#i love after halloween sales

[writersdrug]

Convincing bartender Simon to make one of those overly decorated and sweet cocktails or even add it to the menu because it’s cute and you know it’d do well on the gram and attract the ladies. He’d huff and puff but do it anyway

Like one of these with cotton candy, glitter, and sprinkles etc!: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/825988387943179970/

OMG wait I soooo want to try that-

The video ends, and Simon stares at the picture of the drink with a furrowed brow.

"Looks like somethin' you'd see at a bridal shower." He comments, handing you back your phone.

"Doesn' it?" You say with a smile, shoving your phone into your back pocket. You lean your arms over the bar and poke his side. "Come oooonnnnnn, Simon - imagine how many sales you'd make on something like that! People would love it."

"Imagine the money I'd lose, havin' t' buy bags of candy floss..." he grumbles, hiding his smirk behind his mask when you groan dramatically.

"You could do it as a promotional thing...? Like- ladies' night... in October?"

He snorts. "'Ladies' Night in October', hmm? N' what are ladies celebratin'?"

"Ok, fine- forget Ladies' Night. What about something for Halloween?"

"Like wot?" He grunts, grabbing a glass from the stack and pouring out one of the taps.

"I dunno... something fun, but practical - Oh! You could- like a Moscow Mule, but just serve it in a different glass and use edible glitter!"

Simon quirks his brow as he slides the beer glass to a customer. "Edible glitter?" He asks, wiping his hands on his rag. "Didn't know there was such a thing."

You nod quickly, your eyes full of excitement. "Yeah! God, I could pick up a bunch from the baker's supply down a few blocks. You could call it 'Witches' Brew.'"

He turns it over for a moment - in his opinion, it's ridiculous. He runs a pub, not a college bar. He would have scoffed at the idea of someone else had brought it up - but, it's you bringing it up, and that's a completely different story. You have such a brilliant gleam in your eye that melts his heart. He can't say no to you, especially after making you cry last week. He's still carrying out his penance for that.

"You think it'd sell?"

"Oh, for sure! I can make an insta post about it to get some attention."

He clicks his tongue, turning to the POS and seemingly uninterested by it. "Fine - if you spend anythin' promotin' it, let Price know. He'll reimburse ya."

You let out a triumphant whoop and slide of the barstool. He lets out a huff as you trot back to your tables, a noticeable pep in your step. He chances through the window on the kitchen door to see if his food is ready - what he's met with is Johnny's face, staring through the warming counter as he stands at the stove, a smug grin resting on his lips.

Simon can practically hear the cook's thoughts. Whipped bastard.

You had left without saying goodbye that night. You waited by the counter, rocking eagerly on your toes as Simon grabbed your tips from the night before out of the safe. As soon as he handed them to you, you snatched them and ran out the door. He was a bit irked by that, standing there with a stubborn frown as you pranced out of the restaurant - maybe you're still not back to being cheeky and chipper yet after last week. He can live with that... for now.

However, not twenty minutes later, you come stumbling back in with a paper bag in hand and a smile on your face, panting like you'd just run a marathon. Simon's anxieties quell at the sight of you.

"Got it!" You say breathlessly, walking to the edge of the bar and dropping the bag onto it. Simon folds his arms over his chest as you reach in and pull out a small bottle of glitter. You hand It to him and he takes it, holding it up to the dim light above.

"You can eat this shit?" He asks, brows furrowed.

"Mhmm!" You chirp, settling into a barstool. "Now, bartender - I'll have a Moscow Mule."

He sets the glitter down and grabs a clear glass, working on gathering the ingredients. "Ya only call me that when you want something."

"I'm calling you what you are." You respond, watching as he skillfully mixes everything together, pouring vodka from the jigger between two fingers, tossing in lime juice and topping it off with ginger beer. As shameful as it is to admit, you're kinda attracted to the skill he presents.

"Should be callin' me boss." He says, topping the drink off with a straw.

You slide off your stool and chuckle. "Yeah, you'd be into something kinky like that."

Simon has to bite the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the thought of you - nope. He won't even entertain the idea. He simply steps back a bit as you wedge yourself behind the bar (yes, he actually forces himself to give you enough room - he doesn't need you feeling hiw aroused he is).

You grab a bottle of the glitter and dash some into the drink. After swirling it with the straw, the liquid becomes iridescent with purple shimmer that billows about the glass. You look up at him with a satisfied smile.

"Witches' Brew." You announce, holding the drink out to him.

You look happy - an observation that makes Simon smile, even if he wasn't the one to cause your happiness. He lifts his mask, grabs one of the straws and plugs it, before bringing it to his mouth and sampling the drink.

"Tastes like a mule."

"But it looks like a potion, right?"

"'S this glitter goin' to be in my gut whenever I get autopsied?"

You laugh, grabbing the glass and leaving Simon behind the bar. "That would be a cute party trick." You call over your shoulder.

Simon watches you, arms folded over his chest and his eyes curious. You set the drink on the opposite end of the bar, pulling your phone from your pocket and pointing the camera to the glass. You grimace; your arm reaches over the bar to grab the rag lying over the faucet, and quickly wipe down the bartop. He huffs, grabbing his phone from the register and pulling up his group text with Soap and Price.

Ghost: got ourselves a marketing team.

He looks back up at you - you're hunched over, taking picture after picture of the drink. You twirl the straw in the liquid every few seconds, kicking up the glitter and making it reflect the low lighting of the bar.

Hus phone buzzes.

Price: ??

Ghost: she's making a drink for october and promoting it in social media

Soap: clever girl

Soap: what drink?

Ghost: moscow mule, but in a clear glass and with some edible glitter shit. it's pretty neat.

Soap: picture?

Price: Promoting? Will this cost me anything?

Simon chuckles. He pulls up the camera on his phone and aims it at you-

Except you're in a different position. You're perched so nicely on a barstool, holding your phone at arm's length and your drink in the other hand. You're smiling up at your camera, nose scrunched as you pose for a selfie. Your hair is down, your back is arched, and - did you tug your neckline down? You most certainly did. You're breasts weren't that pronounced before.

Without thinking, Simon takes a photo. The shutter clicks loudly: you look at him, as do the three patrons sitting at the bar.

Fuck. He panicks, clearing his throat and lowering his phone. "Jus' showin' the lads what you're up to." He says, but you can see the tension in his shoulders as he quickly sends the picture to the chat and puts his phone in his pocket.

You smirk - whether it was truly just for Price and Soap, or if it was for himself, you felt a little flattered that you'd caught him in the act. You hoped for the latter.

Simon exhales heavily and rests his palms on the counter. His face burns beneath his mask as he tries to calm his racing heart. Fuck- was that weird? Course it fuckin' was. Goddamn creep.

His phone buzzes again. He sighs and pulls it into his hand.

Price: Cute thing, isn't she?

Simon immediately frowns, any previous shame now replaced with a fire in his chest.

"Fuckin' wot?"

[luimnigh]

I love the idea of the "Disney Princess", simply because the public's idea of a Disney Princess and Disney's idea of a Disney Princess don't actually match up.

Because to the public, a Disney Princess is a type of character in Disney movies. And to Disney, "Disney Princess" is a specific brand with specific characters.

The Disney Princess brand was set up in 2001 after the head of Disney Consumer Products went to a Disney on Ice show, saw hundreds of little girls in generic princess halloween costumes, and went "Wait, why the hell don't we sell Princess dresses?"

Rather than trying to give a dozen movies, many over a decade old, their own individual marketing pushes, they come up with the overarching Disney Princess brand, and launched it featuring ten initial characters:

Snow White, Aurora (Sleeping Beauty), Cinderella, Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Pocahontas, Mulan, Esmerelda, and Tinkerbell.

Esmerelda was soon dropped, probably because Hunchback is a pretty dark Disney movie; and later so was Tinkerbell because they'd started production on her own line of straight-to-DVD movies, leaving the line with eight Princesses.

And now here's the clever part of the branding: when they release a new movie with a new Princess, they don't immediately fold her into the Disney Princess brand. That would cannibalise sales from the movie-specific merchandise. So they wait a year or two for merchandise sales to slow down, before having an official coronation ceremony to add the new Princess to the group.

(And presumably they cab recycle unsold merch under the Disney Princess brand.)

So Tiana got added in 2010, Rapunzel in 2012, Merida became the first Pixar entry in 2013, Moana took three years to be inducted in 2019, and the most recent is Raya in 2022.

So that's the official Disney Princess lineup: Snow White, Aurora (Sleeping Beauty), Cinderella, Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Pocahontas, Mulan, Tiana, Rapunzel, Merida, Moana and Raya.

Now I know what you're thinking: there's a pair of very famous names missing there.

And like I said before: they wait for the merchandise sales to slow down before bringing new characters under the umbrella. Moana seems to have been quite popular, taking three years for Disney marketing to feel comfortable folding her into the brand.

But Frozen still sells like fuckin' hotcakes, even a decade later.

So we have a funny scenario where the two most popular Disney Princesses aren't actually Official Disney Princesses because they're too popular.

[dilatorywriting]

Valentine's Day Special: Let Them Fight

GN!Reader x Malleus Draconia vs. Azul Ashengrotto vs. Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Who knew that in a world of magic, and mayhem, and outright villainy, that it'd be something as stupid as Valentine's Day that would push these idiots over the edge. Or, Malleus, Azul, and Vil go to war over some chocolates

A/N: This MC/Plot takes place in the Heroes vs Villains universe -- specifically Post-Staff's route, rather than any of our other lovely idiot husbands.

There was always some sort of strange overlap of customs from your world to this one. Halloween seemed to have survived more or less intact (even if it was a bit more, uh, extreme than the subtle evening of giving out treats and dressing as ghosts that you remembered). Winter Holidays were still very much a Thing, even if all other connotations had been stripped from them. Moreover, it was like someone had taken your familiar Earthen calendar and just sort of… mirrored it. Distorted it a bit. Just a lil’ bit more chaos than would have been socially acceptable back home.

So when you made a sly little joke about stocking up on discount chocolates after the Valentine’s Day rush and no one laughed—not even a little chortle, or an irritable eyeroll—you initially thought it was maybe to do with the irrationality of Sam’s Shop ever having a sale to begin with. You had not assumed that, you know, there was no Valentine’s Day at all.

“It’s an important holiday, then? Where you’re from?” Azul mused, busy scribbling endless, chicken scratch, notes in the margins of some form that was probably very important.

“I mean, not really,” you frowned, tossing your Mostro-Branded apron onto its hook. “Maybe. Yes? I don’t really know, actually.”

He hummed and moved to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Well, whatever it is, I’m always looking for new events to host at the Lounge. What exactly is it?”

“It’s a sort of special day for couples. Romance. Lovey-dovey nonsense,” you shrugged, and watched Azul’s finger slip off the slick metal frame of his glasses and nearly take his eye out. You waved off his obvious disgust with a dramatic sigh (I mean, why else would he be so stiff and red?). “Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s ridiculous.”

“I—I never said that!” he spluttered, and then paused to cough into his fist and clear his throat. “It just—I just wasn’t expecting something like that to…”

“Exist?”

He grinned, wry. His cheeks were still a bit too pink. “Precisely.”

“You would have loved my world,” you said. “Very capitalistic. Lots of cash-grab holidays like that.”

Azul laughed.

“I’m sure I would be fond of any place you came from.” He paused, and his expression puckered up a bit miserably—like he really hadn’t intended to express such a sentiment aloud. But he managed to smooth the sharp line of his frown back into that usual, smarmy, smirk of his easily enough. “But either way! Tell me more!” he grinned, reaching forward to grab a stack of blank paper and a fresh pen. “I’d love to hear all about it.”

.

.

The next day you were supposed to help the Drama Club start building some stage scenery for their newest play. It was proper grunt work, which was perhaps the only sort of work you were actually qualified for. And Vil always made sure that there were plenty of disgustingly healthy but still quite tasty snacks available for the help to munch on. The food spread alone would have been worth the trip, but on top of that, Vil had made you promise. Practically a blood oath, binding you and your meager free time to the shitty supply closet in the corner of the Auditorium. And as sour as he could be sometimes, you really could never say no to him when he always looked so heart meltingly fond whenever you did agree to while away the hours at his side. That lovely face and even lovelier smile of his were fucking lethal. A war crime, surely, to use it against someone as plain and susceptible to bribery as you were.

But today you were now an idiot on a mission—an idiot determined to spread the joy of a trashy holiday that really probably shouldn’t exist in the first place, let alone in a world where people worshipped storybook villains as veritable deities. And you’d already bought all the molds, and the trays, and you really didn’t have a lot of spare pocket money to begin with, so letting this investment go to waste would not only be a shame, but a terrible business investment.

“What do you mean you’re not coming,” Vil sneered, glaring down his perfectly straight nose at you.

“I really am sorry,” you said, mostly genuine. “But I have something I need to do this afternoon.”

“You’ve made other plans?” he frowned, something a little too unsettled to fit with his usual regality twisting across his expression.

“I have to get ready for Valentine’s Day,” you explained, and his brow tugged down further. Though that earlier twinge of panic seemed to have vanished at least. You pointedly shook your grocery bag full of goodies. “I’m going to make chocolates for everyone.”

“Chocolates?” Vil echoed, confused.

You nodded. “It’s a tradition back home. You give stuff like candy and flowers to the people you care about. Normally it’s a holiday for couples, or whatever. But. Well…”

The ‘I Am Fully Aware That I’m Single as a Pringle, Please Just Let Me Have This One Thing’ was left unsaid, but it hung in the air around your head like a very persistent storm cloud nonetheless. Vil, magnanimously, seemed perfectly happy to ignore the Woe Is Me implications spewing from your mouth. Instead, he leaned forward until he was dipping precariously close into your personal space. His amethyst eyes had lit with blatant interest at your ramblings, and he hummed low in his throat.

“Is that so?” he mused, gaze lidded and warm. “That sounds… intriguing.”

You nodded past the heady scent of his cologne fogging your head. What was it with attractive people, huh? It was so unfair. You don’t get to look and smell good. Pick a lane. Save some dignity for the rest of us.

“So, I promise I’ll help another day. I just have a feeling making chocolates is going to wind up being a lot harder than I think it will.”

Because that’s how it always went in your stupid slice-of-life shows. The poor, harried, protagonist thinking they’re doing a good deed—painstakingly constructing their own, special, homemade goodies for all their important people. Making them with love. And then having it all blow up in their face like a goddamn, cocoa flavored, nuke. Nope. Not you, motherfucker. Your chocolates were going to be divine. You were going to take every, tropey, precaution in the book. And that of course included allotting yourself ample time to make mistakes your masterpiece.

“Of course,” Vil grinned. “How could I possibly begrudge you for wanting to spend your time on something so heartfelt?”

“Thank you,” you blurted, relived. Because at least he got it. Azul had been so ridiculously insistent that you should prepare all your Valentine’s Day wishes as a team. Which was not the point. He’d spent hours last night trying to wheedle his way into your plans—with endless platitudes about ‘business partners always being there for each other,’ and ‘how would he know if he was celebrating to your standards if he wasn’t given a model to work off of first?’ Utter bullshit. He’d probably just wanted free labor.

“Tomorrow, then?” Vil beamed and you nodded.

“Tomorrow,” you confirmed.

“Well, then,” he hummed. “I better get to work as well. I suppose the scenery can wait.”

You nodded in farewell and began the trek back to Ramshackle and its marginally functional kitchens. You hadn’t realized Vil was taking on any new projects, but if it was enough to have him putting off the Club’s activities as well then it must have been pretty important. Maybe he’d get you tickets to it whenever he finished—whatever it was. If there were tickets? How did any of the things he did actually work? Hell if you knew.

.

.

Making chocolates was, in fact, a laughably easy endeavor. And you found yourself cursing every goddamn Shoujo Bullshit Manga under the sun for leading you to think otherwise. The hardest part of the entire thing was fighting off Grim and his wandering paws.

You made up some basic truffles which were, again, stupidly simple. Just some messily chopped chocolate, cream, and a little splash of vanilla to make it Special. Once those were shaped into messy blobs, you dipped them into some more melted chocolate and bam. That was it. That was literally it. You felt like a genius—sitting there mushing up balls of cocoa like high-end playdough.

