#especially towards the end of the Green section

[dedicatednotobsessed]

Issa byka rūklon [Daemon Targaryen x Wife!reader]

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Other HOTD stories

Summary: Daemon is feared among men for his battle prowess, finding solace and love in his pure sunshine of a wife. One serene evening, amidst impending war, they steal a moment alone. His wife with gentle hands and a heart full of affection, braids Daemon’s hair, weaving delicate flowers into the strands…

*This was a one shot request from a very special person of mine, my bestie @mrsdaemontargaryen I had asked her to send me a prompt because I have been on such a long hiatus from writing. Writer’s block has not been fun {among personal things but let’s not get into that}. Please enjoy this Daemon one shot and soon enough, I will be taking requests again in time for season two. 🖤*

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You placed a hand on the ghost of your swelling stomach, your violet eyes shining from the fireplace’s flames. The incident was still fresh in your mind, your sister’s screams of calling you a traitor ringing in your ears. It wasn’t a surprise to see the twins together in Storm’s End, having been inseparable since birth, but you never thought Adryana* would try to murder you.

You turned your head slightly, hearing the footsteps, letting out a soft sigh, and feeling your husband wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back into his chest. “Is it done?”

Daemon nodded, nuzzling his nose into your silver hair. “Soon enough, she will feel the pain you felt.”

You took a deep breath, looking ahead. When Daemon was writing to his friends in the capital, you had mentioned to him how you wanted Adryana to feel the same pain you felt when she took her unborn babe from you. He added, “Along with the usurper’s son, take the life of his brother’s son.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Daemon whispered in your ear as though he could read your mind. “Those green cunts didn’t feel anything killing Luke and our child. You shouldn’t either.”

You nodded in agreement, furrowing your brows. “Can we go on a walk?” You knew this would be the last calm moment before Westeros is thrown into chaos.

You turned in Daemon’s arms, smiling a small smile when he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course, my love.”

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You wrapped your hands around Daemon’s arm as he led you down the familiar path toward Aegon’s Garden. During the day, it was a favorite spot for your young son, Alyster, to play in; he especially enjoyed the cranberries that grew there. The eye of the dragon statue glistened in the moonlight the closer you got, lifting your dress slightly so it did not drag too much through the grass.

You thanked Daemon quietly when he helped you into the plush grass, a hum passing your lips as you began to pick at the small white wildflowers surrounding you mindlessly. Since you’ve woken up from the incident, the two of you have rarely spent time alone, with Alyster not leaving your side and Daemon being preoccupied with the small council. For the first time in a long time, you felt peace.

Once he sat down, you moved to sit behind your husband, your fingers gingerly taking a section of his hair and beginning to work it in a braid. His hair was not as long as it once was but manageable. You smiled, hearing the light chuckle coming from him.

“What?” You asked as you grabbed one of the wildflowers you picked, placing it carefully within the braid.

Daemon kept his eyes ahead, a small smile forming on his features. “I’m only thinking back to our wedding day.”

“Our wedding day?” You repeated while beginning to braid another section of his hair, adding the little flowers as you went.

Daemon hummed in response. “You wanted to braid my hair that day, too.”

You smiled at the memory. You had a traditional Valyrian wedding against your mother’s wishes. You were never one to listen to your mother, to begin with, having gone against her wishes to become Rhaenyra’s ward at fifteen, shortly after Laena’s funeral, and two years later becoming Daemon’s third wife. Now, at the age of three-and-two, the two of you had a six-year-old son, a son your mother and father only met once.

“I’m hoping this war will be over quickly,” Daemon spoke quietly, breaking the silence.

You hummed, leaning back to examine your creation. “I do not want to talk about war this evening, my love,” You said softly, placing a few more flowers in the braids with a soft smile.

You enjoyed the calm moments while you could, not knowing if this would be your last one together. The war began when Aemond and Adryana struck in Storm’s End, and you knew Daemon would be restless until every one of their heads was on spikes. You were to cherish these moments while they lasted.

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You hummed as the sun filtered through the windows, stirring slightly only to feel the side beside you cold. You furrowed your brows while rubbing your eyes as you sat up, your stomach still sore from your injuries.

“You do not want to go to the small council like that?” You asked teasingly, seeing Daemon picking out the white flowers, having slept in them.

He chuckled, looking down at the small pile forming beside him at the vanity. “I’m not sure it would be proper attire for a small council meeting.”

You scrunched up your nose while slowly getting out of bed. Wrapping your silken robe around you, you walked up behind your husband, meeting his violet eyes in the mirror.

“Issa byka rūklon*,” Daemon said softly, placing his hand on your arm when you wrapped them around his neck.

You hummed lightly. “I prefer when you call me aōha vēzos*.”

Daemon laughed. “No one else can hear that.”

You smirked, moving back so Daemon could get up. You straightened his doublet for him, scrunching up your nose when he placed two fingers under your chin, making you look up.

“I love you, Y/N,” Daemon whispered, moving his hand to your cheek.

“I love you too,” You replied, meeting his lips in a short, sweet kiss.

You watched him pull away after a moment, a small smirk forming on your features. You noticed the stray flower tucked in the waves of his hair.

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“You’re late, Daemon,” Corlys spoke up, seeing the Prince enter the council chambers.

“You should already know that I enjoy making late, dramatic entrances,” Daemon replied simply, sliding into the empty seat on Rhaenyra’s right.

Rhaenyra eyed her uncle curiously, tilting her head. “Daemon,” She called to him, clearing her throat while motioning to her hair.

Daemon furrowed his brows, reaching up to feel the soft petals of the single wildflower he had forgotten about. He untangled it from his hair, looking down at it with a soft sigh.

“Is the Rogue Prince going soft?” Lord Celtigar questioned with a laugh.

“I believe he is,” Corlys agreed.

Daemon only scoffed as the Black Council erupted in laughter, Rhaenyra even adding a giggle of her own. He sighed as the jesting continued around him, his eyes staying on the wildflower in his hand. He twirled it on its tiny stem, his mind wandering back to his wife, their son, and the babe they had lost.

There was no guarantee of surviving this kin war, but Daemon was determined to win it so that he and his family could finally live the peaceful life they had long desired.

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*Adryana: Adryana Targaryen is my original character for House of the Dragon. She is the youngest daughter and fifth child of King Viserys and Queen Alicent (The reader is the eldest daughter and child). She is wed to her twin brother, Aemond, and they have a set of twins together; a son named Vanar and a daughter named Vhaenys. She is known to have a short temper and often accused her eldest sister of abandoning her to live with Rhaenyra on Dragonstone. She also felt hurt when she sided with Rhaenyra's children during the Driftmark incident. Her temper overflowed when her eldest sister made a comment about how their father would be disappointed in the twins and their actions after reuniting in Storm's End, ultimately resulting in Adryana attempting to kill her and the unborn babe. The eldest sister lived, but the unborn babe did not, leading to her and Daemon planning revenge on Lucerys and their child.

*Issa byka rūklon: High Valyrian for my little flower.

*aōha vēzos: High Valyrian for your sun.

[multi-lefaiye]

Me, naive: Maybe THIS time Eugene Lee Yang's coming out video won't make me start bawling

Me: [watches it]

Me: [immediately tears up and is crying by the end of it]

[michelle-is-writing]

Concussions, Greg House

Word count: 1.7k~

Warnings: mentions of vomit, concussion, hospital rooms.

Arguing with your boss is one of the worst things you can do with your boss. For my boyfriend of almost a year, it was nothing new. Plus, in Greg's mind, there were worse things one could do with their time. Like argue with me, his girlfriend - that was much worse than arguing with his boss, according to him.

Still, that didn't mean that he could always get away with arguing with his boss. Especially around Christmas time when the hours were needed and he just so happened to be an asshole. Anyone could figure out why I was upset when he told me he was unable to get Christmas Day off. He just had to be rude to Cuddy the day before he asked, and because of it, we both have to suffer.

Despite him promising to call me almost every hour, I still felt lonely when it came to Christmas Day. I woke up without the love of my life beside me, and I'll be alone until he gets home around nine in the evening. When Cuddy told him she couldn't give up the hours, he was especially rude in response, therefore earning more hours to work that day.

Right now it's around eleven in the morning, and even though I've put on a Christmas movie and made myself hot cocoa, I still feel sad. I have no one to spend this great day with, and it sucks. Maybe a nice walk outside will help me feel better. It's cold and snowing, but I can always wear a heavy coat and boots - no biggie. Besides, I may even see a pair of cardinals flying through the white sky like a holiday card straight from the hallmark section, and it would make the weather all the worth it.

Slipping on my fuzzy black boots that Greg got me at the beginning of our relationship, I throw on my fleece coat before heading out front. The lights strung on everyone's apartment are lit up, and the people that have their Christmas trees in front of their windows have them lit up as well. The green and red bulbs are a nice contrast to the white snow that fills every window sill and yard, making it look almost like a floating blanket on all the little segments of grass. It's such a beautiful sight to see, but it makes me miss Greg even more. He's always pessimistic, but even he would be happy with the looks of everything.

Stepping off the steps and onto the pavement, I take a few steps forward, only to look up and see a pair of cardinals flying above me just like I wanted. I marvel at the beautiful red shade of the male next to the equally beautiful olive colored female floating next to it. When they find their mates, a pair of cardinals can never be separated as they are mated for life. The idea of such a thing makes you smile, but the idea of finding your own true mate? It feels nearly impossible.

I seem to find the cardinals very distracting as the next thing I see is the pure white sky above me as I feel myself slip, my arms and legs flailing to grab onto something as I fall backward. However, they don't, and I end up landing on my back with my head colliding against the ice I slipped on. Everything happens so fast that I barely recognize the pain rushing to my cranium or mine and Greg's elderly neighbor rushing toward me as concerned words flow out of her mouth. Despite wanting to respond, I can't, and instead, my eyes close as I feel myself slip into a vast sea on unconsciousness.

It isn't until I finally wake up once again that I register the pounding pain in the back of my head. It nearly makes my eyes roll back, but before I can even do that, I quickly lean over the edge of the surface I'm lying on and feel the contents of my stomach empty. I soon feel a pair of hands gently pull my hair back as I do so, my eyes clearing up enough to watch a nurse’s legs in purple scrubs quickly push a trash can in front of me to finish vomiting into. However, it doesn't take long before I’m done and I almost fall back onto the slightly stiff surface I'm on, a damp cloth wiping at my mouth once I do so. Flashing my eyes throughout the room, I recognize the bright fluorescent lights above me as ones used in a hospital room and the surface I'm on is one of the uncomfortable beds in a hospital room. Great.

Turning my eyes over to the source of the hand holding the wet cloth, I find it to be the man I've been wanting to see all morning, a worried look etched onto his face. I want to fling myself in his arms and hug him, but my almost drunken haze prohibits me from doing so. Instead, I languidly smile and tiredly reach a hand up toward him, to which he takes in his own hand with a small smile.

"How in the hell," he begins, his voice taking over the almost stuffy noise in my ears. Gently running his thumb against the back of my hand, he takes the damp rag away from my face before tossing it onto the lid of the biohazard bin a few feet away. "Did you get yourself a grade two concussion just by walking outside?"

"I didn't mean to," I defend myself, trying to sit up a little, despite the deep pounding in my head. Greg helps me, but not before pushing my head back against the pillows to angle my face upward. "I just wanted to go for a small walk, and see some cardinals maybe! I did, by the way, and man, were they beautiful."

"You seem to be doing better than I thought," Greg points out, hovering over me to look into my eyes with a flash light. "No confusion or seemingly dizziness," he lists off. "You just seem fatigued and dazed, which is to be expected. The good news is you don't have memory loss."

"Who are you again?" I quickly throw at him, earning a downcast face with a frown. I immediately laugh at his reaction while reaching up to take his face in my hands, but his hands catch mine before they're even halfway there. I really am tired.

"I would say you're also having some psychological disturbances, but it's nothing different from usual," Greg jokes back, making me laugh again. At this, he smiles, but continues on. "How bad is your head pain?"

"Compared to the constant headache you give me, it's nothing," I tell him, once again, earning an eye roll in response. I know he's wanting to throw playful insults back at me, but he's trying to keep the moment as serious as he can. Don't get me wrong, I understand how severe my situation is, but I just can't help but take the chance to banter with Greg like he usually does with me.

With a sigh, Greg sits back in the armchair beside my hospital bed before taking something out of his pocket. "You just had to hit your head so you could end up in the hospital with me today," Greg chides, holding the rectangular box in his hand as he stares at it. "I guess irony plays a huge part in life's never ending game of... slipping and falling on ice!"

With his sarcastic comment, Greg pushes the box toward me as I smile at him, my hand reaching out to take the box from him. "Open it," Greg tells me, scooting his chair beside me to be closer to my bed. Doing as he says, I shakily unwrap the green ribbon from the box before slightly struggling to open it, my hands trembling from being asleep for so long.

With the maroon velvet box now open, I gasp upon seeing the diamond tennis bracelet shining back at me with the bright hospital room lights causing each beautiful crystal to sparkle like a thousand pieces of glitter. "Oh my God, Greg," I mutter, my eyes flashing over to him beside me. "This is... beyond gorgeous."

Smiling, Greg lifts one of his hands to brush my hair away from my face before using the other to take the bracelet out of the box and secure it around my wrist. "Merry Christmas," He tells me, leaning over to kiss my cheek. "I thought you would like this."

"I-I love it, Greg," I tell him, looking over at him with a frown. "But I don't have my gift for you! They're at the apartment and-and I wanted to give it to you so bad-"

Greg cuts me off from my rambling, an almost flabbergasted expression washing over his face. "Are you kidding?" He sarcastically asks me, reaching over to take my now diamond covered hand in his. "You ending up in the hospital with me is possibly the best thing you could do today, as morbid as it sounds," Crinkling my face at him with amusement, I shake my head at his demented words as he continues on. "This means I don't have to do what Cuddy says and stay in here with you and watch I Love Lucy."

Just as he says this, Greg takes the remote from the side table and turns the TV on, flipping through the channels before finding the show mentioned seconds earlier. Glancing away from our intertwined hands, I smile at Greg as he turns to look back at me as well. "I love you, Greg," I tell him, receiving a smile back before he leans over once more and presses a kiss to my cheek.

Sitting back in his chair, Greg keeps my hand in his as we both look over to the TV and watch as Lucy banters with Ricky just as Greg and I did moments ago. At this, I smile and ignore the pain in my head as I enjoy the positives of today despite being in a hospital. My loving partner beside me, a beautiful diamond bracelet on my wrist, and I Love Lucy reruns on the TV in front of us. As long as I'm with Greg, it doesn't matter where I spend my Christmas - just as long as he's by my side, I'll be fine.

[shawnxstyles]

don’t keep driving

DATE: FEBRUARY 4, 2023

summary: when your morning starts off on the wrong foot, a certain celebrity cuts you off and makes it even worse. this causes you and harry to bicker before he gets on stage, leaving things unsaid. being his security, you were forced to work around him. while he’s performing, harry makes sure to leave you flustered enough to come into his dressing room at the end of the night.

request: yesss

words: 6.6k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [choking, slight orgasm denial], degrading, daddy kink, praise kink, size kink, protected sex (consent is not directly implied here, always ask for consent!), dirty talk), language, and loads of dialogue (especially at the end)

note: the timeline here is completely different from his actual tour. i did describe the la night 8 outfit and a few real incidents that occurred from other shows lmao, but everything else is obviously fictional. enjoy!! harry masterlist

famous!harry x security!reader

—

You weren’t the type of person that gets irritated easily. Patience was your forte throughout your whole life, meaning you were rarely impatient to the point of madness.

However, unlike most of your life, you were a little more ticked off today than usual.

It started when your alarm didn’t wake you up this morning. You were so tired from the previous night, you passed out on the sofa in your living room. Your phone was left in your purse and therefore, making you frantically get ready this morning before heading to work.

Then you stopped to get some coffee because last night’s shift was a drag. You didn’t want to feel like crawling out of your skin again. You sipped your drink in the car, on your way to work. You nearly spit it across your windshield when you tasted the bitterness. Looking at the labeling, they completely botched your order with a black coffee. Was a vanilla latte that hard?

Setting the burnt-tasting liquid in a cup holder, you focus on driving. You try to keep your calm, hands gripping the wheel harshly. Traffic was packing up, making you later and later for work. Your head throbbed in stress as you sharply inhaled with a scowl on your face. You pressed the radio on to fill the road raged air. The very much overplayed “As It Was” plays throughout your speakers, making you roll your eyes. Once you exited the freeway, all you had to do was get through a few lights. Just a few stoplights and you would be at work.

Just breathe.

A flashy, red sports car speeds past you, swaying in its lane carelessly. It swerves in front of you, cutting you off entirely. You huff, slamming down on your breaks and honking your horn. You thank heavens that no one is behind you as you switch lanes aggressively and smash the gas pedal to accelerate to his speed. You catch up to the vehicle and glare at the figure. You almost couldn’t believe it.

Ironically, Harry Styles is driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his phone. He grins at the small screen, eyes flicking up and down from the road. You both arrive at a red stop light, breaking ferociously over the white line. The sight of his casualness angers you as you beep again. His head is alerted left toward your car. With knitted eyebrows and a death stare, you flip him off.

As he sits frozen and shocked, you accelerate through the now green light, leaving him in the dust. For some reason, a hint of a smile curls on your lips as you roll into the private parking lot. You show your ID card and pull into the security area. In your rear view mirror, Harry follows closely behind you, parking in a different section.

You smirk to yourself, knowing you gladly flipped off none one other than the Harry Styles.

—

You slip through the crowded hallways, anxious from the high-pitched screaming coming from the stadium. The closer it gets to showtime, the more anticipation fills up to the room and leaves everyone on high-alert.

It’s just like any other night.

You worked security at the Kia Forum. Ear piercing screams, blinding lights, and chaotic energy surrounded you almost every night. You knew some people would kill for a job that monitors and guards their favorite bands, and you were immensely grateful, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get stressed out and exhausted by the end of the week.

To add, you worked at the Kia Forum, not for the artist. Meaning, you were not directly affiliated with the band or artist performing there. Many people got confused and begged you for an autograph, but it was rare you talked one on one with the musicians for longer than a minute. Working at the forum helped you to not get attached to certain artists because you got to see a variety of artists every day, so you were never obsessing over one. Again, people would kill for your job.

But out of all the people you’ve worked security for, Harry Styles had to be the… most contradicting and unexpected. At least to you.

You’ve seen hundreds of videos of him online and he seemed like the perfect man with the perfect face. He was kind, charming, and had an old-man sense of humor. His figure was exceptional, making teenage girls fawn over him until they faint (you’ve witnessed it). He’s performed at the forum too many times to count (14 times if you were counting though) and each time he acts the same. Funny. Charming. Delightful. Engaging. Sexy. Emotional. Blah blah blah.

Fans don’t see the side of him that you see. Sometimes, you don’t even think his crew or friends see it. He was one of the only artists that you’ve talked to for more than a minute. And every minute you spent practically spitting at each other, you felt your time being wasted. Truly, Harry was cocky, vain, and couldn’t care less about your feelings. The only appropriate way to act was to deflect his own attitude back at him. You weren’t going to put him on a pedestal just because he was a celebrity; he was a person just like anyone else. You’ve only known him for a total of a few weeks; tonight would be his 15th time at the forum since you’ve worked here. However, the car incident today was your last nerve. Thankfully, this was his last night here before Love on Tour finally traveled out of the country.

Shaking your head, you wash away all of the pounding thoughts in your head. You rush around the back rooms in anticipation and anxiousness. Scurrying through the endless hallways, your foot snags in a random extension cord too quickly to balance yourself. Bracing for the fall, your arms extend out, only to be caught by the man whose name is plastered around the arena tonight. Tattooed arms lift you up to your feet as you try to balance yourself, chest pushing off of his chest. A smirk rises on his lips at your proximity as you roll your eyes until they touch the back of your skull.

“A thank you would be much appreciated,” Harry doesn’t remove his arms from beneath yours, keeping you closer than you’d like to be.

You swallow, green eyes piercing yours addictingly. You quickly glance at his outfit; a pastel pink T-shirt with a sequin teddy bear and blue leather pants. Harry Styles, the image, was adorable, sweet, and sexy— something you could’ve admitted at one point in your life. But since you’ve had your eyes opened by Harry, the real one, your blood boils every time he speaks, arrogance laced in his tongue. He was immature, and his childlike mannerisms crumpled any belief that ever found him endearing or sensible.

The only thing that may be sensitive was his ego, which made Mount Everest look small in comparison. Even though he did somehow manage to make a teddy bear shirt sexy, you would never in a million years tell him that.

“You were in my way,” You grumble, pushing yourself off of him. Your fingers felt the valley of his abs through his shirt as you brushed over them swiftly. Swallowing thickly, you stand in front of him with a locked jaw, acting like you didn’t just feel down his torso.

“If anythin’, y’were in my way—”

“Oh, sorry, did I ruin your makeup? Boo hoo. I didn’t ask for you to catch me!” You taunt and shout, eyes furrowed in irritation.

“Think I’d just let you fall?” His tone was surprisingly soft, and in some way, convincingly genuine, but you ignored it.

“Yes, I think that’s exactly what you’d do,” You click your tongue as your eyes bulge from their sockets. Harry’s nose flares while his lips are pursed tightly together.

“That doesn’t make me look good though, does it, darling?” Now, he tries to act soft, sweeping some of your hair to the side. You swat his ringed fingers away in disgust, infamously rolling your eyes. The trace of his fingers left a burning trail on your skin.

“And texting while driving does? Let’s all hail Harry for being such a great role model!” Your arms cross as your eyes roll dramatically for the hundredth time this minute. “For all I know, you were probably sexting some French model.”

Harry instantly remembers a few hours ago, when he was driving unsafely near the forum. He continuously stared at the adorable video on the screen instead of the road, accidentally cutting you off when he swerved into your lane. He cringes at the memory and your comment. As you spin away from him with annoyance sizzling off of you, he grips your elbow and swings you around to face him again. Your body twirls irritatingly too close to him as he holds you tightly by your elbows.

“S‘important,” It wasn’t really. It was just a heartwarmingly sweet video of his Goddaughter getting her nails officially done for the first time. He doesn’t know why he pulled you back toward him. He knows you didn’t like him and would rather breathe poisonous chemicals than the air surrounding him. But for some reason he needed you to know that he wasn’t texting some French model.

How did he mess up that bad?

“Sexting is more important than your life?” Your eyebrows lift as your eyes hang wearily at his dumb statement.

“Since when do y’care about my life?”

“I don’t. I care about other people’s lives. Which you endangered with your reckless driving!” Your shouts echo throughout the halls as the screams from the stands get more noisy and impatient for Harry’s arrival. “You have such a God-complex. Thinking you’re always right,” You grumble with a head shake.

