#Saturday Pic Collections

[quick-catton]

the wmag shoot is proof that barry's twink death is reversible. we (and emerald) can fix him guys, just hide the scissors from him

[pinkrelish]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

[in-som-niyah]

hi!! i’m literally so obsessed with your work i’ve been scrolling your profile all day 😭😭 i was wondering if you could write something about jason x fem!reader getting married? mostly fluff but ill never say no to some good smut

a/n: "i’m literally so obsessed with your work i’ve been scrolling your profile all day" WHAT DO YOU MEANNNNNNNN STOP UR GONNA MAKE ME CRY THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME HELLO??? like wdym u like my work so much u spend so much time on my blog i love u gimme kiss

anyway this prompt is *chefs kiss* bc we all know Big Bad Jason Todd™ is such a loverboy softie but most of all he loves hard.

I think that before he met you he never thought that he would be so enamoured with someone who also feels the same way about him at the same time, that also wants to marry him??? He thinks he's too flawed and violent and abrasive for someone to even like being around him. So marrying him??? haha you're funny.

But after YEARS (yes, it takes him years of a committed relationship with you to fully trust that you actually like being with him for an extended period of time, let alone forever) of handling his emotions, outbursts and injuries with grace while still giving him a whack at the back of his head when he's being stupid, he considers marrying you.

Remember, Jason Todd is fucking scared himself, and he doesn't want to scare you off with a ring that literally promises forever with him. Though he loves you, he wants you to be happy in the end. Will you be happy with him in the end?

It takes a lot of mental and emotional strength to overcome these fears that swirl around his head.

When he does get over it though, he's so attentive yet sneaky when picking your ring. There's a luxury jewellery store on the way to your favourite clothing store at the mall, and he literally takes you to the whole mall just to pass by the store. He always looks to see what your eyes catch, what you like and don't like. Doesn't matter if he ends up spending hundreds since you're at the mall so much, he'll do it just to make sure he gets exactly what you want.

Jason also uses his extensive detective training to find out what cut and stone you want on the ring. He's ok with diamonds, but would want something more unique and personal for his love. He wants something that always reflects you, no matter the occasion.

Side note: once the ring comes he would definitely put together a photo album of pics he took of the ring in plain sight while you're completely oblivious just for shits and giggles

Finally, when it's time to pop the question, he doesn't do flashy and big productions with lights and letters and petals and stuff.

He would be dancing in the kitchen with you on a lazy Saturday, eating pancakes and bacon and when the song ends just casually asks "if I were to ask you, would you marry me?" Now he looks collected as he lovingly smiles down at you but is actually shitting himself until you say that you would in fact marry him if he asked. Then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the most perfect, detailed, gorgeous ring you could ever ask for while properly asking you to marry him. Cue the waterworks (from both of you) and the celebratory make-out sesh.

Y'all definitely fucking the night of the proposal though

I feel like it would be realllllly possessive since yk you literally belong to him now

"tell me who this pussy belongs to, pretty girl" Knowing full well you can't answer because your eyes have already rolled back mid-stroke and you're babbling incoherently. It does, however, put a smug ass smirk on his face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n pt2 bc i can't shut up: i hope u like it!!! i wasn't in the mood to write anything smutty but idk im in my soft era for jason i just want his stoic self to love me :(((((

[withleeknow]

late night thought, imagine you convince lee know to let you do his makeup, he pretends to hate it (a pouty scowl on his face) but deep down he loves it :(

- 🍓

oh 🥺 this is so 🥺

imagine it’s a lazy saturday afternoon, you both have nothing scheduled for the day.

you’re just on the couch peacefully coexisting before an idea pops into your head and then you’re dragging him into the bedroom, demanding him to sit in front of your vanity while you pull out all of your products.

he’s confused as hell at first but he just watches you with his head tilted cutely to one side.

once he realizes what you’re trying to do, he’d be like “oh hell no. stay away from me, you heathen.”

he’d try to leave the room but when you tug on his shirt, pouting at him and giving him your best puppy dog eyes, he has no choice but to give you what you want.

he’d sit back down but act like he’s sooo bothered by this. you don’t give a shit bc you’ve got your model to work on, even if your model is rolling his eyes and scowling at you.

“just get it over with.”

you’d try to appease him a bit though. after every step you’d give him a kiss. primer done? kiss. eyebrows done? kiss. mascara done? kiss. (not that he needs that a lot. dude’s blessed with insane eyelashes. you hate him for that.) his skin is perfect so you just have to dab some concealer under his eyes. kiss. a little bit of eyeshadow. kiss. rosy blush on his cheeks. kiss. highlighter on his cheekbones and sculpted nose. kiss.

he’d hold onto your butt as you paint his face, patting you every now and then.

would definitely doze off while you work on his eyes. and you can’t help but sneakily grab your phone to snap a pic of your sleepy cat boy.

when it’s time to do his lips, you’d give him a longer kiss bc you can’t kiss him after the lipstick is on unless you want it to smudge.

you let him pick the shade though.

he’d study your collection of lipsticks, lip stains and glosses, seemingly bored, but you know that peculiar brain of his is meticulously picking out his favorite color.

he goes for a muted red shade in the end. it suits him and his complexion well.

he’s just sooo pretty that you make him sit there and pose for you while you take 297473 photos (and videos).

he maintains the grumpy look on his face in most of the photos, but you don’t miss the way he tries to suppress a smile when he admires your hard work in the mirror. dude secretly loves being pampered fr.

would definitely make you take the makeup off him afterward and do his skincare too.

[tigertales9]

Anticipation II

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: This is a follow-up to Anticipation

Time/Place: May 17, 2024 - Cincinnati, Ohio

A/N: In this fic, Joe & Reader are engaged & living together in a LTR.

Inspo pic:

Friday, May 17, 2024 - Cincinnati, Ohio

You take a sip of your watermelon mojito mocktail as you enter your large, walk-in closet, smacking your lips in appreciation before setting the frosty glass on a coaster on top of your lingerie chest.

"That's delish," you murmur, getting some music going before turning your attention to the task at hand … picking out a dress to wear to the club during Kayla's bachelorette party next Saturday (a week from tomorrow).

You take your time scouring through your extensive wardrobe, pulling out every pink dress you own before either dismissing it or setting it aside for further consideration, singing along to your music and sipping your tasty drink as you really lean into the vibe.

About fifteen minutes later, you've pulled three dresses out and decide that's enough to start with; you turn your attention to your shoe collection, selecting a pair of blush-pink peep-toe stilettos that you've only worn a couple of times. You open the shoebox and pull out one sleek shoe, flipping it over and using the spike heel as a microphone as you sing along to the sultry song blaring out of your speakers.

I could fuck him in the rain I could fuck him in the Range I could fuck him every day I'ma fuck him 'til he sing

You catch some movement in your peripheral vision and turn your head toward it, a blood-curdling scream escaping your lips at the sight of a large man looming in the doorway of the closet. You throw the shoe you're holding at the menacing intruder, your fear morphing into agitation when you realize it's your fiancé.

Joe quickly ducks, and the shoe flies over his head. "What the fuck, Joseph!" you yell, dropping to your knees as you try to catch your breath. "You almost gave me a heart attack," you wheeze, reaching a hand up and pressing a button that cuts Doja Cat off mid-lyric.

"Sorry," he mutters, his voice sounding more amused than apologetic. You give him an annoyed glare which he doesn't even see because he's retrieving the shoe you whipped at his head. "I didn't mean to scare you," he continues, closing the distance between you and holding the shoe out like a peace offering. You double-down on the annoyed glare as you snatch the shoe out of his hand, mumbling under your breath as you place it back in the shoebox.

A minute of silence passes before he speaks up again. "It's a good thing I have cat-like reflexes. That stiletto heel could put an eye out."

"You wouldn't have to worry about that if you didn't sneak up on me!" you snap, standing up and narrowing your eyes at his amused look. "Also," you mutter, grabbing your drink and taking a sip before continuing. "Keep gloating about scaring me and see how that works out for you. Hope your 'cat-like reflexes' can get you off tonight because I'm sure as hell not."

"Wait, what?" he asks, his expression quickly going from amused to alarmed. "You're gonna hold out on me because I accidentally startled you?"

"No, I'm gonna hold out on you because you're being a dick about it."

"How am I being a dick?" he asks, stepping forward and reaching his arms out to hug you.

"Stop!" you chirp, swatting one of his impressive biceps before shaking your hand. "Ouch," you mutter. "It's like hitting a brick wall."

"Well, maybe don't hit your man," he purrs, grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand up to his lips, planting a kiss on your palm while holding eye contact with you.

"Oh, stop it," you grumble, trying not to grin as you pull your hand away, shaking your head at the way your body instantly reacted to the panty-dropping look on his face and the feel of his plump lips pressed against your palm.

"Stop what?" he asks.

"You know what," you mumble, taking another gulp of your drink as he watches you closely.

"What's that drink?" he asks.

"Watermelon mojito," you answer, handing him the half-full glass.

He takes a small sip, making an appreciative noise before taking a bigger sip. "This is really good," he enthuses, tilting his head back as he guzzles the rest of the drink, his bobbing Adam's apple drawing your gaze as he takes deep gulps of the icy beverage. Sexy motherfucker, you think to yourself, chewing on your lip as he finishes the drink. "Have we had this before?" he asks.

"No." You take the empty glass from him and set it down. "Kayla asked all of her bridesmaids to pick a pink cocktail. We're gonna have a taste test during the bachelorette party, and whichever cocktail wins will be served at her wedding reception."

"Cool," he nods, pointing at the empty glass before continuing. "That was seriously delish but maybe a little weak? Like, I didn't taste any alcohol?"

"That's because it's a mocktail. It needs a shot of rum to finish it off."

"Friday night is not mocktail night," he teases.

"And it's not Friday night yet," you counter, checking the time while shaking your head. "It's just late afternoon. You're home an hour and a half earlier than expected. You know I very rarely day drink unless it's a brunch situation."

"True," he grins. "Coach decided to let us go a little early today since practice has been going great."

"That's good," you return his grin, feeling slightly less agitated now that your pulse rate has returned to normal. "There's a pitcher of that drink in the fridge. You can add some rum if you want the full effect."

He gives you a nod while pointing at the three dresses you've pulled out. "New dresses?" he asks, reaching a long arm out to feel the slinky fabric of the dress closest to him.

"No, just dresses I haven't worn in a while. I need to pick one for the bachelorette party."

He makes a stank face before speaking. "I thought it was a pool party?"

"It is," you agree. "A pool party with a BBQ buffet set up on the patio. Then later that night, we're gonna get dressed up and go to a club to dance for a couple hours. Kayla's wearing a white dress, and she wants all of us in varying shades of pink."

