#Small Bottle Labeling Machine

[coriihanniee]

WHAT'S YOUR LOVE LANGUAGE? ༻°₊ ｡

۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : how boynextdoor express their love for you

۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x gn!reader۶ৎ GENRE(S) : established relationship, FLUFFNESS OVERLOAD!!! ~ ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : slight mention of stress/anxiety, excessive chessiness?? (secondhand blushing!!), uncontrollable smiling, Woonhak's failed basketball attempt (may cause emotional damage) ۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 0.2k - 0.3k words

۶ৎ A/N : new headcanons!! I personally feel like all of them would express their love in such diverse and sweet ways~ likes/reblogs/comments = a fish doodled by Leehan and a kiss from Jaehyun 😉

SUNGHO ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ always walks on the street side of the sidewalk to protect you from traffic 

۶ৎ remembers your coffee order down to the ice cube count and brings it to you without being asked :

“I passed the café and they had your favourite coffee!”

“You walked ten minutes in the opposite direction.”

“So what? Let me live babe.” 

۶ৎ plans thoughtful dates based on your interests, not his 

۶ৎ if you once mentioned liking stars? He's dragging you to an observatory at night (You said it one time. He remembered.)

۶ৎ if you once mentioned craving bunggeoppang at 1am during winter? He's showing up a week later asking :

“So, hypothetically, if I knew a place that sells it late... and hypothetically, if I was already outside your place… would you hypothetically want to come down or—?” (He already bought two. Yours has extra red bean. He remembered. AGAIN.)

۶ৎ adjusts your seatbelt for you when you get in his car with no complaints because he loves taking care of you 

۶ৎ knows your go-to order at like five different restaurants and recites it like it’s a password to a secret base

۶ৎ will not let you carry anything heavy, no matter how small it is :

“Give me that.”

“It’s literally just a bottle of—”

“Give.”

۶ৎ knows your routines better than you do. If you forget something? He’s already packed it :

“Did you bring my charger?”

“Bottom left pocket.”

“Wait, seriously—”

“You forget it every time. This isn’t new.”

۶ৎ buys those mini heat packs and sneaks them into your pockets when it's cold

۶ৎ cooks your favourite comfort food when you've had a rough day without you having to ask

۶ৎ complains about your bad habits but always helps you through them anyway :

“Why are you like this? Also I reorganized your entire fridge and labelled the sauces. You’re welcome.”

۶ৎ overall the best boyfriend ever! ~ 🥹💕 

RIWOO ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ unconsciously reaches for your hand when walking together 

۶ৎ leaves you little handwritten encouraging notes around your house whenever possible, says it's his new daily morning routine 

۶ৎ always making silly jokes that makes your stomach hurt from laughing :

“If that vending machine eats your dollar again I will fight it. I don’t care if it’s built like Jaehyun.”

۶ৎ gives the most comforting hugs when you're stressed, will wrap his arms around your waist and let you rest your head on his shoulders while tracing circles around your back 

۶ৎ spins you around randomly just to hear you laugh :

“You looked bored.”

“I WAS COOKING.”

“Yeah, now we’re waltzing. Multitask!”

۶ৎ gives you forehead kisses before leaving, entering a room, or just because the lighting hits your face a certain way and he can’t resist 

۶ৎ brings you little desserts when he goes out 

۶ৎ plays with your hair when you're close 

۶ৎ keeps his phone gallery full of blurry pics of you : 

“Why do you have this? I look like a goblin.”

“Exactly. My goblin.”

۶ৎ man of a few words, but text? Oh he's going out of his way to make sure you know you're genuinely the most beautiful person he's met : 

“Just remembered how pretty you looked this morning… ♡”

۶ৎ links arms with you in crowded places, he just doesn’t like the idea of losing you, even for a second! 😭🩷

۶ৎ randomly starts dance battles with you at home :

“ROUND ONE! LET’S GO LOSER.”

“I DID NOT CONSENT TO THIS.”

“WINNER BUYS ICE CREAM. MOVE IT.”

۶ৎ also links arms with you everywhere you go, even just walking to the kitchen :

“Where are we headed?”

“Fridge.”

“Perfect. I love a good journey.”

JAEHYUN ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ dating Jaehyun is a 50/50 gamble between :

“My boyfriend just serenaded me with a ukulele at 2AM because he missed me”

AND

“My boyfriend ate my last snack and left a post-it that says ‘this is the price of loving me’”

۶ৎ wakes you up in the most dramatic way possible :

“WAKE UP, LOVE OF MY LIFE, WE’RE GETTING PANCAKES—”

“Jaehyun it’s 7am—”

“AND THE SUN IS SHINING AND I MISSED YOUR FACE!!!”

۶ৎ saves every picture you send him and makes them his wallpaper

۶ৎ plans elaborate surprise dates months in advance because he loves seeing your reaction 

۶ৎ always brings you little gifts : 

“Here. Saw this and it looked like you.”

“It’s a sparkly pink pen shaped like a cat?”

“Exactly. Sexy and sharp like my gorgeous girlfriend.” 

۶ৎ teases you 24/7 but defends you the moment someone else tries 

۶ৎ blows up your phone with memes and chaotic selfies, half of which are him doing something dumb like wearing five sunglasses indoors

۶ৎ calls you by the most ridiculous nicknames :

“You good, my little microwave-safe spaghetti?”

“...That’s not even—what?”

“Shhh. Just accept my love.”

۶ৎ texts you fake love letters in Shakespearean English :

“To mine dearest heartthrob, thy gaze doth slay me—also we’re out of milk.”

۶ৎ always has a hand on you. Thigh, waist, pinky, shoulder, doesn’t matter. Even if it’s just brushing against you on the train, he’s gonna make sure you feel he’s there :

“Do I have to let go?”

“You’re hugging my leg while I’m washing dishes.”

“So… no?”

۶ৎ never misses the opportunity to surprises you with back hugs with his arms around your waist whenever he feels like 

۶ৎ dramatic as hell when you're affectionate first 

۶ৎ genuinely hypes you up like you’re his celebrity crush :

“You’re telling me YOU chose to date me?? That’s so crazy. How did I pull such fine shyt??”

TAESAN ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ writes you lyrics when he can't express his feelings verbally 

۶ৎ does your chores when you're overwhelmed without making a big deal out of it 

۶ৎ sends you good morning/goodnight texts that are never the same or copy-paste

۶ৎ loves making you flustered, then pretending he’s innocent :

“You look cute when you’re mad. Should I annoy you more?”

“Dongmin.”

“Not a no.”

۶ৎ defends you in conversations when you're not around if anybody tries talking bad about you 

۶ৎ slips your name into lyrics he's working on and pretends it's a coincidence :

“Dongmin, this is literally our inside joke in verse two.”

“Oh, weird, huh? ☺️” 

۶ৎ hums your favourite songs when he thinks you can't hear him 

۶ৎ remembers every important date and celebrates all milestones, big or small 

۶ৎ knows when you’re lying and loves to call you out :

“I’m not jealous.”

“You changed the subject and flared your nostrils. That’s your tell, babe.”

“Do you study me or something?”

“24/7. Get with the program.”

۶ৎ this man teases you more than Jaehyun but that's just his way of showing his undying love for you ~

۶ৎ leaves you voice messages when he knows you’re too tired to talk :

“You don’t have to reply. I just wanted you to hear my voice. I love you.”

۶ৎ keeps one earbud in at all times just in case you send a voice note. If it’s a voice message, he’ll pause everything to listen, even if he’s mid-writing lyrics

LEEHAN ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ gives you his full attention when you speak, like you're the most fascinating person in the world 

۶ৎ shares the most random thoughts : 

“Do you think fish get jealous?”

“...Jealous of what?”

“Like… other fish with cooler scales. Or the ones that get fed first.”

“Donghyun what—”

“Anyway, if I were a fish, I’d be jealous of whoever got to swim next to you.”

۶ৎ gets pouty when you tease him, but lets you win anyway.

۶ৎ draws little doodles of you and him as corydoras fish : 

“This one’s you.”

“Why do I look nervous?”

“Because you’re next to me and you just realized how much you like me.”

“...Donghyun.”

“Hang on, let me give you heart eyes. There. Fixed.”

۶ৎ shares his hobbies with you and gets genuinely excited when you show interest 

۶ৎ teaches you about his interest (fishies! 🐠) with endless patience 

۶ৎ starts learning your favourite hobbies too so you can do them together 

۶ৎ Absentmindedly plays with your hands. Twirls your ring. Taps on your fingers like a keyboard. Draws little shapes on your palm : 

“You have the cutest hands. Very holdable!”

۶ৎ wants to do everything together with you, even the boring stuff :

“Wanna go grocery shopping with me?”

“You just went yesterday.”

“Yeah but you weren’t with me, so it was lame.”

۶ৎ spoils you with food and loves watching you eat like it's his favourite hobby because he wants you to eat well

۶ৎ enjoys taking long walks with you just to have uninterrupted time together 

۶ৎ shares weird animal facts as a way of showing affection : 

"Did you know penguins propose with pebbles? I found you a cool rock today. It reminded me of you…kind of oddly shaped but very special.”

WOONHAK ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

۶ৎ randomly piggybacks you everywhere 

۶ৎ gives you his hoodies and gets happy when he sees you wearing them 

۶ৎ starts fake arguments just to get your attention : 

“Why would you rank mint choco above cookies and cream???”

“Because it tastes good???”

“You can’t be trusted. Don’t talk to me.”

...10 seconds later

“Wanna try mine though?”

۶ৎ posts unflattering pics of you on social media with stupid captions

۶ৎ says random sweet things when you least expect it 

۶ৎ the type to point directly at you and say "this one's for you" and try to shoot the ball into the hoop and miss miserably 💀

۶ৎ doesn't want to admit it but he's very big on physical touch, holding pinkies, resting his chin on your head, throwing an arm around you

۶ৎ if you sit on the floor, he will lie on you :

“Woonhak you’re heavy—”

“You’re soft.”

۶ৎ shares his food automatically with you, even his favourites 

۶ৎ chaotic dates >>> romantic dates :

 → Arcade nights where he tries to win you a plushie and refuses to leave until he does

→ Supermarket speed runs where you split the list and compete

→ “Let’s cook dinner together!” (and by cook he means burn half the kitchen)

۶ৎ is weirdly obsessed with your laugh :

“Can you do that thing again?”

“What thing?”

“That sound you made when you snorted mid-laugh. That’s my new ringtone.”

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

taglist: @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @s0shroe @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @mydeepestsecrects @brownetry @pumpkg @heeheesang @jungwonbropls @prodkwh @reibelhearts @beomev

[babydoll372]

could you please do natasha romanoff x reader smut that's overall pretty sweet and domestic? That's all i really want, you can add anything that you would like <3 thank you for writing just in general even if you don't do this one <3

Stand By Me

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 1984

Warnings: smut, fluff, fingering, squirting, plz pretend gay marriages existed in 1990’s, mentions of children, overstimulation

A/N: the text makes a lot more sense if you listen to the music with it (It’s a really good song too) Also set in 1990’s because I think it’s cute so picture the early black widow Ohio home without the redroom :) (also ik I said I’d write longer fics now but I really thought this would be long and it wasn’t somehow)

Natasha rolled her shoulders against her hands tiredly after shutting the door behind her. She could only hope that the small three-year-old was able to sleep the night alone this time, not to further enhance the dark bags under the redhead’s eyes. A yawn left her lips, and she stumbled into the kitchen, setting the baby monitor down on the counter quietly as you sent her a quick smile, your hands wiping dry the last dish with a small rag.

“All kids are officially in bed. Lena threw a small tantrum, Peter was exhausted, so he was quite easy, and Alexandria required only two books tonight. I would say it was a success.” You offered a light chuckle to your wife’s humorous entreaty, raising your hand as she gave a weak high five in response. You switched bedtimes every night so that one of you could get chores around the house done, and the other could get a few extra minutes with each child before sending them off to a slumber. After six years of having children, you have both been able to form efficient habits and rules that made different parts of your lives much easier - this being one of them.

“I’m very proud of you, baby.” You moved closer to her, your hands now taking place on her hips. “So bed early tonight or late wine discussions?” She raised a brow as if the answer was obvious, and you quickly raced to the secret wine cooler you both hid in your basement. When doing so, with a large bottle in hand, your eyes stopped on the box sitting perfectly in front of you, as if calling your name. The basement was full of many items held in the same cardboard material that you had to get rid of someday, which is why you both decided on hiding the cooler downstairs, where the children had no interest in going. The contrasted black sharpie read, “Wedding Day” with a crappy drawing of two rings tied together next to it - Natasha drew that. You smiled at the fond memory, setting down the bottle carefully and opening the dust-ridden box. Tears streamed the ringing of your eyes as you slowly viewed each item, your hands falling on the cassette tape that held your wedding song. The date was labeled on it along with the name, and when you heard your wife calling you from upstairs, you knew you couldn’t leave it behind.

“Look what I stumbled upon,” Natasha turned to eye the small item in your hand, squinting ever so slightly to get a better look.

“Hey, that’s- that’s our wedding song. I thought we took all our wedding stuff out of the basement already…” She gently took the cassette from you and brushed it off, eyeing it carefully. “Wow, ‘May 23rd, 1986 - Stand By Me.’ That feels like just yesterday, somehow.” She then set it down on the countertop next to the wine you carried up. When you met her eyes, they were full of adoration and love, and her hands went around your waist to hold you closely and bring you in for a gentle kiss. One that still gave you butterflies over a decade later.

“Shall we play it?”

“We shall.” Natasha’s hand reached for yours as the beat began to softly roll out of the machine, low enough to not wake the children. She gave you a quick spin, and you giggled as a result. Her hands then found their way to your hips as they swayed in rhythm.

“When the night, has come…and the land is dark,”

“And the moon, is the only night we’ll see.” You continued for her, cupping her cheeks as you did many years ago. “No, I won’t be afraid- oh, I won’t be afraid.” Natasha smiled in return, one hand coming to interlace with yours and be kept in the air as her forehead made contact with yours in a resting position.

“Just as long…as you stand, stand by me.” She finished. As the chorus echoed through the background, you both hummed in a low tone, your voices just above whispers. And as the second verse began, you could feel Natasha’s soft sigh of relief as she heard your voice once again.

“If the sky…that we look upon, should tumble and fall,”

“Or the mountains…should crumble to the sea. I won’t cry-��

“I won’t cry. No, I won’t shed a tear…just as long, as you stand…stand by me.” And this time, your voice was the last to be heard. Her lips came to rest against the back of your palm, which she still held in the air, repeating the act a few times as the look in her eyes resembled one from many years ago. Complete silence began to fill around the two of you as the echoes faded. The music came to an end, and there was nothing but comforting emptiness.

Her mouth then found yours, her hand softly cupping your cheek as she let out a gentle moan of desperation. Your body tilted backwards at just below of a right angle, and her tongue traced over your entrance as it parted, granting her access. Your feet found themselves shuffling back a few steps until your butt hit the edge of the dining room table. You both pulled apart, trying to grasp any bit of air you could so you could quickly return. Natasha moved the chair beside you that was pushed into the table, hoisting you up onto the furniture. You both shared a quiet giggle, your noses touching as she hummed in contentment before slowly dropping to her knees, her eyes remaining on you the entire time. Your pants came off in a slow tease, yet the whimper describing your need caused her to quicken.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I’m so lucky to have married you.” She kissed your thighs between sentences, causing your cheeks to darken. One hand then held them apart as the other rested on your waist, her thumb stroking gently on your skin. There was a comforting silence between you two as her lips pressed gentle pecks to the fabric covering the one place she needed to see.

“Natasha…” Brought your low voice in a raspy whisper, your fingers treading through her hair like gentle waves. She eased your panties aside and licked her lips, feeling a lustful moisture surround her inner cheeks. She quickly shared a glance with you before pressing her tongue against your clit. You shuddered with a craving, and she repeated herself multiple times before trailing down to your hole, where she collected your sinful drops. Her eyes closed shut as she hummed in satisfaction, feeling your body's reaction, even if it was nearly unnoticeable at times. She finally pulled away for a split moment, grasping the back of your neck in her hand and pulling you forward with little force.

“I’ve got you, baby.” Her lips then met yours as she sighed with gratitude, two of her fingers coming to replace her tongue’s previous position. “I always do.” Her knees lifted themselves as she stood over you, her eyes boring into yours before she rested your head on her chest. She shushed you quietly, almost like a mother consoling her young, crying baby, as her digits eased into your awaiting entrance.

