the ground, unconscious. “DEAN!”

You ran to him and cradled him in your arms, pulling his head to your chest. Tears welled in your eyes and dripped onto his cheeks as you curled over him and rocked back and forth. You didn’t know if it was your new powers but you could tell he wasn’t okay. He hit his head hard and you didn’t even know if he’d wake back up.

“Stay right there, boy.” You heard your father’s voice warn Jack as he approached you.

“Daddy?” You sobbed.

“It’s okay, pumpkin, he’s gonna be okay.” Bobby crouched next to you and inspected Dean’s head. His hand was covered in blood when he touched the back of it. He frowned and scrubbed the other palm over his scruff, “Oh, balls! Hang on, Dean.”

“Y/N,” Jack risked a step forward even with Bobby’s gun still trained on him. “I can help him. I’ve done it before.”

He had, hadn’t he? A single memory of Jack healing his birth mom while still in her womb came to mind. He wasn’t lying. You nodded and put your hand on Bobby’s gun to lower it. You weren’t even sure at this point if a bullet could even hurt him... or you anymore. Now that you feel more angelic than human.

Jack knelt next to Dean and laid a hand on his head. His fingers glowed a warm gold, the same colour as his irises and you felt Dean’s body react; his heart stabilizing with stronger beats and his breathing evening out until he began to stir. You watched intently as his green eyes fluttered open and you wiped away your tears, then dried his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Are you okay?” You whispered when he locked eyes with you.

He stared up at you, registering all that just happened and then a shot rang through your ears. Dean sat up and pushed away from you, his gun smoking in his hand and you looked down at your chest. Where he shot you.

“Idjit! What did you do?!” Bobby yelled at Dean and tried to inspect your wound. It actually didn’t hurt all that much and when you opened your shirt, the same golden glow you’d seen moments ago healed the wound until it was as if it was never there.

“That’s not Y/N! What are you, you bitch?! What did you do with her?!” Dean shouted, raising his gun again. "I swear if you hurt her-"

“Boy, you better put that gun down if you wanna see your next birthday.” Bobby warned and Dean glanced between you both, noting that he was the one out of the loop. He lowered the gun but kept it ready on his thigh and felt the back of his head curiously. “I was wonderin’ when those nephilim powers of yours would kick in, the only question I got is... Who in the holy balls is this guy?” Bobby asked, nudging his head towards Jack.

You always loved how he could incorporate balls into any sentence whether it fit or not and you guessed you did it too; you were your father’s daughter after all.

“He’s -um, my brother. Half-brother.” You said and glanced back at Jack who smiled and held a hand up as if to shake your father’s. Bobby didn’t reciprocate though and you added, “On my bio-dad’s side, obviously.”

It was well known that a human mother couldn't survive the birth of a nephilim child. Your note was more to tip off Bobby to shut up in front of Dean about it. Not that Bobby took the hint since he probably felt the cat was out of the bag anyways.

“So, good-old Lucy got sprung from the cage, eh? I figured that would happen eventually -was hoping for more time though.” Bobby grunted and fixed his cap like he did when he was unnerved and not wanting to show it.

“Am I the only one who doesn’t have a fucking clue what in the hell is going on? Y/N?!” Dean huffed and furrowed his brow.

“I -um,” you didn’t know how to explain. “I -um, I’m adopted. Surprise.”

“You’re Lucifer’s daughter?” Dean asked, catching on quickly.

The light in his eyes dimmed at the idea and you knew you needed to correct him and fast.

"No! No, I am Bobby’s daughter and I suppose... a by-product of Lucifer’s sperm donation.”

Dean nodded, then cringed. "That’s kind of gross.”

“I’m still me, Dean, the girl you’re in love with but won’t ever admit it to.” You said, hoping for him to see you the same way he did before. “I’m the same girl.”

“No, you’re not. Your eyes are different.” He stared hard like he was trying to see past something.

You looked to Bobby as if he had the answers, “Your eyes are glowing, pumpkin.”

