#custom pub signs

[customwooddesign]

Introducing a Wooden Tavern Sign

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google’s enshittification memos

[Note, 9 October 2023: Google disputes the veracity of this claim, but has declined to provide the exhibits and testimony to support its claims. Read more about this here.]

When I think about how the old, good internet turned into the enshitternet, I imagine a series of small compromises, each seemingly reasonable at the time, each contributing to a cultural norm of making good things worse, and worse, and worse.

Think about Unity President Marc Whitten's nonpology for his company's disastrous rug-pull, in which they declared that everyone who had paid good money to use their tool to make a game would have to keep paying, every time someone downloaded that game:

The most fundamental thing that we’re trying to do is we’re building a sustainable business for Unity. And for us, that means that we do need to have a model that includes some sort of balancing change, including shared success.

https://www.wired.com/story/unity-walks-back-policies-lost-trust/

"Shared success" is code for, "If you use our tool to make money, we should make money too." This is bullshit. It's like saying, "We just want to find a way to share the success of the painters who use our brushes, so every time you sell a painting, we want to tax that sale." Or "Every time you sell a house, the company that made the hammer gets to wet its beak."

And note that they're not talking about shared risk here – no one at Unity is saying, "If you try to make a game with our tools and you lose a million bucks, we're on the hook for ten percent of your losses." This isn't partnership, it's extortion.

How did a company like Unity – which became a market leader by making a tool that understood the needs of game developers and filled them – turn into a protection racket? One bad decision at a time. One rationalization and then another. Slowly, and then all at once.

When I think about this enshittification curve, I often think of Google, a company that had its users' backs for years, which created a genuinely innovative search engine that worked so well it seemed like *magic, a company whose employees often had their pick of jobs, but chose the "don't be evil" gig because that mattered to them.

People make fun of that "don't be evil" motto, but if your key employees took the gig because they didn't want to be evil, and then you ask them to be evil, they might just quit. Hell, they might make a stink on the way out the door, too:

https://theintercept.com/2018/09/13/google-china-search-engine-employee-resigns/

Google is a company whose founders started out by publishing a scientific paper describing their search methodology, in which they said, "Oh, and by the way, ads will inevitably turn your search engine into a pile of shit, so we're gonna stay the fuck away from them":

http://infolab.stanford.edu/pub/papers/google.pdf

Those same founders retained a controlling interest in the company after it went IPO, explaining to investors that they were going to run the business without having their elbows jostled by shortsighted Wall Street assholes, so they could keep it from turning into a pile of shit:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

And yet, it's turned into a pile of shit. Google search is so bad you might as well ask Jeeves. The company's big plan to fix it? Replace links to webpages with florid paragraphs of chatbot nonsense filled with a supremely confident lies:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

How did the company get this bad? In part, this is the "curse of bigness." The company can't grow by attracting new users. When you have 90%+ of the market, there are no new customers to sign up. Hypothetically, they could grow by going into new lines of business, but Google is incapable of making a successful product in-house and also kills most of the products it buys from other, more innovative companies:

https://killedbygoogle.com/

Theoretically, the company could pursue new lines of business in-house, and indeed, the current leaders of companies like Amazon, Microsoft and Apple are all execs who figured out how to get the whole company to do something new, and were elevated to the CEO's office, making each one a billionaire and sealing their place in history.

It is for this very reason that any exec at a large firm who tries to make a business-wide improvement gets immediately and repeatedly knifed by all their colleagues, who correctly reason that if someone else becomes CEO, then they won't become CEO. Machiavelli was an optimist:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

With no growth from new customers, and no growth from new businesses, "growth" has to come from squeezing workers (say, laying off 12,000 engineers after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years), or business customers (say, by colluding with Facebook to rig the ad market with the Jedi Blue conspiracy), or end-users.

Now, in theory, we might never know exactly what led to the enshittification of Google. In theory, all of compromises, debates and plots could be lost to history. But tech is not an oral culture, it's a written one, and techies write everything down and nothing is ever truly deleted.

Time and again, Big Tech tells on itself. Think of FTX's main conspirators all hanging out in a group chat called "Wirefraud." Amazon naming its program targeting weak, small publishers the "Gazelle Project" ("approach these small publishers the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle”). Amazon documenting the fact that users were unknowingly signing up for Prime and getting pissed; then figuring out how to reduce accidental signups, then deciding not to do it because it liked the money too much. Think of Zuck emailing his CFO in the middle of the night to defend his outsized offer to buy Instagram on the basis that users like Insta better and Facebook couldn't compete with them on quality.

It's like every Big Tech schemer has a folder on their desktop called "Mens Rea" filled with files like "Copy_of_Premeditated_Murder.docx":

https://doctorow.medium.com/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself-f7f0eb6d215a?sk=351f8a54ab8e02d7340620e5eec5024d

Right now, Google's on trial for its sins against antitrust law. It's a hard case to make. To secure a win, the prosecutors at the DoJ Antitrust Division are going to have to prove what was going on in Google execs' minds when the took the actions that led to the company's dominance. They're going to have to show that the company deliberately undertook to harm its users and customers.

Of course, it helps that Google put it all in writing.

Last week, there was a huge kerfuffile over the DoJ's practice of posting its exhibits from the trial to a website each night. This is a totally normal thing to do – a practice that dates back to the Microsoft antitrust trial. But Google pitched a tantrum over this and said that the docs the DoJ were posting would be turned into "clickbait." Which is another way of saying, "the public would find these documents very interesting, and they would be damning to us and our case":

https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/secrecy-is-systemic

After initially deferring to Google, Judge Amit Mehta finally gave the Justice Department the greenlight to post the document. It's up. It's wild:

https://www.justice.gov/d9/2023-09/416692.pdf

The document is described as "notes for a course on communication" that Google VP for Finance Michael Roszak prepared. Roszak says he can't remember whether he ever gave the presentation, but insists that the remit for the course required him to tell students "things I didn't believe," and that's why the document is "full of hyperbole and exaggeration."

OK.

But here's what the document says: "search advertising is one of the world's greatest business models ever created…illicit businesses (cigarettes or drugs) could rival these economics…[W]e can mostly ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers, ad formats and sales."

It goes on to say that this might be changing, and proposes a way to balance the interests of the search and ads teams, which are at odds, with search worrying that ads are pushing them to produce "unnatural search experiences to chase revenue."

"Unnatural search experiences to chase revenue" is a thinly veiled euphemism for the prophetic warnings in that 1998 Pagerank paper: "The goals of the advertising business model do not always correspond to providing quality search to users." Or, more plainly, "ads will turn our search engine into a pile of shit."

And, as Roszak writes, Google is "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand." That is, the company has become so dominant and cemented its position so thoroughly as the default search engine across every platforms and system that even if it makes its search terrible to goose revenues, users won't leave. As Lily Tomlin put it on SNL: "We don't have to care, we're the phone company."

In the enshittification cycle, companies first lure in users with surpluses – like providing the best search results rather than the most profitable ones – with an eye to locking them in. In Google's case, that lock-in has multiple facets, but the big one is spending billions of dollars – enough to buy a whole Twitter, every single year – to be the default search everywhere.

Google doesn't buy its way to dominance because it has the very best search results and it wants to shield you from inferior competitors. The economically rational case for buying default position is that preventing competition is more profitable than succeeding by outperforming competitors. The best reason to buy the default everywhere is that it lets you lower quality without losing business. You can "ignore the demand side, and only focus on advertisers."

For a lot of people, the analysis stops here. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product." Google locks in users and sells them to advertisers, who are their co-conspirators in a scheme to screw the rest of us.

But that's not right. For one thing, paying for a product doesn't mean you won't be the product. Apple charges a thousand bucks for an iPhone and then nonconsensually spies on every iOS user in order to target ads to them (and lies about it):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

John Deere charges six figures for its tractors, then runs a grift that blocks farmers from fixing their own machines, and then uses their control over repair to silence farmers who complain about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

Fair treatment from a corporation isn't a loyalty program that you earn by through sufficient spending. Companies that can sell you out, will sell you out, and then cry victim, insisting that they were only doing their fiduciary duty for their sacred shareholders. Companies are disciplined by fear of competition, regulation or – in the case of tech platforms – customers seizing the means of computation and installing ad-blockers, alternative clients, multiprotocol readers, etc:

https://doctorow.medium.com/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse-3cc01e7e4604?sk=85b3f5f7d051804521c3411711f0b554

Which is where the next stage of enshittification comes in: when the platform withdraws the surplus it had allocated to lure in – and then lock in – business customers (like advertisers) and reallocate it to the platform's shareholders.

For Google, there are several rackets that let it screw over advertisers as well as searchers (the advertisers are paying for the product, and they're also the product). Some of those rackets are well-known, like Jedi Blue, the market-rigging conspiracy that Google and Facebook colluded on:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

But thanks to the antitrust trial, we're learning about more of these. Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – was in the courtroom last week when evidence was presented on Google execs' panic over a decline in "ad generating searches" and the sleazy gimmick they came up with to address it: manipulating the "semantic matching" on user queries:

https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/

When you send a query to Google, it expands that query with terms that are similar – for example, if you search on "Weds" it might also search for "Wednesday." In the slides shown in the Google trial, we learned about another kind of semantic matching that Google performed, this one intended to turn your search results into "a twisted shopping mall you can’t escape."

Here's how that worked: when you ran a query like "children's clothing," Google secretly appended the brand name of a kids' clothing manufacturer to the query. This, in turn, triggered a ton of ads – because rival brands will have bought ads against their competitors' name (like Pepsi buying ads that are shown over queries for Coke).

Here we see surpluses being taken away from both end-users and business customers – that is, searchers and advertisers. For searchers, it doesn't matter how much you refine your query, you're still going to get crummy search results because there's an unkillable, hidden search term stuck to your query, like a piece of shit that Google keeps sticking to the sole of your shoe.

But for advertisers, this is also a scam. They're paying to be matched to users who search on a brand name, and you didn't search on that brand name. It's especially bad for the company whose name has been appended to your search, because Google has a protection racket where the company that matches your search has to pay extra in order to show up overtop of rivals who are worse matches. Both the matching company and those rivals have given Google a credit-card that Google gets to bill every time a user searches on the company's name, and Google is just running fraudulent charges through those cards.

And, of course, Google put this in writing. I mean, of course they did. As we learned from the documentary The Incredibles, supervillains can't stop themselves from monologuing, and in big, sprawling monopolists, these monologues have to transmitted electronically – and often indelibly – to far-flung co-cabalists.

As Gray points out, this is an incredibly blunt enshittification technique: "it hadn’t even occurred to me that Google just flat out deletes queries and replaces them with ones that monetize better." We don't know how long Google did this for or how frequently this bait-and-switch was deployed.

But if this is a blunt way of Google smashing its fist down on the scales that balance search quality against ad revenues, there's plenty of subtler ways the company could sneak a thumb on there. A Google exec at the trial rhapsodized about his company's "contract with the user" to deliver an "honest results policy," but given how bad Google search is these days, we're left to either believe he's lying or that Google sucks at search.

The paper trail offers a tantalizing look at how a company went from doing something that was so good it felt like a magic trick to being "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand," able to "ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers."

What's more, this is a system where everyone loses (except for Google): this isn't a grift run by Google and advertisers on users – it's a grift Google runs on everyone.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[kquil]

POLY MARAUDERS | HEROES IN TATTOOS PART 2

02 : THANK YOU

SUM. : you thank your heroes with home made lunch at their work place, leaving with a temporary tattoo and three men wrapped around your little finger.

TAGS. : modern au ; muggle au ; tattoo artist sirius ; tattoo artist james ; piercer remus ; innocent reader ; all three are smitten with you ; all three also being casually dominant with you ; sweetheart reader x rough tough men is the trope! ; prepare to be as obsessed as i am over these men! ; marauders with tattoos and piercings are hot

LENGTH. : 2.6k

PREV. : 01 | RESCUE

“Well there’s a familiar face,” Remus greets with a smile as you step into the shop. You timidly smile back and wait for him to wave off a customer with their care kit before stepping forward with your heavy tote strung over your shoulder, “do you have an appointment for a tattoo or a piercing?” he asks, eyes trained on the tablet at the front desk. 

“Oh, no no,” you bashfully stammer, “I’m not here for any of that, I’m scared of needles,” 

“That’s a shame,” Remus contemplates and you look up to see him leaning over with a thoughtful look, his elbows on the counter as one hand holds his chin up - he’s so handsome. He has several piercings decorating his ears and an eyebrow piercing to accentuate the angles of his brows. As he moves his chin off his palm to caress it in contemplation, he continues to take you in as you also take the opportunity to admire some of the tattoos on his arms. There are some phrases in different fonts, an impressive vision of a wolf with a full moon and a minimalist set of the moon phases alongside much more, “you’d look good with cute little piercings on your ears,” he finally comments, reaching out to point at your ear. 

“Th-thank you,” you subconsciously reach up and touch your ear, his statement making you briefly consider his suggestion.

“So what are you here for if not for a piercing or tattoo?” straightening up into his full height, Remus lets a light scowl take over his face, “Is that bastard troubling you again?”

“It’s alright, don’t worry, I told my manager and he’s been banned from the pub I work at so I haven’t had anymore bad encounters,” 

Remus smiles at your precious appearance, you really look adorable being all timid in front of him, “I’m glad,” his voice is warm and comforting, different to the roughness brought on by the ink on his arms. He was dressed in a white shirt under a sleeveless brown sweater vest, high-waisted, tailored pants with the bottoms just about reaching his Doc Martens - he’s a good balance of soft but edgy. It’s a unique charm of his, you gather.

“I-I just wanted to say thank you to you guys,” you gesture to your tote bag, “so I made you some lunch, I hope that’s okay…” 

“Free lunch, home cooked by the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen?” Sirius interrupts, stealing your attention as he appears from a corridor to your left with a boyish grin. He reaches for your hand and brings your knuckles up to his lips for a soft kiss, “what an honour,”

Your cheeks heat up incredibly at the gesture, “it’s really nothing, you guys saved me last night, it’s the least I could do,”

Sirius smiles down at you and after sharing a look with Remus he begins to lead you down the same corridor he had just appeared from, “well, you have the most perfect timing, darling because it’s a slow day and almost our lunch break,”

“I’ll tell James and help him finish up with his last client for the day. We’ll see you in a bit,” Remus announces as he flips the sign at the door to ‘CLOSED’. You wanted to protest and say that you didn’t want to waste too much of their time but the mousy haired piercer smiled and that was enough reassurance for you to hold your tongue. 