“It’s okay, big stretch…there we go. You’re okay.” She whispered, beginning a slow rocking motion with her fingers and trailing her gaze to where they met your cunt. “Fuck- you’re still so tight, and I fucking love it.” Her crude words sent a shiver down your spine and caused a moan to escape your lips. It was loud, but it was gladly muffled by her shirt. She then chuckled, creating a stronger and faster pace.

“Don’t wake the kids up, alright? As much as I love hearing how desperate this pussy is for me, I don’t need them seeing their Mommy like this.” You nodded, stuffing your hand over your mouth as the sounds of your squelching juices now outshone your octaves.

“Nat, I- I think-”

“I know, I know. Whenever you’re ready, you just let it out for me, this is on your own accord.” She assured, feeling you practically pulse around her two digits. Her cock was much larger, and she adored the way you handled her despite your struggle with such smaller amounts. She had been conditioning it since she first met you and saw your shocked face when she revealed her length, but now you were well-adjusted to accepting everything she gave you.

Your eyes squeezed shut when you came around her, and you expected her fingers to slow to a halt but they didn’t. You whimpered quite loudly, your hooded eyes coming to meet hers as your body continued to spasm, your thighs shaking.

“I can’t…” You shook your head, gulping down the need to comply and say yes, to beg for what she’s giving you.

“Yes, you can. Don’t even think about it, just hold onto me and let me do all the thinking for you.” A tear streamed down your cheek while she added a third finger, allowing you time to accept the addition and wiping your tear with her free hand. Her thumb felt the wetness seep onto its skin while she cupped your chin, allowing you to kiss her passionately and in turn silence your moans. Your legs wrapped around her and pulled her even closer as she began to slowly thrust in and out of you, creating a steady rhythm that just wasn’t the same as before. You pulled away from her plump lips for a moment, your breath shaky.

“Faster- please, Nat, I need you to- to go faster.” A sly smirk found its way to her lips as she nodded before returning her mouth to yours, her fingers gliding against your walls quickly. There was a hidden force to it, one that caused your back to simultaneously arch into her as the rest of your body developed goosebumps. There was something about her in specific that made you this way, and while you never experienced this with anyone else, you knew no one would ever compare. When you began dating, she was only a few months older than you, and had been with two other women sexually, but you had been with zero, regardless of the gender. She worried that marrying you would someday make you wish you could’ve explored your options more, that you would’ve felt closed off from only ever having intercourse with her. But it was the opposite. You never once questioned what another human being could offer because you knew you had everything you’d ever need in front of you. And she had never felt so comfortable with another person, and even she knew she could never offer what she gives to you to anyone else.

And so as your tongues collided willingly, and her fingers continued at a steady pace, you allowed yourself to let go. You knew that even as she silenced your moans, your love for one another spoke in greater volumes. The woman only pulled back when oxygen became scarce, because she would kiss you even if she ran out, even if her last breath was spent doing so. She glanced down to her shirt splattered with your arousal and grinned.

“You must really like me, huh?” You rolled your eyes, panting quietly as you turned her body to the direction of the bathroom, knowing she would instantly sense what you were requesting. And as she came back with a towel, despite the cloth seeming to have no meaning to many, you smiled drowsily and kissed her cheek.

“I’m so glad I married you, Natasha Romanoff.” She returned your expression, taking your hand and kissing its back gently.

“And I am so glad I asked you to marry me, Y/N Romanoff.”

[casssmalefantasy]

team usa: the series — paige bueckers x oc!

vi. off days and what comes after — team usa is winding down. the future feels too close. the games slow down, the nights get longer, and ivy and paige ask the hardest question: what now?

s: the end of camp is creeping closer. ivy and paige are no longer dancing around each other, but the fear of what happens next lingers heavy in the air. on an off day full of team bonding and quiet moments, conversations get deeper.

w: emotional vulnerability, fear of change, team bonding, fluff, established tension, soft affection, slow pacing, college talk, soft moments, internal conflict, and azzi being azzi

word count: 3.8K

last part | final part

part six: “off days and what comes after”

ivy’s pov

there’s a weird stillness in the air.

not in the quiet kind of way. it’s loud—girls yelling over each other, someone singing along to the aux, sneakers squeaking against the gym floor as we pack up. but it still feels like something’s shifting. like something’s ending.

and maybe that’s because it is.

“we’ve got a full off day tomorrow,” coach yells over the noise. “team bonding activities. don’t be late.”

groans and cheers mix together. someone yells “let’s gooo” like it’s summer camp, and i guess in some ways it is. but i feel it. in my chest, in my stomach. team usa is winding down. and i’m not ready.

i glance across the court. paige is laughing at something azzi said, one hand on her hip and the other holding a water bottle like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like we’re not all secretly terrified of what comes next.

we’re not dancing around each other anymore. we share the same bed now without the space between us. she’ll grab my hand without thinking. i’ll look at her too long and not care if anyone sees. we’re not labeling it—but it’s real.

still, there’s this question sitting at the back of my mind: what happens when the summer ends?

paige’s pov

“team obstacle course?” azzi reads off the itinerary. “what are we, ten?” she says annoyed.

“you’re just mad you’ll lose,” i say, bumping my shoulder against hers.

“no, i’m mad i have to wake up at seven for a ropes course in the woods,” she mutters.

the bus ride to the activity site is loud. our group’s split into teams for some team-building thing coach swears will be fun and character-building. i’m half paying attention—half watching ivy two rows ahead of me, her head leaned against the window, airpods in.

sometimes it hits me out of nowhere: i really, really like her.

and not just the fun parts. i like her when she's quiet. when she's stressed. when she's tired and leaning her head on my shoulder and pretending she's not falling asleep. and that scares the hell out of me because we never talked about what happens next.

i think about the convo we had a few nights ago when we talked for hours about everything and anything.

flashback scene

paige’s pov

the hotel was quiet.

not the creepy kind of quiet—just late. like everyone had already crashed and the building itself was finally exhaling. i found ivy sitting in one of the small seating areas near the elevators. fake fireplace on. vending machines humming behind her. she was curled up on the couch, hoodie pulled over her head, tapping at her phone screen like she wasn’t expecting anyone to show up.

“you disappeared after dinner,” i said.

she looked up. didn’t flinch. didn’t fake a smile. just kind of… scooted to the side to make room.

“couldn’t sleep,” she said, voice low. “figured sitting still might trick my brain.”

i sat down beside her. not too close. not far either.

we didn’t say anything for a second. just let the quiet be quiet.

“you always do that?” i asked. “go sit somewhere until your brain catches up?”

ivy shrugged. “sometimes. sometimes i just lay there until the sun comes up and pretend that counts.”

i smiled, even though it wasn’t funny. “that bad?”

she nodded, picking at the drawstring of her hoodie. “it used to be worse.”

i didn’t press. just waited.

and after a while, she looked up at me like she’d already decided to say it.

“i started playing ball because of my mom,” she said. “not because she pushed me. because she didn’t.”

i tilted my head. “what do you mean?”

ivy leaned back into the cushion, eyes on the ceiling. “she raised me and my brothers alone. worked double shifts at the hospital. we’d get picked up from school by our neighbor or sometimes just wait for her in the parking lot. one day she showed up late—like really late—and i saw her crying behind the wheel. i’d never seen her cry before.”

my stomach clenched. “damn.”

“i asked what was wrong,” she continued. “she just said she was tired. not sick, not sad—tired. and it hit me that all she ever did was give. and i wanted to give something back. i wanted to be good at something. to make her proud.”

i nodded slowly. “so you picked up a basketball.”

she smiled, just a little. “i was nine. the court near our apartment had a bent rim and half the chain net missing. but i went out there every day. shot bricks for a week straight before i even hit the backboard.”

i laughed gently.

“my brother finally took pity on me and showed me how to actually shoot,” she said. “i got better. fast. and she started coming to games. sometimes straight from work, still in scrubs. and every time i looked at her in the stands, i felt like… maybe i was helping her breathe easier.”

i didn’t realize i was holding my breath until i let it go.

“you ever tell her that?” i asked.

she shook her head. “no. not out loud. but i think she knows.”

i sat there for a minute, the weight of her words still sinking in.

“you’re a really good daughter,” i said quietly.

ivy turned to look at me. “you think?”

“yeah. and a really good teammate. even when you drive me insane.”

she grinned, nudging my leg with hers. “ditto.”

i leaned back, looking at the ceiling too. “my parents split when i was little. like, really little. i don’t even remember what it was like with both of them in the house.”

ivy turned her body toward me more.

“i live with my dad, step mom, step brother, and my little brother, drew,” i said. “my mom moved to montana and i stayed in minnesota. we talk. not every day, but… enough. she’s great, honestly. just—wasn’t great with my dad.”

“that hard?”

i shrugged. “at first, yeah. i didn’t get why they couldn’t figure it out. but now? i kind of appreciate having both of them separately. like, i get different versions of support. my dad’s like… the ‘run-it-back-what-did-you-do-wrong’ postgame talk guy. and my mom’s the one who texts me poems and song lyrics and tells me to take a deep breath.”

ivy smiled. “you’re lucky.”

“i know,” i said. “and i’m grateful that they’re still friends and that my mom comes to some of my games, whenever she can.”

she nodded, eyes soft. “that’s sweet.”

we went quiet again, but it wasn’t heavy. it felt okay. like we’d earned the silence between us. like it didn’t need to be filled.

“what’d you want to be before basketball?” she asked suddenly.

i blinked. “before?”

“yeah. before you knew you were good.”

i laughed. “an astronaut. or a zookeeper. i had a weird phase.”

ivy grinned. “i wanted to be a writer. used to make up these fake mystery stories about my teachers being secret spies. one time i turned one in for a book report instead of doing the actual assignment.”

“what’d you get?”

“an f. and a note home.”

i laughed so hard i leaned into her, shoulder brushing hers. she didn’t move.

“you ever think about what happens after all this?” she asked softly.

“like, after the season?”

“after the tournament. the team. the summer.”

i exhaled, the air catching in my chest. “yeah. all the time.”

“me too,” she said. “but tonight, i’m just glad we’re here.”

i looked at her, and for once, she didn’t look away.

“me too,” i whispered.

end of flashback

—

ivy’s pov

the ropes course is dumb.

it’s dumb, hot, and everyone’s yelling—and i kind of love it.

azzi’s stuck in a tire swing. someone just tried to army crawl under a net and lost a shoe. jordan and caitlin are arguing about whether or not someone cheated during the plank challenge. the sun is brutal, my shirt’s sticking to my back, and everything smells like dirt and sunscreen.

paige is on the other side of the course, helping one of the younger players up a wall. she’s so gentle. so patient. like the world slows down for her when she’s helping someone else. like she’s not even thinking about the heat or the yelling or the way her knee’s probably aching from all the climbing—we’ve all been sore for days—but she’s still just there, palms up, steady, saying, “you’ve got it. just one more step. i got you.”

i’m watching her when azzi’s voice breaks right into my ear.

“you’re staring”

i jump, elbowing her lightly. “shut up.”

she grins, completely unbothered, dirt on her cheek and a leaf in her hair. “you know she’s down bad too, right?”

i roll my eyes. “how would you know?”

“because i’ve known her since she was fourteen and awkwardly tried to flirt with a girl asking if gatorade was a good pregame drink.” she pauses. “then tried to impress her by telling her she could recite every WNBA team in alphabetical order.”

i blink at her. “did it work?”

“shockingly, no.” azzi smirks. “but my point is—this? whatever this thing is between you two? it’s not in your head. it’s real. and it’s probably the most focused i’ve seen her be all summer.”

i chew on the inside of my cheek, eyes flicking back toward the wall. paige is laughing at something now, brushing dirt off her hands, her braid slipping over her shoulder. she looks… happy.

"you two are different now," she says after a moment. "not just the sneaking around and the tension—like, real different. lighter. like you both finally stopped pretending you didn’t want this.”

i feel myself soften. “we did,” i admit. “stop pretending.”

azzi studies me for a second, the teasing edge in her expression softening. “then why do you look like you’re bracing for something?”

i shrug, eyes still on paige. she’s laughing at something the kid says, that soft crinkle in her nose showing. “because i don’t know what happens when this is over.”

“team usa?” azzi asks, gently.

“yeah.” i swallow. “when we go back home. when it’s school and teams and miles between us again. when this—whatever this is—doesn’t have a hotel hallway two doors down and shared practices five times a week.”

azzi leans back against the ropes post, arms crossed. “you really think that’s all it is?”

“no,” i say quickly. “i just… i don’t want it to be. and that kind of terrifies me.”

“it’s not nothing, ivy.”

i glance at her. “i know it’s not. that’s the problem. if it was nothing, i wouldn’t care what comes next.”

azzi’s quiet for a beat. then she says, “maybe it doesn’t have to be some huge what-comes-next thing. maybe it just is what it is right now—and you trust her enough to let it be real today.”

i let her words settle. they don’t fix anything. but they make something loosen in my chest.

“you’re way too good at this,” i mutter.

“i literally got stuck in a tire swing,” she replies flatly. “don’t give me that much credit.”

i laugh, for real this time. across the course, paige looks up. like she felt it. she meets my eyes—and smiles.

i don’t look away.

not this time.

azzi’s pov (ooo. words might be slightly different)

the ropes course is dumb.

it’s dumb, hot, and smells like dirt and teenage sweat. someone’s lost a shoe under the net crawl, jordan and caitlin are two seconds away from throwing hands over a plank challenge, and i’m currently trying to extract myself from a tire swing like it’s quicksand.

character-building, my ass.

but when i finally wriggle free and brush off the leaves sticking to my shirt, i spot ivy a few yards ahead—still as anything, eyes locked on the other side of the course.

it doesn’t take a genius to know what (or who) she’s looking at.

i follow her gaze.

paige.

she’s helping one of our teammates climb the wall, her braid’s falling over her shoulder, and her knee’s probably throbbing like the rest of ours, but she doesn’t seem to care. she’s just... there. calm. grounding.

and ivy?

oh, she’s gone.

i walk up beside her and lean in. “you’re staring.”

she jumps a little, elbowing me without taking her eyes off paige. “shut up.”

i grin, not remotely offended. “you know she’s down bad too, right?”

she rolls her eyes. “how would you know?”

“because i’ve known her since she was fourteen and awkwardly tried to flirt with a girl asking if gatorade was a good pregame drink.” i pause “then tried to impress her by telling her she could recite every WNBA team in alphabetical order”

flash back scene

we were at this weekend tourney in minnesota. summer heat, middle-of-nowhere gym, every kid trying to act like they were one step from going pro.

paige was still new to our travel team—quiet, serious, already scary good—but completely clueless when it came to literally anything that wasn’t basketball.

and apparently, flirting.

i remember we were sitting on the sideline during a break, dripping sweat and chugging water. coach was off talking to someone, and the rest of the team was joking around near the bleachers. paige had been eyeing one of the new girls on our team cameron for a full ten minutes. she was maybe sixteen, definitely cute, but older, but none of that seemed to matter to fourteen-year-old paige.

“you think gatorade’s, like, a good pregame drink?” she blurted, out of nowhere.

cameron blinked, confused. “…uh, yeah? i guess.”

“cool,” paige said. “i thought so too.”

then she immediately turned bright red and refused to speak for the next thirty minutes.

i damn near choked on my granola bar.

but the best part came later, when we were packing up and cameron walked by. paige got that look again—wide-eyed, focused, like she was studying game film—and said, watch this.

she walks straight up to cameron, stands like two feet in front of her, and goes:

“there are twelve WNBA teams. want me to name them in alphabetical order?”

cameron blinks and says, “um… okay?”

paige took a deep breath. “atlanta dream. chicago sky. connecticut sun. dallas wings. indiana fever. las vegas aces. los angeles sparks. minnesota lynx. new york liberty. phoenix mercury. seattle storm. washington mystics.”

cameron just nodded politely and walked off. didn’t even say thanks.

paige stood there like she just dropped the coldest pickup line in existence.

i couldn’t even be mad. it was so earnest. i laughed so hard i nearly pulled something.

end of flashback

ivy blinks. “did it work?”

“shockingly, no.”

she laughs under her breath, but it’s tight around the edges. i can see it. the way her jaw’s set. the way her arms are folded too tight across her chest.