"Oh yeah," he heaves a sigh while rolling his eyes. "I knew that, but I guess I blocked it out because I was busy worrying about the male strippers at the pool party."

"There won't be any strippers and you know it," you soothe.

"Riiiight, just scantily clad cocktail waiters," he snorts, emphasizing the 'cock' in cocktail in a way that makes you giggle.

"Don't be a hypocrite, Joseph," you scold, your voice playful but the look on your face 100% serious. "The bachelor week-end you went to in Scottsdale included going to a club that features scantily clad women."

"That wasn't my idea," he argues.

"And this wasn't my idea," you counter.

Y'all stare at each other for several seconds before he heaves another sigh and backs down, his body language telling you he's aggravated but he knows he's not gonna win this argument.

You slowly let out the breath you were holding and gesture toward the dresses. "I'll try these on tomorrow. I need to head downstairs and start dinner prep. You're probably starving."

"I'm good," he states. "I had a protein smoothie before I left the facility. Maybe we can just order something later."

"You don't want me to cook?"

He shakes his head no while pointing at the dresses. "I'd rather have a fashion show tonight. You can cook tomorrow night, okay?"

"Okay," you murmur, watching as he strips his t-shirt off before dropping it in the hamper, your eyes going wide at the sight of the tight black compression shirt he had on under his loose t-shirt.

You bite your lip as you take in his broad shoulders, muscular arms and chiseled torso set off nicely by the clingy fabric. "Nice shirt," you purr, giving him a wink when you finally meet his eyes again.

"You said I look sexy in it, so I'm gonna be wearing it around the house 24/7 now. Let me know if you get tired of it."

"I'll never get tired of it," you giggle, watching as he exits the bathroom, your grin amping up as he pops his head back in before speaking.

"I'm gonna go make us a couple of drinks while you try on dress number one," he states, giving you a grin as he heads back out the door.

"Don't put too much rum in my drink!" you holler, rolling your eyes as you hear his evil laughter.

Ten minutes later, you finish shimmying into a tiny, raspberry-colored dress you have no intention of wearing to the club. "He's gonna freak when he sees this," you mutter under your breath, boosting your breasts up in the balconette top before slipping your feet into your stiletto heels. You take a deep breath and walk out of your closet, through your bathroom, and into your bedroom, smiling at Joe as you approach where he's sitting on the bed, your gaze taking in his black compression shirt, slinky black shorts and bare feet.

"Oh hell no," he grits out, shaking his head vigorously as you do a little sashay. "Are you fucking serious?" he continues, his eyes glued to your chest as you make 'em bounce. "You're not going to the club looking like Tits McGee!"

"Tits McGee?" you chortle, doing another shimmy while his mouth drops open.

"Yes!" he snaps. "90 percent of your tits are hanging out!"

You look down at your chest before recapturing his gaze. "More like 70 percent."

"Well that's 50 percent too much!" he argues, his eyebrows heading for his hairline as you bust out laughing. "What's so funny?" he asks.

"I'm just teasing you," you giggle. "I wore this dress for our Valentine's Day date night here at home. I'd never wear it around anyone but you."

He narrows his eyes at you as he takes a sip of his pink cocktail. "You're just trying to rile me up, huh?"

"Maybe," you shrug, walking to the bedside table to grab the cocktail he mixed for you; you take a sip, pleasantly surprised that he added just the right amount of rum instead of loading it up. "This is really good," you smile at him before taking another sip. "You added the perfect amount of rum."

"Don't try to butter me up," he grumbles.

"I'm just telling the truth," you chuckle, setting the drink back on the coaster before heading toward the bathroom door. "I'll go put on another dress."

"Hold up," he orders, his gaze settling on your chest when you turn to face him; he makes a gesture toward you before continuing. "All of that boobage on display made me think of something."

"What?"

"What are you wearing for the pool party?" he asks.

"A bikini."

"Oh … great," he grumps. "Let's see that next."

"Sure," you grin, hurrying back into your closet and digging around in the bottom drawer of your lingerie chest for a ridic string bikini before prancing back out.

"Sooo, this is keeping with the pink theme," you state blandly, twirling the minuscule cotton-candy pink bikini between your hands as he looks on in horror.

"Ain't no way," he hisses, taking another gulp of his fruity cocktail while shaking his head at you in absolute disgust.

"You don't like it?" you ask.

"Oh, I fucking love it," he sneers. "Most of your tits, most of your ass, and half of your pussy hangs out of it since it's so tiny."

"So I look great in it, right?"

He takes a couple of deep breaths before answering. "You look amazing in it, but if you wear it, I'll be forced to infiltrate the pool party and beat the dogshit out of the cocktail waiters who will be drooling all over you."

"You're so cute when you're jealous," you giggle. "I'd never wear it around anyone but you," you continue, tossing the flimsy bikini aside and stepping in between his spread thighs, dropping kisses all over his face while he mutters under his breath.

"It's not funny," he mumbles, lowering his head, his shoulders slumping and his body language giving off bad vibes.

"I'm … sorry," you state. "I was just teasing to get you back for that jump scare you gave me earlier."

He continues to look at his feet until you place a finger under his chin and gently lift his head up. "Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah," he mutters. "I'm just being an insecure baby."

"You have no reason to be insecure. I shouldn't have teased you like that. You're my dream man. You know that, right?"

"I'm …" he runs a hand through his hair and shrugs his broad shoulders before plowing ahead. "I'm just feeling … impotent lately."

"Impotent?" you echo, your tone thick with disbelief. "We've been having some of the hottest sex of our entire relationship the last couple of months."

He takes a deep breath before meeting your gaze. "I don't mean sexually … more like … athletically."

"I thought everything was going great with the wrist rehab?"

"It is, but everyone is gonna keep second-guessing me until I'm able to prove it in a game situation."

"Some folks entire agenda is second-guessing you. You have to block out the negativity," you soothe, brushing his bangs aside to press kisses on his forehead. "You're ahead of schedule on the wrist rehab, and you've added enough muscle to legit look like a Greek God. You have nothing to feel insecure about."

"I guess you're right," he concedes, giving you a tight smile. "But the fact remains that I'm feeling more than a little jealous about the bachelorette party. I don't love the idea of random men eye-fucking you while you're wearing a bikini and a sexy cocktail dress."

"Poor baby," you coo, leaning down to gently nip his pouty bottom lip. "There will be plenty of other women in bikinis and cocktail dresses. Plus all of us have partners, so it's not like anyone will be trying to pull. We're going to the club to dance with each other not random men, okay?"

He wrinkles his perfect nose, and you press a kiss on it before continuing. "Listen … random women and men stay eye-fucking you literally everywhere you go, and I take it in stride 'cause that's what happens when you're engaged to a baddie. Pretty sure you can suck it up for one measly night, yeah?"

"Yeah," he grumbles, "but I don't have to like it."

"That's the spirit," you chuckle, spinning around and heading for the bathroom. "Dress number two is up next," you chirp, throwing him a grin over your shoulder as you leave the room.

You wiggle out of the dress you're wearing and step into another dress, fastening the halter neck, your eyes going wide when you hear Joe's irate voice coming from the bedroom.

"What the fuck is this?" he snaps, giving you a look as you hurry into the room.

You roll your eyes as you see him standing in front of the dresser, holding up the lingerie you got for Kayla.

"That was in a gift bag for a reason, Mr. Nosy," you scold, shaking your head as you walk toward him. "That's for Kayla," you continue. "We all got her some lingerie. We actually wrote trashy or classy on several scraps of paper, folded them up, then took turns drawing them out of a hat."

"Cool," he mumbles, taking another long look at the skimpy pink teddy before handing it to you. "What did you draw?"

"Ummm, trashy, obvi," you giggle.

"What even is it?" he asks, tilting his head sideways and squinting a bit as you hold it up in front of you.

"It's an open cup teddy with an easy-access slit in the crotch."

"Oh," he mutters, chewing on his bottom lip and watching closely as you put the flimsy scrap of lace back in the gift bag and replace the tissue paper he dislodged while rooting around.

"I got her the matching fishnet thigh highs, as well." You throw him a dirty wink while fluffing the shimmery pink tissue paper to your liking. "You didn't dig quite deep enough into the bag to see those, but believe me, they're trashy as fuck."

"I can imagine," he mutters, raking a hand through his tousled hair while shifting his weight from one foot to the other; he eventually turns his attention to the dress you're wearing. "I love that dress," he states, giving you a whistle when you do a slow turn for him. "Sexy but classy," he admires. "Nice hint of cleavage, but not …"

"Tits McGee?" you giggle, looking down at the keyhole neckline of the halter dress.

"Exactly," he grins. "You def need to save all the Tits McGee fits just for me."

"Yes, sir."

He gives you a loaded look before pointing at the gift bag. "Speaking of tits … I'd love to see you in something like that."

"You've seen me in a ton of lingerie," you giggle, purposely missing his point.

"Yeah, but nothing quite that …"

"Trashy?" you finish for him, grinning when a hot blush rises in his cheeks. After the crazy amount of naughty things you've done to each other over the last few years, it always gives you a thrill to know you still have that kind of power over him. "You think I'd look good in it?" you ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

He clears his throat before answering. "You'd look amazing in it," he mutters, dropping his head for a few seconds before peeking at you through his messy bangs.

"You're really working those bangs," you giggle, swatting his plump ass and pointing at the bed. "Sit back down," you order. "I have one more dress to show you."

You hurry into your closet and shut the door, quickly removing the dress you're wearing and hanging it up before opening a drawer on your lingerie chest, a naughty grin gracing your lips as you pull out the same lace teddy you bought for Kayla, the only difference is yours is purple instead of pink.

You wiggle into the porny teddy, making sure your boobs are sitting just right in the open cups before sliding on the fishnet thigh highs; you check your reflection in the mirror hanging on the closet door. "Trashy as fuuuck," you whisper, your pulse picking up as you shrug into a pink silk shorty robe, quickly tying the belt before breezing back into the bedroom.

Joe raises his eyebrows as you walk toward him. "That … looks like a robe?"

"Yep," you agree, reaching down and pulling the hem up just enough to show off the top of one thigh high. "What else does it look like?"

"Like purple fishnet thigh highs," he groans, licking his lips as he meets your bemused gaze. "You've teased me one too many times tonight," he states, "so you damn well better be wearing that trashy teddy under the robe."

You give him a dirty grin as you slowly untie the slinky belt, waiting a few seconds before shrugging the robe off and tossing it aside.

"Damn," he breathes, his hot gaze running all over you before he finally settles on your bare breasts. "Just … wow," he mutters, holding a hand out toward you. "Come here."