“Let’s go love,” Sirius leads you down a corridor to a room with rock posters and varying pieces of art decorating the wall as sofas lined half of the walls with varying aesthetics, one was very much distressed but still cosy looking, as the other was of a sleek, black leather. Thankfully, there was a pretty large coffee table that you could set your tote bag on and slowly began to take out the food you had cooked. On the distressed sofa behind you, Sirius admired your tentative figure and appreciated your stark difference in aesthetic to the room around you. Your style fits close to Remus although more feminine and carefree. There was a cosy structure to Remus’s fashion but with your long flowing white skirt, chiffon blouse and delicate jewellery, you embodied a breath of fresh air under the summer sun, “what a beauty,” Sirius says to himself, arms resting along the back of the sofa as you finally settled down.

Thinking he meant the food in the tupperware, you smile, “you like the food already?”

“I’m talking about you, darling, although the food does look delicious,” Sirius chuckles under his breath as you timidly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Th-thank you but really, I hope you like the food,” 

“I’m sure I will,” silence slowly permeates the space between you as you wait for Remus and James but it was still comfortable, not awkward at all. In that time, you both take in each other’s appearance. Sirius wears a white tank that clings to his toned figure and ends just under his belly button, showcasing a majority of the tattoos that embellish his skin. He’s also in black jeans and a pair of worn combat boots. The tattoos on his arms and those that peak out from his torso and chest don’t have a visible theme but they all still go together somehow. There are many unknown symbols and long winded sentences written decoratively around said symbols and the occasional elaborate illustration. There are some doodles dedicated to music, some to inside jokes you would guess and you want to ask questions but you bite your tongue. You didn’t want to be rude. 

“Curious?” Sirius asks, having noticed your wandering eyes and smiling at your kitten-like interest. 

“A little bit…”

“Ask away,”

When James and Remus finally join the two of you a few minutes later, they see you fully turned towards Sirius on the sofa, eyes focused on a tattoo on his chest that he was explaining the meaning of, catching you in a trance with his voice. The tattoo artist has his tank top moved down and to the side as you absentmindedly reach your hand up to his tattoo, almost tracing the ink on his skin with your delicate fingers. From the grin on Sirius’s face and the love-eyes he was watching your face with, they could tell he was smitten with you, which was rare. Sirius was very much a ladies man but you’ve managed to rope him in with hardly any effort put in. Remus doesn’t blame his friend, though, you’re very captivating. 

The chuckle from both Remus and James pulls your attention away from Sirius who smirks up at them, unbothered by their interruption.  

“I heard a pretty lady was treating us to some home made lunch today,” James eagerly sits down in the space beside you as Remus sits atop the far right of the coffee table. 

“Y-yeah, I hope you like it, please dig in,”

“Don’t mind if I do!” James cheers and promptly consumes his share of food, giving the occasional groan of satisfaction from the taste in his mouth, “Sho good!”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Remus corrects with an amused smile before turning to your with an appreciative grin, “Thank you, truly, (Y/N), I was getting tired of take out,”

“Home cooking is the best,” Sirius groans from your other side, already half way through his share, which makes you giggle in happiness. Your heart swells with joy knowing that you could properly thank your heroes. Speaking off, you finally get to admire James in better lighting than the street lamps. He isn’t nearly as decorated with ink as Sirius but there was a pretty illustration of a stag on his forearm that you admired. You hadn’t wanted to feel awkward so you brought some lunch for you too and ate alongside the trio, stealing secret glances at James who remained oblivious, too engrossed in his food. He’s in much cosier attire compared to Srius and Remus. Hanging from his broad shoulders was an oversized, faded shirt and washed-out jeans with the bottoms rolled up to showcase his high converse shoes. Framing his face was a charming pair of round glasses and, matched with his unruly curls and tattoos, made him a pictured balance of casual and wild that suits only him.

Lunch passes and James was the first to finish between the trio, quickly proceeding to pull puppy eyes at his two friends in a soft plea for them to surrender some of their food to him but they firmly decline. 

“I’m not letting you have some of my lunch just because you finished yours too quickly,” Sirius huffs, pulling his tupperware closer to him. 

“Sorry Prongs,” Remus laughs, “those puppy eyes aren’t going to work on me, our dove’s cooking is too good to share,”

Unable to resist James’s pouting face, you hold up a spoonful of your meal, “it’s okay James,” you bring your spare hand to sit under the spoon and move it to James’s lips, “here, say ‘ahh’,”   

With a boyish, golden-boy grin, James happily accepts the mouthful and moans in happiness, chewing away like a happy squirrel. Enjoying his glee so much, you happily feed him the rest of your lunch, saying that you were already far too full to eat any more so that Remus and Sirius didn’t scold James too much. It was partially true though because seeing James eating was enough to make you feel full already. 

Once done, you set aside the tupperware and was completely unprepared for when James kissed your cheek as thanks for feeding him the rest of your lunch, “you’re too kind, angel, thank you,” he whispers into your ear, his breath brushing against your sensitive skin and sending a shiver down your spine. You could only muster a timid nod in response. 

When lunch ended, casual conversations started which slowly divulged into the boys wanting to give you a temporary tattoo as thanks. You wanted to protest the redundancy of their actions but were quickly convinced by the verbal pleas of Sirius and James as Remus simply stared at you with interested eyes.

“What tattoo would you like, doll?” Sirius asks, smiling at your pondering face. You're far too cute for your own good.

“Surprise me!” you finally chirp, missing the roguish grin the three men share. 

Not too long after, you were brought into a room with a computer connected to a specialised printer against one wall of the room. Remus and Sirius immediately move to prepare the temporary tattoo on the screen and set up the printer while James leads you to the tattoo bed in the middle of the room. 

“This can fold into a chair but that’s a bit of a hassle right now, do you mind sitting on the bed instead?” James asks as you shake your head and reassure that it’s alright. He loves how compliant you are and watches for a moment as you struggle to get on the high bed before offering assistance, “May I?” his hands hesitates just before they reach your figure but you pay his touch no mind and nod, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders as he secures his hold on your waist. With a small countdown, James lifts you onto the tattoo table with hardly any effort. 

Shuffling back, you smile up at James who remains taller than you on the table as he stands between your thighs, “Thank you, James,” the tattoo artist smiles when you say his name but frowns at the distance you’re sitting at the table. 

“No worries sweetheart but you we need you a little closer than that,” without another word, James grips your thighs with his large hands and pulls you with some force to sit closer to the edge of the table, which also pulls a surprised squeal from your lips, “sorry sorry,” James chuckles softly his hands still on your thighs and shudders at your proximity when he looks down to see your skirt bundled up, accentuating how close your hips were to his. Stepping away, James tidies up your skirt as you giggle and thank him once more for his assistance. He smiles at you before being called over to the computer, trading places with Sirius. 

“Where would you like your temporary tattoo, love?” he asks gently, opening a packet of sanitising wipes as the sound of the printer starts and whirrs in the background. 

“Hmmm…even though it’s temporary I want it to be easily hidden,”

“Such a shy princess aren’t you?” Sirius comments with a smile, “it’s so cute,”

Ignoring his comment, you rush to think of the perfect place for the tattoo and distract from your racing heart, “how about here?” you point to your chest, just above your breasts and below your collarbone. Sirius immediately recognises the placement and raises an amused brow. 

“Like my tattoo?”

You timidly smile, “yes please,”

“Very good choice,” Sirius praises playfully as pride swells within his chest, “but we need to get to that spot first, love,” you look down at your blouse and curse under your breath. 

“Umm…” you try to pull down the collar but it was a small cut and the fabric resists. The temporary tattoo finishes printing and Remus approaches the table with James to see you struggling with your blouse.

“Where does she want it?” James asks as Remus carefully holds the small tattoo. 

“Where mine was,” Sirius points to just below his collar bone, “but her blouse is in the way,”

Remus nods and approaches you, “that blouse is going to have to come off, dove,” his brown eyes watches you gnaw at your lip, it’s a hesitance he’s familiar with so he knows what to do, “don’t worry, you have nothing to be scared of, okay?” he gives you a warm smile when you look up at him and soon feel assured enough to untuck your blouse and pull it over your head, “good girl,” he praises with the same soft tone. You feel silly, these men give tattoos and pierce people’s skin, you’re sure that they’ve seen plenty of shirtless women in only their bras. Remus especially…he’s an expert piercer and has probably been asked to pierce lady parts that weren’t…very common.

“I’ve got to prepare your skin, love,” Sirius holds up the wipe and once you confirm exactly where you wanted the tattoo again, he wipes the area clean. Your skin is soft and slightly bouncy as it leads down to your breasts that makes the tattoo artist wipe at your skin a little longer than normal. After Sirius finishes prepping your skin and letting it dry, Remus steps up and applies the tattoo as best as he can without wrinkles. He swipes over the tattoo with his fingers and smiles at the handiwork. Beside him, Sirius and James admire the temporary ink, all three internally screaming at what you had let them ink you with.   

“Wait a full hour before you peel off the applicator,” Remus gently instructs, “and try to avoid sweating or showering for the next 6 hours okay?” you nod and Remus pats your head in approval with a contented hum. You put your blouse back on and let James help you down, laughing brightly when he raises you up high and spins you in the air before he finally sets you down, laughing alongside you. 

The boys still have a business to run so you collect your empty tupperware and wave the three goodbye before hurrying home, excited to see what tattoo they had given you as they were adamant at keeping it a surprise from you. When you finally arrived home and got a hold of a mirror, you examined the tattoo with your blouse off and felt your cheeks gradually heat up as you trace the differing fonts of the three names decorating the space beneath your collarbone. 

Their names in their handwriting. James, Sirius, Remus.

NEXT : 03 | GROCERIES

NAVI. | HEROES IN TATTOOS SERIES

A/N : i'm becoming more and more obsessed with this au - i couldn't stop writing! if i'm going down, im bringing your darlings with me! no survivors allowed! maybe i'll make a part 3? i don't know yet. again, i've added additional tags of the people who have expressed interest in more parts for the timestamp. tell me your thoughts, lovelies!

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins ; @astonishment ; @until-i-found-you ; @goodoldfashionedluvergirl ; @tiensmamains ; @manical-heaven ; @ch3rry-pops ; @unholyhuntress ; @animeluvr99 ; @peppers-library ; @thepowerthismanhasoverme ; @buck-fics ; @bohemian-lavender-girl

[most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer]

Good Omens: Lockdown and Crowley not mentioning his living situation in S2*

*till S2E6 when he asks if he can have his apartment back bc he's bored of living in his car but Aziraphale doesn’t hear bc mentally he’s in Alpha Centauri.

Having read the 'Crowley doesn't tell him' Neil Gaiman ask close to when I first listened to Lockdown (I lived under a rock until recently), my initial thought was HAS HE BEEN LIVING IN HIS CAR FOR YEARS?! but I think he was still in his apartment in 2020:

as far as Hell knows, Crowley just had a pool party in holy water (the holiest) so the higher-ups are probably willing to give him some space (plus Beelzebub is busy going on pub dates w Gabriel)

while there should be ~8 months between the end of Season 1 events (The Very First Day of the Rest of Their Lives on Sunday, Aug 25, 2019) and the Lockdown phonecall (on or near the 30 year anniversary on May 1, 2020), I can't imagine that's a very long time for Hell, especially if you're understaffed and busy dealing with fallout from Almostgeddon / going on pub dates

Shax dropping off mail and asking about the boiler seems like something one does in the first few months of living somewhere, not ~3 years in (if S2 is in 2023)

That said, I think the phone call underlines why Crowley never directly tells Aziraphale that he is living in the Bentley in S2, and it's just a great conversation (all hail Gaiman) sooo I wrote about it:

***Note: This post analyzes the Lockdown phonecall from Crowley's perspective only. Our heroine is feeling quite emotionally vulnerable at this point in time so things are going to hit him harder than they normally would.

I do not think Aziraphale meant to cause him pain (!!) but Crowley can't see that yet and I've written this post in a way that reflects that missing insight. (I explain in more detail in this reblog if you are interested) I am working on a companion post for Aziraphale's side of this conversation and how I think it affects his behavior in S2 because if we know anything about these two, it's that their exactlys are different exactlys.***

Crowley’s habit of sleeping to skip time like an RPG character by a campfire amuses me to no end, but in this context it feels heavy. Crowley already worries about losing time with what he loves and he probably hoped things would be different between him and Aziraphale after the events of S1. But things don’t change much. Then lockdowns start, and Crowley is trapped in his apartment alone, transcendentally bored, and unable to make his brain shut up. Sleeping a month away starts to sound less awful.

But Crowley hasn’t given up yet; he’s still awake when Aziraphale calls, and he’s even giving it two more days. Was he waiting for Aziraphale to call? Is it even possible not to at least kind of wait for someone’s call when you are cut off from everything and the caller has been your only friend and crush for millennia?

Aziraphale asks why Crowley isn't "out and about" tempting people or setting a bad example and he responds:

C: Everyone's so miserable and cooped up right now anyway, and I just… well… don't have the heart for it. A: *glowing audibly* I'm not miserable~ C: Really?