“but my point is,” i say, watching paige brush dirt off her hands, “this thing between you two? it’s not just in your head. it’s real. and honestly, i think it’s the most focused i’ve seen her all summer.”

ivy doesn’t say anything right away. her gaze stays fixed on paige, soft in a way i’m not sure she even notices.

“you two are different now,” i add. “not just the sneaking glances and near-kisses and all the stuff you think i haven’t noticed. it’s like... lighter. like you both stopped pretending you didn’t want this.”

“we did,” she says eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “stop pretending.”

i study her for a second. the sharp edges are still there, but they’ve dulled. she looks like she’s finally breathing again. like she wants to be happy. but still, there’s this shadow in her expression.

“then why do you look like you’re bracing for something?”

she shrugs, doesn’t look at me. “because i don’t know what happens when this is over.”

“team usa?”

she nods. “yeah. when we go back home. when it’s school and schedules and miles again. when it’s not a hotel two doors down and practice every morning and this… easy thing we’ve built.”

my heart tugs a little for her.

i know what she’s saying without her needing to spell it out.

“you really think that’s all this is?” i ask, gently.

“no.” she swallows. “i just… i don’t want it to be. and that kind of terrifies me.”

i lean back against a rope post, letting the sun burn into my shoulders. “it’s not nothing, ivy.”

she glances over at me, face open and raw. “i know it’s not. that’s the problem. if it was nothing, i wouldn’t care what comes next.”

i breathe out slowly. “maybe it doesn’t have to be some big, scary what comes next. maybe it just is what it is right now. and maybe that’s enough.”

she doesn’t answer right away, but her shoulders drop the tiniest bit. something settles in her.

“you’re way too good at this,” she mutters.

“i literally got stuck in a tire swing,” i reply flatly. “don’t give me that much credit.”

she laughs for real this time—small and bright and real. i don’t say anything else. i just look at her, and then at paige, and then back again.

and when paige glances up, right in sync, like she could feel that laugh across the course?

she smiles

✦ ✦ ✦

paige’s pov

later, after dinner, it’s just me and ivy sitting on the grass behind the rec center. the sky’s this soft blue-orange and everyone else is inside playing card games or facetiming family. it’s quiet here. finally.

“i don’t want this to end,” ivy says, barely above a whisper.

“me either.”

we sit in that silence. bugs buzzing somewhere, a breeze shifting the air, my fingers brushing hers.

“what happens when we go home?” she asks, eyes still on the sky. “what do we even call this?”

“i don’t know,” i admit. “but i want it to be something.”

she looks at me then. “yeah?”

“yeah,” i say. “i know we said we shouldn’t get caught up in this. but i am. i’m already caught.”

her fingers tighten around mine.

“me too,” she says, voice barely there, like she’s scared it’ll crack if she tries louder. like saying it out loud makes it real.

i look at her for a moment longer, memorizing her face. like i’m trying to press this version of her— soft, honest, hers — into my memory.

i don’t say anything right away. just let the silence stretch a little, comfortable in it now.

“it’s been you this whole time,” i say finally, my voice low, like a secret i don’t want anyone else to hear. “even when we were pretending we weren’t anything. even when we tried to act normal. it’s still you.”

ivy swallows hard. “i thought… if i said something, it’d mess it all up.”

i shake my head, take ivy’s hand in mine. “no. pretending messed it up worse.”

then we’re both quiet again. and ivy shifts closer, barely enough for our knees to brush.

“i don’t wanna go back to the way things were before this summer,” ivy whispers. “i don’t wanna leave and wonder what we could’ve been.”

“then don’t,” i say. “don’t wonder.”

it’s not a question. not a plea. just a soft, steady promise.

and she’s leans in, like the answer’s always been written in the way i look at her. our foreheads press together first, then our noses brush. and when we finally kiss—slow, warm, and unafraid— it feels like choosing something real. something that matters.

when we pull back, ivy’s eyes are glassy.

“what happens next?” she asks, voice cracking just slightly.

i brush a thumb over her cheek. “we figure it out. together.”

ivy nods—and we just sit there because maybe team usa is ending, but whatever this is? it’s just beginning.

so for now sharing the same air was enough.

authors note: we are nearing the end of this series omg 🥲

[forthelostones]

𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ➺ 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 #10 (𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 1)

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. guys, you're awesome that's for supporting me. i've recently stopped using grammarly for a more real writing experience. so if things are wonky, just know thats why! no more ai help.

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. come see me by jill scott ♫

“Shit, what time is it?” She rubs her eyes.  

“Almost 12, but lucky for you there are no clients on the schedule today. It’s a planning period, remember?” You said, suddenly nauseous. 

Ms. Anderson’s hand grasped her chest and she slowly breathed herself out of the early chaos. In a poor attempt, she rakes a hand through gnarled hair and you stand with your arms crossed like an upset mother waiting for their daughter to explain a wild excursion. 

“Right.” She managed. 

“Nice robe.” You mutter sarcastically. 

Abby’s face contorts in pure embarrassment as she grips her ribcage before scurrying into the hallway leaving you alone with the ghosts of last night. An empty bottle of red wine with a gold label sat on the coffee table in plain view. You scuff, literally, letting out a breath of disbelief because the things you felt and believed were now un-real. You slump down onto the couch face warm from a certain humiliation that you could only associate as conflating her looks and kindness for more. You did it again. 

Abby walks out in a white Anderson and Co. t-shirt with the logo across her back. The fabric stretching across her traps, tightening around her muscles. You admire her ass in those dark wash jeans and her slick bun. Even as you were upset you couldn’t help but admire how her grays shimmered. “Want a cup?” 

Her offer of coffee was tempting after the night you had with Ellie. Being stubborn would make you look even more like a child so you kindly accept with the intentions of not drinking it at all. You follow her into the kitchen and stand in silence, staring at the unwashed pots and empty glasses. 

“I’ve been off my game, I had an unexpected visitor, I promise I’m more organized than this.” She sighed. 

Unexpected visitor.

“It’s perfect that I’m here now then, isn’t it?” Your voice unusually timid. 

She turns away from her machine and closes her eyes as if they weighed a ton. “It seems like once I gotcha, I lost all my senses.” 

A beat fell between two and the coffee drip pulled at the thick tension as Ms. Anderson’s gaze fell on you. You crack a willful smile and then peer at the kitchen floor knowing you can’t hide from her here. 

The time that you spend with Abby seems to go by quickly because by the time you check your phone it’s already 8:00 p.m. You press your hand to your forehead after looking through numbers and endless identical names, small square boxes on digital screens, it was straining on your eyes. You couldn't complain, you needed the distraction. After Ms. Anderson cleaned up her mess and you both settled into her office, the conversation and work flow clicked effortlessly. She listened when you spoke and took time to process every syllable, all while teaching you her customer management systems, and the basics of organizing a comprehensive schedule. The main priority today was allocating tasks to her staff for upcoming projects and seeing Ellie’s name on the roaster made your stomach flip. 

“Listen, I was thinking last night, this is pretty monumental for me as I am shifting into a new level of A&C and you joining me, maybe if you’re not busy we can celebrate?” She asked. 

“Oh,” Is all you manage. 

“Or not? I see you’re tired and had a long day, unpaid time with the boss, I get it.” Her instant defeat was a little adorable.

“No, no, Ms. Anderson I would like that, I just wish I wore something nicer.” You sigh. 

“I think this looks amazing.” She said drinking you in.

You arrive at one of the few standing lesbian bars in the state that invited all female jazz musicians to provide the entertainment. The building was brick and seemed small but spanned all the way down the plot, housing a wide parking lot, shockingly full with cars on a weekday. 

“I won’t tell you how long I’ve been comin’ here.” She smiles putting the car into park, flaunting those kind crowfeet. 

Slipping out of the truck and walking on the gravel you started to hear the grumblings of a drum kit and wonder what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into. As expected she opens the door for you and welcomes you into a private sliver of her world. Given Ms. Anderson’s past of being a bartender it made sense that she’d take you somewhere like this, but it being a lesbian bar, made it all the more interesting. Women, mostly older, scattered around in two main parts, the dining area with small duo only tables, or the bar that was cornered by a stage and dance floor. You had never seen so many lesbians in one place before, studs and butches vying for attention from femmes flaunting their silky legs and ready bodies. 

“Let’s have a bite. I promise it’s nothing like you had in college, sweetheart.” 

Self seating was a blessing as Ms. Anderson picked the prime seat, a booth big enough for two. You slip into the far end and Abby follows suit and reaching to pull out her glasses, but before she could you stop her. “I could read it for you.” 

Her brow rises and she sinks down a bit to spread her legs wider. Wider into yours. Her thighs brush yours and it was sweet, so sweet. The menu was held in a black, clothed book and the options spread from appetizers to dessert. A waiter, about your age, came over with Barbie pink lip and electric blue eyeshadow. “Hi, what do you want to drink?” 

No niceties just direct and you liked that. 

“I’ll have an old fashion and whatever she would like.” Ms. Anderson smiled at you. 

“I will have… that.” 

The waiter looked at you shocked and so did your counterpart. Back to the menu you lean in even though the music was a soft tickle of a riffing piano. “So, how hungry are you?” Looking up into her eyes was dangerous but you couldn’t help it. Abby chewed on the corner of her mouth and shrugged. 

“Hungry enough to eat,” 

You order two appetizers that serve as your meal. Once the drinks came out Abby turned towards you and raised a glass to make a toast. “For my very first and best-est assistant, thank you.” 

In unison the cups come to your lips with unwavering eye contact. Your eyes dipped over the rim to watch the handsome woman lick her lips to digest the flavor fully. Your body jolts from the immediate heartburn, this drink was nothing familiar, which made her laugh. 

“You didn’t have to get that.” 

“I know, jus’ something new when I’m with you. Plus, I need something stronger than a cider right now.” You add. 

“You’re okay right?”

You exhale allowing a tug at your lips, “I will be.” 

The pianist concluded its set before another large brass band started to infiltrate the stage.

“I would enjoy it if you joined me to watch the band.” She muttered, her words a bit stiff as if she had practiced them first. 

“Of course.” 

The image of Ms. Anderson, young and reckless flashed in front of my eyes as she swayed alongside you to the silky sound of the sax. The woman’s lower body rocks in opposition to her shoulders, making a good synchronous bounce to come about. Slightly shocked you watch her slyly rock side to side balancing another thick scotch in her left hand, eyes locked in on the band. Her eyes fluttering, a very subtle indication that she’s nearing intoxication.

Your eyes pace the room, searching for something other than Abby’s nose, that you can’t help but think about. Those lips sat perfectly between it and her chin, pink and damp, stinging from her top shelf beverage. Attempting to appear normal you step side to side and bob your head as the tempo increased. Couples begin swirling around you and Abby and suddenly you were transported to a different era. Legs thrusted out in kicks and ball changes which made your heart bounce. 

Abby leaned back slightly and lifter her glass in an admirable jeer. A slow figure closes in on your left side, taller than Abigail by a few inches and absolutely lofty. The woman had a head full locs, split down the middle, cascading down to her shoulders and skin so dark it had a sheen under the blue stage lights, as if she was glowing. She was probably closer to thirty and her confident was exuberant, you couldn’t help but lean in as she cut past all the flailing limbs. 

“You’re looking pretty nervous,” She chuckles in your ear. 

Her warm breath tickled you and as you adjusted to her body next to yours, you notice Ms. Anderson take an awkward sip, chucking a tight grin in your direction. 

“I need something to make me… less nervous, I suppose.” You reply, nearly yelling into her ear as she bends down, accepting your hand on her shoulder. 

“Your girl isn’t helping?” 

“Boss.” 

It stung to say that, especially with you and Ellie on the fence and an undeniable crush on Ms. Anderson, being in this position felt weird. 

“Shit, that makes more sense, would you like to dance?” 

She was so gentle with her large hand resting just above your hip ever so. You look at Abby who locks in on the stage while nursing the last few sips of drink. 

“Teach me?” You say, as she tugs you into her hips and dips you towards the ground. 

Her strength made you yelp over the clattering of instruments. Directly under a sudden white spotlight, her deep brown eyes focused into view, gold hoop in her nose, and a wide mouth that she wet slightly with the tip of her tongue. 

Once pulled back up, the audience began clapping and the next song began without missing a beat. Your new friend spun you around and twisted you so quick that before it registered that you could even move like this. Something opened up inside of you like a newfound freedom beckoning you to simply let go, which you did. 

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

[sexyirish7]

Tattoo Parlor Decor Set for The Sims 4

This set was inspired by my personal experience getting tattoos. Some of the signs are those I remember from my friend’s tattoo parlor. While I was excited about getting tattooing in the Business & Hobbies Pack, I did want more in terms of décor objects. I did my best to keep the items as low poly as possible, but be sure to check the poly counts for what your computer can handle.

The building in my screenshots is one I downloaded from the gallery and made modifications so it resembled my friend's tattoo parlor. The username is MickeySimmers and the original build is a NY Pizzeria uploaded on 4/7/25.

When appropriate, objects are available in English and Simlish versions. Simlish font credit to Franzilla: https://modthesims.info/  For new meshes made by me, textures from Blenderkit were used.

SexyIrish7 Phoenix logo credit: © Liliia Marchuk via Dreamstime.com

All items are base-game compatible.

This set includes:

·         Tattoo Counter

·         Supply Cabinet

·         Salty Signs – Small, Medium, and Large

·         Tattoo ink bottles

·         Tattoo ink cups – empty ink cup and cups with ink colors

·         Tattoo ink cup holder

·         Sharps container – Wall-mounted and counter versions

·         Tattoo Coil Machine

·         Foot switch

·         Power Supply

·         Stencil Machine

·         Autoclave

·         Non-sterile Nitrile Glove Boxes

·         Portfolios

·         Consent form

·         Tip Jar

You may view an Imgur album with 31 screenshots of the set here

Creations by SexyIrish7

DOWNLOAD for FREE: SFS

OR at Patreon*

*You must be over 18 to access my Patreon page.

These cc objects are new 3d meshes created using Blender and Sims 4 Studio.

All CC have:

*Ability to search catalog using search terms: sexyirish7 and si7

*Customized thumbnail

*******

CREDITS:

Software credits:

Sims 4 Studio v. 3.2.4.3 (Star): https://sims4studio.com

Blender 4.0: https://www.blender.org/download/

GIMP v. 2.10.34: https://www.gimp.org/

Inkscape v. 1.2: https://inkscape.org/

Thank you to the creators and moderators producing tutorials and answering questions!

*******

TOU:

Do not re-upload and claim as your own

Do not re-upload and hide behind a paywall

Mesh and Image Credits along with descriptions of each item are below:

Tattoo Counter

I was dissatisfied with the number of slots and their placement on the tattoo counter that came with the Business & Hobbies pack, so I modified EA’s The Ultimate Nightstand so that it served as a larger counter and added décor slots to it. There are a total of 3 large slots, 9 medium slots, and 27 small slots. I made some minor modifications to the EA texture for The Ultimate Nightstand but did include all 20 swatches.

Polygon Count: 162

Supply Cabinet

I have long been disappointed with the lack of deco slots in various displays. For this object, I modified EA’s Carina Dining Hutch so that it would serve as an appropriate supply cabinet. I made some minor modifications to the EA texture but did include all 9 swatches. There are a total of 2 large slots, 15 medium slots, and 140 small slots.

Polygon Count: 114

Salty Signs

There are 3 files of what I call “salty” signs. The large signs are not as salty, but I wanted to stick with my theme overall. What do I mean by salty? Well, these are signs that are not for the faint of heart and for those with a darker sense of humor. They were inspired not only by signs that I saw at my friend’s parlor, but also by things he and his colleagues would say frequently.