By 6PM, you had all your little darlings tucked into the refrigerator to harden, all the gauzy, red, boxes lined up on your counter and ready to be filled, and Grim had been placated with an offering of all your dirty mixing bowls. The tiny, demonic, beast was passed out at the dingy kitchen table—one of said bowls wedged onto his head like an astronaut’s helmet. Hopefully it was just a food coma and not, like, an actual coma-coma. Real cats couldn’t eat chocolate, but Grim never really seemed real at all. So hopefully he’d be fine.

You wiped down your cooking space once, twice. Paced up and down the narrow hallway until you were wearing away the already threadbare rugs, and spent way too long just standing in front of the fridge—staring in on your chocolates like a psychotic kidnapper scoping out their next victims.

Eventually you realized that you maybe needed to do something with your evening that wasn’t just creeping on your confections, and set out into the frosty, night, air for a stroll.

Which is, of course, where you ran into your familiar, horned, friend—staring up into the starry sky in a wistful manner that darkened his pale complexion into something nearly ominous. He always looked a bit like that, like something unearthly and detached from the rest of the world.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped happily, and that adrift-at-sea expression of his melted right off his face.

“Child of Man,” he greeted, inclining his head politely. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.” His brow furrowed, almost confused. “Is it not too cold for you?”

Your breath was, in fact, fogging in front of your face. And you couldn’t really feel your toes anymore. But the electric anticipation of tomorrow was keeping you warm enough. Even if only in spirit.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you waved him off. And then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you leaned forward on your tippytoes and blurted out, “Happy Almost Valentine’s Day!”

“Valentine’s Day?” Malleus repeated back at you, looking like you’d just handed him an unsolvable differential equation.

“It’s a holiday from back home,” you explained for the umpteenth time that day. “And normally I’m not too fussed about it, but this year I’m really excited to give everyone their chocolates!” You grinned. “And you too, of course. I have to make sure I give them to all my important people.”

The furrow between his brows vanished, but the blatant, gaping, confusion remained. He looked like you’d nearly startled him into an early grave.

“I am one of your most important people?” he asked, slow as a tortoise making its way up an incline.

You nodded cheerfully, still bellied by your earlier culinary successes and excellent mood. “Of course you are! We’re friends, aren’t we? And besides. Valentine’s Day is for showing people how much you care about them.”

“What an interesting concept,” he mused, bringing a finger up to tap at his chin. “To think your world had such a heartfelt tradition—it’s quite a lovely surprise.”

You laughed. “If you think the chocolates are special, you should see what some couples do for each other. Rooms full of flowers, fancy date nights—I’m just managing the bare minimum.”

“Couples?” he echoed, and you felt the first teeny, hot, thread of chagrin work its way past your enthusiasm.

“Well, normally Valentine’s Day focuses on, like, romantic things,” you said, averting your gaze just in time to miss the tension lance through his shoulders. “But it can be for all sorts of affection!” you hastily added.

“Is that so…” the Prince hummed. He lifted his pensive gaze once more and stared you down with that weighted intensity that you’d only just recently learned how not to buckle beneath. “And you wish to celebrate this day. With me?”

“…you don’t mind, do you?” you asked, hesitant.

“Of course not, Child of Man,” he beamed, his lips curling up into a smile that put all his too-sharp teeth on display. “But you’ll have to excuse me now, I’m afraid. It seems I have some preparations to undertake this evening.”

“Oh,” you blinked. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yes,” Malleus said. “You will.”

.

.

It was officially Valentine’s Day, and you were ready to begin your mission of forcing your sweets onto every, single, one of your reluctant friends. Let them be pissy and tsundere. You weren’t afraid to weep and proclaim your undying, shounen-talk-no-jutsu, levels of friendship. Okay. Maybe you were a little. But these grouchy bastards had very easily become your grouchy bastards, and so help you God, they would suffer under your affection and they would like it.

There were plenty of small boxes—all nice, neat, corners with little bows perched on top. But you had also prepared a singular, larger, tray. It was cleaner cut than the rest, with bold, contrasting, colors and a simple elegance. You stared it down with a strange sort of disquiet brewing in your gut. Maybe you were being presumptuous. Goodness knows you’d more than dealt with the searing, emotionally destructive, consequences of that before. But all the same…

You squared your shoulders and spent a moment convincing yourself that your spine was quite sturdy—a proper, titanium, support system—and then popped the Big Box into the bag with the others.

Your first stop was Heartslabyul, and you burst through the ornate, crimson, doors like a manic home invader.

“I come bearing gifts,” you proclaimed, merrily doling out the boxes to your favorite idiot duo. You set three more aside, with little labels for Riddle, Trey, and Cater respectively. Normally you wouldn’t trust a dorm full of teenage boys not to devour any scrap of unattended food in sight, but Riddle had long since struck the fear of God into these poor lads. So you figured it’d be safe.

Deuce’s face lit up and he accepted the chocolate with near starry-eyed enthusiasm.

“Are these your holiday presents? Like the Santa Claus?” he asked, looking very much like a bouncy golden retriever preparing itself for congratulatory head pats.

You leaned forward with an indulgent huff to give him his pats. “No. But close enough.”

You pawned off three boxes on Ruggie when he tried to duck past you in the hallway—one for him, one for Leona, and one extra as payment for making him do your dirty work of playing delivery boy to Mister Grump in the first place. You slipped Jack his on the way into Trein’s morning lecture, and managed to press a box into Jamil’s hands before he slunk off to the library. Kalim cheered so loudly when you handed him one that your ears started to ring.

And then trouble arrived in the form of two, slippery, eels draping themselves across your shoulders. Normally the destructive duo seemed to act on their own prerogative, but on this fortuitous morning their Lord and Master was surprisingly not too far behind.

“Shrimpy!~” Floyd trilled, dragging you into a one-armed hug that was really more of a slightly-less-aggressive headlock than anything else. “Azul says you came up with this stupid holiday! And he made us work all day yesterdayto put together stuff for the Lounge! It’s not fair!”

Your legs shook under the weight of the new tumor that had made its home on your back.

“Now, Floyd,” Jade chirped. All finely manicured cruelty. “If you’re to blame anyone for going overboard with this entire situation, you ought to lay the fault on our fearless leader.” His bi-colored eyes flashed, amused. “Isn’t that right, Azul?”

Said ‘fearless leader’ looked like he was sucking on a lemon. He glared bitterly at his subordinate, seeming to share an entire, silent, argument with him, before turning back on you with a heavy sigh and the barest hint of angry flush in his cheeks.

“Prefect,” he grinned past his obvious discomfort, all sparkling, white, teeth. “I have to thank you for sharing so much information about this ‘Valentine’s Day’ of yours. It’s such a unique event, and it seems like our preparations at the Lounge are already being received incredibly well.”

“That’s good,” you nodded, trying and failing to shrug the Leech off your shoulders. “I’m glad I could help.”

Azul hummed under his breath, his eyes darting away for a moment. His glasses reflected the muted light of the hall in an odd way—making it difficult to read his expression. He cleared his throat and when he looked back up at you, the tips of his ears had gone pink.

“You’re more than welcome to come by, of course,” he beamed, suave as could be.

“I mean,” you blinked. “I would hope so. I work there.”

Floyd let out a bark of laughter and Jade snickered into his glove. The pleasant pink tinting Azul’s skin was heating to a near sunburned red. He looked down and coughed into his fist.

“Yes…” he mumbled. “I—I’m aware. But what I meant is… What I meant—” He frowned. It was a tight, pouty, little thing that scrunched up his entire face. That mottled red had spread to the bridge of his nose.

“I do believe what Azul is trying to say,” Jade stepped in, clearly taking some sort of pity on his tongue-tied friend. Or perhaps pity was the wrong word for it, seeing how smug he looked, “is that he would like to invite you to the event personally. As an honored guest, not an employee.”

“Oh,” you blinked, startled. Then hesitated, cautious on instinct. There was always some sort of catch to the Octomer’s kindness. “I don’t know if I could afford whatever fancy thing you’ve thrown together.”

“You wouldn’t be paying for it,” Azul assured you, some of that sickly flush having finally started to recede from his cheeks. You hoped he was feeling alright. “You’ve contributed more than enough for the day. It would be on the house.”

Jade loudly cleared his throat and Azul huffed, eyes sliding away yet again.

“I would be paying,” he finally mumbled. And then, even quieter, “As I believe is the custom.”

Just as you were about to thank him for his startling bought of generosity (and also ask after his health, because between the weird, pink, tinge to his skin and the aforementioned generosity, clearly somethingwas out of sorts with him), you noticed a sneaky hand working its way into your bag of goodies, and you immediately were on the defensive.

“Hey!” you snapped, spinning out of Floyd’s stranglehold. “You only get one!”

“Then I want the really big one!” he demanded, making grabby motions at it.

“No!” you squeaked, and clutched it protectively to your chest. The trio looked at you with varying degrees of surprise and you cleared your throat awkwardly. “This one—This one is special.”

“Oh?” Jade cooed, eyes flickering back towards Azul, who seemed determined to look absolutely anywhere else. “Is it now?”

“Awww,” Floyd whined. “That’s no fair! Who’s it for, anyways?!”

You gripped the box tighter and now it was your turn to stiffly avert your eyes down to the ugly carpet. “It’s not—I’m not—” you cleared your throat and forced the jitter from your voice. “I’m not ready to give it to him yet.”

The silence that followed was absolutely the worst thing you’d experienced in a long, long, time. Overblots and all. You could practically hear your blood pounding in your ears. You were just about to turn and beat a hasty retreat when a familiar, snappish, voice called your name from the other side of the corridor.

“There you are, potato,” Vil huffed, coming to stand at your side and bodily inserting himself between you and your tormentors. He met Azul’s petulant sneer with a frankly terrifying one of his own. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed you’d be eating lunch with me today.”

You remembered no such thing, but if it got you out of this verbal minefield of a conversation, you were more than willing to take the claim at face value.

“Apologies,” Azul cut in with all his usual, mafioso, flair. “But the Prefect will be taking their afternoon meal at the Mostro Lounge today.”

“Is that so?” Vil hummed, sounding positively venomous.

“Unless you think you can make an offer good enough to sway them otherwise,” Azul chirped, equally as unpleasant.

Vil laughed—cold and sharp as crystal. It was the most elegant display of blatant irritation you’d ever seen.

“Of course you’d only consider this entire situation on a transactional basis,” he drawled, entirely unimpressed. Azul flinched and his expression screwed up into something near petulant. “I would expect no less. Are you planning to lock them into a contact too, hmm? Sign away everything in formal, sterile, terms?” Vil crossed his arms, and you were reminded sharply once more how very, very lucky you were to not be on his bad side (even if you hadn’t realized before all this that Azul apparently was on said bad side. You had no idea they disliked each other so terribly). “I really hadn’t expected you to have a single, romantic, bone in your body, and yet somehow I’m still disappointed to be proved so entirely correct.”

Azul looked ready to explode, and even though Jade and Floyd and melted back into the shadows at the start of this entire encounter, the pair of them were starting to look a bit murderous too—like sharks lazily circling the dark, ocean, depths.  

“Don’t you think you deserve better?” Vil asserted, turning back to face you with a soft cant of the head. You blinked back in shock.

“Uh,” you gaped, absolutely fucking lost.

And then, like a beacon of unrivaled, black-drenched, hope, you spotted Malleus making his way down the hallway. He was flanked by his trio of housemates-cum-pseudo-bodyguards. Normally you tried to leave him alone when his rabid, green-haired, guard dog was yipping at his heels, and on top of that, the idea of using your classmates’ ingrained fear of the Fae Prince to your own advantage upset your rather staunch sensibilities. But this was an emergency.

“Tsunotarou!” you called, and it absolutely sounded like the cry for help it was.

He perked up immediately and you watched him nearly crash to a standstill. And then his sharp, neon, gaze locked on the dueling Housewardens circling you like a pair of snapping wolves, and his merry expression shuttered into something positively glacial. Which was—Fuck. I mean. Come on. What the fuck was going on today—

“Child of Man,” he droned, crossing the short distance with all the grace of the near-mythical, arcane, master that he was. His posture was more collected and regal than you’d ever seen it, and he loomed all the taller for it.

Azul and Vil had gone tense at your side, one certainly more so than other. The Octomer looked incredibly unsettled at Malleus’s sudden arrival, but Vil just looked angrier. It was the sort of unpleasantness that bloomed whenever someone challenged him or his competencies over and over—inevitably pushing the normally composed beauty into an indignant rage.

“Happy Day of Valentine’s,” Malleus continued, slotting himself firmly into the veritable territory dispute going down. “Are you quite alright?”

No, you wanted to wail. No! I’m so confused! I have no idea what’s going on! I just wanted to give my friends chocolates!

But you never managed to get those words or any others past your lips, because Sebek Zigvolt shot to his master’s side with all the speed of the lightning for which he was so named, and immediately began to scream.

“HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT THE YOUNG MASTER’S AFTERNOON ROUTINE!” he shrieked at the top of his very impressive lungs.

You weren’t sure if he was howling at you (very likely) or just anyone who wasn’t Malleus, but Jade took the opportunity to slink forward from the shadows with a sharp tut-tut.

“Perhaps none of you deserve the Prefect’s special attentions,” he piped in, sounding very much like someone intentionally throwing a cannister of gasoline onto an already roaring fire. “Or any chocolates at all—let alone the ones set aside for someone special.”

At this, silence once more rang through the corridor and you wanted to throttle that stupid eel.

“There is a special box?” Malleus asked first, brow shooting up as his expression tugged with… something.

“I—I mean, I made all of yours special!” you defended, holding the wrapped treasure tightly to your chest. “But… I guess. Yes. There’s one that’s a little bigger than the others.”

At this, all three Housewardens exchanged pointed looks.

Jade smiled serenely once more, and then continued his absolute massacre upon your person.

“Yes, indeed,” he nodded. “And our dearest Prefect only just mentioned that—hmm. How did you word it? Ah. That’s right. ‘I’m not ready to give it to him yet.’”

The trio tensed. All looking absolutely ready to pounce. At—at what, you had no idea.

“Perhaps,” the wretch mused, “it would be best for you all to temper your rage until the victor is decided, hmm?” He paused to tap at his chin for a moment, and then his lips split into a mean, jagged, grin. “Afterwards? Well, I suppose that whole cheery sentiment about ‘love and war’ still holds true.”

You gulped, feeling startlingly like Jade had just tried to serve you up on a silver platter.

But when neither Azul, Vil, or Malleus made any further moves to murder each other… well. As sacrificial as it all felt, at least it must have worked.

The rest of the day passed in a tense sort of fugue. You certainly hadn’t expected your attempts at bringing some holiday cheer to Night Raven to go so… Uh…

But either way, you managed to survive through the rest of the afternoon, and before you knew it, all that remained of all your tireless efforts and good will was the Special Box. The big one. The one that you’d put together with extra care and hopes for better things. You glared down at it for a moment, feeling sweat starting to bead over your palms. But you couldn’t chicken out now. Not after you’d come so far! Everyone was acting so strange, and it was all so weird. And as much as that unfamiliarity had your teeth on edge and your hackles raised, you didn’t want to regret not giving out the last of your well-made sweets.

Well, here goes nothing, you frowned. You took a deep breath, willed yourself to be brave, and smiled your biggest smile.

“Here,” you beamed, more than a little shy and still a bit horrified by whatever pissing match had been going down earlier in the day, and finally offered the grandest of your chocolate boxes to the man standing opposite you.

Divus Crewel accepted your offering daintily, plucking at the crisp, sharp, wrapping with his crimson gloves. He arched one of his thin brows at you and you fought the nervous heat rising in your cheeks.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you blurted. “I know it’s not a thing here, but I thought it’d be nice.”

The second eyebrow joined the first—practically jumping all the way up into his fringe.

“I appreciate the gesture. Though from what I understand of all the garish advertising I’ve seen for Mostro Lounge’s new event, I assumed this was a holiday for romantic overtures,” he intoned, wry.

You spluttered and waved your hands furiously. “I mean! Normally! Yes! But also…” You trailed off, fighting the urge to fidget. “If you don’t have a—a, well, someone, then Valentine’s is just a nice excuse to give something to people you care about.” You averted your gaze and lost the battle to twist your fingers into your jacket sleeves. “My family used to give me chocolates every year. So. I thought I could… Well…” you trailed off on a grumble, embarrassed.

Crewel sighed and popped the lid off the box. He plucked two truffles from their casing—keeping one for himself and handing you the other.

“Well, then. A very happy Valentine’s to you, Prefect,” he droned and popped the chocolate into his mouth with a thoughtful hum.