Crowley sounds genuinely surprised at Aziraphale's happiness and quickly assumes it's because the angel has been around people. He's so lonely/depressed/in his own head that he hadn't even considered someone enjoying being 'cooped up'. *sob*

Aziraphale goes No actually I put the closed sign up in the window and I'm having the Time of My Life, never had so few customers, not in 200 years!, etc. Although, he says:

A: …There were a few young lads a couple of nights ago who broke in through the back and tried to steal the cashbox! But they soon saw the error of their ways~ C: *clearly amused* Did you smite them with your wroth? A: Well I certainly gave them a good talking to, and I sent each of them home with cake~ C: *annoyed, swooning* Cake? A: Quite a lot of cake, actually. C: *physically ill from having such a giant crush on this dumbass baker/security guard* eeeekkkgghhh I'm gonna regret asking but.. ...rrgh.. *30 seconds of Aziraphale joyfully describing his baking while Crowley probably tries very hard not to imagine the angel eating each item in sensual slow motion* I stg you can hear him struggling in the background once or twice

A: …And once I've baked them, I have to eat them all myself, which was why I was so delighted— C: To send your burglars home laden with baked goods, yes, nnyeaayeah I follow…

Crowley interrupts, finishing Aziraphale's sentence in his nervous hurry to say the next bit:

C: *loud inhale* You know, I could.. hunker down at your place. … Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle--a case of… something… drinkable…?

He's trying to sound so casual about it but this is someone who was rejected/abandoned by actual literal God after asking what he thought were welcome, uncontroversial questions. Asking makes him vulnerable. He's supposed to be the rescuer, not a demon in distress. He does not feel casual about asking.

Crowley knows it's unlikely but he's so miserable and desperate for company that he can't help but ask, just in case. Even the smallest chance of spending time trapped indoors with Aziraphale—with nothing to do but drink, watch him eat, and talk about things they'd normally avoid—is too tempting.

A: *panicking* Oh I— I— I— I— I'm afraid that would be Breaking All The Rules! *nervous breathing* Out of the question! I'll see you… when this is over. C: Right. gnnehh. I'm setting the alarm clock for July. Good night, angel. *dial tone*

And just like that, Crowley doesn't need two days to decide. The depression nap doubles in length. He doesn't hear how badly Aziraphale wants to say yes behind the fear, or maybe he does and it hurts worse because why isn't Crowley enough for him? You can almost hear the spiralling:

SHOCKING, asking made it worse. It always does doesn’t it? Why even bother? you just embarrass yourself.. SLITHER over? why did I say that *grumble grumble* of COURSE His Holy Holiness, your only friend in the universe, would rather eat cake by himself while everything goes to shit than ~deign~ to have you in his presence. "AsK aND yE sHaLl ReCeIvE" bugger this for a lark im going to bed

(a bit dramatic but we've all been there)

I imagine sleep doesn't come right away. Maybe his thoughts drift to when he sat beside the angel at a dark Tadfield bus stop after a rather eventful Saturday. Crowley must've felt a tiny bit hopeful when he invited Aziraphale to stay with him: Heaven had withdrawn its favor and the bookshop was gone; Aziraphale was like him now. Didn't that mean things would change?

"I don't think my side would like that." Apparently not.

In the end, Aziraphale did ride the bus back to Crowley's apartment and stayed till the next morning when he caught a cab, but only to sell the illusion. Crowley understood that as far as sides went, the angel was still on Heaven's, even if Heaven wasn't on his.

And now this: the entire world is shut down; there is nothing for Aziraphale to do but stay in and read and bake in his magically reconstituted bookshop and he still won't invite Crowley in. Burglars and un-fallen angels only—nobody who asks questions.

So... of course Crowley doesn't tell Aziraphale when he loses his apartment. He already knows what answer he would get; the angel has told him so many times. Aziraphale is a company man first, a companion to one very sad owl when convenient.

If Crowley works up the courage to say 'please take me in, I have nowhere else to go' and Aziraphale goes 'sorry, no, far too political, but I WILL risk being erased from the Book of Life to protect this nude amnesiac former coworker who always hated me,' it's going to be too much. You can't sleep long enough for that type of hurt to go away. Better not to say anything.

"Then nothing has to change, does it?"

[a-nemoiia]

「 In sickness and health 」

Summary: A small incident leads Thomas Shelby into a new battle with an invisible enemy

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: POTS symptoms (dizziness, struggle to breath, almost fainting, etc) + written through fever so there might be a few mistakes.

Note: A big thank you to @saltburnwhore for educating me on this topic, and I apologise in advance if it doesn't meet your expectations

It's been nearly 2 months now since the Garrison closed it's doors for renovation at Polly's request, and the loyal patrons were eager to return to their favourite pub.

That's why crowds now were packed infront of the entrance on the opening day, and once Thomas opened the newly polished doors, everyone poured inside barely leaving space for another person to set a foot. But that didn't stop them from enjoying themselves as the band John brought played loud music in celebration.

Harry struggled to keep up with the packed pub on his on, so without hesitation, Polly and y/n joined him behind the bar, pouring drinks and opening taps. And after a couple of hours, Harry shouted over the loud music "We ran out of whiskey"

Turning to y/n who was helping serve pints, Polly said "There's a new whisky delivery in the storage from last night, take the keys from Tommy and bring a couple of bottles, hurry!", as she took the glasses from her hands to continue serving the waiting customers.

Y/n didn't waste anytime, looking around the pub she spotted her boyfriend stepping out for a smoke away from the noise, "Tommy!" she called over, getting his attention as she made her way to his side. "I need the keys. Polly needs a couple of bottles, we're running low already" she explained as she held out her palm waiting for him to give her the keys.

Taking a look inside the crowded pub, Thomas turned to face her "A few bottles won't cut it..." he noted, as he took her hand in his, and led her to the back storage. With a twist of his keys he unlocked the door to where boxes of alcohol were stacked high amidst the leftover mess from the recent renovation.

"Polly said the delivery is from last night" y/n said as she eyed the room, "God! This place could use a through cleaning" she remarked, carefully picking her way around the bucket of paint, making sure not to knock it over.

Nodding in agreement, Tommy used his pocket knife and sliced through the top of several boxes, searching their content, "Aye, Arthur said he'll take care of it" he told her, as he cut through more boxes. A couple of minutes later Thomas announced "Found it!" as he held the bottles in his hand.

"Shall we take it all?" Y/n asked and Thomas shrugged, already carrying the heavy box in his arms "Better to have more than less, the night is still young" he said.

Giving him space to walk a head, y/n stepped back, unaware, her foot caught on a lengthy piece of wood making her stumble. Quickly, Thomas reached out to steady her "Careful!" he said, just as they both heard shattering.

The door knob...

Thomas sat the box down and walked over to the door, once he inspected the broken piece he realised that they were trapped,"Damn it" He cursed under his breath.

"I'm sorry Tommy..." y/n quickly apologised but Thomas shook his head "Not your fault sweetheart, fucking Arthur should've taken care of this mess ages ago" he sighed in frustration.

But y/n had other reasons that made her worry, placing a hand on her chest she felt her heart rate pick up, as she struggled to breath in the dusty and poorly ventilated place.

Before her legs give out, y/n reached for an old chair, and Thomas quickly noticed that something wasn't right, "Are you alright?" he asked, concern etched all over his face as he studied her distressed form.

"Just lightheaded" she tried to ressure him but thomas knew it was more than that. He wasn't blind after all...

Thomas had noticed the signs for a while: how she'd struggled to make it out of bed sometime, how shaky she'd be after having a drink of two, the continues dizziness and how her legs failed to carry her at times.

Y/n often blamed it on her cycle, other times she laughed it off, saying she couldn't drink like a Shelby, but Thomas wasn't fooled.

In an instance Thomas was before her, holding her hand in his, "Don't lie to me y/n, no more downplaying this" he said, worry evident in his deep blue eyes "Once we're out of here you're seeing a doctor" he continued but she cut him off, "It's nothing really" y/n insisted, with a weak smile but she knew he saw through her dismissal.

Closing her eyes in an attempt to think through the fog "POTS, It's... It's a disorder... I've had it since I could remember" she explained her condition, but the confusion written on his face told her that she needs to do better than that.

So for the next 10 minutes, she laid it all bare, she told him about the symptoms, the treatments that brought nothing but little relief to her daily pain. The man before her took it all in, his worry increasing with every new piece of information, it all made him feel like his hands were tied.

Running a hand down his face, Thomas couldn't help but feel fear grip him, because for the first time he felt powerless...

It wasn't a simple threat that he could shield her from with his fist or gun, the danger was invisible this time, beyond his ability to see or fight...it came from within her own body.

Noticing the sweat beads on her brows, as the heat rose in the cramped place, Thomas gently wiped it away with his palm. Cupping her face gently he said "Just breath for me, love, I'll get us out of here", Thomas felt like the words were for his own reassurance as much as for her.

On hurried steps, he started tearing through the mess, tossing and throwing anything that isn't useful out of his way, he rammed through the storage until he spotted an old axe, and without thinking twice Thomas graped it and marched towards the door.

Fueled by his fear for y/n, Thomas tore the strong door down to shreds, the wood didn't stand a chance against the relentless blows, until nothing was left of it but the lock dangling from the splinted frame.

"C'mon sweetheart" Thomas said dropping the axe, swiping her into his arms he rushed them towards the pub's back door, where Arthur met them halfway.

"Lovebirds, what took ya so lon-" Arthur started to say cheerfully but the words died on his lips once thomas suddenly snapped at him. "I'll fucking kill ya Arthur!" he shouted through gritted teeth making Arthur recoil in shook.

Seeing Y/n laying almost unconscious in his arms seemed to pour gasoline on Thomas's temper, as worry and fear ate him from the inside, his thoughts raced with different scenarios, each worse than the other.

Taking in the scene Ada quickly followed them with a cup of salted water in her hand, as Thomas swiftly carried the woman in his arms to the private booth. And once Thomas saw Ada hand y/n the cup he gave her a questioning look.

Meeting his gaze Ada saw the rare open concern in her brother's eyes,"She told me not too long ago... She didn't want to burden you", she admitted, answering his unasked question.

With a sigh, Thomas knelt down infront of y/n, noticing how the color started to return to her rosie cheeks brought relief to his worrying heart. Gently, he brushed the strands of hair clinging to her damp forehead and placed a tender kiss there.

"Never think like that again, we're in this together alright?" Thomas said, softly yet firmly "We will face it, just like we do all things" Thomas reassured her, his blue eyes peering into her weary ones before his lips met hers.

Earning a weak nod from her, y/n leaned into his embrace, taking comfort into his arms, she felt safe knowing that facing the challenges of this illness will be much easier with him by her side.

[octuscle]

Changed taste

Callum had left after the second act. The production at the alternative opera had been a cheek. The singers had been a disaster. And the announcement of the underground strike had been a good excuse not to have to listen to this debacle to the end. Unfortunately, the underground drivers had shown no consideration for Callum. The strike had already begun. The underground shafts were deserted. So it was a taxi. This contradicted Callum's attitude to sustainability. He always excused his flat in Kensignton by saying that it was so centrally located that he didn't need a car. Only a few of his friends knew that there was an old Jaguar E-Type and a brand new Porsche 911 in the underground car park. Callum's family had made a fortune from property speculation over 100 years ago. He owned the exclusive block of flats in which he lived. This and a few more.

When he came up from the underground, it had started to rain. And he had left his umbrella in the cloakroom at the opera. Underground strike and rain. Not a good combination for getting a taxi. In the shelter of the entrance to the underground, Callum searched on his mobile phone. A bus station was only 200 metres away. And it wasn't raining that hard. So he set off. And after a few metres, the heavens opened their floodgates. A downpour of torrential proportions drenched Callum in a matter of seconds. His dinner jacket was ruined. And his mobile phone only flashed once more before it died in the pouring rain.

The rain intensified. The few passers-by who hadn't yet found shelter quickly ran through the puddles to find somewhere to hide. Callum's best chance was a launderette where the owner or employee was about to lower the blinds. Callum asked if he could seek shelter until the rain had stopped. The young man looked at Callum and waved him in. He introduced himself as Kieron and said that he had to wash and dry a washing machine for himself while he cleaned the launderette. Callum would be happy to stay here for that long. Callum thanked him and asked if he could return the favour somehow. Kieron shook his head and showed Callum where he could find hangers to hang up his wet clothes. And pointed to a basket of washing. A customer had left it here. Callum could take some of it if he wanted to.

The clothes were obviously still unwashed. They smelled of sweat and cold cigarette smoke. There were dried precum stains in the pants. Callum was disgusted. But also soaking wet. And somehow he was… Turned on? Him? By those disgusting clothes. Kieron had switched on some music. Very loud. Gangster rap and hip hop. Definitely not Callum's style. But that didn't matter. He took the laundry basket and asked where he could change. Kieron pointed to the door with the "Private" sign. There were towels there too. Callum thanked him.

After pulling the door shut behind him, Callum took off his shoes, jacket, trousers and shirt and hung everything on hangers. A little hesitantly, he also removed his stockings, pants and vest. He was able to wring everything out, everything was so wet. He took a pair of boxer shorts out of the laundry basket. Yellowed white cotton. Precum and piss stains. Callum smelled it carefully. And then he pressed them to his nose and inhaled deeply. So good! He had no idea why, but it smelled so good! Slimy drops formed on his own cock. The pants were a size 32, not his size. But they fit like a glove. His bulge was frighteningly large. And the wet patch was growing fast. Callum rummaged through the dirty laundry. The polyester tracksuit bottoms did it to him. He pulled them on, just high enough so that the waistband of his pants could still be seen. Now a pair of dirty white socks… Call took his trainers. Yes, they were still a little wet… But they would be fine. The T-shirt that went best with the trousers stank of sweat. Sure, Call had worn it for several days in a row. For sport, in the pub in the evening. During the day, he wore the Hiviz street-cleaning gear. He took his necklace, which he was so proud of, out of his T-shirt. Then he took his tracksuit jacket off the hanger, put on his gloves, put on his cap and posed in front of the mirror. If he played with his balls a little longer, he would cum here and now. Then Kieron would be fucking pissed. After all, making Call cum was his job.

"I hope the damn rain stops soon!" That was the caption under his latest post. Kieron shouted about how much longer he needed. Call opened the door and shouted back that it was up to Kieron when he could finally cum. A few seconds later, Kieron was standing in the doorway, grinning. He put the mop to one side. And got down on his knees.