"Get naked first," you order.

"Yes, ma'am," he purrs, shucking off his shirt, shorts and undies in record time before standing up. "Hold on a sec," he says, hurrying to grab the oversized, full-length mirror that y'all have leaning against the wall just to the right of your dresser; he easily picks up the heavy mirror and walks back toward you, giving you a wink before leaning it against the wall just opposite the side of the bed he's about to sit on. "Okay, I'm ready," he states, plopping back down on the bed and doing his usual manspread as you step between his thick thighs.

"I forgot to put on high heels," you sigh, watching in fascination as his cock goes from semi-hard to fully erect as he runs his hands all over you, his gaze capturing yours as he sucks a hard nipple into his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around it several times before gently tugging it between his teeth. You whimper at the delicious feel of his mouth and hands on you, the look in his steel-blue eyes as he pulls off one nipple and moves toward the other causing your pulse to skyrocket. "You don't need heels," he states, treating your other nipple to the same attention as you press your thighs together, your core throbbing hard with every heartbeat as he continues his sensual assault on your breasts.

After a few more minutes, he spins you around and pulls you down on his lap -- your back to his chest -- spreading your legs wide and draping them over his thighs as his lips immediately settle on your shoulder; you watch in the mirror as he kisses his way up to that sensitive spot behind your ear, his erection hot and hard against your ass as he cups his hands over your breasts.

"I'm so turned on it hurts," you whine, your core clenching as he continues to tease your nipples, alternating delicate touches with harder pinches in a way that causes a flood of wetness between your thighs. He watches you in the mirror as you squirm in his lap, his eyes dark with arousal as he slowly lowers one hand down to cup your lace-clad crotch. "You want me to finish you fast?" he asks, both of you groaning when he slips his fingers inside the easy-access teddy to play with your slick folds. "No," you breathe, biting your lip as he slides a long finger inside you. "I want you to edge me."

"Good girl," he growls, continuing to tease you as you wiggle against him. "This teddy is super sexy," he murmurs, "but can we lose it? I wanna see all of you."

"Okay," you agree, your head spinning when he wraps his hands around your waist and sets you on your feet, helping you shimmy out of the teddy before pulling you back on his lap. "You want me to leave the thigh highs on?" you ask. "Fuck yeah," he groans, spreading your legs wide again, his gaze drawn to your bare crotch as he plays with your most sensitive flesh, both of you watching in the mirror as his agile fingers expertly work you, strategically avoiding your clit to prolong your pleasure.

"Does it feel good, baby?" he eventually asks, his breath hot in your ear as he continues to tease you, one hand moving back and forth between your nipples and the other playing with your pussy. "Sooo good," you whine, gasping when he flicks his thumb across your super sensitive clit. "I'm close!" you whimper. "I know," he soothes, removing his hands and letting you ease back from the brink.

He drops wet kisses against your neck as you pant for breath. "I want you to cum on my tongue," he states, "are you ready for that?"

"Yes, sir," you groan, yelping when he wraps his hands around your waist and tugs you backwards as he lays flat on his back on the bed; you scramble to get your knees under you as he pulls your crotch over his face. "69, huh?" you giggle, leaning forward to press a kiss on his hard cock, your eyes going wide as you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. "You should see the view I have," you purr, watching in the mirror as you run your tongue up and down his hard length to get him wet before taking him deep. "No way it's as hot as the view I have," he groans, flattening his tongue against your bare flesh and licking a long, slow stripe the length of your slit several times before using his thumbs to spread you open; he gives you another couple of shallow licks before burying the velvety length of his tongue deep inside you, making a primal sound low in his throat at the high-pitched whine you let out when he starts tongue-fucking you.

You last about five more minutes before you have a legit screaming orgasm, your eyes losing focus and your entire body trembling as the waves of pleasure roll through you.

Joe eventually rolls you onto your back and spins you around until you're face to face. "Let me finish you," you pant, sitting up and reaching a hand out toward his glistening erection as he gently presses you back on the bed; he crawls off the bed and stands up to his impressive height, watching you closely as he leans down and sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a nip and a lick before slowly rolling you over onto your stomach. He nestles his lips against your ear before speaking. "I wanna cum in your tight little cunt," he growls, wrapping an arm under your waist and lifting you up onto your knees as he steps forward until his shins bump against the mattress; he quickly positions himself between your spread thighs before using his free hand to line his cock up with your entrance. "You ready?" he asks. "Yes," you breathe, arching your back as he sinks his erection in you to the hilt.

Several heartbeats pass before he finally starts thrusting; you press your forehead against the mattress and angle your hips up into his thrusts in a way that has both of you groaning, fisting your hands in the sheets to use them as leverage as you fuck back against him. He continues to ride you hard for several minutes before sliding a hand down to play with your clit. "Can you cum for me again?" he asks, drawing lazy circles around your clit before pressing it hard, a moan escaping his lips as you come apart underneath him, your cries of pleasure muffled against the mattress as he unloads inside you.

He eventually collapses down on the bed beside you, rolling over onto his back and staring at the ceiling while he pants for breath; you roll over onto your back and turn your head to look at him, both of you laughing at how fucked out you look.

"You need to delete the word 'impotent' from your vocabulary," you giggle, giving a happy sigh as he pulls you close and nestles his nose into the nape of your neck.

Fifteen minutes later, you feel nature call, and you give a deep sigh before speaking. "I gotta pee," you admit. "Me too," he chuckles, helping you up and ushering you toward the bathroom. "Ladies first," he states, turning the bathroom light on and quickly lifting the toilet lid before you inelegantly plop down. "Thanks," you mutter, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and raising an eyebrow as he continues to stand in the doorway watching you. "I'm hurrying," you chuckle, finishing your pee and giving yourself a quick wipe before starting to stand up.

"Wait," he urges, stepping forward and pressing both hands on your shoulders to hold you down on the toilet.

"Uhhh, why?" you ask, your eyes going wide as he takes his dick in his hand.

"Spread your legs," he orders.

"Don't you dare pee on me," you breathe, spreading your legs as he unleashes a stream of pee.

"Just relax and be still," he purrs, his sensual lips curling into a naughty grin. "Those thigh highs are super sexy," he groans.

"Quit looking at my thigh highs!" you chirp. "Pay attention to where you're aiming!"

He flicks his gaze up to your eyes for a sec before looking back down. "I've got the best accuracy stats in the league," he boasts.

"At throwing footballs," you mutter, "not pissing between my legs."

He gives you a wicked smirk as he tears off a square of toilet paper and dabs his dick, dropping the toilet paper between your legs before wrapping both hands around your waist and pulling you to your feet. He lowers the toilet lid and hits the flush lever, smiling down into your upturned face as you shake your head at him.

"That seemed dangerously close to peeing on me to mark your territory," you state.

"But I didn't actually pee on you," he argues.

"True," you concede. "But it was damn close." You give him a look before walking out of the toilet enclosure with him close behind; you stop abruptly and spin around to face him. "Just admit it was a territorial display," you goad, smirking when he narrows his eyes at you.

"Maybe a little," he admits, grinning as he rakes a hand through his hair while you gloat at his admission.

"What's next?" you tease. "You wanna spit in my mouth?"

His facial expression immediately morphs from playful to primal, his voice dropping an octave as he answers you. "Yeah. Open wide."

You raise an eyebrow at his demeanor; you're pretty sure he's kidding, so you decide to call his bluff. "Okay," you purr, making a show of slowly licking your lips before sticking your tongue out. He immediately gathers some spit in his mouth and hits your tongue dead center with it, quickly dropping his head down and sucking your tongue into his mouth as he cups his hands under your ass and lifts you up.

Two long strides later, he's got your back pressed against the wall; you're always a little amazed at how strong he is, at how easily he picks you up and manhandles you into naughty positions.

You wrap your legs around his waist, gasping when the plump head of his cock slips just inside your slick entrance. He's already made you cum twice, and yet you're still desperate to have him inside you. I'll never get enough of this man, you think to yourself, digging your fingers into his broad shoulders as he leans down and nuzzles his lips against your neck, his hot breath tickling your ear as he tells you how good you feel as he slowly buries his hard cock inside you.

You lose yourself in the feel of him stretching you open, whimpering his name as his hips pick up speed, his cock surging up into you in a way that takes your breath away.

He fucks you against the wall for several minutes before snaking his free hand in between your sweat-slick bodies, pinching your clit with the perfect pressure to set you off as he continues to pound into you; you fist a hand in his hair and whimper his name as your climax hits, your core clamping down hard on his thrusting cock, coaxing him toward the edge until he follows you over, your body continuing to rhythmically squeeze him until you milk him dry.

~ ~ ~

Thirty minutes later -- after a shared shower -- y'all are lounging in bed waiting for your food delivery to arrive.

"You know what I'm thinking?" Joe asks, giving you a grin before continuing. "I'm thinking you should make me jealous more often."

"Why?" you ask.

"Because the sex is crazy hot when I'm trying to prove I'm worthy."

"The sex is always crazy hot," you counter.

He gives you a loaded look before responding. "But it's hotter when I'm working harder for it, yeah? And I really like working harder for it."

"Maybe," you shrug, your eyes going wide as he pulls you against him, his frustrated groan making you giggle as the doorbell rings.

[fianllyclean]

Hey, bestie!

Maria, @taylorsmygirl13 and I both collectively feel like vomitting because we can’t believe that the tour is:

A. ACTUALLY HAPPENING.

B. IT IS ?! SO SOON?!

We have missed you so so so so so much. I think that everyone can collectively agree that when we left our final show on the rep tour that we didn’t think we would go the number of days it has been since we would next see each other. Almost 5 years, one pandemic, 2 degrees, 5 birthdays, 4 records, a bunch of happy times, a bunch of sad times, moving cross country, and new friends later, here we are about to embark on this new journey of tour!!!! I’m collectively just here to say how freaking much I am so thankful to be able to have tickets to the 2 shows that I was able to get. But most importantly that Maria and I are actually living a dream that we talked about for almost a decade. Being at opening Night! We are hecking excited to let all these emotions of the last 5 years out together and share this night with you, T. Maria and I became besties (I mean look at our prom pics in 2016 Lol, because of you.) She has taught me so much and led me toward some of my greatest accomplishments while always encouraging me to constantly keep pushing. I genuinely can’t wait for you to experience her radiant happiness that she emits into any room that she walks into, because every human deserves it. When you realize that she has been there on your side since 2006, at the age of 8 and is now 25. Wow what a journey and special relationship that is. She’s been there for every release day; midnight music video release, traveling hours for tour, spreading your message with her tiny students, and thanks to you, grown into the most successful and beautiful lady I know.