“But if m’not right then that makes y’right, huh? So who really has the ‘God-complex’?” A smirk crawls up his face, arrogance inflating his ego. You huff under your breath, eyes squinting tiny daggers into his soul. Your skin boils with angered heat, fists bawling to contain it.

“Two minutes, Harry! Need you under the stage now!” A crew member jogs and calls for him across the way. Harry sincerely smiles in affirmation as the member slips back underneath the stage.

“Why do you act like you’re so high and mighty all the time? Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean you get to break the law!” You practically spit in his face.

“I break more things than you’d like to know,” He licks his lips with his unexpected innuendo, causing your heart to randomly speed up. His cocky attitude triggered you more than you would like to admit.

“That’s it! Your ego. Somebody needs to humble you.”

“I would say I’m quite humble. You are not.”

“Maybe that big ego is to make up for something,” You fire at him before he could continue to say a snarky comment back. You fold your arms as his face freezes and his words stop. He clicks his tongue as a psychotic laugh suddenly tumbles from his throat. You furrow your eyebrows at him concerningly.

“You are so fuckin’ in for it,” His voice is deep near your ear as he slips past you, jogging away. You didn’t know you were holding your breath until you walked out into the arena, bursting with lively energy and high-levels of anticipation. As best as you could, you shake off the sound of Harry’s voice; demanding, alluring, and almost… lustful.

You approach one of your co-workers, who is also one of your best friends, and greet her with a fist bump. The barrier was surrounded by guards to begin with, so your presence probably wasn’t needed, but the cash was good for a night shift. And plus, the shows were extremely fun, even if they were for Harry Styles.

—

You might not care for Harry, but his fans were something else. Laughter bubbles up in your throat from reading their ridiculous and out-of-pocket posters.

The jumbo-tron pans to a large white poster that says ‘DADDY?’, causing Harry to shift his attention that way. He stares at the sign, holding back a devilish smirk that you knew all too well.

“Yes?” He says, smile breaking as his laughter echoes in the microphone. Everyone screams so ridiculously loud, you swear there wasn’t a single person silent. “All I can say is, yes?”

The fans continue to scream at his taunting and devilish behavior. Your mouth falls open and you gasp, wondering if it’s true or if he’s just doing it for the fans. You imagine using the name in bed, and heat rushes up to your face when you imagine Harry with you. If he was anything like he was on stage, he was probably into edging and choking as well. He constantly “edged” the audience and pretended to choke himself during one of his songs. Your eyes blur as your body begins to sweat from the lewd idea; Harry’s hand around your neck while he fucks you so deep your eyes are rolling back for a new reason other than his cockiness. You curse at yourself and rapidly shake your head because Harry was the last person you should be having dirty thoughts of.

As the night goes on, Harry eventually transitions into “Keep Driving”, which he has been waiting for all night. Ever since you and Harry’s conversation in the hallway, he hasn’t stopped thinking about you. He hasn’t forgotten the way your hand traced his abdomen and how warm your face felt under his fingertips. He especially didn’t forget your little comment. He peers at the back of your head as the intro starts, his hands resting tightly around the microphone. He starts singing, excitedly waiting for the bridge.

You actually really liked his music, and it frustrated you sometimes that he was so annoying because it made it hard to appreciate. However, as a new song begins you face your attention to the popstar smoothly singing the words.

“Passports and footwells, kiss her and don’t tells,” Harry sings, eyes gliding toward yours as he winks. A group of girls screams happily behind you, but you had a strange feeling it wasn’t for them. Your heart jumps as you watch his eyes drift away to other parts of the audience. You continue to watch him with squinted eyes and a chewed lip, trying to decipher why he just did that.

The entire crowd sings along to the absurd and random bridge, everyone putting their full heart into it. It was endearing to see so many people coming together to appreciate a common interest. A reason you loved this job was because you loved music, and every day it reminded you of how many people loved it just as much.

“Cocaine, side boob, choke her with a sea view,” Harry motions his hand towards his throat, pretending to choke himself. You notice how he pinches the sides without gripping all the way, wondering if he did that on purpose or not. When it comes to choking (as a sexual act), it is important to not fully wrap a hand around their neck, so they don’t… well, pass out or die. If he knew that, that must mean he’s into it…

His green eyes locked on yours for every word of that line, his mouth wide as he husked out the lyrics. You swallow, heart racing as familiar heat creeps up your neck. Before you could look away, he removes his hand from his own neck and points directly at you. Your eyes widen as you forget to breathe, coughing on your flusteredness.

What. The. Fuck?

With uneven and strangled breaths, you tell one of your co-workers that you feel unwell and need to use the restroom. He nods understandably and you jog to the nearest bathroom.

As Harry continues to perform, he notices you vanished. He wasn’t sure when, but your figure was no longer stuck standstill to the left of the stage after he finished Matilda and Little Freak. Something in him pangs with pain, but he assumes it’s from the depressing songs he just sang. He doesn’t have enough time to ponder and find the real answer because the delicate Satellite intro begins to play throughout the arena. He begins to sing just like he has all night, but he can’t keep his eyes from wandering to that empty gap between all the workers.

—

The iconic and chaotic screams of tonight become only a memory as the show ends. Thousands of stylish people begin to leave the arena safely with the help of security like yourself. However, you left the room right when the show ended because you were too unwell to say the least.

When you came back from the bathroom after Harry’s little choking charade, you came back to him dancing and singing as if nothing happened. As the night continued on, his enchanting eyes would hook onto yours for a second too long. Every time he strategically moved, hand sliding seductively down his torso or hips swaying sexily, his eyes would burn holes in your skin.

Saying you were flushed and flustered during the concert was an understatement; you felt like you were bathing in a sauna on a summer day. The anger that bubbled under your heated skin didn’t help in cooling you down; it only made you more furious that his little antics affected you so easily. You tried to deny the fact that he was looking directly at you by rolling your eyes, but when he did it more than occasionally with that infamous smirk on his face, it confirmed the theory.

You pushed through the authorized doors, sweating under your uniform. You were determined to find him and talk to him. In some twisted way, you felt like he had some power over you now. Like he had won this stupid little war you had. You knew he knew what he was doing, and you were sure he had an idea of how it made you feel. You didn’t like that.

When your blazing eyes discover his dressing room door, you pound your clenching fist against it. You don’t wait for him to answer before opening the door impatiently yourself.

“Harry—” Your words get caught in your throat as you eye the half naked man in front of you. Harry stands shirtless across the small room, sweat glistening on his tattooed skin as a towel rests upon his shoulder. He casually turns around, an unamused expression on his face. You gulp, pushing all your feelings down. “What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” Harry asks innocently as he dabs the towel over his sheer skin. You try not to avert your eyes from his face, but he’s making it incredibly difficult to not look at his toned abs and arms.

“The hand! On the neck!” You whisper-shout at him as he nonchalantly strides closer to you and lays the towel on the couch. You remain angry as he stands in front of you with a guiltless look on his face.

“I beg your pardon?” He politely states with huge eyes, causing you to growl and nearly punch him in the mouth. Maybe if you did it hard enough, he would never talk again. You heavily considered it.

“Th-the choking thing!” You stumble over your words out of frustration. His body radiated heat that you were close enough to feel, heart pounding unwillingly in your chest from the sudden proximity.

“Ohh, you mean this?” Harry delicately rests his ringed hand over your neck, any word you even thought about saying got caught in your throat.

His fingertips press lightly against the pulses on your neck, metal digging into your skin delightfully. You attempt to swallow your saliva as your heart beats crazily. After a few seconds, your vision gets slightly dizzy and your heart stammers faster and faster. He releases the pressure, hand remaining lightly around your throat. You take heavy breaths, looking up at him as flames light up in your irises.

“Har—”

“Ah ah, no talking yet. I think you’ve done enough of that,” He demands deeply with a threatening press to your pulse. You obey with a heavy puff as he releases, not having much of a choice. Being right next to the door, his opposite hand twists the tiny lock, trapping you inside.

“Do you remember what you said before I went on?” As your mind flashes through the memories of tonight, you’re reminded of a handful of things you said to him. But you didn’t know which one he was referring to, so you shake your head. “My ego. You said it was so big it must make up for something. What did you mean by that?”

Your eyes widen as heat crawls up your skin quickly. Harry can feel you gulp against his hand as you remember the underlying reason behind the insult.

Harry knew what you meant, he just wanted to hear you say it. Your little bursts of anger gave him enjoyment and relief, especially after 15 shows working together. The acid that spat from your mouth always ignited a fire inside of him that he’s never felt from anyone else. He never understood it, but when he was on stage and saw how flustered you were, it finally clicked. Your little comment earlier gave him an opportunity.

“Your dick is small,” You grumble, looking down at the carpeted floor.

“What was that?”

“Your dick. Is. Small.” You emphasize every repeated word with an irritating puff. Like earlier, a psychotic chuckle elicits from his mouth, scaring you from his unknown thoughts.

“I don’t like your big, bratty attitude.”

“It’s nowhere near as big as your ego.”

With your words and his rippled laughter, the last thing you expected him to do was kiss you. It was sloppy and hungry as he ripped apart your jacket until the zipper broke. You gasp as it falls to the floor around you, allowing him to slip his tongue dangerously into your agape mouth. His lips move in rhythm against yours, teeth clanging with desperation. Your hands intertwine with his damp curls and you tug them viciously. A groan elicits from his throat as his hand tightens around your neck. He pulls away, both of you heaving from the intensity and heat.

“What the–”

“No talking. Got it, brat?” His grasp is strong against you, rings pinching your skin tastefully. Your cunt aches underneath the tight fabric of your uniform, frustratingly horny from his appeal. His muscles bulk as he chaotically unbuttons your pants, yanking them down thighs.

You hastingly flip off your shoes, cursing at yourself for giving into him. His rough palms on your skin set you on fire; shots of electricity soaring straight to your clit. The blinding pinches of his fingers around your throat create a pool of arousal in your panties, and it disgusts you how turned on you are from him.

“How wet are you right now?”

“Drier than a desert,” You lie through gritted teeth as he pushes you harsher against the wall.

“I’ll see about that.”

Following his own word, his free hand slips past your underwear and cups your pussy. A strangled noise leaves you at the feeling of his bare hand touching you so vulnerably. He has you at his mercy, for once not being able to fight back. Instinctively, you grind once over his rugged palm needily and he growls at your heavy arousal.

“Fuckin’ brat,” He spits, rubbing against your heat ferociously. For the first time tonight, you moan unwilling at his movements, hands grasping securely on his shoulder blades.

With a smug smirk, Harry continues to itch your clit, giving you a blissful friction that has your eyes rolling. Your stomach tenses as you bite your lip forcefully, containing all of your noises. You almost forget about his hand on your neck until he presses along your pulses. Stars begin to gloss over your vision as heated lust fogs up your mind. You feel your body float into the sky until you're seeing the clouds of pure ecstasy surround you.

As the burning blood runs through your veins again, you take a deep breath that causes you to moan out loudly. You slap a hand over your own mouth at your foolishness, knowing that anyone could hear you and know exactly what was going on.

You see, Harry is famous. He can get away with a lot of things like sleeping with a fan or maybe even texting and driving. But you, an average security worker, could not. If someone knew what you were doing right now, you’d be fired on the spot.

However, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as Harry slots a slender finger inside of you. You whimper at how easily he slipped it in. You were so fucking turned on, you could fix the drought. He simply curls his digit as you clutch around him, causing him to hiss.

Harry removes his hand from your panties, causing your eyes to shoot open and glare at him angrily. He brings your wetness up to his mouth and widens, sucking away all of your juices from his fingertips. Your chest heaves at the sight, exasperated and outraged that he’s having so much fun with this.

“For someone so hostile, you taste very sweet,” His taunts, making you growl. You try to push him off of you because you were sick of him. Sick of his games and sick of his ego. Way too sick of his ego. You didn’t have time for this. But he holds you secure by locking you to the wall with his hand. “Nuh uh, we’re not done just yet. We haven’t even gotten to the fun part. You know, where I show you you’re wrong.”

With a skillful hand, he unzips his trousers and tears your panties off your body. You gasp, shocked at how impulsive he’s being. He pushes his briefs down until they’re around his ankles. His cock springs free, large and leaking. His tip is pink followed by several veins running along the sides. You can see its neglect, aching and desperate– you can feel the pain. But your heart stammers wildly in your chest when you really comprehend his size. He was thick and bulky, but also long and lengthy. It almost looked fake because it was so surreal. People would pay big money for that, and having an idea of his income, maybe he had.

“Did you pay for that? Because there is no way,” You whisper breathily in the heated silence. He magically slips on a miraculous condom that he must have gotten while you were daydreaming in a haze. Of course, he just has condoms with him. He chuckles hoarsely and shortly as he leans closer toward your ear.

“All natural, baby,” He rasps from the aftermath of singing all night. His breath is soft and electrifying on your skin, causing your cunt to throb with undeniable desire.

His thumb rests on your pulsating clit, petting it delicately, unlike the roughness of his hand on your throat. Your thighs clench, sensitive because he’s being such a tease. He runs his fingertips over your wetness as more begins to leak out of you, his cold, metal rings grazing the skin of your inner thighs.

“What is taking you so long? Scared your fake dick is going to fall off?” You strangle out your snarky words from behind his choking grasp. He clenches his teeth in annoyance as he grips your supple thigh and hooks it around his hip.

“I was going to ask if you were ready, but since you want to be so impatient, I don’t really give a fuck anymore,” And with that, he thrusts inside of you completely.

Harry tucks himself deep in you, giving you no mercy with his vicious movements. Your nosy moan echoes throughout the tiny dressing room, but you didn’t have enough self-awareness to stop it. His thick cock stretches out your walls so deliciously, your pussy constricts snuggly around him. He groans at your tightness, wet and warm all around him. He plunges brisker into you, addicted to the feeling of your velvety cunt wrapping him.

Your legs tremble with his powerful propels. If he wasn’t pinning you with his cock wrathfully into the wall, you’re sure your legs would give out from underneath you. You squeeze your leg hooked on his hip, bringing him closer and deeper inside of you. You both share a collective groan at the new feeling, touching a place that sends you both into overwhelming bliss.

“Still small?” He husks smugly as his hand caresses the nape of your neck, controlling your pulses. Harry moans when you grind your hips into his, rubbing against his shaft mesmerizingly.

“I’m,” You try to contain your moan in order to drain his satisfaction, “unimpressed.”

“Really? How about I go deeper?” Like before, he lifts up your other leg, latching your body completely to his. You gasp as you leave the ground, hands digging into his shoulders brutally. He shoves you against the wall, fingers restricting your airflow as he slams into harsher than before.

Harry rams inside of you at a new angle, intensifying the pleasure to an even higher level than before. His thrusts are brutally quick, as if he was trying to win a race. Losing your grip, one of your hands falls down his crafted torso, tracing his toned and tattooed skin. Your eyes roll back in pure ecstasy as you lose reality. You feel your spirit leave your body; you swear you were dangling above yourself. With your lack of oxygen, the world slowly slips away from you in a lustful haze. If you died now, you would be beyond pissed because you were with Harry, but at least you had the best sex of your whole life.

But you would never, in a million years, tell Harry that.

His coarse hand drags down your abdomen, leaving a blaze in its trail. His rugged thumb circles hastingly over your bud, causing flashes of your orgasm to appear in view at the sensation. As your head begins to drop forward, Harry releases the blinding pressure from your neck and slams his hand on the wall to balance on. You desperately inhale, craving the oxygen to bring you back to the present.

When your stomach tightens and you squeeze around his length, it alerts you both that you were on the brink of your orgasm. The overwhelming pleasure from his cock doesn’t miss to prevail over you as he jabs your cunt with no sympathy. Your nails scratch along his butterfly tattoo that sits beautifully in between you both, almost too innocent to be involved in such a sinful act. The head of his shaft repeatedly hits your g-spot, eliciting loud cries from your mouth. He doesn’t try to quiet you.

“Tell me, Y/N. Tell me who’s making you feel this good,” Harry demands as he rocks and flicks his hips skillfully. You were too desperate and way too close to reply with a sassy remark. However, your mind flashes over the memory of tonight when Harry read that sign. That sign. You knew if you didn’t listen to him he would take it away from you.

You hated how he had so much control over you. But your body thought otherwise.

“You! You’re making me feel so good, Daddy,” Breathless moans and mewls tumble from your mouth as your climax shakes your whole body. “So deep.”

He growls heavily against your ear, your body vibrating from the effect. A devilish smirk haunts your lips at how affected he is by the simple name, and in some way, you felt like you had a centimeter of his control.

“Daddy, huh? God, you’re such a slut,” He grunts, squeezing the back of your neck as he twitches inside of you. “Am I still small? Hm?”

“N-no, you’re big, Daddy. So deep inside of me. Fuck, I’m gonna come,” You whine embarrassingly as your head shakes against the wall.

“Come, Y/N. Come all over my big cock,” He husks in your ear as you continue to thrash on the wall. To silence you, Harry catches your lips with his. Your pussy tightens around his length as your orgasm waves over you. Your body and mind submerges into a blissful fog as your climax surrounds him. His thrusts become languid and messy as he feels your cum soak his cock. Your tongue slips graciously along his pink lips, helping him finish. If you weren’t in an orgasmic haze, you would have walked out and left him edged.

With a string of profanities against your lips, his length spasms against your walls. His cum shoots into the condom, and within a few moments, his movements still.

Heavy breathing, hearts racing, muscles trembling, and sweat glistening, you two stand with your bodies pressed together. You swallow at the awkward aftermath because you didn’t think this far. You never even thought this was a possibility in any universe.

You just had sex with Harry. Oh shit.

He watches as you come to the realization. You quickly push him off of you and pull up your pants. You wince when you notice that you have no underwear because Harry tore them to shreds. Slipping on your shoes, Harry saunters over to his vanity and wraps a towel around his waist.

“Don’t act so terrified, Y/N,” His familiar cocky and nonchalant character was back like normal, and in all honesty, it gave you some type of comfort. His attitude gave you an excuse to be irritated and allowed you to shift away from the awkwardness that remained wrapped around your throat. Even if he was across the room from you now, you could still feel the tight grasp of his ringed fingers pinching your neck. You had a feeling that everything he did would now somehow remind you of sex with him.

“How are you so okay right now? Do you just do this with everyone?”

“What do you mean?”

“So you just bring people back here after every show and have sex with them?”

“Bloody hell, Y/N. No, I don’t do that,” He practically winces from your accusation, and you subconsciously relax your muscles at his denial. “Never done that actually.”

“So then what was this?”

“Technically, you came in here,” He pins you with a knowing look and you roll your eyes with a huff.

“Just so you know, no one can know about this, okay? And I know you probably couldn’t give less of a shit, but I could be fired,” Your jaw ticks as your eyes wander around the room, refusing to look at him directly.

“I won’t tell anyone. Promise,” Although he is a cocky and sarcastic jerk, you can’t help but realize that his tone is one hundred percent genuine. With a simple nod, you take his word for it and start to exit the room.

“By the way, you owe me new underwear.”

“Anything you like in particular?” With your hand on the knob, you think for a moment.

“I want one of everything. I know it won’t even put a dent in your pocket, but I like to think that I did,” As his chuckle fills your ears, it becomes more and more distant as you exit the small room. Security and crew buzz around the hallways, shocking you frozen immediately. You’re praying that nobody saw you walk out of Harry’s room, let alone heard you five minutes ago.

“Y/N! There you are. Did you know that the crew had a prank war under the stage? It was so funny, God, you just had to be there. And I was laughing my ass off when Harry’s bus left without Harry,” Your co-worker pats your shoulder as she laughs. In any normal circumstance, you would join in on her hysterics, but a small gasp leaves your mouth as your hand covers your lips.

“They left?”

“Yeah. They always leave in a rush I guess,” She replies to your question and then rambles on about the pranks from the crew. Your head turns back to peer at Harry’s dressing room door. You notice that the little paper with his name has been removed from the slot.

Everything was too chaotic for anyone to know where he was.

Now, that’s hilarious.

You subtly giggle as you and your friend trail down the hallway. In the back of your mind, you imagine Harry sitting all alone in the room. He probably had a valet take his car, so now he had nothing. You assumed most of his belongings were on the bus, and maybe that even meant his phone. Impulsively, you tell your friend you have to go to the bathroom and turn around. You head back to his dressing room and enter without knocking this time. Unlike before, he’s fully dressed with an annoyed look on his face. You tuck your lips inside of your mouth, trying to contain your giggles at his irritation of the situation.

“You know they left? Without me? How do they even do that?!” You can’t hold it back anymore as your laughter ripples from you. You cover the noise with your hands, but it’s no use.

“They probably realized they don’t really like you anymore.”

“Oh, ha ha. So funny, Y/N,” Harry says facetiously and rolls his eyes as he stuffs everything in his small carry-on bag. “I feel like this is the moment where you offer me a ride.”

“Mm only if I get something out of it.”

“Anything you want I can probably get it, let’s just go,” He ushers you both out of the door and when you walk into the hallway this time, it’s empty. You don’t hear a peep as you trudge through the carpeted walkways all the way outside to the secure parking lot. You get to your car and you both slip inside when you unlock it.

“You know, I expected better from you.”

“I will leave you here,” You glare at him from across the console.

“I can get you a car. Do you want the one I was driving earlier? The red reminds me of how ferocious you are all the time.”

“You mean the one that you nearly killed me with? No thanks,” You shove the key into the ignition and reverse out of the deserted area. “You know, you never told me what you were actually doing on your phone anyway.”

“Oh, I was looking at a video of my Goddaughter. She was getting her nails painted,” He smiles softly, recalling the short clip of her pure happiness.

“Sounds adorable, but that was still wrong,” He groans and slams his head against the heat rest. You smile smugly in satisfaction as you speed through the empty roads of LA, completely contradicting your opinion.

His bus leaving was like perfect karma that was made to humble him. Maybe Harry wasn’t the worst person ever. As long as you had the wheel.

—

tags: @crybabyddl @raajali3

[fadingdaggerr]

Hi luv I love you works so much !!!!!