Inspiration by @barty123

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in April 2024. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup [ @1dmonthlyficroundup ] which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #61 |  ko-fi | fic recs

- Louis/Harry -

🌼 When the Lights Go Out by thelarenttrap / @antidotetogo

(E, 79k, F1 au) In its near eighty years of existence, Formula 1 has never had an out gay driver. In 2017, Harry Styles signs a contract with Scuderia AlphaTauri alongside his childhood friend and competitor, Louis Tomlinson. The next decade of their careers is some of the most tumultuous press--on and off the track--Formula 1 has ever seen.

🌼 Colorful Hearts by Larrysmomfics / @larrysmomfics

(M, 20k, humor) In a world where orgasmic emissions change color depending on the person’s mood, Louis Tomlinson’s semen has only ever been blue. At the recommendation of his doctor he attends a support group for people with similar conditions. 

🌼 In a swirl of flashing lights by @lunaticcat009

(M, 15k, friends to lovers) Harry taps on Louis' window with a sad smile and they sneak into a closed carnival. A starry night of them running around the abandoned premises with their fingers intertwined ensues.

🌼 Fuck You For Ruining New York City For Me by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(T, 11k, exes) Louis broke up with him in their New York apartment, so Harry left the city for good. Except now he’s back, visiting with his new boyfriend.

🌼 defying stars by localopa / @voulezloux

(T, 9k, high school) the marching band au only one person (and that was me) asked for.

🌼 Half a World Away by @silverstuff50

(E, 9k, omegaverse) Bothy: A bothy is a basic shelter, usually left unlocked and available for anyone to use free of charge. Bothies are found in remote mountainous areas of Scotland, Northern England, Ulster and Wales. 

🌼 Where All Roads Lead by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(NR, 7k, neighbors) Harry's Christmas takes an unexpected turn when he discovers a misplaced holiday card in his letterbox. He never thought that braving the snow to return the card to its sender would be so worth his while.

🌼 Does it Ever Drive You Crazy? (Just How Fast the Night Changes) by xx_soup_xx

(G, 7k, strangers to lovers) Baker Harry Styles takes it upon himself to get his mysterious grumpy customer, Louis Tomlinson, to like Christmas by taking him on a disastrous first date.

🌼 Girl Crush by Hopeless_blue

(T, 7k, strangers to lovers) He used to be so close to fulfilling his dreams when he participated in X-Factor. But that was four years ago, and now, on a rainy day, he wanders the streets looking for a pub where he could sing sometimes. Charming bartender Louis is ready to give him a shot...

🌼 Why Don’t We Start Writing The Story Of Us by red_panda28 / @red-pandaaa

(T, 6k, omegaverse) Alpha Louis and Omega Harry get off on the wrong foot, Louis has the worst timing, and Harry believes in second chances. Three times Louis asks Harry on a date and the one time Harry accepts

🌼 I Might Say Yes by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 6k, established relationship) the one where Harry buys a wedding dress on a whim. And his very doting boyfriend, Louis, is more than happy to indulge him

🌼 now i'm tracin' all my steps to you by @alwaysxlarrie

(T, 5k, 5 times fic) Of all the things Harry was prepared for this summer, Louis Tomlinson and his wonderful, wonderful scent isn't one of them. It probably shouldn't be as shocking as it is that it makes Harry want to nest.

🌼 Crimson Clover by babyhoneyhslt / @babyhoneyheslt

(T, 5k, soulmates) Harry and Louis are soulmates, but one is already promised to another. When their plan to flee is discovered and they are separated, Harry falls gravely ill.

🌼 I’ll tell you something (I hope you’ll understand) by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(E, 2k, girl direction) Louis insists that Harry stay off her phone and in the safety of Louis' room rather than risk moping in her own texting her ex-boyfriend. When Harry agrees on one condition, Louis' safe night in could become something else entirely.

🌼 All The Way Home I'll Be Warm by @justanothershadeofblue

(T, 2k, friends to lovers) Harry & Louis jokingly send out holiday cards together as friends, and now everyone is congratulating them for finally getting together. A 5+1 fic, for Christmas.

🌼 beech tree in autumn by @juliusschmidt

(E, 1k, summer romance) Louis walks forward. Harry walks back. And back. And back. Off the two track, through the brush, until his heel bangs against the trunk of a tree.

🌼 hey stupid, i love you by @enchantedlandcoffee

(T, 1k, omegaverse) The one where self-proclaimed Valentine's Day hater, Louis, surprises his boyfriend on their first Valentine's together.

🌼 skinny dip (in water under the bridge) by hazzahtomlinson / @itsnotreal

(G, 880 words, exes) It’s a Wednesday and nostalgia might just get the best of Louis.

- Rare Pairs -

🌼 Finally, You and I (Collide) by @lululawrence

(NR, 14k, Zayn/Louis) the five times Louis was accidentally wooed by cookies and the one time he was purposefully wooed by brownies.

🌼 I Saw Several Angels in the Self Help Section by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 3k, ot5) Zayn and Louis are soulmates. They're also missing some soulmates. For extra flavour, it's Christmas.

[thebibliosphere]

You said the phrase "the mysteries of publishing" and honestly that's wild to me. I knew the publishing industry was shitty, but I had no idea it was also mysterious/secretive because the vast majority of what I know of it has come from you and Brandon Sanderson, and both of you are very up front and open about your gripes with publishing

There's always been systemic gatekeeping from traditional publishing (lack of diversity in publishing is not an accident, it is intentional), and there have always been a few jerks in indie-pub who intentionally give out bad-faith advice to try and sabotage the "competition," but they get called out by the community pretty quickly.

Where things can become (unintentionally) mysterious, is when people look at all the information available to them and freeze because they don't know where to start.

Indie and self-publishing is daunting, not just from a creative aspect, but administrative as well. It can be especially difficult if you struggle with executive dysfunction or other information-processing issues.

But if you take your time, ask questions in writing groups/forums -- reach out to author friends if you have them -- or even just contact customer service, you usually get it figured out.

This recent trend-- and it's gotten really bad over the pandemic-- with people conflating being an author with being an influencer, (and some do both well, but many don't.), and there's an almost MLM (multilevel marketing, not men-loving-men. Just clarifying seen as how this is Tumblr 😅) vibe to the way some of them are pushing their platforms harder than their work.

And people think, hey, this person has a million followers on TikTok; they must know what they're talking about!

So they sign up for the "classes" being promoted by these influencer management hubs, and while I am sure some of them are legit, if a lot of them are getting the same emails I'm getting, it's the bare minimum shit that you can find on google.

Maybe if you're lucky, they'll talk you through figuring out international royalties. Chances are they'll just regurgitate David Gaughran's 'Let's Get Digital: How To Self-Publish And Why You Should' -- WHICH YOU CAN GET FOR FREE-- and frame it behind girl-boss empowerment vibes spun through the lens of being a boss-babe author.

When truthfully, this person probably earns more from your clicks and views than anything they've written. There's more money to be made in the hustle of appearing successful and pretending like this wealth of information is secretive and unknown.

And I want no part of that.

[cheynovak]

Light in the darkness part 1

Reader x Billy Butcher 

Warnings:  Age difference (not explicit told), cursing, abuse, smut, 16+, ...  It's Billy Butcher what not to warn about..

Side note: English isn’t my first language.  

Words: 3894

Part 2 now online

Y/N is the owner of a blues bar in New York, she is used to all kinds of customers even the ones with a secret you don’t want to know. One day the boys and Billy Butcher walk in. The connection between Billy and Y/N is undeniable, but the recent divorce from her aggressive and dominant husband for Y/N and Becca’s dead still lingering in Billy’s mind makes it hard for them to admit their feelings.  

Cursives are from Buchter’s point of view.  

----------------------- 

It was a quiet night at the bar, Y/N was thinking of closing for the night when 4 men walked in looking in a rough shape. The tall one looked around before noticing you leaning on the bar “Gentlemen, why don’t you try and find yourself a table.” You joked welcoming them.  

The 4 fellas took the table behind the counter, close for you but out of side for anyone who might walk in.  

“What can I get you?” Y/N asked while looking at them one by one. They stayed quiet for a second. She looked at the tall skinny guy, who looked just old enough to be in her bar, considering to ask his ID, she noticed his lip was busted. While the other man who had dark hair and a beard looked Y/N up and down. “Scotch.” He said raising his bleeding eyebrow. “All four?” They nodded. When Y/N came back she brought the drinks and an extra glass with ice and tissues. “It looks like you all could use it.”  She said looking at the one who seemed to do all the talking. “Thanks darlin” he answered with a thick accent, looking in your eyes. Y/N quickly looked him up and down before meeting his eyes again, ‘If there is anything else I can get you, give me a sign.” When he kept staring at her, the corner of her lip curled into a soft smile before she turned around.  

-- 

The boys decided to go for a victory drink at pub they saw passing on their way home. When Billy walked in, he noticed the place was empty part from the young woman who was leaning over the bar looking at her phone, she welcomed them. Before she walked over to their table, she turned down the music slightly. Billy couldn’t help but staring at the bartender, the softness of her eyes told him she was young, innocent, but something made him see the pain and struggle she had been through. He looked her up and down, she was just wearing a black jeans and a low V cut band t-shirt tugged in her pants, he liked that it was showing of her curves. Before she walked back at her bar she smiled slightly, giving him a warm feeling.  

-- 

Y/N could hear the men talking but didn’t listen to a word they were saying, that was one thing she learned as a bar owner, unless they talk to you, none of their conversations are your business. Specially not in a rougher neighbourhood here in New York. But of course, every now and then you pick up some details of a story, as long as they paid the bill, you smiled and pretend not to know a thing.  

You hear the door opening, Steve your ex-husband walked in, seemingly drunk. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t answer you but took a seat at the bar. You could see his bloodshot eyes looking at you, roaming his eyes over your cleavage. “Showing them off now, are we?”. Y/N tried to stay calm but feeling the goosebumps on her back, “Steve, what are you doing here?” - “What, I can’t pick up my wife from work?” “I’m not your wife anymore.” Y/N said looking over at the table, the 4 men were looking now at the two of you. “If you had shown up at court today you would have known that.” Y/N said still peacefully while moving on with drying a glass.  

Steve got up ripped the glass from your hands and threw it behind you at the wall. Y/N froze not knowing how to react to this even though she was used to his aggression by now. “Oi, is there a problem here?” The guy said walking slowly to Steve. “Mind your own business.” Steve said. “It is my business isn’t it, me and my lads are trying to enjoy a nice evening and you, cunt, are ruining it. I suggest you get your shit together leave this lady alone, now get the fuck out here before I bust ya teeth ey.” Steve looked at the man and looked at the guys behind him who now all stood up from their chairs. He nodded slightly, looked one more time at Y/N “We’re not done yet.” He said pointing a finger at her before leaving through the door.  

-- 

Billy noticed the girl was still clenched up when the man left. “You ok luv?” He asked while she moved her hand over her face. “Yeah, yes thank you. But I would like to close up for tonight, if you guys don’t mind?” He saw her eyes tear up, trying to fight it. “How much do I own you?” He asked grabbing for his wallet. “Nothing” Bily looked at her. “It’s on the house, for helping me.” she clarified. “Do you live close?” The youngest guy asked nervous. “I mean, I don’t like for you to walk around alone. You never know... You know.” - “My car is parked a few blocks away.”  

--  

“Right, MM you bring the boys home.” Y/N hears him saying while he tossed his keys to the quiet man. “I’ll walk you to your car.” He looked at you. Y/N knew this was probably as dangerous as walking alone but somehow, she felt save around him. So, Y/N nodded. “I still need to close up, I’ll be ready in 5.” He grabbed his coat “I’ll wait outside.”  

Y/N turned off the music and lights, took a deep breath before walking through the door. The man did indeed wait for you, leaning against the wall.  

The yellow light from the lamppost gave an extra touch to his rough shape, she had no idea if it was the adrenaline from earlier or his intriguing eyes that kept staring in hers that made her gasp for air, but somehow, he took her breath away. “Before we go.” She took a step close. “What is your name?”  

“Billy, Billy Butcher.” “Nice to meet you, Billy.” She shakes his hand like nothing happened earlier. “Y/N, Y/L/N. At least now I won’t walk around with a complete stranger.” She joked. He let out a chuckle. They walked a few minutes in silence. “Do I look that scary to you luv?” He asked without looking at her. “I’m still trying to figure out if you are a serial killer or a 90s porn star.” He stopped walking, turning to her, for a second Y/N regretted the choice of words. “Well, you’re bloody honest aren’t you.” He burst into laughter. “What makes you think I'm a killer?” Y/N answered by pointing at his wounds. “Ok, I get that, porn star?” She chuckled before answering. “The shirt.” Few words had been said, but the silence didn’t feel uncomfortable.  

“Well, this is my car.” She said leaning against the driver's door. “Great, well, Y/N have a great night.” - “You need a ride home?” Y/N asked when he turned his back to walk away. “Won’t say no to that.” He smirked. Part from billy’s directions to his apartment they didn’t say much. She parked in front of it but before he jumped out the car, he looked once more at her giving her a half smile as token of gratitude. “Hey Billy?” She looked at him through the window as he leans into it. “Thanks again, for Steve and... You know not killing me.” “You’re welcome sweetheart. I hope to see you around sometime ey.” “You know where to find me.”  

Y/N dropped her purse on the kitchen table, she walked lifeless to her bathroom, while she removed her pants and bra, removed her make up, ready to go to bed. She was tired but couldn’t stop thinking about tonight. Even though her world had been upside down for the last couple of months with the divorce she felt a strange but nice feeling with Billy. There was this constant feeling of wanting to be close to him, she liked that he checked her out without shame, looking at every curve, every inch. A lot of customers did, but with him she felt safe. Probably just the fact that he stood up for her right? She felt threatened and he helped, that would be the reason. She tried to convince herself.  

A few days gone by Y/N hasn’t seen Steve in a while, but Billy dropped by almost every night. Sitting at her bar, talking about Steve and his wife. He didn’t say much but she could see the hurt in his eyes, that he really loved her and that he became a totally different man after her death.  

 

But tonight, when she wanted to open her bar someone had broken in and smashed the entire place to pieces.  