You imagined your reflection with the eyes you’d seen Jack wear when his powers filtered through him. Then you felt it, the difference, you weren’t in control of them yet, they manifested with the waves in your emotions. It was extremely hard to control.

“Jack, how do I make it stop?” You asked and squeezed your eyes shut.

“Take a deep breath and let it go.” Jack said.

You didn’t think it could really be that fucking easy, but gave it a try. When you opened your eyes again you could feel the light dimming and then extinguish. You were exhausted.

“I wanna go home.” You looked to your father and he nodded. Jack’s smile seemed to turn upside down and you added, “Can Jack come too?”

“Might as well, party’s cleared out anyhow.” Bobby stood up and eyed Jack, sizing him up. You could tell your father didn’t trust him yet, but you knew Jack was good, you could feel it.

“Sorry I missed the party.” You stood up and hugged Bobby.

“Don’t worry about it, pumpkin.” He patted your back and ruffled up your hair when you broke the hug. You frowned and tried to tuck the loose strands of hair back into your braid. “We should get outta here before-”

You heard what could only be described as a rush of feathers before a bald man in a suit appeared before you, "Hello, Robert.”

“It’s Bobby, jackass.”

There was another louder rush and two others appeared next to him. One of them oddly wore a trench-coat over his suit. You knew instantly that these men were angels. You could see their halos shine brightly above their heads. A side effect of finally getting your nephilim powers you assumed. In all your time hunting you hadn't come across any angels, you never wanted to either based off of the stories Bobby and other hunters told you.

"Zachariah," Bobby said, nodding at the bald angel before him, then the other in the tight suit, "Uriel... long time, no see."

You knew from your studies that Uriel was an archangel, by far more powerful than the others, even if he seemed to let Zachariah take charge at the moment.

“I thought we had an understanding." Zachariah continued, "If the nephilim child showed any signs of getting her powers you were supposed to contact me, right away."  

“Like you wouldn’t have known, don’t you have some sort of angelic radar? As soon as the kid showed any signs of grace you'd feel it. That’s why you’re here isn’t it.” Bobby snapped back at the man, or angel wearing some poor sap as a meat-suit like a demon would.

“Precisely, which is why we wanted to avoid an event large enough to attract our attention. She hurt the boy, didn't she? That could've been avoided. She is an abomination and she will offset the order of the universe, given the time; there’s only one way to deal with this sort of thing... Castiel.”

The angel wearing the trench-coat stepped forward with a stoic face as if he was about to carry out some unspoken order. Like a good little soldier of heaven. An angel blade dropped into his hand from his shirtsleeve and he advanced towards you. You stumbled back and Jack grabbed your hand and puffed out his chest. Castiel stopped in his tracks just as both your eyes began to glow.

“That can’t be.” Castiel said as he backed off. He glanced back at Zachariah and then disappeared with a flutter of his wings. At least he knew when he was outranked.

The others however, Zachariah and Uriel, did not retreat and advanced upon you. Each with their own angel blade in hand. You and Jack channeled your powers together and raised your hands. You released a joint shockwave that blew them apart to mere atoms which floated away in the wind like snowflakes on a cold winter day. Your power alone was great, but together it was unmatched.

There would be no issues destroying or caging Lucifer when the time came for it. But you would have to find him first. Or maybe he would find you now that your powers had emerged. Apparently it sent up a pretty big blip on the angelic radar or whatever Bobby called it and Lucifer was probably still connected to that, right? Or at least had some sort of version of it.

"Holy hell,” Bobby cursed, “Come on, Y/N, we best be getting home before someone or something else comes looking for them or who did that to 'em."

You let your father lead the way to his truck and towed Jack along with you. Meanwhile Dean trailed behind keeping a watchful eye on your new found brother. All the while not saying much.

He didn't say anything actually, not even when you remembered your motorcycle. He just took the keys from you so you could drive back with your family. Or maybe he just didn't want to be squished into the cab of that old Ford with a being more powerful than an archangel -that was born yesterday- and your father. Bobby was super protective of you, and Dean and his relationship was strained because of that. It was a miracle they drove here together without someone getting shot now that you thought of it.