So excited to see you opening weekend at the Glendale shows!!!!

Glendale Night #1: Section C, Row 13, Seat 1.

Glendale Night #2: Section 129, Row 30, Seat 9.

Thank you for giving us a reason to see the desert 🏜️ 🌵, we wouldn’t go the middle of no where for no one else :)

We are so so so so so mega excited to see you and I want nothing more but for you and Maria to squeeze each other and share all these years of memories in conversation.

P.S. Tell Mer and Liv to not worry, I’m bringing Temptations for them and a special “nice to meet you” gift for Benji. 🐱🐈

WE CANT WAIT TO SEE YOU FRIDAY ☘️🇮🇪AND SATURDAY🪩🤠

@taylorswift @taylornation

[aroacesafeplaceforall]

Hello there! Jamie is on post limit

Mod team:

I'm Jamie and I use any pronouns but usually prefer masc (he/him) but they may change some days, thank you! I'm on the A-spectrum, specifically pansexual/aegosexual and romance repulsed aromantic!!

My name's Noah Oats and I use they/them pronouns! I'm aroace, specifically quoiromantic and aegosexual! I have diagnosed ADHD and am an INFP :D

We’re here for all your Questions, Rants, Vents and Confessions!

Ask box is always open and we’re always here for your asks!

We are here to educate, explain and help with anyone who needs it!

Stay safe, remember you are valid and its your box!

LOVE U ALL U ARE VALID

Link to my Aro-spec post

Link to a post containing most Ace Spec identities

Asexual Wiki, Aromantic Wiki,

the Asexual Visibility and Education Network -Asexual resource

AUREA - the Aromantic-spectrum Union for Recognition, Education, and Advocacy

List of Aroace Spectrum resources

Connect to the community - aces and aros The Battle of the Phobics Link to link post

The comments section link to a helpful article on how to educate/beat the acephobes

Ask box Days!

Sunday: sex stories Sunday, for aro and/or ace specs! Block the tag “aroace explicit” to avoid!

Mondays: free day

Tuesday: rant and vents! Everything goes but everything answered with a ‘.’ Thing

Wednesday: free day

Thursday: minor friendly Thursday! A day for just minors asks to be answered about their aspec ID and questions. Block “aroace minors” to avoid

Friday: free day

Saturday: free day

Recommend blogs

please feel free to ask me first, if I don’t provide a good answer or you want more you can ask again or go to one of these blogs! Please tag more blogs I should add to this list!!

@asexualadvice - asexual advice! (Read blog but helpful info!)

@aegosexual-moments - the aegosexual blog of all time (excluding myself /j)

@aromantic-diaries - Very cool aro person!

(Yes I know my profile pic is off center, suffer)

(It’s seperate because aroace is unfortunately usually viewed as one identity, ace and aro are separated spectrums)

(If I hear one more complaint about my icon I’ll change it to what ever random piece of art crosses my dash next and you wouldn’t like that would you??)

The Blogs blogs that are kinda fan accounts???? wtf????

@aroaceplaceforsome they’re the neutral party here, they use pronouns

@throwawaysoiwontgeteatenbyjamie a whore

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @the-knowable-entity for drawing our profile pic!!!

Banner art by @pride-flag-planets

The forces:

A collection of multi member blogs dedicated to one country of aspecs… all against Denmark

@aussieaspecforces

@indianaspecforces

@americanaspecforces

@british-aspec-forces

[sgiandubh]

Hola, Sgiandubh.

Mordor no debe estar muy contento con esas fotos que publicaste. Nos acusan de publicar recibos antiguos cuando hay un avistamiento Tait y, ahora, BIF y sus seguidores se dedican a rebloguear antiguas entrevistas donde ella hablaba del prometido "sin nombre". Ya se encargaba el magazine de turno de editar el texto añadiéndolo para que no quedara duda de su identidad. Como ese bloguer de IG que ha cambiado la secuencia de fotos y no ha publicado las que han causado tanto revuelo pero si se ha dedicado a seguir insultando a las #shipperscrazies. Manipulando la información real que hay disponible. Si eso no es reunir a las tropas para tranquilizar los ánimos no sé qué es 😆

Dear Rallying the Troops Anon,

Me alegra mucho que Mordor no esté contento con estas fotos, por supuesto. La idiotez colectiva del Otro Lado es contundente y menospreciar al adversario - la peor estrategia que pueda imaginarse.

But without further ado, let's translate your comment:

'Hi, Sgian-dubh,

Mordor must not be very happy with the pictures you posted. They accuse us of posting old receipts every time there's a Tait sighting, but now BIF and her followers are busy reblogging old interviews where she talked about the 'unnamed fiancé'. The magazine had already dutifully edited the text, adding to it so there would be no doubt about his identity. Just like that Instagram blogger who changed the order of the pics and did not post those that caused so much commotion, but who did continue to insult the #shipperscrazies. Manipulating the real information that is available.

If that is not rallying the troops to calm things down, I don't know what is 😆.'

Well, then - LOL. As I just said: I am very glad that these pics irritated the shit out of Mordor, of course. The collective idiocy of the Other Side is blatant and of course, belittling the adversary - the worst possible strategy.

But remember (hahahahaha), darling: double standard is a paramount policy of the Best Fans and the Only Ones, FWIW. They feel they have a license to do just about everything: repost things when reality bites and people begin to realize maybe things are not just as black and white (but rather more than fifty shades of grey, LOL). Insult people who dared question their honesty and/or intentions, with a ferocity that says a lot about their unsavory mob. And also play the ostrich, when people come to them with info like this very recent one:

The reactions are just priceless:

Sure, Jan, wherever you'd live (a 500 people village, somewhere, I suppose). Because social and business dinners happen on Saturday nights, since the dawn of humanity (where is McIdiot, on that Saturday night, since it's all so social/business? rehearsing Smooth Operator with Blonde Bambino?). And yes, of course, 'pictures or it did not happen' (it did happen before, btw, albeit with chaperones, but never with the multi-millionaire, successful music producer!), on that we agree, and it's rare - this round's on me. That being said, it's priceless to read (and almost hear) those banshee shrieks: 'They are not romantically involved!!!!!!!!!!!!' I spat my Coke, again and remembered this wonderful Terry Pratchett quote:

 'Multiple exclamation marks,' he went on, shaking his head, 'are a sure sign of a diseased mind.'

So, as you can see, that rally cry was also very, very far away from being efficient. As Cambronne famously said at Waterloo: merde!

One last thing and please try and not hate me for it, since I might have misunderstood what you really meant: there was no editing, as far as I know, of that interview BIF reposted. That name was always there, but once more, never uttered by C and just added for context by the journalist, when she wrote her paper. See for yourself:

Reading that last phrase tells the whole story: 'finding time that suits both their schedules is also proving challenging'. ROFLMAO. For Christ's sake, the 'intensely private' one ain't no Quincy Jones! And this is how you just know Tatler sugarcoated a very bland, unenthusiastic interview. A very common practice.

Salud! Don't be a stranger, Anon. You inspire me. 😘

PS: that banshee shriek was completely unnecessary. Anon just said they were 'catching up', nothing more (which immediately makes me think there was something more about it). Nobody suggested anything romantic. Pavlov's dog will always react to the stimulus, though. And thank you, querida, for the heads-up. 😘🙌

[p0rchc0ll4ps3]

7am, morning, in your small apartment's even smaller kitchen

usually you'd make instant coffee, but it's a saturday and you don't have to be at work and you shouldn't even be up this early. you'd be asleep right now if you hadn't spent all night awake, unable to sleep, your thoughts too many and too loud.

so instead of going back to sleep, you get up and you make coffee in the ibrik and you smoke the first cigarette of the day watching the water and the coffee and the sugar boil to a froth as your thoughts slip away from you, the song on the radio in the background too quiet to keep you here, to keep you grounded