By the time Y/N wanted to let the police out the door Billy walked in. “What happened here?” He asked her while looking at the cops. “Steve trashed the place.” Y/N answered. “Well, we don’t know who did it yet.” The police reacted to her allegations. “Who else would have done this!?” She yelled “That Steve is an asshole, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. He smashed a few glasses when drunk, a few days back. Threatened her.” Butcher tried to defend Y/N’s reaction, but the cops walked out without much to go on by. Butcher looked around, the entire bar was broken down, furniture burned, glass mashed, even graffiti on the walls.  

“Are you ok luv?” He asked her, holding his hand on her upper back, between her shoulders, without hesitation she let her head fall on his shoulder holding on to his jacket, crying. “I can’t believe this, every last penny I put into this place.” She said softly, her voice sounded muffed in his clothing.  

-- 

Billy felt her head fall on to his shoulder, his immediate reaction was to hold her closer, caressing her back. He felt like kissing her head but managed to hold back just in time. “It’s ok, we will figure something out.” He said instead. That seemed to shock Y/N out of her bubble. “Oh god, I’m so sorry Billy.” She took a few steps back, drying her tears. “I didn’t mean to... You don’t have to help me. You already did so much.”  The second she moved her head away he could feel the warmth of her body against his leave. “I’m not gonna leave you hanging.” He answered walking over to her pulling her back in his arms for a hug.  

Over the course of the last few days Billy spend time with Y/N trying to help her with the new interieur choices, he absolute hated it, interieur was always Becca’s thing, but he would do anything to be close to Y/N. He felt like a completely different man around her, more at peace. He forgot about supes, he drank less, he even smiled at her silly jokes. Her optimism was like a light in his darkness.  

 

-- 

 

Billy agreed to go shopping together trying to find new furniture and paint. Y/N was surprised he agreed to it, he didn’t seem like the shopping type. But being around him made her feel good. He wasn’t the chattiest, happy, open person, but he was honest, or at least that was the vibe she got from him. Billy offered to take the shopping cart while Y/N picket out a few decorations before walking over to the paint aisle. "What do you think?” Y/N asked as she was holding two different lights up. “Left one” he said noticing an older couple smiling and looking over.  

Y/N placed the right on in de cart. Butcher gave Y/N a grumpy look. “I thought you wanted my opinion.” - “Yeah, I do, because I know that your choices aren’t always the most... fashionable.” She said standing next to him, pulling slightly at the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt while she smiled her well practised cute smile, standing very close to him, she could see the amusement in his eyes. Before walking on to the next aisle.  

-- 

“Get used to it, women, they do that to us.” The old man said to Billy. “I’m sorry?” he responded. “We’ve been married 35 years, I never got to pick any furniture. She made the decision for me... But she made that house, our home. I’m sure your girl will do the same.” He laughs, his old lady picked up on the conversation. “You two seem like a cute couple, I can see you have at least good taste in women.” She smiles. Billy wanted to correct them saying they were just friends. But something kept him. He smiled and walked his was towards Y/N. “Where were you?” She asked happy. “Well, I think I have everything I need.” - “Great, about fucking time.” She smacked his arm. “You loved it.”  

“You need a hand with painting?” Billy asked when he dropped everything off at the bar, helping her spreading out the plastic on the floor and over the remains of the furniture. “Well, I wanted to start now, but I don’t want to waste anymore of your time.” - “Bullshit.” He dropped his jacket behind the bar, pouring himself a drink. “It will be an all nighter then?” he grinned lifting his brows. Y/N walked towards to bar taking his glass. “Well, I can think of worse ways to spend the night with way worse company.” She winked taking a sip walking around the bar.  

Billy felt his face getting hot after that comment. But when she walked over to him behind the bar his heart started to beat so fast, he was scared she would be able to hear it. He stood still afraid his actions would show his emotions. Billy felt Y/N’s hand on his shoulder, he looked over to see her walk passed him towards the stereo. “I’m glad this old piece of junk still works.” She said with her back towards Billy, swaying a little at the song.  

He couldn’t help himself, he placed his hands on her shoulders turning her around to face him, his eyes roaming her face. He closed his eyes, moving closer to her, but right before he wanted to kiss her, he couldn’t help but think of Becca. So, he stopped himself, touching her forehead with his and whispered, “Maybe we need to get started.”  

--  

Y/N felt his strong hands leave her skin, she almost wanted to whimper when he took a step back.  

She could have sworn he wanted this as much as she did, she saw it in his eyes. He looked like a man possessed with her, the hunger in his eyes the way he licked his lips. All of that changed within a second, his eyes turned cold and so did his posture.  

Each of them started to paint on another corner of the room. Y/N could feel the awkwardness throughout the room. She kept looking over at Billy, but he kept his eyes on the wall, his expression looking like a teenager who was punished.  

“Billy, you don’t have to do this, if you... I don’t know, want to go home you can leave.”  She said turning towards him, throwing her brush in the bucked. “You want me to leave?” He said not looking at her. “That’s not what I said, I ...” She sights “I just don’t what it to be awkward between us.” He stopped painting but still wasn’t looking at her, so she continued. “Listen, I like you being here, I know we only met a few weeks ago but... I’ve had a rough couple of months and being with you, even when things are shitty, being with you makes me happy.”  

She took a few steps towards him. “And I know that you at least feel... something when you are with me.”  

-- 

Her words made him look up at her. She was right, he liked being with her, she was the opposite of his live, the peace he needs, the light he missed in the dark.  

 

“I can’t drag you into my mess.” He said laying down the brush.  

“You won’t.” She answered. 

“My job, my life it’s, so fucked up.”  

“So, is mine.” she said soft.  

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” he walked over to her, slowly.  

“That won’t happen.” 

“I’m horrible at sharing my feelings. I have secrets I can never tell you and I have trust issues.” he said standing in front of her, holding one hand on her neck.  

“I don’t care.”  

He thought for a second. “I can’t cook.”  

She laughs soft laying he head in his hand. “Oh no, so horrible.”  

He felt her hands on his chest, he looked at them before he looked back at her lips. Closing the space between them. Kissing her soft lips, tasting her was better than he had imagined.  

--  

His large hands cupped her neck and cheek while he lowered his lips. Y/N felt his lips touch hers, she would have thought he felt rougher, but they were surprisingly soft. She felt a spark starting at their joined lips traveling all over her body, her hands moved up to his shoulders, pulling him closer. Billy’s tongue touched her bottom lip, asking for permission which she gladly granted him. The kiss quickly heated, both of them starting to breath heavier, moving their hands over each other's body.  

Billy walked Y/N backwards, but she tripped over the carpet that was covered in plastic and fell on to the floor, Billy couldn’t hold her in time and fell beside her on his knees with one hand beside Y/N’s head. “Oh my god... how romantic.” She couldn’t contain her laugh saying that.  

Billy was still focussed on her. He moved a small piece of hair out of her face and kissed her again, hovering over her. She felt his hand moving lower over her side holding her, pulling himself closer. He quickly made sure their breaths were deep and full of lust again. She could feel the weight of his body on top of her. And when his lips moved to her neck, she couldn’t hold back the soft moan.  

His hand moved under her shirt feeling his callused fingers over her stomach, between her breasts back to her neck, before she could lift herself so that he could take them off. That same hand moved to one of her breasts, holding it over her bra. While his mouth was kissing and licking her neck. She could feel his breathing in her ear. “I want you.” he whispered so soft Y/N feared she misunderstood him. “Say that again.” she asked while her nails found their way to his back.  

Billy lifted himself enough to look in her eyes. “I want you.” He repeated. Y/N pulled him in for a kiss. “Then take me.... I want you too.” she said between kisses.  

Those words seemed to be the only thing that held you two back, Y/N helped Billy out of his shirt and opened his belt, as he took the rest off of his body, he then ripped your pants and panties down your legs while you unbuckled your bra. Billy Hovering back over you, almost covering your naked body, you could feel his hands move in between your thighs to where you wanted to feel him the most. Y/n’s back arched when his fingers found her wet folds, spreading them, while moving his finger up and down to her clit. “Fuck sweetheart, so wet already ey.” he hummed in her ear. Y/N wanted to answer but his finger entering her made her gasp for breath clinging to his shoulders.  

Y/N felt his beard scratching her softly while he moved his lips towards her breast, licking her hardened nipple. Her hand flew to the back of his head, moaning his name. “Tell me luv, how long has it been?”... “How long ago when someone made you feel good, worshipped that wet cunt of yours?” He added a second finger curling into that spot rubbing his palm against her clit. By the way his hand and lips moved she knew Billy wouldn’t want to make love to her, he wanted to fuck her. She felt that the lust he was building drove him wild and so did she. She could feel the fire in her stomach building. “Billy... don’t stop... Please.” She begged him. She could see the satisfaction in his smirk. “Do it, I want to feel you come on my finger before I fuck you so hard you won’t be able stand.” That was all she needed to hear.  

--  

Billy pushed her over the edge, but before she could take a breath, he already thrusted his cock in her without a warning. He felt her clench around him, he kissed her soft. “Relax luv.” He said looking at her face. “Just wait sec, ok? I’m not used to... your size.” She said out of breath, kissing him back. Those words made him twitch inside her. He pulled back slightly before thrusting in her. He heard her hiss soft. “I’ll go slow.” he said looking at her. She smiled “No you won’t.” biting his collar bone softly.  

-- 

She heard Billy grown, holding her shoulders, his thrusts became rougher every time he pulled back and slammed back in until he found a rough and steady pace. Y/N’s moans turned into prayers singing his name, she noticed how he loved her nails scratching his back, pulling his hair while her teeth bit his neck and shoulder. The noises he made, made her even wetter. She wrapped her knees around his hips. “Oh Billy... harder. Don’t... hold back.” - “Say that again.” - “Harder... Fuck me harder.” Y/N could feel her second orgasm building. Her nails dug deep into his skin when the rush of her orgasm moved over her body. Billy pulled out short after, holding his cock while his head fell on her breast breathing hard. She could feel his warm seed dripping on her thigh and abdomen.  

“Sorry for the mess.” He said kissing her shoulder before getting up to find a towel. “I just didn’t know if you wanted me to...” - “Oh no, good thinking.” she said.  

They both got dressed. “So, what now?” she asked him while watching him closing the buttons of his shirt. “Here let me.” He looked at her, cupping her face again kissing her passionately. “All I know is that I want more of this, more of you. And I don’t mean just sex.”  

“Take it slow?” she said laughing slightly.  

“You know we won’t.” he grinned.  

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

If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories

[leiawritesstories]

1778 (my soldier boy) pt. 2

Oh it's @sjmromanceweek??? here have some rowaelin romance 🥰

part 2 to 1778 (my soldier boy)

word count: 2.8k

warnings: injury, pregnancy, minor swearing

enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

14 February 1779

Heart of my heart, 

I miss you. We miss you. After you went back to your troops, after you marched down to Savannah, I held off the desperation for as long as I could. I turned back to the pub, my second home, and let my customers and fellow pub staff–who are far too good to me–comfort me. They cheered me up, told me to have hope in our brave soldier boys. 

But for weeks and months, there was no news. And then, just after Christmas, there was news, but it was terrible, awful news. The worst news. Your name stayed out of the papers, and so I clung to hope. I keep clinging to hope. I hope for you, and I hope for our child. Yes, my love, our child. I ignored the signs for as long as possible, until I started to swell and the landlady, bless her dear sweet soul, sat me down and asked, “How long?” 

Four months, now. Over four months since we conceived a child. Four months since you marched down South, leaving silence in your wake. 

I miss you so desperately, Rowan, my soldier boy. Every night, I fall asleep with your portrait, praying for your safety and return. I felt our baby move for the first time today, and it nearly cracked my heart in two wishing you were here to feel the little flutter. Even so, I cling to the hope that you are safe and well and leading your fearless troops. 

Come home, my soldier boy. 

To whatever end, 

Aelin

~

After months of bitter winter, the snow was finally melting away, leaving room for the first timid patches of green spring life to bloom. Watery sunlight shone through the gray, chilly skies, and Aelin wrapped her woolen cloak tighter around herself as she headed home, her boots squelching in the slushy mud that had overtaken the streets. Instinctively, one gloved hand dropped to the curve of her rounded stomach, rubbing soft circles over the little one within. 

“We’re almost home,” she promised. “Then you can eat, I promise.” She cracked a soft, fleeting smile; the baby was a ravenous force of hunger, always wanting food at all hours of the day and night. 

A few minutes later, she was at her house, and she unlocked the door and entered, leaving her muddy boots and cloak in the small mudroom. Pressing her hands to the small of her back, she stretched for a moment, easing some of the pressure in her back, and went into the kitchen. After a hearty dinner, she felt much improved–and rather sleepy–so she headed into her bedroom, intent on washing up and tumbling into bed. 

Her eyes snagged on the miniature portrait above the bed, and tears clouded her eyes. The baby kicked, sensing Aelin’s emotional shift, and she cradled her growing bump, murmuring words of comfort. “Don’t worry, little one. Your father will be here, hopefully soon.” Sighing, she sank to her knees and pulled a small, beautifully worked wooden box out from beneath the bed. She opened the box, laid its lid carefully to the side, and sifted through the stack of cleanly folded papers, each one tied with a bright green thread and bearing the same name on the front. 

Rowan.

Four–nearly five–months of letters addressed to her soldier boy, none of them sent because she did not know where to send them. Four–nearly five–months of hoping, praying, crying, and loving the little life that had yet to enter the world. 

It was her dearest wish that he be at her side when their baby came. 

~

Far to the south, in a cramped, swelteringly humid room, Rowan lay slumped on a lumpy straw mattress with his broken wrist immobilized in a sling and four-day-old bandages tied around the stitched-up gash across his stomach. The doctor who’d sewn him up said it was a small miracle the gash wasn’t any deeper, or something vital might have been hit. All around him were the groans and moans and stenches of wounded soldiers, the faintly rotting air of battlefield gore that never quite went away.