Large Signs: 7 designs (11 total swatches)

Medium Signs: 9 designs (18 total swatches)

Small Signs: 10 designs (20 total swatches)

Polygon Count: 4

The following were used in several textures in all three files:

Caution/Warning Sign Templates by kenshinstock via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/blank-label-warning-caution-sticker-template-set_30903862.htm

Large Sign Image Credits:

Swatches 1-2: Original Artist Unknown. Image from https://razorbacktattoosupply.com/tattoo-studio-feel-the-burn-wrapped-canvas-graphic-art/

Swatches 3-4: Original Artist Unknown. Image from https://www.creativefabrica.com/product/funny-tattoo-artist-hourly-rate-cut-file/

Swatches 5-6: Original Artist Unknown. Image from https://www.pinterest.com/pin/tattoo-artist--218917231881445322/

Swatch 7-8:

Hands, Soap, and Ointment Icons by rawpixel.com via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/coronavirus-prevention-icon-set-vector_30086831.htm

Do Not Touch Icon Image by Myshopsigns https://all-free-download.com/free-vector/download/18_warning_signs_47669.html

No Swimming Icon by Fitri Handayani via Vecteezyhttps://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/51936014-no-swimming-sign-illustration

Bathtub Icon by Fitri Handayani via Vecteezy  https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/51406319-bathroom-icon-with-bubbles-and-soap

Sun and Breeze Icons Images by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/weather-icons-set_709126.htm

Talking on Phone Icon by Mungujakisa Edmond via Vecteezy  https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/25410803-do-not-talk-on-mobile-cell-phone-icon-sign

Swatches 9-10: Tarot Card Images designed by Eight (Elian-James Showell) https://www.eightco.in/

Swatch 11: Original Artist Unknown. Image from https://www.amazon.com/Tattoo-Artist-Tarot-Card-Sweatshirt/dp/B0D8JBHBFZ

Medium Sign Image Credits:

Background images for Swatches 5-8 by All-Free-Download.com https://all-free-download.com/free-vector/download/advertising_sign_templates_retro_shapes_sketch_6849470.html

Swatches 1-2 and 13-14:  Tattoo Gun Image from IMGBIN https://imgbin.com/png/ZNRSzcqv/tattoo-machine-tattoo-ink-tattoo-artist-png

Swatches 3-4: Original Artist Unknown. Image from https://www.amazon.ca/Artist-Tattoo-Artist-Kitchen-Vintage/dp/B0B6DRXFZN

Swatches 5-6: Tattoo Gun Image from IMGBIN https://imgbin.com/png/36i2fKAG/tattoo-machine-body-piercing-tattoo-artist-old-school-tattoo-png

Swatches 7-8: Bullhorn image by All-Free-Download.com  https://all-free-download.com/free-vector/download/megaphone_312061.html

Swatches 9-10: Border by Rawpixel.com via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/vector-set-vintage-elements_3139397.htm

Picture by EA from Business & Hobbies release video

Swatches 11-12: Cheese Grater Image by Macrovector via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/cooking-food-icons_1530806.htm

Saw image by EA

Swatches 15-16: Images by EA

Small Sign Image Credits:

Swatches 1-2, 5-12, 19-20: Caution/Warning Sign Templates by kenshinstock via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/blank-label-warning-caution-sticker-template-set_30903862.htm

Swatches 3-4: Tip jar image by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/jar-background-with-hand-drawn-money_1148170.htm

Swatches 13-14: Image by Printable Designs https://free-printable-signs.com/

Swatches 15-16: Image by by Mungujakisa Edmond via Vecteezy  https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/25410803-do-not-talk-on-mobile-cell-phone-icon-sign

Swatches 17-18: Crying Emoticon Image from CLEANPNG  https://www.cleanpng.com/png-smiley-emoticon-crying-clip-art-no-whining-clipart-546524/

Tattoo Ink Bottles

Due to file sizes, I split these up into 2 separate files. One file has all of the bottles in English, and the other has all of the bottles in Simlish. I modified the EA debug glue bottle. There are a total of 24 swatches.

Polygon Count: 126

Tattoo Ink Cups

There are 2 files for this object. One is an empty ink cup. The other has all of the ink colors as different swatches. There are a total of 24 swatches for the filled ink cups. I modified the water glass object to create these items.

Empty Cup Polygon Count: 107

Filled Cup Polygon Count: 162

Tattoo Ink Cup Holder

When an artist is using a few different inks for a piece, they can sometimes use a holder for the ink cups so the cups do not get knocked over or spilled. This is an original mesh made by me. I have the object set up so that the ink cups (full or empty) will snap to the holes in the holder. Once the ink cups are in, you can move the entire holder to where you want it and the ink cups will go along. Or you can place the holder and then add the cups. While the holders I tended to see were plastic, I decided to make mine a metal version with slight ink stains.

Polygon Count: 208

Sharps Containers

I created 2 versions of sharps containers for this set. I originally was only going to create the wall-mounted one, but then decided to add the counter version of it as well. These are original meshes made by me.

Biohazard symbol is a public domain image

Wall-Mounted Sharps Container Polygon Count: 268

Counter Sharps Container Polygon Count: 106

Tattoo Coil Machine

There are different types of tattoo machines available, but I find the coil machine to be the most recognizable and therefore wanted this version in my game. This is an original mesh made by me. There are a total of 5 swatches.

Polygon Count: 640

Foot Switch

I created a foot switch to operate the tattoo machine with. This is an original mesh made by me. There are 11 swatches.

Design inspired by FK Delta Foot Switch https://www.fkirons.com/products/delta-foot-switch-cosmic-storm

Polygon Count: 57

Power Supply

For this object, I modified the EA Retro Rock of Ages Stereo mesh and texture to create the power supply. I used a few other EA textures to make adjustments to the components of the object.

Polygon Count: 336

Stencil Machine

Unless you allow your artist to freely draw on your skin before tattooing, many use a stencil machine to create the stencil so you can make sure that your tattoo is placed correctly and looks correct before beginning. This is an original mesh made by me. There are a total of 6 swatches (3 designs in English, 3 designs in Simlish).

Design inspired by Vevor Tattoo Stencil Printer https://www.vevor.com/tattoo-machines-c_12593/

Phoenix Image: © Liliia Marchuk via Dreamstime.com

Claddagh Image:  http://clipart-library.com/clipart/8iGbR5bbT.htm

Wolf Image: https://freepngimg.com/png/2674-tattoo-wolf-png-image

Polygon Count: 62

Autoclave

No tattoo parlor is complete without the sterilization equipment, namely the autoclave. For this object, I modified the EA The Schmapple Micro Microwave mesh.

Design inspired by Tuttnauer Valueklave 1730 https://tuttnauer.com/us/veterinary-practices/tabletop-sterilizers/manual/valueklave-1730

Polygon Count: 346

Non-sterile Nitrile Glove Boxes

For this object, I modified EA’s Softy Brand Tissues object. There are 2 box colors available, black and gray. There are a total of 12 swatches.

Non-Sterile symbol is a public domain image

Polygon Count: 40

Portfolios

A detail that I thought was missing was a display of the tattoo artist’s work. In real shops, they can be wall displays or portfolios. I decided to make a portfolio with different tattoo designs. There are 3 swatches of different tattoos. This is an original mesh made by me.

Polygon Count: 262

Image Credits:

Swatch 1: EA

Swatch 2:

Snake and Flying Swallow Images by dgim-studio via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/new-style-tribal-tattoo-collection_1168313.htm and https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/colorful-flying-swallow-template_8136770.htm

Colorful Old School Images by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/old-school-funny-tattoo-collection_1165044.htm

Tribal, Achor, Ship’s Wheel, Skulls, Roses, Dice, Cards Images by Macrovector via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/tattoo-black-white-icons-set_9398078.htm

Tribal Images by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/new-style-tribal-tattoo-collection_1168313.htm

Swatch 3:

Colorful Images on Left Page by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/collection-hand-drawn-decorative-tattoos_1175499.htm

Colorful Vintage Images on Right Page by Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/pack-vintage-hand-drawn-tattoos_1194571.htm

Crossed Swords, Anchor, Skulls, Scorpion Images by Macrovector via Freepik https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/attoo-studio-flat-icons-collection_4430574.htm

Consent Form

I created a consent form on a clipboard. This is only available in Simlish. I modified some EA textures to create the form. The clipboard is an original mesh made by me.

Polygon Count: 90

Tip Jar

Tipping is heavily encouraged for getting tattoos, at least in the U.S. As such, I decided I wanted to make a tip jar for my parlor. I modified the EA debug jar and some different debug simoleon meshes. The result is a tip jar with both coins and bills inside.

Polygon Count: 579

[cogimiun]

solomon x reader

summary: you find a mystery potion & bring it to Solomon for identification

warnings: none

rating: all ages

“Well now…” Solomon mused, surprise in his voice betraying a placid expression, “You won this from a prize capsule?”

“That's what I said,” you answer him. His surprise is fair. You're confused too. The small bottle on the table between you looks old. Very old. The dust is caked on, and the label long worn away, leaving parts of the glass surface sticky to the touch where it had once been adhered. It's also only about half-full. “So what is it?”

The fact that it clearly shouldn't have come from a capsule machine is beside the point. That's where you got it, and now you have it, so naturally, you brought it to your Master Sorcerer, since it's clearly a potion. Of some kind. Solomon picks it up from the table and unplugs the stopper. He holds it directly under his nose to smell. This strikes you as vaguely unwise. Also, you can smell it from your seat as soon as he opens it, and it's wretched.

“It’s hard to tell if the potion itself is putrified, or just the ingredients,” Solomon says, and before you can ask, he adds, “It makes a difference. But there are some notes of magdalena. My guess—” Solomon rises from the table, retrieving two cordial glasses from the cabinet, “—is that it's some kind of love potion, or aphrodisiac.”

He doesn't say this with any of the scandal or embarrassment you would expect if you had brought it to the House of Lamentation. You've caught him in a scholarly mood. Nevertheless, he fills the small glasses generously from what's left of the bottle, without asking, leaving only a splash on the bottom when he sets it back down on the table.

Like a good apprentice, you lift the glass and toast with him. You try to keep your nose from wrinkling. It truly is vile, and Solomon doesn't even seem to notice. You knock it back quickly, trying not to gag as it congeals slightly on the way down. Ultimately, you can't stop yourself from making a face, and by the time your attention returns to Solomon, he's smiling placidly, with his hands folded in his lap, looking at you attentively.

You wait a beat, assuming he's about to tell you what he learned from your utterly unscientific experiment. Then you wait two. 

“...So which is it?”

“I'm not sure,” he admits readily, still smiling at you sweetly, “I feel the same.”

[halexxsam]

Mushy May: Day 8 - Subtle Affection

Thanks to @forlorn-crows for mushy may! Calendar here. Divider from @wrathofrats.

words: 895

characters: dewdrop/rain/swiss/phantom/mountain/cirrus/perpetua

The ghouls noticed it a few days after the tour began. Small things left in the bunks from the city they were in. They thought it was one of the roadies or crew members at first, but later it became clear that it was someone on their bus. The ghouls first thought it was Mountain, who always had a knack for sneaking out to go shopping, loving to explore the food markets in Europe. When the gifts changed from sweets to personalized gifts, the ghouls suspected Phantom, or even Cirrus, but they were just as surprised at the gifts on their bed. On traveling days, they would find their bunk bed all made up, or stripped and their sheets being washed on the small washing machine. It was odd, but loving. 

One night, drinking over a lovely bottle of wine that was left on Mountain’s bed, the ghouls got to talking. 

“I don’t know who it is, but I have been eating all the little snacks I’m left. They are so good! I swear I can’t ever find them again.” Phantom whined out, missing the small piece of walnut chocolate he was left earlier. He had searched the markets for more of it but came up empty handed. 

“Me neither! But I keep on being left funny socks or fresh bandage wraps. I even got a pin to put on my boot.” Dew adds, knocking back his glass, red wine falling slowly from the corner of his mouth. 

“Maybe whoever it is doesn’t want to be found,” Cirrus says, though everyone can tell she wants to know who left a small lavender soap on her bed last night. 

The ghouls sit in peaceful silence, glad another successful show is under their belt. The bus moves along the dark roads of France, onward to Portugal. Perpetua pulls back the curtain and heads towards the lounge, nodding at the pack. 

“Hey, wanna join us?” Swiss asks, raising a spare glass. The human nods, and Phantom quickly makes room, moving onto Mountain’s lap. 

Swiss pours his Papa some wine, watching the man intently as he settles back against the cushions. Unbeknownst to his pack, Swiss quirks an eyebrow, covering the label of the wine from Papa. He watches him take a sip, savoring its taste. “What do you think?”

Perpetua nods, swallowing, his tongue darting out to savor the last of it on his lips. “Beautiful,” he hums, “a Bordeaux, very nice.” 

At that, Swiss let out a gasp. “You’re the one, aren’t you? Putting things on our bunks, leaving us gifts?”

The whole pack watches as the man blushes, looking down at his lap. His wrist moving still to swirl the wine. He hums out an affirmation. “Thought you guys would never guess.” 

Cirrus is the first one to get over the shock. “Well, thank you, Papa. It is very sweet of you.” 

The man just nods, smiling a bit. “My brother mentioned how you all like gifts, so,” He trails off, finally looking up at him, a nervous look on his face. 

They all nod, looking at each other. “We do, thank you. Can’t really have any possessions in the Pit.” Dew says, a hand digging in his pocket to pull out every single chocolate wrapper that was once left on his bed. 

Papa just laughs at the sight. “I’m glad you all like it. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

At that, Phantom makes a noise. “What do you mean?”

Papa blushes again. “Well, my brother told me about how he was with all of you. But I know I’m new, and different, and you are missing another ghoul this time around. So I didn’t want to impose anything.” 

Rain finally makes himself known, smiling devilishly. “Oh, is that right? Does our Papa want something?”

The man in question makes an odd noise, almost like he choked on his spit. “You are all very beautiful, you must know.” 

They all laugh, grins adorning their faces. Swiss moved closer to him, placing a warm hand on his knee. The man jumped slightly. “You know, Papa, you can be close to us and touch us, we are your ghouls, after all.” 

“I didn’t want to assume anything. I wanted you all to come to me when you were ready, if you ever were going to be.” He admits, a hand coming up to Swiss’, holding it softly. 

Rain flashed his eyes, his water ghoul siren blue coming out. His gills fluttered, tail coming up to play with the belt on his Papa’s waist. “You should come to the dressing rooms before the show tomorrow.” 

“Oh, okay. Do you need help with anything?” Papa asked innocently, taking the change in subject as an end to the previous conversation. 

Rain just nodded, his tails beginning to touch at the soft skin of the man’s hip. “Yeah, I think we all do. We have a part of our costume that is quite hard to get on, actually.” 

Dew laughed, his head falling back against the cushions, his second glass of wine sloshing at the movement. Rain moved from his seat, finding home in Dew’s lap, a hand moving up to his bare neck and taking hold. Dewdrop just whined, pressing into the hold. 

“Want you to put our collars on for us.” Rain smiled, “Dew likes his real tight.” 

[neon-kazoo]

Hey, I hope you have a good day.

I was thinking about a small story with a Hero that has super strength and the muscles to show for it, meanwhile, Villain is in a dark corner, quietly enjoying (swooning over?) the show of strength the Hero displays (it can be whatever you want, the Hero can lift up a heavy wall or even just train).

It is up to you if you want the Hero to know of Villain’s presence or not :)

Of Swooning and Super Strength

(Warning: risk of training accident?)

The gym was closed to the public, but hardly anything was ever closed to the city’s golden savior. All the machines were free, all the weights available for use, and there was no one to protest Hero’s outrageously loud work out playlist.

A private setting, allowing for all the mirror flexing and shirtless benching the hero’s heart desired.

Well, it should have been private. Camouflage abilities certainly had their advantages.

As such, Villain leaned quietly against the wall of lockers with crossed arms and an excellent view.

Sweat dripped down hard and defined muscles, hair slick with the sheen of perspiration, skin so perfectly tanned-

Well, the city didn’t call them ‘golden’ for nothing.

Villain’s eyes traced every movement of the hero’s body as they raised an impressive stack over their head repeatedly. Briefly, they flicked to the weight labels, doing some quick mental math and—wow—if that wasn’t the weight of ten Villains combined.

Villain made a note to add ‘show off’ to hero’s growing list of titles, not that they minded at all.

And then it was off to the bench press, Villain’s personal favorite. Hero loaded on weight after weight, plate after plate until they ran out of room. They laid back and unracked the bar, pumping through at least 50 reps with ease. Villain found themselves a bit breathless with the display.

It wasn’t until Hero started to slow that Villain really started to pay attention, though.

Suddenly Hero was sporting a face Villain had never seen before. They looked…pained. They were struggling.

With a heavy bar above their neck.

Arrogant hero, attempting that much weight without a spot, super strength be damned. How embarrassing it would be for a hero to go down in a training accident, of all things.

For Villain’s hero to go down.