you're distantly aware you've turned the heat too high

or: face cafea la ibric 😭

~~~

close-up fridge photos with explanation under cut

top to bottom, left to right (was gonna put numbers but its hard so youre just gonna have to guess, sorry)

top left is harry and kim at the precinct, top middle is jean's brother archer when he was a kid + jean kid, top right is harry and kim at the river istros in jamrock (my hc)

next row is harry stella maris in '50, then harry and jean when jean was first partnered with harry feat jean buzzcut jumpscare (in '47 or so)

then 3rd row from top is jean + harry in front of jamrock / bay of revachol, then fidéle (jean's horse) + judit at the stables at precinct 41

second to last row is miklós (judit's older son (he's 16)) + judit + théodore (judit's younger son (he's 14)), then archer (jean's brother) at a rave with jean (who's taking the photo; archer dragged him to it)

last row is Enzo Tetreault (jean's friend from police academy who was too dangerous for the rcm who works for la puta madre now) and Björn Dayal (jean's friend from childhood who was, according to jean, "so delusional about becoming rich that he made it happen"). they're at the horse races bc jean likes to go to horse races and bet on horses

other things to note, the little square magnets are from kids' yogurts that jean likes to collect. they're directly based off danonino magnets we had in romania in the earlier 2000s (idk 2010s??) except with elysium countries and a mouse instead of a dinosaur

the codes are phone numbers. archer's is VIE-6612, harry's new house address is CEN-9985 (it was supposed to be 9855 but i fucked up), and Minot's is 4531

oh also the little handwritten note up on the top row bw the kim and harry image and the jean brother + jean kid image is the landlord's number. it reads Hubert Daviau (i think), CEN-1138, Propriétaire.

his list reads Eggs, Detergent, CHEESE, Call Archer, Call Harry, 7PM Harry Mon

oh and the scroll on the right is a wall calendar. something something samaran wall calendar from the outdoor market jean goes to to get his groceries (it's called a piață in romanian but that doesnt translate. it's kinda' like a farmer's market but it happens every day. like an established Thing.)

the kitchen is based off romanian commie apartment kitchens!! apartment blocks outside his window and everything. also his plants on the windowsill bc he has plants, ok. (and the square white space to his right of the stove is um. the washermachine.)

i think this pic takes place after the events of my casefic if i ever get around to it. basically jean's a lot more settled and happier

OH AND his shirt reads "i'm not shy, i just don't fucking like you"

[matan4il]

Update post:

During the night, a suspicious aerial object fell inside Israel, a little north of our most southern city, Eilat. At the same time, a senior in the Iran-funded Yemenite terrorist organization referred to as the Houthis, who have targeted Eilat before, posted on his Twitter account on Mar 15, in both Arabic and Hebrew, "month of Jihad." They're not officially taking responsibility for having fired a rocket at our civilians (on top of their on going attacks against global shipping), but they're doing the closest thing to this that they can.

On Saturday, the Jewish day of rest, a Palestinian terrorist had entered a Muslim cemetery in Hebron, and started shooting from it at the Jewish neighborhood of the city. The terrorist was eliminated. He turned out to be an Imam at a local mosque, and a member of Hamas. According to a TV reporter, the terrorist missed by just mere inches a boy who was passing on the street. During and after this terrorist attack, the Jewish residents (much like in other terrorist attacks on Jewish communities, including this recent attempted stabbing attack) were asked to lock themselves in until the IDF is done searching the area, to make sure there aren't additional terrorists still lurking about. The next time that you see anti-Israel propaganda posts about cemeteries, please remember that if Islamists don't respect their own burial sites and the Muslims buried there enough to avoid using these places as grounds for terrorist activity, Israelis certainly are not going to place those cemeteries above defending living Jews.

Following intel that Hamas terrorists have once again taken shelter in the Shifa hospital in Gaza City, and using it as a base for their opereations, IDF troops have entered it, killed several terrorists and arrested 80 others. Again, people who don't want hospitals raided by armed forces, shouldn't use those as a base for terrorist activity. And I have to point out (because I've seen this misconstrued) that hospitals do lose their protection under International Humanitarian Law (IHL) when they are used by militants: "The protection to which fixed medical establishments and mobile medical units are entitled shall not cease unless they are being used to commit acts, outside their humanitarian duties, that are harmful to the enemy." It IS a war crime for terrorists to use a hospital this way. It is NOT a war crime, for a defending army to raid a hospital being used by terrorists, in order to protect its own civilian population from those terrorists.

During the raid on the hospital, an Israeli soldier was killed, 20 years old Matan Vinogradov from Jerusalem. Matan is the 250th IDF soldier to be killed during the fighting in Gaza. May his and their memory be a blessing.

I found Hebrew journalistic sources with pics, reporting on a man who came on March 15 to a pro-Israel protest in Washington with a burner (an actual burner, not a disposable phone), used it to threaten the protesters, and was arrested. I can't find an online English source, because every search I tried to do, gets drowned in how many anti-Israel protesters have been arrested. I don't think I ever feel the gap between what Israelis hear and know, and what the rest of the world does, more than in moments like these, when I can't find a single English source for info that was all over the national news on TV here.

Another one that I can find only in Hebrew news tweets and articles: UNRWA's offices in Jerusalem are seeing a protest from dozens of Israeli demonstrators, who are accusing the UN agency for its complicity in the Hamas massacre. Zaka (whose body bags were used in this demonstration) is the NGO responsible for handling bodies and collecting body parts after Palestinian terrorist attacks against Israelis, including on Oct 7. The protesters said that even though UNRWA has been denounced, it still continues to "operate normally, with its employees continuing their work as they always do, in the building they got for free from the Israeli government."

Did the following vid, about an Iranian American (non-Jewish) artist making a joint mural for Jews, Israelis and Iranians as an inspiration and dedication to all Middle Eastern women, make me cry? Yes, it did. So I'm sharing it.

This is 20 years old Daniel Peretz.

He was born in South Africa (where most of the Jewish community is descended from Eastern European Jews, who were fleeing pogroms), and his family made aliyah when he was 13 years old. He loved sports and hiking, and people talked he would always happily lend others a helping hand. Yesterday, we got the news that the IDF has collected enough findings to determine that he had been murdered by Hamas on Oct 7, and his body is held hostage in Gaza. An IDF rabbi has determined that among the findings, there is enough to hold a funeral, so IDK for sure, but I can guess this means body parts. The funeral is scheduled for today. For those keeping track, what we currently know is that there are 134 Israelis kept captive in Gaza, and at most, 99 of them are still alive. May Daniel's memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[betterstllbemywindingwheel]

On Thursday 1st September, there were multiple videos and pictures of Harry walking with TR around central London. This was after a busy week of walking for them and 2 days after the Vogue editor posted a pic of her at the Vogue office on his Ig.

At some point, they met up with Harry Lambert and a blonde woman speculated to be Poppy Kain of Vogue - who does the styling for shoots.

This prompted speculation of a vogue cover/ interview/ couple shoot etc.

Vogue are holding a “vogue world” event on Thu 14th Sept at 7pm to start LFW. Jonathan Anderson (of Loewe) is showing his latest collection on Sat 16th at 11am. (Bare in mind TR has a matinee show on Saturdays at 1.30pm)

Interestingly, it looks like Pleasing is part of the Vogue World event. As is SS Daley (who was in the random and released ages after they were taken in an not at all sketchy way pics- he is also showing a collection on sat)

Oh and one of the arts venues that will be benefitting from the event.. well I’m sure you can guess.

[magpiefngrl]

Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "magpiefngrl"?

Hey, anon!

Oh fave fics! I love talking about fics and books, though I feel I talk about fics everyone knows and have nothing new to offer, esp since I've not read much in the last 2-3 years. Still, narrowing it down to 10 is super hard, so I've looked at my bookmarks and chose the ten fics that I've reread the most.

1. Bound Skerry by Frayach (drarry, M, 2.3k)

I've read this a hundred times and I'll keep coming back to it. Possibly my most read fic. The reason it's one of my Forever Fics is the prose. Absolutely stunning writing.

2. House Proud by astolat (drarry, M, 23k)

The original House Magic fic and the best one. I particularly love the hints of dark faerie magic, the horror elements and the brilliant worldbuilding. Astolat's prose is super readable and the pacing is excellent.

3. with exactness grinds he all by thistle_verse (drarry, M, 6k)

An aching fic with beautiful, lyrical writing. I've reread this so many times.

4. Art in Life by northofallmusic (tofsla) (wangxian, T, 2k)

I feel I'm repeating myself but this has excellent prose and it's aching and tender and made me feel all the feels.

5. Out of the Dead Land by orphan account (stucky, M, 63k)

OK so this hasn't stood the test of time because I finished it a few days ago, but WOW. Absolutely brilliant. I'm not even a stucky fan or anything. But I kept thinking about it when I was doing other stuff and I set aside the books I was reading so as to finish this. Now it's days later and it's still on my mind. I can't remember the last time I had a book/fic hangover. A very angsty fic and a fantastic exploration of Bucky's trauma. This is by one of my top authors of all time, who's now orphaned everything.

6. Mr Webster's Wager by Fahye + orphan author (same one as above) (Ash/Webster, E, 27k)

Now we're getting into the horny fics. This one is based on a KJ Charles short story which is the best romance short story ever written in my not so humble opinion. This takes the original story and the horniness of that scene and expands it into many horny scenes. It's masterful, very very hot, and just a fantastic fic.

7. Unhook the Stars by jad (drarry, E, 70k)

One of the first drarry fics I read and one that made a huge impression on me. Super kinky, lots of sex scenes, I've reread this a LOT.

8. IDK My BFF Hermione? by lettered (drarry, E, 19k)

Extraordinary. Phenomenal. It will always have a place in my Top 10. Also, very filthy, which is a huge plus in my book.

9. a better happier st sebastian by halsinator (Jonathan Strange, E, 6k)

Another one I reread a million times. Stunning prose and vibes and beautiful yearning. I keep coming back to it.

10. live from new york by varnes (wangxian, E, 87k)

A masterpiece, a classic of wangxian, this is a Saturday Night Live AU, which is such a bizarre choice for an AU--and yet it works. I don't live in US, I have never watched SNL, but I adored the fic.

I've left out a ton of favourite works and authors I adore, but for more of my faves, my AO3 Bookmarks is the place to go.

I have to say, this exercise has been quite illuminating: I don't think I've ever had such a clear glimpse of what makes me tick. In short, sublime prose, an aching, yearning mood and/or filthy porn.

*****

As for my username, here's the story: I joined tumblr a gazillion years ago (way before I got into fandom) and my first blog (still exists: @magpie-x ) was mostly what you'd call an aesthetic blog. I'd reblog cool pics and quotes and occasionally post a personal post about my life. I named it magpie because it was a place where I collected everything shiny, like a magpie. I rarely used it after a while tbh. Years later I read The Raven Cycle and fell heads over heel with pynch and knew that the only place I'd find fans was tumblr. I got into the nascent TRC fandom and soon I needed a space exclusively for fannish posts. I created a sideblog called magpiefangirling and when I later got an AO3 account I shortened the name. Years later I got into drarry, I became very active on tumblr again, and the sideblog wasn't enough so I deleted it and created a brand new blog with my AO3 name.