Heavy, labored bootsteps thudded towards Rowan. Summoning as much of his depleted strength as possible, he turned his head and cracked his eyes open, blinking in the muted light filtering in through the few filthy glass windowpanes. And gawked, speechless, at the figure beside his bed.

Just as battered and grimy as Rowan was, Aedion Ashryver summoned a smirk. “You look like shit, Whitethorn.”

Incredulous, Rowan blinked. “Ashryver?” he rasped, his voice rusty from disuse. 

“One and the same.” Aedion sat down in the simple wooden chair beside Rowan’s cot. “I’d hoped to cross paths with you while we were both stationed here, Whitethorn, but not like this.” His keen scout’s gaze scanned Rowan’s injuries. “How bad is it?” 

“I’ll live,” Rowan deadpanned. 

Aedion chuckled. “Sometimes I wonder why my sister fell in love with you and your sarcasm.” 

Mingled pain, grief, and longing rippled across Rowan’s bruised face. “Do you have anything from Aelin?” 

“I’m sorry,” Aedion murmured, “we haven’t received mail in months.” He patted Rowan’s good shoulder. “Knowing Aelin, she’ll likely have a whole stack of letters waiting for you when you’re home.” 

Bone-tired, Rowan simply nodded. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Aedion helped himself to the flask of water sitting on the bedside table. “Good to see you alive, brother.” 

“Good to see you still have both legs,” Rowan returned. 

Aedion flashed that trademark Ashryver smirk. “I’d be more concerned about losing an eye.” He got up and walked across the ward, stopped, and spoke to the field doctor for a few minutes, then tipped his hat at Rowan and strolled out of the hospital. 

The doctor came to his bedside. “Captain Whitethorn? I need to look at your bandages.” 

Rowan grunted in assent and pushed himself slowly up into more of a seated position. “Any reason for this?” he asked as the doctor cut through the old bandages. 

“General’s orders.” The doctor—probably in his early thirties, with bland brown hair and puffy circles shadowing his eyes—shrugged. “He should be in to see you shortly, Captain.” 

“Hell,” Rowan muttered. He hissed as the doctor pressed a warm, wet cloth to the stitched-up wound in his abdomen. 

“It’s healing cleanly, no sign of infection so far,” the doctor said, unruffled by Rowan’s grunt. 

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Rowan returned, his words acerbic. 

The doctor nodded. “Indeed.” Swiftly, he finished cleaning the wound and rewrapped the bandages around it. Just in time, too, because General Salvaterre stepped into the ward just then, his sharp dark eyes searching for Rowan. 

He crossed the room in a small handful of strides. “Whitethorn.” 

“Sir.” Rowan managed to salute. 

Lorcan glanced at the bandages wound around Rowan’s middle and the splint binding his wrist. “You look like shit.”

“Others have said so,” Rowan grunted. “What do you need, sir?” 

“Drop the damn title, Whitethorn.” Lorcan sat down in the chair that the doctor had just vacated, waving him off to go see other patients. 

Rowan tensed. “What do you want, Salvaterre?” 

“I’m sending you up to Baltimore.” 

“Right, because I’m in perfect condition to get on a damn horse.” Rowan scoffed. 

Lorcan rolled his eyes. “In a cart, you idiot. You’re one of the best men I have, and I can’t let you rot to death in this stinkhouse while your stupid ass recovers from jumping in front of a goddamn redcoat patrol.” 

Rowan shrugged. “Any man in my patrol would have done the same.” 

“Yes, and that’s why you’re getting shipped off to Baltimore to handle the paperwork until your idiotic ass can hold a gun again.” 

“I am so thankful for your trust in me,” Rowan deadpanned. 

Lorcan bit back a rare half-smirk. “Careful how you speak to your superiors, Captain.” 

“Didn’t you just tell me to drop the titles, General?” 

“Just be glad you won’t be stuck in this sweltering hellhole,” Lorcan said, standing. “I’ll send in a pair of your patrol to get you when the cart is ready. Try not to fall off on the way to Baltimore.” 

“Aye, sir.” Rowan saluted as Lorcan left. 

About an hour later, two of the men in his squad came into the hospital, a stretcher between them. They helped Rowan onto the makeshift cot and carried him out of the hospital, where he drank in huge gulps of air that didn’t reek of blood, sweat, and shit. When he had stopped heaving for fresh air, his men hoisted him into the back of a hay cart that was in front of the hospital. The farmer driving the cart clicked his tongue, and the horses plodded into motion. Rowan settled back as best as he could into the hay. He  might as well appreciate the small comfort. 

It took two weeks to reach Baltimore, and by the time the cart pulled into the outskirts of the city, Rowan felt strong enough to sit properly. He’d gotten to know the farmer, a stoic, close-lipped older man whose fierce devotion to the Patriot army was buried beneath his even fiercer devotion to owning his farmland and taking care of his family. 

The farmer stopped at a pub. “This is where we part ways, soldier boy.” 

Rowan nodded. “Thanks again for the ride and the company, Malakai.” 

Malakai helped Rowan out of the cart, and, unexpectedly, handed him a pair of smooth wooden poles. “To help you walk,” he said. 

“I…thank you.” Rowan settled the crutches beneath his armpits, testing out their balance, and took a few careful steps. Satisfied that he had control of his movements, he stopped, waved to Malakai, and started the long trek towards the city. 

Towards Aelin. 

~

Aelin gripped the frame of her bathroom door, breathing deeply as a shooting pain raced through her abdomen. She was still at least a month and a half away from giving birth, but the midwife had warned her that she might experience pre-labor pains. Calm down, little one, she thought, rubbing circles on her swollen stomach. I know, you share my worries. We will be alright. 

We will not be afraid. 

Somewhere in the back of her heart, Aelin felt a familiar tug, as if some divine hand had reached into her soul and nudged the piece that was wholly Rowan’s. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she cradled her bump, as if soothing her baby would soothe her too. As if the faint flickers of hope that she still nourished would come alive with the sight of her soldier boy. 

She went out into the kitchen and boiled some water for a tea, then clasped her hands around the pottery mug and stared out into the bright, sunny, early spring day. The cheeriness of the late-March sun and the clear cornflower blue of the sky contrasted so sharply to the shades of gray clouding her heart, and she tried to let the sunlight through, but her mind kept drifting back to the news. 

It had been months since she had heard from Rowan, let alone from Aedion, and although she tried to keep her hopes up, her heart whispered that they were gone. 

Towards the end of her street, a lone figure walked slowly up the dirt path, too far away for Aelin to see any features clearly. It was probably just another resident, but still—her heart fluttered at the tiny, tiny possibility that it could be her Rowan. 

She shook her head. He was in Savannah. Turning away from the window, she washed out her now-empty mug, dried it, and set it back in the cabinet. Her baby kicked as she reached up to close the cabinet door, and Aelin smiled, resting her hand against her stomach. “Hello, little one,” she whispered. “Mama loves you so much.” 

A knock thudded against the front door. 

Baby kicked again, this time as if in distress. 

“Shh,” Aelin murmured, carefully padding over to the door so her footsteps didn’t creak. “’Tis likely just a neighbor.” She gently nudged aside the small flap of leather over a knothole in the door that served as her security window and peered outside. 

Then she flung the door open with shaking hands, her heartbeat thundering like the ocean surf. 

For there, standing on her front stoop, was her soldier boy. Dust and dirt streaked his clothes and skin, bandages wound around his stomach, a splint wrapped around his left arm, and crutches propped him up on his feet, but it was… 

“Ro?” she gasped, her trembling hands reaching out, half-afraid he was a dream. 

“Fireheart,” Rowan rasped, teasers gleaming in his eyes as he looked at her. As he saw the swell of her stomach. 

A sob cracked her chest as she all but yanked him into her house, throwing her arms around him. He was warm and solid and real in her embrace, and she felt the heat of his tears in her blouse as he tucked his face into her shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I could not write.” 

She wiped her face. “Of course you could not write, Rowan. Just…just look at you.” 

He brushed a tear from her cheek. “I wanted to. It…well, the army didn’t have paper, nor did the hospital, and I’ve spent the last two weeks riding in the back of a farmer’s cart.” 

“You’re alive,” she whispered, clinging to the tangible reality of the words. 

“I am.” 

She sniffled. “We missed you so, so badly, my love.” Her hand drifted to her stomach. “Will you say hello to your father, little one?” With a bright, teary smile, she grasped Rowan’s hand and placed it on her stomach, right next to hers. 

And the baby kicked, little feet fluttering up against their hands. 

Rowan choked on a sob. “Aelin…”

“Your future daughter. Or son, however it turns out.” She let him cradle her stomach, watching him fall in love with their baby until he swayed unsteadily on his feet. Her nose wrinkled. “Ro, I wasn’t going to say it, but you stink.” 

He huffed a soft laugh. “I haven’t exactly had a bath available to me lately.” 

“We can fix that.” She took one of his crutches and let him lean on her as they went to the bath. 

At the edge of the tub, he paused, faltering. “I…Aelin, love, I’m injured.” A deep breath. “I don’t know if I can…bathe myself.” 

She tugged a chair over to the side of the tub. “Sit down.” He did, with a groan of relief. “Will you let me help you?” 

His response was a wordless mumble as his head tipped forwards, right into her arms. 

She chuckled, running her fingers through his dirt-caked hair. “All right.” It took some creative maneuvering and a handful of grumbled expletives from both of them, but she eventually got Rowan into the steaming hot bath, and once he was clean, she left a set of clean clothes on the chair for him. 

He came slowly out of the bathroom some minutes later with his shirt open. “Ae?” 

“Yes?” She was perched on the end of the bed. 

“I need to change my bandages, love, but I’m not sure I can do it myself.” 

“Come here.” She patted the space beside her, and he reluctantly walked over and sat down. She ran her fingers through his damp hair. “I know you don’t like being dependent, Ro, but I want to take care of you. And you should know that I have some medical training.” 

He sighed. “I know, and I trust you. It’s just…this damn injury is keeping me away from my men, and I hate it.” 

“I know.” She reached for his shirt. “Hold still, love.” 

A gleam sparked behind his eyes. “Say that again.” 

She smirked, and the danger edging her expression had him thinking of many, many things. “Hold still for me, love,” she murmured, her voice a soft, silken caress. 

He went completely still as she slipped off his shirt and unwound the bandages, her keen eyes assessing the healing wound on his stomach. She went into the bathroom and came back with a roll of fresh bandages and a warm, wet cloth, and she carefully cleaned the skin around his stitched-up wound and wrapped clean cotton around it. “There.” 

“Will you kiss it to make it better?” He was only half teasing. 

Aelin grinned. “Of course.” She leant down and gently kissed the bandage over his stomach. Her smile morphed into something devious, and she dipped her head just a bit farther down and—

“Fireheart,” Rowan groaned, his hand automatically cradling the back of her head. “N-not yet.” 

She braced her hands on either side of his lap and brought her head up to kiss him, lingering in its sweetness. “All right. You tell me when, my love.” 