With a heavy sigh drowned out by the blasting of the Sing 2 soundtrack, Villain crossed the room and stepped up to the bar. The hero was far too busy straining with accompanying grunts in an attempt to re-rack the bar to notice. The villain’s hands hovered under the bar, as close as they dared to Hero’s peripheral vision.

Oddly, the temperature in the room seemed to rise with the proximity.

Regrettably, Villain lost track of the heavy rise and fall of the hero’s chest in favor of tracking the progress of the steel bar. After a tense few seconds, the crime-fighter managed to raise their arms the final inch and slide out from under the press.

Villain stepped back as the hero blew out a breath.

“Phew, close one.”

They sat up and—impossibly— their gaze drifted to where Villain had quickly retreated back to the shadows. Villain held their breath and a second passed before the hero winked and turned around.

The villain was too frozen to do much of anything while the hero pulled their shirt back over their head, grabbed their water bottle, and left.

[bellrose]

Better choco-late than never

This piece came about through the Goose Groupie discord's writer's club! I picked the prompt sharing a box of chocolates with everybody's favorite assasin Court.

Summary: You and Court don’t do holidays. Not because of some aversion or disbelief, simply because it was never a given if or when Court’s hectic schedule would line up and he’d be there in the first place. You didn’t mind that much. Not really. Yes, it would be nice one day to have Court share a Christmas breakfast with your family and taste mother’s infamous stoll. But those were fantasies. You’ve settled on taking whatever you could get.

This is (sorta) set in the same universe as Pretty Phone in Pink, but reading that one first isn't neccesary! Though I'd love if you did hihi ;)

Court Gentry x gender neutral reader

Warnings: no warnings, maybe some chocolate cravings

Word count: 967

It might have been the tacky packaging that caught your eye. Glinting in the fluorescent overhead among many other candies dumped into the basket. It might have been the orange sticker smacked on the little box. It wasn’t Lindt, or GODIVA. Some off-brand confectionary you’ve never heard of. 50% off. Not a bad deal. 

Without another thought spent pondering the enormity of cocoa manufactory you throw it into the cart. Next, some bread. Lemonade. The orange one. Coffee. Caffeine free. A Cabbage. Dates. 

It isn’t until you get home, shaking out the umbrella on the front stoop while juggling your haul and keys in the other hand, that you second guess the purchase glaring from the bottom of your grocery bag. 

Deluxe, Belgian chocolate pralines. Ruby Raspberry Kiss. Dark Sinful Ganache. Double the Nuts (with nougat). Praline or pick up line?

Valentine's day was last week. 

You and Court don’t do holidays. Not because of some aversion or disbelief, simply because it was never a given if or when Court’s hectic schedule would line up and he’d be there in the first place. You didn’t mind that much. Not really. Yes, it would be nice one day to have Court share a Christmas breakfast with your family and taste mother’s infamous stoll. But those were fantasies. You’ve settled on taking whatever you could get. 

Court loved you. Full Heartedly. There is no denying it in the way he keeps wringing himself through the hanger to keep seeing you. The way he looks at you sometimes, when he thinks you don’t notice. Not with a hunger, or a passion, rather a calmth that flows through his shoulders, down to his toes. “I’ll be home soon,” he said, three days ago through the phone. 

Home. 

Your home. His now, too. 

Is it enough? To be some sort of safe haven? Is it worth it? You asked him once, on the phone as well because that was easier. He’d gone quiet and you dreaded the answer. But then he promised, steadfastly, “I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

And in return all you have to offer is a box of (questionably) Belgian chocolates. Does he even like chocolate? Would he be interested in a Caramel Embrace? Maybe he abhorred it. Maybe you should have bought some candy hearts. Little I Love You’s and XOXO’s. Buying a box of Valentine chocolates seems very stupid now in the first place.

When you open the door the apartment is just as you left it. The lights are turned off, the washing machine buzzing away. It’s in the kitchen putting away the groceries that you hear something else. 

Footsteps. 

Court comes up from behind and he is- half naked, actually. Still damp from the shower. Seeping through your t-shirt when his arms cover your midriff. 

You lean back into the embrace. “Hey.” 

“Hey yourself.” Court nuzzles into the space between your shoulder and your neck. “You smell nice.”

You snort. “Stole my body wash again?”

“Guilty as charged,” Court grins. You can feel it on your skin, his lips leaving a small trail. He is warm. Like a furnace. 

“Good thing I think ahead.” 

You grab the black bottle from the countertop and push it into his face. Court studies the label, frowning. 

“Deep sensation?”

“I had a coupon.” 

His gaze travels down to the box of chocolates, incriminating in all its red and gold glory among tomorrow’s dinner. “Hm, this too?”

Should have stashed it into a cabinet first thing. “Well…”

Court releases his hold and you turn around. Ever since he gave you the burner phone you’ve tried harder to decipher every little mask he’s got hidden in his arsenal. When he doesn’t want you to see what he truly feels. Now his expression is sober. The corner of his mouth turned down just so. 

“I forgot didn’t I?” he says, more an admittance than a question. Eyes guarded. 

“No, I mean-” you splutter, thinking what it could look like, what it could imply. A jab of some sorts. Happy Valentines! Oh wait, that was a week ago. Pay more attention to me. “I knew you would be.” You gesticulate with your hands to something on the ceiling. “Away.” 

You sigh. “Sorry, it doesn’t mean anything. I thought it would be… nice.”

His eyebrows draw closer together. “Is our love being attached to bowing under consumerism nice?” he asks, so serious and- now you want to punch him.

“You- What? Oh, shut it.”

And then you do punch him, but before your fist can connect with his bare chest he grabs your hand, pulling you closer. His stubble tickles your knuckles when he kisses them. 

“I love you. I don’t say it enough,” he states, looking up through his lashes. Like some damn knight from a fairytale dressed in your fluffy towel. It makes your knees weak. “And I’m taking it for granted, that’s what I’m forgetting.”

Court lets you press your thumb against his lips. Shutting him up.

“You don’t have to take anything, I’m already here,” you insist, softly. 

He smiles, melting the pensive melancholy from his face. “Yes. You are. Always.”

You cradle his cheek. Playfully tugging at his ear before kissing him back. On the lips this time. It's a slow kiss. One that tends to never begin nor end. Only his sturdy presence exists in your mind, the warmth of his mouth all engulfing when you pull him even closer. Sharing your breath. 

“I love you too,” you whisper, after pulling back reluctantly. There is still some rucola that needs to be put in the fridge before it withers away. “Now get dressed so we can enjoy my capitalistic chocolate.”

“I’m wearing clothes.”

You roll your eyes. “You are wearing a towel.”

“You don’t mind.”

No you don’t.

I'm in the mood for some chocolate now, and a damp Court to share them with.

Thank you for reading

[kingmlem]

With Roots

For @bucktommyfluffebruary Day 9: Moving in Together Can also be read here

Rated: M Summary: Ceramic mugs clink together once again in the quiet, a celebratory windchime that's been played on repeat ever since everybody had gone home. It's slowly becoming one of Evan's favorite sounds. After everyone heads home, Evan and Tommy enjoy the gifted bottle of wine on their back porch, complete with ceramic coffee mugs.

The literal castle of unsorted boxes sits abandoned in the openness of the main room, all decorated with individual color-coded sticky notes, all brandishing the same-colored label ‘just in case the other one fell off in the truck.’ The combination foyer-dining room still sits largely empty, walls still blindingly devoid of color aside from the swatch cards pinned up with a bit of painter’s tape.

The door hiding the kitchen swings lightly against the evening breeze, the first hint of summer adding a touch of warmth to the moving air. Paper and bubble wrap rustle in their opened boxes, wrapped glasses and plates decorating the otherwise bare countertops. More paint cards sit attached to the fridge, fanned out and held by a reused chip clip, prospective colors for the kitchen and small breakfast nook.

A few stray leaves tumble across the kitchen floor, making their way inside through the open sliding glass door only to get stuck in the bundle of trash bags and empty pizza boxes.

Ceramic mugs clink together once again in the quiet, a celebratory windchime that's been played on repeat ever since everybody had gone home. It's slowly becoming one of Evan's favorite sounds.

That, and hearing people refer to the house as theirs. It might just be that theirs has become his favorite word, the meaning held in that one little pronoun.

Their space.

Their new house.

Their future.

It awakens something deep, soothes it into contentment, makes the gnawing beast purr. He has roots- they have roots. Together and entangled, metaphorically, emotionally, physically.

With both of their names on the house, Evan mentally checks off 'legally (but not that way... yet.)' It probably means more paperwork later on, getting his name changed and put on the deed properly, but all in time.

He hasn't even asked yet.

Or rather, he hasn't been asked yet.

He's still warring over whether to tell Tommy he'd found the ring box that had been stashed in his old mess uniform while packing the apartment closet into boxes. It's still there, tucked into the side pocket like it had been before Evan found it, housed in the third box of the second stack in their new walk-in. Through all of the moving and planning, the chaos of trying to close on the house, and getting moved in before the lease was up on Tommy's old rental the ring acted as a nice little reminder that they were in this together.

Root systems entangling more and more.

It was wonderful.

"Add plumber to the phone call list," Tommy's voice breaks the silence, mug set next to his thigh on the back porch. His eyes are locked onto the landscape of their backyard, assessment giving way to a scheming twinkle in his eye. "Get the outside spigot working again."

"Should probably do that before the cable company- unless of course you'd like to argue with the machine for me." Tommy's chuckle jostles Evan's head from its comfortable perch on a plaid-clad shoulder.

"Not a chance," The pilot's chuckles turn into full laughter a moment later at Evan's over-exaggerated puppy eyes, complete with batting eyelashes.

"You use your pilot voice and they practically give you what you want. It would be so easy for you." Not to mention there would be no later name change, which would save them both the agony of another phone call. Really, it'd be for the best. Sure, he'd be taking one for the team, but it would also mean a massive win in Evan's book.

"My pilot voice?" He really kind of wants to kiss that arched brow, as awkward as it is to try and catch it from this angle, but he's pretty comfortable against Tommy's side. Their hands naturally find each other, almost unconsciously twining together against the smooth wood of the porch. "Yeah- not the mouth static part though. Promise you won't do mouth static-" Evan laughs at the light shove that finally dislodges him from Tommy's shoulder.

The wind rustles once again, shaking loose leaves from their neighbors' trees into their- their- backyard.

"We have a house," Evan whispers into the night, clutching the hand in his tighter. Joy bubbles around the words, tone reverent and laced with barely concealed wonder.

This was excitement, this was the first big step into making his own happiness and making it with the person he saw himself growing old and wrinkled with. This was the joy of knowing there was more to come, that there are two bedrooms upstairs they don’t need, yet. This was the love and contentment he’d been feeling finally settled, made into physical form and set on a residential street in L.A., just needing someone to come and call it home.

Apparently that someone had been one Thomas Kinard: badass, hot ass, firefighter-pilot of LAFD’s Harbor Station.

Now it even says so.

Right on the legal deed, right next to his own name, like it’s belonged there all along.

"Come on," Stretching already tired muscles, Evan stood, wincing at the audible pop of his shoulder. "We can at least get the kitchen started."

Tommy accepted the offered hand, using the anchor to do his own standing and stretching. Through the whole process, he never dropped Evan’s hand. Not when he’d bent to retrieve their empty mugs, only to hand them off when he was upright again. Not even when he’d stretched his arms high over his head, Evan’s eyes catching on the bar of skin it exposed just above the cut of Tommy’s jeans, hand and arm just following Tommy’s movements automatically.

“Or,” A wave of heat burst under Evan’s skin at the drop in his boyfriend’s voice, following the movement as Tommy reeled him closer using their interwoven fingers, other hand settling warm against his hip. It should be illegal that Tommy can have him practically panting from just one word, in that deep tone that’s just one octave lower than that stupid pilot voice.

Evan also completely understands how his boyfriend has exceptional luck with call center agents, and how woefully unprepared they must be to face that.

His heart goes out to them, at least he gets the real thing at the end of the day. The real thing currently encouraging the little subconscious grind of his hips against the muscled thigh between his legs, the hand on Evan’s hip clutching and releasing in time with each movement.

“Or?” Their breathing the same air, being this close. That’s definitely the reason he’s already feeling a bit hazy, lack of oxygen contributing to the light-headedness and his own breathy tone. The breeze picks up and he can just barely catch a whisper of fading cologne, Tommy’s hand tightening on his hip at a particularly rough thrust. The resulting amused huff has his knees threatening to liquify.

It’s damning how easy Evan is for his boyfriend.

It’s even worse because Tommy knows it.

But the best part of it all is that Tommy’s just as easy for him.

“Or,” Tommy starts again, lips just barely brushing against the blonde’s as he speaks. He pulls back when Evan tries to chase the connection, hungry for the little disappointed moan that it gets him. “We can start unpacking tomorrow. Work on breaking the house in now?” Evan doesn’t let him pull away this time, surging forward while pulling against their joint hands to keep him stuck there.

The kiss is messy- off center and a little too hard- Evan nodding into it immediately, little hums vibrating through their lips.

They make it through the sliding door, Tommy leading them through the threshold only to trip on the slight step into the house. It’s enough to break them apart, matching amusement reflected on their faces.

Right, new place. Their new house.

That’s currently a maze of boxes and plastic totes. The counters, that are littered with their glass and dinnerware, pose more of a risk than temptation, not even accounting for the curtain-free, blind-free sliding glass door.

They just moved in. Probably not a good idea to scar them this early. Or worse, get the cops called and have Athena show up.

It’s Evan’s breathless chuckle that breaks the moment, reconnecting their hands and pulling Tommy into the house properly. He uses their tethered hands to pull his boyfriend toward the stairs after disposing of their mugs in the sink.

“Unpack tomorrow,” Evan confirms with a laugh, the burst of want still reverberating through him, only now tinged with a fondness to temper the desperation.

“Unpack tomorrow, we’ve got time.” Tommy follows up the stairs, face gone crinkly with his smile.

The expression embeds itself in Evan’s chest, further cementing the idea that yeah, this is the one he’s gonna grow old with. This is the one he’s going to spend forever with.

[spidey-bie]

Murder In The Morning

A/N: I am suffering. It's 2 in the morning. If there are errors then no there isn't. Hobie x g/n black reader  Summary: Your period came while sleeping over at Hobie's. Warnings: Blood (duh), Reader uses pads because tampons scare me

You should've known that it was coming. 

The signs were all there. The restless sleep schedule, the sudden shift in emotions, strange cravings, and the unusual forgetfulness.

You’d thought you had more time but, alas. 

Here you are, waking up in Hobie Brown's bed surrounded by a pool of blood.

"It's everywhere." Obviously you were exaggerating but you knew it was gonna be a pain to deal with later. 

"Oh my God." It was really bad.

"You alright in there?" Hobie calls from the kitchen. He's probably let you sleep in while he started cooking breakfast.

"It's a code red," You call back. This was a gag you both had started from the first time your period started at Hobie’s house. At least this time it wasn't on new sheets.

"What's the damage?"

"It was a massacre." You have to check to see if you bled through to the mattress. 

"Damn it." Unfortunately, you had.

"It's that bad?" Hobie 

"Captain, they ambushed us. We never stood a chance."

He ducks into the room, eyes widening at the scene. 

"Woah. All this came from you?"

You stare at him blankly. Sometimes you wonder if he says stupid stuff like this just to piss you off.

"Who else is there?"

"I just thought I was the only one with enemies to fight here." 

And if any of them popped up right now you would leave him to fend for himself. Spider-man values be damned.

"Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't punch you right now."

"Because." He says waving a bottle of peroxide as he walks towards you. 

"While you take a nice, long, hot shower I'll be cleaning up this whole mess for you." He was standing in front of you now. You started to feel bad for your small outburst.

“But before that.” He opens his arms wide. An open invitation for a hug you so desperately needed.  

"Fine" You sigh and let yourself be enveloped in his arms.

"Thank you." You mumbled into his chest. 

"Of course." He pressed a light kiss onto your forehead. "Now off you go." 

************************************************************************

After hopping out the shower and being met with the cold air of the bathroom you felt the cramps start to creep in.

"You got any ibuprofen or those para- whatchamacallits?"

"Paracetamols. Med cabinet." You grabbed a blister pack out of the cabinet and popped a pill.

You had thrown away the pants and underwear that you were wearing earlier; they were beyond saving. Thankfully, there were clothes for you to change into, courtesy of Hobie’s closet, and underwear from a previous visit. However, there was one thing that you didn’t have.