You lit up like a Christmas tree and happily gobbled up your own treat. So distracted were you by the one-two-punch combo of the delicious sugar and even sweeter taste of your Professor’s approval that you almost entirely missed the pointed glare he shot over your shoulder.

“I appreciate your regard,” he said, loud. Sharp. And like he wasn’t talking to you at all. “And while I’m certain that if you do pick a ‘someone’ for yourself to celebrate with in the following years, they’ll have to work very hard to be worthy of such a gift, hmm?” His lip curled unpleasantly, in direct contrast to the indulgent warmth that had been tugging at his expression only a moment before. “I could hardly allow you to waste such a thoughtful gesture on someone unworthy.”

The Octavinelle Housewarden had the decency to look at least a little panicked—his face going pale and gaunt from where he was shrinking into his high collar. There was a frantic look about him, like he was trying to weigh the cost-benefit ratio of going up against his professor in his head, and realizing that he was stupidly, willfully, walking right into a lose-lose situation. And that, sadly—miserably—he was going to keep doing just that. The other two, however, looked entirely undeterred. Schoenheit curled his lip right back at him, more than ready to duke it out here and now, and Crewel fought the urge to remind the blonde that he was the adult in this situation, thank you very much. The adult who could very well revoke the Warden’s access to his Alchemy Labs as it suited him. The very alchemy labs that he knew Vil had been using to concoct all kinds of new, personalized, gifts for you. Draconia simply looked on with that unnervingly ancient, green, leer of his. Like he was staring down a particularly fascinating game. The Fae Prince was the most unsettling of the trio, if only because that while Crewel was more than confident enough in his abilities to subdue his other wayward students, fighting off an Immortal, All Powerful, Dragon was going to require at least a little bit of prep work.

Divus Crewel sighed, and it rattled all the way out from the marrow of his bones.

“Come, then,” he rumbled, directing you to follow him back into his office. “It’s not chocolates, but I probably have some of those ridiculous cookies of yours lying around somewhere.” Which he did. Boxes upon boxes of them. Tucked away special for whenever you came to visit. Not that he’d ever willingly admit that, even under the pain of death.

Your eyes went wide and warm as you positively beamed.

It was rotten work, certainly. He shot one, last, warning glare down the hall at the trio of infatuated interlopers as he firmly shut his office door behind you and your absolute oblivious idiocy. He’d do it. Of course he would. But, Christ alive. He was going to need a stronger drink.

[bogleech]

I just saw these in a google search and could only find them for sale on temu but I fell in love with the eyeball placement, specifically thinking "wow I love that wide one with two eyes between the cap and the gills, I wish I thought of drawing one like that"

Then I remembered that I did as part of my quick doodle for this article and that Halloween mushroom creatures only started cropping up in real retail environments a year after that. >:)

[ashwhowrites]

Perv! Eddie x cheerleader! Reader on a Halloween party, they HATE each other, but they were in a deal and that somehow, ends up in the two of them at the back of Eddie's van making out, and then having sex, and maybe they start a relationship?

I hope this is what you were looking for and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting.

This is short but I think it hits all the areas you want :)

Eyes on you

Y/N hated Eddie Munson ever since she caught him sneaking around the girl's locker room. He tried to hide in a locker, watching as the cheer squad changed into their uniforms. She thought he was a pig and couldn't stand him.

Eddie hated the snobby cheer squad, but he liked to look at them. Y/N was bitchy and ratted him out for sneaking into the locker room. He hated her since, but a part of him wanted to be balls deep inside of her.

Eddie enjoyed bothering her. He'd give her flirty looks and waves. Knowing it pissed her off when she'd roll her eyes and stomp in the other direction. He loved getting underneath her skin.

It was a random Halloween party, and Eddie knew it would be his biggest sales. People got to hide in costumes and buy drugs with no one knowing. Eddie didn't bother to dress up, he was here for a job and that's all.

"Jesus, fuck. It's you?" Y/N growled, she prayed Chrissy hired someone else to do the drug deals but there wasn't luck in the room with her.

"Hey, pretty girl, love the costume." Eddie said, licking his lips as his eyes trailer up her body. Her legs were covered in green vines, green booty shorts and a green bra. The rest of her exposed skin covered in green vines and leaves.

"Poison ivy? Wouldn't mind tasting that on my tongue." Eddie smirked. He could already picture himself tracing his tongue up every vine.