For now, they would just drink in the sweetness of reunion.

~~~

TAGS:

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

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@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@kittykatsogsreads

[soleilceirinen]

When the darkness comes | Tommy Shelby x Shadowhunter!Reader - Part 4

Summary: you are a shadowhunter investigating the sudden rise of yin fen in the Downworld, the trail leads you to Small Heath and a blue eyed gangster.

A/N: I'm not sure about how this part turned out. Anyway, thanks for reading it. English isn't my first language, sorry if there are mistakes!

Warning: nothing.

Part 3 - Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Usually, patrolling the streets was boring. Not tonight. You had been following the trail of a ravener demon for about half an hour without it noticing. It was the first demon you had encountered in Small Heath since your arrival. 

Luckily, it was a minor one and not very smart. Its disgusting appearance, a mix between a centipede and crocodile with some scorpion parts, made your stomach turn. Sometimes these kinds of demons were used to follow someone or to keep an eye on something. 

That’s why you weren’t surprised when the ravener moved around all the places that were clearly Shelby territory. More specifically, the parts of Small Heath dedicated to their non legitimate businesses. So, without any doubts, the demon had something to do with the yin fen.

However, you didn't think it was directly related to the Shelbys. 

That is, someone external, maybe the one responsible for sending them the drug so that they could distribute it throughout England and export it to America, was the one controlling the ravener. It could be a warlock’s work. Also, there were probably more than one demon, although you hadn’t seen others, which could be a problem if they decided to attack you in group. 

Tired of walking around the city among piles of garbage and puddles from the same place to the next, you took out of your coat one of your seraph blades and got ready to finish off the ravener.

“Uriel,” you said out loud, giving a name to the blade. Instantly, it lit up, filled with angelic power as it brought light into the darkness.

At that moment, the demon noticed your presence. You already knew that the poor thing wasn’t very clever. It lunged at you with quick movements, trying to reach you with its disgusting insect-like legs. You moved faster thanks to a heightened speed rune. The seraph blade traced luminous arcs through the fog as well as the ravener’s body.

With a screech and a gush of dark ichor, the demon disappeared. They didn’t die, instead, they returned to their own dimension. You observed the light from the blade fading away, it was covered in ichor and it was starting to corrode so you dropped it, no longer useful. At least the ravener’s blood hadn’t splash all over yourself or your clothes. 

You scrunch your nose for a moment, looking around. There were no signs of more demons but the night was still long until dawn. With a sight, you closed your coat to protect yourself from the cold wind and continued patrolling. 

A couple hours later, you headed to The Garrison. A drink or two wouldn’t hurt. 

The warmth of the pub welcomed you like a hug. You appreciated the cosy atmosphere, despite the noise of the drunk customers laughing and talking. So you headed to the bar, where you sat in one of the seats and rested your head on your hand. 

After a while, you felt the presence of someone next to you, so close that their arm was brushing against yours. Slowly, you turned your head and watched him through your eyelashes, blinking lazily. “Good night, Tommy.”

He nodded, watching you closely. “Long night?”

You nodded back. "You have no idea. By the way, I'm not following you, in case you were wondering. I just wanted to get something to drink," you said quietly.

Tommy chuckled and turned to the bartender. He ordered a couple of bottles and glasses before turning to you, placing his hand on your lower back. "Come with me, we can talk in a quieter place." 

Without removing his hand from your back, he guided you to the private room at the side of the pub. After closing the doors behind him, the noise was muffled and distant. You took off your coat and sat down on one of the seats, resting your head against the wall. Tommy sat by your side, watching you like someone does with an exotic animal. He lit a cigarette and started smoking in silence.

The small window opened, revealing the bartender with Tommy’s order. He got up to pick it up and left it on the table. Your eyes followed him, too tired to move.

"I'd like you to try something," he said, pouring a clear liquid into one of the glasses and setting it down in front of you. 

You grabbed the glass and brought it to your face, smelling the contents. "What is it?"

“Try it,” he replied, leaning back in the chair, never taking his eyes off your face. At your expression of rejection, Tommy rolled his eyes and took the glass from your grasp, brushing his fingers against yours and drinking it in one gulp. “It isn’t poisoned, see? I just want you to try it and give me your honest opinion.”

You had learned the hard way not to drink or eat things offered by strangers, more specifically if those strangers were fairies. One could never trust them. However, you had already ruled out the possibility of Tommy being a fairy, right?

"Okay, I'll try it."

Tommy poured another glass and slid it in front of you. You took a small sip and hummed softly.

"Well?" he asked, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray.

You shrugged. "It's sweet, I suppose," you said unconvinced. "I don't drink regularly, so I don't know. It's not bad." 

"Not bad..." he murmured.

You grabbed the bottle and turned it in your hands, looking at the label. "Gin," you read aloud, "distilled for the eradication of the seemingly incurable sadness... Shelby Company Limited, it’s your own gin?" 

"It's part of the business," he explained as he sipped his whiskey.

As you finished the contents of your drink, a sudden wave of warmth spread through your chest, so you rolled up your shirt sleeves. That night you had discarded your shadowhunter gear and had decided to wear a simple white shirt and trousers. You loved wearing pants, it made fighting much easier than a dress or a skirt. 

Actually, from a distance you could pass for a boy or a young man. If you had worn one of those peaked cups, you could infiltrate among the Peaky Blinders and they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Up close you couldn’t fool anybody. Tommy was delighted in the way the pants hugged your waist as well as the dark runes spread throughout your body, barely visible through the thin fabric of your shirt. 

"Do you like horses?" he asked suddenly.

You watched him with a raised eyebrow and nodded slowly, finding the question quite odd. "When I was little and lived in Idris, we had a horse. I used to ride all the time, it made me feel like Boudica. Why do you ask?"

Tommy shrugged. "Have you ever been to the races?"

After seeing you shake your head, he slapped the table cheerfully. He seemed to be in a good mood. "Tomorrow I'll take you to the races. Wear something nice."

“Alright,” you agreed, laughing softly at his enthusiasm.

He sat closer to you, throwing an arm over the back of your seat. You suppressed a smile, men were so easy to read sometimes.

"So, you don’t ride anymore?" he asked after a while. The tips of his fingers began to brush against the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

You heaved a long sigh. "No. Unfortunately, I had to move to London a few years ago and it's not the same. In Idris I used to live in the countryside,  where I could ride freely, here I feel like I'm in a cage. Everything is grey, smokey and smells bad."

Tommy laughed. "I don't really understand what you mean about Idris but it sounds like a  good place. What made you come to London?"

You looked into his eyes, he seemed genuinely interested. Still, you looked away, focusing your attention on your hands.

"I'm a Nephilim, remember? A Shadowhunter," you saw Tommy nod out of the corner of your eye, "although we're all over the world, because there are demons everywhere, our home country is called Idris."

“I’ve never heard of it,” he commented, sitting a little closer to you.

"Of course, because it is non-existent for mundanes. It is located between Germany, France and Switzerland. Mundanes cannot access it, it is our sanctuary," you explained. "Years ago my parents were sent on a mission, it seemed like something routine and simple but they were ambushed and it didn't end well. They..."

Finishing the sentence wasn’t necessary because Tommy had understood. He squeezed your shoulder gently. "I'm sorry," he whispered.  

You looked at him with a frown. "Don't be sorry, that’s how life works. We are warriors, we must fulfil what has been entrusted to us since our creation, keep the Earth free of demons. Most Shadowhunters die young, that's how it is. We have been trained for it since we were children."

Tommy seemed surprised at the sudden vehemence of your words. Out of the blue, your face had become a hard facade, lacking the typical sparkle of amusement in your eyes. Instead, it seemed to have been replaced by a layer of grief and resignation. 

"They sent me to the London Institute to finish my training there and I stayed. I had nothing to return to in Idris," you said with a sad smile on your lips.

He closed the little space that separated him from you and pressed his lips against yours. You closed your eyes, tasting tobacco and whiskey. Then, you reached up and placed your hand on the back of his neck, where his hair was so short that it was barely there. Tommy grabbed your waist, pushing his tongue deeper in your mouth.

As you began to feel your crotch getting wet, you pulled away from him with a soft whimper and held his sharp jaw in your hand. “At what time will we meet tomorrow?" you asked in a whisper.

“Meet you here at five,” he muttered, staring at your lips hungrily. You released him, connecting your mouths again. 

An overwhelming feeling started to grow inside of your chest, so you got rid of his hands on your waist and stood up with fluid movements. You grabbed your coat and leaned to give him one last kiss. “See you tomorrow, Tommy.”

"Stay a little longer," he pleaded softly, trying to catch his breath.

You shook your head. A small smile threatened to peek at the corner of your mouth. It didn’t reach your eyes though. “I better get going, my night is not over yet,” you said, walking out of the room into the crowded pub. 

Tommy remained there as he watched you disappear without looking back.

[chrisbbygyal]

Tennesse Whiskey

Pairing: Ari Levinson x Black!reader

Warnings: Slight angst, future smut (Just not this part), Swearing, size kink??, 18+ minors dni

A/N: First fic, hope you guys like! I'm open to criticism and I kind of suck at writing so please let me know how I can improve! I wanted to have this up as soon as possible so Ya'll have something you can read.

Read pt. 2:

Word count: 2.5k

You were tired. Tired of everything around you, your miserable boyfriend who you knew was cheating on you but had no evidence of it. Well besides the lipgloss on his collared shirts and him coming home smelling like a cheap Bath and Body Works spray. You couldn’t exactly put your finger on it but you thought it was their Japanese Cherry Blossom scent. That old bitch. You thought to yourself, you never knew Jake to like older women. You huffed as you shut the engine of your Ford pickup off, it was cherry red and while it was an old car, it was your baby. The first car your grandparents gave you actually, right before you left to move to Jake’s hometown right in the middle of nowhere Georgia. You had a promising career before this, all of your family would constantly tell you, “Oh she’s going places,” “Her future's so bright.” and it was until you met Jake. You were bright eyed and bushy tailed when you met him and he just knew how to suck that joy and light right out of you.  A neon sign flashed above your head. “3 Drunk Bears Pub,” you knew you had told Hursh to fix that sign but he never wanted to spend the money for it. ‘3 Drunk Bears’ was your current job and while it wasn’t what you wanted to do with your life, Hursh the owner understood your situation and immediately let you join the team after you told him you were saving enough up to move back to Washington state. So this was your life now, bartending at a small pub to leave your bum of a boyfriend behind. As you walked closer to the building you heard the music through the doors, it was smooth and mellow, the type of music you loved. Whoever was in control of the jukebox had good taste, you thought. The door chimed open and you were immediately greeted by Hursh standing behind the bar wiping the counter. Looking around you took notice that there were only a few customers tonight, which was odd since it was a Friday night before a big football game the next day. You walked around and pushed through the cafe door at the bottom of the counter. 

 “Y/N! How ya’ doin tonight honey bun?” his southern accent rang out. It made you smile wide. Even if your life was shit, Hursh and his family were a little bit of a light at the end of the tunnel. 

“Hursh, I told you to stop calling me honey bun,” you warned playfully before smiling back, “I’m fine though! How’s Laurie and the little ones?” His face immediately lit up at the mention of his growing family. Laurie was his wife and they had 3 kids and one on the way. You always made fun of them because all of their children were under the age of 5. In fact when Laurie came by to tell you the news during a day shift your first response was to slap Hursh with a towel and yell “Stay off of her!” repeatedly until he slipped on the freshly mopped floor. Hursh’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

 “They’re fine! Laurie’s tired of being pregnant and my two youngest are learning their ABCs! My oldest is getting ready to start pre-k next fall!” You smiled in response and then his smile dropped, “Listen Y/N I- I know you hate working the bar and you have been the ONLY one working it these last few shifts, but I ain’t got no one else tonight. Y’know Curtis would pitch a fit, that asswipe, and you know the girl’s that wait tables don’t know how to do shit. I told Laurie about hiring them and she didn’t listen-” 

 “I’ll do it Hursh, it’s fine,” you interrupted, sighing. Hursh released a breath. He hugged you from the side and kissed your head. 

“You are a doll honey bun! I owe you one!” he spoke before disappearing into the back door where the kitchen was. You grumbled to yourself about how much he would end up owing you.  

You looked up to the digital clock in the back of the bar, 12:15 A.M, You rolled your eyes, the neon lights from the clock glared back at you. The bar was still dead besides the few regulars and a group of obnoxious guys in the corner who were off their ass. But there was someone in the far dark corner of the bar who was sitting quietly. He hadn’t ordered anything and he’d been here for over an hour at this point. Whoever it was, you could tell that he was big, but you just couldn’t see his face and it was consistently pointed downwards under a baseball cap he was sporting. Hursh poked his head out of the back, “Hey doll, a big bar got shut down in the city of downtown, expect a bunch of drunk college kids here soon. Also tell the people at the bar if they aren’t gonna order anything, they needa’ get lost. Remember, ya’ only get tips if they buy somethin’.” You rolled your eyes at him before making your way towards the man in the corner. 

 “Uh, excuse me sir, I don’t mean to be rude or anything but my boss said that if you aren’t gonna order something, I’ve got to ask you to leave,” You spoke trying to seem as tough as possible. The man lifted his head before reaching around and pulling off his baseball cap which let you get a good look at his face. He had a full beard that wrapped completely around his jaw and it was thick. His eyes were a stark blue and absolutely gorgeous, and his hair, oh his hair was amazing, thick and shaggy but perfect. Your breath caught in your throat as he smiled at you. Ari thought you were perfect, just the right size. He found your height so cute and he wouldn’t mind toting you around on his arm.

“That’s alright, I was just waitin’ on ya’ to make ya’ way over to me. Not from around here, not so sure how bars work in Georgia. I’ll have whiskey, straight please, sweet cheeks,” he spoke, his voice was like velvet and it made your knees wobble. You smiled tightly and nodded, you would’ve spoken back but you were nervous that your words would get stuck in your throat. You poured his drink before going back over to him and sliding it his way. “Thanks sweet cheeks. You’re gorgeous by the way, the name’s Ari. Ari Levinson.” You smiled awkwardly before responding. 

“Y/N Y/L/N.” In order to avoid his blue eyes you looked down towards the counter and picked at the same stain that you had been trying to get off for the past two months. He smirked at that, automatically realizing his effect on you. The door chimed open and the whooping of college students filled the calm pub. While you were excited that you could finally leave the hot air that had crowded the two of you, college rushes almost guaranteed that you would basically be harassed by the horny college students. 

 “Aye sexy mama! Bring big daddy a beer!” you heard someone yell from the other side of the bar. Oh, you just knew that they were going to work your last nerve tonight and it was just 12. 

Dipping into the cooler beneath the counter you grab a beer and walk to the other side of the bar before handing the man a drink with a tight-lipped smile and moving on to help the other customers. 

Ari watched you float from one end to the bar to the other, occasionally looking in his direction. You knew he was watching you and it made Ari smile. He wanted you to know he wanted you. Ari watched your hips sway and took notice of how nice your ass looked in those black jeans. It almost made him groan out loud. 

“Aye Sexy I need anotha’’ beer over here!” The same man from earlier shouted. This was his 4th beer and Ari was watching him closely. Everytime he asked for another beer, he would try to grab you or he would say something out of the way and it was pissing Ari off. He watched you visibly cringed as you walked the 4th beer over to the noticeably drunk college student. When you went to hand it to him, Ari had seen enough. The fucker had the nerve to grab your head and bring it to his mouth before kissing it. Ari knew it made you uncomfortable without even seeing your face, he just saw the subtle way your body tensed up and shuddered uncomfortably when the man stood up to whisper something in your ear. Ari threw the last bit of his whiskey back before slamming the cup down and making his way towards the man on the other end of the bar. 

