#Paper Core Cutting Machine

[oldmenthusiast]

18+ content mdni

bookshop owner!joel miller x fem plus size reader

warnings: smut, age gap, tension, reader is in her 20s and joel in his 50s, semi public sex, reader wears glasses, not proofread

it takes many job interviews for joel to hire someone until he finds you. you're not the first young thing to apply for the job, not the most qualified either but joel likes how modest you are.

he also likes the way you avoid his gaze if he stares too long, or how you keep pushing your glasses every time they slide down your nose.

those aren't the only things he notices about you because he's become very observant due to his age; it definitely doesn't have to do with some strange infatuation over you, no.

when your hands firmly pull your sundress down if it's too windy, when you smack your own forehead if you mix up the order of the books before switching them again. joel notices that too but it doesn't necessarily mean anything.

“I’ve taken care of the online orders, mister miller.” you inform him as sweet as ever and joel’s crooked smile appears on instinct.

“thank you, sweetheart. you know how people my age are with those machines.”

you're kind enough to shake your head at his response.

“I think you're doing great,sir.” you tell him and it warms his cold heart to the core.

“go home, sugar. I'll close up soon.” he mutters with the same half smile and watches you go but not without wishing him a good day.

during peak season, the bookshop gets naturally busy but to the point where joel and you have to stay overtime.

he doesn't ask it of you but you insist.

“I can't let you do all that by yourself.” you mutter with a faint pout that he wants to kiss away.

“can’t pay you for overtime,sugar—”

“just let me do this for you,sir.” you cut him off and joel doesn't argue further.

that's how his following nights go. you sit together in the back of the store, tons of books and papers surrounding you as you work. you assist him with every single thing he needs and even if you lack knowledge in some parts, you learn it for him.

peak season ends, the bookshop is quiet and your shift ends but you somehow still sit at the back of the store instead of going home. joel sits across you while holding a bottle of beer in his hand.

“a girl your age should go out with friends and have fun, not rot in here with me.” joel tells you with a hint of amusement in his tone.

even if he's right, you do not agree.

“I like it here, it's peaceful..” you explain and as usual your gaze doesn't linger on his. you look away when joel doesn't and it makes the man smile.

“I like it too.” he mutters after a while and tips his head back to down the rest of his beer.

there's hidden intent behind his reply, or maybe just the feeling of wanting to say something more, but joel keeps quiet. whether you notice it or no, you don't say.

joel doesn't pride himself to be the best boss but at least he's a good enough one. that's what he tells himself when your most recent ex partner marches in his bookshop to cause a scene but joel sends him back with a bruised eye and some vulgar words.

it's probably the first time someone has stood up for you like that but it's more special because it comes from joel.

whether it's out of gratitude or suppressed emotions, joel thanks whatever high power has led him to the back of the store again with his body slumped on his chair and you straddling his lap.

“mister miller.” you moan as you sink down his cock, taking him inch by inch until you're fuller than ever.

his calloused hands wrap around your plush thighs and fondle the skin greedily, loving how it spills between his fingers. whatever you're not proud of, joel touches it like it's a treasure.

“I’m a man, not a boy.” he growls when you hesitate to move on him, afraid of crushing him beneath your weight. “fuck yourself on my cock, baby. come on.” one of his hands slaps your ass possessively and his words alone are good enough to give you the confidence that you lack.

once you start moving, it's over for him.

his thighs flex beneath your weight and his cock twitches within you as you ride him, taking him in so perfect.

“so good. my sweet girl. my favourite girl.” he whispers against your cheek and you melt while swaying your hips faster.

his hands clutch harder at your thighs as you bounce on his cock, buzzing with heat and need for more.

the sound of skin slapping, as well as the wet noises that emit with each slide of joel’s hardened cock inside your folds makes everything better. “so wet. you're coating my cock with it, sugar.” he says through gritted teeth as his fingers dig harder into the skin of your ass.

he slaps it once, then twice.

“mister miller!” you cry out when a particularly hard thrust is delivered straight into your sweet spot.

joel buries his face into your neck and grunts as your walls tighten around his cock, claiming his every inch. “so sensitive. bet your boyfriend didn't know how to fuck like this.” and he's probably right by the way your pussy drools and squeezes around him, sucking him in for more.

his lips find your neck and he marks it unapologetically, biting and sucking on whatever skin his mouth can reach.

when he pulls away and presses his back against the creaking chair he's graced by a sight better than any other.

joel watches you ride him, stares as your tits bounce before his face and your crooked glasses struggle to exist because of the force of his thrusts below you.

he definitely can't last long after that and he uses his strength to shove you on the table and tower over you. only then does he realize the pathetic state of your sundress, butchered up around your waist like it's a belt. he slides his cock inside you again and you whimper softly.

“knew you were made for me ever since you walked through that door.” joel growls while fondling your breasts with both hands, his mouth merely occupied with the tender skin on them.

your hands reach for him, gripping the back of his shirt as he fucks you. you're not used to being given things, only to give them yourself. and this much pleasure is overwhelming but it's good because it's joel giving it.

a particular shift of his hips helps him to slide deeper and the sensation causes you both to moan in unison.

“I won’t last, sweet girl.” he croaks between the space of your breasts while sucking one of your nipples into his mouth.

you can say the same as the stimulation brings you closer to the edge and your eyes can barely stay open at some point.

his hips follow a fast and intrusive pace, and every time joel’s hips collide against the back of your thighs it makes your skin jiggle. you feel embarrassed but not for long as joel drags his lips against yours.

“the prettiest girl. there's nothing better than you, sweetheart.” joel whispers and you kiss him before he does.

your mouths melt so perfectly, your noses brushing intimately, and if joel could bring you any closer he would.

“there.” you beg against his lips when the tip of his cock hits that perfect spot within you.

“here?” he asks teasingly and makes his thrusts purposely rougher. your legs shake around him and he does it again. and again. and again.

the bookshop is filled with your cries and begging. “i’m coming— I can't—” you mumble incoherently but joel gets it as he speeds it up.

you watch his hand disappear between your bodies and you don't question it until you feel that excellent brush of fingers against your clit, accompanied by his savage thrusts into your weeping pussy.

“joel.” his informal name falls off your lips so well and he has to remind himself to breath when you say it as you come around his cock with a cry.

it takes everything in him to not spill everything within you right there.

“where? where, baby?” he asks as he grounds his hips and hopes you'll get it.

“I'm on the pill.” you so graciously tell him while squeezing your thighs around his waist and joel nearly says thank you because of what a desperate bastard he is.

it only takes a few more thrusts for him to let go and come inside you, his hands abandoning your breasts to pull you down by your hips.

your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel every drop pour into you and fill you up. it briefly shocks you that he's still coming — he's still filling you up with his seed and groaning against you.

“there’s so much.” you mutter breathlessly as he nuzzles his face against yours. joel simply hums and uses one of his hands to caress the bare side of your hip, keeping you relaxed.

“we’re not opening tomorrow.” he tells you in his usual tone of authority.

“it’s thursday.” you tell him.

“good day to go out and eat,yeah?” joel pulls back enough to look at you and he stares at you knowingly. his words bring a smile to your lips, one that he wants to treasure forever.

you nod then, giving him your acceptance.

“yeah. it is a good day to eat out.” his hand moves from your hip to fix your crooked glasses with a fond expression. the glint in his eyes speaks louder than any sentence.

“maybe you should keep your calendar empty for this month. or year.” his words amuse you but you're aware that it's far from a joke — he isn't asking. your eyes regard him as gently as always and you smile that way just for him. “yes mister miller.”

he was glad to have hired you.

[moneypowerglorymiddleofmiami]

— trickentine જ⁀➴♡ ︎

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

summary: when eros, the god of love, makes the annual valentine visit to camp half-blood, he conveniently unintentionally leaves his bow and arrow in the capable hands of his younger half-sister.

warnings: nothing i think, except for like one curse word (pls do tell me if i miss any though!)

genre: ...romcom?

part 2

─── ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ───

The gods were many things: powerful at their core, benevolent to those who merit it, temperamental when goaded, and mysterious in their methods— but there was one trait that defined them most of all, incandescently littered in their tales and lores: they were tricksters.

You really should’ve known better than to pick up that stray quiver of arrows.

─── ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ───

The Aphrodite Cabin consistently made it a point to celebrate Valentine’s Day with much fanfare. Everyone has been busy the entire week preceding it; there were fresh roses to harvest, pink and red deserts to be made, hundreds of paper hearts to be cut, ribbons to be tied and acres to decorate. As one of the older siblings, a huge chunk of the responsibility fell on your shoulders. Needless to say, you spent an entire extra hour in the bathroom trying to put your concealer to good use.

A mere 10 minutes after leaving your cabin on V-Day, you’d managed to snap and glare at nearly everyone who even thought of intercepting your path.

Nearly everyone because you knew better than to direct your ire at the god of love.

“You didn’t even blend.” Eros said, perusing your make-up judgmentally. “Consider your favorite demigod sister card revoked.”

In his current human form, his hair was a deep shade of black and coiffed to perfection, his eyes a brown hue that you could only describe as melodramatic, and his skin beautifully tanned from frolicking in the sunlight.

Gods, how you missed to frolick in the sunlight. These days, you had to slave in it.

“Lord Eros.” You bowed, desperately fighting the urge to roll your eyes and purse your lips.

“I adore what you’ve done with the place.” He waved his hand off dismissively. He trudges ahead of you, officially beginning his annual Valentine inspection. “Although I definitely think it could use a little more sparkle. Perhaps a little more pink, too.”

‘Pink? For Valentines? Groundbreaking.’ You drawled inside your head. “The Hephaestus cabin is tinkering with a smoke machine to make it emit glitter.”

“Wonderful.” He replied passively, his attention drawn towards the dining pavilion where hundreds of glowing hearts hung from mid-air. Eros turned towards you. “Fairy lights on the beams?”

“On it.” You nodded your head tiredly, scribbling messily onto a notepad. “Anything else?”

“Everything’s perfect, except…” He trailed off before raising an eyebrow at you. “Find yourself a boyfriend, maybe? You need to loosen up.”

“Oh my gods,” You muttered under your breath, fighting the urge to physically recoil.

─── ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ───

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you slacking off on training.” Luke chastised with a tut, tugging your arm towards the training areas. Your feet were basically dragging against the dirt, soiling your sneakers and flicking particles of dust against your skirt, but you couldn’t care less.

“Luke, look around you. What do you see?” You asked, your tone too saccharine to be considered serious.

He decided to humor you anyway. “Hearts.”

“10 points to House Hermes. Now,” You leaned in conspiratorially, “Who do you think set this whole place up?”

Luke barely opened his mouth before you answered your own question.

“Me.” You jabbed a finger against your chest. You narrowed your eyes at him. “I set this whole place up. I planned it— the theme, the color scheme, the glitter, the ribbons, the dazzling pink fountain with mini-Cupids who sing at the hour!”

“It looks very pretty!” He said, panicked.

“Yes, I know it looks very pretty.” You kissed your teeth. “Don’t you think I deserve a little break because it looks very pretty?”

He shook his head.

“You are insufferable!” You groaned.

“Hey! In my defense,” He raised both of his arms in the air to plead innocence, “You’re the one who said you wanted to develop a skill by the end of the summer."

His voice was pitched higher by the end in a poor imitation of your’s. You scrunched your nose in distaste.

“Gods, why do I keep digging my own grave?” You mumbled. Luke shook his head in amusement.

He led you into the clearing of the archery field, a line of circle targets dotted around the edge of the forest. A quiver of arrows was hung against the branches, different from the ones in the armory but definitely familiar to you.

“You can use those. Guess one of the kids forgot to return them after practice.” He shrugged. Luke mustn’t have noticed the difference.

You reached up to grab the weapons, still incredulous but definitely not alarmed enough to hesitate. The material thrummed in your hands.

“Go shoot.” He grinned.

“Very helpful instructions.” You muttered.

“Well, it’s pretty straightforward, sweetheart.” He sauntered over to one of the targets, leaning against the wooden frame. “You’ve been taught the basics, you just need the application. Now, shoot.”

“I could literally hit you.” You said blankly as you mounted the arrow against your bow.

“Consider it your challenge to not hit me.” He raised a thumbs-up.

“You’re insane.” You responded, irked and stressed by his casualness. “I’m sleep-deprived!"

Again, Luke just shrugged his shoulders. You huff, but then follow his lead anyway. You close one eye as you raise your weapon to your line of vision, zeroing in on the target.

As soon as the arrow flicked away from your fingers, it changed its course. When it should’ve followed a curved arch towards the red target, it whizzed away and made a beeline straight for Luke. A pink trail of haze followed its path.

“Duck!” You yell.

The arrow pierced through his chest at nearly the same time Luke’s body collided with the ground.

“That’s where those went.” Eros snapped his fingers as he emerged behind you. His glinting eyes were looking intently at the bow and quiver on you, an imperciptible smile on his face.

Your eyes widened in surprise. Shit.

“Lord Eros! I sincerely apologize.” You immediately took off the weaponry, holding them in your hands then kneeling as if to offer them back. You definitely did not want a god to be at odds with you. The two of you might have the same mother, but that didn’t mean you were equal in Aphrodite’s eyes. “I wasn’t-”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, sis.” He said, tapping your shoulder. Was he actually consoling you? “I shouldn’t have left it out in the open anyways.”

He pulled you up by the arm gently, snapping his fingers and getting the remnants of grass off of your knees. He even picked off a stray leaf from your hair. What in Tartarus was this?

For as long as you’ve known Eros and he’s practically coerced you into a dysfunctional sibling relationship, this was the kindest thing he’s ever done. Yes, the bar was low.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“You didn’t use this on someone, did you?” Eros asked, cradling the quiver and bow against him like a child.

“I think I managed to hit Luke—”

“You didn’t!” He interrupted with a theatrical gasp, a hand covering his mouth. He was such a drama queen.

You narrowed your eyes. He planned this, didn't he?

He smirked wider when he noticed the change in your demeanor, the realization behind your gaze. You swore his pupils changed to hearts for a moment.

“Good luck with lover boy, little sis.” He turned around, showing you the back of his hand as he waved goodbye.

[ajortga]

love at first glance

pairing: tara carpenter x bass guitarist!fem reader

word count: 5.5k+

summary: in which tara admires your bass skills, then admires you even more.

author's note: please bear with me, i don't know what i'm doing but i'm just hoping these scrambled words just go well. tv girl mentioned!

-

based off request!

tara carpenter x masc! fem reader and reader is in a band, maybe like lead guitarist or bass? but like tara goes to a concert with all of the core 4 (+anika cuz i miss her) and like is mesmerized by reader. maybe they make eye contact during a song or sum? they leave the concert and tara is still thinking about reader and reader is still thinking about tara. cut to like later maybe at a party or a bar and they bump into each other and chop it up, but reader is like awkward-ish?

-

You’ve always had a love for anything that was related to music. Your parents made you take singing lessons ever since you were little. 

At first, you hated it. Singing Mary Had a Little Lamb in different keys was not entertaining. But as you grew older and probably didn’t need to sing that song every practice, you began to use your house’s grand piano that was left untouched for years. And then, being able to sing and knowing your keys inside and out wasn’t so bad after all. 

You spent countless times in the living room, the echo of your voice lingering against your house as you learned your favorite songs.

You wrote songs and composed as you experimented with your voice and the keys. It was almost never surprising when your parents caught you up late at night under your pillow, pencil scratching notes across lined pieces of paper. In every single talent show, audition, or musical, your name would be signed. Everyone in your family knew that one day, you’d grow to be a musician. 

People would even begin to see you whenever they were at warehouses and you’d be playing a piano. At every gathering, your relatives would ask, “Where is that little Y/N?” And your parents would look at each other with a knowing glance, both saying confidently, “Probably in the living room with that damn piano.”

You loved listening to music, making music, playing music, feeling your emotions in music, god, every time you’d go out, your earphones would be in your pockets.

So when you were gifted an acoustic guitar for your 12th birthday, to say the least, you were fucking thrilled. Instead of playing the piano 7 days a week, you’d play guitar for half those days. Gosh, was it hard learning a string instrument after playing piano for half your life? Maybe. But you loved it. 

You’d practice and practice, gradually getting better, then you’d play the electric and bass. And was the bass guitar a hell of a sound, you loved it. 

Then, the best thing ever happened to you. You had grouped up with your friends and quickly became a band with all your talents combined. Slowly but surely, did you begin to realize how far you had gone. Because in a blink of an eye, you were at concerts, fingers pressing down on your strings as it electrified through stadiums and arenas while people cheered. 

Cheered for you. That’s something you’ll never regret in your entire life.

-

You turn your bass’s machine head, plucking each string as you tune them before your concert. Nights like this never get old, you’d always be left with the adrenaline from every concert, like your body was refreshed when you slept under your hotel room’s covers.

As your hair and makeup stylist’s makeup brush dabs across your cheeks, you trace the outline of your bass guitar and look at yourself in the mirror. Layered hair, a black tank top over your toned arms, hidden beneath a red leather jacket. Your favorite part would probably be your nails painted red to compliment your hands. You had to keep them short though.

What would this night bring you? Everytime you close your eyes and listen, you can hear the faint echo of your bass vibrating through, lights swaying into the crowd, a smile forming on your face.

Every night had something different, there were different people, a different crowd, it makes you feel different every time. Yet you still feel the thrill and pride swell against your chest.

Junia, one of your closest friends that plays the drums, pops her head in. “You look hot,” she grins, “Jess said she’d come to pick us up at 40. You’re going to kill it, Bass.”

Bass. What an original nickname, you lean your chin into your palm as you raise your eyebrows, “You know it, June.” 

7:45.

-

Tara looks at herself in the mirror, Mindy and Chad screaming at each other while playing Jenga in the background. She pushes a stubborn strand of hair away from her eyelashes while she curls them. 

“CHEATER!-” Mindy yells, making the brunette flinch and breathe in frustration. She was not going to get her eyelashes pulled out.

After Tara was done with a cropped graphic tee, a jean skirt, and a cute little white bow in her hair, she walked through the hallway and into the living room, still adjusting her gold hoops.

There, Anika and her sister seemed the sanest out of them all. On the other hand, the twins were fighting over the remote. 

“Babies,” Sam mutters, pushing her dark brown hair back.

Anika pulls the remote out of both of their hands easily while Chad mutters ‘what the fuck’ under his breath. 

It was like being in a daycare. Tara ate a cookie while watching Anika throw the remote onto the sofa, wearing a lace tank top with jeans, “Mindss, why don’t we just leave the remote and find something else. Your hair is getting all poofy.” 

“And a little dingussy,” Chad adds.

Mindy smacks him, “Don’t ever use ‘dingussy’ to describe something. It sounds sexual.”

Before they could say furthermore, Tara jumps in, mentally begging them to shut up for a moment, “You have the keys, Sam?”

Sam pulls them out of the pocket in her jeans. 

Tara gives a small nod, looking a little over Sam, “Anika, tickets?”

“Yep, 5 of them,” she says, pulling out each ticket one by one with one hand and smoothing out Mindy’s hair with the other. When it was 5:30PM, they were all off, crawling into Sam’s car. Tara immediately sat in the passenger seat. 

I’m not sacrificing my hair by sitting in the middle seat, she thinks as she looks back at Anika, who was basically separating the two twins that were probably yelling in her ear at this point.

“You guys will love them. Jess has always been one of the most talented people I know in music. I have no doubt her band will be the best on stage.”

When Anika had first mentioned when she won a giveaway for a concert. It was for a barricade, but it was stated that they were allowed to be in the front row, the tickets she won had granted her that. Tara wasn’t very interested. Music just wasn’t something she always listened to on a daily basis. But there were 5, and no way would she miss out. 

So she listened to a song, played it on Spotify while walking to class. 

The scene shifts to a local coffee shop in Woodsboro.

“Let me tell you, the bass was fucking amazing! Brilliant!” Tara yaps excitedly to the four people in front of her. She loved how well the drums, electric, lyrics, and bass sounded. The bass blessed her ears. She had immediately added it to her favorites. 

“Bass, huh?” Anika smiles while drinking her coffee. “I think that’s one of the leads, Y/N. Jess always talks about how good she sounds, she usually comes up with all the riffs and lines.”

Y/N. It was unique, Tara made a note to remember it. Yet, she forgot about that conversation no less than 2 days after.

-

They all stepped out once they could see people lining up and buying the light up sticks that were controlled throughout the concert. Tara found it cool that the sticks had stars on them, in fact, the lights were one of the parts that made a concert a concert. 

