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solbaby7 · 20 days

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someone requested [ Manhattan + salt rim + neat ] and I accidentally deleted it but i remembered!!

warnings: leashes (yup like for dogs 🤭) minors dni, thank you thank you thank you thank you for this request 🥵

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Azriel knew it was going to be an issue—you spending so much time with Nesta Archeron.

He’d found it cute at first. His sweet girl making friends with someone as prickly as death incarnate, until he’d started noticing the changes. How kind words shift into a biting wit; adopting a darker kind of humor that leaves his brows raised and tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. “Come bunny, it’s time to get out of bed.”

Perhaps it’s in that learned behavior where you find the gall to part your lips and mutter, “No, I’m not going.”

It’s surprising—your defiance. Enough for him to pause in the middle of his morning routine, thigh holsters half buckled with an array of sharpened daggers and switchblades laid out before him. “Say that again?”

“To training,” You elaborate, mindlessly toying with the fraying edges of your nail varnish. Soft sheets swallow you whole, thick pillows and duvets emitting Azriel’s comforting scent all around you. “I’m not going today.”

For only a second he falters before his movements start up again, deft fingers easily buckling strips of leather and filling the slots with weapons. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m feeling like I don’t want to sweat under the burning sun all fucking day.” Your eyes are too busy rolling at the thought to notice the tick of Azriel’s jaw, the strained way he tightens his belt. “Nes and I are going shopping after brunch instead.”

“Oh?” There’s a pause, a tense silence that forces you to lean up on your elbows, neck craning to peer over at the Illyrian. Though, Azriel’s not getting ready anymore and he’s lounging too comfortably for someone who’d been adamant on following the guidelines of his rigorous schedule. The clock tick, tick, ticks away and for some reason he’s not reaching for his top or the crossbody holsters he slides on after. His hair is still dripping wet from his shower, not even bothering to work his styling pomade through. “Says who?”

He just sits there—watching, waiting. Staring at you like one of the prisoners he chains up in his dungeons; prodding at the barriers of their restraint until the spymaster tore it to shreds. You hate how well it works, chipping away at the fortified walls you’d built in your new friendships. How easily Azriel’s able to walk up to those borders and send them crumbling down with nothing more than a look.

It should be embarrassing, the affect he has on you. The way one arched brow has your spine instinctively straightening, throat rolling with a swallow as you struggle to muster up the same confidence that burned through you just moments ago. “I wasn’t aware I needed permission.”

Azriel hums low in his chest, shoulders relaxing and head nodding once, twice, three times before that stoic expression melts into understanding. “I see, that’s probably my fault. Got a touch lenient—allowed room for a little too much…hope.”

“Hope?”

Alarm bells begin ringing the further he settles in the chair, thick thighs spreading wide and veiny forearms eat up the space along the armrest. “Hope,” he agrees. “Give a good pet a little too much freedom—too much hope and all the necessary structure begins to waver.” You’re caught like a fly in a trap, limbs sticking to the carefully spun webs Az’s woven until your struggle only leaves the metaphorical ropes twisting and knotting tighter. “Don’t worry, I’m a good trainer. Won’t let you slack for a second—even if you do bat those pretty lashes up at me.”

Your mouth goes dry when his wrist flicks, two fingers beckoning you closer in silent command. A part of you hesitates; resists the rigorous discipline and rules put in place to keep you safe. Protected. But Nesta said that you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself without some overgrown bat looming over your shoulder. Right?

You obey anyway, praying that Azriel doesn’t hold the contemplation against you.

The Mother doesn’t seem to hear your plea, too occupied with more deserving persons to spare a second glance at the predicament you’d weaseled your way into. Each step closer feels like knowing wrong and choosing the sin anyway, solidifying your fate and dealing your destiny with the devil for all time. “Sit.”

A huffy breath of irritation before you ease down to your knees, leaning your weight back against your calves. “I’m not some fucking dog.”

“No, you aren’t,” His hand smells of body wash when a thumb runs over the curve of your cheek, blunt nail tracing against the shape of your mouth. It’s almost sweet, toeing the line of possibly romantic when you hear it—the squeaky strain of fresh leather. The cool bite of the latch registers too late, a metallic click locking it in place. “But lately you’ve been acting like one. My rabid mutt.”

Manicured nails grip at the newest accessory but it doesn’t budge no matter how much you tug at it. Your cheeks flame, a mix of fury and pure embarrassment from the rush of arousal that soils your panties when each breath grows just a bit labored. “You fucking collared me?”

“Watch your mouth or I’ll buy a muzzle to match.” He catches on to the way your thighs clench together, lips snapping shut as your brain fights to decide whether you want to scream back a “fuck you” or “fuck me”.

You land somewhere in the middle, words stern but tone leaking with curiosity. “You wouldn’t dare.”

A hellish grin splits across the handsome lines of his face, like a wolf straining in the seams of sheep’s clothing. “Try me.” He’s lost the concept to time when such fun prey has found itself stuck in his crosshairs. Such a sweet lamb should know better than to wander away from its shepherd—heaven forbid something should happen to you. “Test me, I dare you. I’ll walk you through town like some purebred if you keep acting like you weren’t taught to act with decorum.”

He means it too. You know he does. Even after all these years, you still had yet to hear words Azriel’s didn’t back up with action. Instantly, your eyes lower, head bowing in order to conceal the pinpricked pupils that dialate with desire. It burns in your belly, a cacophony of fantasies lashing against your eyelids at warp speed.

You in your shiny collar, name engraved on the customized nameplate with Azriel’s information on the back right under “If Found, Return To”

It’s purely involuntary, the desperate whimper that cuts through the bedchambers and Azriel pats at your head like some pampered pup in need of comfort. Offering love and fond coos when you easily correct the behaviors he doesn’t enjoy.

Obedient. Disciplined. Loyal. His.

“There’s a good girl. Keep that up and I’ll give you a treat.”

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bradshawssugarbaby · 6 months

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All-American Girl - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley's every part the doting dad to your daughter Tatum, but after talking to some of the other wives on base in your mom's group, you're worried he may be hiding his true feelings about fatherhood.

A/N: not me procrastinating and adding to my country music series instead of literally anything else on my list. here's sickeningly sweet bradley as a girl dad fluff based off All-American Girl by Carrie Underwood.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x wife!reader

content/warnings: sickeningly sweet fluff, Bradley as a girl dad, mentions of sexism.

word count: 1.4k

Now he's wrapped around her finger, she's the center of his whole world And his heart belongs to that sweet little beautiful, wonderful, perfect all-American girl

Bradley groaned as he jogged up the front steps, his boots heavy against the brick as he walked up the veranda to the front door. An American flag flapped in the breeze, the pole nestled in the stand attached to the pillar on the front of the house, the mid-afternoon sun striking the front yard, basking over the dozens of plants and greenery that were planted there. Bradley kicked his boots off the moment he crossed the entryway, stacking them neatly by the door. He started unzipping his flight suit, his tanned skin slicked with sweat from the training exercises he’d completed earlier that day. He thought about the list of things he wanted to do before he settled in for the night with you - a shower was the first priority at this point.

Peeling the olive green suit off his skin, he discarded it in the laundry hamper in the bathroom. His white t-shirt and boxers followed suit, along with the thick, military issued socks. He’d plan on washing those tonight after dinner. He padded along the hallway to the bathroom, his balls of his feet sticking to the cherry wood flooring. The cool water flowing from the shower head was a refreshing comfort compared to how warm he was earlier, he contemplated asking for a transfer to somewhere colder after today - the hot Pacific coast sun was brutal, and despite having lived in California for a few years now, Bradley hadn’t adjusted. Not that Virginia Beach had been much cooler - at least, not in the summer, but it wasn’t as consistently warm as it was on the west coast.