"Bie." You shouted. "You got any pads?" It was unlikely but, you might've left some behind before. If not you could always just send Hobie to grab some. 

“Umm. Check under the sink?"

You open the drawer and nearly cry from what you see. There sat a small box, clearly labeled in Hobie’s messy handwriting, Lovebug's Blood Kit. It held pads in a number of colors and sizes, as well as a variety of your favorite chocolates.

You put on a pad and headed to the bedroom, expecting Hobie to still be there. To your surprise, you were met with a bare mattress completely cleaned of the previous murder scene. "In here," he called from the kitchen. "Food's done." 

"How’d yo-"

"You were in there for ages, bug. I was starting to think you passed out from blood loss."

You roll your eyes and smile. You were in love with an idiot. A caring and considerate idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.  

"Thanks again for everything." You sit down and begin to eat.

“Don’t know what you mean,” he shrugged, glancing towards you with a smile.

You giggle. “Of course you don’t.”

The quiet hum of the washing machine continued in the background as you both sat and ate. 

(A/n I got lazy by the end lol. Thank you to my lovely lovely editors @whaliiwatching and @shuinami. This was truly a mess before they looked at it.)

[brokenpieces-72]

Mothers n Monsters

With Mother's Day coming up I figured I would include some wholesomeness involving the Hybrid 141. The following is inspired by @bluegiragi 's Hybrid au and includes @diejager 's reader character Hunter.

Mother's Day is something you are still new to since it was a holiday your biological parents didn't bother with. When you were in the program some of the other hybrids found mother figures in their retainers and mentors.

When it gets brought up in conversation and you learn more you start to wonder who exactly your mother is. Johnny's mom is definitely in there since she took you in. Hunter, you consider a parent because of how they've taken care of you in many ways, and not just you but the entirety of the 141. The last one you think of is Laswell since she'd been talking to you quite a bit to get information back to the program and keep you safe.

The question is... what do you do for each of them?

You ask Johnny for help with Mother's Day with his mother. Johnny often goes into whatever city is nearby and sends a few souvenirs to his mom, whether it's some trinkets, ingredients or even some alcohol. With it, he writes a letter, and you write one too. When the package arrives his mother smiles seeing the usual letter from her son, saying he's happy and grateful to have someone waiting for him to come home every day. What she isn't expecting is a second letter from you, and the adoption papers fully signed. In the letter, you tell her how happy you are to have a family not just on base but one waiting for you in Scotland. You've written about so many of the things you've done and all the things you're excited to do. You thank he for everything, letting you stay with them during the holidays, the extra clothes, and for becoming your new mother. She smiles reading through both letters, before finally looking inside the care package, seeing more than just knickknacks and the bottle of alcohol. You've left some drawings for her as well, of flowers you'd found and places you'd been.

Hunter is a bit harder. They're the kind of person who will say, "I don't need/want anything". You don't know what to get them so once again, you go around asking for help. Of course, you go to Johnny first, and he's a little confused at first. To his knowledge, Hunter doesn't have kids but when you explain your reasons that Hunter is kind of like a mom, he understands a bit better. Johnny has to think about it as well. He suggests coffee, as does Kyle. It's not a bad idea. You go to Price and ask him, and honestly he isn't sure himself. He settles with your help in the infirmary is probably enough. Next, you ask Simon. He also isn't sure but if he had to guess, probably less work needed to be done in the infirmary. Horangi straight up shrugs, not sure how to answer the question, though he figures that a massage or a few nights off would be a pleasant luxury. Konig did actually plan on getting Hunter something small for Hunter, not necessarily as a Mother's Day gift, but as a small thank you. A couple of chocolates couldn't hurt. You get Alejandro's input and it's one you can agree with, which is ensuring any and all prep work and inventory is completed ahead of time.

Rudolfo gives you a great idea though, the one you ask him for help with. Like Hunter, Rudolfo is human so he knows the drawbacks of being a human among many hybrids. You get one of those mugs, but make a custom label for it, and a bag of Hunter's favourite coffee and tea. For the next few days, you go to the other soldiers in the medbay to ask for their help in getting inventory and prep work done ahead of time, and they show you how to do all of it. When Hunter wakes up on Mother's Day they stretch, get out all of the sleepiness, and head over to the infirmary to get to work. When they get to the coffee machine they find the small gift and a small note. The note says, "Happy Mother's Day Hunter, I've gotten the prep work done in the infirmary the night before so you can have the morning to yourself. Enjoy." Hunter looks at the label on the mug and it says "The Beast".

Finally, there was Laswell, and once again you were a little stumped. You didn't know what she liked. Price is your go-to for this question, and he isn't entirely sure himself. He too, doesn't entirely understand the whole mom perception until you explain it. Not sure what else to suggest, he suggests you ask Laswell yourself.

Laswell comes to see you. These visits have become a bit more regular, to ensure the program has no reason to take you back. When you sit with her and go over the usual questions of, how are you, are you eating well, is everything going well on base, etc, you ask her what she would want for Mother's Day. The question catches her off guard a bit.

"Mother's Day? Spirit I'm not a mother." Laswell clarifies.

"You kind of are." You say. Laswell decides to humour you.

"How?" She asks.

"You always make sure we're okay on base, and have everything we need. You watch over us on missions, you come by to check in with me and make sure I'm okay. You've stood up for me before. When I saw my mother, and told you, you immediately called the program to tell them off for not telling us sooner." You explain. Laswell consider it for a moment and she gives you a smile. She didn't think of it like that, and honestly, she figured it was just part of the job and not much else.

"I think hearing all of that is enough for me." She tells you. "Thank you."

Note: Hey just wanted to chime in and wish y'all a good Mother's Day. I hope you're all doing well, and remember to take care of yourselves.

[littlenightma]

Sick | T-1000 x Reader

It was two in the morning when you felt your stomach cramp. You clutched yourself while you stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. Falling to your knees, you not-too-prettily expelled the contents of your cramping stomach into the toilet. From behind you, Austin’s lean figure hovered defensively.

“What is wrong?”

You dunked your head one more time before answering, pushing the leftover bile back down your throat.

“I’m sick.”

Sick.

He took in your shivering form hunched over the toilet and the glaze of perspiration coating your skin. He did not like seeing you in pain and he wanted the wretched sounds coming from your mouth to cease.

His internal database held a plethora of files on the human anatomy, among other useful topics, which served to help him take down targets proficiently. He was created to kill, not to protect. In other words, he was out of his element when it came to nursing a human back to passable health.

He knelt down and felt your slick forehead with the tips of his fingers. The nanobots quickly pick up on your high body temp.

“Your temperature is 2 degrees above what it should be.”

“How did you do that without a thermometer?”

“Stop evading the issue.”

Evading the iss- God, he’s so dramatic.

You shoot him an annoyed look, “It was a genuine question,” you paused, “And there is no issue.”

“You have a fever.” He pressed.

“It’s barely a fever.”

“Your body is overheating.”

You winked, “So you’re saying I’m hot, huh?”

It did not register on his face, but Austin was growing frustrated at your nonchalantness. “Why are you disregarding the state of your well-being?

Starting to feel uncomfortable, you sat down with your back against the toilet. The cool porcelain felt good on your warm skin. You were in no mood to be chided by the machine about your well-being when not too long ago he was the reason it was in danger - on multiple occasions.

“Because,” you began, wiping the side of your mouth with the back of your hand, “I’ve been sick before. I know what to expect. Everyone gets the stomach bug. I will be fine in a few days.”

Austin internally bristled. “That long?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Give or take. There’s medicine I can take that will help make me feel better.”

Austin stood up, “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No, you’re not. It’s not that serious, Austin.”

“It is to me.”

Thankfully, T-800, Uncle Bob, appeared in the doorway wearing his signature shades, holding a small, plastic bottle in his large, mechanical hand.

“I heard you from downstairs. Here,” he offered you the bottle.

Before you could take it, Austin had snatched it from Bob, scrutinizing it. He ran his index finger down the back label and shook his head. “There are too many side effects.”

“Just precautions. The medicine will help them.”

You nodded enthusiastically along with Bob’s words. Austin glanced at you and reluctantly uncapped it with more force than necessary. He held the bottle in the air as he dropped the thick, red liquid into the cap, making sure you received the exact dosage for someone of your age and weight needed.

You shot it back with a grimace. “Hm, disgusting,”

Bob chuckled as he took the medicine back. “You sound like John.”

You perked at John’s name, “I haven’t woke him up, have I?”

“No.”

“Thanks, Uncle Bob,” You smiled weakly from the floor.

The T-800 had been around humans long enough to comprehend sarcasm. “No problemo, kiddo.”

You giggle even though your stomach gurgled threateningly. “Good one.”

Austin handed back the medicine and T-800 bid his goodnight, going back to do his nightly routine of surveying the perimeter of the house.

Austin helped you off the floor and you went over to the sink to brush your teeth. He stood behind you like a shadow, electric eyes never wavering from watching you, as if waiting for you to suddenly fall apart.

“Austin?”

“Yes?”

“Will you lay with me?”

His head lifted at your question. “If that’s what you want, I will.”

“It is.”

Back in your room, he slid into your bed, carefully positioning himself in a way that prevented him from touching you. You may have been human, but you were by no means fragile. Austin didn’t fight you when you pried his arms open and settled within them.

As your head rested on his chest, you couldn’t hear the rhythmic thrumming of his heart or feel his chest rise and fall from breathing. He lacked everything that provided humans natural comfort, lacked any kind of genuine emotion or feeling and most of the time he was an asshole. Did it make sense to find safety in the arms of a killing machine? If he could kill you, that meant he could protect you all the same, right?

Right?

“If your temperature rises I am taking you to the hospital.”

His t-shirt hid your slight eye roll, “I’m not dying here, Austin.”

His fingers momentarily pressed into your ribs. His next words meant to comfort you, but they possessed a certain level of threat, briefly reminding you that the man holding you was not a man at all, and his whole existence, his whole purpose, was to dispose of people like you by ridding the world of the boy sleeping soundly in his bedroom just a few doors down.

“You’re not going to.”

Knowing you weren’t going to convince him otherwise, you didn’t argue. When your breathing evened out and your mouth fell slightly open, Austin shifted, lowering his head to your ear. Believing you wouldn’t hear him, he whispered two simple words.

“Get better.”

Little did he know that by laying in his arms, you already were.

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 4: Death by a Thousand Cuts

Sara’s voice rang out brightly as she stepped aside to let Victoria take her turn on the adductor machine, her tone casual despite having just pushed 60kg with sheer leg power.

“And what about the pub?”

“I asked Tony to cut my hours,” Vic replied, struggling to get the sentence out between grunts of effort.

“Damn you, Vic, it’ll be tough not seeing you every day.” Sara pouted, her smirk turning into an exaggerated frown as she extended her hand. Vic took it, feeling oddly affectionate despite the ridiculousness of the moment. With her legs spread on the machine, it felt like she was a woman in labor squeezing her girlfriend’s hand for support.

Once Vic finished her set, the two headed for the locker room.

A strange buzz of adrenaline ran through her. Maybe it was the satisfaction of finally sticking to her promise and hitting the gym. Sara, blessed with boundless energy, was constantly in motion, while Vic struggled with the mere concept of standing for extended periods.

“It’s not like we can really chat at work, anyway. Every time I try, Rhys swoops in to hit on you. It’s honestly exhausting,” Vic said as she pulled her gym bag from the locker.

“Ugh, don’t even mention him,” Sara replied, her disgust at the thought of Rhys so potent it nearly trapped her in her sports bra.

“What about those guys Aemond introduced you to? What were they like?”

Vic shrugged, peeling off her leggings and wrapping herself in a towel, shower gel and shampoo in hand. “All super pro. One of them even toured with Robert Plant back in 2013.”

“Damn, that’s cool,” Sara commented, following Vic to the adjacent shower stall.

“Yeah, but people like that intimidate me. No wonder Charlie got cold feet. I had to work so hard not to blurt out some nonsense.”

Before Vic could finish, Sara’s shampoo bottle flew over the shower wall and hit her on the head.

“Victoria, I swear, if you bring up that piece of trash again, I’ll throw you out of the house,” Sara warned, her mock-seriousness dripping with humor.

“Are you insane? That probably killed, like, 200 brain cells!”

“Not like you’re using them!” Sara shot back.

“Broaden your horizons, my dear. How’s the tortured artist? Still hot?”

Vic thought of Aegon, the warm water streaming over her head. Still hot, undeniably so.

“This is going to end in disaster, Sara. I’m telling you now, in no uncertain terms,” Vic said, already resigned to her fate.

“What do you mean?” Sara asked, suddenly concerned.

“I mean he’s hot. Exactly my type. Just out of five months of rehab. And you know how weak I am for broken people who need fixing.”

“Aren’t we all…” Sara muttered.

“Yesterday, he was constantly looking for an excuse to touch me, and when I suggested we meet up…”

“You suggested it? You slut,” Sara said with mock indignation, thrilled her friend was focusing on someone other than Charlie.

“Yeah, semi-professionally. To see if we can work together! Can you imagine us in Viserys Targaryen’s snake pit of a studio, awkwardly staring at each other or, worse, making small talk about the weather and slow walkers?”

“Fair enough,” Sara replied.

“And do you know what he suggested? Meeting at his place.”

Sara let out a dramatic gasp. “Tell me you said yes.”

“Oh, sure, because I can’t wait to hook up with yet another guy who’ll leave me on read for days afterward.”

“At least you’d already know what to do for the second date,” Sara teased.

Vic poked her head into Sara’s shower stall, her face incredulous. “Why? Do people actually get second dates?”

“How would I know?,” Sara deadpanned.

“Obviously, I said no.” Vic rinsed the conditioner from her hair. “But I think it’s clear he wants to sleep with me, and I don’t trust myself—especially after a couple of pints. So, I suggested we meet at that vinyl café in Islington.”

“Vic, that’s so obviously a date. You know that, right?”

“It’s so not a date,” Vic retorted, wrapping her hair into a towel and examining her reflection in the mirror.

The gym contract should come with a disclaimer: you won’t turn into Adriana Lima after your second visit. Vic glanced over her shoulder, trying to be subtle so Sara wouldn’t notice. But no, months of effort and her butt still hadn’t grown. What a scam.

“Who cares? Just go for it. He’s loaded, too. Imagine if things go well—think of all the Louboutins he could buy you for Christmas or birthdays or anniversaries,” Sara pressed, undeterred.

Victoria sighed, grabbing her underwear and hastily getting dressed to spare Sara the sight of her untoned, naked self.

“What I love most about you is your optimism, the way you act like things could work out. As if you didn’t get daily status updates on my WhatsApp messages,” Vic muttered as she fumbled with her bra.

“Well, the alternative is wallowing in the ridiculous idea that you’ll never find anyone, and crawling back to Charlie every time he beckons, hoping he’ll take you back,” Sara shot back, slathering lotion onto her legs. Damn, Vic had forgotten her body lotion. Again.

“Don’t you think it’s fate that after all these years, we’re still in touch? I mean, even if it’s… weird?” Vic asked, a hint of self-delusion creeping in.

“Fate? No. Just some cruel, diabolical joke,” Sara replied bluntly.

“Whatever, I only meet up with him to stop idealizing him. Every time I see him, I care less and less. The other day, he asked me to come to his hometown in Essex, and I said no because I had a double shift at the pub,” Victoria said, genuinely believing she’d made a breakthrough.

“Wow, groundbreaking,” Sara quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Vic immediately realized how stupid she sounded.

“Maybe it’s a terrible idea anyway. You do have to work with this Aegon guy,” Sara added, zipping up her jeans, her full bum practically spilling out from them, the waistband hugging her toned stomach perfectly. Vic sighed—she deserved a fast metabolism.

“Exactly,” Vic agreed.

“Well, if you’re not going for it, I might as well.” Sara’s comment was a light tease more than a real offer, a ploy to make Vic admit she was actually interested in that idiot Aegon.

It worked. A pang of jealousy twisted in her gut.

“Listen, babe. Find your own toxic blond guy” Vic shot back, smacking Sara with her towel in mock outrage.

Sara laughed, triumphant, extra satisfied when she saw Vic blushing.

Vic always looked forward to open mic nights at the pub. Sure, it meant arriving early to clear the tables from the raised booth that served as the stage, convincing Rhys to help her haul the piano or the amps (Sara was usually a lifesaver for the latter task), but by the end of the night, Vic was always satisfied.