And Dean's silent treatment continued for days longer than any fight you'd had with him since you had gotten together. You didn't even know if you were still together anymore. So to say you were surprised to see him show up when Bobby and Jack went out on a day trip for some bonding, was an understatement.

"Hiya, sweetheart." Dean said, standing in the front doorway and glancing behind you, his eyes searching the space. "Bobby out?" He asked, you nodded, "How 'bout your -uh... b-brother?"

"You mean Jack?" You asked, he'd probably just forgotten his name. Dean gave you a soft smile and nodded twice, "Yeah, s'just me home. Why, you come to snuff out the monsters? One abomination at a time?"

Dean pushed his brows together and frowned down at you. "Listen, girly-"

"Girly?!-"

"Y/N," Dean pleaded, slipping your name off his tongue with his hands held up as if to pose no threat. "I know Bobby said you needed time and you didn't wanna talk to me, but I just gotta get this off my chest and then I'm gone, okay? Can you just listen? Please."

That wasn't true. Bobby lied. But you motioned for him to continue anyways.

"I was pissed at you. For not telling me, not trusting me. You were there for me when my father-" Dean choked up and cleared his throat. His eyes watered as he searched for the right words to say, "I just -I didn't understand why you didn't want me there for you, so I blamed you. But then I thought about it, really thought about it and it's no wonder you couldn't trust me, hell, why would you? All I've ever done is maim and kill-"

You'd heard enough, "Dean, I trust you! Nothing's ever going to change that and I didn't tell my dad to tell you shit. You just looked so hurt, I didn't know how to reach out and thought maybe you didn't want me to." You chewed on your lip before you decided to swallow your embarrassment and rolled your eyes at yourself, "Fuck it, I love you." It was the first time either of you said that out loud, "And I know at one point you felt the same about me and I guess, I'm just hoping that's still the case?"

Dean gave a delicate nod and shrug of his shoulders, "You'll always belong with me, Y/N." He confessed and stepped forward to wrap his arms around you. You let him and he pressed his forehead to yours. "And I care about you, too."

It hurt a little that he didn't say it back, but that was close enough for you. Dean wasn't touchy-feely in the case of emotions and you didn't need to make him say it. You felt it in the way he clutched you to him and you sunk into his embrace.

Dean pressed a hard kiss to your temple and another open lipped kiss to your cheek. You felt the heat of his breath on your lips before his mouth molded to yours and your tongues touched. His movements were slow and passionate and when his fingertips touched that ticklish spot on your neck you giggled into the kiss.

He felt like coming home; safety and warmth in his arms. Even if you didn't need protecting anymore, it was nice. It was the first time in days you let yourself relax and it seemed like you weren't the only one.

Dean pulled away to let you catch your breath and you slowly blinked open your eyes to meet his. He let out a breathy chuckle and his forehead fell to yours again, his eyes admiring yours with an amused grin on his face.

"Your eyes are glowing," he breathed and sucked on his bottom lip. "You are so damn beautiful.” And he brushed the hair from your face. “You’re everything to me.” You felt his eyelashes brush your cheek and his hand sink from your lower back to grip your butt cheek. "You’re my everything.”

Your cheeks instantly hurt from smiling so bright at his words.

His other hand met on your backside and you squealed when he squeezed hard enough to bruise, but only for a second. Dean chuckled, slapped your butt and kissed you again. And you got lost in it.

Until the backdoor slammed shut, “Boy, get your damn hands off my daughter!" Bobby commanded as he set the cooler he was carrying on top of the counter.

Jack followed in behind him and smiled at Dean with a small wave.

Dean stopped kissing you and raised his hands as he stepped away from you. He was grinning wildly and biting his lip, his eyes roaming your body like they always did before they held your gaze.

You so easily fell back into the way things were before with him and this was the good part. The part where you could speak novels with a wink of an eye. It was like a language only the two of you could speak and he was saying 'I still love you, so damn much'.

Your father cleared his throat and you rolled your eyes, "Dad, I thought you said you were taking Jack fishing? Shouldn't that take a couple more hours?"