Idk if you're still taking a request but I have an idea for r and melissa fics :). So r has a big bombastic crush on melissa and so does Melissa but you know how Melissa is, she's acting like she hates r. But then they ended up wrapping a birthday gift together for one of the teachers. And then they confess, kiss and stuff :)

Thank youuuuuuuuu

just how we feel

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: request above! eight months at abbot had you convinced melissa hated you, until jacob pairs you together for janine’s birthday celebrations

warnings/includes: insecurity (mel and r), mel is mean to r, angst? or at least angst-adjacent, resolved conflict, confession, little bit of kissing

italicized sections are flashbacks

note: on this episode of ‘sol got a little too into this and they almost forgot the prompt’ did i project onto mel a little in this one. yeah? i did. and we’re gonna say NOTHING. n e ways. enjoy <3

your first day at abbott all those months ago had been a rocky start, but now the school practically felt like home. the kids were sweet and pretty funny, full of unbridled energy, but sweet and funny nonetheless. most of your fellow teachers were nice, helpful even. janine seemed to be the most excited about you joining the team, jacob a close second. you were thankful for gregory’s calm presence when you sat with them, both of you just allowing the other two to speak to their hearts’ content. ava had told you she was ‘glad there was someone close to her level of sexy,’ because apparently being the only one was exhausting for her.

your eyes landed on a redhead seated close to the coffee maker. big green eyes and glossy lips, her leather jacket exuding confidence for her. she caught onto your careful staring, her eyes scanned over you quickly, lingering briefly when your eyes met. you smiled lightly under her attention, giving her a tiny wave. she looked down instead of replying.

for the first month, you hadn’t said much more than hello and good morning to barbara or melissa. eyes of aventurine burned holes into you every time you so much as tried to speak to one of them, to the point where you only greeted barbara when she was alone, never saying a word to the redhead. you wished those beautiful eyes would look at you with something other than disdain, and maybe her voice would hold flowers instead of thorns.

you had tried, you really did. melissa’s presence was alluring, her laugh and smile were unbelievably beautiful, even if they were never directed towards you. it was a struggle to not even look at her, but being caught felt like it would result in being screamed at. you tried small waves, even just a nod of acknowledgment, but no matter what you did, you were always met with cold response.

“good morning, melissa,” you said with a soft smile as you poured yourself a cup of bitter coffee.

“yeah,” was all she responded with.

it hurt to no end. for some reason that you apparently weren’t worthy of knowing, melissa schemmenti hated you.

after six long months, and a new school year, barbara had started to make little visits to you classroom before the day started. most conversations were pleasant, and always ending at exactly the same time. the moment melissa walked into the building, you were back to being by yourself.

—

getting in early gave you a sense of control. everything could be set up before anyone, even other teachers, could see otherwise felt nice. what was also nice was that barbara and gregory were the only other two that showed up just after you, janine only a few minutes behind them. early mornings meant you could speak to your coworkers, especially barbara, without anxiety eating you inside-out.

“baby, i haven’t seen you all week! how was your weekend?” barbara asks from your doorway with a kind smile.

“oh, hey barb. it was good, little sad about the rain though,” you say with a small pout, “i was supposed to go to this mini-market my neighborhood has. how was yours?”

an excited look crosses her face, “oh, it was lovely. gerald and i went out to dinner saturday, just the two of us. sunday we had brunch with melissa at gustavo’s.”

the mention of melissa’s name made your content smile falter. she was incredibly guarded with everyone, that wasn’t your problem. it was that everyone else, even the worst and actually annoying ones, at least got a small smile and a greeting. you didn’t even get an acknowledgment other than the occasional glare that came when you entered the lounge.

“that’s nice,” you said with a tight-lipped smile, turning away to adjust a stack of quizzes on your desk. you miss the way barbara looks at you with confusion, your reaction feeling off to her. the clock ticked, telling you it’s time for melissa to arrive. turning to barbara, you swallow your emotions, “i’ll see you later barb.”

that same day at lunch you quickly dropped quarters into the vending machine with shaking fingers, melissa standing beside you, waiting her turn. the last iced tea drops down and you hear a huff from the redhead’s lips behind you, then catch sight of her moving to sit down. the defeat written on her face told you that the iced tea was something she liked, had even been looking forward to. a nagging feeling pulled at your heart, the desire too strong to get rid of the barely noticeable frown on her lips.

you walk over and place the raspberry iced tea on the table in front of her, “have a nice day, miss schemmenti.” you left quickly, not wanting to see the disgust for you on her features. if you had stayed you would’ve seen the sad look across her face at the interaction, namely your departure.

—

early november was filled with secret meetings before students arrived, and most importantly, before janine arrived. you had all avoided her like the plague, scared to reveal secrets about her upcoming birthday. twenty-six is a very big deal, according to jacob, but so was her twenty-fifth.

you all played along with jacob’s plans and enthusiasm, he even somehow convinced barbara to take janine out for a one-on-one breakfast as a birthday surprise. ava had agreed to one singular day of not making fun of janine for anything, even her clothes ava! gregory stayed private about his plans for janine’s birthday. even with all of you were practically begging him to spill the beans, he kept his mouth shut with a little smile making its way forward.

jacob had divided the rest of the gifts that janine absolutely needed between himself and zach, you, and melissa. he had already planned when to get the big gift, whatever it was, with zach over the weekend. this meant he had assigned you and melissa to buying and arranging the decorations. when he suggested this, you wished you hadn’t looked over to melissa. you watch her head bow down, muttering something under her breath with a face of annoyance. when her eyes looked up to meet yours, you immediately looked away and picked at your nails.

five minutes before janine was to arrive, your secret meeting ended, everyone quickly going to their typical places. in the lounge you stand next to barbara where she sits at her table with melissa.

it took a couple deep breaths before speaking to calm yourself. after fumbling with your bag to grab your wallet, you drop two twenties in front of melissa, “here, money for the decorations. saves you from having to deal with me.” and with that, you leave the lounge and walk to your classroom, leaving melissa behind with a frown.

the redhead turns to barbara, “what was that?” barbara only responds with a sharp glare and a shake of the head. melissa’s head perks up to see if anyone else had witnessed it, but jacob and gregory are quick to turn away and avoid her gaze. she turns back to barbara, “what?!”

ava is the only one brave enough to say, “that was the final straw in live action.”

“what does that mean?” melissa is fuming, which is only worsened when jacob mumbles under his breath, “what did you say, hill?”

with wide eyes, and hands gripping the table as if he would throw it if she attacked, jacob says quickly, “if you’re rude to someone all the time, they’re gonna be rude back.”

“that schemmenti snark is great, but pissy smurf is a human too, even if you hate them,” ava speaks up again. her words actually stopped melissa’s thoughts for a second. hate you? when did she say she hated you? she didn’t hate you, yet everyone else seemed to agree on it.

gregory clears his throat, “just saying, the response to ‘good morning,’ typically isn’t just ‘yeah’ or ignoring it completely.”

“am i really that bad?” melissa asks in a quieter tone, only barbara picking up on the insecurity. the silence from everyone is more than telling, making melissa think to herself for a moment. you hadn’t eaten in the teachers’ lounge since your second week at abbott, the last time she’d seen you here was after janine’s friend ruined her books.

she walked into the lounge to take a breather, not even noticing anyone else was in the room. when you saw her flushed face and her hands tensing into fists, you’d asked her if she was alright and if she needed or wanted help, a kind expression despite the worry behind your eyes. seeing melissa upset made you feel the need to act for a reason you couldn’t place yet, but her apprehension towards you grew your own doubt. when she turned to look at you, the anger and resentment on her face only grew.

“do i look like i need your fucking help?”

you stuttered back a bit at the aggressive nature of her tone, the stone cold look in her eyes making you feel small. you blinked quickly, only answering with a mumbled ‘sorry’ before leaving.

thinking about the interaction, her heart shattered for you and anger for herself rose. you’d done nothing but try to show her some semblance of kindness, even when she was horrible to you. she yelled at you, swore at you, and you still gave her your iced tea, held doors, and last week you brushed the light dusting of snow off her car before you left.

“fuck it,” she says as she stands and heads down the hallway. she was going to talk to you, even if she had never actually done so before. when she reaches your classroom, she wipes sweaty hands on her shirt, nerves eating her alive. it shouldn’t be this hard to talk to you, but the knowledge that you were sure she hated you made the task impossible. she peeks in the window and sees you stabbing at something in tupperware, but not eating it. she finds some amount of courage to knock.

“open,” you call out. when you turn to see who entered, your shoulders tense immediately. your mouth moves faster than your brain and you ask her, “was i not allowed to stand near your table? i’ll make note for next time.”

melissa visibly cringes at the comment but doesn’t retaliate, she knows she deserved that one. she looks down at the floor for a moment, then back to you, “i don’t hate you.”

“you don’t even look like you believe that,” you turn your chair to face her, leaned back with your arms crossed. you sigh, “it’s fine, don’t dwell on it. i’m not going to anymore.”

“i don’t hate you,” melissa repeats, “but i know i haven’t done anything to help my case.”

“no, you haven’t,” you say, looking at the floor as you stand from the chair. you lean against the desk and face melissa, doubt written across your expression. you sigh, “but you can try to help it now. maybe explain why i walked into abbott and became a god damn pariah.”

she closes the door behind herself and leans against the wall across from you. she’s never been so nervous, but with your eyes trained on her instead of jumping away, her heart races.

she fusses with her rings for a second then says, “i don’t like new people. never have, probably never will. that’s not an excuse, i know.” you nod, understanding part of her original apprehension but motion for her to continue. she thankful for a second and goes on, “you’re so warm to everyone, even me, even when i’m not. stupid thing, i like how nice you are to me, how for some reason you think of me even when i’m,” she gestures up and down herself, “me.”

you blink a couple times, collecting your thoughts, “you like that i’m nice to everyone, to you, so you swear at me and never respond when i say good morning?”

she takes a sharp inhale, “…yes. i’m not used to that, there’s no catch, no little jokes or whatever, just nice. i don’t want people looking at me, talking to me, it’s bleh,” she appreciates the little laugh you let out, “but from you, it feels different, good different. and i’m an idiot apparently because i fight it, i fight ‘cause i’m expecting the shoe to drop. but there’s no shoes! not until it was a bad different, especially coming from you, and it was my fault.”

melissa hadn’t realized her eyes had began to water at her words. she’d never been good at this, verbalizing feelings when she didn’t fully understand what they were. she glanced up at you, expecting anger written in the lines of your face, only to find what she could only think was empathy, perhaps understanding. you nod, letting her continue, seeing the nervous look on her face telling you there was more.

“the yelling at you, i am so, so sorry. she destroyed hundreds of dollars of books and i was so angry, i didn’t think about what i said, who i said it to. dio, i wished i could punch myself in the mouth after i said it,” she wants to cry just remembering your face when she snapped at you, “even after you look at me, and there’s no anger, nothing. and i cant read what’s going on, and i try to figure it out, but you look away.”

you looked at her, then the floor in front of her, a silent request to step closer. she accepts by relaxing her tight shoulders, only three feet laying between the two of you now. she can smell the rain that lingered on your clothes from the walk in mixing with eucalyptus, the combination and your presence somehow calming her a little.

“i understand what you mean. i don’t like different either. hate it, actually. but, abbott is good different, and it started to feel less good when i got yelled at, stared at, and flat out ignored otherwise.” she nods quickly, accepting blame for it all. talking to you now, she’s never felt more like an asshole, from new york.

“hon, i’m so sorry for everything i’ve said and done. i know none of what i said excuses it, i just wanted to explain. i’ll be better, i’ll work on it,” she puts out her pinky. you squint at it, then her, “and you can tell barb on me any time or you can just yell at me.” she decidedly likes the laugh that bubbles out from you.

“deal,” you say as you wrap your pinky around hers, both of you giving the other a shake.

—

saturday melissa picked you up from your apartment to go shopping for janine’s present. she bounced on the balls of her feet as she waited for the buzzer to alert her you’d let her in. she walked up the stairs with nerves desperately trying to pull her back, but she pressed on. she felt more nervous knocking on your door now than she did the other day. what has gotten into me, she grumbled go herself.

she can hear footsteps approaching and she steps back instinctively. when you open the door she’s greeted by the sight of your out of work clothes, fuzzy orange slippers with smileys still on your feet.

“hey,” melissa says as you move to let her in. she’s cautious in her movements into your apartment, looking only at the floor.

shutting and locking the door quickly behind her, you reply, “hi.”

“scared someone will steal your cute little slippers?” melissa tries not to let her heart kick her ribs when you roll your eyes with a little laugh.

“obviously. well, and my cat,” you say as you place dirty dishes in the sink for later.

melissa scanned around the apartment, there was a scratch tower, but no sign of a cat, “can other people see this cat?”

you chuckle as you walk over to the tv, reaching behind it. a giant fluffy brown cat is revealed, now cradled in your arms like a baby. you walk over to her, “this…” you present him with a big smile on your face, “is frank. i’m pretty sure he thinks if he’s behind the tv then it means he’s on the screen.”

melissa smiles at the cat who is like a puddle in your arms, she raises a hand and shakes his paw that sticks up, “nice to meet you, frank.” the cat blinks at her a couple times before turning in your arms to drop to the floor and running to sit on his perch.

“i think that’s him saying we have obscene amount of ribbon and stickers to buy and he won’t hold us up,” you giggle, sliding off your slippers and grabbing what could only be described as the first pair of converse to ever exist. melissa thinks they may have once been grey, but she’s not sure you’d even remember.

apparently craft stores are the place to be on a saturday afternoon in november. you were both stood in the party aisle, trying to pick a theme and decorations out. the options were plentiful, but so was the obnoxiousness of it all, glitter and shimmers everywhere. all very janine, but very not the two of you.

melissa leans to you and asks, “what if we just got her a glitter step stool?”

“she’d be too scared to use it,” you say through a laugh. you reach towards a light blue and purple floral set of table decorations, across it, golden glitter decorating the edges. holding it up to melissa, she shrugs with a nod, it was the least offensive to the eyes and had janine written all over it.

you and melissa walked around and grabbed light blue plastic tablecloths, other little floral decoration from that theme, and some paper and markers for a sign. you ran back while in line to grab stickers and plastic photo stands, leaving melissa with very full arms. melissa’s hands shake when she gives the cashier the money from her wallet, the two twenties you placed in front of her staring at her from the pocket. the walk to the car was easy, the drive back to your place was comforting in a way.

“jacob gave me a deck of pictures to put in the little clip things,” you say as you unlock your door, letting melissa in first.

“i don’t even want to know how he got them,” she jokes, though she’s suddenly tense. she doesn’t have time to think of why before she feels something brush against her leg, seeing frank at her feet.

she watches you tread to what she can guess is your bedroom, and when you return, you have pictures in hand and franks attention, the fluff ball running to you immediately. melissa watches you flick through pictures, seeing your facial expressions morph from awww to oh god.

“i’m scared of jacob for real now. pretty sure he stole her camera or hacked into her phone to get these,” you say as you face a couple odd ones toward her. by the looks of it all, you were right, jacob might be terrifying.

she grabs the bag with the decorations and art supplies, spreading everything out on the coffee table, “let’s do this.”

after about half an hour, you’d grown quiet and your pace had slowed down in the lettering on the poster. melissa could tell you were really paying attention to what you were doing, solely running on autopilot as you though about something. she flicked a little paper sticker-back at you to get your attention, you head shaking with a sharp inhale.

“you’re thinking do hard you might cause an earthquake,” melissa says, making you smile a bit, “what’s up?”

“the other day, the stuff you said about different and stuff,” you take a breath in, “what did you mean when you said me talking to you and whatever was good different?”

it’s melissa turn to go quiet and get a tad bit shy. her mind immediately started thinking of anything she could say that wasn’t the truth, that could placate you and this conversation. as much as she wanted to just say you don’t suck, she can’t find herself wanting to lie to you, especially after you’d given her a chance for honesty.

she huffs a little laugh at herself, “i don’t fully know, if i’m being honest. sometimes attention from people is suffocating, annoying really, but from you it’s not. it feels kinda nice, actually, like this… i don’t know, like this fluttery feeling,” she says as she places stickers on the page in front of her, “until you look away and i can’t look back at least. i don’t even know why you’re staring, but you always are.”

your eyes fall to your lap, and melissa watches you pick at your nails. she’d noticed this habit, always seeing it when she caught you staring at her. she wishes she hadn’t been that honest. you muster the grit to quietly say, “i wasn’t staring at you or judging you, melissa. well i- i guess i was staring, which is rude but it wasn’t not like that. sometimes i just try to see what’s going on, what i’m doing wrong.”

melissa feels her heart aches at your words, you’d never done anything wrong to her yet you worried. you had tried to learn how to change to get her to like you when you never had to. she watches your gaze flick to her then back to your nails, her own quiet question on her lips, “and the other times?”

your lips purse as you feel heat run to your cheeks. “you’re really pretty, y’know? it’s kinda hard not to notice. sometimes i don’t even realize i’m doing it until you look back, then i have to tell myself to stop doing it cause it’s probably creepy and you probably hated it, and me,” you answered quietly, ceasing the feigned interest in your nails and finally looking at her.

that was… definitely not the answer melissa was expecting, though truthfully there wasn’t a real guess as to what you would say. her mind was buzzing at everything you said, but especially that you said said she’s pretty. you thought melissa was pretty.

she licks her lips, now visibly nervous, “don’t try to be all sweet and try to win my favor. we’ve been over that last part, i don’t hate you.”

you shuffle to sit on your knees, leaning over the table on your elbow, propping your face in your hands, “i’m not trying to win your favor. you asked me a question, and i answered it. honestly. but now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“what’s your question?” melissa barely gets the sentence out. she’s stuck in her place by your words and your sudden closeness. you’re close enough to touch, but she can’t and she won’t. she doesn’t deserve to after how she’s treated you.

“fluttery feeling?” you kept your question simple, letting her say whatever she wanted without pressuring her.

she let out a puff, anxiety striking her. you’d been completely open with her, she owed you the same. she looked back to you, “you know, you think i’m pretty or whatever, so i’m guessing you haven’t seen yourself.” you chuckle at jokingly shocked expression, hear running to your cheeks. she cracks a little smile as she goes on, “any attention from you made me get all nervous, hence the snapping. i think i was embarrassed that i like the attention from you. you, specifically.”

as much as you had tried to hide the smile on your face, you couldn’t. melissa adored the way you tried your damned hardest, but you simply couldn’t. it was contagious, her own smile forming on her lips.

through a little laugh you say, “that the gayest thing you’ve ever said.”

melissa gasps out a laugh, “there are other gay things i’ve said?”

“are you kidding me? you said ‘decisive women are hot’ last week,” you say as your push down your laughter.

melissa swipes her hand down her face in defeat, “you got me there.”

your laughter dies down after a moment, you clear your throat saying, “for the record, you give me that fluttery feeling too. probably why i’m such a try-hard for your attention.”

melissa leans forward a bit, leaving only a few inches between you now. your tongue poked out to wet your lips, eyes flicking down to hers. it doesn’t go unnoticed by melissa as she takes the opportunity to take her gaze across your face. she finally speaks, “is that right?”

all you can manage is a small nod. melissa fights a smile as she reaches out gently nudge one of your hands away from your face, holding it in hers. she pulls you in by the hand, asking you with her eyes. she’s met again with a nod.

she lets go of your hand to cradle your face pulling you closer, she stops just before your lips can touch, asking you again. you answer by leaning in and pressing your lips to hers, soft and sweet. melissa sighs into her kiss, all the anxiety and nerves leaving her the second your lips met, her entire focus only on how gentle you were with her.

without disconnecting your lips, she’s moved around the corner of the coffee table that divided you, pressing into you more. your hands moved to delicately hold either of her neck, pulling her as close as you could. melissa’s free hand rests on your thigh, the warmth radiating off of you grounding her. just as her tongue swipes against your bottom lip, a rattle from next to you makes you both jump apart. looking to her right, melissa sees frank on the table, gnawing at one of the little daisy table decorations.

“christ, frankie. no, no, that’s not yours,” you scowled at the cat as you picked him up. you place him on the cat tower, “kill the vibe or the decorations, pick one not both. little jerk.” frank licks your hand, maybe as a sorry, “fine, apology granted.”

melissa just watched you, almost in a trance. you sit back down in front of her, grabbing her hand. “sorry about him,” you mumble.

“don’t worry about it. i think that him telling me i should ask you on a date first,” she says, looking up at your through dark lashes.

“is that right?” your mirror her words from earlier.

she breaths a little laugh, “yeah. i was thinking dinner, maybe. tomorrow? seven?”

“tomorrow at seven. i’m guessing we’re not having italian because it’s definitely never going to be as good as something you make,” you say.

melissa laughs and nods in agreement. she glances at the decorations and sign on the table, “we should probably finish that.”

you spend the next hour finishing everything up, only talking about little things. both of you wanted to save everything else for the date, something you had both silent agreed upon. when melissa was leaving, she looked back at you for a moment before saying, “i’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow. i’ll text you where we’re going once i find something.”

you smile, “sounds perfect. i’ll see you at seven, melissa.”

melissa sits in her car in the parking lot for a solid five minutes just grinning like a fool to herself. she wished she had sucked it up sooner and admitted it but she would change anything, not when she finally got her chance.

yeah went a little ham on this one. anyways thank you so much for the request i hope you liked it :) title is from flaming hot cheetos by clairo

as always, feedback is appreciated

[jellyfishsthings]

Warnings: smut, minors do not interact, sex in a library, oral(fem!reader receiving), man handling, fucked from behind, rough, fluffy ending...

As Remus finished his essay for Magic History. His eyes hurt like hell. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He looked at his reflection in the library window opposite him. The person that looked back at him looked nothing like him. A scar ran across his nose. One of his first ones. His forest green eyes looked haunted. His curly fluffy hair was pushed back by his round wire-framed glasses.

A movement stole his attention. There she was. Her beautiful face morphed in interest when her curious eyes ran along the bookshelves and met the titles of the romance section. Tell me what you are reading love. I will do everything to you. Just say the word. He chuckled lightly at the thought. One day. One day, he would. Hopefully today.

She made her way towards the back room. Only eight people had access to that room. The Head Boys and Head Girls of every house could use that room. Lucky them, they both had that privilege. He grabbed his things and entered the room. Letting them sit at one of the tables and closing in on her form.

"What are you reading, dovey? Is it one of your erotica books again?" He whispered in her ear as he hugged her close and started leaving lazy hickeys in her neck.

"First of all, how dare you say such vile and filthy things to your girlfriend, mister? I shall have you reported to the Headmaster right away," she said as she leaned back on him. Teasing him. She was in a good mood today. "And I shall have you know that i-" she trailed off in her sentence as he slightly pinched her tits through her uniform.

"You were saying?" He teased back. Just as she opened her mouth to banter with him he proposed a deal. "Sweetheart, I want to try something."

"Okay"

"You see, you read all these books and I am curious to see why you like them so much. Yet I know that you would never let me read them. So I thought that we should make a deal. You can read them to me while I eat you out. You know how much I love eating you out, don't you? If you manage to read me at least one chapter I will reward you. What do you say, honey?"

"Right here?"

"We can wait until later when I can sneak into your dorm. But then I won't be able to fuck you against bookcases. Or while you are bent over these desks. It's your choice, my love."

"If I agree with your term, will you do both?"

"If you can take it…"

She didn't need to hear more. She ran towards one of the desks and hopped on one. He buried one hand in her hair and placed a kiss on her lips. "I love you" he whispered sweetly in the kiss and when he broke it he kneeled in front of her removing her trousers and her underwear.

"Yeah… me too. Now get on with it. I always wanted to try this" she demanded

He bit in her inner thighs, drawing a high-pitched squeal from her and mouthing over her cunt "bossy eager girl".