As Bradley stepped out of the shower, he wrapped a plush, lavender coloured towel around his waist. Shaking his caramel coloured curls dry, he approached the vanity, reaching for the pomade - the same brand he’d been using to tame his hair since he was 14. His mom had taught him that trick - using a styling pomade to keep his curls intact, but less wild than they would be left to their own devices. Part of him wondered if he just never changed brands because it was the one she’d suggested for him, one of the last happy memories of his mother that he had clung to for the last 26 years.

“Bradley? I’m home!” you called out from the bottom of the stairs, having seen Bradley’s vintage Ford Bronco parked in the driveway.

“Upstairs, honey!” He yelled back, his deep voice echoing throughout the empty house.

He quickly pulled on a pair of denim shorts and a fresh, white t-shirt, grabbing his favourite floral print button-down on his way down the stairs. He beamed at you, leaning in to give you a loving peck on the cheek. He knelt down in front of the car seat you’d placed on the floor, smiling softly at his infant daughter as she stretched and yawned, waking up from the nap she’d taken on the car ride home.

“Good mornin’ sunshine! How’s my girl?”

Bradley held his index finger out to baby Tatum, smiling as she gripped it tightly in her hand. He began unbuckling her harness with his free hand as he spoke to her.

“Did you have a fun day with Mama? What did you do, princess? You and your mama go shopping for some new clothes, baby girl?”

Tatum let out a happy sigh as Bradley scooped her up in his arms, holding her close to his chest. He leaned his head down to kiss her forehead, his hand moving up and down her back in soft, slow, gentle strokes as he cuddled his baby. He took a seat on the couch, leaning back slightly so Tatum could recline on his chest. He smiled up at you, waiting patiently for you to start showing off the different outfits you’d purchased for Tatum. He’d always sworn that he’d never be the type of father who’d dismiss things he wasn’t interested in - whether it was baby clothes, or ballet, baby and me classes or going for walks around the neighborhood with her - he’d always try his best to be into it. It’s how his mom described his father - always interested in anything to do with Bradley when he was little.

You delicately sifted through the array of dresses and outfits, each garment infused with your hopes and dreams for little Tatum. With tender affection, you recounted where and when you had acquired each piece, your voice tinged with a blend of excitement and maternal pride. Tatum slumbered peacefully, her soft breaths creating a gentle rhythm against Bradley's shoulder, while you poured your heart into sharing your plans for her future attire.

As the last dress found its place, you sank onto the couch beside Bradley, seeking solace in his comforting presence. Nestling into his side, you felt the warmth of his embrace envelop you, his arm offering both physical and emotional support.

“Are you happy?” you murmured softly, a trace of uncertainty lacing your words as you chewed anxiously at your bottom lip.

A flicker of confusion danced across Bradley's features before he met your gaze with unwavering reassurance.

“Of course I’m happy, why would you ask that?”

“It’s silly,” you sighed, a moment of vulnerability surfacing before you continued, meeting Bradley’s brown-eyed gaze as you spoke, “It’s just that…you know how I took Tatum to that mommy and me group?”

"Mhmm, every Wednesday," Bradley affirmed, his attention fully focused on you.

“Right! That one. Well…one of the moms was saying how she was so thankful her baby was a boy, because her husband wanted a boy really badly and she didn’t want him to be upset if he didn’t get what he wanted…”

Bradley's brow furrowed with concern as he gently kissed Tatum's forehead, a protective gesture that spoke volumes.

“Babe, he sounds like a dick,” Bradley interjected, shaking his head as he gently kissed Tatum’s forehead again.

“I’m not finished yet!” You said as you held your hand up. “So anyways, she said that, and a lot of the other moms started talking and saying how their husbands were disappointed when they had girls or relieved when they had sons, and then they said how lucky I was that you were happy with a girl. The one of them said her husband pretended to be, but then he was totally different and genuinely happy when they had a boy next.”

“And you think I’m doing that?” Bradley queried as he tilted his head to the side, looking at you.

“Well, no, but…would you tell me if you’d wanted a son instead?”

The corner of Bradley's mouth lifted in a soft smile, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. "No," he replied emphatically, shaking his head. “Because I’ve never wanted a son instead of Tatum. Not once.”

“You haven’t?” You said as relief washed over you, Bradley's words washing away any lingering doubts.

“Not for a second. I’ve wanted Tatum from the minute you told me you were pregnant - I never really gave a shit whether she was a boy or a girl. She’s mine and that’s all I care about. It just happened to turn out that she’s the second Bradshaw girl around here to steal my heart, after her mama.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm, you know that song, the one where she says about how her daddy was praying for a boy, but got a girl instead and she was wrapped around his finger? Then she grows up and asks her husband one day what he wants, and he says he just wants a sweet, beautiful All-American girl like his wife?”

“Yeah, I know it,” You laugh softly as Bradley begins to hum the tune of the song, singing it softly as he looks down at Tatum.

“That’s exactly how I felt when you told me you were having a girl. I just wanted a beautiful little baby who looked just like you, and that’s exactly what I got. Now I have two beautiful girls who love me more than anything, and I would move mountains for the pair of you. We could have twelve girls for all I care - I’d love every single one of them just as much as I love you.”

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction

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cmdrfupa · 3 months

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“Kiwi, whipping cream, vanilla, honey, and haircut?” the groceries were no longer significant as Kento walked over the kitchen threshold.

The lack of a trim was obvious in the last few weeks; Anniversary trip with an immediate work trip after left no time for a barber visit. Kento eventually was able to pencil in an appointment.

“Hmm?”

“You got a haircut.”

Kento looked up from his phone and in your direction. “Oh, yeah. Itadori-kun and I went to the barber before he went out with his friends. It was time to get a proper cut.” he sat at the kitchen table, legs spread as he faced you. Vastly different from the uniformed 7:3 style he usually dawned, it was down and in its much more relaxed state. A vision of perfection in the form of blonde locks.

You wasted no time skipping over to him, standing between said legs. “Did you get it shorter than usual?” manicured hands combing through the blonde locks that framed his face, the corner of his lip tightened, lifting as his eyebrow raised.

“Don't think so. Just didn't have him add pomade to style it like usual. Does it look bad?”

Not one for wasting time, you went to the undercut immediately and began dragging your nail tips over the fresh cut as you sat in his lap.

“Who told you to be this handsome?” Warm, inviting sparks seemed to make their way across your soft paunch as he palmed the part of your ass that hung off his lap.

“I apologize for being so easy on the eyes. I'll have to work on that.”

“Please do. It's distracting, Kento. My poor grocery list isn't completed.”

The nippy sensation of his lips found your jaw. Small, butterfly kisses against your cheek as his lips danced down your neck. “My poor wife, unable to finish her daunting task because I cause such disruptions.” The delicate trace of his middle finger sliding the strap of your dress down your shoulder sent a shot of electricity between your thighs. “This will be rectified later.”

“Y-yeah… poor me.” faint but heard loud and clear as it spilled from your lips.

“Though.” you groaned from the lack of contact as he pulled away to gab. “I could do the grocery shopping for you. I still have to get my dry cleaning.”

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

“No?”

“No.” sighing as you stood up. “You’re a little too handsome today. I'll get the groceries and pick up your dry cleaning before 3. You stay here and be handsome in the privacy of our home.”

Kento scoffed, tisking as he came up to you, trapping your body against the counter. “Well then you can't go either.” cocking your head a few degrees, puzzlement filled your face. “I can't?”

“How did you word it? Absolutely the fuck not.” a mischief-laden smile made its way onto his face.

“Why not?”

“Because you're looking a little too heavenly today and the thought of another man being able to drink in this perfection might send me over the edge.” Sliding to the side, Kento picks up the grocery list. “I'd hate to cause a scene at the deli service counter.” he adds a few more items before folding and placing the paper in his pocket.