"Not a chance, pumpkin." Bobby side-eyed Dean, "Besides, kid, already caught a week's worth. He's a natural." He boasted, coming around to Jack much faster than you expected him to.

"I'm a natural," Jack repeated and beamed with a little tilt of his head. He bounced on his heels, twice, he was so excited.

You groaned and shook your head, "I'm surrounded by dorks."

"What's a dork?" Jack asked and furrowed his brow.

Dean answered, "A little brother."

_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28

Forever SPN: @hobby27​

Tell Me a Story Bingo: @princessvader15

[niki-phoria]

Hello! Me again if you write fallen angel aesthetic on pinterest you can find it. Ty again <3

pairing: chishiya x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff (??) word count: 1.3k

summary: playing tag with chishiya

warnings: slightly ooc chishiya, canon typical violence, probably not canon complaint, i've written tag so many times and i'm never consistent with it lmao, mentions of blood/death, not really romance (??) he holds your hand at the end idk

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i hope you like it :))

additional note: tbh i still don't really know what that means ?? pinterest just has pics of the wong kar wai movie (great film btw go watch it) and i couldn't figure out how to incorporate that but i remember your first ask having something about dark humor (at least i hope it did) so i tried to add that in but idk how well it comes across

requests open !! read my rules first

the night air is cold as you lean back against the wall next to chishiya. you can faintly hear the music playing from his earbuds. he keeps his head low, hood pulled fully over this face as he silently observes the other players around you. 

you lean over to nudge him, making him take an earbud out. “give me one.” chishiya raises an eyebrow at you, slowly handing you the left side of his headphone. “i want a cool soundtrack playing in the background while i die.” 

you can see the nervous looks from the other players though you ignore them as two more men walk up to the table. they each silently grab a phone, signing in before stepping aside next to the staircase. “excuse me,” a man approaches them. he’s wearing a blue t-shirt underneath a blue flannel shirt. he holds his phone in his hands, anxiously looking down at it before back up at the men. “could you help me? i don’t know what’s going on.” 

“you have a visa, on the phone,” one of the men begins. his dark, shaggy hair is nearly blocking his eyes. he’s wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a light blue jacket. “you have to win the games to earn more visa days.” 

next to him, his friend harshly elbows his side. “are you crazy?” his hair is bleached blonde, though it looks brassy in the dim lighting. “we don’t know him.” 

his friend’s eyes widen before he slinks back to his side. the man who asked for their help nervously looks around before an announcement begins. “registration closed. game: tag. difficulty: five of spades. rules: find the button in a safe zone within the time limit while avoiding a tagger. game clear: a player presses the button in the safe zone. game over: the time limit is reached or the tagger eliminates all players. the tagger will begin moving in five minutes.”

you push up off of the wall, handing the earbud back to chishiya. he takes it, shoving his makeshift taser into his pocket. “let the fun begin,” you murmur.

you follow chishiya to the elevator, getting off on the ninth floor. he leans over the balcony edge, staring down at the other players. “we can see everyone from up here.” 

you look over the edge, watching as they nervously look around. “they all look like they’re about to die.” 

“as usual.” chishiya hums. 

at first, time passes somewhat uneventfully. the tagger is wearing a horse mask to cover their head and face. their footsteps are heavy as they make their way through the various hallways in the apartment building, shooting at anyone they see along the way.

a woman in a pink tank top jumps down onto a balcony before pushing her body up over the edge. “a climber,” chishiya murmurs. “interesting.” 

two women stand in the middle of a hallway. the tagger raises their gun to aim when they see them. the climber is quick to jump back down onto a lower floor before hoisting her body over the edge and hiding behind the wall of the building. 

gunfire sprays at the two women she left behind. one of them falls to the floor immediately. her friend drops to her knees beside her, shaking her lifeless body. she sobs, standing back up. “i’ll kill you!” the tagger doesn’t react, instead shooting at her again. she also falls next to her friend in a pool of blood. 

“at least the tagger is a bad shot.” you mumble. 