She whined and to which he responded "I am not starting until I hear you reading"

She huffed and began narrating. "Chapter 11. The phone rang as he was buried deep inside her.

"Don't answer that" she begged.

Yet he ignored her and reached for it any-anyway"

Her voice lost its volume as he started lapping at her. He knew how to drive each and every sound out of her. He was going easy.

She continued steadily until he started practically making out with her pussy. His tongue was entering her constantly. He sucked everywhere as if trying to form hickeys and separated her now swollen lips every few seconds.

"Continue," he said in a rough voice.

And that she did. She drew her whole willpower and focused on reading. Though as he got more eager she lost her concentration. She had read three whole pages and only one was left. He wouldn't notice. Especially since her thighs were so tightly pressed in his ears.

"Remus, please. More." Within a few seconds, she was undone by him. Cumming in his tongue, on his lips, as he devoured her like there was no tomorrow.

"Good job love. Only one page short. Next time you won't be able to read one sentence. Now stand on your feet." She complied without a pause.

"Turn around" she did. He placed one hand on her back and slowly pushed her down to lie at the table.

"Grab the edges and stay still" she didn't need to hear it twice.

He removed his pants and boxers. Grabbed her hips and entered her, hard. Making her cry in ecstasy. A slap was delivered to her ass shortly after "Quiet or else, I will leave you here. Alone. Aching in silence." She nodded fast and bit her arm to stay quiet.

He was flying in and out of her. Leaving always only his tip in. He was torturing her. His pace was animalistic. Hard and incredibly deep. Each thrust made her crazy with want and pleasure. One of his hands maintained its tight grip on her while the other tried to take hostage every curve, every slope, every inch of her. He was rough with her and they both absolutely loved it.

She was moving up and down from the force of his movements. Each one of them made her breasts brush the material of one of his old sweaters, as they had escaped from her bra, creating a great stimulation to her nipples.

"Do you think you can take it if we move to the bookcases? Or have I already turned your legs to Jello?"

"Bookcase …now" her voice was hitched and broke from his thrusts. He grabbed her, moving her five paces towards one of his favourite shelves. A plan formed in his head.

"Hands on each side. Spread your legs for me love" she did as she was told blindly. He reached even deeper now if that was even possible.

"Oh God"

"Glad to see you praising me, dove"

"You cocky bastard" she fired back in a voice so dreamy and breathy making her insult sound like a compliment.

"Your cocky bastard. Only yours" he said before he started pistoning his hips into hers. The sound of their skins slapping filled the room. His hand snaked in her front. Under her shirt and playing with one of her breasts. It was too much for her to handle. Her arms got tired and lost their strength. She placed her forehead in one of the bookcases and the sight in front of her made her lose her breath.

In her stomach, her skin moved. Could he reach that far in this position? His sure and rough thrusts made sure for this to happen, didn't they? Her eyes travelled lower, where her previous release was coating her thighs. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. He was perfect, making her see stars and feel like she was in paradise. She must have said as much because the next thing she knew he repositioned her. Her upper body dropped to a horizontal line before…

"This is nothing sweetheart. The fun begins now".

Her legs couldn't hold on longer. Thank God he had placed his hands on her hips. Driving them into his as he fucked into her, making every stimulation ten times more pleasurable. Loud moans that sounded like his name echoed.

"That's it, love. Tell the world who makes you feel this good. Not giving a single fuck of getting caught." She clenched around him.

His left and dominant hand grabbed her throat lightly, not applying any pressure but giving the illusion of it.

"You would like that? Being caught, huh? Should I put public places on our list?"

"Yes," she yelled. How could he perform so well and taunt her at the same time? She wouldn't be complaining though.

"Alright now I want you to do me a favour. In the shelf in front of you my favourite book is stacked. If you find it before you cum, which you are so so close to do so, we can do anything you want. If you don't, we will do it in a public place next week."

Both options seemed terrific in her lust and pleasure-overridden brain. But a challenge was a challenge. Her eyes raked over the books. Her cloudy vision makes her work difficult. As she reached the edge she found it. Yet her release caught her off guard. Sounds that she would never make, exited her mouth. Only he could draw them out.

Remus. Remus. Remus. Her Remus. Only hers.

He continued strongly. Doing God's work on her.

"I'm so close. Will you cum with me?" His thrusts were sloppy but didn't lose their ability from bringing her close again. He started circling her clit with his thumb.

He fell from the edge first and took her with him. His hand clamped her throat a bit. Her vision blackened. He brought her close and rubbed her sides, calming her. They both looked in the place they were joined, their orgasms trying to escape by gushing down her legs.

"Legs up" he commanded, even though it didn't make sense she folded her legs and let his arm that hugged her middle keep her in place. As she practically hovered over the floor he placed her panties in her legs and started drawing them up.

"Kept them in my pocket. Don't want infections on my best girl" she giggled lightly at the comment. Trusting him with her life. As her underwear reached its rightful place, he removed himself and placed them there. Trying to contain everything inside her.

"Bad infections" she reasoned back or at least tried to.

"Yeah, really bad. You must really love me. For putting up with my and our sex cappeds"

"Rem" she said as she turned her head in his chest and whispered "tired"

"I know, let's get some rest, hm?"

"Mmm"

He carried her onto one of the couches and let her get comfortable on top of him. She placed a kiss over his heart and mumbled " I love you" before she dozed off.

"Love you too, my heart."

words count: 1732

[kurain-genealogy]

Investigating Glamrock Bonnie, The Mimic, and Why I Think the Mimic Killed Bonnie

The theory that Mimic killed Glamrock Bonnie is one I’ve seen held by a small handful of people since RUIN’s release, but never fully expanded upon or fleshed out. After seeing Twitter argue, once again, over whether or not Monty killed Bonnie, I was inspired to actually make a serious attempt at supporting my theory.

In this, I’ll be using the Tales from the Pizzaplex (TFTPP) books to support my conclusions – specifically the epilogues, GGY, The Mimic, The Storyteller, and brief mentions of others. You can debate the canonicity – and thus, validity – of the books, but they are set in the game’s universe, and at least some of the stories are directly tied to the games (especially in relation to the Mimic). I mainly use the books to construct a rough timeline of events and as supporting evidence so (hopefully) this theory should still be plausible if you ignore all the book evidence (& btw I read all of the books on archive.org, so apologies if any referenced page numbers are off).

This will contain spoilers for book #8’s epilogue!

First, I’ll go over general information regarding Bonnie and his death. Then, I’ll cover why I don’t think it was the other suspects. I’ll end off with why I think that leaves the Mimic responsible.

This is a long one, a lot longer than I expected – nearly 7.5k words, not including this introduction – so it's also available to read on a pageless Google Doc here! It's best viewed on desktop & has more pictures (I had to combine/squeeze some out to fit the tumblr image limit), as well as clearer sections and an outline. I highly recommend reading it there if you're able.

There's a timeline + TL;DR at the end for your convenience :]

& tysm to my friend @clmntne for beta reading this theory for me <3 go look at his art @clementartz ok?

-☆-

If you’re unfamiliar, stories in TFTPP take place over a large time range, ranging from back in the ‘80s to sometime after the events of SB. A handful of stories (including the connected epilogues) take place during the construction of the Pizzaplex or shortly before/after its opening. None of the stories mention Glamrock Bonnie at all, meaning he gets decommissioned very early in the Pizzaplex’s lifetime, likely within the first year or so of operation. To my knowledge, any stories that might take place during GlamBonnie’s lifetime don’t provide any details as to who’s in the main band.

Starting us off with the infamous missing message:

MISSINGSECURITY REPORT - 12:24AM - Bonnie is seen leaving his green room in Rockstar Row heading East towards the atrium. 2:40AM - Bonnie enters the East Arcade. 4:12AM - Bonnie enters Monty Golf.

Something I find extremely interesting about this are the HUGE chunks of time left unspecified, something I feel a lot of people gloss over. In the middle of the night, Bonnie spends a whopping 2 hours and 16 minutes in the atrium – or wherever he is – before entering the arcade. He has to go up to level 3 to get to the east arcade from Rockstar Row (RR), but I don’t think it’d take him one hour per floor to get there. 1 hour and 32 minutes later, he enters Monty Golf. He could be gaming in the arcade for all I care, but what intrigues me the most is the time spent between RR and the arcade. If he was seen entering other specific areas that would’ve been noted in the log, and I imagine if he was being erratic or unusual during that time it would’ve been mentioned, too. Without much to go off of, we really can’t say what was going on or what his reasoning was. With so few security sightings over four hours, to me personally it feels like Bonnie was somehow avoiding the cameras (or was being led by something that was). Another thing to consider is that unlike in SB, the Pizzaplex had multiple human security guards on staff (it’s not until shortly before SB, after Vanessa’s hired, that they’re replaced with STAFF bots). So not only was Bonnie rarely seen on the cams, but he wasn’t caught by a security guard, either.

(shoutout to the person who made these labeled maps of the Pizzaplex, since I don’t own the game myself it really helped me get an idea of the layout)

Prior to Security Breach, the animatronics weren’t normally active during the night. In The Bobbiedots, Part 1, we get this:

Supposedly deactivated by this time of night, Roxy probably wasn’t any kind of threat. But a couple weeks ago, as Abe had been heading to his hidey-hole, he’d gotten a glimpse of Roxy stalking past one of the doorways to the raceway (p. 135).

In the story, this takes place around midnight. It makes sense, too, that the large, power-consuming robots would be deactivated and/or charging while the Pizzaplex is closed. If a security guard saw Bonnie roaming at night, they probably would’ve led him back to his greenroom.

So, Bonnie is up and about while the animatronics should be powered down. This means that:

He is probably the only one who was awake, or at least the only one who left their designated area during the night.

He either woke up on his own with a specific purpose in mind, OR something woke him up.

Now, the crime scene. There is a lot more here to unpack than I expected.

Majority of reference images in this section come from Banden and FusionZGamer.

At the time of Ruin, the only entrances to the room where Bonnie’s body is found are these: A broken piece of wall behind the bowling lane, and a vent high up on the wall.

At the time of SB, the vent was covered with striped wall panels. It probably only became accessible after the earthquake when they fell, or were stripped off during deconstruction.

This entrance is odd; The bricks look deliberately cut or pulled out from both sides, and the inside between the walls is dug through. It’s hard to know when it was first burrowed through, and from what direction – I personally think it was dug from the inside-out, since inside, the hole is high above the ground and level with the boxes, which feels deliberate.

In the room, there’s a bowling ball rail that leads out, the opening to which is boarded up from the inside.

From Fusion’s video, we can see that the rail would lead down the length of the bowling alley through the dingier hall on the right side, visible in the first image. On the left side is the area behind the bowling lanes, presumably where maintenance is done on the machines (more apparent in the second image), and large garage doors on the right that lead to the dingy hallway. 

As seen in the bottom two images, if you go to the fenced off section with the electrical lockers and turn around – hey! We’re in the area behind the ice cream parlor’s stage where they stashed Bonnie’s stuff. From here, we can see the hallway where the ball rail would be and the large doors that lead to it.If this is confusing, I recommend watching Fusion’s video to get a better idea of the layout.

If you wear the VANNI mask in this section, it looks like a headless STAFF bot caught by the arms with cables, and maybe being dragged through the doorway, or something similar? It’s hard to find a good picture of it from other angles since I can’t find a video of someone going out-of-bounds to get a closer look. We get a lot of interesting environmental storytelling in the AR world, but there’s also many seemingly random changes.Could this symbolize or depict something surrounding Bonnie’s death? Maybe it means something, maybe it doesn’t. I just find it interesting.

So, the only entrance to Bonnie’s tomb is through the hallway behind lane maintenance, accessible only by the garage doors. This hall presumably had a rail that spanned the length of the bowling lanes. I imagine this area was used for storage and the likes. The very end of this hall is where we find Bonnie. The entrance to this section is weird – it’s smaller than Cassie and barely bigger than the Caution Bots – but I digress. As for the front entrance from the lanes being walled off, I feel like that’d render those lanes unusable. In fact, there’s no evidence of there being pinsetters for these lanes, so maybe they were gutted in order to wall off the room. Or maybe they just didn’t feel like modeling all that, I dunno. Not really something that matters. What does matter is how this room is closed off in the first place, having been boarded up from the inside, and the thick ass wall someone excavated through. All of it feels very intentional.

The dirt and debris around Bonnie tells me that this room is in fact the crime scene. This is heavily supported by the impact crack on the wall (third image) and the similar cracks on the floor underneath Bonnie in AR (second image). Bonnie and his attacker could have had encounters elsewhere in the Pizzaplex, but this room is where the final showdown occurred.

I’ll try not to include more images than necessary, so if you want some good looks for yourself, Fusion’s video from before does a good job showing off Bonnie’s state, as well as this FazFriends video analyzing the DLC animatronics, and is where the upcoming screenshots come from.

Most prominently, Bonnie has a massive laceration in his chest and is missing the left side of his faceplate, the latter possibly caused by the bowling ball split in three around his head. The biggest gash in his chest runs from his left shoulder diagonally toward the right side of his waist. With the direction his casing peels and how most of the damage is at the top, I’d say it was a downward strike, most likely done with the left hand. He’s covered in dirt and grime, and wires poke out from his innards. 

There’s some green coloration on his torso, leading many to think this could be paint rubbed off from the attacker. Personally, I think it looks more like patina, a green tarnish resulting from aging metal, similar to the floor and metal shrapnel around him. It could also be his base paint color.

His arms are pulled apart at the joints; the legs are pulled apart at the knees, but I can’t tell if they’re pulled from his hips as well (though, the pelvis is definitely ripped from the torso).

As noted in the fourth image, he lays atop these strange black tubes – I can’t help but think of the AR headless STAFF bot from earlier and the cables it was falling onto. Could it be related?

In addition, there’s several random animatronic pieces scattered around, some of which look significantly older than others. For example, at Bonnie’s feet:

There’s a chunk of relatively clean metal akin to the spine inside Bonnie, but also an older, more corroded, grimier piece next to it. I feel this could’ve come from Bonnie’s attacker, but Bonnie also has one of these yucky pieces sticking out of an arm socket, so who knows.

-☆-

Before I talk about the possible attackers, I first want to take a brief intermission to talk about the books, as they establish an important timeline that will be relevant later. I’ll be talking a bit about The Storyteller and The Mimic, and the animatronics’ behaviors before and after the former.

The Storyteller is a story in the 5th TFTPP book about a creative AI software – called The Storyteller (TS), unsurprisingly – that was implemented across the entire Pizzaplex sometime prior to the game’s events. The purpose of TS was to cut down on costs spent in the creative department by using an AI to formulate new stories based on preexisting ones within Fazbear Entertainment (🙄). TS was connected to virtually everything in the Pizzaplex – including VR, AR, and the Glamrock Animatronics – to create more unique and dynamic interactions with guests. So, instead of programming in new AR/VR experiences or animatronic behaviors manually, TS could continuously change how the games/characters acted. Here’s an excerpt on how TS altered the Glamrocks specifically:

Montgomery Gator also exhibited disturbing changes. The alligator featured in Monty’s Gator Golf was the quintessential rockstar. […] Prone to smashing things as part of his extravagant image, Monty was always dramatic, but he had been harmless... at least until The Storyteller started messing with him. Now the alligator was turning into a sulky shadow of his former self. Monty’s rampages became more violent, and in between tantrums, he withdrew into a depressive silence that was actually driving children to tears. All the Pizzaplex’s other main characters began to undergo similar personality shifts. Whatever trait was normal for them began to skew toward the dark side. The shift wasn’t dramatic. None of the animatronics had turned homicidal or anything, but the altered dynamic was noticeable, at least to Edwin. (pp. 95-96).

Edwin’s story is revealed to us in TFTPP #6 in the story The Mimic. Edwin was the original creator of the endo, The Mimic (TM), 30-40 years prior to the creation of the Pizzaplex. He made it to keep his 4-year-old son, David, occupied while he (a single father) worked. It was a learning robot that imitated what it observed, making it a good playmate for his son; David even made TM a white tiger “doll” out of fabric to match his own white tiger plushie. The program that The Mimic ran on was called Mimic1 (hence, where the endo got its name). One day, David tragically dies in a car accident. Edwin enters a depressive fugue for the next two weeks in which he barely remembers anything. When he comes to his senses and sees the still-active Mimic acting like his dead son, in a moment of intense grief and rage, he beats the everloving shit out of TM. When he snaps out of it, he’s filled with regret and leaves.

By this point, Edwin’s company had been bought out by Fazbear Entertainment, so when he just dips and thereby breaches their contract, they send a team of people to the factory to “clean up a mess.” When the team arrives and sees the crumpled remains of TM, armed only with their vague instructions, they conclude that they’re to finish Edwin’s abandoned projects. TM had only an upper body, so the team fixed him up and gave him legs and a voice box.

Now, remember how I said TM learns and imitates behavior it observes? Well TM just starts fucking killing these guys. And “puts them away” in the fridge and closet, like how he’d learned to put food and clothes away with Edwin and David. Fazbear Entertainment sends another team of guys to do the job when the first team doesn’t return, but they too are killed. This time, TM put on various mascot costumes and pursued them in a more “hide and seek” manner.

Okay, now back to The Storyteller. The AI was allowed to decide its own appearance, since the plan was for TS itself to become a Pizzaplex character – so, its hardware was put inside a white tiger bust.

Edwin, vocally against the project, was purposefully kept in the dark about the workings of TS. He snuck into the Pizzaplex on the night of its installation, and the sight of the white tiger triggered a panic attack. Fearing the worst, he later sneaks into TS’s enclosure to confirm his suspicions.

If you hadn’t guessed already, Edwin discovers that The Storyteller is running on the Mimic1 program.

TS was only in the Pizzaplex for three weeks before it was removed. However, even with all its arms broken and cables pulled apart, the Mimic1 program continued running. I believe it’s implied that it remained within the Pizzaplex’s system, even after TS’s hardware was completely removed.

It’s hard to say exactly when in the Pizzaplex’s lifespan this story takes place. Interestingly, there’s mention of a character associated with Bonnie Bowl experiencing malfunctions (p. 109), yet just a few pages later Montgomery Gator is said to have a room in Rockstar Row (p. 111), meaning he’d already replaced Bonnie as bass player.

Tragedies that occurred at the Pizzaplex early in its lifetime – such as in the stories Cleithrophobia, HAPPS, Pressure, and Under Construction – weren’t because of malfunctions, but more so from human error. In the first two, the robots are behaving exactly as they’re programmed to, but end up causing harm due to the circumstances around the story. Pressure happened because some idiot put a springlock suit in the RolePlay area (combined with the protag having bad friends). You could argue that Under Construction is an exception (that something malicious purposefully altered the AR experience), but to that I argue that the AR attraction wasn’t even finished or intended to have someone use it (nor an employee to keep watch), so of course it wouldn’t be functioning properly and end badly.

All of this to say, it could very well be that nothing in the Pizzaplex’s network, including animatronics, were malfunctioning, acting strange, violent, or purposefully malicious, prior to The Storyteller’s – Mimic1’s – integration.

-☆-

Okay. Just keep that information in mind. With that, let me rule out some suspects.

Suspect 1: Vanny

Whether she controlled Monty, STAFF bots, or did it herself, this follows the idea that Vanny/Vanessa had something to do with Bonnie’s disappearance.

Well, based on the established timeline, she couldn’t have. Bonnie was killed within the first year or so of operation, and Vanessa wasn’t working at the Pizzaplex yet. We can already deduce with SB that Vanessa’s security guard position was somewhat recent, but we also have GGY as further proof.

GGY is the story that all but confirms to us that Client 46 (from the Retro CDs) is Gregory. This story connects the GGY character (Greg/Gregory) to the disappearances of three school counselors/therapists. It takes place about 3 years after the Pizzaplex opens, as the first school counselor was hired before its opening, and had been working at the school for three years before disappearing. (& btw, SB takes place around the 5th year. This is deduced by a Faz Life magazine in SB being labeled #19 in a quarterly release, meaning if it started with the opening of the Pizzaplex, it’d be 4.75 years in). This places the Retro CDs around the same time. In Vanessa’s sessions, she’s clearly at her old job – she sits at a desk on the computer and mentions her coworker Luis, who was also mentioned in Special Delivery’s unused emails from Vanessa’s old job.

Could Vanny still have snuck in to do something? Sure, I just don’t think it’s likely. She’s still working on her costume at the time of these sessions (which remember, is a few years after when Bonnie would’ve been decommissioned), and is clearly still very anxious and reluctant to do as Glitchtrap tells her.

Suspect 2: Monty

Okay, here we go. The most obvious piece of evidence for Monty’s innocence is the fact that he wasn’t given his claw upgrade until after replacing Bonnie. Of course, he still had claws beforehand, he’s a gator, but, the claw upgrade switches the endoskeleton’s hands entirely.

Compare Monty’s sharp fingies to the blunter Glamrock Endo’s. Monty’s original hands could still do major damage, I mean look at what the STAFF bots did to Freddy with their even bigger & rounder fingers. But if you look at the gashes in Bonnie’s torso, they’re much more clean slices accompanied by smaller scratches all over, which had to have been made by something much sharper and pointier.

Also, Monty attacks with his teeth, not his claws. (link leads to gif of his jumpscare)

Further, we have absolutely no reason to think Monty would want to attack Bonnie. There’s no bad blood, and if Monty truly did want the spotlight, he could’ve gone for Freddy.

Monty MischiefERRANT BEHAVIOR REPORT - Monty didn't show up for the main stage performance again. We found him in the same place we always do, the catwalks over Monty Golf. We can't have a repeat of last month. Someone hit the hole in one and the hurricane bucket knocked him down. Both legs were broken and required emergency parts and service work.

This message is very telling: Monty frequently skipped main performances and hid in Gator Golf. This is completely counter to the notion that he craved the spotlight and attention of being in the band. In fact, it sounds like he didn’t even like being in the band. Perhaps his aggression during/before SB – like destroying his green room – was partly fueled by resentment for being taken from his element?

Monty has no personal motives for killing Bonnie, but could he have been controlled? Mmmmmaybe? But I don’t think so. We’ve already established that Vanny couldn’t have been involved. Then there’s Mimic1/TS, which I already established came into play after Bonnie was gone. In fact, the way the book described Monty post-Storyteller is a lot like how he acts around SB: violent, destructive outbursts, and silently sulking (like in the catwalks). It’s even specified that the malfunctioning Glamrocks weren’t homicidal or harming others. Monty – nor any of the other animatronics – have ever been violent towards each other. Monty’s aggression is aimed at his own belongings and like, fences and shit. Never his friends. Plus, Monty disliking Freddy is something only ever depicted in Monty’s arcade game, which TS had access to. I think the arcade game can absolutely give us storytelling via symbolism, but I doubt it’s altered by Monty’s mind and thoughts.