In short, magpiefngrl, means magpie being a fangirl. It was a random decision but it has now shaped me and I think of myself as Magpie in fandom spaces, and even chose that as my pen name for my future original romance books.

[moodymelanist]

On The Line

happy day 5 of @nestaarcheronweek everyone! I had a lot of fun with this fic and I hope you do too 💙 title came from Call Me by Blondie!

Summary: Nesta sends a group text for her birthday plans, but there was a mix-up with one of the numbers and Cassian gets the text. He doesn’t know Nesta, but a party’s a party, so he decides to go!

Prompt credit to @creativepromptsforwriting!

Word Count: 4,890

Read on AO3 here!

♕♕♕♕♕ Nesta

When Nesta sent out the group text announcing her usual movie marathon and girls night in for her birthday, she’d been expecting the usual fanfare surrounding her birthday. Her family and friends had long been used to her chiller nights in to celebrate, so by the usual fanfare, she had planned her annual girls night in to celebrate her twenty-eighth birthday.

What she hadn’t been expecting was that one of her friends from college that she invited out of obligation had changed her number.

Nesta Archeron, 1:33 PM

Hi everyone! My birthday’s coming up, so we’re getting together again as usual. Bring your comfiest pajamas, your favorite chick flicks, and your best face masks to help me ring in turning 28 this Saturday at 7:30 PM 💙

Nesta added her address and some instructions about where to park before sending a cute, celebratory gif. There was a flurry of immediate, excited responses – everyone was liking and loving the message and saying if they could come or not. It was all business as usual, at least until a couple of texts came in from what was supposed to have been Deirdre’s number.

Unknown Number, 1:42 PM

Uh… did you mean to send this 2 me?

Happy bday tho @Nesta whoever you are

But this sounds rlly fun can i pls come anyway :)

“What the hell?” Nesta muttered under her breath as she read the texts. Before she could get a chance to reply, her youngest sister jumped in and took charge of the situation. 

Feyre Archeron, 1:45 PM

Send a pic and we’ll see

And ur name pls

Cassian Valladares, 1:47 PM

Cassian Valladares

& here

Cassian sent two pictures, the first of which made Nesta’s jaw drop of her own accord. He was one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen, with golden brown skin, hazel eyes, and a thin scar slicing through his right eyebrow. In the photo he’d sent, a giant, pink, fluffy headband complete with a bow was pushing his hair back from his smiling face. His skin glowed from being recently moisturized and his jaw looked cleanly shaven – maybe they’d caught him in the middle of his self-care routine.

Ha. As if. Most of the men Nesta knew, especially the straight ones, barely bothered to use more than 3-in-1 products. It would practically be a miracle if this so-called Cassian even knew what moisturizer was, let alone actually used one that was made specifically for his face. 

Nesta snorted to herself before swiping to the other photo. The second photo was of a serious stash of face masks, a matching pajama set, and a very fuzzy pair of bunny slippers laid out against a dark blue comforter. He’d clearly just tossed everything onto his bed, but Nesta noted that his bed was actually made and his room actually looked clean – there was no way he’d managed to clean everything and grab his supplies for the photo that quickly, so she hoped that meant he was 1) actually clean and 2) maybe even had a skin care routine.

Cassian Valladares, 1:47 PM

Hope I pass inspection :)

Huh. Color her surprised. Nesta had barely finished ogling the man and his face mask collection when her phone started ringing. She rolled her eyes and slid to answer, not even bothering to greet her sister since she knew Feyre would come into the conversation guns blazing.

“Nesta, you have to let him come,” Feyre said the moment Nesta answered the phone, proving her initial guess correct. “He’s so fucking hot.”

“Hi to you too, Fey,” Nesta replied wryly. “He’s hot, but for all we know, he could be a serial killer.”

“I mean, he already knows where you live,” Feyre pointed out. “If he’s a serial killer, maybe we should try to get him on our good side.”

“Because that’s sound logic,” Nesta responded, rolling her eyes even though Feyre couldn’t see her. “We don’t know this guy!”

“Okay, but maybe we should,” Feyre said. The sound of her voice changed as she switched to speaker phone. “I’m just saying we should consider all our options.”

Nesta’s phone buzzed against her ear and she shifted Feyre to speaker phone before going to read the new messages. Her eyes bugged out of her head as she read what Feyre had written. 

Feyre Archeron, 1:53 PM

You 100% do

Please come my sister would love to have you!

In more ways than one ;)

“Don’t hate me,” Feyre told her, sounding like she was trying not to laugh. 

“Feyre!” Nesta hissed over her sister’s hysterical cackling. She’d barely even tried before losing it, her pure glee coming through the phone loud and clear. “That’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” Feyre replied, still laughing. Nesta pulled the phone away from her face to read the next text that came in.

Emerie Castillo, 1:54 PM

RIP to Feyre Archeron, time of death 1:53 PM

Everyone sent a bunch of laugh reactions and funny tombstone memes in response, and Nesta couldn’t help but snort at the one Elain sent. Maybe if everyone else was laughing, she could find the humor in the situation, too.

Nesta put the phone back to her ear once she was reasonably sure all the reactions were finished. “Okay, maybe it’s a little funny.”

“See?” Feyre responded, teasing. “I knew you’d come around.”

“I’m still going to make sure he’s not a creep,” Nesta told her sister. She was already mentally preparing a list of ways to look into Cassian – social media would hopefully be the easiest way, but she wasn’t above looking him up on Case Search to make sure he didn’t have anything weird under his name. White Pages probably wouldn’t hurt either, now that she thought about it.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Feyre said. “I mean, all jokes aside. I’m sure it’s gonna be a funny story at the end of it, but I don’t want to get murdered in my pajamas either.”

“Exactly.” Nesta shifted the phone to her other ear so she wouldn’t overheat. “I knew you’d come around.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Feyre responded sarcastically. “I have to go, but this made my day. I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow,” Nesta agreed. “Bye, Fey. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye!”

Nesta wiped her phone screen off before firing off a quick couple of messages to the group. 

Nesta Archeron, 1:57 PM

I guess you’re ok

You can come but I’m not afraid to use my taser

Elain Archeron, 1:58 PM

Yay!

Gwyn Berdara, 1:58 PM

🙌🙌

Emerie Castillo, 1:58 PM

If you try anything I’m not above kicking a grown man’s ass

Cassian Valladares, 2:01 PM

Warning received

Promise im a normal guy tho

Not in like a “i’m a nice guy” way but like in an i’m actually normal way

Promise i’ll be on my best behavior :-)

Nesta snorted as she read Cassian’s message. She’d be the judge of that.

♕♕♕♕♕

By the time Nesta’s birthday celebration rolled around, even she’d been forced to admit that Cassian would probably be fine. She’d done all her due diligence, and he’d come up as squeaky clean as they could come. Between White Pages, LinkedIn, and Instagram, she felt like she had a pretty good idea of who Cassian was. He’d gone to a good college, and he’d been teaching at the same high school for a few years now. Most of his feed was made up of him either doing some physical activity – boxing, running, and even hiking – or spending time with his friends.

Nesta’s phone had been steadily blowing up over the course of the day, but she hadn’t been able to check it much between the deep cleaning she was giving her townhouse. By the time she was able to pick it up and scroll through all the messages, several of her guests were already on their way, but her curiosity was piqued when she saw Cassian had texted her separately.

Cassian Valladares, 7:04 PM

hey stranger

u sure it’s cool if i come?

no hard feelings if not i promise(:

Nesta paused halfway to turning on the shower, a little touched by how considerate that was of him. Most of the guys she knew wouldn’t have even bothered to send a confirmation text, let alone made sure she was actually okay with what was happening.

Nesta Archeron, 7:05 PM

Yes, it’s fine

If I was going to change my mind, I would’ve said something earlier than 30 mins before the party

Cassian Valladares, 7:05 PM

thank god

would’ve been a waste of my money otherwise lol

Cassian sent a photo of a reusable shopping bag with a bunch of face masks and what looked like a bottle of wine sticking out of the top of it. Nesta snorted and typed out a quick reply.

Nesta Archeron, 7:06 PM

Someone’s an overachiever

Cassian Valladares, 7:06 PM

Have to make a good first impression ;)

See u soon, birthday girl

This time, he sent a picture of his fuzzy slippers, pulling a little chuckle out of Nesta before she finally put her phone down and got in the shower. She didn’t have as much time as she wanted, but this was supposed to be a pajama party, so she didn’t have to worry about doing her hair or her makeup once her body was freshly washed and moisturized. By the time her friends had started showing up, she was comfortably dressed in a set of navy pajamas and already had her hair pulled back with a giant, fluffy white headband.

It was almost eight when the last of her planned guests had arrived, and Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if Cassian was going to show up after all. Even though he’d said he’d be there, she didn’t actually know him enough to trust his word.

“He’ll come,” Elain said, wisely picking up on the source of Nesta’s worries as she helped Nesta in the kitchen. Everyone had been assigned various tasks to make the night a success, and the three Archeron sisters were on snack organizing duty. “I just know it.”

“If he doesn’t, me and Emerie will track him down and beat him up,” Feyre added with a wink before she dumped a bag of chips into a big bowl. “But I’m sure he’ll show up.”

Before Nesta could open her mouth to reply, someone rang the doorbell. She made eye contact with Feyre, who was already grinning wide with excitement, before she sighed and wiped her hands on the nearest dish towel. “Don’t be weird about it.”

“No promises!” Feyre called out to Nesta’s retreating back.

Nesta made herself take a deep breath before she went to answer the door. She had a house full of friends and family to help defend her if things went wrong, but she knew deep down she was more worried about things going right. What if Cassian was actually a cool, normal guy, and she actually had fun with him?

She supposed there was only one way to find out.

“Hey,” Cassian said once Nesta opened the door, already smiling down at her with a ridiculously goofy grin. Just like in the picture he’d sent, he was holding a reusable bag filled with goodies, but he hadn’t mentioned the bouquet of beautiful flowers that were in his other hand. “Happy birthday, stranger.”

“Hi,” Nesta said back, hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. She took the offered flowers and leaned down to smell the pink and white blooms with a tiny smile, careful not to lean down too far lest her birthday headband shifted off her head. “I can’t believe you actually came.”

“Of course I did,” he replied. He moved inside so she could shut the door behind him, taking off his shoes and looking to her for directions. “A party’s a party, right?”

“I guess it is,” she responded. She beckoned for him to follow her and the two of them made a path toward the kitchen, and she grabbed a vase, filled it up with water, and gently placed the flowers into it. “These are beautiful.”

“Anything for the birthday girl,” he answered with a wink. Feyre and Elain had made themselves scarce, so he didn’t have anyone blocking him from emptying the contents of his bag onto her kitchen island. He’d brought a bottle of wine, a bunch of sheet masks, a container filled with cupcakes, and the pajama set and bunny slippers he’d sent a picture of before. “Where should I go change?”

Nesta resolutely pretended like her cheeks weren’t pink from his words and the sheer amount of supplies he’d brought with him. “Um… the bathroom is the second door on the left. Feel free to change in there.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Cassian replied. He grabbed his clothes and fired off a mock salute in her direction before heading to the bathroom. 

Nesta made herself take several deep breaths before she quickly organized her way through the rest of the snacks. Feyre and Elain had clearly taken some things with them to the living room, but she made sure to put the bottle of wine in her fancy wine fridge before sorting through the remaining snacks. The cupcakes were added to the display that Gwyn had brought, and the sheet masks were deposited into the container of skin care supplies. 