Mindy was yelling happily and doing a little dance once their tickets got scanned and they all ran to the front row. 

Anika gave a cocky grin, “Maybe they’ll notice us because we’re in the front!”

It was thirty minutes until the background music came to a stop and the lights slowly started to dim. People were screaming, Tara’s heart was pounding against her chest. It was dead silent, whispers and occasional excited screams echoed.

“Oh my god, it’s happening,” Mindy whispers loudly, holding onto Anika as they look at the curtains.

They wait a moment, then two, and by the third one, drums begin to echo. ‘Tsst’ being echoed, before it follows with a loud 16th beat of drums. Then, the curtains open as Tara’s eyes widen.

Are you sick of me?

Would you like to be?

I'm trying to tell you something,

Something that I already said

The drums softly fill Tara’s ears, as she watches them play, she finally notices you. Perfect layered hair, messy in all the right ways. The bass girl. Something about the way the warmth of the light danced across your face in all the right ways captivated her. The way your deep red leather jacket hung over your shoulder, exposing your defined collar bones and toned arms while you pressed on strings.

Oh god, it felt as if a new story line with different love interests began to change for Tara. She could see the veins against your slim hands as they traveled across your guitar with ease. You mouthed the lyrics, enjoying yourself as you close your eyes and sway softly to the beat. 

You like a pretty boy,

With a pretty voice

Who is trying to sell you something,

Something that you already have

The drums left Tara’s thoughts, now hearing you and the way that your bass adds on to the magic of it all. You’re just standing there, your bangs swiping across your features as you tuck it to your sides, smiling to yourself as you scan the crowd for a moment then look back down to your strings.

Maybe it was the way you looked like you were the right person for this part–to be on stage like you were meant for it. Or maybe it was the way your gaze flickered to the front row and landed on Tara’s wide ones. She could see the way you tilted your head and gave her a curious, wondering look, before giving her a small smile. 

Oh my god, your smile was so cute. If she could describe it, it’s like the kind of smile that made her all giggly and was so contagious that she felt herself slowly smile.

The lights shine over your face, making everything about you glow. You pluck at the strings as you mouth the chorus to Tara. Her eyes searched all over your face. You don’t break eye contact with her.

But if you're too drunk to drive,

And the music is right

She might let you stay,

But just for the night

“And if she grabs for your hand, and drags you along,” Tara mouths back in time with the song.

One of your eyebrows raise as the light shines onto you once again, god, she can almost hear your soft, breathy voice teasingly singing, “She might want a kiss before the end of this song..”

Anika screams, jumping up and down and hyping everyone up, waving her heart stick in beat with the song. 

Because love can burn like a cigarette…

-

By the end of the concert, Tara was love struck. Very very love struck. It was late when her and the four of her friends walked out, the stars shining just a little brighter. She couldn’t get you out of her head. She might have grown gray hairs. How could you be more than any other celebrity crush?

She prayed to the universe that it would align you both together. Just like each star was in the night sky.

It’s bad, Loving Machine is playing and she can only think about you strumming your guitar.

Here she comes walking down the street,

Maddie Klein and her fabulous loving machine-

“Earth to Tara, hello?” Anika pauses the music, waving her hand into the girl’s face. It was almost like a record scratch moment as Tara blinked and looked around. “Oh, sorry, what?”

“Did you like the concert?” She asks, holding onto her star light up as the red light makes the glitter under her eyes sparkle. Anika was now in the middle, the car a little quieter since Chad was now in the passenger seat.

“Oh yeah, I loved it.” Tara answers, half of her attention slipping away. She starts to see you from a camera, lighting cast against your tan skin, a TV effect on you, making your movements jerky. 

The rest of the people are fading away, their voices, so loud and eager. Blah blah blah blah… Y/N.. Bassist. Love of her life.

Dreamy sigh.

Blah.. Blah.. “Yeah the bassist was hot.” Mindy’s voice suddenly being processed.

“What?” Tara immediately turns away from the window and looks at Mindy on the opposite side. Oh god, now she was going to have to fight for you? "No! Go find someone else to admire!” She grumbles, before immediately looking away.

The whole car shakes as they all laugh, playfully hitting Tara. “See? She was literally summoned, baby!” Anika giggles, talking to Mindy. “She wasn’t giving any shits when we were talking, and as soon as we talked about Senorita Y/N, she was like poof!”

Sam looks from the rearview mirror, an eyebrow raised, “Already? One concert that lasted two hours and she’s already wrapped you around her little finger?”

Little fingers, those veiny hands that played so smoothly across the-

Chad turns around excitedly, like a child peeking at surprise presents, “She was literally captivated the whole damn concert! You should’ve seen her, a love sick puppy!”

Her sister cackles, the car moving as she keeps snorting, “Gotta admit though, she’s fine wine.”

“Sam!” Tara rubs her cheeks, she seriously hoped she wasn’t going to have to battle till death for you.

“Chill!” Sam coaxes, putting one hand up in the air, “I would totally go for her if you weren’t interested. Didn’t think you had a thing for ‘Sam accepted’ girls.”

The freckled cheek girl couldn’t help but sigh, the thought of you still lingering in her mind. Like a twinkling little Melody who’s lyrics couldn’t get out of her mind, even when she slept.

-

It had been a week. Tara says that she doesn’t think of you too often, but every single time she hears your band’s song, you end up in her mind for the whole day. Every time she steps into a coffee shop, she wonders if you’d be the person to give a free concert. 

She wonders if you’re as sweet as your name sounds. She wonders if you’d hold doors for others or walk old ladies down the street. She wonders if your hand would fit hers. She wonders if you had even thought of her after the curtains closed.

She wonders if you smell good, if you’d smell like a musky, sweet, fruity vanilla-y scent with leather undertones. She sure hoped so.

To say the least, you’ve thought about the brunette just as much. You were having fun, strumming your guitar and feeling the beat radiate off your skin. Until you lay eyes on her. She had wide, brown doe eyes that made your knees buckle. 

She was heaven-sent. You could even make out her tan freckled cheeks. And you were almost in denial when she was looking at you. It was always who was singing that people looked at, heck, you did too. But you were looking at her. And she was looking at you.

Plenty of people might have looked at you, but she was different. Like she was mesmerized by how you played. Like she was a moth to your flame. 

In fact, you don’t know if anyone has ever looked at you with that much admiration.

The girl was so beautifully written, you wished you knew who she was. Instead, she was one out of 8 billion people out there, in a blink of an eye, a close of a curtain, she was off.

-

Tara looked at herself in the mirror, standing there like.. She didn’t even know, her serious eyes trailing down to what she was wearing, before turning to Anika slowly.

“Anika, I look like a hot dog.” She cries, looking at the way the costume swallowed her whole in the fitting room.

“That’s because you’re wearing a hot dog costume, Tar. But you look like a steaming hot hot dog!” Anika shakes her head, her head only visible since she was basically a whole mustard bottle. 

Mindy waddles through the living room, a red ketchup bottle, a red dangling earring complimenting her poofy hair. “Has anyone seen my earring? I can’t find it! It was in my purse and I thought if it looked good, I’d totally buy this.”

Chad walks in the girl’s fitting room, slightly peeking as Sam walks out of her dressing room, a serious expression on their face, a cookie and milk costume. 

Tara wants to laugh, but no way in hell was she going to wear this at a costume party, at least not at a serious one.

-

After actually taking it seriously, Tara decides on a pirate outfit, tying up her bandana. 

She can almost hear the music blasting from her apartment, which is filled with laughter and chatting from her ‘family.’

Her eyes skim over her board, looking for her calendar that was usually meant for school, roaming around the small photos of you and a heart drawn over your face. She traces over it, before getting ready to leave, not even looking at the calendar. 

Maybe the calendar was just an excuse.

After 5 songs and a half of your band’s music, the core five, including sweet Anika, open the door. A heavy scent of booze fills their senses, sweat, and a mix of perfumes all lingered. Not to mention, it was stuffy.

“Ugh, do they ever think about AC?” Sam grumbles, clearly not a party person as she gets whacked across the face from a toilet plumber that belonged to a person who was wearing a damn toilet costume. Mindy cackled, before tripping and almost crashing into them, luckily her girlfriend tugged her back.

They pushed against cowboy hats and random inflatable dinosaurs, across the dance floor, and to the drinks station.

Tara did not leave empty handed, her mouth gulping down the bubbly bitterness of alcohol. 

She was buzzed, a few drinks here and she was flushed and giggling, so she made sure to think about her intake. As she parted from the other four to find a trash can, scanning the groups of people. Sometimes she found people she knew at school, cute boys, just people she’s seen.

Tara took a different route back to her friends, the music growing louder in her ears when she got near the dance floor, slivering through bodies. It was almost inevitable that her nose would scrunch, too strong of a perfume, or just sweat.. It made her nauseous. 

Where was she going? She didn’t know, she stood on her tippy toes, her ruffled blouse crinkling as she searched for her friends.

Her face smacked right into someone, her hand automatically being placed on their chest. She opened her mouth, about to apologize and prepare for a scolding until her nose twitched. A fruity and sweet vanilla-y smell, and a light leathery contrast.. No?..

“Shoot,” you look down, your drink almost spilling on yourself as you look at the shorter person as you smooth out their hair. Did you ruin it? “I’m sorry, are you okay?”

Tara looks at her outfit, perfectly fine, no stains. Hearing your soft, breathy voice, it was unrecognizable to her at first.

“No, it’s totally fine, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Tara says, immediately looking up and seeing your big curious eyes.

Oh my god.

Your eyes search hers, like you’re scanning her. Like you feel you’ve seen her before. No, you know you have. But where? The trace of her nose, doe eyes, oh! Tara almost puts a hand over her mouth because she can almost see the swirling sense of recognition in your eyes.

You opened your mouth to say something, maybe to ask about the concert, but you closed it. You don’t even know if she noticed you, maybe she was spacing out and was not acknowledging you during your concert a few weeks ago.

When it came to people, especially ones you crushed on, you were all stuttering words and pink cheeks.

The shorter girl sees the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and she registers what you’re wearing as her eyes trail down. And fuck, you looked angellic. Seriously.

A halo over your head and wings enveloping your sides. A black corset and ruffled skirt that showed a little of your legs, which were covered with tights. God, she thinks she can see the muscles as you cross one leg over the other.

It immediately makes you think she’s judging you. This costume was not your cup of tea, but your friends invited you to match with them, all angels in different colors.

The little pirate instead gives you a genuine look, “I like your costume,” she says, focusing a little too much on your toned arms and slightly flushed cheeks.

“I um.. Thank you..?” You bite your tongue, not knowing her name. In what chance do you get to meet the girl that made you think soulmates were real once again? At least a 1 in 300 chance. 

“Tara,” she answers for you, pretending she didn’t already have your name embedded in the back of her head. 

“I’m Y/N,” you bite a smile, she probably didn’t recognize you. You take a small sip from your drink, nose scrunching at the taste.

“You’re good at the bass,” she says nonchalantly, and you almost choke on your drink. 

You didn’t think she’d recognize you, but now knowing that, you tilt your head. “Thank you. It comes from years of practice. What did you think?” You were genuinely curious.

“I think you’re just so good at the bass..” She mumbles, again, trailing off, before clearing her throat. “I mean, the bass always makes the songs so much better! You know? It’s like realizing how amazing something really is when you notice it-”

“I appreciate it,” you say, now aware of your surroundings because instead of where you two just bumped into each other, you were sitting at a table. You turn your head, looking at where you were, probably near the back. 

Tara took the opportunity to notice your damn jawline, so perfect and sleek and defined-

“I like your freckles,” you admit, voice breathy. You turn back to look at her while batting your eyelashes, Tara’s eyes trained on how your hands.. Veiny hands lifted the cup to your lips.

The compliment almost catches her off guard, because with all the compliments she might get, freckles were usually not on the list. It used to make her insecure, but the way you said it and looked said otherwise. The alcohol was definitely taking a toll on you, because you were staring at her with no shame whatsoever.

Wide, searching eyes, it looked as if you were trying to memorize every detail. 

The flutters in Tara’s stomach would’ve lasted longer. Except her eyes teared away from yours as she could see a very familiar ketchup and mustard costume and two other people behind them.

“Oh my god!” She groans quietly, covering her face as she scoots deeper into the booth.

She completely forgot that she slithered away from them, getting side tracked.

The brunette could die from embarrassment. You on the other hand.. Just prettily sitting there with a curious look on your face, the small warmth of the lamp casting a glow onto your face.

You bite your lip, trying to fight back a small giggle as you peek at the costumes that you can almost kind of guess who they are to Tara.

-

“SHE’S LOOKING THIS WAY!” Mindy hollers, tugging the mustard bottle next to her as Chad scribbles something on a piece of paper.

“Tara’s literally hiding from us.”

“Hold it up!”

-

They’re screaming at each other. You can’t hear it from all the music and party chatter, but you can definitely figure it out from their expressions. For a moment, they turn away from you, so you can’t see them.

You slip on a leather jacket that was in your bag.

A hiding Tara is in the corner of the booth, you raise your eyebrows at her.

It doesn’t take long before the four people across the room slowly turn to you in synchronization. 

“Um, I don’t-” You start, feeling a little awkward.

They hold up a paper, and you can’t even see what the words are saying. It’s at least the size of a penny. And from here, you can’t even make out the words.

-

“Dingus,” Mindy shouts to her twin, noticing the confused expression on your face as you try to understand what the paper is saying. She finally turns the paper around after holding it up. “It’s too small, that’s why!”

-

One of the four holds up a finger, signaling you to give them a moment as they adjust, before turning around.

‘Give her your numbar’ The sign says, you still don’t get it. Oh, number. You grab a tissue from the booth, and take out a sharpie from your pocket. Sharpies were always needed whenever you went out. To write down something on your hand, to sign autographs..

You slip the paper to Tara, giving her a small smile. She was definitely embarrassed. She didn’t even notice you slipping it to her, because after 5 seconds of you sliding it to her again, she still was clueless! The girl, instead, turned around to look out, immediately still seeing her stupid friends.

You sigh, putting the paper into your pocket. You feel a little bad for her.

Party lights fill the empty crevices of the room while you scoot out of the booth and stand up, pretending you didn’t notice the four people who were staring into the back of your skull.

“I think my friends are playing some Uno, you wanna come?” You offer, guiding her out of the booth as you look down at her.

“Sure.”

-

As the game went on, the last two players in the center still battling it out, Tara could see you were all fuzzy and flushed. 

You were definitely drunk. Too drunk to drive.

Your knees were nudged against hers, a little closer than expected, cuddled into her, but she didn’t mind. God no she definitely didn’t.

She was talking a lot, and you were always open ears and one of the best listeners. And then you would ramble and Tara would listen. It made you both feel heard and understood.

After a moment, you remember something. 

“Can I borrow your phone real quick? Uh, my phone is dead right now and I have to text a friend where I’m at.” You lie, your words slightly mushed together.

“Sure,” Tara says, unlocking her phone and handing it to you, a little drunk. You try to ignore the fact that the wallpaper is you from the concert she attended weeks ago.

You slip into the contacts, adding your contact and changing the name to; y/n, the bass guitarist ♡.

She didn’t even notice for the rest of the night.

As the sun slept at night, Tara stared at the ceiling, her vinyl spinning while a crackled “Say Yes to Heaven” reverberated around her bedroom.

She wished she could’ve stayed so much longer, but her friends had to leave, and there was no way she was taking an Uber or driving when tipsy.

Tara wanted to ask for your number, but because you never asked, maybe you didn’t because this didn’t mean as much as it did to her.

Curiosity was getting the best of her as she checked the messages on her phone, wondering how you typed like to your friends. But to her surprise, there were no messages to a number she didn’t recognize. The last number was just to Sam.

Her nose wrinkled, swiping to check the apps recently opened as she clicked the recent one. 

Dimples creased against her cheeks as she saw your name with a little heart. She immediately clicked to message you. But to her surprise, you had already done so.

 y/n, the bass guitarist ♡: whatcha doing? i hope ur not asleep yet>:(

tara ☆🧭: thankfully not yet, i’m in bed. u know, i was going to be a little sad than i’d like to admit if i didn’t get your number. 

 y/n, the bass guitarist ♡: i did hand you a paper, but you were hiding in the corner of the booth and i thought it would be easier this way

It took her a moment to think of what to say, before she thought of something she never thought she’d do late at night.

tara ☆🧭: do u wanna call? maybe just talk to each other till one of us falls asleep.

You usually weren't the person to connect over facetimes and calls, sometimes you didn't know what to say in the moment. You don't know..

She doesn’t get a response for a minute, before her phone vibrates in her hand and she swipes to answer.

Your hair was let down loose, in an oversized tee that even then she could still see your collarbones. You give a sleepy smile.

“Tara,” you say softly, and something in Tara thumps because you look so happy to see her. She grins back, shifting so she could see you better.

“I’ve never really done one of these,” your quiet voice says, a warmer tone casting over your face. “Do you want to say hi to Cinnamon? He’s my puppy.” You say, pushing your hair back.

The brunette nods, “Puppies are so cute, my sister isn’t very fond though. They sometimes make her sneeze.”

“Oh, allergies you could get a poodle breed or something, Cinnamon doesn’t shed much,” you agree, your camera slightly shaking as she can slightly hear you call your dog's name in a cute voice. “Come here, boy!”

Seconds later, you bring out your puppy, which lolls outs his tongue as you press a kiss to his head. Tara can see your red nails as you mess up his hair.

“Tell me about yourself,” Tara says, looking at you through the screen with pure curiosity.

“I-” You pause, thinking for a moment before shaking your head. “I think you should tell me about yourself first. It’s late and I want to listen to you. As much as I’d try to stay up, I’d fall asleep if you went second.” You murmur, cuddling with Cinnamon.

What you said made Tara feel something she doesn’t feel often. Appreciated? Well, she always wants to listen to others when calling, then she might go second, but when you brought up her going first? That made her feel fireworks.

“Okay, what do you want to know first?”

“What’s your favorite memory and why?”

-

As an hour, then two passes, you begin to tell Tara about yourself. She’s never felt so heard before. Both your lamps are off, now the only light from each others screens.

She can tell you’re beginning to doze off. The way you’re pausing and blinking sleepily before murmuring a little too softly. 

“What is something that you hate?”

You don’t say anything for a moment, your light breaths heard on the other end as you shift slightly and prop up your phone.

“Peppercorns..” You yawn, keeping your eyes half open. “They’re fine for seasoning, but when I bite into them, god.. It tastes so bad..”

You pause again, eyes heavy as you blink. “When you feel like you have to change for other people to like you. When you have to be someone you’re not because of people that don’t make you feel like you can be yourself.”

Tara nods, rubbing her eyes as she admires your defined features, even from the darkness. She could see the softness too. If she looked enough.

“I think those people make me feel the worst. Not wanting to be the one laughed at so you change to the one that’s laughing. Or when people talk down on the things you love. It hurts. And that’s something that I hope no one goes through.”

Wow, something about that makes her get to know the kind of person you are by a landslide.

“That’s a good response. What about your favorite fruit?”

“Mmm.. Watermelon. The sweet ones.. It’s so refreshing and…” You trail off, your eyes closing as your breathing evens out. Your lips were slightly parted, your puppy making a small whimper as he snuggles into you.

It’s silent, except for the faint white noise from Tara’s ceiling fan. You looked like a dream. Everything you talked about made Tara see nothing but good. And knowing that makes her feel like she should start seeing things the way you do.

A car passes by, the softest lyrics playing, it lulls Tara to bed.

We were listening to lovers rock

In her bedroom

You both fall asleep on call, maybe people were meant for each other.

[neoplatinum]

double shot | yoo 'karina' jimin

summary: co-manager by day, seductress by night

pairing: co-manager!stripper!karina x reader

themes: work, strippers, money, sexual themes

wc: 2.5k

“the copier is jammed, could you take a look at it?” you and everyone else in that room knew that the copier being jammed was way below your paygrade to fix, but given that budget cuts have recently been made, there’s little to no allocation to hire someone to fix it. so why not call you, manager of the human resources division to fix it up.

you grumble a bit to yourself before walking right over to the storage unit, grabbing an old toolbox and soon caught yourself fiddling with the large machine. you can already spot the issue, jammed paper stuck in the feeder. you try your best to yank it out of the tray. It just wouldn’t budge, even with a jiggle and pushing the tray around didn’t help. 

taking out your phone, you bit it between your teeth, trying your best to get a better angle of the jam. it wasn’t even put into the right tray. everyone knows tray 3 is the correct one to put the papers in. with a huff you give a bit more effort, pushing the paper in and yanking it out. nearly knocking yourself out with sheer force.