And say Monty did kill Bonnie – why wasn’t he noticed on the cameras either going to Bonnie Bowl or moving Bonnie’s body there from Gator Golf? If an outside force deleted security footage, why leave the incriminating part where Bonnie goes to Gator Golf in the first place? It wouldn’t make sense. Plus, most evidence points towards Bonnie Bowl being where the incident occurred.

Suspect 3: Prototype Freddy

The theory that Freddy killed Bonnie comes from @glammiketrash, and it’s a great theory. Give it a read if you have time, I think it’s definitely one of the more likely theories on this topic and has strong supporting evidence.  

However, there are a few reasons why I personally don’t think a rogue Freddy did it (even ignoring the timeline I established). For starters, the Prototype Freddy in RUIN is heavily implied to be the same Freddy that was left in Fazer Blast in the Princess Quest ending of SB – the ending that’s canon to RUIN (at this point I don’t think I have to explain why PQ is the canon ending, but I’d be happy to explain it in the replies if needed).

The comic for the Disassemble Vanny ending shows us an illustration of how Freddy was damaged by the STAFF bots, and it’s strikingly similar to Prototype Freddy (PF): exposed hands, a chunk taken from the right bicep and thigh. You could even argue that the torso cracking is similar (I’m drawn to how both have the lightning bolt cut off similarly). It feels like PF was designed/modeled after the illustration. He has the sharp claws from the Monty upgrade, and his missing head aligns with the PQ ending where Gregory leaves the Pizzaplex with it. Then of course, there’s the fact that he’s found in Fazer Blast, where Freddy in SB was attacked and left.

Yes, I believe that the Glamrock Freddy in SB was a prototype model the entire time. We still don’t know why Freddy glitched out in the beginning of the game, but it’s entirely possible that Parts & Service simply booted up a new/temporary endo while they dealt with whatever broke Freddy. He’s on reduced power for safety measures because, as an older version, they don’t know how unusual or erratic he’ll be – a justified precaution, since we can see that when he runs out of power, or is under maintenance (you know, when his head’s off), he attacks Gregory. It would also explain why Freddy in SB isn’t connected to the network or infected by the virus – he literally just got switched on.

And holy shit, at the time of writing this, FazFriends just uploaded a video showcasing the animatronics’ endoskeletons, and it happens to support my theory!

Freddy and Bonnie both share an endoskeleton unique to the other Glamrocks. Monty, Chica, and Roxy all share a basic endoskeleton. The Glamrocks would all be kept up-to-date and modified throughout the years. Since Bonnie is one of the original ones, we can assume that’s what their endos looked like when the Pizzaplex first opened. It doesn’t make sense that Freddy, being who he is, wouldn’t be upgraded the same way the others are… unless this is an older Freddy. SB Freddy having a unique endoskeleton that matches Bonnie’s signifies that he was in a Prototype model from the beginning.

Freddy has a lot of personality for sure, but still seems a bit sterile and stilted at times, especially if you compare him to someone like Roxy. In the books Freddy’s personality is changed on a few occasions, such as by The Storyteller (in which he’s adopted a “spoiled brat” personality) and by GGY (in which he’d acted eerie and followed/stared at the protagonist). He’s completely wiped clean of all this though in SB. He still has a distinct personality, memories, and feelings, but it feels kind of like it was reset to default. That could just be me, but it supports the idea of him being PF.

Prototype Freddy looks like that because of the events of SB. Prior to that, he looked just like a normal Freddy. In the timeframe that Bonnie was destroyed, none of the robots were acting violent and there was no AI or virus to control him, which rules out any last possibility of PF being Bonnie’s killer to me.

There are definitely holes in this line of thought; It’s just speculation that makes sense to me. I’m also generally forgiving when it comes to changes made to SB from RUIN; SB seemed to go through a lot of changes in development and was released in a messy state, so I wouldn’t blame them if at this point Steel Wool was establishing things that would retroactively apply to SB.

Suspect 4: THE MIMICCCCCCC

FINALLY, over 4k words in, we are talking about the thing I promised. I’ll start with some more information on the Mimic itself (yup, there’s still more!!!).

Every TFTPP book has an epilogue, all of which connect together into one narrative that tells us the story of how The Mimic ended up in the FNAF6 Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place beneath the Pizzaplex.

The Pizza Place was originally intended to be refurbished into a Fazbear museum in conjunction with the Pizzaplex’s construction. There was a small team working there to clean the building, particularly to pick up and disassemble all of the remaining endoskeletons littered throughout the place. One of the guys on the team (Gil) hates his job and goes outside to take a break just in time to see a shipment arrive containing the Glamrock Animatronics – and, for whatever reason, The Mimic. Since TM was clearly older and the odd one out of the bunch, Gil drags TM inside with the intention of uploading a cleanup protocol into the endo. He instructs TM to remove the limbs and heads off of the endoskeletons and pile them up at the door. The Mimic does this quickly, and when it runs out of endoskeletons, begins to dismember the renovation crew. Construction workers from outside rush in when they hear the commotion, which only adds to TM’s victims. The youngest of the renovation crew manages to escape and desperately convinces nearby cement workers to seal the entrances to the pizzeria (Epilogue #1). (This massive pile of animatronic parts and murder victims is theorized to be the origins of Tangle/The Blob, btw.)

Sometime later, a group of 8 teens sneak into the Pizza Place via a vent opening in the roof. Once they discover the gruesome mass murder scene, they realize that they aren’t alone, that their way out was crushed, and that they’re trapped (Epilogue #2).

Over the course of the next few installments, the teens are slowly picked off by TM. It uses mascot costumes to trick and murder the teens (similar to what TM did in Edwin’s factory) in a twisted hide-and-seek type game. When the group finds an old radio, TM intercepts the signal and pretends to be someone else within the Pizza Place calling for help, attempting to lure the kids into a back room. It also could disrupt electronics, as the lights and electricity as a whole often flickered and went out when it was near. A manual found in the office tells us more about TM:

The one we saw is either a Mimic Model 1 or 2. […] They have retractable and expandable limbs and a contracting torso so they can fit into pretty much any mascot costume. […] The tech in the Mimics was pretty clunky. […] If you encounter one of these things, you should immediately disconnect its power source and disassemble it (Epilogue #4, pp. 219-220). [...] When the team created the Mimic line, they didn’t want to have to program in every show routine, step-by-step. That was a lot of coding, so they just programmed the Mimic to basically watch and learn. Not only could a Mimic fit into any costume, it was designed to observe the other routines and then mimic them (Epilogue #6, p. 183). I wish I could read all of this, but it seems like the original Mimic began mimicking not just the other animatronics but also people. And it did it in ways that weren’t intended. I’m not sure what it did. I can just make out the words misconstrue, scared, potential disaster, and deactivate remaining Mimic endos (Epilogue #6, p. 184).

It's kinda unclear, but this is the narrative I’m picking up: Once Fazbear Entertainment was finally able to “clean up [the] mess” left by Edwin and get their hands on The Mimic, they were like “hey this programming is actually genius” and started making their own Mimic models based on Edwin’s, claiming it as their own engineering (classic corner-cutting Fazbear Entertainment). However, due to its primitive programming (Edwin was an engineer, not a coder) and the nature of Mimic1, Fazbear quickly realized how faulty and unreliable the Mimic animatronic line was, so they decommissioned them. The Mimic in the Pizza Place is likely Edwin’s original, considering its costume-wearing, hide-and-seek style murders.

Enough backstory for now. I’ll be addressing more book stuff later (sorry, sorry), but I’d like to bring this back around to Bonnie and how TM qualifies as a suspect before getting into the how and why.

Think back to Bonnie’s corpse and the diagonal swipe to his chest caused by sharp claws.

Get a load of this guy.

Very sharp fingers on the left hand. Returning to the analysis of Bonnie’s corpse – facing Bonnie, a downward right-to-left swipe is likely achieved by the left hand. Supporting this is TM’s jumpscare, in which it grabs with the right hand and attacks with the left.

In its costumed jumpscare, TM attacks with its round-fingered right hand in a fist. Bonnie, along with several scratch marks, is also covered in dents, meaning TM could have used both of its attack methods.

“But TM has 5 fingers, and Bonnie’s slash marks look like they’re from a 4-fingered hand.” I hear ya. Here’s some possible explanations:

With the angle of the motion and the curvature of Bonnie’s torso, the pinky finger didn’t pierce the casing, instead merely scratching it.

TM wears 4-fingered costumes – you can see it is in the jumpscare above. Who’s to say TM didn’t travel in a costume from the Pizza Place, or even found Glamrock casing to put on?

It can just like, shapeshift. I wouldn’t think that extended to details like the fingers, but I wouldn’t be surprised. The left palm does have holes in it, so maybe the fingers were designed to contract to fit various gloves.

Another obvious connection is that TM famously tears off the limbs of its victims – and wouldn’t you know it, Bonnie’s arms and legs are dismembered. TM, noticeably old and described as discolored in the books, could also be the source of all the extraneous, out-of-place metal parts that surround Bonnie.

Out of all the suspects, TM is the only one that’s known to be violent towards animatronics, has the physical capabilities to have done it, and would be awake while the rest of the Glamrocks were deactivated for the night. When it comes to analyzing the crime scene itself and the events surrounding it, The Mimic fits the bill the most out of all the suspects. Isolated, it’s the most likely option, in my opinion. Determining how this happened is a bit trickier; expect a bit more speculation in that regard.

I know what you might be thinking: How did The Mimic get into the Pizzaplex in the first place if it was sealed underground?

It’s not all that unusual if you think about it. For starters, the Pizza Place was not sealed very well (it was done in a panic, after all). The teens were able to enter through a vent in the roof, multiple characters attempted to leave through a vent blocked by a giant (moving) fan, and Lucia (the protagonist) was finally able to escape through a window in the bathroom that had less concrete blocking it than the others. There are various means of escape in which TM can contort its body to fit through.

Briefly, while on the subject of the latest epilogue, it’s worth noting that Lucia was able to deactivate TM by trapping it in a springlock costume and flipping its off switch. To this, I remind you that the Epilogues aren’t over. The book series is still ongoing, as is TM’s story. Plus, by the time of SB/RUIN, TM is clearly awake, so it’s possible that it was reactivated by the time of Bonnie’s death.

Prior to that, Lucia briefly restrained TM with rope. It reminds me of the AR STAFF bot hanging over cables, and the weird tubelike things underneath Bonnie’s body. Could they all be connected? Could TM have learned the rope tactic from Lucia and then gone on to mimic that when attacking Bonnie?

Anyways, another important aspect of all this is TM’s connection to the Pizzaplex. We know that TM and TS share the same program, Mimic1 (it’s unclear if TS’s programming came from the original Mimic or one of Fazbear Entertainment’s copies. My own opinion flip-flops). TM is also connected to the VANNI mask and the AR world – whether you believe the theory that Glitchtrap is Mimic1 or not doesn’t matter, since it doesn’t change that The Physical Mimic Under The Pizzaplex Somehow Connected Itself To The Mask, even after the PQ ending got rid of Glitchtrap and its control over the robots. TM could also interact with the security feed and get in contact with Cassie, who was outside the Pizzaplex. Of course, none of these things are relevant to the time period we’re working with, but it shows how TM can connect itself to electronics, even long-distance, and possibly without the help of shared software. If it can interfere with radio signals, I wouldn’t be surprised if it could at least view security footage, maps, employee messages, and whatever else from the Pizzaplex.

Okay, now think waaaaaayy back to the beginning when I was analyzing Bonnie’s behavior: “He either woke up on his own with a specific purpose in mind, OR something woke him up.”

Returning to these two options with the information we have now, it turns to:  “Bonnie either knew something suspicious was afoot and wanted to investigate, OR The Mimic woke him up (purposefully or not).”

There could be alternatives, but these are the most obvious conclusions.

While what we know about GlamBonnie’s death is limited, we know even less about his personality. We don’t have any hints on why Bonnie in particular would be acutely aware of something unusual, or on the contrary, why he’d be targeted by TM. But we do know that on this occasion he was awake and later murdered, and TM is looking guilty.

Again, think back to Bonnie’s strange behavior caught by security the night he went missing; The long spans of time between very few appearances on camera, almost as if he was avoiding them, either on purpose or as a result of following something. If Bonnie was doing something he shouldn’t’ve, he probably would be sneaky about it. If Bonnie was being lured by TM with the intent to Get Him, it makes sense that it would lead him where he can’t be tracked. If it’s possible TM could access security and maps, of course it would know how to not be seen – and if it plays hide and seek, it would want to stay hidden. 

(I’ve been speculating under the assumption that TM can’t alter the Pizzaplex network, just view it. If it’s possible that it can alter the network, i.e. delete security footage, then that’d save us a lot of assumptions. If that were the case, then TM could just delete any security footage of itself, which is why we’re only left with random sightings of Bonnie on camera. The rest – the missing pieces – would fill in the blanks). 

TM may have an impressive AI, but it’s nothing near the Glamrocks’ level of self-awareness. Its actions are all motivated by the Mimic1 programming and what it’s learned/observed. It doesn’t try to escape because it has the desire to get out, but because it was not designed to be confined to a room. It doesn’t dismember people because it enjoys killing, but because it’s reacting “the way it had learned to handle all endoskeleton-like objects,” (Epilogue #7, p. 169). We don’t have reason to believe TM resents or envies Bonnie. Bonnie became a victim because he entered the crossfire of TM’s programming.

I personally believe Bonnie had suspicions something Strange was happening and began to investigate (either over a period of time, or simply was woken by TM skulking around one night, and was like “what the” and searched for the source). TM caught on and entered “hide-and-seek mode,” in which it was hiding from a pursuing Bonnie. Persistent and stubborn, as all Bonnies tended to be, GlamBonnie pursued TM all night. TM, in its previous killings, would hide, lure, then ambush. I think TM finally cornered Bonnie by luring him to the end of the long hallway behind Bonnie Bowl and finishing him off. Sunrise is approaching by this point, and the Pizzaplex would be opening up soon, so TM retreats back to the Pizza Place to avoid being found.

AC Inspection Thank you for contacting Low Budget Building Contractors. We have done a preliminary inspection and find nothing wrong with your ventilation system. The 'loud clanging', 'banging' and 'scraping' noises which were reported don't appear to be reproducable. Call us if it happens again. Invoice attached. - Keith

This might be nothing, but I want to include it anyway. The AC Inspection message from SB is most likely referring to the wind-up Music Man that chases Gregory in the vents. I think I’ve seen some speculate that this could be The Blob snaking through the vents (I’ve heard a theory somewhere that The Blob is what’s stealing from Rockstar Row). Personally, the language reminds me of the noises described in the Epilogues of TM crawling through the vents. Just skimming through Epilogue #7, the words and phrases “scraped,” “grinding,” “metal-on-metal scratches,” “thrum and thunderous rattle,” “sonorous clang,” and “screeches,” are used to describe the sound made by TM in the ventilation system.

There’s nothing in this message that dates it, so the cause could be anything, in theory. It's possible that TM used the Pizzaplex’s ventilation system to avoid the cameras while traversing, entering, and exiting the premises.

-☆-

OKAY. THIS IS THE LAST SECTION. YOU’RE IN THE HOME STRETCH –

WHY A COVERUP?

Why completely hide GlamBonnie’s existence and opt for a rebrand?

Option 1: They literally couldn’t find him. Hidden in such a hard-to-reach location, Bonnie’s body was simply never found. It doesn’t help that security logs pointed staff to Monty Golf. Left only to speculate, Fazbear Entertainment had to be ready for any possibility. Could he have been stolen? Thrown out? Hacked? Imagine if someone had stolen and hacked Bonnie, and he reappeared acting inappropriately or in any way unregulated by Fazbear Entertainment. If they’d gone ahead and replaced Bonnie, not only would there suddenly be two Bonnies, but one of them would be acting weird, outside of their control, and Fazbear would have to do something about it. No, as long as they’re unsure what happened to him, it’s easier to just have the understudy replace him. Precursory damage control. Bonnie was never a character in the Pizzaplex, so whatever a rogue Bonnie is doing or saying isn’t their fault or responsibility.

Option 2: They deduced what happened and couldn’t let word get out. Perhaps Bonnie saw something he shouldn’t’ve. Perhaps he knew too much. Easier to get rid of All the evidence, pretend it never happened, cover it All up, than to attempt damage control afterwards. Fazbear Entertainment surely knew about TM sealed up in the Pizza Place beneath their mega mall. If it’d gotten out, that’d be bad. If Bonnie lived to tell the tale, that’d be bad. Don’t even move the body, just seal up the room best you can so nobody can find him. Secure all entrances to the Pizzaplex so that Thing can’t get back in and do more damage.

Option 2 seems most likely. Clearly, he’d been found by someone – the Caution Bots found him, after all, and the room was boarded up from the inside. The only thing I can’t explain is the weird tunnel through the wall leading to the room from the bowling lane. Genuinely what is up with that. It could’ve been the escape for whoever was boarding up the main entrance, but if that was an official effort, I feel like it’d be easier to remove the wall panels and leave through the vent rather than create a new, messier entrance.

The hush-hush surrounding his disappearance indicates that some employees had a general idea of what happened (or at least that Fazbear wanted him replaced, refused to elaborate, and didn’t have an explanation).

AR Glam Bonnie Plush Dad wouldn't tell me why they replaced Bonnie.

This inventory description from Cassie tells us all we need to know: Not that her dad didn’t know what happened to Bonnie, but that he wouldn’t tell her. He knew what happened to Bonnie. Being the daughter of a Faz-Technician, Cassie was often exposed to the behind-the-scenes of the Pizzaplex. The fact that her dad refused to tell her the truth could mean any of these three things: 1) He was on very strict legal orders to not say anything; 2) Bonnie being his favorite character, dad couldn’t bring himself to tell Cassie what really happened; or 3) He didn’t want to upset the empathetic Cassie, who would’ve been nearly half the age she was in RUIN, by telling her that Bonnie was literally killed/destroyed and wouldn’t be fixed.  

Combined with the fact that Fazbear Entertainment didn’t have an official response regarding Bonnie’s whereabouts until sometime after the rebrand, I get the impression they Knew Something and had to deal with That first.

Understudy MANAGEMENT REPORT - With Bonnie out of commission, we are making Monty the new bass player. Parts and Service has already done the proper adjustments. This could be a good thing. Monty could be even more popular than Bonnie.

“Monty could be even more popular than Bonnie.”

I don’t think they were wrong with this one. Like I said earlier, we don’t know anything about Bonnie’s personality. I’d harbor a guess, though.

Bonnie, across all games/iterations, is generally characterized as a stereotypical rock musician: active, boastful, and a confident performer. The unused Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Theme Song from Help Wanted portrays Bonnie similarly, but with a laid-back hippie sorta voice. The Freddy & Friends: On Tour! web series promoting Security Breach characterized Bonnie as deadpan, casual/laid-back, and mute. Steel Wool-era Bonnie leans more into the chill, hippie-type rockstar stereotype, so I don’t think it’d be a stretch to say that Glamrock Bonnie would’ve retained some of these elements.

Monty, as shown in the book excerpts earlier, is a dramatic, guitar-smashing rockstar. Loud, hyper, destructive, eye-catching Monty. I’ve no doubt that Monty was popular due to all these traits that made him unlike Bonnie. Bonnie is “go with the flow,” while Monty is “my way or the highway.” Monty's excitement and energy would also freshen up the main band – none of the other members steal the show the way Monty does.

Their coverup works. Monty’s popularity is soaring. Everyone forgets about Bonnie.

-☆-

ROUGH TIMELINE

Construction

The Mimic is brought to the Pizza Place during the Pizzaplex’s construction.

Pizza Place sealed with concrete, teens later sneak in.

Pizzaplex construction completed.

Pizzaplex Years 1-2

Bonnie is decommissioned.

Monty becomes bass player and GlamBonnie imagery is removed.

Pizzaplex Year (???), but after Monty rebrand

The Storyteller is installed; removed 3 weeks later. Mimic1 continues to alter technology in the Pizzaplex.

Pizzaplex Year 3(ish)

Events of GGY and the Retro CDs.

Pizzaplex Year (???), but pre-SB

Vanessa becomes Chief Security Guard by recommendation.

All remaining staff are replaced by STAFF bots.

Pizzaplex Late Year 4-5

Freddy malfunctions onstage and is temporarily booted up in his prototype in safe mode.

Events of Security Breach.

PQ/Free Vanessa ending.

Post-SB

RUIN

-☆-

TL; DR (EXTREMELY simplified)

Bonnie was decommissioned within the first year or so of the Pizzaplex opening.

Any outside virus/programming couldn’t have influenced another animatronic to attack him, and Vanny wasn’t working at the Pizzaplex yet.

Bonnie was last seen wandering the Pizzaplex for several hours in the middle of the night when he should’ve been deactivated. Only spotted on camera three times, no mentions of a security guard encountering him.

Bonnie’s body is in a small room at the very end of a maintenance/storage hall behind the bowling lanes, which has been boarded up from the inside.

Due to the environment, this room must’ve been the crime scene.

The state of Bonnie’s body aligns most with The Mimic’s killing style.

Sharp claw marks

Dismembered limbs

Old, corroded metal parts around Bonnie that could’ve belonged to the Mimic

Possibly was lured to a secluded location.

The Pizza Place underneath the Pizzaplex wasn’t properly sealed, so The Mimic could have escaped and possibly entered the Pizzaplex.

The Mimic can interfere/interact with technology, so it could’ve had access to information about the Pizzaplex.

Knew how to avoid security.

Bonnie pursuing TM caused it to respond with its “hide-and-seek” style of attack, eventually luring Bonnie to an isolated location and ambushing him.

Fazbear Entertainment knew their murderous basement creature is what killed Bonnie and covered up the incident.

They didn’t want any chance of the incident getting out, which is why they sealed Bonnie’s tomb and replaced him instead of repairing him.

[whirligig-girl]

Star Patrol rocket Piccard-5 encounters an artifact of the incredibly powerful White Marble Civilization. circa 2169, colorized & shipgirlified.

Commission for @foxgirlchorix, based on a render by Holly for @torchship-rpg

This is some of my best rendering work ever! These commissions do have a knack for putting me out of my comfort zone enough to continue developing my technical skills and style.

Image ID: Digital art of two ship girls in a black and blue nebula background. One girl is a very large solid white marble statue with a naked feminine form, pitted and cratered with meteoric impacts, drifting belly-down though space. Instead of a face, her head has a large hole which glows yellow-orange, with a white marble sphere held in space outside of it. A green tractor beam is being emitted towards the second girl, a Torchship named Piccard-5. She is a silver girl with her body resembling a star patrol jumpsuit. Warp drive rings circle her waist like a hula hoop. She is wearing a spherical ball helmet. She is wearing white rocket boots. She has glowing red-orange radiator panels as wings on her back. The white marble sphere's tractor beam is slowly disassembling her into individual hull sections, disconnecting her radiator wings, removing her boots to reveal the rocket propellant inside her legs, and taking her body apart. Piccard-5 is reacting with a worried or confused expression. End Image ID.