After all, the open mic had been her idea. Tony had agreed on the condition that she handle everything—logistics, complaints, even when she wasn’t scheduled to work. He wanted no part in the chaos, especially when regulars grumbled about the lack of available slots. But that only made Vic more proud. It was her project, her success, her small claim to fame.

And if reserving a performance slot for herself each week meant that yet another patron couldn’t belt out My Way, well, so be it. These were the moments she felt truly appreciated, when her insecurities melted away, and she could revel in something she knew she was good at. The elderly pub-goers, always her most loyal fans, never failed to remind her of that.

Lately, someone else had been reminding her, too. Aemond Targaryen. Ever since he’d started showing up to this dingy pub in Peckham, he’d made it clear, in his understated way, that he was there to see her.

Right on cue, Vic spotted him walk in, just minutes before her turn on the makeshift stage. He settled at the table closest to the front, ordering his usual Guinness. After seeing him drink it twice, she had pegged him as exactly the kind of guy who made Guinness-drinking his entire personality. Vic wasn’t impressed.

From across the room, Aemond gave her a slight nod, and she nodded back, though reluctantly. They were practically business partners now, and to his credit, he’d been gracious—accepting her terms and even introducing her to the industry vultures she’d managed to fend off for so long. But she still hadn’t fully figured him out, nor had she warmed to his enigmatic vibe.

Mae, a fiery-haired woman with a penchant for the dramatic, had just finished her rendition of Fairytale of New York, impressively handling both parts. As she stepped down, Vic placed a warm hand on her shoulder, offering her praise before taking her place on the stage.

No piano tonight. Just Vic, her guitar, and the same old broken heart.

*******

Aemond knew he wasn’t obliged to keep attending that stupid open mic night at the rundown pub in Peckham, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a decent alternative when he had nothing better to do. And tonight, he had literally nothing to do.

Even Aegon hadn’t bothered him with his now-daily pleas to take him out.

Aemond despised playing babysitter to his brother—not because he minded being useful, he actually liked feeling needed—but because they had absolutely nothing in common. Now that Aegon had been out of the picture for a few months, Aemond had finally gotten the chance to mingle with people in the label without constantly being mistaken for him. God, he hated even thinking about that. But in the process, he’d also made a few friends. Take Alys, for example, the harpist who collaborated with most of the label’s artists. She had introduced him to Guinness, and since then, it was the only thing he drank.

It was a drink for people with patience, Aemond mused as he watched the bartender—who, bafflingly, was wearing jeans so low-rise they defied basic decency—pour his Guinness in slow, deliberate intervals.

He’d chosen the table closest to the stage. The acoustics would be terrible; he knew that much. But Aemond loved that thin sliver of space where physics betrayed itself, letting you hear the artist’s raw voice before it was amplified through the monitors. The only way to experience that was to sit close.

The downside? He’d had to endure a rendition of some old woman’s massacre of Fairytale of New York. Clearly, no one had ever told her music wasn’t on her list of talents. She’d butchered both Shane MacGowan’s and Kirsty MacColl’s parts, effectively killing them a second time.

Thankfully, Vic was next on the lineup.

There was something about the stage that transformed her. Normally, she was sharp-tongued, combative, and perpetually on edge. Yet every time she performed, she became almost… vulnerable. The closest comparison Aemond could think of was a child nestled in a cradle—a cradle of metaphors and chords.

The murmured conversations around the room quieted as she began strumming the opening chords. Aemond wasn’t surprised.

Her voice was raw and intimate, undeniably an acquired taste, and yet somehow, he had acquired it. She sang of love lost, love that lingered like a wound that never healed, love that felt like dying over and over again. Each lyric, every note, was a reflection of a heart shattered into countless fragments.

The song was a lament for the slow, agonizing release of something once cherished—the quiet, desperate clinging to a love that had long since dissolved.

As she sang, her eyes closed beneath her dark fringe, lost in the song's emotion. The lyrics were straightforward yet profound, weaving a tapestry of heartbreak and longing. She sang of the body’s grief, each pang a tiny cut that together delivered a crushing blow. And perhaps that was Vic’s true talent—her ability to tell a story, to turn emotions into vivid imagery, and to align the progression of chords with every stage of heartbreak, capturing its nuances with painful precision.

The audience was enraptured, their expressions a mixture of sorrow and understanding. They recognized the truth in her words, the universal ache of a love gone wrong. With every verse, she drew them further into her world, laying bare her deepest vulnerabilities with a rawness that was both stunning and shattering.

Aemond had never been in love. He’d never felt the need or even the desire for it. Aegon often teased him, saying he’d die a virgin—what an idiot. Just because he didn’t parade around with a new fling every night didn’t mean he lacked sexual experience or appetites.

But love? That had always been foreign territory. Yet in that moment, as Vic painted such a vivid, harrowing picture of it, Aemond found himself wishing—just for a second—that he had loved. Not for the sake of romance, but to understand. To grasp her song fully. To not feel so excluded, as he always did, while everyone around him resonated with the perfectly rendered portrait of a broken heart.

For a fleeting moment, Aemond wished he could feel that pain, too.

The sparse crowd had, of course, showered Vic with undeniable love, and she’d smiled, serene and satisfied, offering a small bow before making her way off the stage. Aemond had already braced himself for the usual routine: chasing her down across the room just to offer his compliments, only to be met with her trademark sharpness. But he hadn’t even managed a step before noticing something different—this time, Vic was walking toward him.

“I thought saying yes would stop you from stalking me,” she quipped as she slid into the chair across from him. But her tone wasn’t sharp; she was joking.

Aemond felt the tips of his ears heat up, the sudden realization of how pathetic he must have seemed all those times he’d cornered her, only to be barked at for his efforts.

“I wanted to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind,” he replied with a casual shrug, aiming for wit but unsure if his tone betrayed him. Vic grinned, tossing her fringe out of her eyes with a quick tilt of her head.

“And here I thought you were here for Terence,” she said, nodding toward the elderly man now on stage, reciting the same coffee poem she’d seen him workshop a few days ago.

Aemond let out a sarcastic hiss. “Better watch out, or you’ll have some real competition soon enough.”

Vic smiled again, clearly catching the irony but also radiating a genuine affection for the retirement-home rejects who frequented her workplace.

“Everyone has the right to express themselves in whatever way works for them,” she said, almost too kindly.

Aemond studied her for a moment, feeling a pang of guilt. Then he reminded himself that, sure, everyone had the right to express themselves, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t think they were terrible at it. After all, what was the point of striving to be a good artist if not to stand out? He kept those thoughts to himself.

“You were great. The song was beautiful,” he said instead.

She thanked him with exaggerated flair, the kind of theatrical performance that suggested she’d spent a long time perfecting how to accept compliments without succumbing to either embarrassment or imposter syndrome.

“You didn’t bring the golden retriever today?” she asked, clearly referring to Aegon.

Aemond rolled his eyes and took another sip of his beer. “You mean the socially hazardous gorilla? No, apparently, he had business in the attic.”

“Hey, gorillas are highly intelligent animals. My metaphor had purpose,” she retorted.

True. Her metaphors always had purpose. He raised an eyebrow, wordlessly urging her to elaborate.

“My mom has a golden retriever. His name’s Freddie. She got him when I moved here, clearly as a stand-in for me, and she treats him better than she ever treated me or my brother,” Vic began, her words spilling out in a torrent that swept Aemond along. He wasn’t used to sharing much of himself, and Vic seemed to live on the exact opposite edge, her quirky oversharing making him distinctly uncomfortable. But he didn’t stop her.

“I always say they’re the dumbest dogs, and Freddie’s the dumbest of the lot,” she concluded, signaling to her friend behind the bar for a drink, hands pressed together in an exaggerated prayer and a pout that made her look like a mischievous child.

“Hard to argue with your metaphor, then,” Aemond remarked, drawing her attention back to him.

“What animal would your brother be?” he asked, half-expecting her sudden good mood to fade and the conversation to fizzle out and rushing to prevent that.

“A socially hazardous gorilla, I suppose,” Vic replied after a moment, her eyes clouding with a flicker of sadness. “I think he has borderline personality disorder. He’s not stupid; he’s just always been a colossal prick.”

Her tone was unnervingly casual given the weight of her confession.

“Older?” Aemond asked, sensing a rare connection in the universal language of sibling trash-talk.

“Younger,” she said, and then added, “But that’s classic, right? Your parents have you, you’re their pride and joy for all of ten minutes, then another one comes along, starts showing behavioral issues, and suddenly you’re the one doing your homework alone. Next thing you know, you’re in another city, handling your problems solo, celebrating your wins alone because they’re too drained from dealing with your brother’s messes all day.”

Fuck, yes, Aemond wanted to say. His stomach twisted as her words perfectly captured what had always been his reality. It didn’t matter that they weren’t remotely close enough to be discussing such personal, delicate matters; for once, he was grateful someone was laying it all out because he knew exactly what she meant, how she felt.

He wrestled with himself, torn between his carefully cultivated mask of cold professionalism and the urge to tell her that he understood.

He wanted to share how things had only gotten worse since Aegon had been spat out of rehab, how he couldn’t even scrape together a crumb of acknowledgment from his father. He wanted to confess that Vic’s music was his ticket to finally earning some recognition, that her signing with him would prove he was more than capable as a producer, that he deserved a more prominent role at the label. Maybe, now that they’d found this unexpected common ground, she’d be more willing to accept his offer, sparing him months of dealing with Aegon’s chaotic creative process and her the tragedy of dealing with him at all.

But he said nothing, and she was quicker to close the conversation.

“Well, I’m not the first or the last, I guess. How the hell do you drink Guinness, by the way? It literally tastes like shoe leather,” she exclaimed, grabbing the lager handed to her by the low-rise jeans guy.

Aemond was abruptly yanked from his thoughts and back into the present, back in front of her.

“Acquired taste,” he replied.

[jabberwockymoreau]

So very excited to finally be able to post my @aftgsecretsnowflake gift for the wonderful @sturmdunkel! I'm incredibly in love with this AU I came up with for your robot prompt, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it <3

Tags: T, Andrew/Neil, Alternative Universe – Sci Fi, Sci Fi AU, Robots and Androids, Robot AU, Aftg Secret Snowflake

Length: 10k

Summary:

Andrew Minyard has drawn his lot in life. Working a boring job as a gas station attendant by day and earning some extra cash fixing up whatever cyborgs and androids pass through the small town of Millport, Arizona was never his dream, but then men like Andrew don't have dreams. The money's good, and that's all that matters because he has a brother racking up student debt in med school. It also means that when a runaway android from the nation's most notorious tech company stumbles into his store, Andrew is forced to help him out to protect the investments he's already made. Or something like that. - Or, an Andreil Robot AU

Excerpt:

The smile turned into a grimace. “Right, right. Well, you see, my bike’s battery died, so I’ll need one of these...uh, can you recommend any?”

And Andrew should probably let him leave it at that. It wasn’t his business what his customers got up to, especially not the lying kind. But before Andrew could think better of it he asked: “How far out?”

“Some miles. Not too bad. An okay walk without the bike.” He shrugged.

And Andrew really should just let it be. Except this was the middle of nowhere in Arizona. The gas station’s address was nominally listed as Millport, but it was several miles out from the town that was really a few streets clustered around a church and a general store, it’s existence only excused by the fact that it sat along a major highway and the occasional passersby needed gas, food or a roof over their head. Dozens of miles of barren wasteland accompanied the highway to both sides of the gas station, offering no shade with which to protect against the aggressive, early summer sun.

Even inside the air conditioned shop Andrew could feel the heat press in, sweat collecting underneath the black armbands he wore with his T-shirt. In a few weeks it would be unbearable – yet there was no perspiration on the man’s pale skin. Or sunburn. His sluggish, odd behavior could be heatstroke. Andrew had seen that before, and the symptoms weren’t off. But his professional guess was a different one.

Without a word he stepped past the man, heading towards the coolers that lined the front of the shop. The man followed, then paused by the last row of shelves before the gap of the aisle, holding onto them for balance. His expression was confused, but Andrew delivered him an answer before he had time to ask. Grabbing a bottle of water, he tossed it at the man and then watched it bounce of his chest and drop to the floor. The man blinked, only understanding after the fact, and bent down carefully to pick it up.

It was supposed to be a simple test to prove Andrew’s theory correct: All commercial androids lacked an esophagus and the appropriate organs to imbibe and digest food and drink. After all, there was no point in such vanities, when the space inside the faux-human body could instead be used for more storage and better ventilation to help the machine exist. That the man wasn’t human Andrew had really no doubt about: He’d seen enough of them in his life to be able to tell the small differences in the way the machines moved and perceived the world, compared to humans.

But after slowly deciphering the label, the android made no excuse for itself. It simply uncapped the bottle and downed the entire thing in three large gulps.

Andrew let the freezer door fall shut, unable to tear his eyes away from the way the android’s throat moved as it drank. A shiver ran down his spine, and it had nothing to do with the cold that had escaped from the coolers: There was only one android manufacturer in the world whose machines could have passed this little test, and that meant this one was trouble. Not the kind they had been expecting, perhaps, but this million dollar investment in its filthy rags was broken. Andrew doubted it would make it out of the desert even with a solar charger to substitute for its busted battery, and if its body was found along the highway that would lead the wrong people right to Millport – and Kevin.

It was a risk Andrew couldn’t afford.

[read on Ao3]

[skylermadness]

Snack Shenanigans [B Side] (Gunzo Tamamura TF/TG/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: October 27, 2023)

Original Description:

I wrote an alt for a story for once! I've actually tried handling story alts before but they never really went well because I lost all motivation to complete the second iteration, so I just uploaded the first one and called it a day. Really proud of myself for finishing an alt though! Especially since I think I might like this one a bit more than the original! But they both are good stories either way. Also yes there's a little bit of copying and pasting in terms of descriptions and stuff, but I think despite that this story being a whole 1k words longer than the other must testify to something that should make the few moments of copying and pasting a non-issue.

   One of the more prominent constants when it came to Madison's daily trips to her college campus were her visits to the cafeteria's drink vending machines after lunch. And more often than not she'd buy the exact same thing from the machine's array of beverages. For the most part she tended to orient herself more towards the carbonated side of things when it came to drinks. Well that and the moment she learned about fruit punch-flavored soda all other flavors were thrown out the window in preference for that one. So with all things considered her trips to the vending machine were short, simplistic, and unchanging.

   That was until today anyway. The one time Madison forgot to order from the machine prior to lunch she ends up having to experience the disappointment of realizing that what you want is no longer in stock. Not the worst experience of course, but definitely a bit of a let down. Despite all of that however, a part of her still insisted on ordering something from the vending machine. But between the rather disinteresting menagerie of soda flavors and the rather bland selection of Gatorade flavors it was evident that this might not occur. At least until her eyes landed on a small selection of beverages in the furthest corner of the machine.

   The selection in question was a set of four drinks all under the same labeling: Yoyogi Protein. Evidently a quartet of protein drinks that all came in fruity flavors. Passionfruit, coconut, chokecherry, and pineapple. A rather interesting selection of drinks, but she's never really been all that into protein drinks. Then again it did come in passionfruit which was another fruit flavor she was particularly fond of. And considering she still has the taste for something fruity…

   Shrugging, she made up her mind and set up her order with the vending machine. A satisfying thunk could be heard as the bottle was pushed forward off the conveyor and into the machine’s pick-up box. She then retrieved her drink from the pick-up box before making her way out of the cafeteria. 

   As Madison continued her trek down the hallway she internally makes plans to find a nice seat on one of the hallway benches and kill this last half-hour before her next class. She would've preferred to head up to the campus' library to try and get some work done prior to that but considering the place's strict anti-consumable rules that was out of the question for the time being. Then again she didn't really mind sitting in the hallway for a bit. It just meant she could cycle through the social media sites she uses in silence (save for the people who use the elevator next to where she usually sits). 

   A few more steps and a turn would lead her to her favorite bench to sit on. Placing her backpack beside her she took a seat and leaned onto the wall before unscrewing the bottle. However before she fully removed it she brought the beverage up to eye level with her to inspect it. The liquid within it looked to be particularly thick as it sloshed around in its plastic confines. It did have a pleasant deep purple coloration to it though. She wasn't really sure what she was expecting from it though. She ended her inspection there and unscrewed the cap fully before promptly bringing the bottle to her mouth and starting her consumption of the protein drink.