“we can use that to our advantage.” chishiya says. you hum. 

the tagger looks down over the edge of the balcony in a pitiful attempt to look for the woman. across the building, the man in blue you saw at the beginning of the game pulls at a door. the tagger raises their gun up over the edge and fires repeatedly at him. he crouches down, hiding behind the balcony. 

another man crawls over to him, helping him up and forcing him to run behind the wall. the tagger stops firing at them almost immediately. “that must be where the safe room is.” chishiya observes. 

the tagger continues moving through the building, going down into the stairwell. for a few minutes, the only things that can be heard are the gunshots that echo throughout the building. you watch as the same man wearing a blue jacket who saved someone earlier runs through the hallway, frantically pulling at the handles of locked apartment doors. he stops, leaning over the edge of the balcony. “we can win this if we work together!” he pleads. “no one else has to die! help me win the game!” 

“it’s a good idea,” chishiya sighs. “too bad it’ll never work. not here.” 

the man continues frantically pulling at the doors. next to you, chishiya stands up so he’s not leaning against the balcony. he pushes the hood off of his head. “that should be long enough.” 

you silently follow after him as you make your way down the stairwells to the fourth floor. the man in blue pulls on one of the handles, nearly flinching back when the door actually opens. he rushes into the room, quickly followed by the tagger. 

gunshots ring out, a spray hitting the door and wall around the room. chishiya pulls the door closed, holding it shut. you lean against the wall next to him. you can hear grunts from inside of the room before the man yells out again. “there are two buttons!” you let out a bitter laugh. 

“seriously?” chishiya mumbles. he cracks the door open, letting you see inside of the room. the gun is on the floor, away from both the man and the tagger. 

a woman hoists herself up over the edge of the window, leaning in. “you called?” she pants. 

“hey!” chishiya slides the taser across the floor to her. she wrestles the tagger to the ground, pressing the taser against their side. jolts run through their body as the convulse, falling to the ground. 

the man clambers to his feet, pointing up. “the button!” 

the woman gasps, launching herself at the button on the left side. the man does the same to the right, pressing it simultaneously as her. you stand, following chishiya into the room. they lay on the floor, panting. the timer on the wall shines bright. “00:01.” 

the man lets out a sigh of relief, laying his head down on the ground. the tagger sits up against the corner. their horse mask has been knocked off, revealing their face - a woman. her hair has been tied back into a ponytail behind her. she’s wearing a collar around her neck. 

desperately, she pitifully pulls at the collar. it beeps before exploding, coating the walls and floor in red. you grimace, looking down at yourself. your jacket is covered in blood, stained from her death. “damn,” you sigh. “i really liked this one.” 

the woman is the first to leave, disappearing out of the window the same way she arrived. the man stares at her body in horror for a few minutes before he rushes out of the room. chishiya kneels down next to her body, searching through the various pockets of her suit. you step away from the pool of blood, trying to clean it from the bottom of your shoes. 

“huh,” he mumbles. 

“what is it?” chishiya holds up a small piece of paper. you lean over his shoulder to see it better. drawn in black ink is a circle with various lines running through it. 

“at least we’re not leaving with nothing.” you murmur. 

“let’s get back to the beach,” chishiya stands, subtly reaching over to grab your hand. he shoves the paper into his pocket, leading you out of the room. “it must be important. now, we just need to figure out why.” 

[idesofrevolution]

These Boots Are Made for Rockin’

Cory took a deep breath as he turned the corner, eyes tightly shut. Passersby likely stared with aloof confusion, but he didn’t care. This was the moment he’d dreamed of for almost fifteen years. Broadway, Nashville: the dream strip of country music nightclubs, southern apparel, moonshine, whiskey, and instruments. The gentle hum of twangy ballads tickled his ears, played by talented singers in the honky tonks along the street. It was now home. And as he opened his eyes, that dream was now reality.

The street was bustling, even in midday. Tourists, buskers, musicians, and surely a few stars strolled past entranced in their own worlds they’d taken for granted. It took everything for Cory to get here- or rather it had cost him everything. Not that he minded. The move, to him, represented the beginning of the life he’d always dreamed he would lead: becoming the man he fantasized in his head. With his first steps, they were the first steps toward that goal.