"Not a chance." Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes as she sat down.

~~~

"Not a chance, huh?" Eddie mocked, his voice teasing as he gripped Y/N's hips. He fucked his hips up into her, loving the way she rolled her eyes.

"Shut up," Y/N whined, she wanted to voice him out. She wanted to ignore that it was Eddie's cock that was inside of her.

Eddie moved his hands to her ass, squeezing the skin as she rode him faster.

Their skin was drenched in sweat, his van rocking and their sounds bouncing off the doors. Eddie wasn't sure how long they'd been going at it, but he knew it was a suspicious amount of time. He knew her friends would come looking for her sooner or later.

Her body was covered in his marks, and her scratches from her first two orgasms marked down his back. He didn't think he'd get to this point, all his jokes and comments but yet she was as desperate as he was.

Y/N finished her third orgasm, and Eddie finished against her stomach. Both breathing heavily as she started putting on her costume.

"In a rush?" Eddie asked, he felt vulnerable and he wasn't sure he liked it.

"What? Do you want me to stay or something?" She joked, but the hurt that flashed across his eyes made her think again. "Shit, do you want to talk?" She offered, a smile as she scooted closer to him.

"I mean it doesn't seem like you wanted to. If you want to head back to your friends, cool. I'll go home." Eddie shrugged, acting as her choice didn't matter.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't think you'd want to actually talk to me. Thought you just wanted the sex....based on your comments." She explained, she truly didn't see Eddie having feelings for her. She thought it was sexual tension that was building.

"We hate each other but do you think there's something deeper than that?" Eddie asked, "Because truthfully, I don't hate you. I'm infatuated with you. "

"There might be. I also don't hate you, but you drive me crazy. You love checking out girls and I think I'll struggle with that too much." Y/N confessed.

"No one captured my attention the way you do. That's why I'm here with you, that's why I've been chasing after you. Let me show you that I can focus all on you." Eddie promised, she smiled at the ground and his hand held hers.

"Not going to spy on my friends?" She asked, her eyes looked into his eyes.

"Just on you." Eddie smirked.

"Don't make me regret this, Munson." Y/N laughed, crawling on Eddie's naked lap. His hard cock resting in between her thighs. She smashed her lips on his.

"Y/N?"

Y/N pulled back when she heard Chrissy's voice from outside the van, her hands smacking the door.

"SHES BUSY!" Eddie yelled back, Y/N gasped and smacked Eddie's arm.

"I FIGURED. HAVE FUN YOU TWO!" Chrissy laughed.

Y/N didn't have time to respond when Eddie pushed his cock back inside of her.

"You'll never regret me." Eddie promised, his lips on hers as he tasted her.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37

[yourdoorisunlocked]

ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ'ꜱ ᴅᴀʏ ᴠᴇxᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ - ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

𝐀/𝐍: Whew! Ok, I'm taking a small break right now- I have one more request to do, and ofc as soon as I can I'll finish it, but I don't want to burn myself out or anything.

I'm just taking a quick writing rehab right now. Nonetheless, the banter was so fun to do, and I hope you all like it!

If I do write another chapter for the week, it'll probably be for What A Dish, What A Doll!

➺ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,903 ➺ Song Recommendation: 𝓔𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓬 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 | 𝓑𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓼

. . .

The chill of February’s frosted breath graced the glass panes of the largest building in the Vee’s district, an imposing force that not-so-subtly hinted at how far their influence and power expanded across the Sinner’s Circle of Hell, as it stood right in the heart of the Pride Ring for all to flock to. No matter how depraved, sadistic, or perverted you were, the territory of the Vees surely had something in store for your insatiable appetite to feast upon. 

And since the first twenty-four hours of the infamously romantic month, chaos had erupted within the offices of the Vees. Other than Halloween, it was the greatest vice of Vox’s hellish existence, filling his calendar to the brim with meetings, product improvement, managing holiday events and sales, and not to mention Velvet’s stupid “Love Potion” gimmick- 

For Christ’s sake, the goddamn holiday started with a ‘V’! Their brand of perfection practically relied on that lovey-dovey nonsense. 

For the past week, the only thing filling up Vox’s schedule and keeping him from you was showcasing shitty rom coms with horribly conceived plots, Velvet rushing around like a mini-hurricane and destroying everything in her wake for her latest fashion show, and Valentino? 

Oh, don’t even get Vox fucking started. 

And now, after all of that overwhelming bullshit that kept him from warming your bed for the past few days, Vox desperately wanted – no, needed to escape and spend quality time with his darling. With you.  

He had the usual Valentine’s Day blueprint in mind: eat ice cream and binge-watch your favorite TV-shows, while you flustered the hell out of him with your affections and make hot chocolate, and then fall asleep in each other’s arms by the fire.

Mundane, cheesy shit like that was the highlight of his days after another exhausting workday keeping it all roped together and navigating Velvet and Valentino's nonsense. 

Their facade was of modern sophistication, perfection at its very finest that was produced for only those who could afford it, and it was all piled into Vox’s lap to regulate the chaotic, unpredictable behavior of his fellow Overlords, and keep their volatile nature in check. 

But the continuous hardship that came with his stressful job would fade with the wintry wind as soon as he stepped off the elevator and into your shared penthouse, and like a patch of sunlight to snow, you’d melt away all his worries with a smile and a rub of his head as you took care of him for the night. 

Almost there... 

The television demon groaned as he crossed the threshold over to your apartments, seeing no need to keep up his perfectly aligned posture. 

And, like a mercy served by Gods, Vox was met with the heavenly sight of you standing in your fluffy, midnight blue bathrobe that you’d received on your birthday, courtesy of Val. Vox would’ve personally burned it to high hell, but you adored the design, and he couldn’t resist you when you pleaded with him. 

“Vox...” crossing your arms at the doorway, his light, his spark, his reason to maintain everything about his own reputation stood with a stern furrow in your brow as you strode over to him. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been overworking yourself again, love,” you grumbled as you took off his bowtie and removed his coat, and you smoothed out the front of his striped vest as Vox stumbled for an answer. 

“I-” *sigh* “I’m not pushing myself that much. You know how the job is, especially around this time,” seeing your face fall and your lips tighten into a straight line, Vox took your hand, squeezing it within his gloved palms as his sharp teeth pulled into a small half-smile. 

“But coming home to you makes it all worth it,” a tender hand dancing with waves of tingling sparks cupped your cheek, and with a heavy sigh, you looked to him with concern and affection swirling within your tender gaze. 

“Yeah, yeah. All I’m saying is those two bumbling excuses of Overlords should at least give you a couple of days off,” you scowled softly, but your frown melted into a flustered pout as Vox kissed it away, and a soft buzz of electricity lingered against your lips. 

“Now, now, enough of that, my dear. We still have the whole night to ourselves, don’t we?” You giggled, a long-awaited melody to his ears as Vox spun you around to press your back against his chest. How beautifully the sound replaced Velvet's usual grating, shrill voice that penetrated his ears. How agreeable you were, that you didn't fight him like Valentino, that you truly cared about him and his well-being.

Sometimes, you'd even force his workaholic ass to return to your apartment and get him ready for bed, practically hauling your grumbling, overworked hubby into bed, and forcing him to sleep in the next morning.

And it was the sappy, lovesick moments like these always reminded Vox that he'd never find anyone else like you.

All the more reason to keep you tightly within his grasp...

“Yeah, I guess, so. You dork,” you flicked the very center of your husband’s face, and he blinked a few times in surprise before chuckling and shaking his head. 

“Oh, yeah? And what does that make you for loving me~?” Vox swayed against you gently, his inner fans suddenly warming himself up more than usual as he poorly attempted to conceal his light blush at having you so close.

Your laughter chimed through the air like the first sunbeams breaking through stormy gray clouds upon the aftermath of a thunderstorm. 

“Well, I suppose that makes me your lover,” you simpered right back at him, turning your head slightly so you could stand on your tiptoes and kiss him.

It felt almost like a dream when you were in Vox’s arms like this. Simply existing with each other, standing above the Pride Ring as if you ruled the entire Sinner’s Circle. Untouchable, ambitious, and madly in love. 

As if on cue, the sound of a gentle, reflective saxophone poured from the speakers installed within the penthouse as the lights dimmed, and you felt yourself drifting away as you swayed with your husband.  

The soft buzz of electricity bounced against your figure as Vox stared down at you, his dead, automated heart pounding erratically as his hands slid from yours down to your waist, digging into the fabric of your robe with sharpened claws. 

“Vox...?” 

“Yes, my dear?” 

With a deep breath, you lilted your voice as you spoke to him, in hopes that seeming more placating and docile could shake Vox’s stance upon his insistence to work himself to the bone. No more would you allow yourself to stand hopelessly to the side while you watched your husband work himself into such a distressed, sleep-deprived state. 

“I’m putting my foot down. You’re not going back to that horrible place for the next week, at least.” Vox stiffened at your tone of finality. 

“Excuse me?” He chuckled as if you were joking with him, but your resolute glare told him otherwise. “Check your phone.” 

With a hesitant glance towards his pocket, Vox slowly pulled out his phone, only to find that, in fact, every work-related app had been temporarily blocked from the device. 

Raising an eyebrow, he looked back at you and tapped your nose with a haughty smirk. “Nice try, but it’s going to take more than that for me to fall for your wiles, my dear,”  

When you only grinned up at him with no hint of malice nor any trace of exasperation tugging at your usual, beautiful smile, his triumphant grin fell. “Why are you looking at me like that? What...” 

 A slow realization turned in Vox's mind as he recollected the last few days, when you were poking and prodding at him and his programming for “no apparent reason,” and he wrote it off as curiosity born from your boredom while being locked up at the penthouse apartment. 

But by fuck, he was really regretting indulging you right now, for once. 

With a surge of panic, Vox immediately blue-screened, as he mentally checked for any of his work-related tabs and files, only to find them completely, and suspiciously empty. 

No notes. No texts. No documents. 

Nothing. 

You... You fucking hacked into his mainframe!? 

His interface returned to normal to find you slumped against him, only perking up when you saw your husband had returned from his frenzied search of the crime that had been committed; the heinous act of keeping Vox from working.

And here the culprit was standing, swooning and relaxing in his hold, nuzzling against him as if she wasn’t to blame for his entire workspace vanishing off the face of the Earth for the next seven days.

“Well...?” 

“...How long have you been planning this?” Vox was absolutely aghast. He knew you could be impulsive, perhaps even irrational, compared to your cool, collected husband, but this was... 

You grinned triumphantly as you tapped his nose right back. 

“I just thought you could use a few days off, spending some time in your wife's company for Valentine's Day~..."

“But when did you- No, how the hell-?” 

“It seems that you’ve fallen victim to my wiles yet again,” 

“Oho, you sneaky little-!” Vox practically tackled you into a hug as he discharged a small bout of electricity, tickling you with an electrifying warmth, just by holding you against him. 

“C’mon, I’ve got another surprise for you,” with a soft giggle and a gentle tug of his antenna, you pulled Vox from the floor as his free hand shot up to his hat with a small, bashful frown. 

“I told you to stop that!” He outwardly groaned, but you could hear the flustered electrical buzz that Vox emitted whenever you did something to him that he really liked.  

“You know I don’t like it,” he muttered, but as always, you saw right through him. 

“And we both know that’s one of the biggest lies you’ve ever told me,” you grinned back at him cheekily as you pulled him into the living area, where you had spent most of your afternoon setting up when Vox was occupied with his work. 

In the living room, you had set up a small, cozy gaming area. It then hit Vox just how long you had been setting this up, waiting for him to drop his guard and into your scheming hands.

That little criminal...

Two controllers, one for you, and one for Vox, sat upon a pile of fluffy blankets. A few pillows draped in silk cloth surrounded the area on the couch, and before it upon the coffee table, there sat a freshly made bowl of popcorn, and various other chocolate candies and snacks.

“Hm... Seems like someone’s been itching for a rematch.” A challenge glinted in his sensors, and you leaned into him with an equally blazing ire.

"You wanna bet...?"

. . .

“GODDAMN FUCKING BLUE SHELL! I’LL DESTROY YOU, YOU SPIKED SON OF A BITCH!”  

“HA-HA! GUESS WHO’S IN THE LEAD, NOW!?”  

Your fingers pressed the controller furiously as the TV blared in front of you, and as you crossed the finish line, you let out a whoop of victory, nearly falling out of Vox’s lap in your bout of triumph. 

“Yes!” “No!! Fuck!”  

You and Vox shouted simultaneously, making you burst into a fit of triumphant laughter as he groaned and slumped defeatedly behind you. 

“Are you serious!? That’s the fifth time in a row!” Vox nearly crushed his controller in his vice grip as he threw a slew of curses at the TV.  

The two of you had been playing Mario Kart for the past hour, blissfully unaware of how your gaming match had whisked the both of you into a heated competition of bumper cars and tallying points for each round someone won, and the winner would be picking the movie you watched.

You stuck your tongue out at him with a victorious beam. “It seems the Nintendo wants us to watch the Kissing Booth tonight,” you giggled madly when Vox’s face scrunched up in disgust.  

“Yeah, babe, there is no way I’m watching that.” 

“Aw, come on, I won fair and square!" you leaned into your husband, who sighed with exasperation but softened at the sight of your pout. 

“Please...? I promise we’ll watch whatever you want tomorrow!” 

“It’s my first day off the job, and you want to watch the goddamn Kissing Booth!?” 

"Pretty please, Sparks?" Vox’s aura buzzed softly at the nickname, and he narrowed his eyes down at you as you begged him with your puppy eyes.

“Playing dirty, huh? Fine. Let’s watch your dumbass movie,” Vox pouted with crossed arms as he slumped into the couch in defeat and his antenna buzzed softly in annoyance. It sparked abruptly when you clapped excitedly and pulled him by his collar to lay a tender kiss on his cheek.  

“Thank you! I promise, you’ll love it,” you grinned mischievously and grabbed the remote. 

Vox, in fact, did not love it. In fact, it was so bad that you both started watching it ironically and threw jabs at it occasionally.   

“So, who do you think she should pick? Her psycho-controlling best friend, or the pretty boy with anger issues~,” You leaned your head against his shoulder as you shoveled a handful of popcorn into your mouth, your eyes glued to the screen. 

Vox sighed and rubbed his forehead, equally as invested as you were despite your shared frustration with the film.  

“Honestly? She should dump both of them and run for the goddamn hills.”  

You snorted. “Yeah? Well, I would’ve chosen her boyfriend. He gets better over the next couple of movies.” Vox raised an eyebrow at you. “Seriously?”  

Popping a few M&Ms into your mouth, you nodded at him. “Yeah, I’m serious! He gets some serious character development,” you mutter sarcastically, before licking your lips with a shit-eating grin. “He seems really cold and angry on the outside, but he’s not so bad once you get to know him.” 

Nudging his shoulder, you glance not-so-subtly up at him, and Vox took the hint, tickling your sides softly with a smirk. 

“And I’m a dork?” 

“Yeah, and you’re a contagious one, too!” Your hands grabbed at his arms as he crushed you into a hug, pulling you even closer as he rested his head upon yours. 

“Well, then I guess that makes two of us, doesn’t it my dear~?”  

“No! Stop! Please, I can't breathe!” You attempted to flail around dramatically, but within Vox's vice grip, that was next to impossible. 

“Ah-ah-ah! I’m afraid you’re trapped within my wiles, darling!” 

“Curse you! How dare you use my own spells against me!” You giggled as he continued his bombardment of tickles and small, feathered kissing against your nape and the small back of your neck. 

Soon, your laughter died down and you both fell silent as you finished the rest of the movie.

While you slowly began to drift off into sleep in Vox's arms, spent from the day of preparing your apartment for your husband's arrival, he looked down at you with a tender half-smile.

I can't believe someone like you would even look at someone like me...

"Hey, babe-?" He whispered out into the dark, before huffing out a chuckle when he realized you were still asleep.

With a soft smile, and a tender patter of his heart, Vox scooped you up and whisked you away to your bedroom, where he silently dresses you up in a pair of pajamas, and tucked you into bed.

Ever so gently, Vox laid a few of the blankets over your form, dragging them and the silk pillows back from the couch to make his little sleeping beauty ever the more comfortable.

He looked upon you as you dozed the minutes away, blissfully oblivious to the war that raged inside of him. 

While Vox was impressed that you had managed to somehow hack into his mainframe and alter his actual mental programming, it really would take more than basic understanding – plus, you pulled it off unguarded. Now, of course, this spawned a new problem for him, but he’d deal with it in due time. Besides, it’d give him a proper excuse to slack off a little bit, with you. 

God, what was he thinking? The old Vox would’ve seen such a desire to goof around with some girl while the other two Vees went around wreaking havoc and partaking in whatever idiocy without Vox to keep them in check. 

But you weren’t just ‘some girl’ to him. 

And frankly, those two clowns could go fuck themselves. 

A part of Vox wanted to remain in your bed, for your sake, but there was work to be done, and Velvet no doubt was positively livid at the fact that he wasn’t answering any of her calls. 

So, with a newfound confidence in his advances, your husband bent over you, softly pinching your chin within his finely sharpened claws, and laying a few tender kisses trailing from your lips down to your nape. 

I wish I could do this to you when you’re awake... But that smile, fuck, I can’t even form sentences without fumbling when you look at me like all you want is to give me the world. 

You groaned and turned over within the sheets, scooching towards him with a soft furrow in your brow.

Vox kissed it away, before reluctantly pulling away from your side, standing at the door with a small, yearning smile.

“Til morning, my dear.” 

. . . 

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Happy Valentine's Day from our favorite crazy-ass TV demon!

I'm sorry I didn't get to post this yesterday, but I was feeling so unmotivated by the end of it, and I decided to rewrite most of this fluff fic, just to give you all a quality post.

I don't half-ass things, especially when it comes to writing, that's just why my fics take a while to post.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading, and comments are always appreciated!

. . . 

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @matrixbearer2024

[heartfullofleeches]

Antique shop yandere that’s just a spirit with a physical body made of all the trinkets in the shop, maybe darling is shopkeeping as a part time job? I imagine just yan being kinda annoying and teasing maybe even speaking in riddles like a poet, and darling is probably just like the ff darling

-blahaj anon🦈🤍

Yan Spirit + Shop Worker Darling

-

Another drop off.

Better than the alternative of having to pick up everything yourself. A family a few streets down from your place of work generously donated the left over trinkets from their yard sale - agreeing to leave everything at the back door on their way out of town. Most of the boxes had already been taken in - a fact you knew thanks to the sticky note taped to the top of the container.

"Morning, Love. ♡ Carried in most of the boxes myself. Could you kindly bring this one in? It's a little too heavy for me.

See you this afternoon! - Auntie"

You slip the paper into your pocket, making a mental note to check up on your boss before then. She wasn't your real aunt, but she acted as much. Probably pays you a bit more than she should with her always trying to take your job off your hands and let you rest. Her kindness is one of few reasons you can't up and leave this place.