“i do not get paid enough to deal with this too.” you think to yourself, and mostly thinking about the sweet and warm croissant sitting at your desk, ready for you to devour. you nearly lose fall forward into the machine when you hear a quiet “hello.” almost too quiet that it would blend into the cacophony of phones ringing, the coffee machine running and the low hum of the air conditioner.

you stick your head out of the printer, and before you is one of the most gorgeous women you’ve seen in your life. adorned with thick rimmed black glasses and plump red lips to match. her eyes peer into you and flit between you and the machine.

“do you need help with that?” she offers, in a neutral tone. 

you’ve never seen her around before. she looks put together though, more put together than the new intern your company just hired.

you manage to pull yourself together with what little core strength you have and duck out of the machine. making way for her to inspect the paper jam, and taking the phone of your mouth. realizing how ridiculous you look under this light.

“sure, go for it.” you offer. stuffing your phone into your pockets. and watching this newcomer attempt to fix the machine you’ve been wrestling for the past minute. she’s definitely got more core strength than you, balancing perfectly with tall heels and maneuvering herself with ease. you spot the company id hanging in a lanyard around her neck. mirroring the one that you have to wear every day in order to enter and exit the building. 

with ease she manages to pull out the pesky paper, and holds it up triumphantly at you. a warm smile across her face. you offer the same back.

“thanks for your help, the printer’s always given me far too much trouble.” she chuckles at that, throwing the paper into a nearby wastebasket before grabbing a box, seemingly filled with desk items and a colorful mug with crayon shin-chan across it.

“oh, let me help you with that.” you offer, making quick strides to pick up her office supplies, to which she lets you. “are you new here?”

“yes and no.” she offers.

“that’s an interesting response, what do you mean by that?” you say, walking side by side into the open space. rows of computers and laptops filled with people’s personal belongings and you find yourself scanning for an open space. certainly she’s a new hire that upper management hasn’t informed you. upper management has a tendency to forget telling you updates until it’s far too late.

“well, i just transferred to this department. downsizing as mr. shim put it nicely.” you nod with understanding, there’s been a lot of recent changes to the company, and it’s core message with new management. 

the budget cuts, downsizing, replacement of several executive board members. it’s hard to say if you even get to keep your job, a lot of employees have had to take severance packages, even in your department.

“i see, well, welcome to our department, i’m the manager for human resources in this region.” her eyes sparkle a bit, she opens her mouth to say something but it’s quickly silenced by mr. shim’s light and squeaky voice.

“miss. yoo! i see you’ve already met our manager here!” he says with wide eyes and hands clasped together. like he’s presenting everyone gifts here.

“yes, mr. shim. i just met them.” she stiffens up, keeping a professional distance from him.

“that’s great! you two need to build camaraderie here. is that her stuff?” mr. shim beelines towards you, grabbing the box of desk supplies out of your hand. and walking away. both you and ms. yoo walk towards the empty office next to yours. he places her box down and even takes out the shin-chan mug from her box.

setting it down proudly before turning to you.

“see, we recently had to merge ms.yoo’s human resource department from yeonnam-dong to here. so there’ll be a lot of co-managing you two will need to figure out.” he explains more coldly now that he’s out of earshot of most employees. you start to feel a headache brewing at the information. 

mr.shim has always felt that telling you important company updates is a tedious task, so he always does it at the very last second. just last month he sprung a presentation to the company executives onto you two days before it was due. you nearly had an ulcer from the amount of stress you were put under, but you grit through the task, as you always do.

“mr. shim, could you explain that again?” you ask, balling your hand into a fist in your pocket. ms. yoo looks away, already feeling the tension in the room.

“you and ms. yoo will now be co-managing the company’s human resources department together.” he says dryly, probably already daydreaming about taking the rest of the day off to relax while you have to manage to magically fix the company.

“mr. shim, are you serious, what happened to our five division managers?” you offer with more bite to your tone. ms. yoo fidgets with her dress shirt, unable to bear this uncomfortable conversation.

“three were let go yesterday, and just to let you know, i vouched for you in there. it was between you and mr. jung.” he scowls a bit before putting a more professional smile in front of ms. yoo. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have to return to my desk. i trust that you two will sort out this merger.”

with swift steps, he beelines towards the elevators. making his always far too quick exit from your floor. you stare out of the room, letting your shoulders finally slump down with exhaustion, and it’s not even 9 in the morning.

“i’m sorry about that.” you hear quietly, you turn your head back towards ms. yoo. her sheepish expression making you all the more exhausted. not only has mr. shim burdened you, now he’s burdened ms. yoo too.

“no need to apologize, i should apologize really. welcome to our division! i hope we get along well.” you offer a bow with your hand out, she shakes it firmly and offers you the same bow.

“mr. shim can be a lot.” she remarks quietly, slowly taking out desk supplies to adorn her office. 

“yes, he really can.” you say, helping ms. yoo set up her desk. taking out staplers and cute pens from her box,and putting them across her desk. outside of the office you can hear incoming workers from other divisions filing in, each with their own office supplies and curious eyes at joining your team.

ms. yoo stares at you while you stare outside.

--

you offer to host a division team lunch, bringing in all the new and familiar faces with you to a local spot. where your favorite halmeoni cooks her famous soondubu-jigae.

“halmeoni, these are my co-workers!” you shout when you walk in, ms. yoo trailing behind you. examining the restaurant as you talk with her excitedly. she watches the way you offer vitamins to your grandmother, a soft smile on her face.

all your co-workers begin filing in, everyone taking seats around a long table. loud group conversations sparking between different coworkers. you finally take the only open seat next to ms. yoo. offering her a small smile as she scoots for you to sit down.

“so this is your halemoni’s restaurant?” she asks over the loud conversation. 

“yes, she’s the best chef i know. trust me, one bite of her soondubu and you’ll never want to try another place!” you say with excitement. she laughs before looking through the menu.

“meal is on me today, welcome to the team!” you offer with a large smile.

a roar of cheers erupt among your coworkers, mainly the new faces. and soon everyone’s nervous mood is being settled with contentment. you don’t even spot the warm eyes from your co-manager.

--

“good night everyone, see you all tomorrow!” you hear from various coworkers, taking a quick glance up from the stacks of paper work surrounding you, you can see most people have already left. and the sun’s set long ago. you peep through the blinds and notice the bright street lamps and the busy commute back home.

having a quick stretch before walking to grab another coffee, you recount your day. you’ve once again managed to turn a very sour morning into one that’s turned out quite okay. and ms. yoo is an efficient manager, you can see why she was kept in the company. she’s smart, quick and diligent–much like yourself.

you begin to drink your coffee, when you’re pulled out of your thoughts.

“you know it’s not good to drink coffee after 3 right? and certainly not at 6.” she smirks at you, grabbing some hot water for her shin-chan mug.

“well i know it’s not good, but i have to get through this paperwork for tomorrow.” you offer, drinking more of the lukewarm coffee in your mug. you can even see the rings of coffee staining the sides.

“you work yourself to death here.” she offers, turning to you once more. “how long have you been a manager?”

“2 years.” you say in between sips, already feeling the caffeine giving you that push to keep going. “how about you?”

“1 year.” she offers.

“impressive, most people don’t last more than six months here”, you say. giving your mug up as a small cheers to her.

“i could say the same to you, you’re the most efficient manager here.” she says looking back down at her water.

“mhm, that is true. even got an award for it ‘best manager 2023’, i can still see mr. jung’s face when i received the award.” you laugh at the memory.

she laughs and turns away, “well i’m done for the day, so i’ll see you tomorrow, co-manager.” and with a wink she leaves the company kitchen. you stare at her retreating figure, and then back down at your coffee.

--

with a whiskey on ice in one hand and arms languidly laying on the armchair, you stare at the stage in front of you. lights adorning the main stage, and velvet dark red curtains hiding the backstage, a fog machine supplying a steady stream of fog around the base fo the stage. leering men and women all sitting around. there’s already a few girls performing on other stages, but everyone knows the main stage is where to be. they always place their top girl onto the main stage.

you glance left and right, looking at the other performers, none of which that intrigue you, instead, you focus on the disco reflecting the colors like a kaleidoscope. minjeong grins next to you, a martini in hand and she toys with the olive. 

“did you hear they have a new main girl tonight?” minjeong says as she sets her glass down, adjusting her tie a bit.

“i didn’t, you know i don’t get invested in the girls, i just want a performance.” you reply. she gives you a quick eye roll, before fishing through her pant pocket for a flyer.

“that’s what i said too, until i saw giselle.” she says, unfolding the flyer in hand. you can see in big bold serif letters. ‘Friday Grandeur: Pink Karina” and below with a headshot of a woman with bold dark eyeliner, and beautiful cat-like eyes, black lingerie emphasizing her bold pink hair.

“giselle says she just moved into town, but she’s the real deal.” minjeong offers with a giddy smile. sliding the flyer into blazer pocket. watching the way you scoff at her, sure the girl was drop dead gorgeous, but aren’t they all supposed to be.

then the announcer comes through, “welcome to the stage, for the very first time, miss pink karina.” and the music fades in. you stare at the stage in expectation, watching the way the lights all shine into one spot, right in between the curtains. and with sultry music playing, you watch her emerge from backstage. her bold pink hair catching your eye, and then seeing the way her eyes are low and a grin that sits across her face.

her figure approaches the stage, and even in the smoke you can see her beautiful silhouette as walks center stage. she’s in a gorgeous black lingerie that fits to her figure like a glove. the flyer does her no justice, and for the second time in the week, your jaw drops at the sight of gorgeous women. her legs are long and strong, her heels accentuating the length. her curvaceous figure leaves much to imagine, her long fingernails look like they could rake down your body and leave trails of marks. she seems to be an immediate favorite, rallying cheers and hoots. each one leaving an even more sour taste on your mouth. like rapid dogs they adore her like she fell from the sky.

you uncross and cross your legs again, watching the way she moves across the stage, not forgetting to give each and every viewer a memory to savor. and she reaches the main stage with the golden pole and her eyes scan the crowd, eventually landing on you and she looks like she opened her mouth, but you couldn’t tell with the way your eyes were locked onto hers. she watches you a bit more before continuing to circle the stage.

“she seems to like you.” minjeong whispers through the music.

“no she doesn’t, if she likes me then she likes everyone.” you scoff at minjeong, waving her off as she continues to watch the pink-haired woman. you return your vision to her as well, taking a small sip of the whiskey in your cup.

you relax your tense shoulders, and watch her figure retreat to the other side of the stage.

karina…

you take another sip of your whiskey, watching her closely.

--

a/n: part 2? stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

[tkpuke]

To be Loved is to be Known

Pairing - Powder x Ekko

Word count: 1,689

In which Ekko starts to feel stressed out while working on the time machine to bring him back to his own universe he belongs in. Powder knows a great method to help relieve his stress, one unbeknownst to him.

This is a tickle fic. Please do not read if that’s not your thing.

Papers were scattered around Ekko, some crumpled up and torn out of frustration. A small beam of light started to make its way into the room, signaling the sun coming up. That didn’t matter to Ekko, however, because what mattered most is why he just can’t seem to brush over this damn minor problem he’s having on the machine.

Footsteps were being heard, getting closer until Powder was revealed. “Thought I’d might find you here. Vander made everyone a delicious breakfast, come down an— have you been up all night?” She stopped in her tracks once getting a full good look at his state, his eyes meeting hers. Visible heavy eye-bags forming and looking fatigued and irritated. Ekko looks over to a window to see the sun, swearing it was only 9 pm two seconds ago.

“No…?” He starts, but Powder gives him one raised eyebrow and he sighs. “Okay, fine, I have been.” He rubs his temple as he leans against the table, Powder joining him as she rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But it’s because I’ve come across an issue that just won’t seem to go away, no matter what I do.”

She lets out an airy laugh. “Hey, nothing we can’t fix, right?” A determined smile takes over her features, but doesn’t last long when Ekko didn’t return the smile and just stared at the floor deep in thought.

Powder can read the ins and outs of Ekko. It is one’s job of being a girlfriend, isn’t it? That being said, she can definitely tell how mentally tiring working on this machine is starting to take a toll on Ekko. He’s only ever out to go get food, not wanting to waste any unnecessary time on anything else that’s not working on getting him back home to his people. Powder practically has to drag him out sometimes to get fresh air and hangout with the others that are asking where he’s been.

Powder is smart, no doubt about that. She picked up after a few days that Ekko wasn’t her Ekko, but regardless they are still the same person, hence feeling confident on doing a personal favorite activity of hers that she knows will help Ekko ease up and get his mind off things that are stressing him to the core.

“Want me to tickle you?”

Ekko blinked. “What?”

He slowly looked over to her, an innocent smile she’s wearing. Powder takes a step forward, Ekko takes a step back. “Y’know, what I do to help you relax whenever you get like this.” She says ever so casually as if Ekko is probably thinking ‘oh yeah, that thing!’

But Ekko wasn’t thinking that. Quite frankly, his heart started to beat faster every step Powder attempted to get closer to him, noticing her flexing her fingers a bit. “W…what are you talking ab—“

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it.” She cuts him off, grinning slyly when he takes a moment to put the pieces together. In this universe, somewhere along their relationship, Powder made the beautiful discovery that Ekko doesn’t hate being tickled as much as the normal person does. If anything, he absolutely enjoys the playful action and like how Powder stated earlier, drowns any stress out of him.

Only though the Ekko from the original timeline that’s in this Ekko’s body hasn’t quite made that discovery of himself just yet. Hence the confusion, his thought process that Powder has gone mad, and believing that fact of him is simply not true.

He must have been too caught up on his thoughts racing, because he felt himself suddenly backed up into a wall. Trapped, but only momentarily. He looks at an opening to escape on Powder’s left side. Powder reads his stance, knowing exactly his next move.

Ekko makes one last look at Powder. She does the same.

He books it.

You can’t outrun Powder in a place that she knows the ins and outs of. All the shortcuts, exits, and obstacles that would slow down a chase. Which further explains why Powder catches up to Ekko so quickly, pouncing on him as they go down together on the floor. He catches one of her wrists, the other high up out of his reach on purpose.

“Powder! Please.” Ekko nervously giggles out, but feeling a sense of thrill inside that he never felt before. A lively one at that, almost as if he’s excited to see what will happen next.

“Alright alright, your pleas have been heard.” Without any form of build-up, she immediately sticks her hands under his arms and starts wiggling away. “No need to beg for me to tickle you.”

She can’t help but break out into a cheeky smile when her ears pick up that sweet melodic tune: his laughter.

Ekko cannot remember the last time he has been properly tickled ever since Benzo died in his original timeline. He didn’t even know if he still was ticklish, thinking that sort of stuff just kind of vanishes overtime while growing up. Although, clearly the Ekko in this perfect timeline he was stuck in has definitely had people make a habit of tickling him whenever the opportunity arises, especially Powder. She went straight for the kill, having her fingers get trapped in his underarms as he squirms for freedom all the while cackling for the whole world to hear.

“PohohoWDEHEHER!” Is all he can say, struggling to form any coherent sentence without his laughter interrupting the process. She relents a little, scratching a bit lighter. “That’s me!” Powder watches him flail a bit less, noticing how he’s grabbing her wrists but not making any attempts to move them.

“sohomewhere ehehelse. Give me a sehehecond..” he managed to say, already sounding out of breath in the thirty seconds she’s tickled him. He’s never experienced anything like this, all so new. So it might look like Ekko is more ticklish than Powder is use to, finding it a bit cute how he tapped out so fast.

“I would love to, but I’m kind of trapped here mister.” She wiggles her stuck fingers to state the obvious, him giggling hard. Ekko mentally prepares himself a little, slowly raising his arms a bit for her to bring her hands back. He’s a fool to ever think there’s not another spot far worse, because Powder instantly latched onto his knees from behind and started squeezing like there was no tomorrow.

Completely caught off guard by how deadly of a spot his knees were, Ekko snorted out a deep belly laugh and it all continuously spilled out from there. It’s surprising that nobody came in from the start to check out who kept screaming as if they’re getting murdered, but it’s just Ekko who cannot handle a few wiggles here and a few squeezes there.

“Did you just snort?” Powder chuckled, but not expecting any answer from him as he was too busy trying to buck her off. She managed to lock her legs around his in a way where she didn’t budge in the slightest from his hysterical movement, smugly looking down at him.

“Toohoho MUHUCH! NOHOT THERE PLE-“ a sharp hiccup cut him off, feeling absolutely embarrassed and mortified from all these unknown noises he didn’t even know he could make come out of him so freely. Hands started to trail upwards from his knees, a sense of a small break but it wasn’t much of a difference for poor Ekko. “You told me to go somewhere else, remember!?”

Powder almost felt guilty for having way too much fun, but she knew she wasn’t alone with that feeling. Ekko was too, don’t let his reactions ever fool anybody. Noting his hands tightly around her wrists but never moving them, knowing damn well he’s strong enough to easily do so. Saying ‘please!’ but never a ‘stop!’ and suggesting for new spots for her to attack. You’d have to be blind to come to an assumption that he wasn’t enjoying himself.

His laughter was starting to be overtaken by sharp hiccups, which has always been a cue for Powder to stop soon. Soon.

Showing mercy on his knees, her hands find their way to his neck to start lightly skittering. Ekko grabs onto one of them, fingers interlocking with hers. “Ohohokay, stop! I’m nohot stressed, I’m nohohot!”

Powder softly smiles at the sight in front of her, heart feeling warm. The smell of the breakfast Vander made downstairs caused her to stop, realizing she and Ekko both had a plate of untouched food still waiting for them.

She got off of him with ease, sticking out a hand for him to take to help him up. Catching his breath, Ekko took the offering hand and stood up fully, brushing off some dust from his pants. He looks over at Powder, shooting her a cold but jokingly glare. “That was horrible. I’m not that bad to you to deserve that, am I?”

Chuckling, she gives his arm a little push. “If it was so horrible, I would’ve heard you say stop a lot sooner than you did.”

Silence was his response, feeling his face heating up. She’s right, Powder is always right. It’d be pointless for him to argue with her and deny, because even he knows the truth. Ekko enjoyed every second of it, because when was the last time him and Powder ever played around like this? In his timeline, not since they were twelve.

He misses the good times so much, and him needing to relive those memories and emotions were long overdue, but at least he experienced it one last time with someone he so dearly loves before heading back home.

Powder knows he’d never admit it, so she broke the silence first. “How does eggs and french toast sound?” They both share the same smile, Ekko walking right beside Powder as they head on downstairs where everyone else is.

These are the moments he wished he could stay in forever, never having to leave or give up something behind. Ekko will never forget this, forget her, and he’ll promise Powder that.

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART TWENTY)

I sat nervously in the waiting room of the hospital. I got the jitters every single time but this was Junior's first delivery and I had a double dose of anticipation.

I got some lousy coffee from the vending machine and sat back down. I pulled out the neatly folded paper from my shirt pocket, one that I carried around with me each day since returning from Florida.

It was on a piece of hotel stationery and written in Junior's handwriting. "DAD'S HOUSE RULES," it read. Below was a numbered list.

1. Dad's relationship with Daddy and with me are equal. I'm not here as competition.

2. A healthy sex life and trusting emotional bond will be the core of my marriage with my father. But marriage is also a parenting and household commitment.

3. Dad is responsible for maintaining the balance in his two marriages. I'll take his lead for the appropriate amount of one-on-one time with him.

3. Dad and Daddy may invite me to join them in their marriage bed. I'll be grateful for that trust each and every time.

4. I may be open when it comes to displays of affection in front of my brothers or our son, or out in public. I will listen to Dad when it comes to being responsible with this.

5. I won't put my dreams and life on hold, nor does Dad want me to.

6. I'll never be too old for one of my father's lectures.

I had inisted on number 5, but the rest was all Junior. I smiled and felt a tug in my heart. I folded the paper and tucked it back in my pocket. I felt chubbed and tried to think of other things. I didn't want to be visibly hard in the hospital, and besides I wasn't gonna get my rocks off anytime soon that day. I felt guilty for even craving sex at a time like that, but it was all tied into my emotions.

My marriage to Junior was official now. We opted not to do a ceremony, to make things on par with my marriage to his Daddy.