Artist's notes and concept sketches in the read more:

When this render was posted Levana immediately had the idea to make it one of a series she was planning on commissioning me for, of shipgirls based on Torchship's Star Patrol (and alien) rockets. So we quickly brainstormed how it would go down and what she could afford price-wise.

When I do big commissions with new characters where I'm creating the design without an existing OC reference, I charge extra for character design. That doesn't just go to waste! Here's the concept art page:

The White Marble shipgirl is inspired by the Eerie and Enigmatic Empty Vessels by @murmurlilies, which Levana really likes--if you look at her blog you might see one of those posts reblogged multiple times. I wanted to pay homage to the eerie and enigmatic empty vessels without directly ripping them off! The first sketch on the upper left is imagining the girl poses by breaking her arms into segments and moving them around, but that never looked quite right to me. The second is basically just a direct study of the empty vessels (with a ball head). The third is after a little more refinement--I liked the cute hair on the empty vessels so I wanted to keep the head mostly intact, and I found a way of keeping the silhouette of the jagged angular hips on the empty vessels but in a very different way! Meteoric impact damage, just like on the original Torchship render. I also used an edited version of one of the Empty Vessels drawings for the thumbnail sketch in the lower right out of laziness.

There's also a sketch of what Piccard-5 looks like when she's not being disassembled. Piccard-5 has a rounded main hull, so it looks much more like a regular space suit helmet than the frustum-shaped helmet on the Newton-2 shipgirl I sketched a while back. The Newton-2 shipgirl had heat radiators as wing shapes on her boots, but making them actual wings on her back makes the disassembly image all the more unsettling.

I changed the hairstyle on the white marble girl when I drew the main drawing because I wanted to evoke like, greco-roman marble statues, and so a curlier/braided look worked better than the cute pixie cut of the empty vessels. I'm really happy with how the final product looks. I knew I wasn't gonna be able to half-ass it with the rendering, you know, just a little shading along the edge; this required a lot of careful thought and it was a lot of fun to do! Especially where the craters interact with the terminator (line between light and dark), just like on the Moon, which I have a lot of experience sketching (see below--the following sketches were made while looking through telescopes at the Moon at night)

Here's a WIP of just the line-art:

and with the basic shading done on the marblegirl

I started with like, a cel-shaded look (?), and then went in and softened the edges, then went over it again to fix the craters. I also added the marble texture to the unshaded base layer.

For the Piccard-5 girl, I spent a lot of time trying to get the pose right. I wanted it to be a little stiff, she's in a suspension beam after all, but not too stiff? And I had to decide like, what pieces should be detached, and where should they be going. In the render, hull pieces are often displaced towards the side, but when doing that to a humanoid, it ruined the pose too much, so i avoided doing too much weird stuff to the torso and kept the disassembled pieces largely to one axis. The cross sections are hollow because they're ship decks. She's a spaceship, not a robot girl. The warp ring was suspiciously untouched by the dissassembly beam in the original render, but i had the marble girl pull a few pieces off of it in my drawing.

Probably the one thing that isn't based on something happening in the render is the belt. Like, rockets don't have belts, cosmonauts do! So that was a fun little touch.

[phoenixyfriend]

I know I'm a nerd because the amount of time I've spent obsessing over the Vojvodina dress is. Way too much.

This dress doesn't actually have a name (probably), but it's from late 19th century Vojvodina, and I kind of obsessed over it when I was at the Serbian Ethnographic Museum in Belgrade (main site is available only in Serbian).

(Unfortunately, I'm trying to work within the tumblr image limit, but here's a google drive!)

BTW, if you enjoy this post, please consider leaving a tip! I spent more time than is reasonable putting this together.

Also, due to tumblr being Odd, you may want to open this in a new tab to avoid having the posts expand to full; the dashboard view only lets there be one image per line, for some reason. If you open in a new tab, they are much more neatly organized into sets, and quicker to scroll past.

Due to the fact that I can't really describe these photos in a way that means anything to readers unless they have a large technical vocabulary or background in Balkan fashion history, and there being so many pictures, I will not be including image descriptions. However, my commentary on those photos throughout the latter half of the post should hopefully give you a solid summary on what the photos contain, even if it's not going into details for most.

Here is the general shape of what you see in 19th century Serbia (incl. Kosovo), Montenegro, Bosnia&Herzegovina, and Croatia:

You can see a few throughlines, even with the variety from one region to the next. Certain types of fabric are more common, especially that heavy plain-weave white fiber (I think usually cotton, nowadays, but probably historically flax) with the small knots; my grandmother's apartment is still stocked with that as the default bed linen! You see it all through the exhibit, most frequently in the skirts, but often for blouses or chemises, too.

There are a lot of hand-woven fabrics, which you can see on display best with the aprons, and a very specific style of applique trimmings on the cropped vest. The arm's eyes and necklines have similar proportions. The lengths are similar. Most things are cut on the rectangular, or not cut at all. Hems are often tassled, for complex weaves, or simply folded under for the white base fabrics; plain, non-white fabrics tend to get a textured applique at the hems. Lace is usually eyelet.

There are exceptions, of course. I'd love to know more about that mint green cardigan(?) from Montenegro, with the gored pieces. I think it's made of doeskin (the tight wool weave, not the leather), and I wish I could get more information on the history. Most of the larger green dyes, not counting floral motifs or minor elements of a multicolored weave, are from the Bosnian section of the display (wide stripes along the collar, for instance), presumably due to Ottoman influence leaving a large Muslim population. And then there's this mint green cardigan from Montenegro made of a fabric I'm not seeing on any other garments? Tell me more, please.

(Also, in the close-ups, you can see that the hook and eye closure has released rust stains onto the blouse!)

There are so many more pictures, but unfortunately, I have a thirty-image max and really want to talk about this one specific dress:

The image description on the floor below describes this as:

Woman's festive dress with a zlatara cap, Banat, Vojvodina, late 19th century

(I have minimal commentary on the hat. It's a traditionally Serbian vestment, but there's nothing too unusual about it.)

So, here are a few things to note at first glance:

The arm's eye on the vest is wide. It dips further in towards the neck than most vests, and swoops further down towards the ribs. Most of the traditional vests have a much tighter arm's eye.

Relatedly, the straps are much thinner than most of the vests, maybe half as wide. This is partly the arm's eye, and partly the width of the neckline to start!

The vest comes down in a slightly pointed oval ending at the swell of the bust, rather than curving back up or being a rounded shape a few inches higher. It's also finished with these little satin triangles?

The vest is laced at front, rather than hook and eye closure.

The bottom edge has tabs!

The hems on those tabs are chain stitched in yellow, and then the hem is wrapped in a thin orange ribbon that I would hesitantly say is satin? Plus all the other yellow embroidery, which to my eye looks really different from the embroidery you see on various aprons, and also different from the metallic appliques you see on most vests!

That bottom edge also appears to be straight across (most of the vests curve up slightly at front), and is very tight to the body. While some of the vests are tight, those are generally the shorter ones. Longer vests are much looser than this one, which cuts off and cinches at the waist, right where it meets the skirt.

The fabric itself! I'll get back to this but it seems to be a satin jacquard??? A jacquard that matches (in thread, not in pattern) to the skirt? Insane.

[Disclaimer: Some of these deviations, such as the arm's eye size or the dropped shoulder hem, could be a matter of the mannequin being the wrong size for the clothing. Unfortunately, I don't have enough background information to be sure. It could be just the right size. It could be far too small. I only have these photos and the most basic of background information to go off of.]

Okay moving on to the blouse:

It's not completely unique to be sheer, but it's definitely uncommon!

The chest is not pintucked or a flat weave, but rather the sheer fabric has thin stripes of more opaque weave? I don't actually remember what that's called but it's definitely cool to see.

We also see a net lace at the cuffs, which is similarly uncommon; most of the fashions I saw had eyelet lace instead (which we can see at the collar of the blouse).

The dropped shoulder! The shoulder seam sits much higher on most of the pieces I saw (there are a few exceptions, but mostly from regions nearby). In fact, most of the examples had the shoulder seam hidden, between the higher seam and the width of the vest; it's both the dropped seam and the thin straps of the vest that let us see this here!

That metallic embroidery. Again, most of the embroidery we see on the other pieces is cross stitch or done with a much thicker thread; sometimes, you get lineart, but not filled in in this manner. This kind of thin-thread embroidery that fills the space between the lines isn't common in the other pieces!

I don't think I can actually say much about the sleeve length? I feel like most of the pieces have sleeves that are full or bracelet length, while this one is a three-quarter, but I'm not 100% on that actually being true. It's a bit hard to tell in some cases. Might just be summer clothes?

The skirt:

SATIN JACQUARD

BOX PLEATS

SLIGHT OVAL HEM

SATIN RIBBON TRIM

I'm gonna be honest this was a huge part of why I began to obsess over this dress let me just. Whoo!

This fabric is, as far as I can tell, a satin jacquard, very probably machine-woven. It is very different from basically every other fabric we see in this exhibit. This is not a plain weave, and it is not a hand-woven design. This is a meticulously, mechanically repetitive pattern done using satin-weave manipulation to adjust which sections have shine and which don't. Given the time period, it's probably silk. (Take a look at this portion of a video on silk by Nicole Rudolph to understand what I mean by jacquard. If you want to know more about satin weave, you can watch the full video.)

I'd guess that the vest is made of the same type of fabric, even the same threads, just in a different pattern.

The pleating! If you take a look at the other photos, the general pattern is 'put together some rectangles, gather at top, and you have a dress. Cover with a hand-woven apron in front and possibly in back.' There are, again, some exceptions, but this dress has both the box pleating and the satin jacquard. The structure of this skirt is completely different from 90% of this exhibit.

In conjunction with the pleating, the skirt had a very slight oval shape around the bottom. I didn't get a good photo of that part, but it's typical of 1890s dresses in Western Europe to have a sort of egg-shaped hem if you look at them from above, through use of pleating, strategic panel shapes, and bum pads or petticoats. In short, the dress is just slightly longer at back without being a full-on train. Most of the other pieces, due to the rectangles and gathers, are a much simpler circle shape around bottom.

Length! Part of why the egg-shaped hem is happening is because this dress actually brushes the floor. Ankle-length is the default across the exhibit, even for formal wear.

Simple satin ribbons for decorative trim, rather than something textured, shaped, or multicolor!

Then, the actual hem of the skirt: a center-pleated green ribbon. This is, again, really different from most of the hems. Most of the skirts don't reach the ground, and aren't made of a fancy fabric. Those white dresses/skirts that form the base of most looks are easily washed and have hems that don't drag on the ground. If they aren't left to just the selvage, they're very simply hemmed; I think what I saw most frequently was a double-folded hem. The pieces that have more decorative hems, like blouses and vests and aprons, aren't pieces that get the same form of wear. However, since this dress does reach the ground, it needs a centimeter or so of additional fabric to take some of that wear to protect the fancier skirt fabric, like hem braid, which the easily-replaced ribbon could conceal for this skirt since it's a festival item.

I think that might also be part of why there's a seam about twenty centimeters up from the bottom edge; it's a replaceable section in case it needs replacement, or the seam is for a protective layer inside. However, it could also be a seam used for a stiff inner lining meant to help the skirt flare out just a touch, like this.

Now, finally, why is all this even a thing, and why do I care?

Vojvodina, the region this outfit is from, was under Austro-Hungarian control during the latter half of the 19th century; whether it was officially Hungarian, Austrian, or both changed from one decade to the next, but it was definitely under that sphere of influence for a very long time. Despite this, it was and is culturally Serbian, and is majority Serbian in terms of population; it was even back then! However, the 19th century saw a large number of ethnic Hungarians and ethnic Germans in the region as well, and the cultural impact from Vienna was not to be underestimated.

This dress is a great example of how a culturally Serbian individual would have clothing that integrated those foreign influences. For most of the Balkans, the greatest influence was the Ottomans, due to five centuries of imperial rule, but this dress is a great contrast due to Hungarian occupation, and then Austrian. It contains elements of the culture that birthed it, yes, but the influence of the West is so very, very clear.

(I wish I could talk more about the Pannonian elements in general, but I'm still learning.)

I hope you enjoyed this rambling deep dive into a single outfit from the Serbian Ethnographic Museum. Visit it if you get a chance!

And if you've read this whole thing and feel like dropping a tip, you can do so on this blog, post, or over on ko-fi. You could even join my Patreon!

[virtuouswhitehatorganization]

This Is Going To Cause A Rift In My Oc's And G-Lo's Relationship

work by @carlos_ramber

This is from Carlos Rambler, an illustrator on the show who does sometimes does personal art of it, he's noted for doing pictures G-Lo and her often interacting with other heroes, villains (especially Mawrasite and Ghoul), and even doing normal stuff in her civilian life. Here we see him depict her reacting to the news and her reaction is that she's happily relieved that her idol, Miss Heed, was declared innocent. If you follow Rambler's account, she is seen being depicted as a fan girl of Miss Heed.

Heck even official fan art like Miss Heed's instagram shows her as a fangirl like when she was barred from getting into the VIP section for the New Years eve party.

Created by https://www.instagram.com/miss_heed/?hl=en

Just like G-Lo, my oc, Green Rod, was also a big fan girl of Miss Heed until she threatened her to stop asking questions about why Coyote and Omega change or she would end up being brainwashed. When it came out that Miss Heed was brainwashed she turned against her especially what she did to her mentor (and her future to be boyfriend).

So when the news broke out that Miss Heed was proven "innocent" of allegations she would have been furious how PEACE was trying to cover this up and didn't buy any of it. There would be many in the sidekick circle would believe Miss Heed is innocent while minority of ones would believe it's bs due to having mentors who were brainwashed by her. I do think Green Rod would get upset everyone believed this especially G-Lo who she sees as a dear friend and believes she is being too naive for her own good.

I do think this would lead to them getting into a heated match with one another over the fact that G-Lo would believe what the news is saying about Miss Heed especially after everything her mentor went through. I think G-Lo would double down on her denial and try to make excuses for Miss Heed like maybe she was brainwashed herself to act that way towards her. I do think Green Rod would say something hurtful in the heat of an argument with G-Lo saying "Why are you so stupid to believe this obvious lie over someone who had an actual encounter with Miss Heed's dark side?".

That would emotionally hurt G-Lo a lot that it causes them not to talk for a while and Green Rod feels sorry she made her feel that way. However, this moment would put their relationship on a rift and I think she would also feel a rift with her other fellow sidekick friends who believe Miss Heed's (fake) innocence. I do think that Good Vibes and Intangivel would join Green Rod in the I think PEACE is lying about Miss Heed's innocence club.

[yridenergyridenergy]

Phalaris Vol.II - Zepp Nagoya day 2 [2023/05/13] live report

SETLIST

Schadenfreude

13

Uroko

Mouai ni Shosu

Ningen wo Kaburu

Devote My Life

Hibiki

Utsutsu, Bouga o Kurau

Eddie

GRIEF

Gaika, Chinmoku ga Nemuru Koro

Otogi

The Perfume of Sins

ENCORE

Dozing Green (acoustic)

un deux

T.D.F.F.

Sustain the Untruth

Revelation of mankind

Today had a much better mood! Thankfully, I had chosen a regular ticket to experience the show from a bit farther this time, and Zepp Nagoya's barriers efficiently prevent the semi-moshpits that can occur in other venues such as feu-Studio Coast, KBS Hall last weekend, etc. Therefore, we each had plenty of personal space. On top of that, it felt like the floor was dipping toward the stage, so everybody has a fair chance to see the members. I'll try to remember that for future tours.

To be honest, being in shimote around the centre of the venue's length, I thought Kyo would still be disappointed because I could hear /nobody/ around me shouting the lyrics when Kyo asked us to. My voice doesn't carry, and yet it was the only one that could be heard in my whole section. I guess that the crowd at least moved more today though, because despite my witnessing that it wasn't lively, Kyo felt like it was much greater than yesterday - that's all that matters!

(Seriously, you have GOT to read after the break!)

The band members were wearing basically the same clothes as for the a knot 25th anniversary live show last weekend in Kyoto, namely Toshiya's white lace veil and Kaoru's leopard pants, hive-patterned suit jacket. And yeah, his hair is definitely brown, not sure how I hadn't noticed yet. His makeup below his cheekbones seemed heavier today.

Schadenfreude seemed more emotional today. And we knew that more of us had to give it our all today, so we got really into it. Kyo did the first few: "Ikedomo jigoku ka", once clenching his shirt like he meant it more today than ever before, making another reference to yesterday's disappointment. One thing about the images shown in the backdrop that I hadn't noticed is that the rainbow part of the lyrics may correspond more to the aftermath of the huge forest fire, and there is a horned Devil shown at some point. Near the end, we see a skull carved in a gigantic rock in a sort of jungle too.

After that first song, Toshiya unlaced his long white tie and demanded our cheers. 13 started and I got so into that song, but at the same time, I feared a repeat of yesterday. I think it was either then or during the first song that Kyo did turn around briefly, for a few seconds while he was singing, but maybe those occasions really were to show us the kind of anarchist symbol on the back of his shirt, which was apparently from G.I.S.M. again. Anyway, that song rocks so hard, especially the part about: "You change, to whose intention?" Kyo required us to sing the backup vocals that Die is supposed to take care of in response to his own lines: "Never die - in the dark, Never die - in the heart of, Koko ga subete - here is everything, Never die - never die". He didn't do much in reference to being hanged this time, but he did come up on his crate slowly.

I think it was then during Uroko, again my cue being that the lighting was flashing white, that Kyo came left and right on the stage as if to make sure that we were being active. He didn't seem pissed, more encouraging and optimistic. He was determined today to have us sing the: "Anata shidai de", after having asked us if we could become one.

Ningen wo Kaburu followed that energy, as Kyo had us sing a lot of the lines. The band had a strong presence for that song too.

During Mouai ni Shosu, the people near me didn't seem to really know the song. It wasn't too clear, but Kyo wanted us to sing: "The pride and prejudice" but I couldn't hear anybody else but my voice. He pointed from side to side so swiftly whenever singing: "Docchi ga? Docchi ga ii?", as well as in the lyrics about not knowing the name, like it referred directly about us fans. In the background video, there were glasses being filled with wine rotated at three different angles, followed by a flow of rose petals.

Devote My Life may have also been one of the songs during which Kyo did check-ups on each side of the crowd to make sure everyone was alert.

Hibiki was very heartfelt, but there isn't much of a highlight that comes to my memory. People only put their hands up a couple of seconds after they realise that the chorus of the song, the climax, has arrived. Oh, maybe that was the song in which Kyo started by hitting his chest repeatedly with the mic, then again a bit later, kind of off-beat with the drums.

For today's Utsutsu, Bouga o Kurau, Kyo was energetic. Even if he didn't seem awfully pleased witn the intensity of our "Nanananana naze nanda?", he didn't let it upset him.

Same thing with Eddie, people were barely singing the "kusomamire" as prompted, but the band was energetic. I can't remember what song it was, but Kyo did two wide stomp moves with his left leg during today's show. I'm quite sure one was in Eddie, asking us to destroy our necks and all.

GRIEF didn't see Kyo mock our clapping this time, but he did go onto his crate and hyped us up. We moved in a really synchronized mass. Always nice to take a peek at Kyo's mic cord whipping in between some headbanging.

Gaika, Chinmoku ga Nemuru Koro seemed to be a fan favourite. Kyo ended on whistle screams and growls. For this and at the end of several songs, I was the one to initiate cheers with my: "Ouais!!", otherwise there would have at best been a few awkward seconds of silence before somebody else dared to break the mold, or at worst, an entire awkward silence after a lot of the songs until the band moved on to the next song. So keep that in mind: don't be afraid to be the outlier in the crowd. The uniformity in Japan is very strong and nobody wants to stand out. As soon as the song ends and that you're not disturbing the performance, it's free for all - whether cheering or clapping. They'll let a silence go by just because nobody dares to be the one to do the first move.

The atmosphere then changed drastically for Otogi, as it got more serious. I couldn't help myself and swung to that beat. Did I ever mention that Otogi's background video illustrates a lot of sand, desert, the moon, but also a DNA helix that is kind of frozen, and eventually breaks from one end to the other.

For The Perfume of Sins, Kyo did use his mic stand today! God, it's always nice to hear him growl: "Nose, Eyes, Ears". Today, he decided to sing: "The sound of the brain dying" much more high-pitched, kind of in a deranged voice, compared to the usual growling or low singing.

The song ended and it was mainly the rest of the band who returned their instrument to their technicians and headed out. Kyo stayed a bit and I think he called out to Nyagoya, mic-less, before leaving for the break.

We called for the encore for what seemed like a long time. Shinya finally came out, as usual wearing tight black jeans and a black tour T-shirt. Die had some black top that I think had some long layers, with short black shorts and the leather interlacing tights that he posted on Instagram at the beginning of the tour. Toshiya kept his dress and shorts as usual and changed for a black sleeveless dress shirt. Kaoru kept his leopard print pants and had a classy black dress shirt. Kyo simply changed his shirt for the tour merch, The Sound of the Brain Dying one, but he still had the spiky choker.

Then, the techs brought out the chairs and we knew we would be getting acoustic Dozing Green. You can feel the drums so heavily especially in that song, it's like a gust of wind and a small earthquake at the same time. Kyo had his eyes mostly shut for the entire song.

Un deux felt like it was half sung by us, half by Kyo hahah. Sometimes in unison.

T.D.F.F. was so fun, with a majority of the fans jumping, shouting "hey" and "fucker" when needed. However, the biggest highlight was Kyo doing the finger guns toward Toshiya as he got on the ledge and played his bass solo in that song. Like: "Wow check this guy out now!"

I can't remember the song, but it was definitely in the encore that I noticed what has been described as Kaoru making love to his guitar. I just turned my head and there he was, holding his guitar diagonally with its head upward, the base held close to his crotch, and he had his head a bit tilted, eyes slightly shut and with his mouth agap, from what I remember. All that in the leopard pants and clean black dress shirt. Gosh, was it T.D.F.F. or Sustain the Untruth?

Sustain the Untruth was way more fun and special today. Kyo almost immediately went right, then left, even basically preventing Toshiya from taking position where he had meant to be, in front of his amassed fans, which briefly seemed to tick Toshiya off but he moved on elsewhere. Kyo was busy asking every portion of the crowd to shout: "the inside mind", which again I could barely hear from others around me, but Kyo did shoot two ripped fox kisses from his mouth steadfastly toward shimote after our performance, barely looking anymore as he turned sideways to head back to the centre, so I guess it was satisfactory. He also got us to sing a lot of the song with him too.