“You’re driving. And I'd like to stop for boba after we get your dry-cleaning.”

Kento smacked your rear. “Anyrhing for you.”

The micro-moments that kept your marriage exciting always seemed to be in the kitchen.

#jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x reader #nanami drabbles #lu.logs

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southern-gothic-comic · 11 months

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Page 37

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

(Author Notes)

Panel 1: We see Imogen working at her job behind the counter of Faramore’s General Store. An elderly lady is attempting to describe what she wants without actually using any descriptive nouns. Frustrated, Imogen taps into her thoughts to get an idea of what she’s describing and finishes her sentences for her. A variety of things are on display: tools, bolts of fabric, barrels of apples and pickles, jars of candy, hanging horse tack, coils of rope, canned goods, lanterns. All during this conversation a family of several runny-nosed children is putting their hands all over everything, which makes Imogen wince.

Elderly Customer: Now, I need two yards of the red, you know, with the checks . . .

Imogen: Flannel?

Elderly Customer: And half a pound of the little round . . .

Imogen: Peppermints?

Elderly Customer: Yes, and three tins of the one . . . with the blue label . . .

Imogen: . . . Pomade?

Elderly Customer: No need to be so impatient, missy. I’m getting to it.

Panel 2: Next up is the mother of the several germy children, who slams down her shopping list. One of the children, last seen wiping their nose on the back of their hand, puts their hands into a jar of candy, which makes Imogen wince harder.

Karen: About time. I need two bottles of Zenotha’s Throat Elixir, a five-pound bag of rice, a braid of garlic, a jar of turmeric powder, a pound of coffee beans, and a dozen handkerchiefs.

Imogen: I’m afraid we’re out of throat elixir, ma’am, but I could place an order for you. What kind of handkerchiefs--

Karen: What do you mean, you’re out?? Why don’t you go on and check in the back?

Imogen: Sure, ma’am. Just a minute.

Panel 3: In the back. Laudna is there, taking inventory in a notebook.

Imogen: Hey, Laudna?

Laudna: Hmm?

Imogen: We got any more of that Zenotha’s Throat Elixir?

Laudna: Oh, no. We’ve been out of that for days.

Imogen: {sigh} That’s what I thought. Gonna get eaten alive out there.

Panel 4: Laudna absently pats a few sacks of dry beans on a shelf.

Imogen: You likin’ your new job?

Laudna: Oh, yes! Though it does get a bit lonely back here.

Imogen: Heh. Wanna trade? It is definitely not lonely out there.

Laudna: I think I could make a good shop girl! What do you think, Pâté?

Pâté: Got a face for customer service, you ‘ave.

Imogen: {sigh} I miss workin’ with the horses. They’re much easier to please. Panel 5: She goes back out, empty-handed, and starts compiling the rest of the order. The mother of the several germy children gets right up in her face as she yells at her across the counter.

Imogen: I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s out of stock. I can place an order for you and it’ll be here in about two weeks. In the meantime, would you like some lozenges, or --

Karen: Two weeks?? I can’t wait that long! My kids need it now!

Her Thoughts: worthless lazy girl I bet she didn’t even look what am I going to do now nowhere else has it useless useless useless

Imogen: I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s been in real high demand lately.

Karen: Hurry up! I can’t wait all day if I have to go huntin’ all over town for the things y’all don’t have here.

#critical role #critical role fanart #critical role comic #imogen temult #laudna #gelvaan #imodna #southerngothic #comics #a long road home #mintywolf

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thenwhatthefukcisthis · 1 month

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arthurs character traits/physical appearance defined in fanfics/fanart akin to jgls mannerisms : a self indulgent list :D

1. the entire fandom unanimously deciding on his ethnicity as jewish. and a proud one at that. I love how when he does the related rituals and celebrate the holidays, specially making eames fall in love with him even more. (yes I’m talking about that one fic where arthur marries eames in a coffee shop with witnesses and and whispering a prayer in respect to his religion)

2. the slick black hair falling to natural wavy luscious curls when freed from pomade jail, de-ageing him by about fifteen years. oh yes.

3. arthurs love for singing and dancing. both the fun kind and the professional kind. in line with being surprisingly bad/surprisingly good at karaoke. (someone is yet to make arthur take a guitar and serande eames with a ballad please do it thanks)

4. GLASSES. THAT ARTHUR USES CONTACTS AT WORK AND GLASSES WHEN AT HOME READING HIS RESEARCH. YOU ARE SO RIGHT!

5. arthur being a bit too long-winded and all adorably rambly when asked about something he really loves and cares about.

6. arthur randomly mentioning his love for batman comics or going to see batman movies (or someone finding long forgotten movie tickets to batman in his wallet) that’s the cutest thing I swear.

feel free to add more :D

#arthur inception #Arthur darling #inception #joseph gordon levitt

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vixenpen · 3 months

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Rapper’s Delight Hobie X Black Fem Reader (1970s coded)

This is for my biggest fan @kyankyannnn

This is what a Black girl from the Bronx talks like @ohsanghoe and @kyankyannnn since it was so confusing before! 😂 anyway, this was HELLA fun to write! Hope y’all enjoy 😉

You gazed around at the brick faces of Camden’s shops and the graffiti peppering random surfaces with awe and fondness.

This was your first time in Hobie’s hometown, and it felt at once familiar and foreign. From the grey and brown square buildings to the peeling, painted signs adorning their façades, the neighborhood was so distinctly working class; you half expected to see a hotdog vendor or a bodega.

“Y’alright, America?”Hobie asked, quietly. His large hand rested on your arm.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m cool.” You replied.

“Not scared yet are ya?” Smiley, the dimpled bassist of Hobie’s band asked. His signature toothy grin lit up his medium brown face.

“Not at all,” you laughed. “Feels like home.”

“Let’s see if you’re still singin’ that tune when we take you to The Sub.” Silas, the perpetually stoned drummer, added.

Despite its name, The Sub, was in fact not a late night spot to get sandwiches. According to Hobie it was one part basement club, one part speakeasy. Not unlike the warehouses the DJs threw dance parties in back in your hometown of the Bronx New York.

It was beyond trippy having another spider friend in the same timeline as you. The Spiderverse often either felt vast and disconnected or—whenever you were in the spider society— claustrophobic and overwhelming. So it was a major relief when you’d met Hobie, aka Spider Punk, another spider from Earth-138. The two of you had immediately hit it off being the same age, nineteen, and major music lovers.

The punk scene was practically non-existent in the Boogie Down Bronx and the same was true of the brand new hip-hop/rap scene of your home. But you were curious to see how these London cats got down, so when Hobie had invited you to Camden for an extended stay, you’d enthusiastically agreed. Hopefully New York could behave itself for a few weeks while you were gone.

Being that you weren’t a full time member of the spider society, Hobie had mopped some tech to make you a watch giving you the opportunity to transport to his place with the press of a button.

As you and the band headed to The Sub, you took note of the rest of the crowd, who were mostly dressed similarly to Hobie and his bandmates. Ripped skinny jeans, leather vests studded with silver spikes, chunky stainless steel jewelry and so much spiked up hair you were almost certain you could see a trail of hair spray and pomade in the air. There were a few people who were more casual in band tee’s or Jean vests, but you in your sparkly bell bottoms and matching top certainly stood out. Especially with your bouncy afro compared to the—mostly white—girls with their immobile Mohawks.

The Sub was actually a record store called: ‘Subwoofer Record Shop.’ It was closed to the public, but a trail of punks were all rounding the side of the building to the alleyway.

“Man, I’m psyched for tonight!” Smiley enthused. “Y/n, you gotta be front row and center cheerin’ us on, yeah?”

“I gotta be front row and center to see around these people’s hair.” You joked.