Lifting the box off the ground, you kick the ajar door open with your foot - balancing the heavy box in your arms as you slip through. You walk through the back office up to the front front desk. You search the cubby beneath the table for a box cutter, nails latching onto the rubber handle as you stretch your arm to the far back. You stand up - only to find that the box appears to have been torn open by something. The entire top looks to have been ripped off and tossed across the room.

Sighing, you brace yourself for what's to come - wishing you had had just a few more minutes to yourself. You place the box cutter back where it came from to prevent yourself from causing anymore damage to the merchandise.

"Hello....Dear...."

Static hisses from the worn out speakers of the device your tormentor uses - overlaying the awful amalgamation of voices its stolen from customers. Being unable to communicate due to the limitations of their vessels it had to find some other way to speak to you. That alternative wind up being a soundboard someone brought in a few weeks into your employment. Everyday since you berate yourself for not taking that damn thing out back and smashing it..... Or just purchasing it yourself and taking it off the property.

"I've been waiting for you......all night. New.... treasures for us?

A hand reaches over your shoulder and begins to shift through the box - the creaky moan of its joints reverbing from the wooden shell encircling them. The mannequin had proved to be the spirit's favorite body. Near identical to a human form despite the lack of a face, the ability to speak, and one of its arms after a guests insisted on paying for the singular pair. It made due with items it found around the shop. The sound board, an old Halloween mask to disguise its blank fact, a limb from another figure in the shop though it wasn't as articulated as the previous.

The spirit tosses items it finds no interest in at the floor - your skin jumping as glass shatters in the distance. Halfway through the box its sporadic movements hault - the springs in its neck screaming out as its head falls to its shoulder. Using the flat palm of their other hand as a perch, the mannequin pulls out a ring box. It opens the box, a pearl ring housed inside. You were expecting - and praying for it to be empty. You meet the mannequin's sightless gaze over your shoulder.

"No."

Its fingers rapidly tap at its soundboard - slamming down on every sweet name in arsenal.

"Darling....."

"Angel..."

"Sweetheart."

"Love?"

"I'm not letting you put that on me."

The mannequin slams its hand on the counter- repeatedly jabbing a single button.

"Love? Love? Love?"

"Knock it off!"

You make a grab for the board, but the damned thing is quicker. It holds the device over its head out of reach - twirling the ring around its pinky finger. There was only one thing you could do to buy it compliance.

You hold up your left hand, sticking out your ring finger. "Just get it over with."

The mannequin sets the soundboard on the counter - clapping its hands together as it kneels. It takes your hand, pressing the mouth of its mask to your knuckles before slipping the ring onto your finger. Surprisingly enough, it's almost a perfect fit. A little wiggle room, but not so much that it would fall off from you moving around. The mannequin bounces back to its feet, throwing its arms around you.

Your dating life was hard already - it'll be pretty difficult to find anyone what with you now being spiritually married to a sentient mannequin possessed by the ghost of someone likely as old as this building.

[jaidens]

smaller acts — zach bryan

pairing [s] : spencer reid x reader

warning [s] : none!

a/n [s] : requests are open! + my red requests for fall are open for another week or so.!

The Keurig coffee machine stutters and practically shakes as it churns coffee from the spout, filling the air with the delicious smelling coffee pods. Spencer is grabbing two mugs from the cabinet, one with a jack-o'-lantern face on it and the other one had a cat in a pumpkin on it.

Recently, you had gone out to the store for Halloween decorations and other things you ‘needed’ which ended up with hundreds of receipts from Spirit Halloween, the local mall, and Target.

He's stirring in the vanilla half-and-half and sugar into the jack-o'-lantern cup, which was rightly decided to be his, and taps the metal spoon against the corner.

“Hey,” You emerge from the door for you and Spencer’s bedroom wearing a pair of his plaid pants and a tank-top. “Are you making coffee?” He turns to look at you and hands you your cup of coffee, with your preferences of milk and sugar in it.

You take a sip and close your eyes, before letting your feet take you to Spencer's warmth. His arms wrap around your lower back and tuck you in his arms. His kisses your forehead before saying, “Do you wanna go to the farmer's market today? Then we can get that coffee place you love.” You nod into his chest and pull away, giving him a peck against his lips.

Spencer pulls away to take another sip of his coffee. “I love the mugs, honey, very halloween-ey.” He compliments you and you laugh, holding your mug up to show it off to him.

“They were on sale! How could I ever skip up these adorable things?” You laugh again and Spencer picks up a book that was sitting on the counter and you follow him to the couch. You both sit down and cuddle up underneath the crocheted blanket.

The apartment wasn't very good at keeping in the warm air, but while underneath a blanket wrapped up in your boyfriend's arms were enough. “And yes, I wanna go to the farmer's market. We still haven't gotten pumpkins.”

Spencer kisses you again and you close your eyes. “I love you. Thank you for making coffee again. I'll do it tomorrow morning.” You're smiling at him, watching him read his new book he had got at the library.

Bzz. Bzz.

“No way they're calling you on your day off.” Spencer moans and picks up his phone, and nods at you when he reads the caller ID. “Well, bye sweetheart. I have to go shower, I'll see you when you get home.” You hug him, kiss his lips, and walk away. Inherently, you're upset about the fact you can't go to the farmers market even after you had already planned it. You were disappointed about the unexpected call, but it could always be another day.

[its-always-ziney-in-philadelphia]

🌈 The Gang Finds Their Pride Zine is now available for purchase! 🌈

Helloooooo everyone!!! I'm super thrilled to announce that The Gang Finds Their Pride, is now officially available for purchase!

So there are two versions available: a simple version and a donation version. If you choose the donation option, the extra funds will go toward supporting our Palestinian fund💕 The selling of these zines is of course a completely non-profit initiative.

Our Shop Center

Donate to our Gaza fund directly

Pricing details:

Each zine is priced at €4.5, which covers the costs of printing and listing the zine online. The original price was €2.71, based on a bulk order deal for 10 booklets, but I rounded it up to account for extra expenses (like opening the shop which was €17 for both shops for some reason but whatever).

In case there is money that becomes unaccounted for, or that is extra, all will also be donated to the Palestenian fund.

Donation details:

The sale for the zines will be open for 4 weeks, but the donations will take place once every two weeks, on the 10th and the 21st October. But you can also donate separately

https://chuffed.org/project/crips-for-esims-for-gaza

https://www.gofundme.com/f/operationolivebranch

https://gaza-city.ensany.com/campaign/6737

Shipping details:

The shipping price is €5 or lower, somehow România has super reasonable laws when it comes to shipping stuff.

However, because we're dependent on a bulk offer for lower prices, shipping will be slow. The order will be sent in only after the sale period ends, on the 20th October. We should have all the zines by the 25th, when we can finally ship them, which would take an additional 5 days. If everything goes well, you will get your zine sometime around Halloween.

A HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who worked on this project and if there's any issues with the purchase, please contact me @malewifemanhunter

oh my god this took so long it makes me so fucking sad that i couldn't post this so much sooner... I went through a depressive episode and then got buried under school work and like genuine issues i had about it since i was sure i was gonna get kicked out and stuff, then another depressive episode 😅 and then it took like for fucking EVER for etsy to approve the shops. no joke, it took almost 3 weeks. idk man BUT either way i fucking love this project and even when i didn't have the energy to even think about it, i still couldn't stop thinking about it gahsgdhjas I'm so so so excited i can finally sell them and have my own version of them and i am so proud of all the artists that helped with it oh my GAWD

[chronically-ghosted]

the only thing we have to fuck is fear itself

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5309

summary: You get drunk at a happy hour and tell Max to his face you don’t find him scary at all. He takes that personally.

warnings/tags: drinking, like two seconds of scary vibes, smut, (secret) established relationship, work hard, play hard, have secret sex with your coworker even harder

a/n: I’m so sorry to FDR for butchering his quote for the sake of a title, but i like to think that horny bastard would have loved my smut.

🤍AO3 Link 🤍 Masterlist 🤍 Get notified when I post new works!

Despite working at a place that was quite literally soul-sucking, your coworkers could throw one hell of a happy-hour. 

There wasn’t a bartender in a ten mile radius from the office who didn’t know you all by name, didn’t shout a greeting over the tightly-packed house the instant you walked in. Rarely was it just a single crew member at the bars – you often got accused of moving in a pack like a five-headed hydra that could drink double its own weight in liquor, beer, and frosés – and being only two-fifths human, the Monster Squad was an alcoholic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe because you actively promoted unity amongst the species, like poster children for positive and “non-toxic human-demon relationships” HR kept encouraging in their Monday-Funday email blasts, but your little group was something of a legend in the area. You thought any notoriety was more likely due more to your faces plastered all over the bars’ trivia night winner boards, but in the office, people tended to stare. Trish, a siren from Santa Barbara, loved the attention, said it was good for her skin – gave her a “dewy” look. Nita, the only other human in your group besides you, disagreed with Ken (a quarter leprechaun on his mother’s side) when Ken claimed the whispering came from the sheer volume of nonsense that started around 4PM in the office on Fridays and continued until you all left the office. Ken was of the belief that the notoriety was actually infamy – to which he was promptly booed and had to buy the next round. 

And yet, to yourself, to the quiet conversations you had in the bathroom mirror after two long island ice teas and whatever was in what the centaur bartender at Lucky’s called an “Ass Whooping”, you suspected there might be another reason the Monster Squad even had a name at all. Within your own fields, each of you were respectable – Ken and Trish were both heads of marketing and Nita oversaw a considerable team of engineers, with you of course a department leader over in legal – one member of your group was, let’s say, more well-known. 

Well-known because he was the flashiest, the loudest, and certainly the most demonic of you all: Max Phillips, VP of sales, money-maker extraordinaire, and a fan-favorite amongst your Overlords, the rest of the sales team, and anyone with working and interested sex organs in the near vicinity. 

To your complete and utter annoyance.

You don’t quite remember how you all came together, who brought who into the group, and when it was unanimously decided that you’d stop snatching up office workers like limes at $5 margarita night after Trish, but it was Max who kept you together, who set up the group chat (somehow mysteriously gathering all of your phone numbers after a very late night), who bullied anyone who responded to his weekly “winner winner liquid dinner” texts every Friday morning with a tepid maybe into coming out that night. He already seemed to know half of the bartenders in the city, all of whom were happy to send over a free round of tequila shots as a “thank you to Max’s friends”. While you’d never look a gift vampire in the mouth, you were suspicious of his influence. Was that vampire hypnosis real? Did he have a pack of lesser, baby vamps to send out to tenderize the hunting grounds?

One thing’s for sure, he definitely didn’t scare them into it. 

“Has Halloween, like, changed for anyone else?” Nita grouched over her second Sangria Spritzer two hours into another fantabulous happy hour at Heel Clicks. The four of you were huddled into your comically small booth up on the landing near the back bar – of course there were other seats available but this had the best view, the closest access to your favorite bartender, and at some point, the shoulder-to-shoulder proximity served as a way to counteract the tipsy swaying. 

Trish leaned around Ken, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Nita shrugged hopelessly. “It used to be one of my favorite holidays when I was a kid. I loved the candy, the costumes – all of it. But I really liked being scared the most.”

Ken sorted into his old-fashioned. “Well, if you’re still scared of things you were as a kid, Nit, I think you’ve got a bigger problem than seasonal preference.”

She elbows him and he knocks into Trish.

“Not like that . . . but, like, monster movies aren’t really scary anymore? I mean, I used to watch Ginger Snaps religiously around Halloween, but, uh, now that I know an actual werewolf and he’s the nicest little old man in accounting, I dunno . . . it’s just not the same.” 

“Sorry to burst your bubble on monsters,” Ken shrugged. “But I personally cannot relate. As a member of the Free Folk, my people have always been welcomed, seen as bringers of good will towards man.”

“You know there’s eight movies where a leprechaun murders literally dozens of teenagers, right?” You turned to Ken over Nita, your entire right buttcheek hanging off the edge of the booth. 

“Oh, yeah, baby Jennifer Aniston,” Trish mused, thinking. “If that’s what your uncle looks like, Ken, then I posit Halloween is still fucking creepy.”

“Halloween is definitely creepy and it sucks.” Your ringleader has returned with electric-green jello shots. Max Phillips carried a tray with one hand, his immaculate blue jacket gone to display firm forearms underneath his white, rolled-back sleeves. “Bunch up, kiddies, Daddy’s back with treats.” 

Half the group groaned, the other squealed in delight.

Max hip-bumped you, his ravenous cologne immediately making you think unwise thoughts, as he pushed his way onto the bench absolutely not made for this many people. He looked back at you as he passed out the drinks.

“Now why are we all in agreement that Halloween is a lame holiday?” 

“Nita claims that because she personally knows a werewolf – Ned, right? – she’s not scared of monster movies anymore.”

Max scoffed. “Well, there’s your problem right there. Werewolves were never scary to begin with.”

“What monster movies have you been watching?” Nita gaped at him. “Maybe it’s bad representation, but all the movie werewolves can tear you to shreds!”

Ken nodded solemnly. “This is why affirmative action is so important.” 

Trish smacked him over the back of the head. 

“So, what?” Max continued, crunching up the jello in its plastic cup. “Now that you know me, a vampire, you think all Dracula movies give blood-suckers a bad rap?”

“No, being a human-sized mosquito with too much hair gel is doing that all on its own.” You smirked, dead-eyed, at him. Behind you, Ken and Trish snorted so hard they almost spilled their drinks. 

Max narrowed his eyes at you, in a look he only gave you when you wouldn’t let him ease around legal loopholes “for the good of the business”. Only Nita seemed to be oblivious. 

“That’s a good point, Max.” She thoughtfully stirred her jello with her pinky, unsticking it from the sides of her cup. “I mean, I guess I never watched that many vampire movies to begin with.”

Max broke his heated staring contest with you to look around at Nita, elbow pressing up into your chest as he leaned forward on the table. “I can promise you, doll face, vampires have been and always will be more terrifying and lethal than werewolves.”

“Not the argument I think you want to make, mate,” Ken murmured as you shifted yourself to face Max entirely. 

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us all –,”

“Nope,” Trish called down the row, “we’re taking this shot before you two get into it again.”

“To Ned!” Ken yelled. 

“To Ned!” 

Plastic crunched, tongues slurped, as jello ungracefully slipped into every open mouth down the bench. You licked your lip, tip of your tongue green. Max watched the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“So, enlighten us, Max, why should we be so afraid of you?” 

Max grinned out the side of his mouth. “One, I’ve seen more bite out of a pomeranian than one of those Tribbles. And two, whatever-wolves can only get it up once a month. I’m all monster, all the time, baby.”

At this, everyone groaned.

“Dollar to the Dick Jar!” Trish smacked her hand on the table.

“Here, here!”

Max pouted as he took a dollar out of his wallet and slammed it into the center of the table, payment towards tips or the bill or whoever suffered the most due to The Dick. 

“Face it, buzz,” you shrugged as he put his wallet away. “You’re just not scary any more, if you ever were.”

“Is that right?” 

Fuck, you were in a lot of trouble. Beneath the table, his thigh soaked yours in heat. 

“That’s right.”

“You know what is really scary?” Ken muttered, digging around in his crushed up for the last remnants of jello. “Kelpies.”

“Ah – yes! They’ve got sloppy fangs covered in algae!”

“Hey – that’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

Heel Clicks was hands down one of your favorite bars in the area. Devoted to the local music scene in the area, the vibe was a mix of old 70s rock bands, modern steel, and whatever justified lots of mounted horns and hairy cow-skin stools. The drinks were great, seasonal too, and there was always live music on the patio out back. In a twist that you found particularly cool, the old rum-runners tunnels had been converted to comfortably spacious bathrooms in the basement. Behind the solid oak door, the noises from the above bar are nearly entirely muffled, making the slow descent to the bathroom something of an out-of-body experience when you’ve had a few and the sudden silence is almost an echo. 

Plus, these fucking stairs are a death trap. 

You embarrassingly clutched at the railing, the wooden stairs at far too sharp an angle even if you were sober as a judge, much less at a Monster Squad happy hour. 

Stupid Max and his stupid drinks and his –

What was that?

You stand up right on the third to last step, listening. 

In the half darkness in front of you, there are three paths available. To the left, employee storage, the lights above the door flickering, the sign reading “do not enter” pulsating in and out of visibility. To your right, another door, maybe an exit. Always unmarked and always locked every time your drunken curiosity got the better of you. 

And across from the stairs were the bathrooms, left women, right for men.

God, what year is it? Shouldn’t it all just be gender-neutral? You think to yourself, a tad bit more aggressive than you’d usually oppose the gender binary – primarily to wash out the rising concern at the back of your neck.

You are alone down here. It’s obvious. It’s not like there’s that many places for some dastardly villain to hide. Four shut doors and three hallways. Unless some maniac was curled up under the stairs, you are the only person in the basement. 

At least, the only person you can see. 

You don’t realize how sweaty your hands are until you try to continue your way down the stairs. You take a step and nearly slip, the eyes you know are on you somehow laughing. 

One blinking light. No where for anything to hide, so why are you so nervous? You are an adult woman, for god’s sakes. You make it to the floor, the most likely candidate for your demise behind you and –

The stairs creaked. 

The empty stairs that you just walked down creaked and you nearly leap across the hallway to put space between you. Heart in your throat, you make the monumentally stupid decision and call out, “hello? Is anyone there?”

As if the serial killer was just going to announce himself, give up the whole element of surprise.

Blinking through the bleary haze of too many drinks, you take out your phone and flip on the light. A white beam chases back the encroaching darkness, a frantic worried ghost peering through the gloom. And yet, like you consciously know, there’s nothing there. But the darkness feels heavier, the eerie distant noise from the bar above so quiet and removed the sound is more of a memory – the idea of what comfort and community should sound like. But it’s not. It’s too far gone – if anything were to happen, it’d be hours before they found you. If they did at all. 

“Oh my god,” you scold yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Get a fucking grip and go pee and then go back up those fucking stairs and –,”

Okay, that was definitely breathing.

Breathing, right behind you. Ragged, hungry, disembodied breathing, in your ear and your heart ricochets into your chest. Your own breath turns short, choppy, panic swelling into your ears, over your fingers. You think you might drop your phone, your fingers are so numb from fear, so you clutch tighter, the trembling throwing white light across the paneled wood in a craze. 