“Get your fucking hands off the pretty lady,” He stated calmly, looming over the man who just then noticed Ari’s presence. He let go of your hand and only then did Ari notice you rub the area where his grip was, even with your skin tone, it was beet red which made Ari snarl. The man looked up at Ari with a bored look.

“You must be the slut’s man,huh? Tell me something, is she as good in bed as she looks, I mean with that behind you must be putting in real wor-” The man was cut off when Ari grabbed his head and slammed him into the wooden bar. He made a garbled noise before Ari lifted his head back up and punched him twice before kicking him in the calf making his knees give out. You and the other patrons could only watch. Some of the college boys were yelling and the other customers watched with hands over their mouths, but no one dared to jump in. See, Ari was a large man, had to be at least 6 '4 and he was a large boy, his nickname as a child was actually “Bear” and no one dared to mess with him or his 2 older brothers. He was brooding but a sweetheart and that’s why his mother opted to redoing his nickname as teddy, but only she could call him that, him being a certified mama’s boy.  The door slammed open and Hursh walked out with a pistol.

“What the hell is goin’ on out hea’? Everybody out!” He screamed, taking the safety off of the gun. All of the patrons got the hint immediately, everyone in town knowing Hursh wasn’t one to play around. Ari stopped and dropped the man onto the ground, and once you did, you had never seen someone run so fast out of that bar before. 

“Hursh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” you tried to reason, feeling bad because he had lost all of his customers.

“Don’t worry about it honey bun get home safe, and you,” he pointed to Ari, who was now fixing the collar of his flannel and smoothing the rest of his clothes, “You ever need a job as a security guard, I’m your guy, but please don’t destroy my bar.” Hursh winked at you before yelling to the other workers that they were free to go. You grabbed your purse not sparing a glance at Ari, and walked out of the pub as quickly as you could, Ari following you. Making your way through the vacated parking lot to your pick up, you took notice to the sound of Ari behind you. Once you made it to your truck you turned around and stopped him.

“Look Ari, I appreciate the help but if you expect anything in return for saving my ass in there you are sadly mistaken, I’m not that kind of girl,” You spoke, poking a long nail into his chest. Your heart fell to your ass when he started laughing, it wasn’t a chuckle nor a giggle, but a full on belly laugh, he even doubled over and slapped his knee. 

“I don’t want nothin’ mama, just wantin’ to make sure you got to your car safe,” he said once his laughter had subsided. You fought the urge to smile at him, before you put back up your facade. 

“Well I’m here, so you’re good.” You opened the door of the pick up and hopped in putting the key into the ignition. Ari stood there still watching you. You turned the key, nothing. You turned it again and it spluttered, nothing. Again, nothing. You hit the steering wheel, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Ari knocked on the window. 

“Needa’ ride mama?” He smiled before pulling your car door open and leading you to his Jeep on the other side of the parking lot. 

That’s how you got here, pulling down the street where Jake’s house was located while some mellow 80s song played lowly in the background. “I’m sorry about tonight, mama, I just don’t take too kindly to disrespecting women, I would kill someone if that ever happened to my little sister,” Ari broke the silence, slowing down to the house you had pointed to and pulling into the driveway. You smiled kindly at him.

“Sorry for being a bitch about it, I appreciate you for standing up for me,” You spoke back, letting silence fill the car again. He turned off the ignition and you went to open the door before you saw something. Jake was stumbling down the steps of the front porch of the house. You could tell he had been drinking. “I just can’t win,” You let out, exasperated. 

“This your boyfriend?” He said, watching Jake closely. You nodded and slapped your forehead, watching as Jake made his way to the car. You opened the door before Ari could protest  and hopped out. 

“This the dude you’ve been cheating on me with, you slut?” Jake asked as he walked closer to you.           “Oh shut the fuck up Jake you’ve been cheating on me for FOREVER now! Plus I just met this man, I’m not you! Calling me a slut is like the pot calling the kettle black You grade A asshole,” You spat trying to make your way into the house. Jake ran behind you and tried to grab onto your hair but he missed and you turned around and slapped him before he got the chance to hit you. “Fuck you Jake! Fuck you!” You turned back to Ari’s Jeep and walked towards it as Jake stood there and held his face. 

“You know you can’t get rid of me bitch! I’m all you’ve ever known!” Jake yelled as he stumbled back towards the house. You turned and flicked him off before swinging Ari’s door open and hopping back in.

“Ari I don’t care where you take me, just get me the hell away from here,” you said as you gritted your teeth. Ari smiled at you.

“Don’t gotta ask me twice mama!” He winked at you before putting the car in reverse and backing out of the driveway.

[bella-rose29]

Bite Me - Prologue

Vampire!Lockwood x f!vampire!reader

Ok so I have no idea what to call this series to be honest (Bite Me was the first thing that came into my head so we'll go with that for now), and also I have no idea how regularly I'm going to update

on the plus side I'm home for the Christmas holidays on the 15th (if I manage to get my assignments done bc I have four? five? due that day 🥲), so I'll have loads of time to write then!

Word count: 660

Warnings: being drunk, mentions/minor descriptions of death and decaying bodies, mentions/minor descriptions of wounds.

Tag list: will be at the end bc there are genuinely about 50 people (I'm assuming that if you liked this post, you wanted to be added to the tag list for this series). if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list, then let me know (either on the post I mentioned or here, or just drop me a message!) <3

(not my image, credit to David Geib)

Midnight.

The streets of London were bustling with activity despite the late hour, groups of people laughing obnoxiously as they exited or entered a pub, music blaring over car speakers and out of clubs, sirens cutting through the usual sound of car horns and traffic and bright lights casting the city in an almost supernatural glow.

A man was stumbling along the pavement, dressed in ragged clothing and his beard scruffy and untrimmed, and he clutched a bottle of beer in one of his dirty hands as though it were his most prized possession. The people that he passed paid him no attention, rightfully thinking that he was just another drunk trying to forget about the darkness that clouded the air of the capital. Perhaps the lady that stopped him when he nearly fell face first into the ground should have made sure that he got in the cab she hailed for him, but she was busy, needing to get home after working late. He slurred a thank you to her, patting her shoulder with a tired smile as the cab pulled up to the curb, and she went on her way.

The man didn't make it into the taxi.

A second man appeared before he could, and the driver, not wanting to wait given the late hour, drove off to find better customers. The drunk turned at the tap on his shoulder, furrowing his brow at the polished businessman before him and following in a drunken haze when asked.

If the woman had made sure that the man made it into the taxi, then perhaps she wouldn't have been watching the news the next morning, spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth, explaining how a drunk man had been murdered late last night in an alleyway.

She rushed to work after shovelling down the rest of her food, downing a coffee on the way to the morgue and demanding to see the body that had been brought in. She pressed her fingertips to her neck, right over her pulse point, and stepped into the room where the drunk man's body was, attempting not to gag at the stench that was already enveloping him.

He's decaying too quickly, she thought, a frown appearing on her face. It had barely been seven hours and already she was needing to press her sleeve over her nose to prevent the smell from assaulting her senses. Pulling back the cloth, the coroner explained how there were no signs of physical assault but for the marks on the neck.

The woman froze slightly, rectifying her slip-up when the coroner eyed her curiously and relaxed again, asking to be left alone for five minutes with the body.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind the last person to leave, the woman leaned in closer, pulling her hair out of the way and examining the marks.

The wound went right into the carotid artery, so at least the drunk man was only in pain for a few seconds before he died.

The woman left the room, dragging the cloth back up over his already-gaunt face, nodding to the people that she passed on the way out. Once outside, she leaned against a wall and pressed a hand to her forehead, the other hand holding her phone to her ear. It rang three times, then someone picked up.

"Yeah?" they answered.

"We have a problem," she said, not wasting time. There was no need for formalities, they each knew who was calling. "I've seen the body; it's definitely his work. We need to call a congress."

"Get it done. We'll need to move fast if you're right." The phone clicked on the other end, signalling the end of the call, and the woman sighed as she headed back to her car.

"Shit." She tapped her phone a few times, sending out the message to everyone that a congress would be in session in two days time. "Shit."

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[marmie-noir]

The New Waitress

I'm starting a series of small, stand alone snippets about a waitress who started working for Mitch Keller. I have no idea where these are going but enjoy!

(Gif not mine obvi, all the props for dameronscopilot who has NOT helped this brainrot in the slightest <3 )

Bred-2-Buck wasn’t my first choice for a job. But rolling into Tulsa with fifty bucks and a suitcase I couldn’t exactly be choosy. I had hopped off the bus and gone to a small diner right next to it, knowing if I wanted some gossip the old woman with her hair pinned back behind the faded neon counter would be my girl. A few bucks for a black coffee and I learned all about where I could get a job, quick, for cash. Which is why I ended up here at this bar and grill, wading through the cigarette smoke to sit at the bar and give my best smile to the owner. The waitress, Maureen, had told me to look for the tall man in a hat and flannel, she had neglected to tell me that he had the prettiest blue eyes and golden hair that curled around the edge of his hat. And he was tall and broad and - focus.

“Mitch, I assume?” I asked, dropping my bag on the stool next to me as I sat in mine, leaning on the old bartop slightly. The bar was casual, dimly lit with neon signs boasting what beers they had available, pub tables and booths filling the space not occupied with darts or pool tables. 

The man looked at me, raising his brows slightly as his eyes trailed over what he could see of me before meeting my eyes. “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?” That accent and deep voice, I was a goner. I pushed it down, leaning over the bar and extended a hand for him to shake, not letting my smile drop. “I’m Sunny Stevens. Your new waitress.” I introduced myself confidently, his hand sliding into mine for a firm but friendly handshake. 

He cracked a smile, a flash of white teeth against the dark blonde of his beard. “Hired a waitress did I?” “Just did.” I said back, squeezing his hand one last time before letting go. The two of us looked at one another for a few beats before I broke the silence, thankful the bar was mostly empty. “I’m new in town, and Maureen-” “Say no more, Sunny.” He interrupted, expression smoothing a bit more at the mention of the old waitress who had been my compass to this location. “Maureen sent you I’ll take ya. When can you start?” “Considering I’ve got nowhere to be and I don’t think I can afford a hotel with the cash I’ve got now would be preferred.” Mitch looked almost exasperated at me, something I’d soon get used to. He stepped around the bar after dropping an apron on the bar top before me that I snatched up. Grabbing my bag he gave me a look, taking it behind the bar. “I’ll keep this safe back here. Now, there are a few rules.” I hopped off the barstool, tying the apron around my waist. I had a pair of shorts and a t-shirt on, nothing fancy but perfect for a waitressing gig. I had even worn comfortable shoes, figuring I would have been hoofin' it around town. “Figured.” I said, twisting my hair up into a claw clip, brushing my bangs from my face as I looked up at him once more. “Hit me with ‘em, boss.” “Don’t steal from me, don’t steal from customers, and if anyone gives you problems? You come to me. I don’t want no one pawin’ after you.” “Pawin’ after me?” I asked with a grin, leaning on the bar. He looked amused before he pushed it down, shooting me what I assume was supposed to be a warning glance but I didn’t plan on listening. I couldn’t help myself, I liked Mitch already. He seemed nice, a little brooding maybe but nice. “Just tell me, yeah?” “You got it, boss.” I said, giving him a nod. I wasn’t going to argue if he wanted to make sure I was safe, and I wasn’t sure what kind of clientele came to a place like this. “One more thing, Sunny.” He said, making me pause at the serious tone in his voice. I looked up at him, tilting my head slightly as I adjusted the apron around my waist. “I bring my dad into work sometimes. He just sits at the end of the bar, quiet. If he asks for something just get it for him, pops doesn’t pay.” “Pops doesn’t pay.” I repeated with a grin, giving him a little two finger salute before dipping back into the kitchen to get familiar with it. Within a few hours I knew the cook, Charles, had the menu mostly memorized, and was carrying trays of beer filled mugs across the bar balanced on one shoulder like a pro. I liked serving, I liked the people I got to meet, and liked the cash tips the most. Folding another five into my pocket I cleared the table, grabbing empty mugs and plates, tossing them on the tray to take back to be washed. It was pretty busy, but not too busy for me to bother my new boss. Sliding behind the bar I smiled up at Mitch. He glanced over at me, sensing me there, lifting a brow with a slight smile as he continued to fill a few pitchers. “Whattcha need, darlin?” 

“Round of bourbon shots, two pitchers, and I believe the woman called it a ‘lemon pucker’ if you know how to make such a thing.” I listed off what I needed, setting my trusty tray on the bar top. Mitch smiled at that, looking amused. “Lemon pucker?” I nodded and his shoulders shook with a laugh. My boss was pretty and he didn’t even know it. “I’ll do my best, but no promises.” “I got faith in you.” I said, leaning against the bar to watch him pour the shots and make the lemon whatever the fucked up blonde in the back wanted. I raised my brow at him pouring stuff into a mixing glass over ice before the yellow drink ended up on my tray, whisked away to the back once more. 

Read more Sunny and Mitch here

[lydiablackblade]

What I need today to cope with the S2 ending #1.

Today I want to see that everyone on Whickber Street is silently and in mutual understanding teamed up to support Crowley after Aziraphale had left.

He is not a daily guest anymore but he pops up time to time to do a quick check on the bookshop and on Muriel.

And when he does, Nina makes sure he always gets his shots of espresso and never let him go without it. Sometimes she offers different kind of roasts just to "survey".

Maggie recommends him small indie rock bands he might not know and she even gives him CDs so he can listen to them in the Bentely (only for him, she still sells vinly for the customers)

Mr Arnold invites him to his jazz band's gigs (they are playing quite good, tho) and as fellow Dr. Who enthusiasts sometimes they have a long conversation about how the Tardis works (Crowley knows it better anyway)

When Crowley is at Nina's, Mrs Sandwich comes over, sits to his table and shares every saucy gossip from the neighborhood whispering loud enough to let everyone hear them. She even manages to make him some sort of smile sometimes. Even some snores.

Mrs Cheng regularly invites him to her restaurant to eat with her family. (He rather drinks than eat, but still. And he'd never admit but he likes how the Cheng family shares the food with each other)

When he "dines" at the Marguerite's (I mean ordering something and stare at it then go for the alcohol) - Justine makes sure he always get an extra glass of wine and let him sit all night at the table until they close just brooding and playing with the utensils.

Mutt and his spouse managed tempting him once participating to one of their classic D&D game nights with their friends. It was a rather good evening but miraculously the dice was always in Crowley's favor somehow.

Even Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets tried to have a small talk with him at the pub. Although he still doesn't know if Crowley was an escort or sugar boy (too old to be called boy honestly) who grew attached to his client too much or if he's a mob member or what was the real nature of his relationship to the former bookshop owner with whom he was seemingly glued together, but he thought he knows the feeling very well ghosted by Mr Fell, so why cannot he give comfort this poor fellow? After two minutes of trying to have conversation he practically run away from the pub bumping into tables and customers in panic. Nobody knows for sure what happened, all they saw was the ginger goth pushed back his shades to his nose and someone sweared he had heard hisses and a saw sudden flick of change of Crowley's face to something monstrous, but he was drunk already so no one believed him.

And for Crowley's utter surprise, once when he killed the time in St. James's Park, the Azerbaijani Sector Chief dropped a big bag of frozen peas next to him to feed the ducks and gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder then moved on without a word. The human of course had no idea what had happened, all he knew this person now sits alone on the bench radiating sorrow without the blond man next to him. He lost comrades during his many years of service, so he could recognize the signs. "That's the nature of our profession buddy, but you'll be alright" he messaged with his act.

And Crowley honestly doesn't understand why everyone is so kind to him.