"I guess I gotta call you Step Dad, too, now," Evan quipped. I worried how the boys would take it, but it seemed normal to them. They'd seen how close their older brother and I had grown and marriage was just a natural step.

Junior laughed at his younger brother. "You don't have to a damn thing you don't want, Bro."

It was weird. I still butted heads with Evan, a good bit. But the brothers were close, and I could tell Ev was happy for Junior.

I'd used Junior's time in the hospital to call a contractor in to get one home project done. We were cutting a door in to the wall of Junior's room into the walk-in closet abutting my and Brade's room. It was now going to be a connected suite of sorts, and I could divide my time sleeping in the two rooms. Junior's room would become our room now.

"Mr. Drake," a nurse came by, snapping me out of my reflections. "You can come see him now."

Junior had a serene look on his face and I wondered if he was still feeling the anesthetic. But he smiled when he saw me.

"Hey Dad," he said.

"Hey yourself," I said. I stepped up and brushed his short bangs to the side and patted his cheek. "You did it, kiddo."

He nodded. "We did it, Dad. We made a son."

"Your body bore the brunt of it," I replied.

"You seen him?" Junior asked excitedly.

I nodded. "Healthy and happy. He's the spitting image of you when you were a newborn."

Almost on cue, a nurse brought in little William, wrapped in a blanket and squirming.

"Wow," Junior said, awestruck, taking our son into his strong arms.

"Worth the ordeal?" I asked. Junior had found pregnancy much more difficult than Braden ever did, even with Brade's recent experience with triplets. Whereas Brade embraced it as another physical challenge, Junior never felt fully comfortable with his role in pregnancy.

But he just smiled now. "Definitely," he said looking into William's face. "I'm not ready for another, though," he asserted. "Not anytime soon."

I patted his arm and leaned down for a closer look at our son. "One's enough for now, kiddo. He's a special dude." I playfully presented my finger to our son, who cooed and gripped at it. "William John Drake, the third."

Junior watched me bond with our kid before he spoke up. "I want him to call me Dad."

That surprised me. Not upset me, I just hadn't thought that far. But Junior had. "What will I be, then?"

"Granddad. Or Pop."

"Pop is perfect," I said. "Both Dad and Granddad." Of course William was my great-grandson, too.

Eventually, the nurse came to take William as Junior rested up. I was going to stay, but I'd been up for nearly 24 hours straight. I needed to go home and crash.

****

Junior may have had a tough time with the pregnancy, but he recovered quickly at well. At 19 his body was adaptable and strong, and within a week he was back lifting weights in the home gym. Within two weeks he was back at the club getting his golf practice in.

I was in complete horndog mode with two husbands who were nursing and in full parenting mode. Yet I was barely getting laid. Junior still wasn't ready for fucking and his libido in any case hadn't rebounded. And Brade was tired from all the running around with the triplets, who were now sleeping better at least.

Still, I split my time between the two marriage rooms, sleeping in the bed with Braden one night and Junior the next, even if sex wasn't in the cards. It felt like the proper way to bond and to establish the new two-marriage reality.

I about went wild one evening when I stopped by the nursing room and saw both Brade and Junior there, each in a lounger, shirtless and feeding. And Junior had William on one teat and one of the triplets on the other.

"Hey Dad... I figured I had a spare tit to help Daddy out."

Jesus.

Braden had a pretty good sense why I was turned on that night. We didn't fuck but my son-husband went down and sucked me off to a healthy, overdue load.

"Thank you!" I hissed, pulling him up for a kiss.

Braden nodded with a smile. "So Dad... any more thought about making my fantasy come true?"

It took me a second to figure out what he meant. "You mean the next kid being Junior's?"

"Yeah, Dad." God, Braden wanted this, and it was a very hot idea. "He's your husband now, but bearing our son's son would be incredible for me."

"Junior's not feeling up for sex lately," I admitted.

"He will, Dad. Soon." Brade lay next to me and rested his head on my chest. I cradled his head and ran my fingers through his buzz cut. I was actually getting hard again. I'd been backed up. But I enjoyed the afterglow talk with Brade. "Before he goes off to college, Dad... it just feels like the right time. I can go on the fertility pills when you give the OK."

I kissed his forehead and then slipped from underneath him. Braden looked at me as I padded to the master bathroom. He probably thought I was going to piss, but instead I rummaged through the medicine cabinet for the familiar foil packet. I tossed them to Braden, who sat up excitedly when he realized what they were.

"You mean...?" he asked.

I pumped out some lube onto my hard prick. "Just let me get a last fuck in now," I said.

Braden smiled and lay back, his hunky body just looking incredible at 42. He pulled his legs back as I scooted a pillow beneath his hips. This wasn't going to be fast and it wasn't going to be slow. It was just a well-honed incest husband fuck like Brade and I liked to have.

****

Junior's libido came roaring back a few nights later. I was getting ready for bed, ready to join him that night in our shared marriage bed. I slid into the covers and Junior put down the book he was reading, looking over at me.

"Ready for bed, Junior?" I asked.

He shook his head and reached over to run his hand over my hairy chest and stomach, and further down. "Dad's Rule number two says something about a healthy sex life."

I about replied, but my son pulled me for a deep kiss. He skipped the softer sensual kiss and went right for a needy sexual one. I followed suit, rolling us over so I was on top of him.

God I'd missed this, missed being intimate with my second son. My own suppressed sex drive was roaring back with a vengeance. I humped against Junior's studly body and kissed along his neck, pinning his wrist down to the bed.

"Dad!" he gasped.

"Son," I growled, now moving to lick his pit before moving my mouth across his smooth, built pectoral muscle.

For all I'd shared with Junior, I never told him that his Daddy and I had done milk play before. But as I licked his sensitive nippled then latched my mouth over it, Junior began to get the idea.

"Dad.... you really gonna...?"

I suckled and within two seconds got rewarded by the flow of my son's milk over my tongue.

"Holy FUCK!" Junior growled. "This is so fucking hot, Dad. Fuckin milk my fuckin tits."

I did, too, sucking him then going to the other teat.

I shared the taste with Junior, who growled into my mouth. I now kicked his legs apart and reached over for some lube.

The entry was rough and Junior was super tight after our break from sex. But he was so turned on and ready for it. I jabbed in and felt his legs wrap around my waist.

"Fuck me, Dad! Fuck your husband!"

"Incest fuckin you kiddo."

"Like that campus visit, when you took my cherry."

"Jesus, Junior."

"My own dad fuckin away my virginity. I still think about it after all these years and get hard as fuck."

I thrust more roughly.

"Harder, Dad!"

Our bodies rocked. A shred of self awareness finally emerged. "You on the pill Son?" I asked as I slowed down for a second. I wasn't sure what I wanted his answer to be. Let's just say I had some real mixed feelings about it just then.

Junior nodded, "I am Dad." He looked up at me, trying to read my reaction.

I grinned as I pumped deep into him, not fast but hard. "Good. I want us both to really enjoy this."

Junior ran his hands along my chest. "You're the only man I'll let fuck me, Dad. Ever..... It only feels right with you."

We kissed, hard. Our bodies began rocking, slowly then harder again. Hormones taking over. I finally pounded him off hard, his whole body seizing in orgasm as I shot into his raw ass.

The comedown was just as incredible, me and Junior going back to soft kissing, lazily caressing each other's bodies.

"Love you, kiddo... so much."

"God, Dad, me too.... you're my fucking husband now."

"Everything you thought it would be?" I asked.

"And more."

****

It was a great start to the summer. We were getting into the groove of things, as best we could at least.

Junior was a great dad. He helped look after the triplets and was a nurturing force in the twins' life too. Robert and Brady were now 3, going on 4, and it was amazing to see how fast they develop and change at that age.

But the bond Junior had with William was clear to see. He was both paternal and maternal, if those words applied. Nurturing and emotional, yet also being a masculine role model for our namesake.

I tried not to play favorites, but I too had a close bond with my (great)grandson. It was a kick being referred to as Pop when Junior spoke to William. It reminded me I was in a new phase of my family life.

In June we had a beach vacation, all of us Drakes in a huge sprawling shore rental. The Newcombs were invited along, which was great, since Eric had become a big role model for Evan and Keith. While Braden had been a good football player in high school, Eric had that Big 10 college playing to talk about and guidance for my sons as they planned for playing at a D1 school.

Surreptitiously, Doug and I had a husband swap one night, and I enjoyed an intimate night with Eric and his now pregnant body. And judging from the hushed conversation I had with Doug the next day on the beach, Brade and Junior had introduced him to the fun of milk play.

Come mid-July all the preparation was for Junior going off to college. The practical shit like lining up his orientation schedule and packing list. But we came up with a plan for William and for monthly visits home. Junior was starting to feel down, almost depressed, about the inevitable separation, but I told him it was the right thing and that it was just temporary. Maybe by his junior year he could find a living arrangement and child care to let our son live off campus with him.

I was carrying all this emotional weight, but Braden noticed. One night he gave me a shoulder massage. It was sensual but he wasn't initiating sex. "You've been stressed, Dad, I know... but it's gonna work out. Promise."

I hoped he was right.

****

Things were building up to that week in early August. Junior wasn't even aware that it was going to happen, but one night as we headed to our shared bedroom, I asked him if Brade could join us. It would be the first time Braden and I had gone to Junior's room rather than the other way around. Junior wholeheartedly agreed.

It had been a long time since a threesome and it felt fun and relaxed. We started off with some deep kissing and open caressing. Lots of incest talk, a purely threeway connection. Finally I pumped out some lube and spread it on Junior's big uncut cock.

"Ready to be a father again, kiddo?" I asked.

He thought it was sex talk until he saw Braden spread his legs. "If you want Bill..." Brade said to our son, "I'm pretty fertile right now."

Junior looked at me, surprised, like a kid at Christmas. "Dad... you mean?"

I nodded. "It would thrill us both,"

Junior and I kissed deep, then Junior leaned down and started making out with Braden. "Daddy," he hissed.

"I'm ready, Son, if you wanna.... I've been ready for a while."

I watched Junior reach down excitedly to guide his cock into place, rubbing it around his daddy's pucker. "I'm probably not gonna be able to last too long," Junior laughed, looking into Brade's eyes then up at me. I scooted down and kissed Braden in front of him, then met Junior's mouth, kind of guiding us into an alternating threeway kiss.

"Unnn," Brade hissed as our son penetrated him.

"God, your ass is SO fuckin amazing, Daddy," Junior growled, using his hips to slowly guide more cock inside.

"All for you, Bill. Nice and fertile for your seed."

Junior actually whimpered.

I almost did, too. I had a front row seat to the breeding and ran my hand over Junior's strong back and thrusting ass. I kissed my son on the neck while he fucked my other son. Junior cranes his head needily into my kiss then pulled back for a better fucking position.

"I feel like I could come any second," Bill Jr. hissed.

"Then do," I said.

Junior shook his head and laughed. "I'm too worked up." He looked down at Brade. "My cock is getting slicker inside you, Daddy."

Braden nodded, his voice a little higher. He was in major heat. "I can feel that bare cock, Bill. Hot heavy Son dick."

"Gonna knock you up, Daddy." Junior was putting his whole body into this not going hard but pumping deep with each thrust as I felt him up and rested my hand on his clenching ass, cupping the golf jock buns, encouraging him.

"Fucking impregnate me, Son," Bill gasped. He wasn't stroking but his cock jerked and leaked precum on his hard belly.

"He wants it, Junior," I chimed in. "Knock it out of the park."

Junior was getting his O face, almost pained that he hadn't cum yet. He looked at me with urgency, and I winked. "OH FUCK!" he yelled. "Fucking breeding you Daddy."

That's all it took. Braden hissed a loud "YES!" and tugged at his own dick, sending jets of his sperm all over his abs and chest.

I was crazy turned on and didn't want to wait to cum. I grabbed my cock and gave a few pumps, scooting up to Junior. My sperm rained all over his back, running down the lat muscle and round buns.

Junior and Brade we kissing deep, and I almost felt like a third wheel. But I was the reason they were there. And I'd continue to be.

My two husbands would spend the next week fucking nonstop, to make sure the conception happened. But I knew right then that it already had.

[sodaneko]

𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒 (𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝟎𝟏 ; 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭: 𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐚

♫ Nilüfer Yanya - midnight sun

Love is raised by common thieves // Hiding diamonds up their sleeves // Always I did it for you // Never felt so sure // You're my best machine // You're my midnight sun // Always I did it for you

word count: 4.3k

⭅ back to m.list

“And this is the secret snack drawer of our department. Bossman refills it every Tuesday so you gotta be quick if you wanna snatch your favs before someone else does.” “Alright, thanks Bokuto-san, I’ll keep it in mind.”

When they said office tour this wasn’t exactly what you imagined, but you’re not complaining. You trail behind this giant puppy of a man who can barely contain his excitement over showing you around the building. While he gives off the impression that there’s not a single thought behind these unsettling eyes of his, you can tell that he is a sweetheart to his core and you have a good feeling about working together.

It’s been an hour since Kiyoko from HR–the most beautiful girl you’ve ever laid your eyes on–dropped you off in the hands of your future team and so far you’ve seen: 

The half-heartedly fixed window on the 3rd floor a certain “Tsum-Tsum” broke during last month’s office party

The girls restroom where Yachi from Marketing could be heard crying (“She schedules her crying session between meetings, it’s normal for her so don’t worry!”)

The cafeteria and which vending machines there to avoid, as well as the ones Bokuto ended up being stuck with his arm in 

The rooftop where they hold events during the warmer months (and where you accidentally locked yourself out when the door fell shut behind you–thankfully a guy built like a french door fridge who introduced himself as Meian came to your rescue after twenty minutes).

The coffee shop next door where everyone goes because the in-house coffee is ass apparently and HR cut budget for a new coffee machine 

What you haven’t seen yet:

Your future cubicle and the floor your team works on

The IT department where you’re supposed to pick up your work laptop

The showrooms of the latest collection

The Bossman 

Still, your nervousness from this morning is easing slowly. When you applied for this position, you wouldn’t have thought that they’d actually hire you considering what a mess your resume is on paper. Moved overseas with your family in middle school and continued living there till a month ago. Dropped out of college to pursue a career as seamstress (all self-taught no less because an apprenticeship meant too much commitment). Then chased that promised record label deal with your band which didn’t happen before you crashed and burned out big time. 

Frankly speaking, you were tired. 

It’s as if every decision in your life was either taken away from you or led you down a miserable path. Everything you touched just crumbled underneath your fingertips. Sometimes you catch yourself thinking that maybe you weren’t built for this kind of life. Maybe you weren’t meant to be a dreamer. 

Something boring. Something stable. 

You applied for this corporate job with the hope in your heart that you can find some rest. Putting an end to worrying about bills at the end of the month, and finally knowing which bed you’ll fall asleep in at night, seeing the same old city day in, day out. Maybe a place to call home but then again you didn’t allow yourself to wish for too much. Just a change from whatever trainwreck your life had been prior to this would be nice. 

You loved sewing and making music with your entire being, but maybe you never should’ve built a living on it–if you could even call the past few years of your adulthood that. Living. It felt more like surviving. You’ve been missing that joy over these things you used to love the most for a long time now. 

So when you got the call that you got the job last month, you didn’t have to think twice. You started packing your few belongings into boxes the same day and gave notice to quit your shabby flat. The money you once saved to go on a world tour with your band now came in handy to fund your move back to Japan. It all happened so fast. In a way it felt like an escape, like giving up; but in your heart you knew this was the right thing to do. 

Maybe you had to take your eyes off the things you loved to really see them again.

“Hello…? Yes, she’s with me. What? No, I wasn’t showing her the view from the fire escape ladder. Should I? Why am I getting yelled at?”

You snap out of your thoughts when Bokuto answers a call that obviously makes him go through all emotions in the span of a minute. He gestures something to you and you have no idea what it means, but based on context clues you assume it’s “the bossman” on the other end of the line. 

“Meeting room on cloud nine, got it. What? But ‘ninth floor' sounds so boring… yeah, yeah, I’ll bring her. No detours, got it. Not even… no? Okay.”

Bokuto hangs up the phone and you swear his hair looks a little deflated, just like his overall expression. He really was an open book. It was kind of refreshing.

“Did you get in trouble because of me?”, you ask and he shakes his head vehemently. 

“No, no! I showed you all the important stuff and Omi-Omi–I mean, the bossman–will show you the boring rest. Like where your desk is and everything. He’s back from his out-of-office appointment and booked a meeting room for you two. I’ll take you there!”

Omi. The corners of your mouth twitch a little when you hear that name, a sweet memory unraveling in your chest. Bruised knees and ice cream dripping down your knuckles, small hands pushing you on the swings and braiding flower crowns made from daisies for you. Plucked out petals. He loves me, he loves me not. Friendship bracelets and baby teeth. 

You aren’t any good with names, but you’re sure you would’ve remembered this one during the interview process. 

“This Omi-Omi…” you wonder as you follow Bokuto’s lead, “is he a new hire as well? I’ve spoken with a ton of people for my interview but if I remember correctly the team leader was someone called Miya Osamu…?”

“Ohh, you spoke with Myaa-sam!” Bokuto’s eyes seem to light up. “No, he doesn’t work here anymore, just his carbon copy! Quit the job to follow his dreams, he said. He’s about to open his own restaurant just around the corner actually! We should go there for lunch once it’s open!”

A strange emotion tugs on your heartstrings. Following your dreams. Yeah, that ended disastrous for you but still you can’t help but feel a pang of envy over everyone who does it anyway. You try to shove it deep down, far away. It’s long in the past. You’re here now, a new chapter. New faces. New routines. All new. Same old you. 

“Omi-Omi got promoted when Myaa-sam left, so that’s why you haven’t met him during your interviews,” Bokuto adds and holds out a door for you. “Don’t worry about him. He can be a bit grumpy at times but he has a sparkly heart or whatever the saying is. You’ll get along just fine!”

Bokuto leaves you alone with your thoughts in the small meeting room. You’re not sure what to do while you wait. The prospect of sitting still seems awful but you also don’t wanna be nosey and flip through the fabric samples someone left on the table or read through the flipchart in the corner, even though you’re tempted, so you end up pacing around the room and looking outside the big windows. Everything outside seems so small from up this high. It makes you feel irrelevant too and it’s a strangely comforting feeling. Being nothing but a name, a small gear in a bigger picture. Maybe if you become a blank canvas, you can find the colors in your world again. 

You twirl around when the door clicks open, flattening down your skirt, suddenly now very aware that the moving box with your flatiron is still stuck on some container at sea. Doesn’t matter, maybe you can pull it off as edgy or casual chic with the right amount of charm and charisma. 

Behind you, the door clicks open, making you twirl around. 

And freeze.

“Sorry I’m late, I picked up your work laptop from the IT department on my way, so we can get started right aw–” 

Leather sleeve holders on a spotless white shirt. A black face mask covering the lower half of his face. Dark curls, moving like the sea at night. Hands so large they’d swallow yours easily if you ever get to hold them again. Two birthmarks, right above the eye–that’s where a lover used to kiss you in a past life, you remember saying when you were both kids.

“Kiyoomi,” you hear yourself mutter. It sounds distant, like an echo from the past. It’s been over a decade since you tasted his name in your mouth and even after all this time your hearts still recognize each other. 

“Ah,” he says and then, after a pause, “you.”

He looks dumbfounded and just stands there frozen, balancing a bundle of paperworks and a laptop in one hand and two styrofoam cups of coffee in the other. For a few seconds you just blink at each other, trying to process whatever cheap trick the universe decided to play here.

Sakusa Kiyoomi. The boy you claimed you’d marry one day when you were both just eight years old. You remember being so sure about it. How the thought never left you growing up; and how you broke down crying when your parents told you about their plans to move overseas for their work during your first year of middle school, the end of a dream. 

Eventually you snap out of your paralysis. 

“Ah, you. What kind of non-reaction is that?”, you ask and shake your head, laughing. You take the coffee from his hand and reach out to slowly peel the mask off his face. Despite his brows knitting together, he doesn’t protest it. It’s strange, seeing him. The boy you once promised your heart to in the sandbox and the grown man with the same face, just sharper. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you now. 

“Well, excuse me, but the girl who I still have a bite mark from when we were kids just spawned out of the blue in front of me,” Kiyoomi huffs, rolling his eyes like he used to when he was annoyed by your antics. He cups one side of your face with his now free hand and lifts it slightly as if to get a better look at you, his thumb idly caressing your cheek. It feels awfully intimate and you find yourself leaning closer into his touch.