“Wow. That was fast,” Nesta said once Cassian had emerged from her bathroom. He’d changed out of his street clothes into a long-sleeved, red pajama shirt and matching plaid pants. The bunny slippers looked almost funny on him, but even she couldn’t deny how muscular he was, even underneath all the flannel.

“Didn’t want to keep anyone waiting,” Cassian responded with a grin. “Where’s everyone else?”

“In the living room,” she answered. He moved forward to start grabbing things off the counter once she picked up the container with the sheet masks in it. “This way.”

He trailed after her for the short walk to the living room. It seemed things were just getting started; Emerie, Feyre, and Gwyn were good-naturedly arguing over what movie to put on first, Clare was helping Elain pour drinks for everyone, and Ilana and Roslin were dividing the blankets up to make sure everyone had one. Nesta cleared her throat and tried to force down the blush that came from so many pairs of eyes on her.

“This is Cassian,” Nesta announced to the group at large. Cassian put down everything he was carrying on the coffee table before turning to wave at everyone. “Cassian, this is… everyone.”

“Thank God you’re not a catfish,” Feyre said with a grin. She hopped up from her spot on the couch to hand over the last fluffy headband that all the women were wearing to keep their hair pushed out of their faces. “I think Nesta would’ve really killed me otherwise.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” Cassian replied, matching Feyre’s grin right back. He took the headband and immediately put it on, revealing that his right eyebrow had a thin scar running through it that only served to make him more handsome. “When are we getting to the face masks?”

“As soon as we decide what movie we’re watching,” Gwyn answered. She patted the seat next to her and Cassian went without hesitating, leaving the only empty space in the room between him and the corner of the couch. “Come on, Nesta, you too.”

Nesta clutched the container of sheet masks to her body like a lifeline before she gingerly sat down next to Cassian. His body was solid but warm even through the pajamas, and she almost leaned into him before she reminded herself she didn’t really know him. “What are our movie options?”

“Mean Girls, Clueless, Legally Blonde,” Emerie listed. “Bring it On, 10 Things I Hate About You, Charlie’s Angels…”

“Mean Girls,” Nesta said decisively. “And then Charlie’s Angels, but only if it’s the one with Lucy Liu.”

“As if I’d suggest any other version,” Emerie responded with a roll of her eyes. She clicked through several screens on the remote until they had Mean Girls loaded up. “I’m a lesbian with taste, thank you very much.”

“Psst,” Elain said after a few moments. “Nesta. Pass around the masks.”

Nesta grabbed one out of the box before passing it to Cassian, the face masks slowly but steadily making their way around the group until they ended up on the floor at Nesta’s feet. She’d picked a cooling one, and she sighed happily as she spread the sheet mask over her face and let it work its magic.

“Thanks for coming, everyone,” Nesta said softly. Despite how introverted she could be at times, it really was nice being surrounded by the people who meant the most to her – other than the stranger to her left, but something told her he wouldn’t remain that way for long. “It really means a lot.”

“And thanks for letting me crash,” Cassain added with a small smile. “You’re all pretty fun so far.”

“You can stay as long as you give good advice,” Clare told him. She looked significantly less menacing with a sheet mask pressed to her brown skin, but Nesta knew she was serious – Tamlin certainly wasn’t a fan favorite, to put it lightly. “We’re trying to get Feyre to break up with her boyfriend.”

“Oh my God, can we give that a break?” Feyre complained with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I know you guys don’t like Tamlin, but you’e not the ones dating him.”

“Well… what’s wrong with him?” Cassian asked cautiously. “Cause I can beat him up if he’s giving you problems.”

“You’d have to get in line,” Roslin muttered under her breath.

“He’s not that bad,” Feyre attempted to defend herself.

“Stop having sex with him and see if you change your mind,” Elain chimed in with a roll of her own eyes.

“Ladies, come on,” Cassian jumped in. “Let me hear Feyre’s side of things, at least.”

“Thank you,” Feyre responded. She reached over and turned the movie down before she delved into the story of how she’d met Tamlin, giving Cassian a brief overview of their tumultuous relationship and how much she loved him even though he didn’t show up quite as much as she’d hoped in their relationship. “I really do care about him.”

“Yeah, but love isn’t about a feeling,” Cassian replied sagely. “Love is a choice, and it kinda sounds like he’s not choosing you the way you’re choosing him.”

“What do you mean?” Gwyn asked, her voice curious. “Not that I disagree, but I want to hear more.”

“Well…” Cassian trailed off awkwardly, but at everyone’s encouraging faces, he sighed and kept talking. “The way I see it, love is a feeling, but you have to choose to do it. It’s all about your actions, you know? Does he bring you flowers? Does he remember things that are important to you? Does he make you feel good outside of the bedroom? Do you feel like you’re putting in the same amount of effort? Does he make you feel loved the way you need to be? Stuff like that.”

“Sheesh,” Emerie said, breaking the tension a little bit. “Sounds like you’d be a hell of a boyfriend.”

“I like to think so,” Cassian said with a shrug. “I haven’t had anyone to do that kind of stuff for in a while, but… always good to have a game plan.”

Nesta was aggressively reminded of the way he’d brought her flowers tonight and desperately needed a subject change. “Okay, that’s enough hounding Feyre tonight. Let’s get back to the movie.”

Feyre sent Nesta a grateful look before turning the volume back up. They hadn’t missed too much of the movie, and once everyone had massaged the leftover essence into their skin, they all relaxed into the couch as the movie continued to play. 

Nesta found herself leaning more and more into Cassian’s side throughout the duration of the movie. By the time the credits started to roll, she was practically mushing her face into his chest, and she forced herself to sit up before any of her friends noticed. He shot her a weird look as she did so, but clearly chose not to say anything.

“Charlie’s Angels is up next, right?” Cassian asked the room at large.

“Yes, but first we all need a bathroom break,” Elain answered. Nesta didn’t miss the way her sister’s voice lingered on bathroom break, but she’d been surprised with cake enough times at these things that everyone knew it wouldn’t exactly be a surprise. 

“Right! And I need more snacks!” Feyre exclaimed, continuing the act. Nesta rolled her eyes as her sisters and her friends made various excuses to clear the living room, from needing to use the bathroom to getting more drinks or even going to wash their faces so they could do another mask if they wanted.

Eventually, Nesta and Cassian were the only ones left on the couch. “You don’t need a bathroom break too?”

“No,” Nesta answered with a snort. “They’re going to get my cake. Elain probably put it in the fridge when she got here – she and Feyre are sneaky when they want to be.”

“That’s sweet of them,” he replied. 

“Yeah.” She couldn’t take how adorable he looked in that stupid headband and how earnest his expression was, so she forced herself to look down at the green blanket covering their legs. “They are. I’m lucky.”

Thankfully, she didn’t have to risk further embarrassing herself in front of him, as her friends picked that exact moment to pop out from the kitchen with her birthday cake. Elain was holding her cake, which was beautifully decorated as usual; the way she’d iced it made it look like it was made of blue roses, and she’d procured blue candles that said 28! to match.

“Happy birthday, Nesta!” Gwyn trilled once the cake was close enough. Everyone started singing happy birthday, and Cassian’s voice stood out amongst the higher register of her friends. Nesta’s cheeks burned at all the attention on her, but she couldn’t help but feel the love anyway. 

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Nesta hastily interrupted before they could launch into another refrain of how old are you now, pulling laughs from pretty much everyone. “Let me make my wish.”

Elain tilted the plate she was holding the cake on so that Nesta could make a wish. Nesta took a deep breath, already thinking generic things like I hope I have a good year and I hope I get a promotion at work, but then she made eye contact with Cassian, and all the generic hopes suddenly faded away.

I hope this isn’t the last time I see him, Nesta thought suddenly, and then she blew out her candles before she could second-guess herself. Everyone cheered and Elain whisked the cake away so she could start cutting up slices, and Nesta was so focused on dodging Feyre and Emerie’s birthday punches that she didn’t have to think about where her sudden birthday wish had come from.

“This is so good,” Cassian remarked once the cake had been passed out. “Where did you get this from?”

“Elain’s an amazing baker,” Nesta informed him with pride. Her sister was smart as a whip and anything she whipped up in the kitchen always tasted amazing; that particular gene had skipped over Nesta, so she made a point of enjoying Elain’s food any chance she got. “And a chef, too, but the baking is my personal favorite.”

“It’s just another kind of science, if you think about it,” Elain replied with a small smile. She was just about finished with her grad program, and Nesta couldn’t wait to attend her fancy PhD graduation. “But thank you.”

“I’m gonna have to talk to you about doing some cupcakes for my end-of-the-year party,” Cassian continued. “The kids would go crazy for them.”

“What kids?” Ilana asked from her spot on the edge of the couch.

“I’m a teacher,” Cassian explained. “Middle school, so they’re just old enough to be able to hold their sugar.”

“A teacher,” Emerie repeated, making eye contact with Nesta and raising her eyebrows. “That’s cool.”

“We love a man who’s good with children,” Gwyn added. She waggled her eyebrows ridiculously in Nesta’s direction. 

Nesta hoped she didn’t look as incredulous as she felt. Were her friends trying to set her up right now? “Let’s get back to the movie.”

Charlie’s Angels passed without any more teasing on Nesta’s behalf – at least, not about Cassian. Feyre and Elain were more than happy to poke a little fun at how many times Nesta had rewatched the scene with Lucy Liu dressed up in her leather outfit, but Cassian came to her defense, claiming he’d done the exact same thing so many times his mom had stopped letting him watch the movie.

Nesta couldn’t help but chuckle at the image of a tiny Cassian getting in trouble for that, and Cassian kept up a steady stream of commentary during the best parts of the movie just to keep her laughing. It left a nice, warm feeling in her chest, and she held onto it for as long as she could.

Eventually, the night had to come to a close. Everyone was more than ready to help her clean up, and by the time they started exchanging goodbye hugs and promises to let the group know when everyone arrived home safely, Nesta’s space was more or less restored to how it had looked before the night began.

Nesta made sure to give her sisters an especially long hug, thanking them profusely for coming over and making her birthday special.

“It’s what we do,” Feyre replied with a smile. Her eyes flicked over in Cassian’s direction before returning to Nesta’s with a knowing look, and she added, “I’ll accept my thank you with a free lunch.”

Nesta just rolled her eyes before not-so-gently pushing Feyre toward the door. “Good night, Feyre.”

“You know she’s just teasing,” Elain chimed in, laughing. “But don’t let a good thing get away from you, Nesta. He seems really nice.”

“Not you too,” Nesta responded with a groan. She flicked Elain in the arm before similarly herding her toward the door. “Bye, Lainey.”

Once her sisters were out the door, Nesta realized that Cassian was the only partygoer standing between her and going to bed. She certainly didn’t feel as nervous about him being in her space as she had before he’d shown up, but there were some butterflies floating around in her stomach as she looked up at him.

“And then there were two,” Cassian joked.

“And then there were two,” Nesta repeated with a small smile. She looked away from him and settled her gaze on the pretty flowers he’d brought her, adding a pop of color to the space. “I’m really glad you came.”

“I’m really glad you let me,” he replied. “You have some pretty cool people in your corner.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. She looked back up at him to see he was already looking at her with a tiny grin on his face. “I’m just happy you got along with everyone.”