The last song came and we were cheering so much for the whole band, but Kyo the most. He started with: "Nyagoyaa!" and we replied with even higher shouts. Then he went: "Nyagoyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" prolonging that a on and on until he ran out of breath and we tried to keep cheering for as long as he did too. He asked if we could keep going, if we were still alive. We were all jumping with our hands raised but apparently something was up with a group in shimote near the front because Kyo kind of blinked when he peered there and said: "Oops, they're already dead". Apparently he also said something about us going home wet and asking if we understood then, but it seemed to me that I was the only one who was sweating huge drops. In any case, he kept asking if we could go on, called the Last Song with his finger raised as high as possible, then closed with something like: "Now die!" As Revelation of mankind started, he wished our heads goodbye and slashed his throat before a headbanging section during the song too.

As the song ended, Kyo stood on his crate looking at us with satisfaction. I clapped and we all cheered, then he eventually nodded and clapped slowly with us too. Shinya drummed the last epic beats of the night and the band concluded with a bang. Kyo stayed there and began doing finger hooks or just pointing all over the place, starting with the balcony of exclusive ticket holders, poking his chest with his thumb over his heart. He did that left and right, from back to front, until he reached the section right in front of him, which he just emotionlessly stared at for a couple of seconds, causing that part of the crowd to erupt in cheers even more. At that, Kyo eventually erupted wide-eyed and shot them a hooked finger and shouted tauntingly without the mic as if the longer he did it, the more he was outlining the link with that section. With everyone saluted, he clapped his final goodbyes and left the stage.

Shinya came up to throw his drum sticks, sending one quite far but another seemed like it must have hit a couple of fans dead in the face because it was sent rather horizontally.

Toshiya threw picks left and right, all smiles once again. He also threw water, the bottle, and a towel very farm. He seemed really apologetic thar his towel did not reach the designated pointed location in the crowd, which honestly appeared unrealistic, probably the second floor balcony. He left with a bow while Kaoru and Die were still swirling picks into the crowd, alternating at the sides of the stage. Kaoru did his trick again of keeping the last pick in his palm while everybody looked around frantically to see where it went. He came back a second time with a bottle of water to spray as many people with it, as well as a towel. Die stood to his right at some point while he did that, looking at us sideways with a foot on the ledge, staring at us with a smile that was incontestably lusty. Then he returned to the right side, kamite, to continue distributing stuff, like a towel too. We cheered "DieDieDieDieDieDie" again to his modest joy. Kaoru meanwhile kept his cool of course and was waving his last goodbye, taking his time to look at us and bask in the cheers. This made Die come his way at the same time to exit the stage, which is in the opposite order as they usually do, or at least never simultaneous like that. So Kaoru acted surprised, very positively surprised, opening his arms wide to welcome Die and invite him away on the left side of the stage to exit. As Die neared him, he placed his arm on Die's shoulders and they left with bright smiles on both of their faces, to everybody's excitement!!

[buckys-little-belle]

Hey I really like your story's Thay always helps me feel better and I was wondering if you be able to do something where Bucky and Steve comfort little reader after Thay had a argument with their parents. I have a lot with my parents and It scar's me a lot especially because Thay yell.

Protectors

Stucky x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns Used)

Warnings - Talks of fights, a small snippet of a fight with parents at the begining, reader cries, reader is obviously sad, talks of reader moving in with the boys (I don’t dwell much on the fighting, it’s a prevalent topic, but it is hard for me to write about, so it’s pretty short in comparison, but I hope it’s what you wanted!”

Notes - I sadly know what it’s like to fight with parents, though mine don’t yell, and I’m so sorry yours do, I do understand and relate to your pain, I do want you to know that me and ‘the boys’ will always be here, feel free to send in asks or message me, I hope you’re doing well, and I hope you enjoy this Bub!

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

- - - - - -

The fights were always loud, usually irrational or manipulative, and so was this one. It felt like it had lasted hours, yelled phrases cutting deep wounds, tears streaming, and feelings hurt. “I have to go.” Y/n said, giving up, knowing that fighting to be heard wouldn’t get them anywhere, leaving so the fight could end.

Y/n hear scoffs from behind them as they walked away, grabbing a sweater and some shoes, putting them on quickly before leaving, practically running out the door, the true weight of the fight now landing on their shoulders, tears streaming as sobs wracked through their body.

- - - - - -

“Steve?” Tony called out, the halls of the tower vast, but the super soldiers hearing able to pin point the yelling.

“What?” Steve called out, walking towards Tony, Bucky behind him, the two of them getting ready to make some dinner. “What’s wrong?” Steve asked, Tony’s face reading clearly worried.

“There’s a, well, a kid.” Tony began. “Came in and said they needed help, named you two and held up this card.” Tony held up a small blue card, Y/n’s favourite animal where a normal ID picture would go, the card explaining they needed Steve and Bucky. “Is this a joke?” Tony laughed. “Are people making these for fun?”

“They have anything on them?” Bucky asked, grabbing the card, Y/n had been doing well lately, so he thought maybe they lost the card and someone had taken it.

“A green dinosaur stuffed animal, the poor thing needs a wash.” Tony laughed, looking to the boys to see their next step, but instead being met with them racing downstairs, literally down the stairs running.

- - - - - -

“Y/N!” Steve yelled, the whole building lobby turning towards him, including a distraught Y/n. “What’s wrong?” He asked, pulling them in for a hug as soon as he got close, Y/n crying even more.

“S’much fighting Stevie.” They sobbed, arms wrapping around him, stuffy in hand still. “I’s jus’ so loud.”

“Oh Bub.” Bucky cooed, guiding the two towards the elevator, the doors closing and Steve picking Y/n up right away. “Are you okay?” Bucky asked, his hand splayed across their back, their head resting on Steve’s shoulder, tears still streaming, but sobs slowly coming to a stop.

“Mm-mm.” They hiccuped, shaking their head ‘no’. “Jus’ wan’ some cuddles.” They murmured, nuzzling their head into Steve’s shoulder, him cupping the back of their head, sighing in relief that Y/n was at least with them now.

“We can do that.” Steve said, the three of them now on their floor, settling down on the large sectional, Y/n never letting go of Steve.

“Do you want some juice?” Bucky asked, wanting Y/n to stay hydrated, the crying already taking a toll on them.

“Yes pease.”

“What do you want to watch?” Steve asked, moving the two of them slightly to pick on the remote, grabbing a blanket to drape over the two of them while they sat.

“Octonauts?” Y/n questioned.

Steve assumed that would be the answer, playing the first ever episode, flipping Y/n around so their back met his chest, them now being able to see the Tv. “Here.” Bucky smiled, handing Y/n a sippy cup, green dinosaurs scattered on it, matching the one they held.

“W’s this?” They asked, holding the cup up, they didn’t have things like this at their home so they knew it wasn’t theirs.

Bucky just chuckled, giving Y/n’s forehead a kiss. “We have lots of stuff for you here Bub.” He answered, turning back to the Tv as the characters began to save the day.

Y/n wasn’t able to let the thought go, why did they have things for them? Why here? They were especially confused when they just happened to have a placemat, plate, utensils, and dino chicken nuggets on hand for dinner. “Where’s all th’s come from?” They asked, happy to have the fun things, but confused, did they have someone else who used these?

Steve and Bucky glanced at each other as they paused eating, the dinning table suddenly getting serious. “We know you’re parents aren’t great Bub.” Steve began, Y/n nodding in agreement, their parents were what drove them here after all.

“We wanted to be ready, have things for you, so you can move in with us one day.” Bucky added, smiling at Y/n as he watched the cogs in their head turn.

“F’me?”

“Yes, for you Bub.” Steve chuckled, looking to Bucky as if he was asking for permission to do something. “Come here.” Steve stood up and gestured for the two to follow him. “Whenever you’re ready, this is your room.” He opened a door, the soft painted walls coming in view, book shelf’s, bean bags, and tons of toys slowly being revealed, a bed with comfy blankets sitting along one of the walls.

“What?” Y/n breathed, slowly walking into the room, taking in all of the things around them, their feet hitting soft rugs and floor pillows. “N’more arguing? N’yelling?” They asked, turning towards the boys, their eyes pleading for a happy answer.

“No more arguing, you can come here, you don’t have to stay their.” Bucky smiled, watching as Y/n’s eyes lit up, tears once again filling them.

“B’they’ll be mad.” Y/n cried.

“Maybe, but you’ll be happy right?” Steve asked, Y/n nodding as Steve and Bucky kneeled down in front of them.

“Then that’s all that matters, we want you to be happy.” Bucky added, Y/n falling into him, hugging him tightly as they cried in relief. The yelling would stop, the hugs would continue, and they could play out in the open with their favourite people.

[senditcolton]

call my bluff... call you babe (5)

CHAPTER FIVE

summary - what’s that saying? drunk words are sober thoughts? after a night out at a bar with the team, Madeleine is left wondering if drunk actions mean the same. 

word count - 4k

warnings - alcohol consumption & cheating, kind of (you’ll understand)

previous part ~ playlist ~ series masterlist ~ join the taglist ~ next part

Although the air was still sharp and crisp with the chill of winter, Madeleine’s life had never felt warmer.  And that heat had nothing to do with the bodies packed into the downtown Denver bar adjacent to the Pepsi Center. Or, at least not the bodies of strangers.

Instead, it was the bodies of Avalanche players and their partners – her friends – crowded in the corner section of the bar that made Madeleine feel as if the joy and happiness of summer was surrounding her constantly. Part of her still couldn’t believe that this was her life – a life that had changed so rapidly in the past seven months. But when Gravy handed her another tequila shot with a smirk, she gladly accepts, thinking that if this was a dream that she would eventually wake from, she wanted to make the most of every moment offered.

The tequila goes down her throat with a concerning ease and she leans back against Cale’s shoulder, sitting next to her. She can feel his chuckle, his body angling towards her causing her to sink deeper into his embrace.

“Still doing alright?” he whispers into her hair. Madeleine just looks back at him, never tiring at sight of his normally rosy cheeks darkening whenever he drinks.

“Never better,” she replies with a grin, one that Cale reciprocates before he leans in and places a soft kiss on her lips.

The connection that she had shared with Cale was a little over a month old and so far, it was really nice. He was genuine, respectful, and sweet. It was refreshing, especially since this was the first time she dated since Logan; a relationship that ended up being filled with deception and disdain.

Her relationship with the defensemen was still casual – nothing permanently defined, nothing official. But Madeleine liked it that way. It was easier.

An all too familiar laugh pulls her attention away from Cale, her eyes moving to were Tyson stood at the dartboard with JT, a beer in his hand as he watched his friend throw.

“I’m gonna go see if Tyson is losing,” she jokes, pushing away from Cale and scooting out of the booth seat. Cale’s only reply is a small nod before turning back to the conversation he was having with Nate and Mikko. Madeleine slips out of the corner section her friends claimed, weaving her way through the crowd until she reaches the dartboard area where Tyson and JT stood.

“Who’s winning?” she calls out, the two pairs of brown eyes looking towards her as she hops onto one of the barstools at the tables lining the wall.

“Tyson,” JT replies. “But not by much.” Madeleine watches as JT gathers his dart before walking away, Tyson taking his place behind the tape on the hardwood floor.

“I’m just surprised he is winning,” she laughs, her eyes turning towards her best friend.  

“Hey, I was pretty good at this back in high school,” Tyson says, the joking indignation clear in his voice as he lines up his shot.

“Lucky for you, the red and green on the board aren’t relevant to the point system. If they did, it might be a little harder for your colorblind eyes.”

JT lets out a snort of a laugh, almost inhaling his beer next to Madeleine. Her blue eyes sparkle with humor as Tyson shoots her a playful glare before collecting his darts from the board.

“Even if they meant anything, you’ve still never managed to beat me,” he teases, settling next to her.

“Only because I just have terrible hand-eye coordination. One of the many reasons why you became a professional athlete and I became a librarian.”

“Josty, you’ve never tried to teach your best friend how to play?” JT asks.

“Why would I? If I do, she becomes better than me and there goes my guaranteed win.”

“Wow, so honorable.”

“Hey, take any advantage you can,” Tyson laughs, with a shrug and a wink thrown in her direction. The action causes Maddie to roll her eyes in jest, her head shaking from side to side.

“If you ask Cale, I’m sure he’d be happy to help,” JT tells Madeleine from across the table, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

“I don’t think it would help,” she laughs in response. “Cale has already tried to teach me how to play pool– unsuccessfully, I might add. I guess I’m just a lost cause.”

“Really, Cale taught you how to play pool? When?” Tyson asks.

“Attempted to teach me. And it was during, I think, our third or fourth date. Why?”

“No reason,” he replies, the inflection of his tone being anything but casual, despite his best attempts to be blasé. His true feelings are only punctuated by an errant throw of his last dart, the point of it digging into the plain cork surrounding the dartboard.

Madeleine can’t stop the laugh that comes at the sight of Tyson’s head falling backward in defeat while JT cheers next to her. The ginger playfully bounds away from the tables, something about Tyson paying for the next round falling from his lips. Tyson just sighs before settling back next to Madeleine, taking the last swigs of his beer from the amber bottle.

There is a brief silence, the only sound being the clicking of the darts hitting each other as Tyson rolls them across the hardwood top of the table.

“Do you want my help?” Tyson asks. “Playing darts, I mean?” he clarifies, picking up the red darts and extending them towards Madeleine.

“I’m not sure,” she hesitates. “Ryan and Clare somehow convinced me to take a few tequila shots so that’ll probably make me worse than I normally am.”

“Who knows? Maybe the alcohol will stop you from overthinking,” Tyson teases, his eyes sparkling in that good-natured way that always made her resolve weaken.

“Is that my weakness? Overthinking? It has nothing to with just having bad reflexes?”

“I think so. It’s your, um… Aegean heel,” he says with a proud flourish. Madeleine laughs at his complete – yet completely misplaced – confidence.

“Achilles heel,” she gently corrects, loving the way Tyson’s cheeks fill with color. “But pretty damn close; same first letter, right culture. I’m impressed.”

“Let it be known I’m not just a dumb jock with a handsome face.”  

“You know I’d never think that.”

“Which part?”

Madeleine hums, the inflection indicating a silent question, to which Tyson replies.

“You don’t think I’m dumb or you don’t think I’m attractive?” he elaborates.

This time, it’s her turn to feel her cheeks to heat up, faster than Madeleine would care to admit. She mutters a quick and teasing ‘shut up.’ Her response causes a cackle to escape Tyson, his head thrown back in delight. Thankfully, he doesn’t linger on her reaction, nor does he force her to give an answer. Instead, he simply holds out the darts again, the silent offer still standing.

She sighs, before taking the darts from his hand, the smile on Tyson’s face spreading even further than she thought possible.

Madeleine sweeps her hand out towards the dartboard, beckoning Tyson to go first. He accepts, walking up to the tape line. Maddie keeps her eyes glued to him, taking multiple mental notes about how he is standing, how he angles his body, how he positions his arms, and how he releases the dart.

JT wanders his way back to the tables, a beer in each hand, when Tyson is adding up his points.

“Did he feel that bad about losing that he’s picking on an easy target?” JT jokes, a sarcastic ‘ha-ha’ falling from Tyson’s lips at his friend’s words.

“Nah, he promised to help me,” Madeleine explains. “But he’ll probably still win anyway.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” comes JT’s reply, accompanied with his shoulder knocking against hers. “I think you can knock this guy down a peg or two.”

The gentle encouragement is what JT leaves Maddie with, dropping off one of the bottles for Tyson before moving back to the collection of tables where a few teammates still lingered. Madeleine turns her attention back to Tyson, who was walking back towards her, an expectant look on his face.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he says, gesturing to the board. He just smiles at Madeleine’s accusatory look, one that screams ‘you’re supposed to be teaching me.’

“Have to know what you need help with before I can give you advice,” Tyson explains.

Madeleine sighs before pushing herself off the barstool, coming to stand behind the tape on the floor. She tries to remember how Tyson stood, placing one of her feet back as she leans forward. Madeleine takes a dart in her hand and focuses on the bullseye before tossing the small arrow. The dart – expectedly – does not go where she willed it, instead hitting the lower part of the board.

She hears a chuckle escape Tyson and is about to shoot him a glare but when her eyes drift in that direction, he had pushed himself off the wall and was walking towards her.

“You’re left-handed, Maddie,” he says, coming to fill the space behind her. “Switch your stance.”

Madeleine follows his directions, placing her left foot forward and her right foot back.

“Now, you don’t want to lean forward,” Tyson instructs, his hands landing on her shoulders as he pulls her back until her body stands straight. “Now the only other tip is to have the dart tilted a little upward, because that way when it arcs as it falls, it’ll land where you want it to instead of lower than you aimed.”

Madeleine takes each piece of advice, the heat of Tyson’s palms seeping through her shirt. She takes a deep breath, aiming for the inner ring this time instead of the bullseye. The dart flies from her hand and lands a little to the left but still in the correct ring. Even that minor success has a smile appearing on Madeleine’s face, her head turning to look back towards Tyson in excitement. He returns the grin, slightly squeezing her shoulders before returning to the table. Madeleine tries not to mourn the loss of his presence behind her, instead channeling her focusing back to the dartboard.

Their first game continues until Tyson decidedly wins. Even in the loss, Madeleine was happy their scores weren’t leagues a part from each other. The narrow gap between their points makes Maddie want to try again, convincing Tyson into another game with a plead and a convincing lip quiver.

About halfway through, Cale walks up to them both, his tan jacket already on his shoulders.

“Hey, Madeleine, I’m headed out. Do you still need a ride?”

“I think I’ll stay here for a little while longer,” she replies. “The train is still running so I should be fine. Thanks for offer though.”

“Of course,” Cale replies.

He leans into Madeleine, wrapping her arms around her in a hug before he pulls away. Cale presses a quick kiss onto her cheek, causing a giggle to escape her lips. Neither of them notices Tyson’s faltered throw, the dart secure in the space between the soft board and the metal frame. Cale simply departs with a quick wave to the two of them. Madeleine’s eyes follow him until he disappears from her sight. The sensation of cold glass pressed against her bare upper arm causes Maddie’s eyes to jump back to Tyson, now standing next to her with a grin on his face and a bottle in his hand.

“Not leaving with your boyfriend?” he asks, the tease in his voice almost a little too cloying.

“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve successfully deflated your ego,” she chirps back, practically bounding to the dartboard.

After a few more beers for Tyson, another two losses for Madeleine, and too many playful quips to count shared between them, Maddie within reach of her first win. Part of her has to thank the alcohol: Tyson’s continue consumption made his throws less accurate than before while her sobriety during this impromptu tournament helped her focus become clearer, her shots becoming cleaner.

In her last turn, she takes a few deep breaths, before firing at the dartboard. Her aim is precise, the darts falling in the exact wedges that she wanted them to. The points add up and Madeleine can’t stop the cheer that escapes her when she realizes that she finally beat Tyson; a victory that was only six years in the making, from their homes in Canada to this random bar in Colorado.

Madeleine spins to face Tyson, her arms still thrown up in excitement. Her eyes meet her best friend’s bright gaze, the smile on his face not dimming as he walks to her.

It catches her off guard when his body swerves around her and Madeleine’s excitement briefly dims, thinking that Tyson was going to be an uncharacteristically sore loser. But that thought is quickly disproven after he places his darts back into the cup attached to the board and rapidly flipping his body towards her, scooping her up into his arms for a celebratory hug. The laughter that falls from Madeleine is involuntary, her arms wrapping around Tyson’s shoulders as he starts to twirl her around, her body still held firmly in his grasp.

The weight of them together, coupled with Tyson’s not totally sober state has his feet tripping over each other, their center of gravity tilting to the side. Madeleine thankfully finds the ground, planting her feet and holding onto Tyson so his body doesn’t meet the hardwood floor with a hard thud.

The giggles still linger on Madeleine’s lips as Tyson regains his balance, moving back and reintroducing space between them, although his hands remain firmly on her hips, his grip strong. She looks up at Tyson, about make a joke about how mad Coach Bednar would be if he injured himself playing darts. But when her blue eyes connect to his deep brown ones, the jest catches in her throat.

Because Tyson – her best friend, the person that she’s known for years, the person that she missed, and the person that she was so thankful returned to her life – was looking at her. But more than that, he was staring at with such desire, a desire that hadn’t been directed towards her in what felt like years, that all of her thoughts abandoned her.

She just keeps her eyes locked to his, uncertain where this was heading but not determined to end it. The situation felt precarious, as if one misstep, one wrong assumption could send everything crashing down. Her gaze dancing over Tyson’s face, waiting for him to make the next move. She doesn’t miss the subtle flex of his hands on her hip, doesn’t miss the way his eyes soften as he drinks the uncertainty painted on her features.

The tension continues, Madeleine’s nerves spiking and out of habit, she takes her bottom lip into her mouth. Her teeth latch onto some of the loose skin and she tugs at it in worry, causing Tyson’s gaze to dart down towards her lips. Madeleine registers the departure of one of his hands leave its place on her hips but her mind falters at the new sensation of Tyson’s fingers coming to gently rest underneath her chin. The pad of his thumb lifts and lands on her bottom lip before pulling the skin down – a gentle encouragement for her to release it from her bite. She does, her mouth falling open slightly at Tyson’s behest. His thumb doesn’t fall away, instead moving across the dampened skin, brushing over the small split that Madeleine’s fretting opened.

The salt from Tyson’s finger stings as it touches the cut but Maddie realizes that she doesn’t mind it; the sensation grounding her to the moment.

She can feel Tyson’s hold shift, as if his entire body was debating every move. The tension is heavy, almost oppressive, the weight of nine years of words left unsaid hanging in the air above them. Madeleine feels her eyes inexplicably well with tears, as if the wait was too much to bear.

She doesn’t mean for it to happen, but when she blinks, a single drop falls from the ledge of her lower lashes, rolling down her cheek. The movement calls Tyson’s attention to the tear before his gaze returns to hers, the question plainly displayed on his face.

“Please,” is the only word that manages to escape from Madeleine’s throat.

It is a broken plea, soft and staccato. A plea for what, Madeleine wasn’t certain. For him to stop? For him to come closer?

Her lack of clarification leaves Tyson to interpret. Madeleine can feel his hold on her tighten as he pulls her closer, the press of his hand underneath her chin lifting her head. He leans in, seemingly in slow motion, and Madeleine can’t stop her eyes from fluttering close.

It is a moment of complete uncertainty before Madeleine feels the press of Tyson’s lips against hers.

It is delicate, gentle, a mere whisper of a kiss. But as soon as the sensation registers on her skin and in her brain, the trance she was stuck in breaks and Madeleine finally moves.

Her hands creep back, dancing over Tyson’s shoulders to the nape of his neck, her fingers teasing the curls there. She steps closer to press their bodies together, the warmth of him flooding her senses. Tyson’s lips stay politely on hers, unmoving, until Madeleine pushes herself up to him. She returns the kiss with a fervor that could only be described as hunger. Hunger for him, for this, for more.