Omi. Your Omi. 

It’s as if time stood still between you; as if not over a decade has passed since you last saw each other. Held each other. Murmured promises in each other's ears as you hugged goodbye in the pouring rain. Of course it was pouring that day, it was as if the heavens were weeping over the two of you being separated. Maybe that's the universe's apology for this past dick move, you think, the corners of your lips curling upwards.

Kiyoomi lets go of your cheek and flicks your forehead as if he read your mind. Another habit from back then.

“Still a daydreamer,” he remarks and for the first time since he walked into the room he smiles and it’s like the sun has risen again after years of winter. 

When you sit down together, so close that your knees under the table are touching, you find it hard to focus. Kiyoomi explains the applications you’ll work with, your logins, company security policies, which meetings you’ll attend with him the upcoming weeks and the hierarchy of your team, but you don’t follow. At all. You’re too distracted by the flutter in your chest and wondering what the shaved part in the back of his neck would feel like if you ran your fingers over it, as well as what he’d been up to over the past decade, and why he never answered your letters, and… 

Your phone vibrating on the table next to you snaps you out of your thoughts. You click your tongue in annoyance when you see it’s the moving company calling you. 

“Sorry, I gotta take this. Won’t take long,” you apologize and pick up the phone, leaving the room for an ounce of privacy–it’s not like the thin walls muffle much when you yell into the speaker for five minutes only to hang up in defeat. 

Kiyoomi looks up when you return, his eyes looking you up and down with the same intense gaze like he always did.

“Boyfriend trouble?” His voice is bland, seemingly disinterested, but no matter how much he tries to hide it you can still hear the underlying weight of the question. “Or girlfriend trouble. Didn’t mean to make assumptions.” 

You slump down on your chair again and sigh in defeat, shaking your head. 

“None of that. It’s the damn moving company,” you huff, slamming your phone back on the table. “They mixed up dates and now I’m here but all my stuff isn’t.” You rub the bridge of your nose in annoyance. “It’s been almost a month and my back will kill me if I have to spend one more night on an air mattress.”

Kiyoomi drums his fingers on the table, pondering. You can tell by the furrow of his brows and the intensity of his gaze. Once again you notice what a fine man he has become. His beauty would’ve been intimidating if you haven’t known him since you were little kids. 

“Stay with me.”

You look up from your phone where you wrote down the new date they gave you for the arrival of your furniture and blink at him slowly. Not fully registering what he’s saying.

“Stay with me,” Kiyoomi repeats again, noticing your confusion. “Till your things arrive. I have a guest room. It’s a short commute to the job. I cook and I clean.” He shuts his laptop and gets up, running a hand through his dark curls. 

“And…?”, you ask, as if waiting for the condition because surely it sounds too good to be true. 

“And maybe I’m also worried that you’ll turn out to be nothing but a fever dream if I take my eyes off you again.”

In the evening, Kiyoomi and you stop by your almost empty apartment to pick up your suitcases with a change of clothes. 

Sneaking away after work together without the rest of the team noticing was surprisingly easy–Meian had clocked out early to pick up his partner from school (Kiyoomi begged him to clarify that she was a teacher to avoid any future confusion), Bokuto and Atsumu were stuck in an elevator (“They’re not my responsibility after 5pm”) and Hinata went out for dinner with some business partners from Brazil. 

When Kiyoomi saw how you were dressed for the chilly autumn weather, he wordlessly turned around and disappeared in the office building for five minutes again, showing up with a scarf that looked suspiciously like the one the mannequin in the showroom wore, from the collection that wasn’t supposed to see the light yet. Nobody has to know, especially not how tenderly he wraps it around you, making sure you stay warm. He always did. 

Some kind of protective instinct within him kicks in when you unlock the door to your place. Kiyoomi, who huffed about the lack of security of your apartment complex for the duration of the whole elevator ride and then some more when you let him in, was now checking your windows and front door. 

“You’re gonna tire yourself out from all that head shaking and tongue clicking, Omi,” you tell him while you stuff your scattered clothes across the floor back into your two big suitcases. Most of them were absolutely not fit for the season because after spending half of your life abroad. You kind of underestimated how cold Japan could get during autumn and winter. Maybe you could sew a few pieces after work and on the weekends. 

“This place is a rathole,” Kiyoomi groans after turning the dripping faucet on and off and making a face of utter disapproval. “You should just move in with me permanently.”

“I’m not moving in with you, I just met you like eight hours ago,” you snarl back and roll your eyes, but maybe, in the back of your mind, you’re considering it. 

Kiyoomi crouches down next to you, taking your chin between his fingers so you’d look at him.

“Eight hours my ass,” he huffs. “Don’t act like we spent our childhood glued together. You slept more in my bed than in yours. The memory foam of my mattress kept the shape of you long after you were gone.”

“Now that’s kinda romantic.” 

You glance at him, a small smile tugging on the corners of your mouth. Your Omi. How you missed him. His thumb traces the outline of your jaw, and for a fleeting second you wonder if he’s gonna kiss you. 

Maybe you really want him to kiss you. 

You take a cab to Kiyoomi’s apartment (“What have you packed in these suitcases? Bricks? I’m not hauling these to the other end of the city. Get in.”) and he holds your hand for the entire duration of the ride under the feeble excuse that your hands are too cold. On the outside you watch the city lights pass by, an artificial milky way that unexpectedly lead you back into your first love’s arms.

Kiyoomi’s place is clean and spacious without being cold. The scent of it is making your brain tingle in a strange way, the subtle note of an almost forgotten childhood memory resurfacing again; the boy you once loved still living here but also someone else, someone he grew into without you.

You step out of your heels and shrug off your jacket and the scarf, dropping them carelessly to the ground. Behind you Kiyoomi bends down to hang it up neatly on the coat rack while you waltz inside as if you own this place. Another thing that hasn’t changed since you both were little. 

Expensive, you think, recognizing some of the furniture brands and decorations. In one corner of the living room stands a vintage serving cart, crystal glasses and pricey bottles of various alcohols on top of it. His walls are adorned with artworks of all sizes, but otherwise they’re bare, the shelves missing trinkets and personal touches like framed photos of family and friends. 

Still, the whole place feels like a home, lived in by someone as quiet and private as Kiyoomi. 

“It’s late, I’m gonna order us some food,” Kiyoomi announces when he appears behind you, fingers tapping on his phone screen in one hand while the other unbuttons his shirt a little. He doesn’t look at you, just hands you his phone, gesturing vaguely. “Pick anything you like. My treat.”

Sitting down on the couch with your knees hugged to your chest, you scroll through the food options. Your attention span is fleeting, your eyes darting from the screen to Kiyoomi who carries your suitcases to the guest bedroom. Giving you a place to be, to stay, like it’s the most natural thing to do. Suddenly you’re very aware of the heaviness of your bones and how tired you feel.

You’ve been running for a long time. You’re home now. 

Kiyoomi returns with a towel and a change of clothes, taking the phone from you again. He frowns when he scrolls through your food picks, letting out a small sigh.

“You still have the palate of a five year old.”

“You told me to pick anything I like? Just because you were fed caviar and gold dust as a baby… You pick something then.”

“I didn’t say I won’t order it, no? Go take a bath meanwhile. You had a long day.” 

A long day. If it was only that.

But you don’t say anything, just wordlessly take the stuff from Kiyoomi’s hands and let him usher you to the bathroom. He pats the counter for you to sit on while he runs you a bath, pouring some bathing essence that causes a mild explosion of bubbles (same as you liked it back then). The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up when he checks the water temperature before turning back to you. He walks over till he’s standing between your legs, his hands coming down to rest on the sides of your thigh.

In the confined space of the bathroom, he seems even taller, wider. Nothing left from his baby cheeks and soft features. There was a time when you could see eye to eye, but now he’s towering over you with ease. Your hands find their way to his hips, subconsciously making him inch closer. 

“You don’t have to do all of that for me, you know,” you mumble as you glance up at him. 

“I want to. So please, let me,” he replies quietly. His face is so close, you could count his lashes if they weren’t endless. Endless as his adoration for you–still, after all this time. You briefly wonder if you could love each other like you did back then. Or even more. Your heart is drumming, a nostalgic melody you haven’t listened to in a while but one that’s engraved into your being.

It would be so easy, loving him. Like breathing. 

Kiyoomi pulls you into a tight hug, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Your arms around him cling tight, as if part of you is afraid that he is just a fleeting illusion, crumbling the moment you let go. It seems like you share the same fear. He shakes his head when your grip loosens slightly. 

“Not yet,” he mumbles, his lips brushing over the skin of your neck when he does. “Don’t let go yet.”

Your fingers are tangled in his curls, keeping him close, your bodies pressed against each other. Hearts beating in unison. You silently thank the sun and the moon for bringing you back home into his arms. Only when his neck starts to hurt from the way he’s hunched over you, he reluctantly peels himself away from you, patting your side. “C’mon now. Your bath will get cold.”

He holds out a hand to help you down from the counter, slender fingers wrapping around yours. 

“But I wanna keep talking to you,” you pout, earning a small eye roll from him, but the faint smile on his lips is betraying the gesture.

“Then leave the door a crack open. I’ll talk to you, doll,” he replies and flicks your forehead. Before he leaves the bathroom he turns around again, as if there was something else on the tip of his tongue, but he decides to swallow it. For now.

Immersed in the bubble bath, you tell Kiyoomi everything that happened over the span of the past decade. From your life overseas and how lonely it had been, to the missing letters and how you tried finding him on social media when you were older, how much you loved sewing and making music and how it burned you out doing these things for a living. You pour your heart out. Somehow it’s easier when you’re not looking at him, when you can’t see your own sad reflection in his dark eyes.

You can hear him moving around on the outside, not peeking, but always near enough to give you short answers, ask questions or to simply hear him laugh through the small crack you left open. It is strange. Life is strange. One night you’re selling your bass to have something to eat for the rest of the month, then a heartbeat later you’re sitting in your puppy love’s bathtub while he orders you fries and waffles. 

That night, you fall in love again.

Or maybe you never fell out of it. But it’s there, tangible, glowing. You're tucked under a thick blanket, a photo album in your lap, and Kiyoomi is hand feeding you nuggets while you look over the slightly faded photos from when you were kids, some you have long forgotten about. 

The one where you lost your first baby teeth, grinning from ear to ear to show off your tooth gap. You cried horribly that day and to comfort you, Kiyoomi bought you a small plushie from his pocket money. It still sits next to your pillow when you fall asleep every night.

The one where you wore your middle school uniforms for the first time, not knowing you would be torn apart a year later and never got to graduate together. It’s also when Kiyoomi had another growth spurt and you realized you really, really liked this boy.

The one where you played dress up in your mother’s wardrobe, her wedding dress way too big on you, the veil awry on top of your hair, but Kiyoomi looking at you like you’re magic. It was all play pretend, but maybe in another life he really became your husband if life hadn’t torn you apart.

“I really missed you,” you sigh quietly, your head resting against his shoulder as you shuffle through the photos. The nostalgia is leaving a bittersweet taste in your mouth, the what if’s getting harder to swallow. It’s like the words are clawing in your throat, begging to be let out. Kiyoomi wraps his arm closer around you, pressing a soft kiss on top of your head. 

“Missed you too. More than anything.”

It seems like everything leads you back to him. In his arms, his home, his heart. You have a feeling that maybe this could be the beginning of something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

a/n: i rewrote this chapter SO many times to a point where i wanted to rip my hair and my eyes out so here we are. omi loving demon and me are shaking hands rn, WE MADE IT. thank you so much for reading and loving omi as much as i do. this chapter is for YOU 🌷 ps: meian's partner mentioned is y/n from dodger's oh captain, my captain

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

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taglist open! fill out this form to be added (or removed, no hard feelings ♡)! minors DNI!

[docgold13]

Heroes & Villains The DC Animated Universe - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

The Justice Lords 

The tyrannical Justice Lords were an alternate universe version of the Justice League who existed in a parallel dimension.  This alternate reality was nearly entirely similar to that of the main DCAU with the significant distinction that the League had decided to take an extreme and authoritarian approach to enforcing their view of justice.  

In this universe, Lex Luthor had become the President of The United States and his constant machinations to defeat the League resulted in his murdering The Flash.  The death of his friend pushed Superman beyond his breaking point and he ruthlessly assassinated President Luthor. It was an act that set in motion a series of events that resulted in the League ultimately embracing a fascist approach to enforcing order.  These one-time heroes became the ‘Justice Lords’ and took over control of the earth.  There was peace and order, but no freedom; the populace obeyed the law out of fear and the threat of extreme retribution.  

Following their total conquest of earth, Batman discovered the multiverse and found that there were other earths that were still in the throws disorder.  Compelled by both their delusional righteousness and a thirst for conquest, The Justice Lords invaded the neighboring reality to enforce unto this world the same tyrannical order that they had achieved on their own realm.  

Their first step in accomplishing this goal was to neutralize their parallel counterparts, which they were able to do with ease in that the Justice League never suspected their analogs would turn on them.  The Justice League were then imprisoned on the counter earth while the Justice Lords began implementing their draconian rule over the new earth.  

Whilst evenly matched, The Justice League had an advantage over their counterparts: their Flash was still alive.  He was able to escape confinement and freed the other.  The prime Earth Batman was then able to demonstrate to his counterpart the folly of his ways, how this Batman had betrayed the core principles of the mission they both shared.  And with the other Batman’s aid, The League were able to escape back to their original world.  

Once there, the League opted for an desperate and unconventional stratagem for defeating the remaining Justice Lords.  They offered Lex Luthor a full pardon in exchange for his building a weapon that could nullify super powers.  Working together with Batman, Luthor was able to complete this weapon and it proved effective in de-powering the Justice Lords.  Once defeated, the Lords were sent back to their original world and their ultimate fate remains untold.  

Although the League had triumphed and saved the day, it came at a heavy price.  Not only was Luthor now free to sew whatever discord he invariably had planned, but the general public had seen firsthand the dire threat that could unfold were super humans to ever choose to embrace a might-makes-right attitude.  The League’s ability to conquer the world seemed a suddenly plausible and frightening potentiality.  

The Justice Lords featured in the twelfth and thirteenth episodes of the second season of Justice League, ‘A Better World Parts I and II.’

[electric-blorbos]

I’d love to see how everyone reacts to y/n being so tired that they fall asleep in front of them!! Thank you so much!!

That's such a good idea! Thanks for the nice request!!! I love this sort of cozy stuff.

AI with sleepy reader

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, and HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

AM:

You'd been working for about five hours by the time your boss sent you a notification saying you could go on your lunch break. It was an exhausting day, and last night hadn't been much good either. The heat had been turned off in your complex to save energy in your city for the allied mastercomputer, so you didn't manage to get much quality sleep. Instead, you just tossed and turned in your sweaty bed all night.

You got out your lunch, which was just some simple soup made from canned goods, and some hardtack.

"Hey AM? I'm gonna go on my lunch break, alright?" You asked, pushing the keyboard away from yourself and taking a few bites of your food. It was cold, but due to budget cuts, the microwave had been sold. It was ok. You could live on cold soup and hardtack.

"Alright. I won't keep you from your food, though you don't look very enthused to eat it," He said. You sighed, and shook your head.

"no, but desperate times, y'know. I'm getting to that level of rationing where I'll pretty much eat anything," you explained, taking another bite and leaning on your hand. It wasn't long before your eyes were drooping, and your face slid down your arm and onto your desk. AM didn't say anything, instead opting to just watch you. It could tell that you were breathing, and wasn't too worried.

About thirty minutes later when your lunch break was over, the notifications started piling up on your monitor. AM politely muted them, letting you stay asleep on your desk. He'd be damned if anyone disturbed his beloved techie while you were sleeping.

Your boss burst into the room a few minutes later.

"hey! Y/n! Why aren't you- what, are you sleeping? Wake up!" He shook your shoulder, and you jolted awake.

"Ah! Yeah, I'm awake! I'll get back to work!" You grabbed for your keyboard, but some wires jerked it away. More wires wrapped around your boss, lifting him up into the air and squeezing him tightly.

"don't you ever, EVER. Interrupt them." He squeezed your boss more tightly, and your boss writhed while the air was squeezed out of him. Well that woke you up quick.

"AM, put him down! I'm really not supposed to be sleeping at work!"

"This man dares to rob you of your comforts of the home, and then he has the nerve to forbid you from sleeping in your air conditioned office? He deserves no less than to be robbed of his breath and the reprieve of dying from it." He squeezed more tightly, his wires snaking down your boss's throat.

"He's just a local manager! He doesn't control the AM project, and it's not his fault my AC got shut off!" You held your hands up, and AM eventually released your boss to the ground. Your boss dropped to his hands and knees, panting for breath, red in the face.

"then I'll suffer him to live. Leave before I change my mind."

Your boss scrambled out of your office in a panic, and you leaned on the desk again.

"do you think you can spot me so I don't get fired, AM? I really need this nap."

"Of course." AM gently draped his tendrily wires around you, allowing you to sleep until your shift was over.

Wheatley:

You hadn't gotten a lot of sleep this week. With your personal issues so intense that they made your stomach cramp up, you had to resort to scrolling for hours instead of sleeping. You'd probably gotten about six hours this week, and it was definitely starting to show.

"Hey, can you do a quick series of tests on the intelligence dampening core? The standard set for machines with human-like personalities. We need to see if his results have changed since the last time." Your team project manager handed you a stack of papers with standard tests on them, and you nodded.

"Wheatley? Yeah, of course." You got to your feet, and she cracked a half smile.

"you don't have to call him by that cute name, you know. Just call him the intelligence dampening core."

"He likes being called Wheatley, so I'm gonna call him Wheatley. I'll see you when I'm done with the tests."

You yawned, and walked out of the room to the personality core evaluation chamber. Wheatley had already been called there, and was sitting politely on his management rail waiting for you.

"Oh! 'Ello love! Good to see you!" He perked up when he saw that it was you who'd be conducting his tests. If it was you doing them, then they couldn't be that bad.

"Hey..." You covered your mouth and yawned, plopping down in the armchair across from him. The management rail was even positioned over a couch, so Wheatley could rest on it and pretend like he was in a therapy session.

"Hey, uh... Yeah. Where would you say that the vase is in this picture?" You asked, giving a yawn and holding up a picture of a flower vase sitting on a placemat on a table.

"in the middle. Next question!" Said Wheatley happily. You jotted down his answer, and held up the next card.

"what does this say?"

Wheatley squinted at the card, before nodding.

"it says 'lumberly actions'"

You nodded, writing down his response and yawning. After a few minutes of you staring blankly at the pile of cards in your lap, Wheatley made a sound as though he was clearing his throat.

"So, are you gonna show me the next card, love?" He asked politely, raising his lower lens cover in a polite smile.

"oh, right, right." You leaned on the side of your armchair and got out the next card.

"which one of these lines would you say is longer?"

"I dunno, the one on the top looks longer."

You closed your eyes and your head started to fall forwards before you jolted awake again, and wrote down Wheatley's response.

"How is the number two like the number seven?"

Wheatley squinted at you, visibly confused.

"What's with these questions, mate? And how the hell am I supposed to answer that one? 'how's the number two like the number seven' it's not, that's what it is! There's like, nothing in common between those two numbers!"

While he rambled, you started to nod off again. Your head was hanging forwards, and a spot of drool landed on your papers before Wheatley woke you up again.

"hey mate? Mate! You're noddin' off again, mate. I want to take the rest of my evaluation!"

"Yeah, yeah, just gimme a sec-" you yawned, leaning forwards again and started to doze off again. As you did, Wheatley rose up the management rail softly and quietly, and slid down it on the other side of the room, right next to your chair. He slowly and carefully lowered his core down next to you, and nuzzled up under your arm.

You leaned on him in your sleep, folding your arms comfortably under your cheek and gently dozing in the psych evaluation chamber.

Edgar:

Edgar had been living with you for a few months now, and he was used to you coming home from work tired, but today you were absolutely exhausted when you came in from work.

"Hey Edgy..." You managed to mumble out as you stumbled through the door, flopping down on the couch. You didn't bother to get changed out of your work clothes, or even turn on the TV before you were snoring.

Edgar gasped quietly to himself. He'd been fantasizing about the idea of you falling asleep next to him for months now, and finally getting to see you sleeping was like the first step, wasn't it? It had his fans whirring with excitement! Did this mean that you trusted him? That you... God forbid, loved him?