Walking slowly, he made his way down Broadway, aimlessly enjoying the ambience and palpable culture. Not that he was oblivious to his surroundings; this was his reconnaissance mission for today. Looking for prospects, opportunities, or a cheap souvenir for his new apartment. The latter became his focus, as there on the corner sat a clothing store. His first intention after all was to fit into the community, so dressing the part was the primary objective. As he walked up to the front doors, pulling the door open, the scent of leather, cedar, and smokiness flowed out of the open door. He took a deep breath, entering the wide open store. The two story atrium was filled with racks of denim, flannel, and rhinestones for the more flamboyant of folks. This was heaven. Surely he’d be able to find the authentic Nashville look here.

Pushing past rows of bootcut jeans and plaid button ups, suspenders and denim jackets, he stumbled upon the footwear department. Shelves wall to wall, filled with the freshest and most pristine of cowboy boots. Each gave such a different vibe. One pair had intricate embroidered designs up and down the tall funnel of the boot, another was fastened with harnesses upon thick rubber treads. Finding the right pair would be quite the task, as he stared nervously down the long aisles.

“You need some help, friend?” Cory spun around, startled at the sultry low voice from over his shoulder. Standing behind him was an employee, and the precise man he’d want to emulate. Muscled below his tight button up shirt, messy hair below a leather Stetson hat, tight bootcut jeans of heavy denim and topped off with a pair big well worn cowboy boots. He oozed a sense of stereotypical Southern Masculinity, stoic and unfazed by the world around him. “You lookin’ for a pair? I can help you find one if you like?” His twangy accent paired with a deep, low timbre nearly made Cory breathless for a moment.

“Uh, yeah. What’s the price range here?” The man raised a confused eyebrow at Cory, until it was clear on his face that he was helping an ‘out of towner.’

“Well, most boots like these go for a few hundred at least. That’s mostly what we carry.” The man put his massive boot onto the seat next to them, worn heavily but precisely what the doe eyed customer was looking for. He clutched at the wallet in his pocket- knowing full well that a few hundred was far outside his budget. Immediately taking notice of the flushing of Cory’s face, the man smiled. “Here, I think I have just the pair for you.” A glimmer of hope. Walking toward the back of the store, past the elaborate embroidered boots and jean jackets, the duo came across the clearance section.

“So these are our vintage pairs. They’re recycled… kinda. So since a lot of them were pre owned they tend to be a lot less than our newer models.” As he looked up and down the racks, finally the man stopped and pointed to the very last pair on the wooden shelf. They were clearly well loved by their previous owner, the glimmer and luster of any shine on the brown leather had long since been washed away with heavy use. The tips were scuffed, the heel and soles were annihilated… but for whatever reason, they seemed to beckon out to Cory. “My guess is they’re gonna be a bit big on you, but no harm in seeing if you like em! Give ‘em a try and I’ll be back to check in on you.”

The associate walked away, the click clack of the Cuban heel of his boots would soon mirror his own footfalls. Gingerly grabbing the left boot, he pryed the boot open a bit more, seeing the size marked US 14. That was almost twice his own shoe size. Taking a deep breath, he was prepared to let out a sigh of defeat… perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. That is, until the subtle scent hit his nostrils. It started as just the slightest hint of old leather, perhaps a smidgeon of tobacco… but just that little whiff was enough to encapsulate Cory. Looking around to ensure that no wayward glances would catch him, he brought the boot to his face, closed his eyes, and inhaled.

What was subtle from a short distance quickly turned strong as he took in the scent from the source. Hidden beneath that candle like quality was the unmistakable odor of foot musk. His eyes clamped shut, Cory envisioned in his mind’s eye what the original owner of these books would look like… some southern stud, handsome and rugged, a confident swagger in each step: the man he was destined to become. He opened his eyes and plopped down onto the small bench, removing his cheap Walmart sneakers and eagerly slipping his foot into the boot.