Be rational, this is crazy, there is nothing down here! 

The stairs snarl again and you squeak, all but bolting for the women’s bathroom, desperate to put at least some space between you and those fucking stairs, put some boundaries between –

The door is locked. When the fuck is this door ever locked?

Panic recedes to overwhelming rage because fuck, fuck, fuck, now you’re trapped in here – you can’t go back to the stairs – you rattle the handle, shaking the door against its lock –

“Fucking let me in!”

The light above the exit door goes out. And then the other. You throw all of your weight against the bathroom door. You claw at the handle, begging it to give way. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck – you can hear the darkness breathing –

No, speaking – it’s saying something, chanting, mocking, calling out – calling out your name –

The door suddenly unlocks and you stumble forward – into something solid –

Its hands grab you and like a fucking fool, you played right into its trap. 

It turns you, throws you up against the tile wall, its claws around your shoulders, cold tile against your cheek and you whimper. Whimper when you feel the soft pin-prick of fangs against the back of your neck – fuck, this is how it ends?? – and –

“Got you.” 

That voice.

That condescending, snide, bratty, little –

You elbow the solid body behind you and Max lets out a puff of air, staggering back. You whip around, nearly snarling in his smirking, beautiful face. The bathroom is dark, black tiled walls and floors with a faux-wooden sink and dim lights across the top of the mirror. In the flushed orange light, his eyelashes encourage thick shadows under his eyes and in the collar of his throat. If it wasn’t for that insufferable smile, he’d look painted from thin brush strokes and heavy scarlet paint. 

Caravaggio, eat your heart out. 

“Max, what the fuck was that?” 

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hit him, at the top of his ribcage. “Oh, c’mon, it was just some fun. Saw you sneak off after you got Nita’s drink and thought I’d mess with you just a bit.”

You sigh, willing your heart to slow down, throwing your gaze to the ceiling and dropping your head against the tile.

“God, you asshole, I thought I was gonna die.” You swallow and move your hair out of your face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I what?”

“You scared –,”

That smile, the crack of fangs across his mouth, widens, the bottom of his lip rolling back over the cut of his teeth, those brown eyes melting into a warm, obscene black, as he meets you hip first against the wall. 

His hands climb over your waist, as though daring you to hit him again, and your thigh muscles tighten. Your hands instinctively trace the exposed skin left by his opened collar at the dip of his throat when he comes closer, chest pressing up against yours, nose against your temple. 

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this easy for him. You sigh through your nose, eyes rolling shut, when he nips at your cheek.

“I think you were supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am,” you groan. “I’m livid. I’m enraged. I’m –,”

His thumb brushes your ribs – not tickling, not entirely touching, but just reminding. Reminding of the force behind his touch, behind his teeth. 

“Baby girl,” he chuckles softly, the sound running down your neck like rain, “you’re melting in my arms.” 

“This doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.” You focus on the softness of his hair between your fingers, the heat of the back of his neck beneath the pads of your fingertips – resolutely ignoring the radiating scent of his cologne coming from up under his collar. More than once had he come across you in his apartment bathroom, sniffing that bottle like some dopey perv looking for a quick fix. Of course, instead of admonishing you, he bent you over his sink and fucked the daylights out of you, his wrists singing with the smell of that cologne. Now he wore it to work wherever he wanted something from you, particularly to overlook some pesky lines of legalise. 

In the hallowed darkness of the bar’s bathroom, he drops a single kiss just below your jaw, inches beneath your ear. He grumbles when your pulse there quickens, and again his fangs find a curve of skin to press against – a reminder. 

Always reminding, always lurking, a threat without a promise.

And he knows exactly what that does to you. 

You release a full body shudder when his hands drop lower, guiding you back against the wall, fingers rounding around your thighs. Like interlocking pieces, your bodies slide together, your arms curling around his neck, the heat of his chest branding yours as it forces you against the wall. You’re breathing all wrong again, but for different reasons this time. You catch a flash of the ink-well darkness of his eyes when he nuzzles out of your neck to admire the mess he has made of your skirt.

“Can I fuck you in this or is this thing too tight?” He asks, like he specifically didn’t get on his hands and knees and beg you to wear that gray pencil skirt only twelve hours earlier. 

You lean up, snagging his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him roughly and showing him he’s not the only one with a little bite. He groans softly, one hand curling into your hair at the base of your skull, and he licks you, from the front of your lips up to the valley of your mouth. He tastes like the sweetness of his whiskey n’ coke, his tongue rubbing the flexing muscle of yours, the sharpness of your molars. You could spend hours just sucking on his plush mouth. 

Maybe he did scare you. Maybe he should have scared you more, the threat of anyone discovering your relationship a real danger to both of your careers. Maybe it should have scared you, how little you cared about any of that when he palmed your breast over your shirt. 

You inhaled over his mouth, popping off his lips with a moan, his hand cupping you roughly as he dove in to suck marks on your neck. Every moment that passes, you feel your skin ratcheting up with heat, blood almost hot. He thumbs your perk nipple through your shirt and you arch your chest, his massive palm nearly cupping your ribs to your spine.

“Max, either you figure out how to fuck me in this skirt or you owe me a new one.”

“You want me to rip it off you?” He slurs, eyelids heavy, his thigh slides in between your knees, the fabric preventing him from going higher, to the place where you both need him. You groan in frustration and his hands squeeze your hips at the sound. “Tell me fast, baby, because I can’t–,”

“For the love of – just fucking lift it up–,” His hands fumble over yours as your fingers curl under the hem, his own want making that brilliant mind for numbers almost stupid. His warm fingers overwhelm your own as they push your skirt up your waist, and then dig around the line of your pantyhose. 

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to Fort Knox me out of your pussy? Why are there so many layers?” 

You hiss at him as you slide out of your heels and shove your nylons to the ground, hopping on one leg to take them off your feet. “It’s like you’ve never undressed me before.” 

Freed of the chaos of your underthings, Max’s hands rush to his belt, the clinking of the metal sending shivers down your back and straight up your cunt. He doesn’t notice because he’s obsessively watching your thighs. “I’ve never undressed you with our coworkers a floor above us and probably becoming increasingly suspicious about where the fuck we are–,” 

You take him by the back of the neck, hand clenching around the starch white of his shoulder. He comes to you, zipper digging into your hip bone as he pulls you up off your feet. For once that chatty mouth is quiet, open and wet with desire as he takes in your flushed face, the blood pumping under your tits. Max is nothing if not almost supernaturally consumed by the look, feel, texture, and taste of your tits. 

The look on his face is one of those reasons you tend to throw caution to the wind, why your heart almost feels too big for your chest, whenever he’s around. 

He hooks an arm around your low back, tilting your hips forward. You feel the heat of his cock somewhere below you and it takes all of your strength not to grind down. 

“Max –,” he’s not even inside of you and you’re already begging. You bite down on his ear to stifle whatever was rising up your throat. 

“Hang on, baby, I gotta make sure you . . .”

Using your shoulders as counterbalance, he holds himself up against the wet warmth of your cunt, breath stuttering as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds. That bratty aloofness is gone; he wants to sink so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t even get you ready – but you’re already so wet –,”

You don’t resist grinding down now and he knocks his shoulders forward, needing movement, but fighting against the urge to buck up into you, gasping from the feeling of your cunt. 

“Please, Max, just –,”

“Yeah, I know, baby, okay, just, I gotta . . .” 

He angles himself and you arch your back, unable to watch with the mess of your skirt around your waist, but he finds it, finds your opening, the place he loves to mark, and without any warning, thrusts his length up into you. 

The stretch, the surprise, the ear-ringing split between being empty and then stuffed so full – you can’t help but moan so loudly, you sing to the ceiling. For a moment, your bodies hum with the stillness, the blood in your cunt pulsating around him, you claw at his broad shoulders, need him closer, needing that smell of him that haunts your empty bed as far inside of you as his cock is. His hips stutter and he presses one hand against the tile by your ribs, teeth clenched against the sensation. 

“When I fuck you, every time feels like the first time. Every goddamn time.” 

It’s not particularly the confession it could be, but you shake your head, clearing it of anything stupid like feelings for Max Phillips, your chin brushing his jaw, his nose against your ear. 

“Then do it,” you whine. “Just fuck me, Max.”

With a groan that could be mistaken for a snarl, he lifts you both up right, pushing your hips down and spreading yourself over him. You lock your ankles around his back a second before he pulls out halfway, then to jerk back in with such force and precision your eyes roll to the back of your head. He sets a pace that has pleasure weaving a tight drum just under your stomach. Each sweaty thrust fires sparks up your spine. He really is so fucking good at this. 

This is the release you need, you both need. Sure, it’s an after-effect of having a high-powered job, but it’s also more than that. Max fucking you is unfortunately very often the highlight of your day. He knows what you need, how you need it – how hard to drive his cock into you, it makes you tongue-tied and dizzy. The fast pump of his cock, how it feels to split you apart over and over again, the back zipper of your skirt digging into your back – it’s too fucking good.

“Don’t know where you get off giving me orders,” he grunts, the pounding of his hips into yours rapidly shoving you up your ascension. The slapping, wet noise in the empty room is obscene. “I’m a fucking VP, little girl, and I–,”

You tense your muscles around his cock and he fumbles, his knees buckling momentarily. 

“Do not fucking bring up the org chart right now,” you hiss, your own edge yanked away when he stills. “I’m almost there–,” 

Quicker than he’s been all night, Max lunges forward, mouth open and teeth bare. He bites your neck and then he bites you. 

Fangs puncture your skin, not deep, but enough that your body is thrown into a messy coil of nerves and adrenaline. It knows you could die like this, even if you’ve only ever called the vampire a mosquito to his face, and triggering a self-preservation instinct, your body trembles from the sudden blast of sensation.

Your pupils dilate further than they were, your skin becomes overly aware of every drop of sweat, every flutter of hair, every rub of flesh – and your fucking nerve-endings feel like static, as if brushed by lightning. 

Pleasure so-white hot it almost burns roars up your spine, slick coating his cock inside you, and you cry out. Wail in his ear. Begging him to make it better. To give you your release. The feel of his cock pounding up inside your now-overly ripe cunt brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck – Max, p-please –,”

“Can you handle it if I touch you?”

You shake your head. “Yes, yes, please, touch me.” 

“You can’t keep screaming like that,” he scolds you breathlessly, the punch of his hips bouncing you against his cheek. For all his vampire stamina, the flush of exertion across his cheeks is truly staggering and a triumph for your ego. Flecks of blood dot his mouth. “Someone’s going to come looking.” 

“I don’t care,” you groan, angling your hips to take more of him. His hand not on your back cups under your knee, tugging it higher up his torso. His pace is relentless, overwhelming – with his weight on top of you, and his cock up under you, inside you, you’re consumed by Max Phillips. “Whatever you do, d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“You scared I’m gonna?”

“Yes,” you whine. You can feel your heart pounding out its shape into your ribs. 

“Good girl. And good girls get to fucking come.”

Balancing your increasingly limp body, he holds you up right, his hand snaking beneath your skirt, between the sweat of your thighs and his torso, and –

He thumbs that buzzing bundle of nerves, “come for me, baby”, and you do. You come screaming, the tension snapping, vision sparkling with stars, and you are shoved over the edge. You don’t know you’re wailing his name until he comes too, all concern for getting caught seemingly gone as he begs you to continue as he fills you up with his pearly, gooey cum:

“That’s right, say my name. Say my fucking name, sweetheart.” 

His hips thrust weakly, some instinct choking him until he makes sure every drop of him stays in you. You’re going to be dripping for hours. 

His skin is fire-hot beneath his starched white shirt. You’ll be thinking about that for days afterward when you see him in the hallways of the office. 

This is what scares you the most. When you realize it's over and neither one of you want it to be. 

Shaking from exertion, Max slowly sets you down, unwinding your legs from his waist, your ankles trembling against the cold tile. You couldn’t imagine putting your nylons back on, the thought of that pressure against the curve of your lower stomach while you are so full of his cum practically unbearable. 

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes intentionally avoiding you as he inspects where he bit you, breath coming in ragged, long gasps. Sweat darkens the hair at his temple and that post-fuck blush is staggeringly gorgeous on him. He pricks his thumb on the sharp edge of his fangs and with a scarlet bead balanced on his thumb, he smears his blood against the puncture wounds, like someone would wipe dirt away from a loved one’s skin. 

It doesn’t really hurt, but the effects leave your neck tingling. You’d never say this out loud, but you fucking loved when he did that. 

He steps away without looking at you, giving you time to adjust your skirt, your hair in the mirror. You help him straighten his collar because it’s not like he can use the mirror to check himself.

He grins, the flush fading far too rapidly from his cheeks. 

“What are you going to tell them?” You nod to the stairs on the other side of the wall. “This can’t look good for us.” 

“You got attacked by a werewolf on the way to the bathroom. I saved you.” 

“Thought you said werewolves weren’t scary.”

He shakes his head, smirking, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Just said I was the bigger monster between the two of us.” 

“My hero.” You turn your head until his lips drink in yours. 

It is dangerous, your feelings for him. 

He taps you on the butt, pulling away. The lines around his eyes do an excellent job of masking the hurt in the brownness of his eyes. 

“Gimme five, then you come up. Can’t have you looking so completely debauched.”

He kisses you again, betraying whatever amounted to “cool and collected” he attempted for, and without another word, he slides out the door. 

His smell lingers in the air long after he does. The throbbing of your cunt also serves as a fantastically bitter reminder.

You go back to the mirror because yes, you could not have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign that said, “hi, yes, I did just get my back blown out.” You try to fold your hair around your ears at least a dozen times before pulling it back in what you hope to be a casual pony-tail. You toss your nylons into the trash can, pleading that the “oh, I tore them in the bathroom” excuse might hold an ounce of water. 

You think about what’s waiting for you a floor up and your stomach clenches. 

Fucking Max could upset the dynamics of your little group, your little Monster Squad. Whatever the stupid office bylines were, your happy-hour social group is one of the bright spots in your life, especially while working at a place run by those bastard Overlords. 

And Max knew that. He didn’t want to risk your long-term happiness for his short-term. 

Max didn’t scare you because he was a monster.

He scared you precisely because he wasn’t.

You open the bathroom door and return to the world. 

[skriblee-ksk]

“A party in Halloween Town? I’d be a fool to deny!”

Cameo of @the-rini-rush’s Carla!!

“It’s shocking I wasn’t chosen as the bride, but It’s alright. A heroine who fights for devotion seems to be my thing nowadays.”

Set to Home Screen: May the best suitor win.

Home Transition:

1: I didn’t bring an offering for the fountain. Not like I need good luck either way, I can fulfill my wishes all on my own.

2: I’m not sure how tight the security is at the Boogie Man’s Palace. I’m confident in my acting, but… Hm, I’ll scope it and then decide.

3: Yuuki looks quite dashing in their suit. Not exactly my definition of prince charming, but they could be a good candidate… I think I’d like to doll them up sometimes.

4: As much as I’d like to go into the graveyard and look for anything spooky, it’d be disrespectful to disrupt it without gifts on hand. Are flowers a little basic?

Home, after Login: Hmm, I quite like the properties of this outfit. Don’t I seem like a ghost? Be careful with your words, or I might haunt you forever…! Ha!

Tap Home:

1: The Esqueleto’s are quite considerate to invite me to their party. If I see them, I’ll be sure to thank them.

2: I seem more upbeat than usual? Well, I won’t deny it to you. A place where both the living and dead reside. Isn’t that exciting?

3: We must go to the Boutique, darling! Their dresses are quite glamorous, in a strange way.

4: Carla’s here too? Oh, and we’re rivals? Alright, let’s see who’s able to win Yuuki’s heart! Although… I’m not sure if her head’s completely in the game with Constance around…

5: Being the special girl picked from a large crowd is wholly romantic, don’t you agree? If I’m not chosen, then well… I always have other chances to get my dream anyway.

Groovification: “I have some flowery lines prepared. And if that doesn’t suit Yuuki, I have a few others.”

Tap Home Groovy: I’m not sure which attitude to put on when I’ll woo Yuuki. Probably nothing too straightforward, right? Don’t want to scare them off.

Home Transition Groovy: I wouldn’t mind living in a place like this. Dark and spooky… Oh, but what if I get bored of it because I experience it so often? It’d make me miserable!

Event by @theolivetree123!!

More under cut!!

putting my daughter kalmia up for sale for love <3333

I didn’t think i could get the groovy out before the end of the due date bc i’m pretty busy these days so it’s included this time!!

doodle of kamiyuuki:

idk like the general timeframe (book-wise) this event is in, but I think Yuuki and Kalmia would’ve met, perchance?? (She officially gets acquainted with Yuu like basically right after book 3 ends)

I don’t know how Yuuki feels about going home either, but!!! Either way!!! Kalmia would have went on that whole spiel and would’ve tried getting closer to Yuu, and then accidentally ended up becoming pretty closed due to forced (?) proximity. tragic (?)

Anyway. CONGRATS ON 150+ FOLLOWERS!!! 🎉🫶🙏🏻 Ur art is so wonderful (and so are ur characters) so it’s only natural!!! I hope I continue to see them more!! Literally so happy to be moots with u. I found you in the candy crush event and I was literally so flabbergasted when u fb. ANYWAY. Congrats once again!!! I hope u have fun w this event!!!

Taglist (ask to be added!!): @kathxrat-01 @distant-velleity @scint1llat3 @elenauaurs @boopshoops

@lumdays @venaue @jewelulu @thehollowwriter

[thaliagracesgf]

chapter two: the weirdo on maple street

an: chapter two!! i am flying with these first couple chapters just because i'm so excited about it. please please please do not expect this from future chapters, i am 100% bound to crash at some point. enjoy this chapter! it's pretty fun.

wc: 4.2k

general cws, not necessarily all in this chapter: drinking, alcoholism, drug abuse, smoking, cancer, hopper being kind of a deadbeat, usual canon violence.

masterlist (incl. series)

Your father didn’t get home until long after you had gone to bed, out with Will’s search party. You hadn’t bothered showing up at the meeting point. Hopper had said all he had to say back at the school, and you could see the argument that would ensue in front of half of Hawkins, so you drove home, building up an urge to do something and a nervous energy that nothing was quelling. 

The door slammed behind you as you got in. You stormed through the kitchen and the junkyard you called a living room before chucking your backpack at the floor and collapsing on your bed. You stared at the ceiling for an eternal few seconds until your limbs were jumping and your entire body itched, and you jumped to your feet to pace around the room. 