“Hey, that fro a’yours ain’t exactly flat, innit?” Hobie grinned, tweaking a tight curl near your ear. The motion made your cheeks burn.

“Picked to perfection.” You countered, playfully, ignoring the way your heart revved.

The boys led you down a flight of crumbling, concrete stairs where a handrail wrapped in multicolored Christmas lights and a surprisingly bright street lamp led the way. At the base, grungy looking characters in black leather clothes and heavy eyeliner smoked and chatted in tight circles. Their scary expressions immediately brightened when they saw Hobie and his crew.

“Oi, dickheads! ‘Ow the ‘ell are ya!” A tall, rail thin guy with an electric blue mohawk exclaimed, slapping hands with the band as they crowded the floor by the doorway.

“Ah, ya know! Nother day nother disaster.” Hobie greeted him.

“Right ‘bout that, mate.” The blue haired guy chuckled. “Oi, Si? Ya still on earth with us?” His accent made the ‘th’ sound like an ‘f.’

“Always an never.” Silas waved a joint between his ringed fingers. You had no idea when or where he’d gotten it.

“Can’t wait to hear you blokes blow the house down t’night.” A girl with fire red hair that matched her kilt exclaimed.

“S’gonna be one helluva a show, that’s for sure!” Smiley replied.

“See you all in there.”

The exchange had been so snappy you’d gotten whiplash just listening to it. The boys let themselves in with Hobie holding the door for you, a soft smile on his face.

“Welcome to The Sub, America.”

You gawked around the shockingly huge room. It had a black floor, a wall to wall stocked bar, darts at the far end and an elevated stage at the other. The walls were decorated with band posters advertising past and future shows. Some had been ripped off, others looked freshly tacked on. A wall of records hung from a shimmering curtain behind said stage and a gaggle of musicians were tuning up in a discordant symphony of riffs and scales. Colorful stage lights bathed them in hues of red, blue, and purple.

“Holy shit.” You marveled.

“Pretty cool for a group of weirdos, right?” Hobie whispered beside you. You could hear the casual excitement in his voice— clearly pleased at your reaction.

“Dynamight!” You exclaimed.

“C’mon, let’s grab a seat up front.” Smiley suggested.

Being that mosh pits weren’t uncommon in the space, “up front” actually meant at the end of the bar closest to the stage. The space surrounding the stage, was clear of tables and chairs in case of moshing.

The band on stage currently began playing and you were immediately impressed with their sound. They were a tight unit.

“Who are these cats?” You asked, Hobie.

“The singer’s name is Chris and the drummer is Byron.” He replied.

“I mean what’s the name of their band?”

“Oh, they ain’t a band, love. Chris sings folk music and Byron usually plays keyboard with a jazz quartet.”

Your head swiveled toward Hobie.

“You mean they’re not a band? And they sound that good together?”

“The drummer’s a bit slow on the pickup, but they’re all solid.” Hobie shrugged, swiveling in his stool until his knees kissed yours.

“Ok, Mr. Musical Savant.” You mocked a posh accent. “But you have to admit, they’re pretty tight together.”

“No doubt, but they won’t compare to our sound.” Hobie replied matter of factly.

“Ohh? Big talk, Slim Jim.” You smirked, giving his shoulder a gentle punch.

“Yeah,” Hobie’s hazel eyes danced with amusement as he fixed you with his humorous half smile. The one that secretly made your heart race. “With the flavor to match.” He winked.

You thought you’d melt off the stool. Your mind raced as you tried to conjure up a response, but before you could Smiley interrupted.

“Oi, when you kids’re done whispering sweet nothin’s, the stage is clear.”

The pair of you swung your head in Smiley’s direction. You could swear you saw a bashful, almost embarrassed expression flash across Hobie’s chiseled features, but he was smirking in a blink.

“Sure, sure.” He replied, standing along with his bandmates. Before he made the short trek to the stage he turned to you. “Be right back, yeah? Dun let any creeps try an pull one over on ya.”

“London,” your voice lowered as you leaned forward on the stool. “You took the girl outta the Bronx not the other way around.”

Now it was Hobie’s turn to look stunned. He scanned your face and seemed about to say something before Silas tugged him away.

“Let’s go, Romeo!” The stoned bassist quipped.

You giggled as Hobie shrugged.

“Don’t talk to strangers, y/n.” He playfully warned.

As the band climbed on stage a piercing wolf whistle sounded in the crowd along with a loud smattering of applause. It was clear Hobie’s band were well known amongst this crowd.

“Ri’,” Hobie chuckled. “Look, we got a friend here, yeah? She came all the way from America so you blokes better make us look good!”

“Even if we suck!” Silas added, sitting down at the drum set.

The crowd laughed. So did you, a fond smile lingering on your lips.

With that introduction out of the way, the boys began tuning up. Immediately, you noticed a different between their sound check and the slapdash ensemble that’d gone before them. You sat up, admiring your friend bathed in hues of blue and purple that seemed to caress his high cheekbones and emanate from his deeply melanated skin. The sight was enough to make a flush rise up your neck. You crossed your legs and propped your chin on your fist. The boys started out the gate swinging with a piercing guitar riff that hyped the crowd, followed by Silas’ bombastic drums.

The crowd went crazy, and you lowered the drink you’d gotten in awe. Wow, so this was what Hobie got up to in those unpermitted shows? Back where you were from, there were black rockstars, certainly. Jimi Hendrix, Betty Davis, Prince, but you only knew a couple cats who played rock like Hobie. Bad Brains and a little band out of Detroit called Death.

Still, you couldn’t deny, the band’s sound was tight. Loud, but tight. Hobie’s fingers were flying. The rest of the band was amazing too, but you couldn’t take your eyes off your fellow comrade. You’d never seen him so in the zone. His expression was relaxed, but his entire body was locked into what he was doing. His head bobbed with the rhythm of his guitar.

“Woowoooo!” You whooped, bouncing in your seat. The cheering got Hobie’s attention and he glanced at you with a smile.

When the band was done, the room practically shook with applause and cheering. You jumped from the stool to join the noise.

“Jeez, how’re you blokes gonna act when we really start playin’?” Smiley joked, making the crowd laugh.

Hobie lifted the hem of his shirt to dab his forehead, and you could have sworn you heard the entire female demographic of the audience swoon. Not that you weren’t one of them.

“Ri’,” Hobie spoke up, “but I wanna introduce our girl. A friend of ours who came all the way from America to visit.”

“Gwen!” Someone shouted.

You snickered. You almost forgot Gwen hung out with Hobie on a regular basis.

“No, not Gwen.” Hobie chuckled. “This is another friend. She’s in the music scene too.”

I am????

You thought.

“An’ I think she should come up here an’ join us, how bout you lot?”

The crowd cheered again. Your eyes widened.

What. The. Fuck?!

No way were you going up in front of this crowd. Everyone in there looked like they could kill you with their bare hands. Was Hobie crazy?

You sank down in your seat, but Hobie gestured to you broadly.

“Y/n, come up’ere. You know we ain’t gonna let ya off the hook.”

You looked around as if trying to find who he could be talking about, but all heavily made up eyes were on you as the punk crowd cheered you on.

“Yeah, c’mon y/n!”

“Be a sport!”

“Show us how they do it in America!”

Then the crowd began chanting your name. A thousand British accents practically singing “y/n, y/n, y/n!”

You could only gawk at Hobie whose pierced brow was quirked as he smiled slyly at you.

‘Come on’ he mouthed, holding out a ringed hand.

‘Seriously?’ You shot back?

‘Seriously.’ Hobie confirmed.

You prayed the moment would pass, but with everyone cheering you on and Hobie smiling gallantly at you like some knight in shining armor, you didn’t think you were getting out of this one. So with a quick ‘Ima kill you,’ to Hobie, you downed the rest of your drink and slid off the stool.