He laughed, his hazel eyes crinkling around the corners, and she knew she was a total goner. “You and me both, sweetheart. I fully believe I would’ve gotten my ass kicked otherwise.”

“Emerie means business,” she told him with a little chuckle. His entire expression brightened once she laughed, and it was so wholesome she almost wanted to do it again just to get him to make that face again. “Feyre, too.”

“Speaking of Feyre…” he trailed off. “Did she mean what she said?”

“What did she say?” Nesta asked, trying to remember what he might’ve been referring to. 

“That you’d love to have me,” Cassian answered. She could tell he wasn’t trying to make fun of her, but that didn’t stop her cheeks from heating. “In more ways than one.”

“Um,” she sputtered, her brain going completely blank. “I. Um. What?”

“I don’t want to be too forward or anything,” he said, taking a few steps closer to her, “but I think you’re really great, and I want to get to know you better. Can I take you out?”

“Like on a date?” she asked. Her heart was beating hard in her chest and she hoped she didn’t sound as nervous as she suddenly felt.

“Yeah,” he replied with a smile. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Definitely okay with me,” she agreed, matching his smile before she could overthink it too badly. 

“Great.” He stood there grinning at her for a few moments before he blinked and backed away, quickly gathering his reusable bag and street clothes that he’d come into her place wearing. “I’ll text you.”

“You do that,” she told him. They moved toward the door and he gave her one last lingering look before heading out into the night. 

As Nesta watched Cassian drive away, she could admit to herself that this had been one of the best birthdays she’d had in a long time.

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @pearlfortears | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard

[siphersaysstuff]

MAY MECH MARATHON

So for May's Patreon-backed @tfwiki toy picture batch, I got a wild hair. After last month's Exdimensions update, I realized that the wiki was missing Legend of the Microns (Armada) Exdimensions Twist (Makeshift), the only XD Emergency Team toy I hadn't done. So I did him up. Hooray!

Then the next day I was staring at the raw photos I took of Retro Hot Rod, which were in my Patreon "working" folder because I didn't have a "Retro" repository folder because I am almost certainly not going to get any others in this line, so I did his pic up... besides, it's the "flagship" toy of the line, it should get unique imagery. God he's gorgeous.

At that point I went " to hell with it" and decided that for each weekday in May, I'd do one toy pic from a random, whatever-I-felt-like selection. No overarching theme, and trying to hit a pretty broad swath of toylines and timeframes. Thus...

Not sure why I picked Universe Magna Stampede next. I actually had to dig him up to take these pics. I think I'd just chanced upon his stock imagery, which was craptastic and also showed the axe split in two, which I'm certain the toy is not supposed to do, and went "no, I'm'a fix this.

And this last week's updates...

I picked up Decoy Smokescreen for cheap at TFCon, and really, the wiki's Decoy coverage has been... lacking. Mostly in that they were sold in so many colors and different ways in Japan that the wiki barely touches on. Smokescreen's page is now the template for how Decoys should be, so I'll get to those in time.

There's not much story here with Animated Lugnut. Most of the wiki's Animated toy imagery is stock, and while stock quality had improved since 2003 (it'd almost have to), it's still not great. Taking pics of the real, final-release toy will almost always be preferable for a number of reasons.

Takara's Mega Super Collection Figure Starscream was part of the big early-2000s burst of G1 merch in Japan. A 5-inch fairly-posable soft-plastic figure with swappable parts, he and a handful of other big-name characters were made, plus several Legends of the Microns headliners.

Power Up VT6 is from the "Real Gear Robots" subline of the 2007 Transformers movie series, one of a large range of 1:1-scale toys that transform from personal electronic devices into robots. He's also one of the few whose altmode is not almost totally outdated. The Cybertron-based stickers on the early Real Gears led to the belief that these were canceled /re-assigned Cybertron toys, but nope! They were made specifically for the movie line, it's just that in order to get them into production, they had to get those decals out fast.

Remember Attacktix? No? Not shocking. Hasbro had an admittedly cool idea for an action tabletop game, started the line with Star Wars, and moved on to Transformers. Yes, officially, you could have Optimus Prime fight Darth Vader. Battle Ravage was one of the booster-pack common pieces (laughably officially "Rare"). You rolled his base forward a set number of "tix" (a clicky-thing in the base counted them off), then could use his spring-loaded waist to swing the mace-ball in the hopes of knocking over your opponent's pieces. There's other rules but that's the jist of it. Each booster-pack piece commonly came with a black base, but there was a roughly 1-in-8 chance of getting a silver-chrome base one, which had no gameplay differences but it was shiny. Sadly, the whole Attacktix line was cancelled after only one series of Transformers pieces were released, with several more based on Generation 1 shown off but doomed to never see release.

Next Saturday, I'll update with the pics done over the course of this coming week!

And remember, if you like these big pic jaunts, you can help make this bigger and better by tossing a tip via Patreon. Just look up "gregstfwikipics" at that site! You can even help pick a monthly theme!

[chevvy-yates]

103.1 TECHNOI⚡︎E FM

A fictive/headcanon radio station fit for Cyberpunk 2077 presenting German ebm artists. It is Ryder's overall favorite station he likes to listen to every day.

The first of two spotify playlists with a collection of songs I imagine to be one of Ryder's favorite radio stations (in my headcanon) he listens to when he e.g. drives around in the city or got it running in the background in his apartment. Had a hard time chosing the word 'Technoise" for one of them, yet I went with this one for the more ebm, industrial and dark wave focused tracks. I think it does fit better to the overall 'Technoise lore' (see further below) than the hard tech stuff on the second playlist. Some of the artists are already in business since the 80s/90s and especially Faderhead I would have loved to have in the game as he did a whole EP named '2077' dedicated to Cyberpunk when it came out. Overall these songs sound very 'tech'-like and each of them has this base of a repeating beat or melody and even words that stick to your ears. Some of them have actually lyrics, too, some are English, most in German.

—

109.6 HELL BUNKER FM

Mostly a hard techno playlist Ryder listens to, especially when he's working out. Most of these songs get played at 'Chrome Chamber Rave' a fictive/headcanon event occuring every 1st Saturday per month at the 'Hell Bunker', located in the underground of the Dark Matter Bld. Japantown.

This one is for the more hardcore ravers. When you listened to the other one first then for this one you may understand my decision why I've splitted it up. The beats are harder, there is much less to non lyrics and singing – all is focused on beats, repetition and other sounds. Wanna work out? Take this list if you like it. However, I've placed a few more 'melodic' ones in between so you can take a little break from the harder tracks. These are mostly by the artist 'Klanglos'. Also placed some with opera singing (Venezia, Hardtechno Anthem, Bella Ciao, Fortuna and Ameno) as it is the kind of techno Thyjs surprisingly will find good (because Ry will definitely listen to his music at home and even drag soldier boy to CCR).

—

All cover artwork done by me.

⚠️ READ: Please do not repost/reupload any of my art (the cover pics) here or to any other platform, or I will be forced to do anything to get it annihilated.

Why two?

There's two of them as I wanted to separate the (hard) techno beats from the more ebm (electro body music), dark wave and industrial ones which I also minimized to German (and one Austrian) artists only. I like the idea it is a station that plays only German as I've read in one of the many lore books that 'Technoise' is a German music genre:

"Technoise and its various derivations dominate much of the German scene. If you're hip, you already know about Technoise. If not, listen up. Technoise is quite popular with the discerning young punk; it was popularized by Germany's own NetWerk actually, you've got your Overlay style from London, Jazznetic from Rotterdam and Echo from Frankfurt. In addition, there are people producing Frock (Fractal Rock) all over the place. The good thing is, Technoise is quite easy to produce. You only need a small computer, some software and you're ready to buzz. Those of you with a message might miss the political attitude, but you're missing the point. Technoise is strictly for partying, tripping and dancing. People meet and dance up to the runner's point. Maybe that's a political statement in itself, oder?" — Eurosource Plus The New Eurotheater Sourcebook for Cyberpunk

Now I do not know how exactly the 'Lore Technoise' does sound as I can imagine it very well having more rock elements (as they speak of 'overlay style from london' (like punk back then swapping over to Germany in the mid or was it late? 70s -> German punk bands formed but also the New Wave came to exist, spread into the goth genre and so on, also Industrial so both ways; rock and electronic elements etc.) so I may have my own headcanon for it, while others maybe interpret it differently?

I definitely see some political messages in some ebm and industrial songs as well but a lot also are focused on something else less political. And if we go pure (hard) techno, it's definitely just for 'partying, tripping and dancing'. I can't say if it will stay like this, if I delete some songs or add new but for now I think it's good. If you want you can follow one or even both playlists. I would be happy about it though I know it's not everyone's music taste. ;)

And yeah ofc I placed Ryder into the covers, it's playlists for him, so yeah. If I ever do it with my other boys I'll do that the same way.

–

I'm also working on a list for Chrome Chamber Rave that will be even longer and have more songs by the artists that are already on Hell Bunker, but it's more for personal reasons as I started to dive so deeo into it I also searched pics that help me imgine how the location looks etc. Maybe I'll make another post for it, maybe not.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This day in history

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SATURDAY (Apr 27) in MARIN COUNTY, then Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

#15yrsago The Pirate Google: making the point that Google’s as guilty of linking to torrents as The Pirate Bay https://web.archive.org/web/20090425044739/http://www.thepirategoogle.com/

#10yrsago Radical press demands copyright takedown of Marx-Engels Collected Works https://crookedtimber.org/2014/04/24/karlo-marx-and-fredrich-engels-came-to-the-checkout-at-the-7-11/

#10yrsago Band releases album as Linux kernel module https://github.com/usrbinnc/netcat-cpi-kernel-module

#5yrsago Joe Biden kicks off his presidential bid with a fundraiser hosted by Comcast’s chief lobbyist https://www.cbsnews.com/news/comcast-executive-to-host-joe-biden-fundraiser/ #5yrsago “Black hat” companies sell services to get products featured and upranked on Amazon https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/leticiamiranda/amazon-marketplace-sellers-black-hat-scams-search-rankings

#5yrsago Vulnerabilities in GPS fleet-tracking tools let attackers track and immobilize cars en masse https://www.vice.com/en/article/zmpx4x/hacker-monitor-cars-kill-engine-gps-tracking-apps

#5yrsago Court case seeks to clarify that photographers don’t need permission to publish pictures that incidentally capture public works of art https://www.techdirt.com/2019/04/24/mercedes-goes-to-court-to-get-background-use-public-murals-promotional-pics-deemed-fair-use/

#5yrsago A 40cm-square patch that renders you invisible to person-detecting AIs https://arxiv.org/abs/1904.08653

#5yrsago Telcoms lobbyists oppose ban on throttling firefighters’ internet during wildfires https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2019/04/verizon-backed-lobby-group-opposes-ban-on-throttling-of-firefighters/

#5yrsago Angered by the No-More-AOCs rule, 31 colleges’ Young Democrats boycott the DCCC https://theintercept.com/2019/04/25/dccc-blacklist-college-democrats/

#5yrsago Older Americans are working beyond retirement age at levels not seen since 1962 https://web.archive.org/web/20201107235540/https://www.investmentnews.com/older-americans-are-twice-as-likely-to-work-now-as-in-1985-79176

#1yrago How Amazon makes everything you buy more expensive, no matter where you buy it https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos