#glamorous powder room

[carolinhairandmakeup]

Bathroom Powder Room in St Louis

Powder room - traditional powder room idea

[scrapxrat]

St Louis Powder Room

Example of a classic powder room design

[carleighrose]

Bathroom in St Louis A classic powder room design illustration

[howyaben]

Traditional Powder Room

[blieve-bactive-bhealthy]

Powder Room Bathroom in New York

Modern powder room design featuring multicolored walls and an integrated sink.

[betafishtank]

New York Bathroom Powder room - large contemporary black tile multicolored floor powder room idea with a one-piece toilet, gray walls, a console sink and gray countertops

[oldmanweldon]

Bathroom Austin Example of a trendy powder room design with blue walls and an integrated sink

[oneforthemunny]

home is wherever i'm with you |hockey player!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: life on the road during hockey season is far less glamorous than you thought it would be. homesick and lonely, eddie tries to get you feeling better.

also special thank you to @angietherose for the name of the au hockey team :) eddie is officially on the indy reapers! thank you to all who voted as well!

contains: fluff, but there is slight angst at the beginning. mentions of loneliness, a little depression. slight-ish tension or strain on the relationship, but you know i make it happy at the end lol. language.

Pasadena, California - 1993 

Day seventeen on your six week excursion with Eddie. Well, excursion was a generous thing to call what this was. You were feeling more like a groupie for the Indianapolis Reapers, a puck bunny as Eddie’s teammates snickered, brows raised in suggest when they’d pass jersey clad girls lingering around their buses. Stop after stop- press, practice, training, games, all over the nation. 

A suitcase full of clothes you’d grown sick of already, longing to go home and trade them for something different, washing them in the sharp, sterile detergent of the hotels. You longed for your own sheets, perfumed with your own detergent. 

Eddie was gone for most of the day. You tried to sightsee on your own, explore the cities but it was lonely, lacking someone to giggle with over lattes, to hold your hand in the street, just to talk to. The other WAGS that came along, stuck out the long haul across the states, clung to each other, comfortable in their own little clique. You were too new, an outsider to their group. 

“Hey, babe,” Eddie pressed the key into the lock, twisting the heavy latch open. “Babe, do you have that stuff? Did you bring it?” He hummed, dropping his bag at the door, kicking off his sneakers. 

His nose curled at the pungent smell, ripe from the warming weather of California. “Jesus Christ, I gotta wash this stuff. I’m sorry, I’ll put it in the laundry thing.” Eddie hummed, sliding the slotted closet door open. “Can’t believe how warm it is here already. Feels so nice outside. You’ve been outside today, sweetheart?” He rambled, sweetly, tossing the powdered detergent into the washer, shoving the workout clothes from his bag into the tiny machine. 

The steady hum of the air conditioner filled the room, his only response. Eddie’s brows lifted, jamming the button of the washer, sliding the door back into place. He didn’t remember hearing you say you were leaving today, but he had taken a pretty hard hit to the glass during practice, ears still ringing dully. 

“Baby?” Eddie called, opening the bathroom door, empty of you other than the scattered products on the vanity. Heavy steps on the patterned carpet, Eddie walked into the bedroom suite, halting at the edge of the crumpled sheets. 

You laid on your side, still in what he’d left you in that morning, eyes puffy and red rimmed looking motionlessly out the window. “Hey, I thought you- I was, uh, I was just talking but-” Eddie’s heart beat in his throat, uneasy at the sight of you, crumpled in the sheets. “Are you ok?” 

You turned, cheek still pressed to your arms under the pillow, just enough to see him- all wild curls, matted and frizzy with helmet hair. “Yeah,” You croaked, throat scratchy and sore with sobs that had stilled hours ago, still you were plagued with the aftershocks of weeks of suppressed emotion. 

“I- I’m not trying to sound like a dick or anything here, but you’re clearly not.” Eddie said softly, slowly approaching the bed. The bed dipped under his weight, a warm hand rubbing over your ankle under the cool sheets. 

“Baby,” Your face crumpled at the coo, so sweet, gentle, it made your nose burn. “What’s goin’ on?” Eddie muttered, thumb circling your ankle bone gently. 

Your nose burned with a slow, shaky exhale that he felt, rattled all the way down your body under his touch. Eddie’s heart dropped. “Hey, look at me.” Eddie’s voice was softened but sharp, teetering on frantic. You turned, looking at his wide eyes, running over your frame in worry. “What’s goin’ on? What’s the matter?” 

Your lip wobbled, head screaming words you couldn’t bring yourself to say- you didn’t know how to say. “I just-” You took a breath, chest stuttering. “I don’t… feel good.” 

Eddie’s brows creased, crawling up the bed beside you. “Don’t feel good, like, sick?” He muttered, the back of his hand pressing to your palm. “You don’t feel hot t’me. What hurts? Is it your head still? I told you, baby, that hippie dippie shit only works so much. You have to take medicine-” 

“-No,” You shook your head, eyes squeezing tightly to keep your tears at bay. “It’s-it’s not that.” 

Eddie blinked carefully. “What? Is it, like, the time of the month? D’ya need me to go get some stuff for you? You know I don’t mind to. Not a problem for me, baby, just tell me what you need.” Eddie’s head tilted to the side, so sweet and doting, it made your chest heat with swarming guilt and adoration. 

“I’m not on my period. It’s nothing, Ed.” You shook your head, curling back into your pillow. 

Eddie stilled above you. “Are- Are you pregnant?” He whispered. 

“No.” You groaned quickly, head shaking into the warmth of the pillows. 

Eddie sighed lightly, a huff of relief that fell short, when your body turned from him, back towards the window with a long inhale. “Hey, can you- can you look at me? Please? Look at me, baby.” Eddie’s pitch raised, teetering towards scared, his hand on your shoulder, pushing you gently so you rolled on your back. 

He hovered over you, curls falling down nearly brushing your cheeks. “Tell me what’s going on. Please? Tell me what’s wrong.” Eddie whispered, nearly a beg. “You don’t feel good? You don’t feel good here?” His throat swelled, tight with fear. “With me?” 

Your silence had Eddie’s stomach twisting, dropping with fear, bile rising in the back of his throat- he was going to be sick, he was sure he would be. 

“No,” You muttered, head shaking lightly under the pillow. “Not with you, just,” You reached up, nervously twirling his curl around your finger. “Just with this.” 

Eddie swallowed, willing himself still, calm, though his heart felt like it might give out. “This? Wh-What do you mean this?” Eddie’s voice shook. 

You blinked up at him, eyes rounding in a sad softness he hadn’t seen before. “I just… I miss being home.” You whispered, eyes glossing with a fresh wave of tears that pricked your waterline. “I miss seeing my friends, and being in my own bed, a-and even work. I just,” Your breath hitched, lip trembling. “I’m just really lonely.” 

Eddie was sure his heart did give out, break right in his chest, sunk right to the pit of his stomach. “Do you- You wanna go home?” Eddie’s hand ran down your cheek gently. “That’s what you want? That would make you feel better?” 

Your face crumbled, caved into itself at his tone. “I-I don’t know.” You admitted, eyes squeezed shut to keep the tears in. “I don’t want to leave you, b-but I don’t-” You pressed your palms to your eyes, taking a slow inhale through your nose. “I just don’t want to be alone so much. A-And I know that’s not your fault. I know you’re working.” 

When your eyes did meet his, Eddie wished they’d stayed closed, heartbreakingly sad, vacant of that light that usually shone through, brightening anything cast in your gaze. “I just… I’m feeling homesick, ‘m sorry.” You muttered. “I just really miss home, and I’m having a bad day.” 

“You don’t- Don’t apologize.” Eddie shook his head. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were feelin’ like this.” Eddie swallowed, pulling you up gently. Your body was slack, limp with unmotivated movement, but still, you settled into his arms. The tension in your body melted, nose buried in the material of his shirt, lathered in cologne and the hot California air. 

“I have a half day tomorrow.” Eddie muttered, his heart beating fast, you could hear it, feel it. His hand smoothed up your back. “We’ll do something. Go exploring and stuff. Do some fun stuff.” 

“You’re ‘sposed to rest.” You muttered, cheek squished to his chest. “It’s before your game, you’re supposed to be resting.” 

“Yeah, but that is resting.” Eddie shook his head gently. “I’ll be alright. Promise. Played after way worse. Me and Josh used to come in hungover, vomited on the ice one time.” Eddie’s chest rumbled with soft laughter. “Pretty sure we’re the reason that rule’s in place now.” 

Your lips curled, even through your sullen, dazed mood, you couldn’t help it. Clinging to him tighter, you moved into his touch. “Coach just means take it easy like, don’t go get fucked up and actually sleep the night before.” Eddie muttered, chin tucking down onto your head. “C’mon, lemme take you out tomorrow. Me and you. Go anywhere you want.” 

You didn’t reply. Instead, sighed gently, settling into his hold. 

Eddie was restless through all of morning practice, hands buzzing, ready to run to the rental car at the first dismissal. Shower be damned, he’d take a quick one at the hotel, he couldn’t be held up any longer. 

“What’s goin’ on with you, Munson?” Elijah muttered, next to Eddie in the huddle on the ice, the coach’s droning about protocol for the game. 