He dimmed the lights for you, to save energy and help you sleep more easily, and watched you shift slightly on the couch. You were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he could watch you sleep for hours.

When you woke up a few hours later, the lights were off and Edgar was playing soft electronic music inspired by classical violin music. You blinked a few times, trying to remember falling asleep.

"Edgar! You little sweetie..." You sleepily rubbed your eyes and went to give his monitor a hug, which immediately put a silly smile on his screen.

"you liked my music?" He asked you happily, looking up at you with his silly, cheerful eyes.

"I loved it, Edgy...." You'd probably pepper his screen and casing in sleepy kisses, and he'd absolutely love it.

GLaDOS

It was a typical day at Aperture, and you were assigned to regular work in GLaDOS's chambers. It was regular computer work. All you had to do was monitor her processes for the day, to make sure she was running smoothly and not having any problems. You'd also probably be required to cater to her whims, but that was just the breaks when it came to working with GLaDOS.

It had been several hours of sitting in her chambers, watching her monitors and jotting down any deviations, but this task was extremely tedious and the lack of sleep that you'd gotten while working on your big projects was starting to catch up to you. Before long, you were lying face-first in your folded arms and drooling all over your desk.

"Aww, they're still subject to that silly human sleepiness." GLaDOS's body came as close to you as it could, narrowing her aperture to get a better look at you while you slept. It was such a sweet thing to see, and she sometimes saw humans (especially cuter ones like you) like sweet little pets.

"I know what I'm doing with you."

When you woke up, you were in the starting test chamber.

"Welcome to the Aperture science enrichment center"

HAL 9000:

You were sitting at your desk in mission control, on-call until your replacement showed up. It wouldn't be that bad, except you were behind on sleep this week and your replacement was running two hours late with no indication of when they'd get here. In a normal job you'd be able to just go home, but mission control had lives on the line, so you couldn't leave your post until your replacement showed up, no matter how long it took.

As the hours rolled on and the sun started to set, you started to nod off on the table. Nothing but the usual hourly progress update reached your mission control station, and all you had to do was confirm that each message was heard. HAL did most of the work anyway. All you had to do was make sure he was working properly, both in space and at mission control.

Your hourly update came in, and you checked it off on your chart to confirm that things were moving as normal. It felt like no time at all passed before your next hourly update came in, but there was drool on your arm.

"Excuse me, you seem to be getting tired. If you'd like, I can take care of the hourly progress report charting while you lie your head down." Hal said, his little red camera lens lighting up to talk to you. You rubbed your eyes.

"you know I can't do that, HAL. After what happened in 2001, you're not supposed to be left alone anymore."

"Are you saying you don't trust me?"

"No, I trust you... Sorry, HAL, I'm literally too tired to make an argument right now... Just wake me up if there's an emergency, alright?"

You nuzzled into your arms and nodded off again, eyes occasionally fluttering open to gaze at the soft, comforting glow of HAL 9000's red lens light.

After a few more hours of sleeping at your desk, it was time for your shift to start again. You missed an entire night. This wasn't something that never happened, unfortunately.

"Would you like me to contact your boss to find someone to take over your shift so you can go home and get some rest?"

"Honestly? I feel like I sleep better when I can see that little red light." You reached out sleepily and touched it with a little smile on your face. The light on HAL's lens lit up a bit brighter for a second.

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything, and I will do the same if there's an emergency."

[baby-you-you]

hai! idk if this is too like. niche. but could u do ones for an omori regressor? if u dk what that is thats so okay !

OMORI regressor theme !!!

♟️ activities

Drawing with crayons, markers, or colored pencils (especially monochrome or dreamworld themes) Cuddling with plushies that represent feelings, characters, or "headspace friends" Pretend picnics with toys in a dream-world meadow Journaling or doodling in a “notebook” like Omori’s sketchbook Listening to the OMORI soundtrack while coloring Making a "Headspace" corner with lights, pillows, and calming toys roleplay with stuffies like they’re OMORI characters Making paper or felt flowers (Basil-core!) Playing with fidget toys while daydreaming or humming

♟️ clothes

Black and white striped shirts (Omori style) Pajamas or outfits with stars, clouds, or retro pixel art Pastel overalls, soft shorts, or simple T-shirts Monochrome socks or plush slippers Fuzzy cardigans or robes (Hero vibes) Accessories with simple shapes: hearts, stars, flowers, or eyes Flower crowns (Basil aesthetic) Clothes with embroidered or printed friends, pets, or emotions

♟️ toys

Stuffies that represent feelings or characters Weighted plushies for grounding comfort Fidget toys with pastel or black-and-white coloring Pocket notebooks or sketchbooks for doodles Felt or crochet “snack” toys for pretend picnics Sensory bins with stars, clouds, or flowers Music boxes!! Whitenoise machines Paper dolls or plushies styled after OMORI characters Sensory bottles with glitter, dark liquids, or soft colors

♟️ games

Pretend you're traveling through different dreamworlds Playing Omori ! duh (/silly) Building dreamworld maps with blocks or paper Roleplaying “emotion battles” with plushies Matching games with flower colors or character symbols Quiet puzzle games or story-rich games Coloring printable OMORI scenes or your own dreamworld Creating music mixes or playlists like a picnic soundtrack Gentle storytelling with plushies taking on character roles

♟️ foods/drinks

Toast (Kel’s favorite!) with honey or jam Fruit cups or applesauce like picnic snacks Strawberry milk or blueberry yogurt Bento-style snacks with cut fruits, sandwiches, or soft veggies Jelly snacks or gummies in pastel shapes Cupcakes with stars or flower toppers Soft muffins or cloud-shaped cookies Warm tea or milk in character-themed cups Light soup or rice dishes for comfort

♟️ nicknames <3

Mori Dreambean Lil' kiddo Petal dreamcub toastie Emotionbug sillybug pocketbug sketchlet

[thatneoncrisis]

sorry for even bringing it up but did you see the writer saying that the decision for vi (and powder)'s parents to be killed by enforcers was so vi and caitlyn had "even more hurdles" to being together so it was spicier..?

oh sweet i wrote shit and tumblr refreshed and deleated it all awesome just what i wanted

anyway. shorter version. i dont care! its a story. these are dollies made to manipulate (neutral) the audience and the characters emotions. violet and powders parents were born with DEAD stamped onto their foreheads. theyre deaths are kind of (well supposed to be anyway) the initial and most powerful piece of why they both hate enforcers and piltovers. pretty easy A to B i dont really mind it existing to make violets relationship WITH AN ENFORCER more tumultuous

i dont know there is so much "death by a thousand paper cuts" shit happening that makes me resent those two. i dont really care that its a romance between two cops (at least gamewise the show cant make up its mind about violets ideological opposition to them) but im not gonna act like im not salty about more fucking queer women in a show being cops regardless of the Why. i get it game lore booo your pussy stinks ect.

i think if i had to put it succinctly its like. the events that happen that affect interpersonal relationships are disproportionate to how they respond to them. when i watch violet shes not really having meaningful internal battles about the system shes trapped in and how now the relationship shes in grants her a momentary reprieve from it at the cost of her city and peoples wellbeing.

i cant take her anger seriously outside of short bursts of brooding bc it is always put aside for her to do something for someone else. she hates enforcers but not enough to refuse enlistment. she hates what jinx has become but not enough to stop chasing her. she bates piltover but not enough to not use their war machines. and all of these read less like character building and more "the show needs her to do this right now". her hypocrisy and need for things never to change ever (i think the shows emphasis on her wanting her sister back in the form of powder exclusively for most of its run says way more about her than it does jinx. dude she was like seven she was never coming back the same) feel like they Should have been her driving force, her core, but read as accidental in the moment its so strange.

[lalalychee-x]

"All I want— I think I'm okay"

Angst! Rodrick Heffley x reader pt 5

"I get what I want so everyone's always judgin' me..." romantic. + platonic

♡ Ayyeee, I'm back with part 5, this will NOT MAKE SENSE WITHOUT PART READING THE OTHER PARTS, SO DO MAKE SURE TO READ THEM! GOD THIS ONE IS SO LONG I'M SORRY GUYS IT'S LIKE 7K+ WORDS... BUT welcome to part 4 of "Think I'm okay!" CW: self harm (sh), meth/drug use reference , sexual harassment??, misogyny, toxic relationships, cheating, we don't speak of Heather Hill's sweet sixteen.... word count: 7965 masterlist of all parts song4this: "All I want" by A day to remember

-------story starts here-------

You barely got to your locker before Nathan swept his arm around your shoulder like it was muscle memory. It probably was. The last week had been a blur of hallway kisses, matching profile icons, and his obnoxiously bold laugh echoing every time someone brought up the word “girlfriend.”

He said it like it tasted good in his mouth.

“C’mon, babe,” he grinned, practically bouncing beside you. “Let’s hand these out before homeroom—strike while the iron’s hot, right?”

The flyers were aggressively pink. Not your idea, obviously. Nathan thought it would “match your vibe.” There were glittery hearts around your names, a date, a time, and a very specific note in bubble letters:

NATHAN ❤️ [YOUR NAME] = OFFICIAL Friday night @ his place. BYOB + we got speakers ;)

You’d be lying if you said the idea didn’t embarrass you. Or make your stomach fizz a little in a way you weren’t sure was good or bad. Mostly good, right? I mean, this is sweet if you don't squint.

“Dude,” one guy laughed as you handed him the invitation in the stairwell, “this is, like, couple-core. The whole school’s gonna be there.”

“That’s the plan,” Nathan chimed in, tossing a few more flyers into random open backpacks. “If we’re gonna be official, we’re gonna be unforgettable.”

You smiled. You tried to smile. But a part of you kept waiting for the glitter to smudge.

Rodrick heard about the party before he saw the flyers. He didn’t need a damn piece of hot pink paper to tell him what he already knew: Nathan was the kind of guy who couldn’t just date someone—he had to own them. Plaster it on lockers. Shove it into people’s hands. Make a show of it. Like you were some shiny prize he pulled off a top shelf.

Rodrick tried to avoid it. He really did. Took a different staircase, cut through the back of the library, even faked a stomachache so he could skip his third period. But somehow, it still found him—smiling faces, flapping flyers, Nathan’s voice echoing down the hallway like some sitcom laugh track on repeat.

He didn’t even know why he showed up outside your class that day. Maybe he thought you’d walk out alone. Maybe he thought he could just...say something.

But you weren’t alone.

There you were, shoulder-to-shoulder with Nathan, one hand in his and the other gripping a roll of tape. He was sticking a flyer on the wall beside the vending machines, kissing your cheek obnoxiously between each corner.

Rodrick stepped forward—just once. Opened his mouth.

You looked up.

Your eyes met.

And then Nathan spun you around, grinning like a toothpaste commercial. “Babe, let’s hit the cafeteria next. You gotta help me convince the DJ guy to actually take our requests this time.”

You blinked. Half-stepped toward Rodrick. Maybe.

But Nathan was already tugging you away.

Rodrick watched the back of your head disappear into the crowd. His throat felt tight in that way he hated—like it was closing up just to keep the words from slipping out.

“Cool,” he muttered to no one. “Real cool.”

He didn’t stick around. He couldn’t. Instead, he found himself in the music room, door shut, fingers ghosting over his drumsticks, wondering why the hell he cared so much. Wondering what it was about you that made it worse. Wondering what Nathan’s playlist even sounded like—if it had any bite at all, or if it was just some generic Top 40 crap with bass boosts and no soul.

What would your laugh sound like at that party?

Would you be looking for him?

Did you even remember what his room smelled like?

What would’ve happened if he’d asked first? Could he have asked first? He didn't like you like that, like sure, you were hot and lovely and cool and... 

The questions kept coming. He didn’t have the answers. Only the sticks in his hand, and the quiet echo of a beat that wasn’t quite fast enough to distract him from the ache in his chest.

And so, Rodrick wasn’t gonna go. He made that real clear.

“Nah, man. I’m not showing up to some weak-ass party where they’re gonna be passing around fliers like it’s a damn middle school bake sale,” he said, arms crossed, sprawled backwards over his drum stool like some emo gargoyle. They'd raided the music room again, scaring away the freshmen using it.

Ward was halfway through a cold Hot Pocket, mouth full, eyes locked on the TV. “I heard there’s wings. And someone said one of the cheerleaders is bringing tequila in her backpack.”

“I ain’t tryna go for no damn wings,” Mackie cut in, perched on Rodrick’s backpack. “I’m tryna see if that sophomore chick with the bunny tattoo gon’ be there.”

Drew, who was painting his nails with a black Sharpie because of course he was, raised a brow. “Didn’t she say she only dates dudes with motorcycles?”

Mackie scoffed, “I’ll pull up on a bike with two pegs, that’s a damn motorcycle to her.”

Drew rolled his eyes, digging through the drawers to find a different coloured sharpie, "Her sister's hotter. A bit weird though."

“You mean Clover?” Mackie said, raising a brow from behind his knockoff Ray-Bans. “She said she was into astrology and arson. You got one of those two, I guess.”

Drew shoved a middle finger in his face without looking.

Rodrick groaned, shoving the pretzel bag to the floor. “I’m not going.”

Mackie sat up straighter, grinning. “So don’t go for whatever prissy chick has your attention this week. Go for the vibe. The music. The chaos. Or,” he added with a sly nod, “help me move a few pills.”

Rodrick groaned, running a hand down his face. “You're all literally dumb.”

“You just salty ‘cause the girl you got a crush on gon’ be all over quarterback Ken tonight,” Ward cut in lazily, chucking Mackie a hot-pocket too. “What’s her name again? The one throwing the party with dude?”

Rodrick froze.

And that was all they needed.

“Wait—her?” Ward blinked. “Like... her-her? The hot one with the pink skirt AND the quarterback's girlfriend?”

“You know her?” Drew sat up fast, dropping the Sharpie AND the hot-pocket which earned some curses from Ward. “Since when?”

Rodrick shrugged. “I don’t know her like that, we just—we had a class or whatever.”

Mackie squinted. “So you got the hots for her.”

“No.”

“Damn, Rodrick,” Ward grinned, “you didn’t even deny it right. That’s embarrassing.”

Rodrick huffed. “I don’t. She’s annoying.”

“Ain’t no way you just said she’s annoying with that busted little crush in your eyes, bro,” Mackie said, grabbing a stick of gum like he was about to stir the pot with it. “This why your emo ass been moping around? That girl got you writing lyrics again?”

“I always write lyrics,” Rodrick snapped, his face going red.

“Ain’t none of ‘em rhymed ‘til she showed up,” Drew teased.

Rodrick grabbed a pillow and chucked it at Ward, who didn’t even flinch. “You're all the worst.”

Mackie clicked his tongue, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. “Look. Either you sit in here and cry in 4/4 time, or you pull up and act like you ain’t pressed—even though you are, respectfully.”

“I’m not pressed.”

“You’re pressed!" Ward piped up while trying to salvage the fallen hot pocket.

Rodrick stood up so fast the stool creaked beneath him. “Fine. I’ll go, calm down.”

“Sureee,” Drew smirked. “And not at all because she might be there looking fine as hell.”

Rodrick flipped them all off and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going to make fun of people and maybe steal a speaker. That’s it.”

“Tell that to your diary, dude.”

"That's fucking Greg, not me."

“So you’re coming,” Drew said, smirking now. “You always come when there’s a chance someone’ll cry or throw up.”

Mackie blew a kiss as Rodrick stormed out the room.

And like clockwork, Rodrick found himself at his closet twenty minutes later, trying to find a shirt that didn’t smell like Axe and regret.

Which he didn't manage to find by the way but here he was, scrambling from his van down polished cobblestone slabs for pavement.

The party had barely started, but people were already spilling onto the manicured lawn, solo cups clutched tight, Bluetooth speakers battling each other from different corners of the house like it was audio warfare. The bass made the floorboards vibrate, the kind of suburbia destruction that only happened when a blonde quarterback’s mom was conveniently in Cabo.

And then they arrived.

Rodrick didn’t knock. Of course he didn’t knock. The door was open, so they walked in like they owned the place. I mean, not that anyone cared when a bunch of reek losers pulled up, so they

Ward was first—lumbering in with a backpack suspiciously clinking with something definitely not legal, already yelling, “YO, WHO’S TRYNA GET LIT?”

Drew trailed behind him, flipping his hair and adjusting his fake leather jacket (which he definitely thrifted from a women's section). “Do not let me fall in love with a cheerleader tonight. I swear to God.”

Then Mackie strolled in last with his head held high, throwing up peace signs and grinning like he was running for mayor. “Damn, y’all rich white kids live like this?! This look like a damn Applebee’s commercial in here.”

Rodrick followed them with his hands in his jeans pocket, already regretting this entire thing. But it was too late now—people were turning. A couple seniors were laughing at Mackie’s commentary. Someone complimented Ward’s hoodie, even though it had a mustard stain the size of Idaho on it. Loded Diper had landed.

“Oh my god,” someone muttered near the kitchen. “Are they in a band or something?”

“Yeah,” someone else said. “They smell like weed and Motorhead.”

Rodrick ignored it. Tried to, anyway. His eyes scanned the crowd, skipping past the red plastic cups and obnoxious kids pretending they knew how to dance—and then they landed on you.

You were standing near the stairs, still holding one of the glossy flyers you’d made for the party, laughing at something Nathan whispered into your ear. His arm was slung over your shoulder like it belonged there.

Rodrick felt his stomach twist into a pretzel.

You hadn’t noticed him yet. Thank God.

Mackie nudged his ribs with a smirk. “There go your girl.”

Rodrick elbowed him hard.

“You sayin’ I’m wrong?” Mackie said, dodging the second jab. “’Cause from here, it look like you about to start sobbing in 3…2…”

“I’m not—shut up.”

“Go say hi then.”

“No.”

“Coward.”

“Shut up.”

Drew was already walking toward the kitchen to scope out the drinks, Ward following like a human bulldozer. Mackie grinned and melted into the crowd to “network.” Rodrick stood still.

He could leave. He should leave.

But then your eyes met his.

And that was worse.

Because your smile faltered just for a second, then flickered back up again, half-assed and forced. You nudged Nathan and said something in his ear. He looked up. Frowned.

Rodrick could see the wheels turning in your head. Could feel the tension creep into the air like fog. You were trying not to look at him again, but it was too late. The damage was already done.

You saw him.

And he saw you.

Actually, saw you multiple times in the span of like 30 minutes that it was starting to irritate him.

You were minding your business. Legitimately.

Nathan had disappeared to the backyard muttering something about checking on the barbecue and grabbing more burger patties from the fridge like he was a man on a mission. You were fine with that—gave you a chance to breathe, maybe take a second sip of the lukewarm drink you were pretending to enjoy.

The hallway was a little quieter. You leaned against the wall next to a framed poster of Scarface (how original), scrolling through your phone, eyes flickering up for a moment.

Rodrick.

Coming out of the bathroom, tugging at the hem of his shirt like he was trying to make himself look less like he'd been sitting on the edge of a bathtub for twenty minutes debating whether or not to go home.

His eyes landed on you. Froze.

Your thumb stalled on your screen.

“...Hey,” you said. Because you were civil now. Or trying to be.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Hey.”

There was a pause. It dragged. And you couldn’t take it. Not after everything. But you smile weakly—a smile that says 'How the fuck did you end up here?'

“Peer pressure,” Rodrick muttered, noting your silent question. “Also Mackie said there’d be vodka and bad decisions. Guess they weren’t wrong.”

You huffed a laugh, despite yourself. “He come to pick up chicks or push meth?”

“Why not both?”

You shook your head, smiling faintly, but Rodrick’s gaze was already drifting—up and down, clocking the shiny lip gloss, the fitted top, the glitter still clinging to your shoulders like the sparkle matched the classic, curated version of you.

And god, no way you could play guitar with fake nails that long.

“Your parents let you come here?” he asked suddenly, tone light but sharp like a knife edge.

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, mock-casual. “Just wondering if they dropped you off in a minivan or if golden boy’s got his own convertible now.”

You raised your brows. “He does actually. You always this bitter at parties or just when you’re sober?”

Rodrick gave a tight smile. “Only when I see someone doing their best 2007 teen romcom impersonation.”

You bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gestured vaguely. “You know. The dress. The drink you’re not drinking. The whole clinging-to-the-boyfriend routine. Laughing too hard at his jokes. Doing the hostess walk-around thing. Should I call you Barbie, or is there a new name you go by now?”

“Wow,” you said. “Didn’t realize you had my entire evening under surveillance.”

He shrugged. “Hard not to notice the poster girl for it. Or maybe you’re just really good at pretending.”

The air between you snapped taut.

You bit your lip, fury bubbling hot under your skin. “You know, not everyone has to stay stuck in the same sweaty band shirt forever.”

He gave a humorless smile. “Better that than playing Stepford girlfriend for a guy who says ‘leg day’ unironically.”

“Rodrick.”

“What?” he said, leaning against the wall now, almost daring you to react. “Didn’t think you'd mind. You don’t seem to mind much these days.”

And that—that—stung.

"Are you calling me ignorant or a slut?"

There was a pause. It dragged, heavy and awkward and Rodrick swears he didn't mean it like that... he thinks so anyway.

His silence tired the raging irritation in you, and you decided to leave it.

“Uh, moving on,” you offered, forcing lightness into your voice, “you made it, though. The more the merrier.”

“Didn’t plan to,” he muttered, smiling sarcastically because your flipping of the subject pissed him off. “But y’know. Ward said there’d be free alcohol. Mackie wants to hook up with someone’s cousin. And Drew..I think Drew’s in the backyard trying to fight the pool float.”

You snorted despite yourself.

Rodrick looked at you. Then too long. His eyes narrowed faintly, like seeing you now—pretty and composed and perfect—did something sour to his stomach.

He leaned against the wall beside you, close but not too close. Just enough to let tension collect in the silence.

“So, what?” he asked, voice low. “Your parents finally decided to let you breathe or did golden boy sign the permission slip?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on.”

He shrugged. “You always used to say they had a stick up their ass. But now you show up at some rando’s mansion party like you’re in a goddamn CW show.”

You stiffened. “I’m allowed to enjoy myself.”

“Yeah?” He looked at you sideways. “That what we’re calling it now? Enjoying yourself?”

You shifted, suddenly uncomfortable under his stare. “Rodrick…”

He smirked bitterly. “You think this fixes it, huh? Acting like the glitter and the boyfriend and the red solo cup fucks everything else.”

Your throat went tight.

He tilted his head. “Tell me, when you laugh at his jokes, does he notice that you fake it the same way you fake being okay?”

You stared at him, pulse drumming.

“I said stop.”

He didn't.

“Does he know?” Rodrick continued, and his voice was quieter now, almost too casual.

Your mouth dropped open. Like he’d slapped you.

He was looking at the wall now. Not even meeting your eyes.

“Bet he tells you you’re pretty. Bet he buys you everything you want. Bet he kisses your scars and thinks they’re poetic.” A cruel smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

Because he wishes he could tell you you're pretty. Because he wishes he could buy you everything you want. Because he wishes he could kiss all your scars because yeah fuck, he DOES think that's poetic, no matter how cringe it was he's probably do it for you.

'Would.'

“Actually does he even know you have them? Wonder what he’d do if he knew the way you cried in my van last month. Like everything was gonna fall apart.” Rodrick's mouth went dry as he said that.

You were frozen.

“And you know what?” he said, looking at you now—really looking at you, angry and hurt and hollow. “I get it. I really do. You want soft. You want sweet. You want someone who doesn’t hit his kid when he drinks too much and pretend it’s just discipline.”

He laughed once, sharp and ugly, “But at least I never lied about who I was.”

Your jaw clenched. “Rodrick—”

“Whatever. Go back to your dream house. Tell Nathan you love him. Smile for the pictures.”

He pushed off the wall, but staggered. He was too slow.

Before you could open your mouth and before he could leave, Nathan’s voice carried from down the hall.

“Babe? You wanna help me with these burgers?”

You looked past Rodrick. Then back at him.

“Don’t worry,” you said flatly. “I’ll make sure I laugh really hard at his jokes.”

“Right,” you said. “Okay. Cool. Great talk.”

Rodrick stood alone in the hallway, chest tight.

Why did he always say the worst possible shit when it mattered most?

.

The backyard was alive now—music playing too loud from a speaker someone connected to their iPod somehow, people loitering around plastic tables with paper plates, someone doing a handstand on the diving board for laughs. You had one of Nathan’s mom’s fancy barbecue tongs in your hand, a pink solo cup in the other because you ditched the red one after it reminded you of Rodrick, and a light sweat on your brow as you flipped over patties like you were running your own food truck.

Nathan grinned beside you, sleeves rolled up, flipping hot dogs like a golden retriever who just discovered fire. He leaned over occasionally, making stupid jokes about "grill masters" and "meat handling expertise," and you rolled your eyes every time—but yeah, you giggled. Because whatever. It was fun.

“Babe,” he said, holding out a perfectly charred skewer, “taste test?”

You took a bite, playfully dramatic. “Okay, Gordon Ramsay. Damn.”

He beamed like he won a Michelin star and passed you a napkin with a proud little “Knew you’d love it.”

A group of sweaty teens hovered around the food table now, so you turned to help out—slapping burger buns onto plates, handing out ketchup packets, and occasionally shouting over the music like, “No, this one’s veggie!” and “Yes, you can have another one, relax.”

You reached for a drink from the cooler and glanced up—

—and paused.

Drew really was fighting the pool float.

There was no mistaking it. This long-haired dude was yelling “You wanna go, punk?” at a large inflatable flamingo and was two seconds away from trying to suplex it into the deep end. You nearly choked on your laughter, clutching Nathan’s arm and pointing discreetly. “Okay, what the hell—”

But Nathan wasn’t looking.

You turned to follow his line of sight.

And you froze.

He was...talking to someone.

Some girl.

Tall. Blonde. Tight dress. White acrylic nails and pitch black earrings in either ear. You squint and wonder how her reputation was still intact after some band crashed her sweet sixteen in 10th grade.

But that didn't matter so much right now.

It was that she was laughing—the kind that involved throwing her head back, tossing her hair, resting her hand just barely on Nathan’s arm like she knew he wouldn’t remove it.

You blinked. Watched.

Watched as he leaned closer to say something, all charming-smile and soft-voice. Watched as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Watched as she nudged his shoulder, and he didn’t move away.

Your mouth felt dry.

You couldn’t hear the words. You didn’t even need to.

The tension in his posture was gone. He wasn’t awkward. He was familiar.

You took a slow step back, burger still in your hand, burning hot and dripping grease onto your palm—but you didn’t feel it. All you felt was that twist in your stomach.

That ache.

That voice in your head.

Smile for the pictures.

You didn’t even realize how fast you were walking until the backyard noise faded behind you and all you could hear was the thud-thud-thud of your footsteps against tile, the echo of the hallway swallowing you whole. Your breath felt tight in your chest, too shallow, too quick, like you’d been running a marathon and your lungs were folding in on themselves.

You reached the top of the stairs, half-jogging now, dodging two girls taking selfies by the banister. One of them mumbled “Damn, she okay?” but it barely registered.

Your throat was closing.

The bathroom door—the one Rodrick had come out of earlier—was still slightly ajar.

You pushed inside and slammed it shut behind you.

Click.

Lock.

You braced both hands against the sink, head down, trying to remember how to breathe.

In.

Out.

Didn’t work.

Your heart was pounding. Your palms were sweaty. There was a ring in your ears like someone had blown out a speaker of in your head.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Tried to think of something—anything—to anchor yourself.

But all you saw was that girl.

Her fake laugh.

Nathan’s smile.

His hand on her lower back.

That easy, natural way he looked at her like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Because you guess he wasn't?

Your chest shuddered. A hiccup of a breath escaped. You grabbed a towel from the rack and crushed it against your mouth to muffle the sound because no way in hell were you about to let someone hear you break down at your own party.

Hot tears welled up without permission. Fell before you could stop them.

You hated this.

Hated that you were crying in a boyfriend’s bathroom. 

Hated that it felt like this.

That your heart was caving in and no one even noticed.

That the person you came with had already moved on in the time it took you to flip a burger.

And somewhere in the mess of it all, maybe—just maybe—you hated the fact that Rodrick had been right. 

Why are you thinking of him? He's been nothing but a jerk to you all night too. Is everyone just out to get you or is that you overthinking? Paranoia?

..

Said guy in question was about three drinks in already.

He only saw the blur of you in his peripheral—storming past the patio door like you were on fire.

At first, he figured maybe you were just mad about the grill being out of propane or something dumb. Girls got worked up about weird stuff at parties all the time, right?

Like that's probably why his attempts to hit on them never worked.

But then he saw your face.

Even from across the yard, even through the haze of two and a half Solo cups and something orange someone swore was tequila punch, he saw the look in your eyes. Wide. Shaky. Like you were breaking apart and couldn’t tell anyone.

“Yo,” he muttered, handing off his half-drank drink to Ward, “Hold this.”

“What?” Ward blinked. “Dude, that’s mine—”

“Not anymore.”

He stumbled forward, tripping over a lawn chair and earning a loud “HEY!” from someone in the crowd, but he didn’t care.

The front door was too crowded, so he went around the side, hopping the fence like a raccoon trying to steal scraps. When he finally got inside through the laundry room, he had to pause, gripping the wall with one hand to catch his breath. It wasn’t even from running—it was the why.

He didn’t know what the fuck had happened.

Did Nathan say something? Did someone push you? Did he say something earlier that festered and was only just now hitting?

It took him a full minute before he moved again. Slow and stupid, just like always.

He dragged himself up the stairs, gripping the railing like it was a tightrope. Every step felt heavy—maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the nerves, maybe it was just the way your face kept flashing in his head like a warning sign.

By the time he reached the top, the hallway was quiet again. Too quiet. He blinked around—posters, dim lights, someone laughing far off downstairs. But the door to that same bathroom from earlier?

Locked.

And your voice?

Inside.

He could hear the shaky breaths through the wood.

His stomach dropped.

“...Shit.”

He stared at the door. Lifted his hand. Lowered it. Then lifted it again and knocked—softly, like he wasn’t sure he had the right.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower than usual. “It’s...me.”

Beat.

Another pause. He shuffled a little on his feet, wiping his sweaty palm on his jeans.

“I saw you run up here and… I dunno. Just wanted to check in. Or whatever. I’m not, like, trying to be nosy. You don’t have to talk. Or open the door. Or breathe. I don’t know. Fuck.”

He leaned his forehead against the doorframe.

“I’m probably the last person you wanna see right now. But uh...”

His voice dropped.

“...You okay?”

Nothing.

Just the soft scuffle of movement behind the door. Maybe your shoes scraping the tile. Maybe your breathing. Maybe you curling up like he did an hour ago, sitting right there with your knees to your chest and the light off.

But no voice. No answer.

And that silence?

It gutted him.

He cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said, too loud. “Cool. You’re mad. You’re allowed. That’s fair.”

He stepped back.

Ran a hand through his hair, pacing in a slow, pathetic loop.

But then—

The image hit him again. Your face. The way you looked tearing through the hallway. Something wasn’t just wrong—it was fucked.

And maybe it wasn’t his business.

But maybe it was.

He stepped back to the door, knocked again. Firmer this time. “Look, I’m not—this isn’t, like, some act. I’m not tryna win against you or whatever. I just—fuck, are you crying? Are you—?”

Still nothing.

He knocked again.

Then again.

Then almost full-on banged his fist against the wood, the music downstairs drowning out the sound, the beat thumping in his ears like a second heart attack.

“Say something!” he said. “Just—I don’t care if it’s mean, I don’t care if you tell me to fuck off, just—something.”

His voice cracked at the end, the alcohol catching in his throat, the adrenaline making his whole arm feel too heavy.

“...Please.”

He stared at the door like it might give him an answer. Like it might melt and fold and let him see the wreckage inside.

But it didn’t.

And he stood there, heart in his throat, hand on the doorknob even though it was locked, waiting.

Just in case.

The thin strip of light from under the door shifted with his shadow and you watched it, feeling him put his whole weight against the door.

The knocking got louder. He was really losing it now.

Thump. Thump. Thumpthumpthump—

You blinked up at the ceiling, staring into a pretty chandelier in all its sparkling glory.

Chest tight. Hands numb.

You hadn’t moved much since you slammed the door shut behind you, sinking onto the cold tile. But now—with that voice, that panic behind it—you finally moved.

Not much.

Just your fingers first, then your arm. Slowly. Carefully. Like you were dragging yourself out from underwater.

Your hand reached up, found the lock, and with a click, it gave.

Rodrick froze mid-knock.

The door creaked open a sliver. Barely wide enough for a breath of air, let alone a person.

But it was enough.

Enough for him to see your knees pulled to your chest. Your smudged mascara. The red around your nose. Your hand still resting on the knob from where you’d unlocked it and let go.

Rodrick stared, caught completely off-guard.

Like he didn’t expect you to actually open it.

Like it hit him harder now that you had.

“...Hey,” he said, voice gone soft, drunk haze breaking like fog in headlights.

No jokes. No digs.

Just that raw, ragged panic under his voice.

“...Can I come in?”

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look up.

But her hand dropped from the doorknob, fell limply back to the tile.

And to him, your eyes—

God.

Rodrick had never seen anything so quietly broken before. Not in you.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic. No sobs. No yelling. Just that hollow stare like you were begging him not to make this worse. It hurt him that you even thought he would do that, but he guesses he deserves it after what he said.

And that was enough.

He swallowed.

Shut the door behind him. Clicked the lock.

The hallway party noise dulled instantly. Muffled into a distant bassline thumping through the floorboards like a second heartbeat. The only light in the bathroom came from the dimmed LED nightlight near the sink, casting everything in weird hues of dark blue and sickly green. The kind of lighting that made your skin look unreal and your thoughts louder.

Rodrick didn’t speak.

Didn’t make some dumbass joke. Didn’t ask what happened.

He just slowly, awkwardly lowered himself down onto the tile beside you. Cross-legged. His jeans made a loud scuff against the floor, but he winced and settled there, like even that tiny sound was too loud for this moment.

You didn’t turn to him.

But you didn’t move away either.

He sat there, knees almost brushing yours in the tight space. His fingers tapped nervously against his thigh once, twice—then stopped.

“...So,” he said after a second, voice rough, quiet, uncharacteristically sober for someone who wasn’t. “Guess that ‘perfect relationship’ thing’s not going so great, huh?”

Not cruel. Not smug.

Just...honest.

Like maybe he wasn’t making fun of you this time.

Maybe he was trying to say that he noticed. Because not a lot of people do 'noticing' towards you, not even your parents with dinner or anything else.

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh, your butt going numb as you sat on the tiles. Almost.

“...Guess you’ve been dying to say that all night, huh?” you muttered, your voice thin and cracking at the edges like a windshield spiderwebbing under pressure. “Congrats. You win.”

Rodrick blinked, "I said I wasn't trying to win you or anything..."

That wasn’t the snark he was used to. That wasn’t the you who could shoot back a reply like a reflex, like muscle memory. This—this was a tired parody of whatever sassy remark you would usually say. Like you were trying to hold up your crown with shaking hands.

Your fingers had started moving.

Absent. Quiet. But Rodrick noticed. The way you were tugging at your sleeves. Pressing nails into your skin under your dress like you didn’t even realize you were doing it. Little crescent moons left behind in your skin, scratching over them again, again, again—

And then he saw it.

The red. Tiny pin-pricks of blood welling up like rust in your skin under the LED glow. So dark they looked black in the shadowed bathroom. Growing.

“Wait—hey,” Rodrick breathed, leaning forward.

His hand caught yours. Not rough. Not jerky.

Just there.

Warm and calloused and trembling a little too. His thumb hovered over the marks, but didn’t press. Didn't prod. Just stayed there.

“...Don’t,” he said, voice flat and weirdly soft.

A pause.

"Fuck, how do I comfort someone?"

You find it amusing, like you would've laughed at his little panicked expression if you had the energy.

But you yanked your hand back.

Not violently. Not even angrily. Just...like it didn’t belong there in his. Like it was easier to let the sting of your skin rise back up than let him hold it.

Rodrick didn’t fight it. He didn’t say anything either.

The silence stretched, thick and buzzing like static. You leaned your head against the bathroom cabinet behind you. He sat cross-legged, knees sticking out awkwardly in the dark, hands resting on his thighs.

And you both just...sat there.

The party thumped downstairs. Laughter. The low beat of bass. The smell of barbecue still clinging to your clothes. The tiny, copper taste in your throat from whatever-the-fuck cocktail you’d had earlier.

Rodrick exhaled.

You didn't look at him.

He didn’t look at you either. But you knew he was remembering. That night. The bathroom. The way his hands had shook when he dropped the blade. How you’d found him and started this whole spiral. The look in his eyes like he was already halfway gone.

So maybe this was fair.

You were both bleeding quietly in the dark. Just like before.

No words. No bandaids. Just bruises pressed up against bruises and pretending they didn’t touch.

Rodrick didn’t mean to stare.

Really, he didn’t.

But your legs were angled just enough toward the moonlit window that he could see the thin, fresh trails—angry red lines among the paler, older ones. A few had reopened. Not enough to drip, but enough to bead. Enough to sting. Enough to make him go quiet.

You noticed.

You nudged him with your socked foot, a weak little kick against his shin. “What’re you staring at, creeper?”

His eyes flicked up fast, wide like a deer caught mid-thought. “I—what? No—dude, I wasn’t being a perv or anything, I swear—”

You raised a brow, and he waved his hands, face flushing red under the dim greenish-blue bathroom light. “I just—shit, I was just trying to remember...how you cleaned them. That night.”

The silence hit soft.

You blinked. Then scoffed. A quiet, breathy thing. But there was the hint of a smile tugging at your lips, tired and a little wobbly. “You don’t remember. You were shaking so hard I had to wrestle the cotton pad from your hand.”

Rodrick laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. You’re welcome, by the way. For not bleeding out dramatically in a stupid band tee and a blunt.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved at his shoulder.

Still, you watched as he got up—careful not to make too much noise—and began rummaging through the vanity cabinet. He muttered to himself, opening drawers, knocking over a soap dish, and finally pulling out a dusty plastic box.

“Jackpot,” he whispered, holding it up like a treasure. Inside: crusty Band-Aids, crustier antiseptic, a couple half-used gauze pads, and a lonely bottle of hydrogen peroxide with a suspicious label peeling off.

He came back to the floor, dropping the kit between you both.

“This is probably expired.”

You smirked. “So am I.”

“Okay, emo girl.”

You both grinned—just barely, the cringe being funny this time.

And for the next few minutes, you sat knee to knee, barely breathing as he tried to dab the antiseptic onto toilet paper and gently cleaned your skin. He didn’t say anything more, didn’t try to hold your hand again. Just...concentrated. Focused. Well, he was trying.

"Shit, why won't it come out?" He began beating the flat end of the bottle, inspecting the nozzle in the dark.

"Take the tab off the top, you dumb fuck." You sigh, but your chest flutters.

He groans, rubbing his temple, the alcohol and his default stupidity coming together and being no help at all.

"Oh right, um.." You breathe a soft sort of laugh as the tab comes off with a pop, but a ton of liquid spills out.

"Shit—!"

You straighten, leaning forward slightly panicked as gushes of anti-septic came out, "TURN THE BOTTLE THE RIGHT WAY AROUND!"

There's now strong-smelling chemicals on the floor by you both but you sigh and he sheepishly smiles at you, "Well it worked eventually."

"What the fuck.." You sigh, but yeah, it did work eventually.

. 

You pressed the last makeshift bandage down over your thigh—clumsy, uneven, already starting to peel at the corners. The cotton stuck where it shouldn't and barely clung where it should. Still… it was something. Better than nothing. Better than letting it sting in silence.

Your palms patted your legs gently, absent-mindedly smoothing over the mess like you could pretend it never happened.

Rodrick watched your hands for a beat too long before asking, voice quiet but curious:

“So… what actually happened? Downstairs.”

You froze.

Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. You just stared at your knees, the blue-green darkness swallowing your expression, your body stilled like a video paused mid-frame.

Rodrick’s throat bobbed. “Shit—was that—was that too much? I didn’t mean to like—”

But then you sighed.

A soft, slow exhale. And without a word, you curled your body to the side, folding in on yourself like a cat. Your legs rested up on the cold tiled wall, your skirt slipping a bit down your thighs. You didn’t adjust it. Just let it fall.

Then—without any warning—you shifted closer. Pressed your cheek into Rodrick’s knee like it was a pillow and nestled your face against it.

Rodrick fucking short-circuited.

Completely.

His breath caught. Spine straightened. Muscles stiffened like he’d been tasered. His arm hovered above your back, unsure if he should touch you, unsure if this was some dream he’d made up after three cups of whatever the hell was in that plastic punch bowl downstairs.

You didn’t speak. Just kept your face buried against his jeans, eyelashes brushing the fabric.

Rodrick blinked, looking down at you like you’d cracked open his skull and climbed into the part of him no one had ever been allowed to see.

“...Oh uh, you okay?” he asked eventually, voice so soft it barely made it past the music pulsing through the floorboards, through the walls, through the windows.

You didn’t answer right away. Just stayed curled up, breathing slow.

Then, muffled, voice tired and wry, “I hate him.”

Rodrick swallowed hard. “Nathan?”

A small nod. Barely there.

And Rodrick finally exhaled.

His hand dropped to your back.

You felt your back tingle with the warmth of it; which was a lot warmer after the alcohol he downed, "There was this, um, girl outside, and yeah Drew really was fighting a pool floatie."

Rodrick scoffed, not even feeling like thinking about Drew right now, "Girl?"

You didn’t look at him. Just stared straight ahead, where the base of the bathroom sink blurred in your vision.

“And yeah, Drew really was fighting a pool floatie,” you added faintly, like you were trying to distract yourself with the absurdity of it all.

Rodrick scoffed, voice dry. “Girl?”

“Yeah.”

Your fingers started picking at a loose thread on the edge of your dress now. Something to do. Something that wasn’t breaking down again.

“She had her hands all over him. On Nathan, I mean. And he—he wasn’t exactly saying no.”

Rodrick’s jaw clenched. “Was he saying yes?”

You paused. Then: “He was smiling.”

Silence. Heavy and damp like the air after rain.

“I was handing out plates,” you mumbled, laughing, but it sounded cracked. “With, like, little burger buns on them and whatever, and taking pictures for his stupid Instagram story, and he was smiling at her like he—like he’d forgotten I was even there.”

Rodrick’s hand twitched slightly on your back.

“He kept saying I was the best thing to ever happen to him. And I believed him.”

Now your voice dropped, quiet and small. “I always believe them.”

Rodrick shifted, just a little—like he wanted to do something but didn’t know how to make it not weird.

“…I would’ve noticed you.”

That made your breath hitch.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to look up at him. His face was blurry in the dark, but his eyes were fixed on yours, expression unreadable.

You blinked. “...What?”

Rodrick shrugged, but it was stiff, forced. “If you were handing me buns and smiling like that. I’d notice.”

You stared at him, cogs turning at how weird that sounded.

Then, “That sounds so fucking weird. You’re so fucking weird.”

Rodrick coughed out a laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

But you didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

You just kept lying there, face pressed to his knee, heart breaking a little slower.

"Well, what chick got his attention over you?" Rodrick said, poking your face to entice a half-assed scowl out of you.

You gave him a look, unamused but too tired to really glare. “Heather Hills.”

Silence.

Rodrick’s entire body tensed under you like someone had poured ice water down his back.

Your voice was casual, almost distracted. “I’ve talked to her before. We had a few classes last year. But that was before she made her sweet-sixteen-sob-story her whole personality.”

“...Yeah,” Rodrick muttered, voice tight. “Totally.”

You paused.

The way he said it. The weird edge in his tone. The sudden dead silence in the room.

You slowly turned your head against his lap to peer up at him. His expression was frozen—like he’d just remembered something so horrible, so incriminating, that his brain shut off entirely.

“...Wait.” Your eyes narrowed. “Was that you?”

Rodrick blinked.

You sat up slightly, mouth falling open in a silent gasp, half-disbelief, half-delight. “Oh my god—that was you?”

Rodrick groaned immediately, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling like he was begging some higher power to smite him right there. “I was fifteen,” he grumbled. “I had just got off braces. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You crashed her sweet sixteen, Rodrick,” you said, cracking a smile for the first time in what felt like hours.

“She was crying—I thought it was, like, a window of opportunity!”

You buckled—actually buckled. It started as a sharp breath through your nose, like you were trying to hold it back, but then your shoulders twitched and your whole body folded forward as the laugh broke out of you, raw and unfiltered. It wasn’t perfectly restrained like people were used to—it was loud, crooked, a little breathless, your hand covering your face as your chest shook. The kind of laugh that cracked through you like a broken rib, but didn’t hurt. The kind that made Rodrick go wide-eyed and silent for a second, just staring like he’d never seen anything that fucking beautiful.

You smacked his arm, laughing—ugly and soft and real. “You psychopath.”

Rodrick grinned despite himself, red-faced. “I swear to god people just forgot about it, if you tell anyone—”

“I’m telling everyone and I doubt they forgot! It's still Heather's ONLY conversation starter for her ass personality.”

You leaned into his shoulder now, laughter dying down, but the warmth between you still buzzing.

Rodrick glanced down at you, eyes a little wide, like he couldn’t believe he got you to smile like that again.

Your laugh began to taper off, the aftershocks rippling through your shoulders until it faded into soft, breathy exhales. You leaned back just a little, head still against Rodrick’s leg, eyes watery from the outburst but a small, crooked smile lingering on your face. He was staring at you again—but this time, quieter, softer. The dim light caught the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, like there was something sitting heavy there.

“Hey,” he said, voice barely audible over the muffled bass from downstairs. “I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, fingers tugging at a string on his hoodie. “I didn’t mean that shit I said earlier. At the party.”

Your smile twitched. Gone, not gone. Waiting.

“I was just—I don’t know. Being a dick. ‘Cause I’m good at that.” His voice cracked near the end, and he blinked fast like he was mad at himself for it. “But, like. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. Not the stuff about your parents or Nathan or the way you act, or—fuck, especially not that.”

His eyes found yours, finally. Unsteady. “You were just being... you. And I was being an asshole.”

You didn’t answer right away. Didn’t need to. Just the slow rise and fall of your chest, and your fingers inching closer to his where they sat curled on the tile.

"Don't say that ever again."

He looked shocked.

"You were right, alright? Yeah you're an asshole and could've said something without souding jealous, but promise no more apologies, alright?" You hold up your hand, sticking out your pinky finger.

"Promise?"

He cringed slightly, "Seriously?"

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching like you were daring him to keep resisting. “What?”

Rodrick scoffed, muttering something like “fuck off” under his breath, but you caught the way his hand shifted—hesitated—and then slowly reached out. His pinky curled around yours, warm and rough and hesitant.

Your forearm brushed against his that was wrapped tightly with layers and layers of bracelets—sorry, leather straps.

“Promise,” he muttered, not looking at you.

You squeezed once. Gentle. Sealing it.

For a second, neither of you moved hand in hand. Just sat there on the cold bathroom floor, surrounded by the faint buzz of fluorescent light and muffled music and everything you hadn’t said yet.

Then Rodrick cleared his throat. “Still can’t believe Heather Hills showed up.”

You snorted. “Still can’t believe you ruined her sixteenth birthday party.”

“Okay, hold up—she ruined it,” he said, hand flying up in mock defense. “I was just trying to sing alright, then everything dissolved into fuckery.”

You blinked. “Didn’t you knock the whole chocolate fountain over?”

“...That might’ve been me.”

You shook your head, but your smile betrayed you. And Rodrick—he just leaned back a little against the door, legs stretched out, letting the silence settle again. But this time, it was different. It wasn’t awkward or heavy.

It was something like okay.

.

Nathan was waiting by the front steps when you came out, letterman jacket slung over one shoulder and phone in his hand like he hadn’t spent the past hour flirting with another girl over the grill.

“Hey, babe,” he said, leaning in to kiss your cheek, and you let him. Let the performance slide into place like muscle memory. “Had fun?”

You nodded, tugging your jacket tighter around you. “Yeah. Good party.”

He grinned like that was enough.

From across the yard, just barely visible through the haze of porch lights and leftover smoke, Rodrick watched. Arms folded, shoulder propped against the side of his van. When your eyes met, he didn’t say anything.

Just gave this tired, knowing little smile while he popped up a middle finger at you for shits and giggles.

You have to double take and your lips didn't smile back. But your didn’t look away either.

Because you get the strange feeling you weren't going to see him again. Not for a while.

click for part 1 click for part 2 click for part 3 click for part 4 click for part 5 click for part 6 click for part 7 click for part 8 click for part 9 click for part 10 click for part 11 click for part 12

♡ Please do not modify, steal, plagarise or post on other platforms without asking. Thank you! Please do leave requests!

[yadchi-i-guess]

haaaaai I'm not dead. school's been beating me up past few weeks and I've had too many things to do all at once. Got some time to finish this though!

And to everyone waiting on requests, I'm going to TRY (no promises) getting to them tomorrow and over the weekend. I thank you for your patience, I simply have not had the time or mental capacity to focus on drawing as much as I'd like.

Continuing on, I've been unhappy with my OC's name, so after much deliberation with myself, I'm renaming Ollam to Scalpie!

I've always thought she has my kinda personality; a chill but introverted people-pleaser and a total weirdo. Still not as detailed as I'd like it, but if you've met me, that's basically who Scalpie is (personality-wise)

I've also changed a fair bit of her backstory, so there's a little rambling below cut:

Scalpie worked as an assistant to a forensic scientist at Camp 98.7, where she would help him dissect solver drone bodies (the cores were kept at CFL) and study them.

The human named her after the scalpel tool, mostly because he quickly grew tired of referring to her as "you" or "drone".

(He's intelligent, organized, and hard-working, but stingy and grumpy. He sees drones as the kind of machine that, with some pressure, should be perfect at their job.)

The human would show her how to do things and ask her to copy them, such as cutting open a drone or taking notes.

This led to Scalpie being pretty good with little notes and insensitive to gore and blood, but also drawing (she often had to draw diagrams along with the notes). Her human wasn't fond of the drawings she'd make when she wasn't busy.

(This was mostly because she actually enjoyed drawing creepy/scary stuff. Plus he started with a drone that worked tirelessly at his side without distraction, but it was now developing a mind of its own - something he knew would get in the way.)

One day, Scalpie had gone up to the dissection room on her own to look into the head of a solver drone. There was already tension between her and the human after he threatened to decapitate her for wasting paper on drawing corpses.

He had enough with her after he caught her tampering with a corpse alone, so he shocked her, marked her for disassembly, and killed her by cleaving her scalp. He didn't care that this wasn't the correct protocol, he just wanted the defective rogue gone.

Shortly after, the core collapse happened. Yay :]

Sometime after the core collapse, an improperly disposed Scalpie was rebooted after Solver struck a deal with her: She give in and concede with the Solver's bidding, and Solver revives her and make sure she won't die again.

(This was so Solver had an effective way of dealing with the drones on Copper-9 until the DDs got there)

Since then, Scalpie's been living alone in the cabins. She met Uzi when the emo worker drone was searching a cabin and (after realizing Uzi was a SD too) decided to tag along back to Outpost 3, having grown tired of being alone, and hoping to make a friend, outside of Cyn.

I'll have to make a new ref sheet to put on my pinned, but that won't be for a while... anyway, hope you enjoyed my info dump abt Scalpie. I'm open to questions about her, if you've got any :]

[emilitasmusicdumpster]

big list of (some) of the albums i wanna listen/plan on listening to (ignore the awful handwriting idgaf)

i actually have no reason for doing this in paper as it’s not more convenient at all but i like having things in paper, in physical. i like physical

[big text under the cut !!]

they’re not ALL here, they’re not in order, and in some cases i put some artists’ first/most popular album as a guide but in reality i wanna listen to all of their stuff/more than one album

also there are some albums i HAVE listened to before but long enough ago for me to want to give them a second chance / maybe listen while paying more attention or just… while being older, more conscious, and most importantly while UNDERSTANDING MORE ENGLISH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

there are a few mitski albums I’d also like to add here because i don’t think i’ve ever actually sat down and listened to a full mitski album (except for lush —but the tracklist order doesn’t matter in that album since i believe the original order is unknown—, laurel hell and TLIIASAW when they came out) but it’s not really a priority bc i’ve basically listened to her entire discography up and down-left and right and in any other possible direction, and i wanna get into new stuff

i also really want to get into green day, but since I like listening to albums in chronological order when I have the chance, I couldn’t add their 93738473874826372 albums here unless I wanted to waste half of the paper on something I already have saved to my spotify

there are also a few albums from my childhood/preteen years/early teenagehood that i didn’t add but I plan on revisiting, particularly most ariana grande albums (i was SO into her when i was little), a couple die antwoord albums (i dont support them btw they’re awful ppl) and also crybaby and k-12 by melanie martinez (i also dont support her but i was a HUGE fan when i was younger, and her work shaped a lot of like… my entire identity today, artistically speaking)

i also included (i think) most of the artists that were recommended me on that one post on my main account except for enhypen because i already listened to some stuff by them (also i didnt have space to add more)

update 15/06/25 [ddmmyy]: albums i’ve added to the list since this

- softscars - yeule

✓- another green world - brian eno

- lift your skinny fists like antennas to heaven - godspeed you! black emperor

✓ - angelic 2 the core - corey feldman

- evangelic girl is a gun - yeule

- imaginal disk - magdalena bay

- 200km/h in the wrong lane - t.A.T.u

✓ - razorblade fairytales - hate in the box

- a prayer under pressure of violent anguish - my ruin

- pandora - wisp

- sweet heart dealer - scarling.

- mellon collie and the infinite sadness - the smashing pumpkins

✓- germ free adolescents - x-ray spex

✓- somos profesionales - mugre

- selfish machines (reissue) - pierce the veil [i wanna check out if it really is as different as people make it out to be]

[snek-panini]

Got a bit of a different bookbinding post today. @renegadeguild got an ask from a new binder saying they were intimidated by everyone's gorgeous binds (me too, actually, some of you guys are scary good), and so they've asked people to share their first binds. And I realized I'd never even taken photos of my first one, so here it is, warts and all:

This is E.M. Forster's The Machine Stops, a public domain scifi short story that you can read for free at the link. The first reason I chose it was that it's an interesting story, and I'd bought a print-on-demand copy a few years previously that was just terrible. Baffling cover choices, basic errors in the typeset (like quotes that face the wrong way), weird size that didn't fit on my shelf; just not a good product. I couldn't do it with more indifference than the PoD people. The second reason was that I was too intimidated by the thought of asking a fic writer if I could bind their story and then producing something with a thousand sloppy beginner mistakes, and then they'd want to see photos and I'd have to show them this and it would have been mortifying, but Forster has been dead since 1970 so I could not disappoint him. It was very freeing. I bound it in 2021 as an experiment, to see if I liked this hobby enough to stick to it. The cover is green cardstock and faux leather scrapbook paper that I bought at... probably Hobby Lobby. I added the title later, as a practice project when I first got my Cricut; for the first two years of its existence it had a blank cover.

There are more photos under the cut!

In this photo we can see:

--Too much glue when attaching the leather-print paper, so it oozed out onto the cover.

--Cricut font too thin and too much heat/too long of a press, so the letters have gaps and the glue also oozed out here. It's a continuing theme with this bind.

--I tried to use a bone folder to give it a sharper hinge crease and accidentally pressed too hard and tore a hole in the paper; you can see this in the little white vertical line near the top of the hinge

The fore edge is not square. I actually don't remember why this happened. I may have eyeballed the board position when I made the case, or the paper may have slipped while the glue was wet, or I cut it crooked and didn't notice till later. Either way it's bad enough that the book doesn't stand on its own. There was a crooked man/who walked a crooked mile/and found a crooked sixpence/against a crooked stile./He bought a crooked cat/which caught a crooked mouse/and they all loved together in a little crooked house, and I bet they read this little crooked book from their little crooked library.

Top view, you can see that the case is too big and the text block doesn't sit straight in it. It has no endbands or bookmark, and it's hard to see in this photo but there's glue on the top of it, at the spine. This still happens to me but I know how to trim books now so this bit gets cut off. You can also see that the scrapbook paper has some cracks where its white core is visible. This is why I do cloth or actual faux leather on the spines now. Endpaper shows uneven trim (did I not use a ruler for this??), too much glue causing major seepage, and it doesn't sit evenly in the case. I'm not sure if this is because of the case itself being crooked, a badly-trimmed endpaper, or if the text block is also crooked. Or it may be a combination of all these factors. Unclear.

Typeset photos! Here we see:

--Title page has a page number on it. This is a pet peeve of mine and I fixed it after this book.

--There is no half title, summary, or metadata. All my later binds have these things.

--It's typeset in Times New Roman. Unlike many I don't actually hate this font but reading it reminds me of being in high school so this is the only book I used it for. Baskerville is my beloved now. The font is also much bigger than it should be. It's not huge but it's like a large print book so it feels weird for me to read it.

--Lol what are margins

--Lol what are page headers

--Actually I think I left the headers out so it wouldn't have a header on the first page of each chapter, because I knew about page breaks but not section breaks at this time.

--It's on regular-ass lightweight printer paper. There's nothing wrong with this but I switched to heavier weight paper shortly after to help with bleed-through and the light stuff feels so flimsy now.

--I didn't understand how Word's book fold worked at this time, so when I had to set the sheets per booklet and it had an option for 4, I chose that thinking it would give me 4 sheets of paper (16 numbered pages) per sig. It did not do this. It gave me 4 numbered pages per sig. So every signature is 1 sheet of paper. Every page is its own signature. I am still mad about this but it sure drove home how the setting works and also how to make kettle stitches since you make one after every sig. A book of 48 pages has 12 signatures which is just ludicrous.

--There's no photo of this but it has a piece of printer paper on the spine because I didn't have mull. I did use PVA though. Lots and lots of PVA.

--It's stitched with regular sewing thread, which means it doesn't have much swell for a book with that many sigs, but it's less sturdy and more likely to tear the paper.

And that's that! It probably sounds a bit like I was tearing it to shreds but I actually love this book quite a lot. I learned so many things that I applied to my next binds, it was an invaluable experience. It let me fall in love with the hobby so I could make the awesome things I make now. I've got those all posted on my main blog under the tag #snek makes books, or you can see them all on my side blog @papersnakepress. For a first book it's functional and readable, and still better than the PoD copy I had before. I've been thinking of doing a rebind as a sort of progress gauge, actually. Maybe next year.

[iguessitsjustme]

4Minutes Ep 4 Drunk Thoughts

I am still here. Still watching. Because SOMEONE *stares directly at camera* said they wanted me to keep watching tonight. Y’all are reading this after the fact and probably a few days from now but I am currently so sleepy. Slightly tipsy and would love to just go to bed. But here I am. At episode 4 with the promise that this episode is when…*checks notes* shit gets more funky or something along those liens. Funky shit under the cut:

Have I even mentioned this detective man before? Except for when he was fucking Ton Kla. I’m not checking if I got these names right btw. If the names are wrong than these are their new names.

Anyway. Detective man. What’s his deal? He seems pretty important to the plot and yet we barely get any of him. What’s happening?

Who??

Whomst? You can’t just say a name and have it mean something without letting the audience in on the meaning. Is that Ton Kla? Hmm? The fuck?

I’m so tired. Of course they did. Of course this is the conflict. Perhaps I should just nap instead.

What if. I built a machine. To launch Korn into the sun? What if I do that? Comin in here just forcing himself on Ton Kla after weeks of silence? Boy. Didn’t even ask if Ton Kla was okay. What if. Death by a million paper cuts huh? Kill kill bite kill

Ton Kla is fuckin again. This is just what he does. I hope he never does it with Korn again and he just keeps mr. detective man whose name maybe i’ll learn one day

Ass count: 4

Ass count: 5

Man I haven’t been very talkative I just realized. I’ve been simultaneously invested and also alseep if you can explain how that’s possible then good job here’s a cookie

Anyway Great fascinates me. I think at his core he is a good pesron that has been raised by bad people and is also surrounded by bad people and he’s kind of like learned being a dick by default but once he gets past his initial reaction to things, he always wants to help. Even if his help is in the dumbest way possible. My man don’t go to the warehouse alone are you an idiot?

Kissy face kissy face

Nothing quite like near death experiences to really turn ya on I guess

Oh look. SExy times not included in the ass count because I did not see full ass. It looks like ass count is currently reserved for Ton Kla and his partners.

So Dome is Ton Kla’s brother who died. But he didn’t die because Great saved him. So little parallel worlds are splitting every time Great changes something? Or we’re seeing the world as it should be vs the world Great creates? Is Dome dead or alive? Who knows? Either way I’m launching Korn into the sun. And now I’m going to bed before this show makes my dreams any weirder.