Slamming your way back through the house, you started pulling ingredients down from shelves with force that the box of sugar probably didn’t deserve. You think you blacked out for a few hours, because by the time your breathing was at a normal pace again, you’d baked six batches of muffins (a miraculous feat, considering the piece of shit kitchen you were working with),your calc homework for the next two weeks was done, and your bedroom looked like a tornado had run through it. 

But staring at the trays of muffins, you still had to do something. So you cleaned the house. Your father arrived home to muffins covering the counters, the entire trailer spotless, and you, absolutely crashed out in your bed with wet hair, holding your sister’s old teddy bear. You’d never had a more productive afternoon in your life.

You wake up feeling like your stomach is eating itself alive, and you realize that the one thing you forgot to do last night was eat dinner. You can’t fathom the thought of getting up, so you lay still for a few more minutes. You love your room, with your quilted bed, rugs overlapping on the floor over hardwood that would give you splinters, your bulletin board with pictures of your mom and Sarah, and your Dad. A picture Carol took of you, Steve, and Tina. A photo of Carol and Tommy, and a photo of Dustin, Lucas, and Erica from the first day of school that their moms gave you. You hold Cara a little bit tighter. 

You remember when the nurse gave her to your sister. You got one too, also named Cara. She handed them to you in your hospital beds, told you that she got them to remind you that they care-a-bout you. At four years old, you and Sarah thought it was the funniest thing in the world. 

You close your eyes tight, then force them open. You pull the blanket back, like a robot, and roll yourself upright, pulling the curtains open. Your trailer is pretty far from the rest of the park, but you can see Eddie Munson coming back from taking out the trash, and Mrs. Kim realizing that the storm last night meant all her clothes were still soaking wet. Her son left for college last year, and you’re getting a little worried about her ability to live on her own. 

You brush your teeth and tie your hair back before trudging your way out for breakfast, only to be met with the results of your frenzy from last night. The counter is still covered with muffins, minus the couple your Dad is actively chowing down on. 

“These are great,” he says, mouth full of food, raising a muffin in your direction. 

“Sale on pumpkins after Halloween,” you shrug. You pass him entering the kitchen, and pull out a container to start piling muffins into. 

“Hey!” He barks, in his very Jim Hopper way. “Where are you taking them?” 

“You do not need to eat six batches of muffins, Dad,” you say, continuing to box them up. He scoffs, offended. “I’m going to take some to school, and then to Steve’s tonight.” You really hope he just glosses over that last bit. 

Unfortunately, you hear him try to speak up, but there’s too much pumpkin muffin in his mouth to be at all intelligible. He sounds alarmed. For fuck’s sake. 

“Dad. I told you I had a thing tonight. I’m going, I’ve been planning on it for, like, a week.”

“Yeah, and I said you could go before a kid when missing, Y/N.” He’s raising his voice.

“I’m not stupid, Dad! I’m not going traipsing around town in the middle of the night! I’m going to Steve’s, for God’s sake.”   

“And I already don’t like that idea,” he says gruffly.

“Dad, we’ve been friends since we were six, you need to get over this. He literally has a girlfriend, anyway.” 

“And what about that Hagan kid?” he retorts. “I’ve had about six complaints about him in a month.” 

“Also has a girlfriend. I’m driving Tina, Dad, I can’t just bail.” 

“Well, she shouldn’t be going either!” he’s yelling. He’s always been this way with the idea that you might possibly, ever in your life, go on a date or hang out with boys. Naturally, you avoid this by never telling him, but he has got to get over this thing with Steve. It’s been nine years.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mutter. He ignores it. 

“Yeah, you’ll be thanking me when you don’t end up dead in a ditch,” he says angrily, grabbing his hat and jacket and storming out the door. 

“Well I guess we’ll never know, because I won’t have the opportunity!” you shout as it shuts behind him. Jesus Christ. You were really hoping you weren’t going to have to sneak out. 

It takes almost forty five minutes for you to pick out your outfit for the day. Fall is always when your fashion is at its best, and it comes at the cost of sifting through a gigantic collection of second-hand sweaters your mom sent you from the city every morning. Finally, you clasp your earrings, grab your muffin containers, and head out the door, keys in your mouth and backpack on one shoulder. You sigh in relief as you drop them in the passenger seat, before swinging around to the other side and starting up your car, which always takes a few minutes. 

You’re halfway to school when you have the idea to drop some at the Byers’ place. You certainly have enough. You pull a probably-illegal u-turn in the middle of the road, and head to the other side of town. 

As you pull into their driveway, you nearly slam your head on the wheel as you see the chief’s car, i.e. your dad’s car, in front of the house. Whatever. You’re just going to have to suck it up, as little as you want to see him again this morning. 

But as you walk up to the house, raised voices slow your approach. 

“No, it was him, it was Will,” Joyce’s distressed voice says. “And he was scared. And then something—”

“It was probably just a prank call. It was somebody trying to scare you,” your father interrupts, and your eyes go wide as you listen, standing on the porch. Is he serious?

“Who would do that?” Jonathan asks. Has he met the people who live in this town?

“Well, this thing’s been on the TV.” Hopper says. It has? You must have missed it in your cleaning coma last night. “It brings out all the crazies, you know. False leads, prank calls, uh…”

“No, Hopper, it was not a prank. It was him,” Joyce says, with a mixture of desperation and determination to convince your father.

“Joyce.” 

“Come on, how about a little trust here?” She shouts. “What, you think that I’m making this up?”

“I’m not saying that you’re making it up. All I’m saying is, it’s an emotional time for you.” He cannot be serious.

“And you think I don’t know my own son’s breathing? Wouldn’t you know your own daughter’s?” Oh. 

Oh.

That hits you like a bat to the chest. Because, no, you don’t know that he would. And you don’t know if she even means you. You know she knows about Sarah, the whole of Hawkins does. You’re too used to people acting like Sarah was your parents’ only daughter, that she was all they had before she died, and it’s infuriating. She wasn’t their only daughter. She was your only sister. 

The silence that follows is loud, and you decide you don’t want to hear any more. Knocking lightly, you push the door open and shuffle in. You don’t see your father around the corner, just Jonathan and Joyce standing together, Joyce with her face in her hands. 

“Um… hey,” you say, your voice small. “I brought… I brought you guys some muffins. Figured you might not have eaten… or something. I’ll just… leave them here.” 

You place them on the coffee table. Joyce is sniffling with her face covered, but Jonathan comes and meets you halfway. 

“I can… I can grab those.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Uh… no, thank you.” He takes the container and nods awkwardly. “I’ll… um, wash this and give it to your dad… or something.” 

“Yeah, no, take your time,” you don’t meet his eyes. 

“I’m sure he would,” he whispers, so your parents don’t hear. You give him a confused look. 

“Recognize… um…”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” You’re desperate to get out of here. You give an awkward wave, and head back out the door, not addressing your father.

On the car ride to school, you can’t not think about Jonathan’s words. Why on earth would he say that? He doesn’t know you, or your Dad. You know he was trying to be nice, but what the hell does he know about Jim Hopper? It’s playing over and over through your head as you walk into school. Who the hell is Jonathan Byers?

But you’re reminded of your Dad’s fit this morning as you approach your friends. 

“Ugh. Problem tonight,” you drag. “My Dad is freaking out, and I can’t drive over anymore. Unless he knocks himself out early, which I would love to count on, but can’t promise.” 

Tommy dives into your muffins, making a gigantic mess that leaves you and Tina giving him a disgusted look.

“Oh, fuck,” Tina complains. I was so looking forward to it.” 

“We can pick you up,” Tommy says, gesturing between himself and Carol, “but I can’t promise you’ll have a ride back.” He smirks disgustingly. Disgusting really is the best word to describe Tommy Hagan in most situations. 

“Ugh. I’ll see if my sister can drive us,” Tina says as you share a worried look for yourselves. The last thing the both of you want is to be sitting downstairs while Tommy and Carol have sex for hours in Steve Harrington’s parents bed. 

There’s a moment of silence, interspersed only with the loud chewing of Tommy on a muffin. “Oh my god,” you say. “Why didn’t I think of this already? I’ll just stay at your place, T. I’ll bring my car and we can go. I’ll tell my Dad we were working on a project super late, and I’m “scared to drive home”.” 

“Oooooooooh,” Tommy and Carol wiggle their fingers. 

“Thank god,” Steve interrupts them, shoving Tommy from the back of the head and turning to you and Tina. “I cannot do this with just them.” 

“Scared, Stevie?” Tina teases him. 

“Yeah, Harrington’s losing his virginity tonight,” Tommy chortles. You’re so glad he makes himself laugh, you think. He really needs someone to acknowledge the things he says.

“Oh, shut up,” Steve scowls. “Your mom knows that was a while ago.”

Wow, Tina gives you a look. Our friends are so witty.

“Speak of the devil,” Carol says as Nancy and Barb head down the hallway, flashcards in hand. Steve jumps up from his spot on the benches where you make yourselves at home (which is conveniently located under the trophy case, which his name is all over). 

The rest of you follow him over, you and Tina giving each other looks as you go.

Steve snatches the flashcards out of Barb’s hands, and she trails off on her question about molecules. “Hey!” 

“I don’t know, I think you’ve studied enough, Nance.” 

“Steve—” she protests.

“I’m telling you, you know, you got this.” He ignores the annoyed look in her eyes. “Don’t worry. Now, on to more important matters.” He clasps the flashcards, drumming his fingers on them as he talks before pocketing them. “My dad has gone out of town for a conference, and my mom’s gone with him, ‘cause, you know, she doesn’t trust him.” 

You laugh as Tommy says, “Good call.” Steve’s Dad is the biggest douchebag you’ve ever met, and considering Tommy, that’s really saying something. Credit where credit’s due, even if it is the bare minimum, he’s never cheated on Carol. Steve almost laughs too as he looks over at him.

“So, are you in?” 

“In… for what?” Nancy looks genuinely lost. You would be too. Steve uses a lot of words to say very little. 

“No parents? Big house?” Carol looks at her expectantly. 

“A party?” 

“Ding ding ding.” Tina hits her, and you hit Tommy as he laughs at Nancy. 

“It’s… Tuesday.” 

“It’s Tuesday,” Tommy mocks. “Oh my god,” he and Carol are both laughing.

“Dude,” you roll your eyes, making eye contact with Tina. Such a dick, you mouth. 

“Come on,” Steve persists. “It’ll be low key, it’ll just be us. Are you in, or are you out?”

“Um…” Nancy’s thought is interrupted by Carol. 

“Oh God. Look.” You turn your head to where she’s staring. Jonathan. 

“Oh, God, that’s depressing.”

“Steve.” you glare at him. Cut it out. 

“Should we say something?” Nancy asks. You feel bad for him, but you are one hundred percent out after the disaster that was this morning. 

“I don’t think he speaks,” Carol smirks. 

“How much you wanna bet he killed him?” Tommy snickers. 

“Shut up,” Steve shoves his chest. Your eyes widen again, as if you cannot believe what you are hearing from him right now, but Tina’s laugh slips out, and you give her a pointed look. Obviously none of you are exactly great people, but you’ve never known your best friend to be cruel. Steve bites his lip as Nancy watches Jonathan, his eyes following her as she walks over to him. 

You don’t hear their interaction, but if you had to guess, it seems about as awkward as yours. Tommy gives him a wave as he looks over at you. 

The bell goes, and Nancy heads back over to you and your friends. Steve and Tina split for their art class, and you walk awkwardly beside Barb and Nancy as Tommy throws his arm over Carol’s shoulder. 

“Attention, faculty and students,” your principal comes over the PA system. “At eight p.m. tonight, there will be an assembly on the football field in support of Will Byers and his family. All are encouraged to attend. Volunteer signups for search parties are available in the office.” 

You hear the door slam behind you as Jonathan heads back outside the building. 

“Where the hell are you, exactly?” Your dad is predictably furious when he answers the phone. 

“Tina’s,” you reply, exasperated. “We went to the thing at school for Will, and now we’re studying for chem.”

“Didn’t you just have a test today?” 

Fuck. How on earth does he manage to pay attention to the most inconvenient parts of your life? “Yeah, um. We’re working on a project. Doing some math homework too. I just… you know. Studying lumps it all together, didn’t think you wanted the details.”

You mime yourself losing your mind at Tina across her bedroom, who’s trying to hold her laughter in. Since kindergarten, she has found lying to Jim Hopper to be the funniest thing imaginable. For this reason, you’ve banished her to the opposite corner of the room until you hang up. You hope he can’t hear the wide smile in your voice. 

“Dad. Please, please chill. I’m just going to stay over here tonight, I don’t want to drive in the dark.” 

He looks across the trailer at the random woman that came home from the search with him, and decides that maybe it’s for the best that you aren’t here. “Fine. But you’re home by seven tomorrow night, no later.”

“Sounds great. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye, kid.” 

“Bye.” You drop the phone on the stand in relief. 

“Yes!” Tina shouts.

“Tina!” you shout back, laughing and dropping your voice to a whisper. “Your parents.” 

“You know they don’t care,” she grins.

“Ok, well, help me decide what to wear.” You pull out your two bikinis, although you know you want to wear the red one.

“Oh, come on,” Tina laughs at you. “First of all, it’s November—” 

“His pool is heated.”

“Oh, you’re so right.” She turns and starts digging through her closet. “Second of all,” she adds, her head deep in the monster of fabric that is her wardrobe, “don’t act like I don’t know exactly why you brought that one.”  

“Which one?” you ask, feigning innocence and not meeting her eyes. 

“The Phoebe Cates one?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Ha! I knew it.” 

“Come on, just because there are no hot single guys there doesn’t mean I don’t need male validation,” you smile at her. 

“You’re a terrible person,” she laughs at you.

“I know.” 

She pauses. “I’m totally bringing mine, too.” 

The drive over is full of trying to predict exactly how this night is going to go. 

“Okay. One hundred percent Tommy pushes Carol in the pool,” Tina says, doing mascara in the passenger seat. “Hey! Easy on the road, I’m doing eye makeup over here.”

“Take it up with the mayor, or something. Fucking potholes everywhere. But, yes obviously happening. We should get in ourselves before they get the chance. This sweater cannot get wet.” You’re wearing your orange striped zippered sweater under the massive Hawkins Police jacket you stole from your father. 

“You and your fucking sweaters,” Tina snorts. 

You pull in in front of Steve Harrington’s massive house, definitely not running over the grass. 

As you get out of the car, a shout comes from behind you. “When are you going to learn how to park?” Steve calls from his front door. You look back at your car, which is sitting diagonally half on his lawn and half on the gravel driveway. 

“Oh, shut up,” you narrow your eyes at him as you push past into the house. “Raise a Little Hell” by Trooper is playing on his fancy speakers. “Have you been standing here this entire time?” 

“No.”

“Yes!” Tommy calls from the back porch. “He has, it's completely and utterly lame.” 

“Wow! Big word there, Tommy!”

“Yeah, your mom taught it to me.” 

The doorbell rings, echoing through the house, and the speed at which Steve jumps up and runs to the front door has the four of you in the kitchen all snickering. 

“Hello, ladies,” you hear, and you turn your head to see him leaning on the door. You really have to try not to laugh at him. 

The scream actually hurts your ears. You and Tina are standing in the pool near the edge, gossiping and observing your friends until Tommy picks his girlfriend up and swings her over your heads. 

“Tommy!” you both shriek as Carol screams. 

“One!” He shouts, “Two! Three!” 

“Stop it Tommy! No! Don’t!” 

“You’re going to kill somebody!” You hit his ankles, and he finally puts her down as Steve comes back out from the house with his pocket knife. 

You watch as he shotguns it. That sweater really suits him. 

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Nancy smiles at him.

“Yes,” Tina laughs. 

“Definitely.” 

Steve puts his cigarette back between his lips. “You’re not?” 

“You are a cliché, you do realize that.” 

“You are a cliché,” he lights the cig. “What with your grades, and your band practice—” 

“I’m so not in band!” Nancy shakes her head.

“Okay, party girl. Why don’t you just, uh, show us how it’s done, then?” He tosses you and Tina drinks as well, and you grab your keys from the side of the pool, putting out your cig beside them. You see Barb roll her eyes, and Tina nudges you, smirking. 

“Don’t be so mean,” you whisper at her. 

“What? I don’t even get why she’s here.” Carol gives the two of you a look, like right? 

“You gotta make a little hole right in—”

“I got it,” Nancy brushes him off, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“Yeah, she’s smart, you douche,” Tommy chortles. He crushes his empty can against his head before tossing it at the ground. 

You push yourself up out of the pool to sit on the edge. Holy shit, it’s freezing. “Here, Nance, let’s do it together,” your teeth chatter. “Like right now, too, so I can get back in.” 

You cut the sides of your cans together and raise them to your lips. 

“Chug. Chug, chug,” Steve starts, and the others join. “Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug—” 

You drown them out as you finish your can before tossing it to the deck. Nancy’s done right after you, and she takes a bow. You laugh, meeting her eyes. You suddenly really hope that you can be really good friends with her. 

“Barb, you wanna try?”

The rest of you look about as surprised as Barb herself. “What? No. No, I don’t want to, thanks.”

“Come on,” Nancy pushes her.

“Yeah, come on, yeah!” 

“Nance, I don’t want too—” 

“It’s fun! Just give it a—” 

“Nance…” 

“Just…” she softens her voice. “Just give it a shot.” 

Barb takes the can and the knife from her, hesitantly standing up. She has an audience; Tommy and Carol look on, interested, and Nancy looks back at Steve to an apprehensive look as he raises his cig to his mouth. She struggles with the can for a second before it slips, and she cuts her hand. 

She gasps. “Gnarly,” Tommy laughs, and you hit his leg again. 

“Are you okay?” Nancy worries. 

“Yeah,” Barb shoots back, obviously annoyed. 

“Barb, you’re bleeding,” Nancy looks at her. Drops of blood hit the pool deck. 

“I’m fine,” she insists. “Where’s your bathroom?” She turns to Steve. 

“Oh! It’s… It’s uh, down past the kitchen, to the left.” 

“Okay, thanks.” 

“Do you want me to go with you?” You ask her, and she shakes her head without looking at you, walking back in the direction of the sliding glass doors. Nancy looks on, worried, as her best friend walks away and Steve points out the bathroom. Carol and Tommy are still laughing under their breath. 

Carol looks up at the sky, shaking her head and enjoying the moment as Barb goes inside. 

You see Tommy look her up and down, and before you have a chance to warn her he shoves her into the pool. She and Tina shriek as Tina ducks and Carol flies over her head. “Oh my god, what the hell, Tommy?” He drops his cig, grinning, and dives in after her. You jump back in with Tina, and begin to lose yourself in the splashing and screaming. Nancy laughs from the edge until Steve sneaks up behind her and pushes her in behind them, giving the most over the top jump in after her. Tommy and Carol kiss, you jump on Tina’s shoulders, and Steve grabs Nancy’s shoe and holds it away, teasing her. 

You’re so unbelievably happy, here with your friends. For the next hour, all your thoughts about Will and your father are totally out the window. 

“I’m freezing,” Carol shivers, wrapping herself in a towel in Steve’s living room. 

“Me too, holy shit,” you laugh and dry your hair. You and Tina are the only ones in swimsuits, and you’re looking at each other like thank god you brought them. The idea of trying to peel off soaking wet, cold clothes right now makes you shudder. 

“Hmm… well, I hear his mom’s room has a fireplace,” Tommy smirks. 

“Are you kidding?” Steve throws his hands up and you and Tina laugh. 

“Oh yeah?” Carol says, following him up the stairs. 

“Okay, well, you know, you are cleaning the sheets,” Steve calls after his friend and runs a hand through his hair. “You alright?” he turns to Nancy. 

“Yeah,” she smiles. 

“Yeah? Come on, let’s get you some dry clothes,” he leads her through the house. You and Tina pull on your clothes, finally something resembling not freezing, and grab your bags. 

You follow Nancy out to the front of the house, where she’s talking to Barb. 

“Nance!” her friend calls as she starts to head up the stairs. “Nancy. Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere! Just… upstairs.” Steve moves around her, back down to you and Tina. 

“Here, let me grab those for you.” He takes both of you out to your car while Nancy and Barb talk. You step outside, and you’re glad that for a second it’s just the three of you. You’re trying really, really hard to sort of back away from Steve, not do any of the things you’ve always done with him that might make her uncomfortable. But you think that a little bit, you might really miss him. 

As you fall asleep that night, next to Tina, you can’t keep him and that damn cigarette out of your head.

an: yay!!! chapter two!! i hope you enjoyed it. as always, any reblogs and other interactions are so highly appreciated, i love hearing what you think so so much whether in these comments or in my inbox! let me know if you would like to be added to this taglist <3

xoxo, thaliagracesgf

tags: @thisisourlovestory, @ladygrey03

[e-dubbc11]

this is for the sleepover summer song:

idk if the song fits but this does remind me of summer 🥺

Hello my sweet friend! Thank you for this ask. This song is SO fun! Oh, I didn’t know who you had in mind for this but I went with Tattoo Artist and Dad! Billy. I hope you like it and thank you again for participating in my summer sleepover♥️

Happy

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Billy Russo x F! Reader & Family

Warnings: None. Pure fluff

Word Count: 1.3K-ish

Summary: Little Raven and Dylan love to have dance parties every day after coming home from daycare.

A/N: Part of The Sweetest Pain Series. I’ll link the rest of the series HERE

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Working a full time job and trying to take care of two kids was exhausting even though you had plenty of help. It was a little easier when Anna was in school all day so you only had to pay for Dylan to go to daycare but now that she was out of school for the summer months, they were both going and it was just go, go, go from the time you got up until you went to bed.

They didn’t go every day though; Maria watched them one day a week and your mother also took them one day a week. The relationship between the two of you became a little better after you had kids. It still wasn’t the best but it was a start and both Anna and Dylan loved their grammy.

It was a little bit of a further commute to work every day but you and Billy finally bought a house not too long after Dylan was born.

Maria had mentioned there was one for sale a couple of streets over when you went into labor on Halloween with Dylan so she was thrilled when your offer was accepted and you all were now living close by.

Anna Raven, now 6 years old, was growing her own little personality. You could hold conversations with her and she had plenty of opinions of her own.

Baby boy Dylan was two years old, constantly following his big sister around, and just a very happy child; both of your children were. Their smiles matched their father’s but their laugh was all yours.

After your work day was over, you would pick both kids up from wherever they were for the day and head for home. They both loved music, loved to dance, and sing along so Little Raven had gotten into the habit of having, what she called, “dance parties.”

It was just something fun for the three of you to do for a little while before you started to cook dinner. Billy usually missed them because he was working but Anna would always fill him in on what songs you danced to that day.

It was such a beautiful and warm day that you suggested to Anna and Dylan that you have your dance party outside today. Your perfect little backyard was somewhat hidden from the neighbors with a high fence and flowering shrubs.

Holding your phone and Bluetooth speaker, you looked at the kids and asked them, “What do you guys wanna listen to today?”

Their cheeks were still flushed from running around at daycare all day long but also very excited to be home. They looked forward to their dance parties every day.

In her polka dot dress, Anna clapped her hands together and replied, “Happeeeeeee!!! I wanna listen to Happy, Mommy!”

You turned to Dylan.

“What about you, baby boy? What do you wanna listen to? You wanna listen to Happy too?” You asked.

“Happy, Mommy!” Replied Dylan.

And a dance party wouldn’t be complete without props, so you brought out the toy guitars, tambourines, hats, and sunglasses.

Dylan’s guitar was almost as big as he was while you preferred the tambourine so you could do your best Stevie Nicks impersonation. And Little Raven loved wearing sunglasses and big hats while singing into your hairbrush.

“Happy it is then! Ok, you guys ready?” You asked them, excitedly.

Dylan gave you the thumbs up which was his new way of saying “yes,” and Anna said, “Hit it, Mommy!”

No record deal, no dream fulfilled,

No three minute video

No catchy jingle,

No big hit single playing on the radio

Watching your children dance and sing in the backyard made your heart soar. They loved it and you did too. You only wished Billy were here to see it.

Can make me happy

Can make me feel the way you do

You make me happy

I wanna make You happy too

You make me happy

You make me happy

What you didn’t know is Billy had come home from the studio earlier than he usually did and the music was so loud, none of you heard him call out to you. He walked through the house calling out for anyone that would answer and that’s when he heard the music coming from the backyard.

You were having such a good time, that you didn’t notice Billy was watching from the back door. A wide smile played across his lips while his family put on an outdoor concert.

No flashy cars, no movie stars,

No man, woman, boy or girl

No fancy things, no diamond rings,

Nothing in the whole wide world

“Sing, Mommy!” Little Raven exclaimed.

Can make me happy

Can make me feel the way You do

You make me happy

I want to make You happy too

You make me happy

You make me feel the way I do

You make me happy

I wish the whole world knew You too

The late afternoon sun warmed the high points of your face as you took Anna’s hand to spin her in a circle. Dylan clumsily strummed the strings on his toy guitar and danced as you continued to sing to both of them while Billy chuckled from the doorway.

Little Raven was the first to notice her dad.

“Hi Daddy!!! Sing to Daddy, Mommy!” She said.

“Oh Daddy doesn’t wanna here me sing, baby girl.” You said.

Billy flashed his million-dollar smile at you.

“Sure I do, sweet girl.” He said with a wink, walking out into the backyard.

No I cannot count the ways

You have made my life so blessed

All I know is that You came

And made beauty of my mess

Said I cannot count the ways

You have made my life so blessed

All I know is that You came

And made beauty of my mess

Those words to the song were a perfect description of how you felt about Billy and your children. It is fitting that the kids picked that song on the day that their father came home early and watched their backyard dance party.

You make me happy

I want to make You happy too

You make me happy

You make me feel the way I do

You make me happy

I wish the whole world knew You too

He pulled you in close to him while the kids danced around you with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, he asked, “I make you happy, baby?”

Raking your nails against his scalp, you bit back a smile and wrinkled your nose. “You make me very happy, my love. Plus, look at how happy you made these guys by coming home early. Now you can participate in the dance party too!” You said and gently pressed your lips to his.

“Oh no…you know I don’t dance, sweet girl.” Said Billy, shaking his head.

Looking down at Anna Raven, you pointed and said, “Look at that face, tell me you’re NOT gonna dance with your little miss?”

Anna then climbed on top of Billy’s feet and grabbed his hands. She looked up him with her big dark chocolate colored eyes, pouted a little and begged, “Pleeeeeeease, Daddy.”

Billy shook his head, pointed his finger at her and said, “You learned that look from your mother.”

He started moving his feet so it looked like Little Raven was dancing as you picked up Dylan, held him against your chest and started dancing with him.

“I’m dancing with Daddy, Mommy!” Exclaimed Anna.

When Billy saw how happy it made Little Raven to be able to dance with her dad, all of the embarrassment went away and he was all smiles.

“I’ll try and make it home in time for more of these, baby.” Said Billy.

With Anna on top of his feet, he moved closer to you, and met your gaze with his own. Billy paused to smile at you again before he kissed you. Being this close to him, you could smell the green soap on his clothes and taste the peppermint gum on his lips.

You loved him so much.

Looking down at Anna and then over at Dylan, you smiled and replied, “We’d love that.”

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @snowkestrel @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @fictional-hooman @gijos @celestialend @nutmeg17 @k-marzolf @vaguekayla @rosaleenablack @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @aoi-targaryen @rachlovesactors

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[bakllori]

i really like the tcm movies but i've heard the game is like poorly balanced and that the devs fucked it up, so i just want to know, would it be worth getting into now? like i want to give it a shot but idk if i want to pay forty bucks just to play a game that's unfun, lol. i figured i'd ask you since you're into the game. i mean i really like dead by daylight so tcm is right up my alley but all the stuff i've heard is making me apprehensive

wait for the discount.

The game is not perfect, yes. especially if you always play the victim. but she looks very beautiful and it's fun to play especially if you have someone to play with and oh my god I literally bought this game just for Nubbins and family members' voicelines to each other.

sometimes the developers themselves don't know what to do with the game and make strange decisions...but damn...like I really loved DBD, it was literally almost my only game. But after TCM I don’t want to go back there. Well, I just liked TCM much more from a gameplay point of view. but I don't know how it will be for you

also 1v6 gamemode coming soon and we all wait Chop top because everything points to him being the next character (you have no idea how much I want to hear Chop Top and Nubbins' voice lines. Considering the fact that they might invite Bill if they already have Ed Neal for Nubbins )...So the game is trying to develop😭

and if you love tcm, then I think you, like me, will enjoy playing with your favorite characters

but it's better to wait for sales, maybe on Halloween or Christmas. 40 bucks is a LOT (especially for a game that sometimes breaks)

[simplysedusa]

Do you have any silly head-canons for the rrb. And I mean downright ridiculous.

I'm so sorry this took a while to answer. The original one that I was gonna talk about turned out to be a bit..angstier than I realized and I figured it'd be best to save it for a ficlet idea I came up with. 😉😈

So, here's some other silly headcanons:

I stated in another post talking about the Rowdyruffs that Brick's guilty pleasures are boy groups. This also applies to K-Pop groups. He's into K-Pop (but he listens to other genres of music as well) and only Boomer and Butch know because they hear his tone-deaf ass mispronouncing every other Korean word in the shower. Both Boomer and Butch decide to keep this info to themselves because 1.) they want to live and 2.) who'd believe them? Brick's got private, secondary stan accounts with VPNs locating him in the Bermuda Triangle, pretending to be some 15 year old girl named "Becca". He's mostly a boy group stan (NCT, Ateez, Stray Kids) but a few girl groups managed to catch his interest (Dreamcatcher, G-Idle, Twice). And no, he's not above arguing with twelve year olds about record sales or popularity.

I'd imagine Bubbles stops by the Ruff household and catches Brick humming a very familiar tune to himself, and she's the one who casually tells others whenever the situation calls for it. Much to Boomer and Butch's chagrin, no one bats an eye.

After the events of "Bubble Boy", Boomer suggested getting revenge by having them dress up as the Powerpuffs and causing chaos across town. Originally, Brick and Butch were against it, but then considered the "evil acts" they could get away with and were suddenly on board. Unfortunately, they couldn't find the right dresses (plus Boomer and Butch's hair would NOT cooperate) and they gave up.

Halloween is their favorite holiday. Scaring people and free candy were great, but the boys really loved wearing costumes that they stole from the Halloween Party stores downtown. Their favorite group costume was of the Ministry of Pain (and the looks of Townsville citizens' faces as they arrived at their doors made it all the better for them).

Boomer's a dog person, Butch is a cat person, and Brick's neutral. The three had discussed wanting a pet to play with while under Mojo and HIM's care. They both reluctantly agreed so long as the vote was unanimous. Boomer and Butch damn near fought to the death to try to convince the other or Brick to change their minds. Boomer decides to let the matter slide. He finds a Beebo and keeps it a secret until after they move in with Ms. Keane.

Since receiving their new hairstyles in "The Boys Are Back In Town", the boys are very particular about their hair. They started to wear color-coded silk bonnets to bed after getting the idea from Sedusa when they broke into her place by sheer coincidence one night and spotted her wearing one.

RANDOM BITS OF KNOWLEDGE IN REGARDS TO SCIENCE AND ROBOTICS. The boys may struggle with finding the atomic weight of a certain element, but they know chemical reactivity (what elements will react to one another without exploding) like the back of their hands. Blueprints for death rays are like memorizing phone numbers for them. They were kicked out of the robotics club on their first day (and almost expelled entirely) after demonstrating how to build an actual laser and for rebuilding functioning, miniature Mojo robots from scratch. Blossom nearly considers going back to homeschool when she learns that she shares all of her A.P science classes with all three of the Ruffs.

It takes everything in Butch to not make another Rowdyruff once he learns of Bunny and Bullet. Brick likes the idea but thinks it's too much work, while Boomer is completely repulsed at the idea of having another brother. (He might just help make a Rowdyruff pet however, but his Beebo and Valentino are enough of a handful. 😉)

That's all I got at the moment, but if I have more, I'll be sure to share lmao.

[bubblegum-glitch]

The Catalyst: Life working in retail and the moment I finally said "fuck it, I'm doing porn."

I've been working in Customer Service off and on since early 2005, only ever being unemployed for short periods of time between job searches. I've worked in various retail establishments, with shipping companies, call centres, door-to-door sales, and even in kitchens & cafes. The only industry I have ever refused to work in has been fast food, and I'm sure those of you who have worked a drive through or two in your lives can understand my reasoning. I began in my first year of high school working at a Dollar Store that was next to an extremely seedy strip club (it eventually burned down and it was discovered that the owner had done it to try and cash in on the insurance). From customers verbally and physically abusing me, to an elderly man jerking his cock in front of me, my first romp in retail was merely a taste of what was to come for the next 20 years.

Some jobs were certainly better than others. I worked at a bookstore and a Halloween shop, both of which would have been fine if not for the politics of the company bleeding into the staff and making us all miserable. Bad management teams, abusive coworkers, bullying and drama akin to that which we experience in High School - it becomes exhausting after awhile. For minimum wage, which doesn't even come close to a living wage, it's just not worth the headaches. I rarely lasted longer than two years with any of my employers. When you're handed a penny raise after working your ass off for an entire year you tend to lose faith in the company that you've been breaking your back (and sanity) for. I promise, there was no lack of trying on my part to escape the clutches of the customer service industry. I have my BA in English, I have a certificate in photography, and I have some training in IT Web design (which proved to be far too much for my little brain to handle) and Audio Engineering. Unfortunately the job market for all of these industries in my part of the world is pretty much non existent. I'm pretty sure a BA in English is worth less than toilet paper even after the great pandemic shortage of 2020. Unfortunately, to make money in this world you gotta do what you gotta do. So to pay off my crippling debt and be able to afford an occasional package of ramen noodles so I don't starve to death, I have to continue working these soul crushing, mindless jobs.

It was in 2016 when I started working in donation rooms at thrift stores and, I will be completely honest with you - I fucking love it. Granted, it has it's downsides. I've sorted through more than a couple bags with mould, human feces, needles, and used sex toys, but the satisfaction of the treasure hunt it's absolutely worth the nasty shit that you sometimes encounter. But once again, the politics of the industry got in the way of finding my work enjoyable and rewarding. Nasty upper management was the downfall of all three thrift locations I've worked at. The first store the CEO shut us down without warning (I also later learned he was a sexual predator and was being sued by some of his employees for harassment, so that was gross). The second location had a violent customer base (we were robbed repeatedly), a bully assistant manager who would scream in your face when HE made a mistake, and a regional manager who loved to throw her staff under the bus.

So that leads us to my third romp in thrift, my absolute favourite job I've ever had, and the devastation brought upon me when everything came crumbling down.

My husband and I came into a little bit of money in 2021 and I decided to take a break from the world of customer service bullshit and return to school (This was my IT and Audio Engineering training). That summer I got a student job at a thrift store where 100% of the proceeds go into helping rescue animals. It was entirely volunteer based other than the management team and the summer students (who were there on a government grant). I had such an enjoyable experience working there as the volunteer coordinator than I returned the following summer, and they were so impressed with me they ended up hiring me on permanently part time to help with their rapidly growing business. At this point, due to some mental health struggles, I am not currently able to work full time hours, and they were more than happy to work around my disability...

Until the new regional manager was hired.

The store closed for renovations and I was brought in to help rebuild and re-brand the store.

Sure. No problem. It's more hours than I'm available for, but I don't mind just for a couple of weeks. It's also more physical work than my body is really equipped for but, just this once, I'll suffer through with a smile on my face.

Then I'm handed a key and I'm told "You're a staff supervisor now". Oh... okay? No one talked to me or asked me if I wanted the promotion, it's more hours than I can handle, and I don't really want the responsibilities that come with a supervisor position because of my disability, but since my old position has been dissolved I guess I'll have to suck it up. At least it comes with a raise, right?

Nope. Still minimum wage. Which is currently sitting about $15 under a livable wage. Also, we won't be training you and just expect you to know how to do the assistant manager's job.

Okay... Gotta do what you gotta do I guess.

You also have to work more shifts than you're available for.

Oh... yeah, okay. That could start to prove difficult as I'm dealing with a depressive episode right now but... sure?

Then suddenly I'm responsible for everything that goes wrong. A volunteer makes a mistake? Blame Billie - even on days she isn't working. The cash or pricing machines break? Billie. Shoes, purses, dresses, and coats priced to low? Blame Billie and make sure she's the only person who prices these things from now on. Need 30 things done at once right this second, tell Billie and don't let her delegate the tasks to anyone else. If she does, yell at her! Have Billie open and close the store for the next two weekends, but don't train her how to do it and expect her not to make any mistakes. Customer has an issue? That's right, it's also somehow Billie's fault! Even when she's at home sleeping!

Blame, blame, blame, blame, blame, blame, blame.

Yeah. This was the breaking point for me.

In July of 2023 I had started up an OnlyFans account to bring in a couple extra dollars. I'll discuss why this was a challenging decision for me in a future post, but originally I was just planning to post some tasteful nudes to earn myself a little spending money. By May of 2024, as all this bullshit had begun happening at work, that mindset had officially gone from a couple tasteful nudes to "Fuck it, I'm quitting retail and making porn." By August I had amassed enough of a following to put in my notice.

I am finished with retail as of October 15th, 2024 and turning to creating adult content full time.

Honestly, this is a terrifying leap of faith as I know content creation can be a fickle beast. Some months will be more lucrative than others, while an inability to keep people invested could have everything all come crashing down on top of me.

But I'm done with working for people who take advantage of me and pay me pennies. I know my value and I'm worth more than what I'm being given. I'm not a number who is easily replaceable, I am a strong capable woman who is in charge of her own destiny.

So fuck you workforce,

I quit!

Now. If you'll excuse me, I'm off to live life how it's meant to be lived,

Enjoyed!