“Nothin’.” Eddie whispered back, twisting his stick in his hands. “Just wish he’d fuckin’ hurry up.” 

Elijah’s eyes cut to Eddie, snorting lightly. “You got somewhere to be?” 

“Yeah, I do actually.” Eddie sighed out. “Gotta get back. Promised my girl I’d take her out.” 

Elijah’s brows raised. “Shit, you brought her with you?” 

Eddie’s shoulders tensed. “She wanted to come.” He muttered defensively. “I mean, she wanted to. Now it’s kinda fucked, she’s-” Eddie’s eyes cut around him. “She’s kinda homesick.” 

Elijah nodded slowly. “Yeah, that happens.” He fought back a smile. “When’s the last time you took her out?” 

Eddie’s eyes cut to him, defensive with accusation. “It’s not like that. I take her out.” 

“Yeah? On the off day? After we’ve traveled all day?” Elijah snorted, shaking his head. “C’mon, Munson. Believe me, that doesn’t count.” 

Eddie ignored him, gripping his stick with furious annoyance. The fuck did he know? He didn’t know anything. 

“Look, I’m not tryna piss you off. I did it, too. Just- believe me, alright? That one day shit doesn’t work.” Elijah pressed gently. 

“Hey, I got it, alright? I’m good.” Eddie growled. 

Elijah held his hands up in defense. “Alright, I’m just saying, when it was me,” He started. “I wasn’t meaning to. I just wasn't used to it. Had my own road routine and tried to fit her around it instead of into it. Thought it was going good until it wasn’t.” 

Eddie stilled, silent but shoulders slumping lightly. “You gotta change your routine, find a way to fit her into it. She’s on the road too, not just you.” Elijah continued. 

The coach whistled, waving them in dismissal. Eddie blinked, pulled out of his daze, lifting his helmet and stick with him. Elijah nodded at him. “Have fun tonight, Munson.” He smiled softly. “Make sure you take her somewhere nice.” 

Elijah’s words rang in Eddie’s head all the way back to the hotel, only a short drive from the arena. Eddie nearly threw his keys at the valet, sliding into the elevator shamelessly, bouncing on the balls of his toes until he reached your floor. 

You startled when he came in, sitting at the vanity, doing your makeup. “You’re done already?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie muttered, ducking down for a kiss. “Just gotta shower real quick, but are you hungry?” He shimmied his workout sweats onto the floor, kicking his socks off with them. 

Your eyes lingered over his bare lower half for a second, turning back to paint your mascara on. “I’m not starving.” You mumbled. 

“Alright, good, I was gonna see if we could go to this place. I think you’ll like it.” Eddie grinned over his shoulder at you, the hiss of the shower coming to life. “Some guys told me if you’re in Pasadena you gotta go here.” His smile so wide, eyes sparkling in the dim yellowed light of the hotel bathroom, it made your tummy tingle with warm excitement. 

“Promise you’re not looking?” Eddie mumbled, hands over your eyes, waddle-walking awkwardly behind you, pressed close to your back. 

“Swear I’m not.” You grinned. Eddie was right, it was beautiful outside. Warm and bright, light illuminating his hands that covered your eyes with a reddish glow. 

“I can feel you trying to. Your lashes are tickling me.” Eddie muttered, leaving you giggling. “Ok, just- you know what, this is good enough. I’m scared you’re gonna trip.” Eddie said, lips curling at your soft laugh. 

“Are you ready for your surprise?” You could hear Eddie’s grin in his voice, a breeze floating between the two of you. 

“Yes.” You giggled, Eddie’s chest swelling at the sound. “Just show me. Your hands are clammy. They’re gonna smear my mascara.” 

“Shit, sorry.” Eddie muttered sheepishly, a blush spilling on his cheeks, pulling his hands away so they were still in front of you. “Ok, ready?” 

“Eddie-” 

“-Sorry, Alright, one, two,” Eddie moved his hands, smiling proudly in front of you, a pinkish looking building behind you. “Here it is! Surprise!”

You blinked. “Oh.” You quipped softly. 

Eddie blinked, smile falling. “What? I thought you’d- You don’t like it?” 

“No,” You shook your head. “I mean, no, that’s- Where are we?” 

“Oh,” Eddie shook his head lightly. “Shit, I thought you’d know. Uh, apparently this place is supposed to be like the place for flowers, y’know? Pasadena has that flower festival thing, but it’s not until later and I know you like to go to the cool places, and-” Eddie motioned to the store behind him. 

You took in the building, spilling over with plants you could see from the inside. “I, uh, I know you miss home.” Eddie said softly. “And I was just thinking, y’know, we can’t get houseplants like at home, but maybe some bouquets? Some flowers for the hotel room.” 

Eddie waited a beat, desperately trying to read your face, eyes wandering over the building and the signs. “I thought maybe you’d pick out some flowers and-and it would make it feel like home.” Eddie’s hands slid down his jeans, hot from the sun beaming on them. “Plus, you wanted to see some around here, a-and y’know… one bird, two stones.” Eddie rambled, shrugging sheepishly. 

You felt the familiarity of a cry bubbling back in your chest, swelling and suffocation, only this time the aching of sadness was gone. In its place, a bubbling, burning feeling of adoration was left, consuming you from the inside out with every nervous glance Eddie gave you. He’d listened, really fucking listened. He always did, but this time it was different. Relief, comfort washing over you for the first time in days. 

It felt like home. 

Like the two of you were back in Hawkins, or Indianapolis even, perusing the usual spots, happy and content to be together in a familiar place. 

Eddie wasn’t expecting you to grab him, pull him into you with a fierce, sloppy kiss. Right there on the sidewalk, under the California sunshine. Lips melting into his, clawing and grabbing at his shirt, the back of his neck. Eddie’s cheeks burned bright when you pulled apart, a smile so wide and goofy it made you giggle. 

He let you grab his hand, lead him around the flower shop like a lost puppy, picking out anything and everything that made you smile. A bright bouquet spilling out beautifully in the green vase, made just for you. 

You sat it right on the small bedside table, beaming at how it livened up the room. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was the flowers or you. Either way, it revived you, made you happier and giddier. Made the sheets of the hotel less cold when you slipped beneath them, legs tangled in his, pinning him under you onto the stiff mattress. It made the room brighter, spilling with a new fragrance that felt familiar. 

It was small, a miniscule way that meant the world to you; made you feel at home. Eddie knew it, planning how he’d do it with every next city, until you finally got back home.

[sorcerous-caress]

Heyyy!! Could I request the companions taking care of a new baby + a toddler while their partner recovers?

Taking care of the kids while you recover

[Fluff, marriage, raising kids, nb!reader]

[Astarion, Wyll, Gale]

I'm not feeling the best rn so I did just three, i hope you enjoy anon.

Astarion

Seeing that this is your second baby together, he feels less out of his element now. He is more confident in his ability to care for this little bundle of joy with pointy ears cradled in his arms.

He almost doesn't recognise his own self these days. When did his sharp edges grow so soft? When did he become so tender, and when did his eyes become so round and happy?

When you proposed to him that day in the underdark, when you presented him with a modest ring that made him go speechless. He has seen many more glamorous ones, much more expensive ones, but somehow, this simple band with the most precious gem completely took his breath away.

That's how he ended here on this cozy couch with a silver haired toddler running around enthusiastically. Astarion calls them over to gently wipe some crumbs from their face, looking at their innocent adoring eyes.

They had your eyes, he couldn't help but squeeze their adorable cheeks and give them a kiss on the forehead like any dotting father would.

Him, a doting parent? That idea would've made him choke with laughter some years ago.

The ring glimers on his finger as he holds the newborn baby closer to his chest, humming a soothing melody in elvish for his second child. The first stared at him from the side with a pout.

His child was so obvious with their emotions that Astarion couldn't help but chuckle, "Jealously isn't a good look darling, come here." With that, he had another kid cuddling up to him and demanding a lullaby too.

Astarion obliged, relieved that his presence seemed enough for his children at the moment while you were recovering. Part of him was anxious about what if they only wanted you? What if they weren't as attached to him as he thought?

He was never happier to be proven wrong in his life.

Wyll

The sun shines brightly through the thin white curtains in the kitchen. Wyll is mixing together a baby formula on the counter, measuring the right amount on the spoon as he scoops away the extra powder from the top.

Adding the powder into the baby bottle, he gently shakes the warm bottle. The sound of light footsteps approach him in a failed attempt of stealth as a toy wooden sword is pressed against the back of his legs.

"Surrender!" A high voice calls from behind him, his very own kid with determination in their eyes as they press the dull edge of the sword more against Wyll's pants.

"Oh noble hero, may I know what crime am i being accused of before I surrender?" Wyll plays along, a smile painting his lips.

"The crime of!!" His child starts with confidence, "of...." trailing into uncertainty as their grip on the sword falters.

Wyll is patient as he lets them have the time to gather their thought. cleaning and wiping the counter down.

"Of not giving me food!"

"Didn't you just eat your breakfast after stealing my breakfast?" Wyll scooped up his child up in his arm, holding him with one hand while carrying the bottle with the other. His kid kicked their feet in the air as they dropped the wooden sword.

"But dad!! That was hours ago, I'm hungry."

"I clearly recall it being minutes ago."

Moving to the living room where his youngest laid peacefully sleeping in their small rocking bed, Wyll let go of his hold just as he sat on the couch.

Climbing into his lap, the most adorable brown puppy eyes looked up at him. "I want pancakes please" stretching on the end of the word, his kid whined.

With a defeated smile, Wyll agreed to it. Knowing you'd scold him for spoiling the kids too much if you were here right now, still he was weak against them. Somehow, his own kids were more persuasive than any devil this warlock has ever encountered before.

Gale

"There you go, all dry and clean" he said as he started to put on the baby bear onesie back on the giggling infant in front of him, their small hands gripping on Gale's beard with surprising strength as he zipped them up.

Yet the discomfort barely mattered to the wizard, he happily let them play with his face as he admired how adorable they looked in the fluffy animal custom. Smiling and giving their belly a soft kiss to make them laugh even louder.

The loud crash from outside the room barely phased him either as he kept coddling the infant, calling them endearing names and cradling them in his arms. "Papa's here, no need to fret."

"MR.DEKARIOS!" Tara's screech followed shortly after, "your presence is required immediately!"

Still too busy entranced by how adorable his child was, Gale took slow steps out of the room, contouring harmless light tricks to impress his youngest.

The sight that met him was one that would've probably given his younger self a heart attack no doubt, the countless torn pages of books thrown around the floor, the spilled ink and the crumbled magical scrolls.

But as the years went by, he found himself mellowing out much more. Very few things phased him by now, especially with how ironic life tended to be. The fates must be snickering right now. to give him a kid with wild magic in their veins, brimming with sorcery from such a young age.

You usually kept them in line, Gale was too guilty of being an enbaler as you've put it. It's not his fault he thought his kid was the coolest person in all the realms.

"Books are for losers!" Ah, there they stood, his own flesh and blood. Amidst the chaos of papers and magic, a potted plant.

A talking potted plant.

"Did your magic surge again?" Gale could only feel amusement as he leaned down to pick up his child, making sure to hold it far away from his other child so they don't nibble on the leaves of their sibling.

It seemed like both his cat and his child prefered to continue their argument. "Why, I have never heard such nonsense before! Mr.Dekarios, would you please get your spawn in line." Tara, his beloved elegant tressym, was flying around him in an attempt to smack the plant with her soft paws.

With a giggling wobbling infant on his right arm and a potted plant polymorphed kid on his left, Gale effortlessly casted the necessary incantations to reverse the polymorph while avoiding Tara's claws.

A poof of sparkling light filled the room as a full toddler replaced the potted plant, Tara blinded by the light, crashed into them and they all stumbled down onto stacks of torn papers.

The three of them buried under the pile, only the fluffy bear onsie wearing emerged unharmed on top.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

OMG, this 1937 (reno'd 1985) Spanish style home in Palm Springs, California comes fully furnished with all the wonderful pastel furnishings! 4bds, 4.5ba, $2.3M.

Enter a combination kitchen/dining/living room. Isn't this beautiful? Look at the peach fireplace.

This sofa on the floor looks so soft and comfy, doesn't it?

Love the dinette set. I can't believe you get all this great stuff with the house.

The pastel kitchen has this wonderful mint green stove.

Pink fridge - all Smeg appliances down to the pink toaster and mint green coffee maker. Beautiful quartz counters and island.

Plus, a peachy pantry.

Beautiful guest powder room.

Glamorous peach primary bedroom.

Large roomy en-suite. Look at the size of the shower.

Wow, look at the wicker canopy bed in this room.

This is a beautiful en-suite also.

Gorgeous room with a day bed doubles as a guest room.

Fabulous vintage fixtures.

And, look at the bamboo bed in this room. Plus, it has space for a sitting area.

Outside is an amazing pool with a lacy gazebo.

Beautiful outdoor kitchen.

Isn't this gorgeous? I need those pink palms.

Nice conversational area around the fireplace.

The pool lights up at night and so does the neon sign.

This gorgeous home has a .34 acre lot.

[carolinhairandmakeup]

Design inspiration for a transitional powder room

Example of a transitional powder room design

[god-has-entered-my-body]

You said some day we might - M.H x Reader // pt.3

A/N: This one's a bit NSFW (minors please don't interact), also angsty and sad at parts. TW for hard drugs, take care of yourselves! This is loosely based off of my own experience, and I am not trying to glamorize it. Ily my dearest @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff for making sure it isnt shit xx

wc: 4k

part four

Picture a scene: flashing lights all around you, colors blinding as they move through the room, seemingly liquid. Music pounding in your head, almost as if it was trying to force its way into your body. People sweating, dancing up against strangers. You feel alive. 

Matty dances next to you, throwing his hands up into the air. You can hear screams as the music changes, now playing Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’. He wouldn't admit it if you held a gun to his head, but he loves this song. Your hips sway to the beat, and you can feel arms on your waist. It's not Matty. The fuck? 

You didn't know this guy, but his hands were grabbing at you roughly like you were supposed to. His grin disgusted you. (Not so) politely shoving him off, you dance toward Matty, tapping his shoulder three separate times. That was code for ‘bathroom, now’. He nods, taking your hand and leading you towards the edge of the crowd. The sea of people thins out as you finally spot the glowing sign for the loo. 

“You alright?” He asks as you enter the bathroom. The walls were covered in graffiti, stickers, and the occasional phone number. There wasn't the classic smell of piss and sweat, which is why you liked Sound. It was fairly clean. The sinks were made of metal, and so was everything else. The lights were dim, and the mirrors dirty, lipstick stains adorning the edges. You can hear the faint noise of toilets flushing in the background. 

“I'm fine, I s’pose, just that guy was rubbing up against me all weird.” You fix your hair in the mirror, refreshing your eyeliner before passing it to Matty so he could do the same. You had taught him how to do it himself, saving you a load of time and effort whenever you were getting ready together. Tonight's color was red, both of you were wearing the same shade. 

The stall door flings open as a girl stumbles out, almost falling before she caught herself on the hand dryer. Fixing her bra strap, she wiped the edges of her mouth clean before reaching into her small blue handbag. Out comes a small baggie with white powder in it. You immediately recognise it. Blow. 

While you and Matty smoked copious amounts of weed, neither of you had ever tried anything harder. An exception was the occasional acid trip, and even that was a one off on Ross’ 18th birthday.  

Both you and Matty watch her intently as she starts cutting up lines on the edge of the sink, not caring that both your eyes were on her. She takes out a £5 note, rolling it before snorting the line. Her hair is wild as she lifts her head back up, turning to the mirror to fix it. 

“D’you fancy some, love? I have plenty for you,” she looks over to Matty, flashing him a smile  “and your friend, as well.” 

It takes you a split second to realize her statement was directed at you. Matty turns to make eye contact, before doing something you didn't expect. 

He nods, taking a step towards the girl. You do the same. ‘If you're going to try it’, you thought, trying to rationalize, ‘who better than with Matty?’

She shakes more of the powder onto the sink, cutting two lines for the both of you, and one more for herself. You notice the card she uses is a school I.D. A high school I.D.

She hands you the rolled up note first, and for some reason, you feel calm. ‘This is fine’ you repeat in your head, before opening your mouth to speak. 

“This is blow, yeah?” you ask, looking up at her from your position, which was currently hunched over the sink. It's cold, colder than it was. 

“Yeah, clean shit too, don't worry,” she offers a genuine smile, stroking your hair with her long, black nails. You steal a glance at Matty, who was now sitting on the sink next to you, watching closely. You nod, turning back to the line of white powder in front of you

You take a deep breath before snorting the line. It burns as it travels through your nostrils, and you don't feel anything for a second.

And then, it hits you. 

It hits you fast. Everything feels amplified, and you barely register as Matty snorts his. You feel good, euphoric even. Matty feels the same way, letting out a shout when he does lift his head from the sink. 

The girl was long gone when you exited the bathroom and reentered the crowd. You danced with Matty, the music controlling your movements. Deciding to get a drink, you drag him to the bar. The bartender looks you up and down, before shaking his head. He knew you were on something, but that wasn't a rarity in clubs like Sound. Everyone was on something, so, fuck it! Why couldn't you do the same?

Matty orders for you. A french martini and a glass of Malbec for him. The bartender raised his eyebrows at his drink order. “Who orders wine at a club?” he shouts over the music. Matty rolls his eyes before responding “I do! Why, d’you fancy buying me a drink when you get off?” he winks at him provocatively before taking the drinks from the counter. 

He hands you your drink, bringing his hand up to your face, wiping off the smudged makeup underneath your eyes. That's when you realize how hot it was. ‘Fucking hell’ you thought. ‘When did it get so hot? Jesus Christ, it's like I'm in a sauna’.

Matty had downed his glass of wine in two large gulps, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his your wine red jumper. You rake your eyes over his body, a thin layer of sweat shone on his forehead. His eyeliner was somehow still perfect. 

He was perfect. 

March, 2008 // two months earlier

The mid afternoon sun was beating down onto your skin. The blanket beneath you molding to the ridges of the earth, digging into your back. You were lying in a field, surrounded by daisies and dandelions blowing softly in the breeze, a half-empty packet of crisps on your left. Your arms were sprawled out to the side, with Matty lying peacefully on top of you.