The applause got louder as you joined the band on stage, grabbing Hobie’s hand.

“Wow, umm, ok.” You chuckled nervously. “Look, I’m not from here, so my music probably isn’t gonna be you guys’ speed.”

“Try us!” Someone shouted from the crowd.

Alright. You would. You turned to Hobie with a half baked idea in mind. Time to bring a little Boogie Down to Camden.

“Yall know Rapper’s Delight?” You asked the boys.

All three members scoffed, almost offended at the notion that they didn’t.

“Yeah, love, we know Rapper’s Delight.” Hobie replied.

“You lead the way, y/n, we got ya covered.” Smiley winked.

“Alright, I guess ima kick yall something outta my hometown. Cool?”

The crowd responded favorably. You turned to the band, heart hammering nervously, and nodded.

Silas counted the band in.

“One.. two… one, two, three!”

Silas picked it up with the drums and Smiley quickly came in with the bass. Hobie was last.

God you were nervous, but man, the beat was way too funky to stay still so you bounced along. And when the beat gave way you started with the unmistakable intro of: “I said a hip hop the hippy the hippy to the hip hip hop and ya don’t stop the rock—“

But instead of biting Sugar Hill’s flow completely you decided to freestyle like the cats back home.

Now I know that you know that you ain’t eva heard this befo’, but layback and relax and let me kick you this flow.

Cuz in the boogie down, groove comes naturally to us and if you wanna be down and get down wit’ me now, you need proper influence. Boogie down B-town is where it really be happenin’ and I’m deliverin’ from Bronx and straight into Camden.

“Oooohhh!” The crowd chanted.

You laughed through your freestyle. Surprised by how much fun you were having. The crowd was jamming and the band was grooving right along with you. By the time the dance break came along, everyone was grooving along with you.

With an outro you thanked the crowd and were practically drowned out by their applause.

You slotted the mic back onto the stand only to be scooped into a hug by Hobie who spun you around. You laughed.

“That was amazing, y/n!” He exclaimed.

The rest of the boys joined you turning it into a group hug.

“Still wanna kill me?” Hobie asked.

“Yes!” You tried to glare at him, but your smile was too big. “But you made me sound good so I guess I’ll let you off the hook.”

Hobie laughed.

“I’ll take it.”

#Hobie #hobie brown #soundcloud #hobie is from the 70s please stop forgetting that #across the spiderverse #hobie x reader #hobie x black!reader #x black fem reader #black fanfic writer #x black reader #x black y/n #fanfiction #vixenpen is back and yall are welcome for jt #Spotify

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writing-intheundercroft · 11 months

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Your Ivy Grows // Compliments

Read on AO3

Summary: Ominis Gaunt cannot see, but he can feel.He can feel the tall thickets of grass outside of his Aunt Noctua's house, now his for the summer. He can feel the sand down by the beach, the water of the tide pools, the overgrown ivy in Noctua's beloved garden. Most importantly, he can feel the gentle brush of his house guest's hand against his as they take their daily walk.He fears that he may feel much, much more for his new house guest.

Word Count: 4,838

Rating: M (good ole fashion victorian Ominis gets a teeny bit carried away)

Taglist: @slootmagix (comment if you'd like to be added!)

Flirting with Ominis Gaunt was fun.

She couldn’t help herself. Meeting men her own age was an anomaly; most men she met worked with her father, and no matter how much she defended his profession, his colleagues were usually old, and left much to be desired. Being isolated at the old manor with no company didn’t help either. It appeared the former mistress of the house was also an unmarried woman, her library catalog consisting of recipes, textbooks, herbology guides, and to the houseguest’s surprise, a wide breadth of romance novels. She’d be lying if the early weeks of her confinement weren’t spent pouring over a few salacious stories.

Things did change once her new guardian arrived. There was finally someone to talk to, and someone to join her in the garden. They took daily turns around the property, and visits to the shore were no longer lonely. Being outdoors and the welcome addition of conversation were refreshing, of course, but after she yearned for something more…stimulating.

And she couldn’t think of anything more stimulating than the beautiful hands of the younger Mr. Gaunt.

Ominis seemed impenetrable at first. Typical flirtation tactics like coy glances and blushing were useless on a blind man, so she’d had to get creative. She’d spent an entire afternoon once, observing Ominis and trying to understand what he might find attractive. He had a dreadfully mundane routine, always rising at the same time, writing and reading in his room before breakfast. He kept a respectful distance from her when they walked the grounds, and had only ever offered her tiny morsels of his life outside of the manor. He’d tell her stories of his friends; one, a book shop attendant who sounded like a terrible rake, and one other, a highly gifted witch who’d come into her power late in life. She realized that he never seemed to talk about himself–another trait she found attractive. Most men were boastful, but Ominis Gaunt was humble.

She’d tried giggling at his jokes–nothing. Commenting on his clothing–none. Complimenting his hair–he merely shared the pomade recipe he’d been using since his fifth year at school.

Every single move she made went completely over his head, until that afternoon in the garden. Oh, how he’d blushed at the feeling of her mouth on his hand–she hadn’t even intended to rouse him, mostly trying to keep droplets of blood off his fine white shirt. His alabaster skin bloomed with such a pretty pink, and she would stop at nothing to keep his cheeks aflame.

Physical touch, she realized. That’s what made Ominis Gaunt tick.

From then on, she made every possible effort to touch him. She danced with him around the dinner table, after he’d told her about the ball. His face was flushed the entire time, and she could feel him smelling her hair. The next day, she clutched his arm a little harder when they walked through the town, and wore a little more of her perfume. And perhaps it had been too bold of a move, disrobing in front of him, but for Merlin’s sake, he was blind. She blushed into the mirror, watching him fumble with the ribbon as he laced the back of her dress. His cheeks were red, his breathing stuttered, and his hands ghosting over her hips. She wanted to protest when he ran from the room, but Golly’s accusatory look made her freeze in place.

“What?”

Golly shrugged. “You seem rather interested in Master Ominis.”

She looked at herself in the mirror as the little house elf pinned the cuff of the sleeve. “He’s very nice.”

“Do you mean nice, or nice to look at?” Golly hummed with the pins in her mouth.

“Golly!” she gasped. “How untoward of you.”

Golly rolled her big eyes, snorting as she grabbed the fabric scissors from her sewing basket. “Golly thinks you have a crush on Master Ominis.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “He’s merely fun to play with, that’s all.” She looked at herself in the mirror, tilting her head as she held a hand to her waist. “Ominis has been very kind to me, and while I do enjoy my company, I know he’s only here by command. I’m sure he’d rather be in London enjoying the season than being stuck here with me.”

“Master Ominis is not like other men,” Golly mused.

She snorted. “Golly, hasn’t it been ten years since you last saw him?”

“Yes, but Master Ominis was raised by Madame Noctua,” Golly said, working on the hem with her nimble hands. “And you won’t find many men like him.”

She rolled her eyes, smirking at herself in the mirror. The sweet house elf didn’t need to convince her–she already knew Ominis was unlike most. Had he been like the men she’d encountered in her twenty one years, Ominis would have already tried to make an inappropriate move on her. Instead, he’d been unbearably proper, and it was surprisingly the second most attractive part of him. She fidgeted as she wondered if Ominis was like this with all women–if he was just as kind, attentive, and sweet.

His soul was as pretty as his face, she thought to herself.

“A true gentleman,” She announced.

“A true gentleman.” Golly echoed. “Right indeed.”

Correction–flirting with Ominis Gaunt was supposed to be fun.

It would be fun, if she’d had the opportunity to do so. He’d been avoiding her since their encounter in the dressing room, claiming to have a rare summer cold to stay in his chambers. She had found his propriety to be attractive, but this was certainly too much. It had been three days since he’d last left his rooms, leaving her to tend to the garden by herself. She snipped the roses, starting to feel rather offended at his standoffish attitude.