Tyson responds quickly to her need, kissing her again before opening his mouth, his tongue pressing against the seam of her lips. She gladly grants him access, the floodgates opening and pure desire rushing forward. Tyson’s hand slides from her chin to grip the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, keeping her as close to him as he can.

The way they tangle together is almost animalistic, as if all caution had disappeared and left the two of them to reckon with their untold yearning.

But the previously dim lights of the bar flip to fluorescent, signaling last call, the shock of the brightness causes Tyson and Madeleine to jump away from each other, their hands retreating from the other’s body. The white light crashes over them and when their eyes connect, it is as if the harsh overhead bulbs brought reason with it, recapturing their emotions, and returning them to the gilded cages they previously existed in.

“Shit,” Tyson curses. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Maddie.”

Madeleine wants to say it’s okay, if only to lessen his panic, but she can’t make the words form. Because she knows the statement would be a lie: nothing about this was right.

Tyson was her best friend. She was dating his teammate. She wasn’t supposed to kiss him in a bar when she came here with someone else.

The remembrance of Cale causes her to turn her head towards the corner booth in fear. A voice tells her what she already knows: he isn’t there. But she still worries that maybe Andre or Nate or, even worse, Gabe and Mel were still there and saw her and Tyson lost in each other’s lips.

A sigh of relief falls from her when she doesn’t see any of her friends, the only bodies still lingering belonging to a few regulars and bartenders picking up the abandoned bottles, cans, and glasses.

“I…” she starts, her throat constricting around the syllables. She swallows, gathering herself and piecing her thoughts back together, before forcing herself to speak.

“It’s – it’s really late,” she says. “I should go.”

She turns back towards Tyson, their eyes connecting. Madeleine tries not to notice how his expression shifts from alarm, to confusion, to sadness at her words. The space between them turns, the expanse feeling like a cold and barren wasteland – so different from the warmth and fire that was jumping between them mere seconds ago.

Tyson sighs and Madeleine watches as his entire demeanor changes, as if he was building a brick wall between them before he looks back at her with perfect practiced apathy.

“Is the train running this late?” he asks. It takes a minute for Madeleine to realize that he was talking about the RTD line, her go-to mode of transport between DU and the Pepsi Center.

“Oh,” she says, her mind racking the Light Rail schedule until she realizes that it was almost two hours since the last train departed. “No,” she sighs. “I guess I’ll just call an Uber.”

She turns away from Tyson, fishing her phone out of her pocket and she is about to open the app before she feels Tyson nudge her arm. She ignores the lingering sparks that his touch brings and looks back to see him holding out his car keys to her.

“Just take my car. It’s still in the parking lot of the arena.”

“I – it’s fine, Tyson. I can pay for an Uber.”

“Please. I’m… not sober enough to drive so I wouldn’t be able to get it until tomorrow either way. This way I know it’s safe in your lot. Plus, this way you wouldn’t have to rely on a stranger to get you home.”

The subtle way that he shows how much he cares for her and her safety leaves Maddie’s head spinning. How many signs has she’s missed? Did Tyson always feel like this towards her? How many times had she brushed off his advances with the excuse of their long-term friendship blurring the lines and acting as a smoke screen?

She wants to know, to get to the truth of everything. But right now, she was too tired, too confused to seek those answers. Instead, she takes Tyson’s keys from his hand.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I can drive you home, if you want.”

“That’s okay,” he replies with a shrug. “I’ve got a spare set of keys at home. I’ll use those tomorrow when I pick up my car. So you don’t have to get up early.”

This time, the pang that echoes through Madeleine’s ribcage is painful, her instinct assuming the worst: he was separating himself from her, creating a distance between them. Part of her worries that it wasn’t going to be temporary. But she doesn’t voice these concerns.

She just offers him another gentle ‘thank you’ and a small nod. Tyson gives her a half-hearted smile before he turns to the small table, the one that they occupied for hours, and gathers the empty beer bottles his hands. He wishes her a soft ‘good night’ as he passes by her towards the bar, presumably to recycle the bottles and close his tab.

There was no reason for Madeleine to hang around but her body doesn’t seem to want to move, still stuck in that moment she shared with Tyson and what it all meant – not only for their past but for their future. She didn’t want to leave these loose threads hanging. No, she wanted to know exactly which one would return her life to what it used to be, which one would mend the gap between her and her best friend, and which one would make everything unravel at the seams.

Eventually, her logic and her exhaustion win out and successfully coax her to throw on her coat and move towards the exit.

The chill from the February air hits Madeleine as she pushes open the sturdy oak door of the bar. The sensation is a pleasant one, the fresh air clearing her head – or at the very least, emptying her mind of any thought except the desire to get home to her warm and comfortable bed. She moves forward, leaving the bar and all those complications behind her.

She can feel the weight of a pair of eyes on her as she departs; brown eyes that she knew better than her own. Eyes that could open her up and read her with an ease than no one else ever could.

Madeleine wills herself not to look back.

taglist: @starjoyyy @fallinallincurls​ @kenna-thomson @tkachvkmatthew @m00nlightdelights @cixrosie​

[fernthewhimsical]

Rainbow Symbolism

Hope and Wonder: Seeing a rainbow is one of those things that make you stop in your tracks. Often, we take out our phones to capture this rare moment, and share it with others. Seeing a rainbow brings a smile, this sudden joy, and a sense of wonder.

Promise: In Christian mythology God gave the rainbow as sign of his covenant to never again flood the Earth. There are also versions of a flood myth in Mesopotamian myth where the Goddess Ishtar wears a necklace with seven stones, as a promise that she will never let the Gods destroy humanity by floods again. In some version the necklace is a rainbow.

Pride: In 1978 Gilbert Baker made the "Pride Flag", a flag for the queer community. Baker gave meanings of the different colours, each meaning tying into the community; pink: sex, red: life, orange: healing, yellow: sunlight, green: nature, turquoise: art/magic, blue: harmony/peace, purple/violet: spirit. Before his death, Baker wanted to add a stripe of lilac, meaning community. The queer community is sometimes also called the "Rainbow Community" or the "Rainbow Family". Since the coming of the Pride flag the rainbow has become a symbol of community, authenticity, queerness, and pride.

Transgender: Besides the pride rainbow being a symbol of queerness, there are other myths that connects the rainbow specifically to the transgender community. In Albanian folk belief the rainbow is the belt of Prende (see below) and those who jump over it, will change their sex. Here in the Netherlands in the Rijnland there is a folk belief that if a boy walks underneath a rainbow while holding a basket of water, he will turn into a girl. And there are many more.

Luck: In Ireland a pot of gold is found at the end of a rainbow, making the rainbow a symbol of luck, prosperity, blessing, and treasure.

Bridges: In Norse mythology we have the Bifrost, the bridge that connects Asgard, the realm of the Gods, to Midgard, our Realm. The rainbow was also thought to be the path, or bridge, that the Greek Goddess Iris made to deliver messages from the Gods to the human Realm. And in modern culture, there is the Rainbow Bridge, a bridge which animal cross after they pass, to an afterlife where we will eventually join them. The rainbow is a symbol of travel, especially between realms, and of divine communication.

Messages: The Greek Goddess Iris is not the only one who is associated with rainbows and the delivery of messages from the Gods, as we'll see in the next section. This makes the rainbow also a symbol of divine messages, and the communication between us and the Gods/spirits.

Diversity: the rainbow is often used as a symbol of diversity in activism, politics, and commerce. All colours have equal value, and we need all of them to make a complete rainbow.

Peace: A rainbow flag has been used as a symbol of piece in several countries, amongst which Italy and Greece.

Bow: As seen in the "Rainbow Spirits" section below, the rainbow is also seen as a bow, a weapon. In England some would state that the bow is pointed at the Christian God, away from humanity, as an incentive to keep his promise.

Death: cw: child death ||Stillborn children or children who pass away shortly after birth, are also called "Rainbow Children"||

Bad Luck and Illness: Several cultures have the taboo of not pointing towards rainbows, for it would cause the finger to be bent, rot away, fall of, or something similar. The Sumu of Honduras and Nicaragua believe that the rainbow is a sign that "the devil is vexed". Looking at or pointing at the rainbow is thought to draw the attention of the devil, and therefore bring bad luck.

Enlightenment: In Buddhism there is the "rainbow body", a state of being that is the highest state before reaching Nirvana. When the rainbow body is reached it is often observed by people around them, as the body falls away and the body of pure light stays. In the Tibetan mountains this is sometimes explained as a "glory" as described above.

[Part of a Rainbowmancy series, masterpost here]

[queerdraws]

HELLOOOO I hope you've had a good day :D I was just wondering how you end up with the colours for ur compositions :O? Are you the type to use a lot of colour adjustment layers (multiply, overlay, etc) to get at a satisfying hue, or do you just eyeball directly from the colour wheel? I remember you saying for one of ur pieces that u eyedropped directly from like,,, a dead corpse of some animal XD but i assume that isnt ur process for everything hahaha. Do you use a lot of references for the specific vibe you wanna convey?

ANYWAYS keep up the amazing work!!!

YOOO!!! I didn't recognize u at first omg (p.s. ty!)

The way I made the zolu playlist drawings isn't my Usual drawing / coloring process but I formed some sort of Strategy for it

Actually I think sharing the literal refs I used for each image would be fun and maybe demystify the art process

Pics below cut! 😊

I mostly eyeballed from the colorwheel. I think I only used color adjustment layers on Chikai and Around the World to get a soft glowy effect in the clouds. BUT!! I'll frequently play around with adjusting the colors through the hue/saturation/luminosity sliders, or I'll go in to Tone Curve and play around with the levels until things are looking how I want. Especially for backgrounds

I also colorpicked from ref photos (like you mentioned w the lion eating a carcass). I GENERALLY tried to avoid overly referencing any one pic, but Simple song and Around the World were the two worst offenders 😓

---Color Choice---

I went by pure gut feeling at first while listening to the song, how the instruments sounded and what color they were

And then after that, I'd try and refine it a little more by Overall Vibes (making it feel more Glowy) (adjusting how colors interact w eachother like toning down a too-saturated color or making skin tones warmer or cooler to contrast w the background)

And then i gathered references n either colorpicked from them or I used them as vibe inspiration as i was painting

---More General Color Stuff...?--- This section is riddled with over-explanation.

-> To make a color stand out as Really Saturated, I surround it w neutral colors, esp contrasting ones (e.g. if I want a red to pop, I put it next to a cool gray)

-> if the overall painting is really warm (like, everything seems cast in a warm light) and i need to have a specific cool-tone color (like green), I take one of the warm colors and drag it a ways Towards the cool color I need (so , colorpick a red, and drag the slider until it's on yellow) and then desaturate it a lot. I then test that color on the piece and see if it Looks green. Same goes in reverse (cool-tone paintings that need a warm color) So, Like...for example: Zoro's hair is some really weird colors.

-> I try to limit eyebuzz (places where two colors meet, where the hue [tone] is different, but the brightness [value] of the color is almost exactly the same. Basically, if you made everything grayscale, you dont want two grays of the same color right next to eachother [or, you want to do it intentionally?]) (called eyebuzz bc at really high saturation, two colors of the same value almost vibrate next to eachother)

(Sidenote: I think "eyebuzz" mustve just been a term my high school art teacher used bc i don't see any relevant results for it on google... there's probably a more professional term for this lol)

Examples:

I esp try to limit eyebuzz between foreground and background objects

I know some artists are intense enough about contrast that they toggle grayscale on n off as they're painting. I just kinda eyeball it.

-------

This ended up really long again oh my goddd I think those are the main things on my mind when choosing colors...?

Hope this is helpful 😅

[bbeboppp]

𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 | 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯 𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘬 | 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗪𝗢 ; Philosophy

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

❝I'm stronger than all my men; except for you..❞ quote from "Pretty When You Cry" by Lana del Rey.

✧

THIRD PERSON'S POV:

December 5th, 1971. 07:56 AM

The dim light from early morning hours shone in through lacey white curtains in Bobby's room, illuminating the cold flat. The humble droning of cars below rumbled softly. Bobby had never, ever been a morning person, especially in the winter months.

God, he remembered just why he didn't take opening-shift jobs now; the mornings of New York were miserable to be welcomed from sleep to. He groggily sat up, reaching to the foot of his bed, where his suitcase lay. Inside were just a few of his belongings, such as clean spare clothes, forty bucks, a half-empty deodorant stick, a pack of stale beef jerky, and a belt. As he looped the belt through the belt loops, Bobby remembered the feel of it's soft leather wrapped around the skin just above his elbow. As if the room wasn't already silent, another dreadful silence slipped in.

Rejecting the memory, Bobby finished looping his belt quickly, kicking his heels into his shoes as he shoved his bomber jacket over his shoulders, zipping up half-way. A box of matches and a packet of silk cuts branded themselves against his skin as he felt them in his pockets.

✧ THREE MINUTES LATER ✧

A five-minute walk with only a minute to spare, Bobby accepted the fact that he'd be late to work. He wasn't planning on punctuality, the mindset of working any job but one assigned to him already kicking in, I guess some things never change. Besides, the dark-haired man already had something else in mind.

Bobby sat on the steps of the apartment, a cigarette tucked between his lips. He rested his hands in the pockets of his jacket, keeping them from the nipping frosty air of New York. Across the street, the little café had opened. The tan-brown bricks, the tea-green awning, the name of the café written in white paint. He watched two waiters, already in uniform, walk in through the door along with a tall, grey-haired man with hollowed cheeks. He was likely the manager, as his ridiculous outfit suggested. The lights turned on inside, the outside seating brought outside once again & the awning extended out into the street. Lastly, the little sign saying Closed was flipped, now reading Open.

Bobby stood up, throwing his cigarette butt on the ground, stamping out the burn end with the tip of his boots as he crossed the street, entering the café.

✧ INSIDE THE SHOP; Y/N'S POV: ✧

Y/N's uniform consisted of a white t-shirt, green apron that wrapped around her mid-section & pants of her choice, which in today's case would be a pair of brown flared trousers. It was a fuck ugly uniform, but it hard to slay when you have to worry about the uniform policy.

The first customer of the day was an old man who sat in the darkest corner in the café, reading the menu slowly. He typically came in every few days and never tipped. Y/N's work partner, Loretta, usually took his order. Loretta was one of Y/N's only friends, but a great one at that. She had shoulder-length curls, bleached not quite blonde but rather an off-ginger shade. The second customer was a woman in all-black attire, probably attending some important meeting that day. She wore heels that sounded loudly on the old wooden floor as she walked towards the counter, ordering a black coffee to-go.

The third customer was a man y/n hadn't seen before, and definitely not one who looked like he drank coffee from a local café. Maybe he drank coffee, but still, his grungy apparel brought a feeling similar to a premonition, but an enticing one at that.

His face was stubbled; he needed a shave. His hair was kept out of his face with a band around his forehead and a tall nose standing in the middle of his face like some sort of landmark. The thick, dark hair around his face framed it; his dark eyes held a witty spark within them; he seemed upbeat for some reason.

"What would you like to order?" Y/N spoke, hands on the counter as she waited for an order to fix a drink of some sort.

No response. Bobby had heard her, and acknowledged it, probably, but he was busy reading the menu fixed on a sign above Y/N's head.

"Mmm, I don't know. What do you suggest?" Bobby spoke after maybe fifteen seconds of silence, glancing from the sign to her. Already, a line began to trickle in behind Bobby, all lining up quietly & neatly.

"Black coffee." Y/N spoke, unfeeling and unknowing to the chemistry Bobby was trying to search for. Her answer was short and simple. She had recommended the easiest drink on the menu.

"I don't like black coffee." He scoffed, looking back at the menu, reading it slowly and carefully as if he had all the time in the world.

Y/N frowned a little. She glanced nervously at the line, hoping the man would make up his mind. Thankfully Loretta had finished taking orders of seated customers & handed them to the manager who was working behind the counter and now opened a second register, a second line forming.

"Espresso then." Y/N suggested, another easy drink to make.

"What's in an espresso?" He tilted his head a little, knotting his brows together as if to imitate confusion.

"Americano." Y/N bluntly spoke. She didn't have the patience to explain simple coffee recipes.

"No no, I don't want an Americano, they're too sour." Bobby protested, shaking his head as if in disappointment.

"Americano's are sweet."

"No, they're sour."

A long silence came from Y/N. She stared at Bobby, not reciprocating his silliness.

"Americano's are not sour."

"The ones I've had are."

"..So.. do you want an Americano?"

"No I want an Espresso."

Y/N hesitated, waiting to see if he'd pull another trick. He stared intently now, his lips not moving to speak another remark.

Four minutes later, Bobby was handed his Espresso. He didn't typically indulge in buying over-priced coffee, but the charisma of the little café was something Bobby decided if he incorporated into his life, would steer him away from spending his time elsewhere. A distraction.

✧ 08:12; BOBBY'S POV: ✧

By the time Bobby had arrived at work, the store had been open for just over ten minutes. Inside was quiet, apart from a few teenagers on their way to school buying gum or the elderly doing their weekly shopping.

Matilda was at the front desk, the sweat on her forehead making her fringe begin to curl.

"You're late!" She hissed at Bobby entering through the door, strutting towards the backroom to get his uniform.

"No I'm not." Bobby replied before shutting the door to the backroom. He scribbled his name down on a name-tag, sticking it to the store-uniform fleece. The fleece was a dark navy colour with two thin lines running horizontally below the chest, one yellow and one red.

"You're LATE." She repeated, glaring at him, but still somehow keeping the pace she held scanning customer items.

"Maybe your watch is just fast." Bobby remarked, taking zero offense to the huff Matilda was working up over his timing. He walked into another register, opening it up.

The day went by with no significant events. Thankfully, Matilda didn't snitch to the manager about Bobby's punctuality, but there's a good chance she will if he runs late again.

✧ 03:21; ✧

First day back, Bobby had accidentally charged four customers twice the price of their items, dropped multiple & worked about three times slower than Matilda. Raul dropped by once, much less cheerful than he was the previous day. Bobby had a feeling that would happen; no grocery-store manager is typically that enthusiastic. He took a spoking break in the back alley, meeting Matilda doing the same. Their uniforms would smell of tobacco afterwards, but since Raul smoked in the backroom it was easy to blame the smell on the backroom, as Matilda had informed Bobby.

Raul offered Bobby $2.10 per hour if he stayed til half seven, as the person who was supposed to come in after Bobby had spontaneously moved to Florida. Bobby agreed, liking the sound of a seventy-cent temporary pay-rise.

✧ 07:26; ✧

With the end of Bobby's shift approaching, the final mile was really kicking in. His entire demeanour was tired, and he was working impossibly slow with a grumbly attitude.

Deciding to go out for a "smoke break" and never return, Bobby left the register & stood outside the shop, as Raul was shouting on the phone in the back-alley. As he held a cigarette between his tobacco-stained fingers, a familiar face exited the shop. Y/N, not wearing her horrid work uniform & in a thick fake-fur coat. She was holding two brown paper bags of groceries, balancing one on each hip.

Bobby stood up from where he slouched against the wall, now walking in step with her. A man of the moment, if Bobby tried this today he'd probably get tazed.

"Want some help carrying those?" He offered, the cigarette hanging lazily from his lips.

Taken slightly aback, Y/N frowned, almost discouraging him altogether.

Before Bobby could speak another bluntly friendly offer, Y/N handed him a bag. She continued walking, readjusting the other bag a little, not acknowledging the puppy she had at her heels.

"Your welcome." He sassily added.

The two walked a length together, Bobby sparking up conversation about anything, anything he could think of. "How's the weather?" He asked, spitting the cigarette he had into a bin, not wanting to look bummy in front of a lady. "Same as always. Cold." Y/N shrugged, crossing the street. Bobby followed in tow.

"Do you like your job?" He asked. "No, who does." Y/N answered. "Awh, don't be such a pessilist." Bobby cooed "The word is pessimist." She corrected him, fighting the oncoming smile at his idiocy. There was something.. slightly charming about the way he answered so quickly yet so foolishly, large doe eyes glancing to his side at her every chance he got.

"Oh, well, I'm not too smart. You seem smart, you go to college?" Bobby followed up. Y/N scoffed sadly, "No, I wish. I got rejected from four." "What were you gonna study?" "Philosophy." Y/N mumbled, perhaps slightly embarrassed about it. Not that she found anything wrong with studying philosophy, but her parents seemed to highly discourage it, since it's deemed typically useless.

"Oh, I know a few philosophers." Bobby spoke brightly. "Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle.. Uhm.. Para-something." Bobby began listing all the philosphers that came to mind at that moment. Y/N giggled when he said para-something.

"What? I told you I'm not too smart." He retorted, mocking a hurt-tone in his voice. "Parmenides. Philosophy is much more complex than studying the Greek Philosophers though. I mean, the courses can cover a range of umbrella-genres.." As Y/N began rambling about all she knew of philosophy college courses, Bobby listened with a great interest. Of course, he didn't understand half of what she was saying, but at least he nodded along with great enthusiasm and asked a few questions along the way. Unbeknownst to Bobby, Y/N was taking the long way home, just to draw out the conversation a little longer.

✧ SIXTEEN MINUTES LATER; ✧

At the steps of a grey apartment, Y/N stopped. Bobby stopped beside her. He looked up at the building, trying to count the storeys in it but gave up at fifteen.

"What floor do you live on?" He asked. "Twenty." Y/N sighed, taking the bag from Bobby.

"Oh, and thank you." Y/N smile was warm, bizarrely different from when they first met. "Anything to help out the next Aristotle." Bobby replied, looking down with a grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes, giggling quietly. Bobby skipped up the steps ahead of her, just to get the door and hold it open.

"Why thank you." She smiled again, tilted her head against her shoulder as Bobby stood there, stupidly smiling.

"Are you working tomorrow?" Bobby asked, leaning on the side of the door now.

"No, I only work on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays." Y/N shook her head. Tomorrow was Wednesday.

"You have the day off?" Bobby asked, brows raising.

"No," Y/N sighed, huffing a laugh, "I'm going to Coney Island this Wednesday, visiting my sister."

"Well, have a good time so." He pursed his lips into a subtle smile, watching as Y/N made her way inside, towards the elevator. Bobby walked down the steps, towards his own flat. He didn't know this area of New York too well, but wouldn't get lost by any means.

He took a seven minute detour, deliberately avoiding Needle Park. A burning curiosity itched his insides. He wanted to have a look, to check up on his friends. To see if Kitty was there. But he couldn't do that, he couldn't go back. People don't go to Needle Park to find jobs or prosperity, they go there to die.

When Bobby got home, he patted down his pockets, looking for his keys. He found him in his back pocket & unlocked the door. A cold room & mumbled arguments from neighbours greeted him.

END OF CHAPTER ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Word Count: 2.2k

IMPORTANT: If I call Bobby Paolo at some stage PLEASE tell me omg it's so embarrassing I don't know why I do it </3