Adam had situated himself on a flimsy fold up chair. He hated sitting on the ground with a burning passion. You had promptly forgiven him for leaving you to fend for yourselves that past weekend, seeing as he promised to pay club covers for a month as an apology. Just you though, seeing as Matty would have abused the ever living hell out of Hann’s wallet if given the chance. 

George and Ross were in the lake located a few dozen meters from where you were sitting, having a swim. The weather was uncharacteristically nice given that you were in Great Britain, land of miserable weather, so the five of you had set out for a makeshift picnic at the last minute. 

It wasnt aesthetically pleasing by any means, with fag packets litering the dirty old blanket Ross had found in an old closet. Ross’ beer bottles were lined up at the edge of the blanket. You grab a pack, presumably Georges, and light up. Marlboro golds, not your favorite, but they’ll do. Breathing in the smoke, you turn your head to get a better look at Matty, who was draped over you, using your chest as a pillow.  

You wore Mattys sunflower shirt, unbuttoned, revealing a black sports bra underneath. He, in turn, wore one of your tops. Specifically, a lavender baby tee with the words ‘dump him’ scrawled across the chest in white glitter. Adam was dressed like a divorced dad, beige linen trousers paired with a Metallica band shirt. You laughed when you saw him, knowing he’d be sweating in under an hour wearing that.

Soft music played in the background, the speaker having been lost underneath the pile of Ross and George's clothes. The air smelled of summer, even if it was only March. You spot the wine bottle in Mattys hand as he tilted his head up, taking a drink. You tap him on the arm, and he hands you the bottle. 

White wine? Matty rarely drank white wine. You brushed it off, it was probably just the cheapest thing at the store. Matty loved expensive red wine, but did not have the money to pay for it, always settling for the bottle with the lowest price tag. Your attention is drawn to George screaming incoherent curses at Ross for throwing a rock at him. Absolute knobheads. 

“D’you reckon we need sunscreen? I don't wanna age my skin anymore than it already has.” he asked, his fingers lingering on his face. His skin was perfect, not a single blemish tarnishing it. “I dunno, I don't think we need to. It's not that hot.” you answer, looking around you. “It's not looking like we have any anyway” you add. 

You could feel Mattys' breath on you, ghosting over your chest. His legs moved, brushing against yours. You were suddenly very aware of the fact he was laying on top of you. It made you feel hot, and not because of the sun. 

He rolled on top of you, now straddling your legs. He was clearly drunk, slurring his words. His eyes stared into yours with such an intensity, you would've thought he was trying to read your mind. His face was bare, but the glitter from last night's adventures still stained his face, giving him a slight shine.

A smile crept onto his face as he brushed his hair out of his face. The blonde highlights had slightly grown out by now, and you made a mental note to ask him if he wanted you to do his roots. 

“Didnt you want to cut my hair?” He asked, and you recognised that look in his eye. Excitement. He jumps up, crawling to get his bag.

“I brought a pair of scissors, d’you wanna cut it now?” He held up pink kitchen scissors, handing them to you as you moved to a sitting position.  

“Are you sure? These are not meant for ha-” “I don't careee, just do it!” he slurred, cutting you off and settling between your crossed legs. He turns and looks at you expectantly, and you sigh in defeat. 

You try your best, snipping away at his hair randomly. Cutting layers into his hair, you try to make the strands around his face shorter. He giggles as it tickles his face, brushing it off his skin. The sun made him appear as if he were glowing, painting him in an orange hue. Trying not to cut it too short, you tug at it to get a good idea of the length. 

A soft groan escapes Mattys mouth, and he tries to pass it off as a cough, avoiding your gaze. A few minutes later, you tug at it again. A little experiment , if you will. This time, the noise is slightly clearer, and his whole body twitches. He busies himself with the bottle of wine in his hands, inspecting the label.  

He admires your work in a little compact mirror you had found in your bag. “So.. do you like it? Or have I completely fucked your hair?” you ask, watching his reflection. Matty grins, slamming the mirror shut. 

“I love it! The layers make me look hot, so you did your job right!” He pulled you in for a hug, kissing all over your face: He was obviously drunker than you thought.

You lay back on your elbows, closing your eyes, letting the sun shine onto your skin. This was nice. You felt truly alive.

—---------------------------------------------------------

Skin against skin, soft moans filled the room. You didn't even know who they belonged to. Desire took over your bodies like a foreign force. The room was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp just outside, illuminating the space. 

“Fuck- can I?” hands trailed down your chest, toying with the buttons of your shirt. You nod frantically, smashing his lips back against yours. You find his hair, pulling slightly as he lets out a pathetic whimper. You drink in the noise as if it was the very essence of life, tugging even harder at the curls. Curls. Matty.

“Mmh- ah, fuck-” You can feel him against your thigh. You can feel Matty grinding against you. The thought makes your head spin, and you throw your head back, your hair splayed over the baby blue pillows. Mattys pillows.   

“You're so- you’re so beautiful, just let me- i’ll-” he cuts himself off, trailing his lips down your jaw, leaving searing, hot kisses in his wake. His mouth makes contact with your collarbone, biting down. You hiss, your nails digging into his scalp. He groans. Matty

His rough hands rub the tattoo on your hip, you feel his rough calluses. You pull his hair, making him look at you. Your eyes rake over his face, the glitter around his eyes shimmering in the faint light. His hand comes up to push your shirt up, the material bunching up where his mouth had just been. You make eye contact again. 

He grins before licking one long stripe along the expanse of your ribcage, letting out an obscene moan as he did. He was putting on a show, for you. The noise goes straight to your core. 

His fingers snap the elastic of your black underwear, making you jump. A laugh. Teeth graze your hip bone, tracing the tattoo. You can feel him slipping the lace down your thighs, licking and sucking lower, lower, lower…

You jolt awake suddenly, hot sweat running down your back. You turn to look at the time. 2:53am. 

What the fuck was that?

You close your eyes, the dream replaying in your head. Lips, your lips and his. Teeth, kisses down your neck, Matty, Matty, Matty-

You stop yourself, shoving your face into a pillow. This can't be happening. This wasn't real. This was all hallucination and you didn't just have a wet dream involving your best mate. 

Letting out a groan, you lay back down facing the wall. You desperately, desperately needed a good lay. If it had come to you having fucking dreams about Matty of all people, you knew it was time to find a guy and just shag him. That would solve your little predicament, you were sure of it. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

Admiring yourself in the mirror, you hike the ruched material of your dress up even further. Jewelry covered you from head to toe, complimenting the details of your bag perfectly. Hair done up in curls, you knew you were ready. 

You were going out. Alone.

The heel of your shoe clicked nervously against the pavement as you queued, giving the bouncer, James, a nod as he waved you through. “No Matty today?” he questioned, referring to the fact that you were alone.  

“Yeah, I'm out alone tonight. Matty is… sick. The flu.” you lie through your teeth, not wanting to disclose the real reason behind your solo-mission. The plan was to find a guy, any guy, and forget about that godforsaken dream.  

The music was loud, even louder than usual, and you were stone cold sober. Not good. 

Making your way to the bar, you order your usual, a french martini. Tobias, the bartender, handed your drink, and you close out. You didn't want to get hammered tonight. 

Your fingers drum along to the beat as you sip your drink, scanning the crowd. There weren't many people dancing, seeing as it was a Sunday night. Most had work in the morning, so going out wasn't an option. He had asked you if you really didn't want anything else, even offering you a drink in the house. You politely decline with a shake of your head, assuring him it was alright.

Suddenly, a tall man appeared in your peripheral vision. You had seen him a few times before, wandering about, flirting with the female waitresses. Blonde hair, blue eyes. The complete opposite of Matty. His arm rested against the bar, and you could see him flexing his muscles. On purpose. Jesus.  

He strolled up to you with an air of confidence. Turning to Tobias, he asked him what your drink was. “A french martini,” he answered, looking you up and down “and she's only had one the entire night.” The man laughs, “Well that wont do! Let me buy you a drink sweetheart, on me.” 

You nod, turning to face him. A smile makes its way onto your lips. Perfect . 

He introduces himself as David. He works an office job down the road, something something marketing. You didn't really listen to him, only laughing when he paused, expecting it

He seemed solid, and he was 19, so not too old. You really didn't want to deal with another Phillip situation. He had bought you three, quite pricey, drinks, and you knew he wanted more. 

He eventually asked if you wanted to come back to his place for some wine. You agreed, letting yourself be led out of the club by your wrist. James winked at you knowingly as you left.

He had a silver Toyota, the interior a cream leather. It was a big difference to Hann’s beaten up red Kia, but you weren't complaining. He was nice enough, opening the car door for you. 

The inside of his flat reeked of sickly sweet vanilla and cheap cologne. He opened a bottle of wine for the both of you, pouring two glasses. The conversion was mundane, but he was nice enough. You had switched your phone off, not wanting anything to distract you from your mission. He had made a move to sit next to you, his hand trailing up your thigh, inching higher with every word he uttered.

His mouth was against your ear, whispering sweet nothings into it, his other hand finding your chest, pushing you down onto the sofa. You let him move you, twist you as he pleased. It didn't mean anything to you, you just needed to get Matty out of your head. Matty.