Unsurprisingly, his feet were minuscule in comparison to their cavernous confines. They certainly did not fit. Yet, looking down at his feet within them, the electrifying power he felt from simply sporting them, the idea of his own feet soaking up some of that incredible smell… it was a done deal. He’d stuff some cotton in the toes to help them fit, never mind the appearance to any objective bystander that they were clown shoes on this lanky dudes feet. Preparing to walk to the checkout counter to finalize the purchase, he tugged on the soles to pry them from his feet. They would not budge. Confused, he yanked a bit harder at the heel… no dice. His feet were so small compared to these boats… how could they be stuck?

His body began to ache, as if he’d run a marathon just a moment before, his breath became bated and shallow, his legs wobbly and unstable. A wave of incomparable exhaustion crashed over him like he’d never before experienced. A small moan escaped from his mouth as he felt his feet begin to spasm within the boots. Quiet cracking sounds began to emit from within them. Cory began to panic, feeling his toes slowly move to fill out the entirety of the boot. Gasping and groaning at the dull but pulsating pain, the sensations began to climb further up his legs. He watched in horror as his ankles slowly crept out of the bottom of his jeans, the firm material slowly growing tighter and tighter as his calves and thighs swelled and grew beneath it.

His core and chest became seized by a tightness he could compare only to a heart attack, watching his shirt slowly compress against the increasing size of his lean abdomen. The sounds of snapping stitches and ripping fabric echoed in his ears, nearly drowned out by the hastening beats of his heart growing stronger and louder. His arms convulsed, stretching and contorting into impossible angles at the joints, while pinpricks of black slowly began to rise from beneath the skin.

In his mind, Cory imagined himself in a sort of medieval stretching machine he’d read about in his studies years before. Every part of his body was being pulled outward, downward, side to side… while it was painful and incredibly difficult to endure, within the recesses of his subconscious, the dulcet, twangy sound of plucked guitar strings began to overtake him. The sound soothed him in a desperately needed respite from the cracks and creaks emanating from his bones. The music grew in intensity, the guitar growing in crescendo and tempo. It was becoming a comfort, a release, a passion… while it soothed his mind, his body was finally nearing its final state of metamorphosis. The formerly strained, constricting fabric of his cheap clothes began to loosen and change. His shirt turned dark; the sleeves had retracted into a comfortable tee shirt, casual but striking. His jeans stretched downward, the pristine denim flaring out into a bootcut style, flattering his long, toned legs.

Cory couldn’t help but mimic the struts with his calloused fingers, expertly performing the riffs as if his Stratocaster was in his hands. His head began to sway and crest to the beat of the song in his mind, letting his lengthening hair gently caress the side of his face and beard as he played. All thoughts exited his brain. The music had overtaken him. The need to rock. The need to perform. The need to write his soul in musical form became his only goal, while the remnants of who he once was slowly drifted away.

….

The employee strutted back to the clearance section, wondering if the strange little guy had made his decision. He’d been back there for quite some time, and the boss lady reiterated the “no loitering policy” to him once again. Turning the corner, he was surprised. Who stood before him was clearly not who he’d helped before. The tall, toned, bearded stud confidently posed in front of the mirror in the worn boots he’d shown the prior customer. Guess he wasn’t interested after all.

“They sure are beauties. Hard to find someone who fit them, they’ve been here quite some time.” The man turned, a smoldering grin shellacked upon his face.

“Yeah, man. I’ve been needin’ a new pair. These are perfect.” His twangy southern drawl tickled the associate’s ear. The customer turned to him, that bright, confident smile beaming as he looked him up and down. “Hey. I got a gig after this down the street if you’re not doing anything after your shift. I’ll get you the first round?” He suavely slid closer to the associate, the salty sweet scent of tobacco and masculine sweat wafted from his inked skin. How could he say no? Smiling, he tossed his arm around the associates shoulder. “Maybe afterward we could stop by my place, if you’re interested.” Winking, he strutted toward checkout. The associate blushed, catching his breath. Most definitely he’d be taking him up on that offer.