   …yup, the fluid definitely feels very thick in the mouth. Seemed to taste rather tart and floral as well. Definitely like how she was used to passionfruit tasting. Still not her most favorite type of drink though, but she didn't particularly dislike it. It could always work as a good back-up if she ever were to forget to order her soda again.

   With those thoughts in her mind Madison continued drinking, the woman blissfully unaware of the changes starting to form on her body as she did. It was rather isolated at first. The fingers on both hands slowly got thicker, ends and nails getting more blunt with each passing second. This evidently continued as her fingers continued to grow in thickness with a similar shift in size quickly jumping to the hands themselves. A firm meatiness steadily accumulating within each hand; larger, bulkier, seemingly more powerful in appearance. At some point they just looked blocky in appearance, almost seemingly more masculine.

   A low heat started to arise as the changes steadily moved upwards, going beyond her wrists and beneath the sleeves of her sweater. Her musculature was getting heavily affected by this, strength building up in both limbs as the thickness continued to increase in prominence. The slender appearance her arms usually possessed we getting replaced easily, muscle mass constantly being accrued and granting them a look and size that just emanated strength and power. It wasn't long until the sleeves of her sweater began filling out, the outlines of her muscles etching into the fabric.

   This wasn't the only change in her physicality however. Despite the warmth that had budded within her, Madison was also experiencing slight chills in the region that was being changed. They were only minor temperature shifts at first but with each one she experienced a sliver of her skin darkened, hardened into scar tissue. One scar on the back of her left hand, one on the back of her right, another set on her forearms, one long one on her left elbow. It was just scars of varying sizes just constantly forming on the already changed portions of her arm, and this would only continue as the shifts in her body progressed. Although for now it would all be hidden beneath the sleeves of her sweater.

   Despite the small chills, her muscles and arms continued to remain warm. Every so often she'd get a feeling of a freezing slash across one of her biceps or shoulders, but it would instantly be displaced by the heat of her muscles growing. Especially since by this point some of the more major muscle groups had gotten their almost instant workout with her biceps and triceps bulking up in unity. The broadness of Madison's shoulders increased drastically as the deltoid muscles developed and rounded out even more. By this point the almost fragile seaming of her sweater began to break, tears splitting open around her much thicker upper arms and revealing the  newly rigid and strength-filled muscles of her limbs.

   The sudden sounds of tearing finally alerted her to the changes. Madison stopped drinking the protein drink (which at this point still was around 65% full) and looked over to inspect the sound's source. Her eyes widened. "Wh-huh…? What happened to my arm?? Why is it so… muscular…?"

   Her gaze trailed downwards, the woman inspecting one arm up until she laid eyes on her hands and finally took note of the scars as well. "Scars too?? How long have they been like that!? W-wait-"

   Her gaze then drifted over to the protein drink bottle in her hand. No, there's no way something like that could have magically given her this kind of muscle mass, right? Right??

   All of this made a part of her want to panic, and yet something else about this still intrigued her. She placed the bottle of the suspicious beverage beside her, then outstretched her hand. Staring at the way the muscles were outlined in the fabric of her sweater, straining against the sleeve of it. Out of curiosity she gave her arm a good flex and watched as some more tears formed in the sleeve. It was a little uncanny, yet the raw strength that coursed through her felt oddly appealing!

   Madison's train of thought then broke as she felt another bout of cold enter her body, the woman momentarily shivering at the sudden temperature shift. "Urgh- can't tell if that's the temperature or-" she coughed at the sudden feeling of her voice crack in her through, "-or my bodily changes…"

   Leaning forward a bit, Madison could feel the transformation to move beyond her shoulders. Her chest just beginning to heat up, core almost burning as she felt the changes rush to her torso.

   The overall width of Madison's frame was probably the next thing to start changing, her form broadening out and shifting to dispel her usually skinny figure more. This type of change got more prominent as her chest became the next part of her body to get altered. A feeling of a cold squeeze entered her chest, breasts feeling like they were getting flattened by this strange pressure. The fatty tissue within them was steadily melting away causing her chest to flatten more and more by the second. As it did so the muscles beneath them began to grow, swelling out rapidly to the point it would almost appear that her breasts hardened into thick slabs of pectorals. These newly developed muscles would quickly grow a little bit more, but not large enough that they were the size of someone more oriented towards constant workouts. If anything they looked more like those of a strong athlete granting her some great upper body strength. This then came with another cold slash on the upper corner of her right pectoral which granted her a small X-shaped scar.

   She then felt a sudden cold-feeling punch into her gut followed by an intense cramping in her abdominal region. "A-argh! That… that-" she grunted as she felt her throat crack again, voice seeming to deepen for a moment. "What the heck was in that protein drink, man…"

   Madison tried to disregard the sound of her voice… or the fact that her thought pattern translated that comment less as 'that drink is the catalyst of my transformation' and more 'did that drink shoot straight through my body?' That very thought seemed to cause a light haze to enter her mind with thoughts steadily becoming a little bit harder. Curiosity faded to confusion as she started to wonder just what these changes were entailing now. And in truth she was starting to feel like she was forgetting a few things…

   Nonetheless she didn't enjoy the feeling of her gut churning around, nor did she like the increasingly heightened prospect of someone walking by and seeing her. With those worries in mind she stood up, used an arm to support her cramping abdomen, and started to make her way to the bathroom nearby. 

   With major changes ensuing in her abdomen it wasn't too long until it too underwent noticeable physical changes. As it churned the skin began to bubble almost as abdominal muscles steadily rose from her skin. They slotted out almost sequentially with row after row extending out until she had been granted a six-pack set of abs. However much like her pectorals, her abdominal muscles were not bodybuilder peak in size and appeared much more modest and oriented towards athletics. Alongside this it would seem a little bit of fat accumulated around the region as well to slightly fill out the area, just barely giving some smoothness to her abdomen. There was also some burning to her sides as her oblique muscles developed a little more, the intense heat being subsided by more scar-forming cold slashes. By the time her abdomen was finished changing she reached the bathroom that was luckily unoccupied. Rushing in there she locked the door before heading to the mirror. It would seem she didn't notice that she had subconsciously rushed into the men's room though…

   Staring at herself in the mirror she came to the slow realization of just how large she had become. Evidently she had gotten quite wider and she was definitely a bit taller. Both of these facts were why her sweater felt so ill-fitting horizontal and why the hem of it was rising up her belly. And there still seemed to be a prominent feel of decompression in the woman's spine as that seemed to still be growing a bit. 

   But all of her analysation of herself was broken in an instant as she felt something freezing pierce through the haze of her brain and straight into it. She stepped back with a grunt, holding her head in her massive hands while squeezing her eyes shut. Thankfully though the surge of pain subsided almost as quickly as it arrived, but it resulted in something weirder than the transformation itself.

   Her right eye's iris had been shocked into a bright crimson, and through that eye she could see what looked to be a quartet of weird see-through ghost-like figures clinging onto her back. They had a strange shape to them, looking to be almost spherical in shape with their body predominately being composed of a single large eye, all while their limbs had been wrapped around her arms and torso for who knows how long.

   A single term ran through her head once she saw them: Legion. And something about hearing that term echo through her fogged up mind had prevented her from panicking. She knew these creatures. They were… some of familiar, maybe? She wasn't quite sure. She just knew they weren't a harm to her…

   "Eheh, you guys look pretty cute!" she said with a smile. The compliment seemed to elicit a positive reaction from a few of the Legion, their eyelids closing in such a way that they looked happy. In a way it made her happy too, so much so that she decided not to dwell on the fact her voice had changed even more. Getting deeper with a tone that carried a level of youthful awkwardness to it.

   Curious again Madison decided to look down to better see where Legion had wrapped itself around her, and she found two of the four had begun spiraling their arms around her legs. As they did so the transformation continued to progress to the lower half of her body. This section of changes mirrored that of her arms, muscle mass easily packing into both sections of her legs with a quick pacing. Thighs grew thicker with bulkier hamstrings and quadriceps, and she could feel a surge of heat flare up in her calves as they bloated up with muscle mass as well. Her height continued to increase as well, Madison wincing a bit as she heard her knees pop and decompress a bit before increasing in size and strength.

   Madison also got to see the source of the occasional freeze slashes she was experiencing, that being from when some of Legion traced their fingers over her skin. The scars were still not extremely visible to her, but her legs were evidently less scarred as the rest of her body seemed to be with only a few of them scattered around the crus of her legs and her calves. However all of this combined contributed to her jeans feeling severely more constricted, a few tears forming in the sides as a result.

   What followed were the changes in her feet. While very few scars were traced into the bridge of her feet the overall size of them steadily increased in all directions. They got wider, pushing up against the sides of her shoes easily. And they got longer, heels digging into the back of her footwear while her toes pressed up against the front. The overall thickness of her feet became rather impressive as well, toes having become chunkier while the foot itself was dense and blocky looking like her hands. It wouldn't take very long for them to grow to a fitting proportion for her new body, their appearance having quickly altered to fit the more masculine look that Madison now was possessing. It resulted in her shoes having immense trouble containing her larger feet with a couple rips already forming across the sides and even the front splitting open and some toes poking out.

   Madison smiled, although laughing nervously at hearing her shoes burst. "Y-you dudes seem to be doing great! Something about this just feels so good…"

   She shivered a bit as she felt one of the Legions place a hand in front of her neck and begin rubbing it. Her voice had already mostly changed but at this point it seemed to be forcing the changes to finish and settle. Just lowering it more to be just like that of an awkward young adult male.

   "A-ah! You're really doing a lot of work on me, bros! I think you just have the head!" he then turned his head and flexed an arm again, casually inspecting his body for a few seconds. "Might as well start considering myself a guy as well with what you dudes did to me!"

      The very thought of that was appealing to him. A more correct assumption especially based on the way his body looked. So much more masculine and athletic. It felt like she had the body of one of those jocks she'd see walk around campus! 

   While her thoughts trailed one of the four Legions had given him a thumbs up before placing its hands onto the sides of her head. It then began squeezing her head, her skull structure and face just becoming practically malleable under the palms of the ghost-like entity. Skull being stretched out wider, his jawline broadening and chiseling out into a more angular and almost square shape. In general it would seem the very structure of his skull was being widened and lengthened into a more square-like appearance. 

   Madison watched in the mirror as the Legion continued its work, this time shifting his facial structure even more. Pulling and broadening his nose, its bridge of it was evidently wider while the structure of it was reshaped away from a short one and into one a bit larger. His eyes were made a little larger and rounder, and as it trailed its fingers across his eyebrows he could see the hairs of them get thicker (especially towards the ends). He also felt it tug on his ears to make them a bit larger and rounder in shape alongside sticking out more. Furthermore, it brushed a finger across his chin and sides of his head to cause light amounts of hair to grow out from his skin and form slight stubble. Lastly came a slash on his left cheek to form yet another scar.

   All while one Legion did work on his face, another one was concurrently doing work on his hair. Slowly rubbing its hands up and down his scalp and causing his hair to shorten with its touch, and it only continued to do so as his face was being morphed. Slowly it went up from being shoulder length to trailing up the nape of his neck to being of equal length with his chin, and it still got shorter as time continued. All the while the waviness of it was straightened, and the dark blonde coloration was deepened to an almost reddish-brown. Alongside this the Legion also gave Madison some thicker sideburns. By the time his hair was what could only be defined as 6/8 of an inch the Legion deemed that length acceptable and ran its hand through his hair to style it. It resulted in his hair being given a slightly messy and short spiky style. The spikes were typically raised upwards and forwards, and in the end the appearance just looked somewhat disheveled and disorganized. By the end it was styled in a way that he just couldn't resist running a hand through to just feel what his hair.

   "This is so cool, dude…" he said, watching the spikes of his hair poke in between his fingers. Everything about this body felt so new, but at the same time the cloud in his mind was making it seem so familiar as well. The more he stared into the mirror and the more he looked at his own face the more it seemed like this wasn't something he had just been transformed into.

   "W-woah, what are you dudes doing to me…?" he asked, taking a step back and placing a single hand on the side of his head. So many blanks were being drawn in quick succession. He was someone else just a few minutes ago, right? Then why can't he seem to remember that. The last thing he can recall was just drinking some new protein drink from that vending machine. Then why was he in the bathroom? Wasn't something… happening to his body? "Nnngh, hard to think…"

   He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt some of Legion begin to massage his temples. Right, Legion, always there when he needed it… just should contrate… or perhaps he should just forget it all and go back to what he was doing. This was all just so confusing, dude…

   As the man was placed in a state of mental discombobulation, the two Legion not tending to his migraine started to futz around with his clothing and alter it. Wrapping arms around his sweater and palming it up and down, restitching the tears and loosening it up to fit more snug around his form. They pulled the sleeves up his arm until they were slightly above his bicep, the action just shortening them completely instead of rolling them upwards. The constant pawing of Legion caused the soft material of the sweater to harden, shifting into some kind of durable nylon. The change in material also forced a change in color, bright red overtaking the sweater with ease as white stripes ran vertically from his sleeves to his neck: a bold horizontal one across his chest with a second smaller one a bit beneath it, and another two vertical ones down the side. The neck even deepened a little, a small placket forming with associated buttons and eyelets. The neckline itself lengthened up into a short collar that propped itself upwards around his own neck. Lastly, a Legion traced a small symbol on the uniform's right side to create what seemed to be a symbol composed of three arrows all pointing in different directions.

   Seemingly continuing the changes of his attire to something more sport-oriented, the ghostly entities enlarging his legwear a little bit while shortening the legs of his pants until they reached halfway down his thighs. The material remained a hard denim, but their touch also shifted its color from deep blue to bright white. His socks soon followed when it came to size changes and shifts as Legion pulled them both up until they mostly encapsulated his lower legs. His footwear was the next part to get changed, becoming larger while the material hardened again as the white shifted to a deep blue. The soles of his shoes brightened to yellow as rounded nubs poked out from them. Straps became string as more additional designs were added to the footwear to make them appear more visually intriguing. If anything they appeared to be rugby cleats now. 

   The final additions to his attire came with the addition of something that ran beneath his uniform and shorts. The Legion materializing black leather beneath them and over his body, the strange new piece of clothing continuing to stretch over his form for a few seconds. The neck of it was just barely visible, and sleeves lengthened until they were nestled around his biceps, and the portion of it around his legs were barely visible. In the end it would seem to be a compression shirt and shorts combo that had been manifested, which ended the granting of sports gear to the newly transformed human.

   As Legion continued to rub the man's head, their actions were steadily draining away his concerns. The ghosts (well, demons more accurately) removing his thoughts of a former identity, a former life, anything that could be traced back to those things. Nothing for this man to worry about, his only concern being those that his current life would give him. But there was nothing to worry about at all… That's what they were telling him after all, and after one last bit of inner turmoil he believed it.

   The headache subsided and Gunzo blinked his eyes, the left one now the same red as the right. "U-urgh, that was… weird. Don't think I've ever gotten a headache like that before…"

   He felt one of Legion's ghostly hands rub his back in reassurance, the rugby player smiling in response. "Thanks, dudes! Glad you guys got my back!"

   A separate Legion gave him a thumbs up. Nodding in acknowledgement of it, Gunzo remains focused on the spectral entity as he makes his way to the entrance and opened it. Unfortunately his lack of focus on what's in front of him causes him to collide with someone as he leaves.

   "Oof- a-ah, sorry!" Gunzo apologized, a little panicked at the sudden collision between him and this other guy.

   The other guy just stepped back a bit, also noticeably startled. "No, it's alright! Was a little worried someone else was going to be occupying this for a while…"

   "Ahh, sorry if the wait was a bit… can't even remember why I was in there…"

   The other guy tilted his head. "Riiiight…"

   The two then part. Gunzo makes his way down the hall as the guy he bumped into walks into the bathroom. Unaware to both of them, this interaction had given the second party a weird feeling of bloating being caused by his stomach seeming to get fatter. His shirt also was getting a few splotches of blue as well… but that was a problem for him to deal with.

   On the other hand, Gunzo made his way down the hall before his peripherals caught the sight of something on a nearby bench. Turning his head out of curiosity he found a protein drink bottle beside a backpack. For some reason his brain registered both as his own.

   "Oh, can't believe I almost forgot these!" He walked over to the bench and hauled up the backpack to his back before picking up the bottle. He eyed the bottle in suspicion however, but that only lasted a few seconds before he shrugged it off. "Should be enough to hold me over during practice," he commented before going about his day…