His hands were soft, like he moisturized them regularly. You could feel his lips on your chest, leaving bite marks and kisses, but you didn't feel anything. Closing your eyes, you decide to let him do all of the work. You had even worn your only pair of lace underwear, a black number with a little bow on the front of the matching bra. The same pair you had worn in the dream. 

You mentally curse yourself, kissing David deeper, harder than you did before. Forget, forget, forget. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wasn't the worst, but at least he tried. You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Laying on his (quite expensive looking) leather couch, you watch him as he gets dressed. He asks you if you need anything, and you answer with a shake of your head. You just wanted to leave. 

A phone buzzes, and you quickly realize it's yours. You pick it up, the screen lighting up. 3 missed calls from Matty, and 4 texts from him as well. 

// Where r you? I’m at your window. 

// Are you well? 

// Answer me for fucks sake, dont do this.

// I hope you’ve died or smth, you’re well fucking me off. 

You sigh, clicking the call button. It rings for a split second before Matty picks up. 

“Now you decide to ring me back? I thought you’d been picked up by a sex trafficker or something. Fuck you, honest,” his voice sounded worried, even tired, if you ignored the nature of his words. 

“Sorry mate, I was out.” You answer curtly, trying to keep your voice steady. Your fingers tap against the glass of the coffee table, and you hear Matty inhale sharply. 

“Out where? And why did it take me three calls and four messages to get a ring back?” he sounded more aggressive this time, and you could tell he had gotten up from wherever he was sitting. This pissed you off. Why does he have the right to know where you are, it didn’t concern him in the slightest, and he wasn't your father. You told him as much. 

“I was out, alright? I'm at David's place right now, and I'll be at yours in an hour, cool?” A moment of silence passes between you two before Matty spits out. “Whos the fuck is David?” The way he said his name made it sound like you had shagged his worst enemy, not some random guy. 

“He's just a bloke I met at Sound, I went to his place. D’you want me over or should I fuck off home?” The second option was just a courtesy, you were sure he’d want you over. You hadn’t seen each other since Friday. 

“Nah, it's alright, go home.” His voice sounded cold, unfeeling. A shudder made its way up your spine. He didn't sound like himself at all. What the fuck? “I have erm.. work to catch up on. You understand.” No you didnt fucking understand. 

You open your mouth to protest, but are rudely interrupted by a faint noise. The dial tone. Matty had hung up on you. Your mouth let out a gasp in disbelief. Fuck him. Fuck him all the way. 

You gather your things. While trying to find your shoes, David comes back into the room. You tell him you need to leave, and he tries to kiss you goodbye. It feels wrong. 

Deciding to walk barefoot, you do the walk of shame at 1 in the morning. Heels in one hand, your purse in the other, you trudge down the pavement. You feel dirty, like you did something inherently wrong.

Cars whizz by you, and you hear sirens in the background. It's cold, and you can feel goosebumps forming on your skin in the soft breeze. Feeling around for your cigarettes, you come across something small towards the bottom of your purse. You pull it out, your eyes widening at the sight. The lighter. Mattys lighter. 

The white letters on the side point and laugh at you. You can hear it. It was even more chipped than it was that night, how did it still work? M.H. Matty. 

In a fit of rage you chucked the lighter onto the ground in front of you. It splinters off, the metal top flying off onto the road. A car drives over it. You were angry. Angry at yourself for even going out alone. For going home with fucking David. You were angry at Matty for being angry at you. You didn't even understand why, but the mere fact he had hung up on you made your blood boil.

The lighter was now in pieces beneath your feet. The white letters, illegible. Feeling powerful, you decide to kick the rest of the plastic off onto the road, hoping a giant truck would run it over. You wanted Matty at your feet like this, pathetic and powerless. You needed him like this, to show him he can't just hang up on you like you're nothing. 

The mental image of Matty at your feet made warmth spread throughout your body. On his knees, looking up at you with glassy, glitter framed eyes. You wanted to take his beautiful hair and weave it between your fingers, forcing him to look up at you. You wanted to hear the pathetic whimpers escape his mouth, just like they did in your dream. 

You feel breathless, staring at the wet pavement where the lighter once was. You keep walking.   

[lewkwoodnco]

but daddy, I love him! - lockwood x reader

George tipped Lockwood out of his chair with surprising ease while Lucy started yelling at him. The two boys twisted around in their scuffle until George finally pinned Lockwood down and raised a fist above his head.

"Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn't punch your pretty face right now."

Lockwood's scratched and mildly bruised face split into one of his winning smiles, his whimpering temporarily ceased.

"You think my face is pretty?"

George reared back for the punch and Lockwood started shrieking incomprehensibly while Lucy started telling them both off.

a/n - vfvhkefrhu woooo this took a little more time than I anticipated heheh but here it is! <3

warnings/tropes - lockwood x socialite!reader, lil bit of angst, mostly fluff/humour!

word count - 3.8k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

Right here, on this plush velvet couch, was where they were going to find her body. They were going to have to scrape her off bit by bit.

It was a dim Saturday morning, and Y/N was rotting in her courtyard living room with two of her friends. Sarah was preening in the full-length mirror, trying to decide if her nose was too small. Hannah was sipping a mimosa on the sofa opposite her, going on about this boy from two towns over who took her to the movies - not that she would ever be seeing him again, given that he was below her station. Y/N thought it was a shame; she couldn't remember Hannah ever showing this much of an interest in someone other than herself.

So there she sat, some unknown frustration distantly bubbling away as she was bored out of her skull. Maybe it was an ungrateful thing to say, but her fashionable lifestyle could feel glamorous for only so long. It was starting to grow stale - as stale as Sarah's obsession with her nose. She stifled a yawn, her eyes wandering to the higher floors, when something made her sit up. There it was again, a little flicker of light reflecting off of something. She mumbled something about a powder room and clumsily got to her feet, excusing herself from her inattentive guests.

It took her a while to figure out exactly where the flash was coming from, but she eventually located the corridor down where she could hear some noises. She heard a set of footsteps approaching her and turned, nearly running straight into a lanky clothes-hanger of a boy laden with all sorts of gizmos, wearing the most horribly ridiculous pair of goggles she had ever seen.

He let out a short scream and clung onto his goggles, and she reflexively caught the supplies that slipped from his arms.

"Who the hell are you?"

He owlishly blinked through his shiny, reflective goggles a few times, before reluctantly slipping them off. All thoughts about his strange attire flew from her head, replaced by one annoyingly nagging thought - he had kind eyes. Soft, trusting, kind eyes, the kind that momentarily knocked the breath out of you.

"I am so sorry..."

Don't be, she wanted to breathe out, transfixed on his eyes. He paused a little and awkwardly gestured to her arms. She glanced down and remembered where she was, hurriedly returning his supplies.

"That's some, um, interesting equipment you have."

He gave a brief smile. "Thank you. Anthony Lockwood, Lockwood & Co."

She frowned. "Lock-wood & Co. That sounds familiar."

"Well, we are a very up-and-coming psychical inv-"

"Oh! The agency that burned down Sheen Road!"

The boy's face took a faint tinge of red, and she immediately regretted putting her foot in her mouth.

"I mean - uh - you have some very interesting equipment."

He opened his mouth to respond when two more figures emerged from the shadows behind them, a girl guiding another flailing and mildly bruised boy, both of whom had donned matching goggles.

"Lockwood, I can't see shit without my glasses. How much longer do I have to make an arse out of myself? 

The girl looked at Lockwood with an injured expression. "And you said these came free from Satchell's."

Lockwood huffed irritatedly at the other boy. "Snitch."

"Boo-fucking-hoo. I told you these wouldn't work." He sucked in a breath to continue but stopped short as he finally registered Y/N. "Hang on-"

"She's alive."

"Damn."

Lockwood gestured carelessly towards the other two. "My associates, Lucy Carlyle and George Karim."

"So you're here about the third-floor Visitor?"

"Yes. We received a report about some footprints..?"

"Oh, right. Those are just below my room. Here." She led the trio to the landing at the foot of the flight of stairs leading up to her room, which was stained with a quickly disappearing smattering of bloody footprints. The other boy knelt and considered the substance.

"Ectoplasm."

Lockwood turned back to her. "How often does the Visitor make an appearance?"

"No clue; I'm blind as a bat to anything supernatural. But the footprints only show up every couple of days, so it might be a while before they show up again."

His associates started examining the scene, and he bid her farewell with a grateful smile. By the time she had returned to the courtyard, she had been gone a bit too long to have her absence go unnoticed by her friends.

"And where did you run off to?"

"Told you, the powder room." She picked up a stray magazine, keeping her tone light. "I ran into some agents on the way back."

"Ooh. From Rotwell's?"

"Lockwood & Co."

Sarah peeled herself away from the mirror, mystified. "Who?"

Her giddy glow faltered. "An agency. Mr. Lockwood was there too. I was just...having a small chat with them."

"What for? They're working class."

"Don't be rude, Sarah." Hannah turned back to Y/N, a pinched expression still lingering on her face. "But...she's not wrong."

Y/N bristled defensively. "I'll have you know they're perfectly respectable company." Better than you lot, she wanted to add.

"Why? They're...poor."

"Y/N, we only want what's best for you," Hannah added in a nauseatingly simpering voice. "And that's...not...with people like them."

She tossed her magazine aside flippantly.

"You know, I wonder how the two of you bear it."

"Bear what?"

"Walking around with your noses stuck in the air all the time."

With that, she exited the living room, fuming. Yes, she was being childish, and yes, it wasn't news that her friends were prone to arrogance, but for some reason, their attitudes were particularly grating today. They hadn't met Lockwood like she had, of course they wouldn't understand. She replayed the feeling of watching him remove his goggles for the first time - unexpectedly climactic, and somehow...familiar.

She was sure of it. They would never understand.

For the next few nights, there would be a Lockwood & Co. employee stationed at the landing, complete with iron chains, flares, and salt. They'd bring along something to occupy themselves, like a book or a 3D puzzle, but it still felt nice to have a short chat with them before she went up to her room. 

With Lockwood, the chats always lasted a little longer, and maybe she stayed up a little later than she ought to on those nights, but really, it wasn't anything special. Little by little, they pieced each other together. She's restoring her father's old radio. He likes his orange juice with pulp. She has an older brother she hasn't talked to in months. He visits his family's graves on the first Tuesday of every month.

The more time she spent with Lockwood, the more she realised how uninteresting she found everyone else. Somewhere between their stilted whispers and muffled laughter, she started to desire something...more. 

"Hey."

Lockwood looked up from his magazine from where he was sitting cross-legged, encircled by his iron chains. He glanced at his watch, startled.

"You're back early."

She wrinkled her nose. "Wasn't enjoying the fundraiser."

"What about your friends?"

"They wanted to stay."

"So they let you leave? All by yourself?"

She bit her tongue. "Nothing wrong in that."

"No, of course not." As he was on the first day they met, Lockwood was quick to be an agreeable companion. But this trait added weight to the few times he chose to disagree. "But...nothing right either."

"It's alright. I'd hate to spoil their night." She sank onto the carpeted steps. "How's the investigation going?"

Lockwood glanced at the temperature sensor placed slightly outside the iron circle. "Temperature's dropping more than usual. Could just be because it's chillier today, but you never know." He looked up, and the moonlight illuminated his starkly pale face. "Do you not have any Talent?"

She hesitated. "A little. Not much, mind, certainly not enough to be an agent. But it was never something I needed to consider. I know people have it bad out there, but I'm just..."

"...too rich."

She gave a wry smile. "What gave it away? Besides the skyscraper ceilings, of course." They laughed briefly, before quickly sinking into a jagged silence.

"What's your home like?"

"It's...it's hard to describe. I don't think I could do it justice. You should come see Portland Row sometime. Have dinner with m-us. Us. Once we're done with the job. If you'd like."

"You should come see Portland Row sometime. Have dinner with m-us. Us. Once we're done with the job. If you'd like."

Lockwood was staring very hard at his sneakers. She found the whole thing highly amusing.

"Lockwood, I'd leave with you right now if I could. Really. It's just...my father..."

Her father would sooner have an aneurysm than let her 'play hooky,' as he would put it, especially with this less-than-glamorous ragtag team of misfits. While it had occasionally been a source of mild annoyance before, she never resented him as much as she did right then. And all that was without considering all the eyebrows that a guy like Lockwood would raise.

The faint moonlight was enough to make out the glimmer of his teeth, the curve of his face, the shadows settling around his deep-set eyes. She ached to know the look on his face, to know how he was feeling. The sprigs of lavender she had weaved into the hem of her dress were heavily perfuming the air, heady enough to make the evocative pull of his gaze strangely irresistible.

She peered at him through the railings, whose shadows marred his face, painfully reminiscent of a prison cell. She slid her hand along the bannister, gripping it firmly. It was moments like these when the rest of the house was quiet, too quiet, that she felt something flutter in her chest. Some compulsion flickering through her tendons to reach out through the railings, brush her fingers across his cheekbone, to have and to hold-

"It's getting late." Lockwood put his coat back on and started gathering some of his equipment. "I think I'll call it a night."

She hurriedly got to her feet too, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. "Yeah. No, me too. I should...I should get some rest."

Still, she lingered at the foot of the stairs long enough for Lockwood to pack away the chains. As he straightened, he turned to her as if he could feel that she was brimming with...something. She wanted to tell him how much she had enjoyed this night, and every night before. She wanted to tell him how happy he made her.

But she couldn't find the words.

"Good night," she said softly.

That was the last of their secret late-night rendezvous, as the Shade finally reappeared the following night and was safely put to rest by Lucy, along with any hopes of a budding romance. 

Five days after what Y/N had thought was the last time she'd lay eyes on Anthony Lockwood (not that she was keeping count), she was quite happily proven wrong. Lockwood and George had paid a visit to collect their payment from her father. 

She was not-so-casually lounging at the opposite end of the living room with her friends. The magazine she was holding upside down wouldn't have fooled anyone if they were paying attention, especially coupled with her relentlessly staring at Lockwood. She had been a little on edge when he had first walked in, hating how their last conversation had ended. But all it took was one of his easy, soothing smiles as he discreetly glanced at her to calm her down. She buried her nose deeper into the magazine as if she hadn't seen it, failing to hold her smile back.

When she had sufficiently composed herself, she peeked over the edge of the magazine to see the boys having some sort of disagreement as her father was writing out a cheque. Lockwood seemed to want to do something and George seemed to be holding him back until the cheque had been written.

As soon as her father had handed the cheque to them, George accepted it with a hurried thanks and a funny bow before practically running out. Lockwood took a deep breath before launching into some kind of monologue while occasionally glancing at her. Openly. Her father's face remained impassive. 

She put away her magazine, mystified as she tried to make out what he was saying, trying to keep the dread creeping into her at bay. Even her friends had picked up on something being amiss as they followed her line of sight.

Her stomach sank as she caught a glimpse of the hard look on her father's face. By now, it couldn't have been more obvious that Lockwood was asking him...about her. She wanted to shake him, yell at him to run away, but some kind of morbid fascination, or perhaps a deep-seated fear, had locked her limbs, forcing her to helplessly watch as the events cruelly unfolded. She knew her father, and she knew Lockwood would never be able to change his mind. At least, she was quite certain.

She snapped out of her haze and leapt to her feet, but it was too late. By the time she had reached the pair, her father was already bidding him a stern farewell.

"...and if you ever talk to my daughter again, I will personally make sure that you never find work another day in London."

Lockwood turned sharply and briskly walked out, his facial features carefully schooled, seemingly oblivious to her hurrying over, or her gasp of despair. He took long strides that made it difficult for her to keep up with him, and he didn't stop until he joined George outside, closing the wrought iron gate between her and him. She clutched one of the bars and he almost immediately wrapped his hand around her.

"Lockwood - "

"You should go back inside before your father sees us."

"Please, listen - I'm really sorry."

"It's alright. I understand."

"My father's never been the understanding type, far from it - "

"I know - I knew that."

"This is all my fault. I should have warned you."

"No, don't...you didn't know I was going to do this."

"We could have kept it a secret."

"And have you sneak around? Lie to your father? Y/N, I'm not above taking the easy route when the situation calls for it, but not in this case. I wanted to do right by you."

Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Lockwood looked as outwardly poised and calm as ever, but with the two of them this close, she could see the frustration simmering in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry - so mad - that he threatened you like that."

"To hell with my agency." He sighed and pressed his forehead against the gate, lowering his eyes to where their hands were clasped together in some pathetic pseudo-embrace. "I know how much his approval means to you. I just wish I could have gotten that."

They were silent for a moment. There was only a gentle breeze but no rustling leaves, and even George seemed sorry for his best friend. It was quiet enough to feel like they could hear each other's heartbeat but from opposite sides of the gate. 

"I'm still sorry."

Lockwood bowed his head. "So am I."

He brushed his lips against her knuckles before pulling his fingers out of her palm and walking out of her life. She watched the two of them walk away, unable to leave the gate and come to terms with what had happened. For a moment there, before her father's expression had shifted, she had felt a glimmer of hope for her happy ending.

But reality had struck, and now all she could do was go up to her room, walk through the empty landing, and sob into her pillow as her heart screamed for the life she ached for so desperately.

She allowed herself the day to grieve, but by nightfall, she had already started plotting her next steps. The next day, she decided to broach the topic at the breakfast table, where her friends were already seated, whispering furiously until she walked in. She sat opposite her father as usual, who was reading the day's newspaper.

"Dad. I want to talk about yesterday. With - with Lockwood."

He gave no indication of having heard her. She could feel her friends' hawk-eye stares boring into her skin. Against her better judgment, she pressed on.

"I think...you should give him a second chance."

She could practically hear her friends salivating in excitement, flinching as her father set the paper down. He had a bit of a temper, no more than her, but it was never unwarranted.

"And why is that?"

"He may not have much, but he's capable, hard-working, resilient-"

"I know exactly the type of person he is, and before yesterday I thought you did too. Or have you forgotten Sheen Road?"

She nervously fidgeted with the buttons on her dress, suddenly feeling trapped and suffocated. This was going to be an uphill battle, she could see that, now that her blaze of self-righteousness was beginning to fade. "That was a one-off," she mumbled.

"Not quite. I rang up DEPRAC afterwards, and they said in no uncertain terms that his agency was one good accident away from being shut down. He's known to behave recklessly and rarely per the law - "

"Have you stopped to think why he might act this way? You've spoken to him yourself - doesn't seem the irrational type, does he?"

He sighed irritatedly.

"Is this really the type of person you want to throw your whole life away for? To tarnish your reputation?"

"It's my life and it's my name. If I wish to burn my life to the ground or throw my name in the mud, that's my choice. You don't get a say in that."

"To do all this over a washed-up, good-for-nothing-"

"But Daddy, I love him!"

"I don't - "

"And I'm having his child."

Sarah shrieked and dropped her compact. Even Hannah was rendered speechless, nervously pulling at her braid. Her father's eyes looked as though they were about to fall out of his head. An uncomfortable, prickling silence followed.

"Okay, I'm not, but you should see your faces."

Sarah gave a dramatic sigh of relief as Hannah released her braid. "Oh my, what a mess-"

"Don't you start." She turned back to her father, fresh out of all the hope and ammunition she had walked into the room with. "Please, Daddy. Never...never once have I complained about any of your rules. Can't I-" her voice broke off as she struggled to hold back a sob. "Can't I please just have this one thing?"

Her father looked unmoved.

"You listen to me, Y/N - stay away from him."

She glanced around the room desperately, trying to figure one last way out. One last way out. That was all she needed.

She found it.

"Fine. Maybe you're right. Maybe he is crazy. Maybe...maybe he is bad news."

She stood up, wrenching her anxious fingers away from her buttons, poised to run out of the room.

"But I love him anyway."

Lucy and Lockwood were at Portland Row going over the floor plans of the house of their next case. Lucy was trying her best to keep Lockwood on task, but she had never seen him this disinterested in their work. 

She was struggling to hold his attention while he was fidgeting with a pen not very skillfully when they heard an insistent tapping on their kitchen window. They looked up to see Y/N waving at them frantically, gesturing towards the front door. Lockwood leapt up from their kitchen table, nearly stabbing himself with the pen, and joined her outside. There was something very nervous about Y/N's body language, especially since she started talking a mile a minute as soon as Lockwood stepped out.

"God, your eyebags look horrendous in the light. Do you ever-?"

The door shut behind the two of them. Lucy waited at the table for a minute or so, but once it became apparent they weren't about to finish anytime soon, she fetched a book and started to read. About ten minutes later, the front door opened again, but this time it was George returning from the Archives.

"Oh, George, can you tell Lockwood to come back inside?"

"What?"

"Lockwood."

"Where?"

"Outside."

"...outside where?"

"Outside, George. Don't be daft."

George stared at her cluelessly.

"He is still outside...?"

The realisation hit them both at once as they tripped over each other on their way to the front door. They looked out into the half-empty street, and the empty parking space in front of their house.

"George," Lucy asked, feeling majorly peeved by now. "Where is the car we rented for the weekend?"

Over the next month, neither Lucy nor George heard a word from Lockwood. After a particularly intense discussion that day, they decided not to alarm anyone by filing a missing person's report. But he had been absent from public view for a suspiciously long time, and Barnes was starting to find the story they concocted about Lockwood's debilitating illness less and less convincing.

Lucy and George had just arrived home after their latest case, which they were lucky enough to finish early. Lucy flicked on the kitchen light and there, sitting at the kitchen table, as he was nearly a month back, was Lockwood. He looked a little taller and a little less gaunt than they remembered. The three of them stared at each other for a moment, speechless, until the two of them launched themselves at him.

George tipped Lockwood out of his chair with surprising ease while Lucy started yelling at him. The two boys twisted around in their scuffle until George finally pinned Lockwood down and raised a fist above his head.

"Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn't punch your pretty face right now."

Lockwood's scratched and mildly bruised face split into one of his winning smiles, his whimpering temporarily ceased.

"You think my face is pretty?"

George reared back for the punch and Lockwood started shrieking incomprehensibly while Lucy started telling them both off.

"Wait - WAIT - you'll crumple the invites!"

"What invites?"

"To a - uh - how do I put this..."

"Spit it OUT - "

"Wedding!"

"Whose?"

Lockwood brought his arms down from where he was shielding his face, smiling bashfully. The three of them exchanged looks ranging from congratulatory to homicidal.

"What about -"

"He came around. We had lunch with him earlier."

"Wow. That's...congratulations. I just can't believe..."

"I know, we can't either."

"...that you didn't come straight home?"

"Geo- look, George, I wanted to, believe me, I - not the face, NOT THE -"

TAGLIST: @neewtmas @ahead-fullofdreams @mitskiswift99 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @elenianag080 @mohinithoughts @avdiobliss @snoopyluver20 @mischivana @dangelnleif

[ostrichmonkey-games]

FitD Settings and Unnamed Furry Crime Game and You

Alrighty, as promised, time to talk about Setting Stuff.

This is a post both about what the setting for (the still!) Unnamed Furry Crime Game is going to generally be like, and also a bit about settings in Forged in the Dark games in general. 

Okay so, let’s define Forged in the Dark games as ttrpgs that cover Blades in the Dark and any game that uses the same general engine and setup. Blades is the progenitor, and a lot of FitD stick relatively close to its formula (but not all, there’s plenty of room to poke around and rearrange things), and one of the more important elements, I think, is the “powder keg sandbox” setup.

In Blades, the players are underdog criminals doing underdog criminal things like causing problems on purpose. Those problems cascade, intersecting with the different factions/characters present in the setting, and usually then creating more and more problems for the players to deal with. That’s the powder keg sandbox — a relatively open setting, filled with kindling (factions/characters with conflicting and interesting goals and motivations), and then the players are dropped in the middle of it, and positioned in a way that no matter they do, they are going to be conflicting with at least some of those characters/factions, thereby igniting the kindling and making the whole thing explode in a blaze of fun. It’s great.  

So, in short, the purpose of a setting in a FitD game is to create that powder keg sandbox. It has to be filled with interesting characters/factions that are both compelling (to encourage players to interact with them) and conflicting with each other and players (so that when players interact with them, explosions happen!), while still providing enough purposeful space so that there’s room to be flexible as players start interacting with everything and changing the world around them. A good sandbox has plenty of room to play and dig around in, and then to make it a powder keg, just bury some sticks of dynamite in there and hand the players a bunch of lit matches. Boom.  

Now let’s talk about Unnamed Furry Crime Game (UFCG because I’m done typing all that out and I don’t want to think about coming up with an actual title right now). I don’t mind wearing my influences on my sleeves, and the biggest one here is Lackadaisy. I mean, the whole concept of the game was sparked when the animated pilot first released and I did a reread of the webcomic (pretty sure I first found it around 2009, which is wild to think about), and what’s more fun than a bunch of anthropomorphic animals doing crime things in a period setting? So, the initial spark for the game was Prohibition era Crime Time, but with furries (not just limited to cats, as a way to distance the game more from the initial inspiration and also because it’s fun). However, this was never going to be a purely historical game, it was (and still is!) going to be set in a fictional city in a fictional world — so more historically inspired than truly set. 

This was done to free myself from doing too much research (there’s still necessary research though), and also to give myself more creative freedom. From there, the premise started to turn into “What if the Prohibition hadn’t ended? What would that look like?”. And that’s still part of the core premise. So I guess, it’s a speculative alternate fictional history thing?

Freed from any truly historical restraints, I started tossing in other extras that could be fun. Like, what if airships/dirigibles were still in major use? Yeah, let's go for it. What if the city the game takes place in draws from classic Hollywood and noir? Yeah, let’s go for it (also at this time I had watched Babylon, which, not going to say was good, but the vibes are fun). What if I also pulled aesthetically from Gotham, specifically the Batman: The Animated Series version? Yes! Now we’ve got a setting of glitz and glamor and shady hard-boiled grit. Which is a great setup for Crime Time. 

Being less historically strict, also gives me more room for exaggeration and over-the-top-ness. I want UFCG to be characterful. I want there to be an emphasis on larger-than-life elements, both player characters and all the factions and NPCs. Especially in the case of the factions/NPCs, they need to be chunky and discrete blocks that are easy to instantly grab onto and pick up and play with. This loops back to filling your sandbox with cool things, and if the sandbox itself is cool, then that’s going to rub off on the stuff buried in the sand. More exaggerated components make for more flammable kindling. 

This is another reason having just a singular city-setting tends to work well for a FitD sandbox powder keg — a city is just naturally densely packed with stuff (now, the hard work will be writing all that stuff, but I’ll get to that bridge eventually). In a densely packed space, it’s also very easy to make everything connected to each other. Which means it’s going to be very difficult for players to make a move without impacting someone or something else! Again, boom. 

So then, why furries? Well like I already said, it’s fun. That in and of itself is enough reason, but also, I think it creates a useful level of abstraction that makes creating exaggerated characterful characters more easily. It’s easier to be a little more goofy without breaking things when you have a bunch of animal people running around. 

That’s the general gist and thought process behind the setting I’m assembling. There’s still most of it to actually write, but you do need a fun concept to make a fun setting, so it’ll get done as it needs to get done. 

I am still a little unsure of what I want to do for something weirder within the setting. Should magic be real? There’s plenty going on that it doesn’t feel super necessary. Or, what if magic is not real, but that doesn’t stop the existence of various occult-y factions/organizations from springing up, and maybe they think magic is real (or even leave it ambiguous). On the opposite end of the spectrum, what if I tossed in some dashes of retro-future-y superscience? Atomic Robo style maybe. Basically, I’m still exploring what the line is for pushing things too far. 

With all of that said, what is the text of the game going to provide in terms of setting? What I’m picturing is probably pretty similar to Blades, but maybe with less overall exposition and pulling the most useful setting-building stuff from various N/OSR stuff I like. You can convey a lot of setting information in relatively compact ways that also double as tools to use at the table (i.e. random tables, my best friends). The city will have various breakdowns on districts, notable locations, individuals, etc etc. Factions will have clear goals, conflicting with each other so as to create a web of Problems. Plenty of little miscellaneous details on “life in the city” to function as small nuggets of information and flavor. 

The hardest part will be striking the correct balance of information. You’ll need enough to feel comfortable playing in the setting, but not too much that it starts to feel like homework to run it. Figuring out what’s the correct amount of sand and all that. 

[rinkkuma]

୨୧ BABY, IT'S COLD OUTSIDE

ft. atsumu miya

tags. timeskip!atsumu, gn!reader, a bit of cussing, all fluff ! with decemeber and the cold weather approaching, you decorate a christmas tree with your beloved boyfriend. / author's note. i love him like a lot!! haikyuu lovers are you still alive!!

atsumu's favorite holiday is christmas, without a doubt. the cold weather, decorating the house, gifts, staying inside and drinking hot chocolate, and his favorite of all, spending time with you and his family.

he starts decorating the house barely a day after thanksgiving has passed. and don't get him wrong, it's not that he doesn't like thanksgiving. he simply enjoys the christmas spirit better.

and now that you moved into his apartment, decorating will be a million times more fun. atsumu is already imagining it, and he's been waiting for this moment ever since you moved in july.

you watch him with a small smile as he sets up the tree and carefully places the soft rug underneath. he's smiling while doing this—a mixture of the feeling of finally decorating the house with you and his favorite time of year finally coming.

“let's go get the ornaments now ‘kay, baby?” he softly says and he stands up and grabs your hand, leading you to a closet where he stores his decorations and ornaments.

after a few rounds of going back and forth getting boxes and boxes of decorations, you and atsumu finally have all of them out and are ready to start dressing up the tree for the season.

atsumu prefers to have a more homey, traditional type decorations than fancy, glamorous decorations. as much as he's aware that he is more than financially stable enough to afford fancy christmas decorations, he enjoys a cozy christmas better.

suddenly, atsumu lets out one of his dramatic ass gasps as if he received the worst news of his life, which makes you jump and mumble out a “what?”

“we forgot to make hot chocolate!” atsumu blurts out as he runs into the kitchen.

you sigh before reluctantly following him into the kitchen as you grab two christmas themed mugs out of the cabinet. atsumu grabs the milk and hot chocolate packets and turns on the stove.

atsumu pours the milk into a pot before opening the pantry to grab a bag of marshmallows to top off your hot chocolates.

after about 5 minutes of the milk heating up on the stove, you carefully take the pot off the stove (with christmas themed oven mitts, mind you) before pouring equal amounts into yours and atsumu's mugs. he then adds in the hot chocolate powder and stirs it thoroughly before adding some whipped cream and marshmallows to the top your drinks before happily grabbing the two mugs and strutting back into the living room.

atsumu takes a sip of his hot chocolate before expertly wrapping the lights around the tree in 5 minutes tops. you knew atsumu loved christmas dearly, but to the point that he's an expert in all of these christmas activities scared you a little.

atsumu sorts through boxes and takes out his expected large collection of ornaments. “alright, let's get started! make sure you do not put two of the same size or shape ornament next to each other, baby. it does not look good.” he says in a stern, but sweet voice.

it seems like atsumu took tree decorating that seriously, but you didn't mind. you chuckle and let out a “yes, tsumu.” before grabbing a green and red ornament to place on the tree.

you carefully place the two ornaments on the branches of the tree, strategically making sure they were in adequate places.

from the corner of your eye, you see atsumu smiling from ear to ear and humming along to the christmas music you had playing in the background while hanging a few wooden ornaments shaped like candy canes, snowflakes, and snowmen.

as if on cue, atsumu turns his head to face you and says with a small smirk on his face,

“look baby, i know i'm attractive and all, but at least try to stare a little less obvious?” atsumu teases with a low laugh after.

“oh, shut up.” you grumble as you roll your eyes jokingly before grabbing an ornament with a photo of a familiar looking boy printed on it.

as you observe the ever so slightly messy paper ornament that seems to have been made during his elementary years, you can't help but smile at how cute atsumu was. his hair parted the same as it was in highschool, but still his natural brown hair color. his boyish features that you can still make out in his present handsome face.

“you know, you were really cute when you were younger, tsumu.” you say with a small laugh, still admiring the photo.

he sounded slightly flustered and nervous as he spoke. “y-yer saying i'm not cute now or what?”

“no.. you're handsome and cute now tsumu. and i've never really seen any of your childhood photos so.. i don't know, but you look so cute here.” you exclaim with a smile on your face.

atsumu surprising breaks eye contact with you, something he only does if he's flustered, a rare occurrence as well. he is typically the one flustering you, so when you fluster him it makes you giggle a little.

“s-shut up. the cute one here is obviously you.” atsumu grumbles out before turning away to grab another few ornaments, but truthfully to hide his face.

you chuckle at his flustered state. you knew atsumu was very hard to fluster, and he's usually the one flustering you, but that fact that you only called a childhood photo cute and nothing more is a little ironic.

“sure, tsumu.” you tease before following his lead and carefully grabbing more ornaments.

the soft sound of christmas music in the background, idly talking with atsumu about more possible holiday activities you could do throughout the month, and the smell of hot chocolate was the ideal way to spend the cold winter night with your boyfriend.

after about fifteen ornaments later, the tree was finally complete and looked amazing. an occasional classic glass ornament there, a few handmade ornaments there, and the subtle (but eye-catching) glow of the string lights tied it all together.

and now the final touch—the star on top. honestly, you don't know why atsumu decided to put the star last because the risk of him bumping into an ornament and it breaking and then the whole tree potentially falling made you worry a little.

it wasn't that you didn't trust atsumu. sometimes the laws of physics (and perhaps the wind of someone running by) have caused a few things to break here and there with your time living with atsumu.

sure, you could slowly hint and convince atsumu to let you place the star, but that doesn't seem possible since he is an avid christmas lover.

you're taken out of your thoughts at the sound of atsumu's voice.

“okay, so i have a few types of stars. which one should we use baby?”

you let out a mixture of a sigh and a chuckle before grabbing a simple, but does-the-job star.

“how about this one, tsumu?” you chirp, attempting to hide your concern.

“sure!” he says before grabbing the star from your hands as he steps on a stool.

“you sure you got it tsumu?” you hum as you look up at him, swearing he's shaking a little.

“yup. i got it, sweets. don't worry your pretty little head. i'm a professional at this.” atsumu says proudly, but his shakiness does not seem to settle down.

as you watch him on the stool, your concern slowly rises. you swear everything is moving in slow motion, and that the tree is going to fall down at any moment.

one moment later atsumu is dusting off his hands and stepping off the stool as if he does this in his everyday life.

atsumu then steps back and pulls you in by your shoulder before admiring the tree.

you're still slightly in shock as the tree did not fall over and your hard work did not go to waste—and oh the hassle it would be to clean the broken ornaments.

“thought the tree was gonna fall, angel? like i said, i'm a pro and i do this every year. dunno what you expected.” atsumu teases with a smirk on his face and pecking your cheek.

after cleaning up and putting the boxes back into his storage room, the night ends with watching christmas movies with atsumu under the warm, comforting blankets.

[dxsole]

"We all have our ghosts." (Old West!Lou to Didi!)

👻 SOME OF US HAVE SKELETONS TOO | Not Accepting

Backstage is not as glamorous as being on stage is, but it's certainly safer. Besides, Didi rather likes how the cramped quarters of her dressing room made her feel; like a real performer in a larger city and not this dusty little town.

Maybe one day she'd be able to leave Blue Boulder and start fresh somewhere new; she'd heard about New York, bustling and growing every second. Lights twinkled and there were dresses in every color of silk imaginable, or so the rumors said. For now she'll powder her nose and daintily apply rouge and imagine she's somewhere cooler, where there's silver in everyone's pocket and she has a crowd of thousands beckoning her into the light.

"I think that's all anyone is in these parts of the country, hm. Just...skin pulled over ghosts. Not even souls...just specters." It certainly felt like it. Her father was a husk. So many new faces rolled in only to be wheeled out in coffins.

"Well, besides you and I. We're the only lively folk around I'm afraid." Even if they both were still haunted. Perhaps not by their own spirits but others, the ghosts forced upon them that they were meant to carry along until they reached their own graves. "Come. Give me a smile, hm. If you start making me feel sorry about myself I might never forgive you."