Perhaps he thinks you’re wild, she thought, angrily snipping a rose. Uncouth, ill mannered, as Marvolo had called her. Perhaps he had found her forwardness to be ugly.

Perhaps he found her ugly.

She shook the thought out of her head, angrily whacking at the rose bushes once more. Get it together, she reminded herself. For heaven’s sake, she was losing it over whether or not a blind man (who would never see her face) thought she was unattractive. She got lost in her work, until she heard the soft sound of her name behind her. Breathing deeply, she turned to see Golly standing a few paces away, hands folded neatly in front of her.

“Master Ominis has asked Golly to fetch you,” she said simply. “To prepare for the ball.”

“Ah, so he still intends to take me.” She rolled her eyes. “Despite not speaking to me for days.”

“Master Ominis had a cold, but is feeling much better now.” Golly lied. The house elf was sweet, obviously fibbing on behalf of her master.

She stood, wiping her dirty hands on the apron. “I somehow don’t believe that,” she admitted, wringing her hands. “I thought he might be disgusted with me.”

Golly gave her a sympathetic look. “Master Ominis still very much looks forward to escorting you to the ball. Come, Golly will help you dress.”

Nerves quickly set in as Golly helped her prepare. First, a lengthy bath, followed by at least half an hour spent styling her hair. Golly had ordered a catalog of the newest styles, pinning her curls to match the pages of Witch Weekly. She then helped her dust on some makeup before lacing her into the dress. The little house elf had done all she could to modernize the garment, but it was obviously an old style. The houseguest slipped on her nicest shoes and gloves, gulping as she observed herself in the mirror. The person looking back at her was far too proper, too ladylike. She’d been excited earlier that week to be leaving the house, but now the nerves were settling in. It was her first social outing ever, and she’d know no one but the Gaunt brothers.

One, who thought she was a wild animal. The other, who’d avoided her the entire week, and likely agreed.

She descended the stairs, clutching the banister as the heavy silk train dragged behind her. Ominis was standing next to the door, wearing a fine tuxedo. As she got closer, she realized the material was an inky blue, almost black, that complimented the light blue gown she was wearing. His blond hair had been slicked back, and he looked too nice to have been suffering from an illness for three days.

Sensing her presence at the bottom of the stairs, Ominis held out a gloved hand. “I’m sure you look beautiful,” he assured her. There was a stiffness to his voice that she hadn’t ever heard before.

“I hope your cold wasn’t that bad.” she mused, putting her hand in his.

Ominis blushed. She wondered if he knew he was a terrible liar, wearing the truth as a pretty flush. “I feel much better. Just had to be on my own a bit; I didn't want to get you sick before your first ball.”

He escorted her out the door; a horseless carriage was in the front drive. She shuddered as she heard the huffing and neighing from the invisible creatures that would fly them to London. Thestrals were foreboding, and even though she considered herself lucky to not be able to see them, there was something unsettling about trusting skeletal horses in the sky.

Ominis didn’t seem to mind; he swung the carriage door open, holding her hand gently to guide her. His nimble fingers hovered over her waist again, keeping distance. She couldn’t help the frown that graced her lips as he sat across from her, fumbling with the handle of his wand. And when the carriage took flight, she gripped the seat; Ominis seemed entirely familiar with the sensation, barely flinching as their bodies shifted, knees knocking into one another.

After a few minutes of silence, Ominis cleared his throat. “Are you excited?” he hummed.

She crossed her arms. “Honestly, I'm nervous. My dance instructor abandoned me.” she said, the accusatory tone dripping off her lips.

Ominis turned red again, sighing. “I’m sorry. I should have spent more time with you.”

“Did I do something to bother you?” she asked, shifting to a more serious voice. “Did…have I overstepped any boundaries? Are you mad at me?” she bumbled.

Ominis tilted his head. “No, of course not.” he said softly. “If anything, I’m the one to have overstepped.” He ran a gloved hand through his tidy blond hair, sighing. “How is our garden? I’m sorry to have neglected it, and you in turn.”

She pressed her lips into a tight smile. “The roses look much better. Might have whacked them a bit in frustration though.” She reached forward, adjusting Ominis’s hair. He sucked in a breath when she did so.

“You’re touchy, you know that?” He crossed his legs.

“Do you not like people touching you?” She asked, tilting her head.

He shook his head. “Just not used to it, that’s all.”

The carriage landed within the hour, and she stumbled out with the help of a footman, who bowed to Ominis.

“Where are we?” She asked curiously, observing their surroundings. It was a lavish townhouse, two lamps lit in front of a black lacquered door. The lamps were lit with a green flame, and there was a silver snake adorning the door.

“My brother’s house. He lives here most of the time; my sister-in-law stays out in the country.” Ominis mumbled. He held his arm out, and she looped hers through it. They walked up to the front door, and the silver snake hissed. She jumped back, but Ominis was undeterred. He calmly hissed back, and the door swung open.

“What the bloody hell was that?” she gaped.

Ominis rolled his eyes. “Party trick of Marvolo’s. Most people will be arriving by floo, but to get through the front door, you need to know the password or speak parseltongue.”

“I didn’t know you spoke parseltongue,” she gasped. “That’s incredible.”

“Yes,” he said dryly, frowning a bit. “Maybe my least favorite of my abilities.”

Ominis guided her down the hallway and into the small ballroom. Unlike his Aunt Noctua’s home, he seemed uncomfortable, head jerking at every sound, wand raised and at the ready. Feeling her nerves bubbling over, she clutched him tighter. The sound of voices grew louder, and she stumbled as they entered the ballroom. No one had announced them, but it seemed like the entire party had turned their attention to the doorway as soon as they’d walked in.

She gulped, staring at a room full of strangers.

“We’ll greet Marvolo first,” Ominis whispered. “Then we can find you some champagne.”

Marvolo wasn’t easy to miss–he was seated at the head of the room, as if he were a king in his castle. He was surrounded by his lackeys, all laughing and spilling their alcohol, and a dark haired woman sat at his feet like an obedient cat. After having spent so much time with Ominis, she couldn’t have been more shocked at the stark difference between them. It seemed like Marvolo Gaunt had a permanent sneer on his face, a smile so sinister compared to that of his brother’s.

“Little brother,” Marvolo hummed. “I see you’ve brought our friend .” He emphasized the word.

She looked up at Ominis, who had stiffened. His jaw looked hard, as if he were gritting his teeth. “Marvolo.” he said curtly. “We’re here, as you’ve asked.”

Marvolo turned his gaze to her, beckoning her closer. She stepped forward, and Ominis’s hand flexed as he let go of her arm.

“I see my brother has trained you well,” he laughed, looking over at his friends. “A wild little thing when we last saw her, wasn’t she?”

The men laughed, and she wrinkled her nose. “I need no training, especially not from a man.” she uttered defiantly.

Marvolo laughed again, stroking his dark beard. “Still feisty, I see.” He winked at Ominis. “You’ll have to try harder to break her in, baby brother.”

“I think we’ll take a turn around the room,” Ominis said loudly, tugging her backwards by the elbow. Ominis said her name, and she turned to him, blinking at his face. He looked angry, a fiery red flush on his face as he pulled her far away from his brother and his posse. He pulled her towards the corner of the room, instinctively boxing her into the wall.

“I’m sorry about him,” Ominis huffed. “I should’ve expected him to be lewd.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve dealt with worse.” she gulped, blushing herself at the close proximity. She peered over his shoulder; a few couples had taken to the dance floor. “Will we dance?”

Ominis opened his mouth to say something, but he jumped back when a stranger put a hand on his shoulder. She furrowed her eyebrows, staring at the freckled man who was beaming at him.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” he said, grinning as he wrapped his arms around Ominis. Ominis laughed, clapping the man on the back in return. It was a brotherly embrace, certainly warmer than the greeting Ominis had given to Marvolo.

“You scoundrel, how’d you’d get an invite?” Ominis snorted, holding him by the shoulders.

The brunette rolled his eyes, giving Ominis a smug look. “Violet asked me to accompany her,” he looked back to the room, scanning it for his partner. “No doubt she’s off with the other snakes gossiping about your grand entrance.”

“You’re such a flirt, Sebastian.” Ominis scoffed. “And you’re being impolite. Introduce yourself.”

The stranger turned to her, giving her a boyish smile as he kissed the back of her hand. “Sebastian Sallow, a pleasure to meet you. Ominis has written quite a bit about you.”

She blushed as Ominis shoved Sebastian, who let out a loud laugh. They looked like schoolboys as they squabbled, but Ominis settled with an arm around Sebastian.

“My oldest friend,” Ominis announced. “I’ve told you about him.”

“Ah, yes,” she laughed. “The playboy.”

Sebastian chuckled. “I see you’re spreading the word about me. Always so proud, this one.” He clapped Ominis on the back. “He’s told me you have him gardening–this, from the man who dreaded even walking into the Herbology classroom. Quite a feat.”

“His skills left much to be desired at first,” she said coyly. “But he’s improving with supervision.”

“Never thought I’d see the day where Ominis Gaunt was putting his hands to work.” Sebastian said, knocking his shoulders into the blond. He was handsome, but quite the opposite from Ominis. His outgoing, playful personality shined; she could see was Ominis meant when he'd described his best friend as a magnetic personality.

A waiter passed them, and Sebastian lifted two champagne coupes from the tray, passing one to her, and the other to Ominis. “Drink up–it’ll be a long night. I’ve already had three.”

“Already that bored of your date?” Ominis chortled.

Sebastian looked over his shoulder at a gaggle of women, all gossiping with each other on the couches. “I reckon Vi only asked me for one reason,” he waggled his eyebrows, winking at Ominis. She looked up at her companion, who grimaced; despite his lack of sight, it was almost as if he’d known the exact look on Sebastian’s face.

Perhaps that was another gift of Ominis’s; after spending enough time with someone, he could know them completely, even blind.

Music flooded the room, and couples started pairing up on the dance floor.

“Ah shit, she’s coming here now.” Sebastian mused, gulping down his champagne. “See you two out on the dance floor.” he winked, setting the glass down to meet a dark haired girl halfway.

Ominis turned to her, smiling softly. “Shall we?” He held his hand out, for her, one step already towards the dance floor. She placed hers gently into his, and let him guide her. Once they were situated, he stowed his wand in his jacket pocket, and let his hand hover over her waist.

She placed her hand on his shoulder as he’d instructed her, and the dance began. Even though they were on the outskirts of the dance floor, she still felt eyes all over her. At one point, they passed Sebastian and his date; he winked while she scoffed.

“Do you know everyone here?” She asked.

Ominis inhaled sharply as they stepped around each other. “For the most part. All of the younger folks especially, we all went to school together.” He leaned in, his lips brushing her ears. “Sebastian’s date was in our year. Nightmare of a human being.”

She bit her lower lip at the contact. “Why would Sebastian go to a ball with her then?”

Ominis shrugged. “He’s bored, I suppose. He’s been in love with one of our best friends for ages, and he missed his shot with her. I think he humors these girls out of boredom. And they certainly don’t mind since he’s so handsome.”

She frowned as they twirled. “Well, that’s no way to live. Why hasn’t he spoken to your friend?”

Ominis sighed loudly. “I’ve tried to tell him that a million times, but he prefers to be stubborn.”

She looked over at Sebastian and his date; she was talking with him rather animatedly, while he blankly nodded along. “She doesn’t seem to have taken the hint,” she mused. “I’d hate to be dragged along like that.”

Ominis let out a breathy laugh. “I didn’t think a girl like you would let yourself be dragged on. You seem like the type to put a man in his place.”

She chewed on her lower lip. So Ominis did have some presumptions about her and her experiences.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never even gotten close to a man in such a way?” she murmured.

Ominis blinked at her. “You’ve never courted anyone before?”

She laughed. “Ominis, I’ve traveled the world my entire life, I’ve never stayed in one place long enough to do so, let alone known a man long enough to desire him.”

“I shouldn’t have said all those scandalous things about Sebastian! You should’ve told me,” Ominis gasped. “I’d assumed–”

“I’m not an idiot,” she interjected. “I understand what men can be like.” The music died down, and the couples clapped for the musicians as they ended their song. “And besides, I am a woman. It’s not as if women go without desires as well.” she whispered.

The tips of Ominis’s ears went pink as she walked away, smiling to herself.

“You’re a guest of the Gaunts this summer, aren’t you?”

She turned around, facing the man who had addressed her. She was on her third glass of champagne, cheeks tickled pink from the alcohol.

“I am,” she blurted, holding her hand out. “And you are?”

The stocky man leaned down to kiss it, lips catching the edge of her wrist. “Augustus Carrow,” he said cheerfully. “A pleasure.” He was also blonde, but his hair was dull in comparison to Ominis’s cornsilk locks.

She politely dipped her head. This was the sixth man to introduce himself, and the attention was much needed. Ominis had gotten pulled away by one of his many sisters, likely dragged over to some prospective match. She’d watched as he politely danced with other girls, fighting the bubbling jealousy within her.

Maybe he was just that nice to every woman he met, she thought. Perhaps she wasn’t so special. And if that were the case, Ominis wouldn’t mind that she too was dancing with every gentleman that introduced himself. So far her dance card was filled with plenty of new acquaintances, all who had sung her praises during their conversations. Rowle, Hobhouse, Burke, Travers, Black, and now Carrow.

She hiccuped, covering her mouth. “Excuse me,” she said sheepishly. “I’m new to…all of this,” she gestured, waving her champagne. It splashed a little, landing on his shiny shoes.

Augustus laughed, keeping a tight grip on her hand, even though she'd tried to pull away. “You’re fun,” he grinned. “I like a woman who can enjoy a little champagne here and there. Would you maybe like to—”

“Carrow.”

She tilted her head, looking up at Ominis. He’d swooped in out of nowhere, standing behind her closely, a hand on her shoulder. Whereas he’d lightly hovered his hands before, it felt heavy on her skin.

“Ominis,” Augustus chuckled. “Back to stake your claim.”

She looked up at Ominis in confusion. His eyebrows were furrowed, a frown set upon his face.

“There are no stakes to claim,” Ominis said calmly. Rather, his voice was calm, but the way his fingertips bruised into her skin. “She is my ward, and I think she’s danced enough for one evening.”

“Ominis,” she opened her mouth to complain.

“Come along,” Ominis said, her name tumbling off his lips. “I think you’ve had too much champagne. You should take a break.” He dragged her by the elbow down the hall, pulling her into the library. He shut the heavy wooden doors behind them, the tip of his wand glowing red in his face.

“Sit,” he barked. She’d never heard him so commanding before; she automatically fell into the closest armchair, crossing her legs at the ankles.

Ominis flicked his wand and a glass flew across the room, floating in front of her.

“Aguamenti,” he uttered, water flowing from the tip of his wand to the glass. “Now drink.”

She did as he commanded, lifting the glass to her lips. She watched him curiously as he paced back and forth. Once she’d finished, she set it on the floor, crossing her arms.

“Are you mad at me?”

Ominis put his hands on his hips, his wand stowed away again. “Did you enjoy dancing?”

“I did.” she sniffed. “Did you enjoy dancing as well?”

He turned to her. “I did not,” he frowned. “More girls, simpering over me just because my mother wants them to.”

“I don’t think they’re doing so because of that,” she shrugged. “You’re quite the catch. Besides, you didn’t see how those girls admired you.”

“And you didn’t seem to pick up at all on how those men leered at you.” Ominis nearly spat, continuing to pace. He tugged his pristine white gloves off his hands, shoving them in his pockets.

“Does that bother you?” She asked, crossing her legs tighter. She gripped the arms of the chair; perhaps it was the champagne going to her head, but Ominis was unbearably handsome in his flustered state. “You couldn’t even see them.”

He turned on his heel, making two quick strides towards her, standing over her. “I could feel them,” he uttered. “And I could hear the way they spoke about you. How complimentary you are.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked breathily, feeling her heart beating in her head.

“You say those things,” Ominis whispered, falling to his knees. She stared at him as he shut his unseeing eyes, his slender hands falling into her lap. He clutched at her silk skirt, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “Nice things about me.”

She gulped, looking down at him. “There are a lot of nice things about you.”

“Tell me,” he said, gripping her thighs over the fabric of her dress.

“You’re a good dancer.”

He shook his head. “Not like that.” One of his hands dropped below the chair, rustling under the fabric of her skirt to hold her ankle. He gently pried her legs apart.

“Your hair is nice,” she added.

Ominis gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Try again.”

She bit down on her lower lip as the hand beneath her skirt traveled up her stocking, tracing circles on her knee.

“You have beautiful hands,” she whispered.

Ominis’s hand slid even further, tickling her thigh. One hand was atop her dress, the other hovering dangerously close to a part of her that no man had ever touched.

“You say pretty things to me, you touch me all the time.” Ominis murmured. “Can I touch you?”

She looked up to his unseeing eyes, testing the boundary. “You weren’t sick, were you?”

Ominis shook his head silently, a soft strand of hair falling against his forehead.

Feeling bolder, she took in a sharp breath. “You wished you were touching me the entire time.”

Ominis nodded, jaw hardening as his grip tightened.

“You touched yourself?” she whispered.

Ominis let out a garbled sound from his throat, leaning his forehead against hers. “I like the way you feel,” he rasped. “Can I?”

She lurched forward, pulling the hand that rested on top of her skirts to her face. While she leaned down, he pushed himself upwards, trying to close the distance between their faces. “Yes.”

Ominis surged forward, kissing her. It wasn’t sweet; it wasn’t soft. It was hard, teeth nipping on her lips, licking into her mouth. His hand wrapped around her neck, pulling her towards him.

“I don’t want to hear you compliment any other man.” he gasped. “I only like to hear you say nice things about me.”

She moaned into his lips as his fingers moved from the outside of her thigh inwards, tickling her as he pushed her petticoats aside. She opened her eyes, rewarded with the sight of a blushing Ominis, eyes squeezed tightly in pleasure as he ghosted his fingers over her clothed core. He pulled back, gasping for air as he put both hands to work, pushing her skirts away.

“So many damn layers,” he muttered, and she laughed aloud. Her laugh turned into a shriek as she felt his lips place hot kisses on the inside of her leg.

“Ominis!” she gasped.

Suddenly, the door handle jiggled. Both of them froze for a second; as the door opened, Ominis pulled her skirts down, and tugged at the knot that laced her shoes. She immediately sat up, brushing the wrinkles from her topskirt.

“There you are!” Sebastian said cheerfully. “Violet was hoping you’d come back out to dance. Actually, I’m just hoping–I don’t want to be alone with her for another second, she might try to slobber all over my face again.” He stood at the doorway, a jovial smile on his face as he stared at the twosome. She merely smiled at the freckled man, who narrowed his eyes at Ominis on the floor. “What are you doing on the ground?”

“Tying her shoe, of course.” Ominis said quickly. “We’ll meet you and Violet out there,” he offered, clearing his throat.

Sebastian shrugged, closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door shut, Ominis launched himself to the other side of the room; she stared as he inhaled sharply, adjusting his trousers and slicking back his blond hair. Once it seemed that he’d collected himself, he walked back over, offering a hand to help her up. He’d put his gloves back on.

“Shall we?” he asked calmly, as if he hadn’t been digging through her skirts on the floor a minute ago, pressing kisses along her thigh. She couldn’t read the expression on his face; it was like his personality had retreated inward, hiding itself. The urgent, needy Ominis was gone, a placid persona taking its place.

She let out a puff of air, taking his gloved hand once again.

#ominis gaunt x oc #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #omini gaunt fanfiction #writing-intheundercroft

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katsigian · 1 year

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𝕍𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕟, 𝔽𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕌𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝 ℕ𝕠𝕨

When I made Valen, I never knew that he'd become such an integral part of me. I made him with all of the best parts of people I love, but also the worst. I began building Valen back in June 2021 and I've been developing him ever since.

He's one of the loves of my life, he's my baby, he's the steady, beautiful moon that's all full and bright and glowing in the night sky.

Valen is the best thing I've ever made.

This was him back in August 2021 when I first made him

This is him now as of July 2023. Nearly two years later

My sweet, handsome, angry boy. I love you so, so much.

He's flawed and dark and gritty and that is essential to him. I was very careful to give him realistic and human qualities, like his fatal flaw of devotion, his temper problems, his love for carb-heavy food. Valen is not a good person, no. He's a headhunter, a professional private contractor that fixes other people's problems for exorbitant amounts of money. He's hurt people and sleeps well at night. Valen was raised in violence, it's what he's best at, he will forever be violence and aggression and combat. He's the hunt and he's the predator.

But he's also loving. He's incredibly affectionate and sweet with his love. He is gentle and kind with him. If there will be any salvation for Valen, it will be the heaven he finds in bed with the love of his life. He wants so badly to be good for him. He learns patience for him. And while that violent, aggressive part of Valen that makes up his core being will never leave, he can still be loved. He loves being in conflict and combat, he loves the adrenaline of the fight. But he loves his soulmate even more.

He's human - Valen sucks at boardgames. Valen has plants that he takes care of. He draws and sketches and paints. He loves going to a coffee shop and getting a fancy little sugary drink. He worries about his outfit he put on this morning and if he looks good. He carefully fixes his hair in the morning with pomade only for it to be shaken out when his love winds his fingers in it.

Valen is everything that I've ever wanted to create and he always will be the greatest thing I've ever made. He isn't a self insert, but he still has pieces of my heart and soul within him, woven through him. He's all of the best things I could ever create in one body. I spent hours upon hours on his tattoos, making sure they fit him and they were wholly and entirely his, meaningful to him and his life.

He's saved me more times than I can count. Valen and his siblings and his soulmate, his story and his personality, his plot lines and his past. Is what kept me alive when things were too rough. It's because of Valen, my best boy, that I found my life partner. That I found my best friend. That I found all these people I can call friends. It's all because of him. My life would not have been the way it is right now without him - I would've never found this sort of happiness if I hadn't created him and got the courage to enter the fandom with him.

I love you. I love you so much. I'll never make something so beautiful as Valen and his tattoos and his story ever again.

#i'm in tears while i write this. you should know that #male v monday #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk oc #cyberpunk screenshots #cyberpunk photomode #cyberpunk photography #virtual photography #in game photography #in game screenshots #virtual photoshoot #male v #masc v #cyberpunk game #⠀- ̗̀ ⸨ 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔫 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔩𝔞𝔴 ⸩⁺☀︎⭒๋

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pseudonymphomania · 1 year

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This is the first time I've made something for my own MC. "Dear Love" refers to my IRL partner, whom I pretend to write to about my adventures in the Devildom.

I play the game as everyone's platonic friend. I am asexual and enjoy Queer Platonic Relationships for myself. I also play matchmaker in my own Devildom universe.

My attributes: average height. Black hair styled with a medium hold matte pomade. Brown eyes. Beauty mark under my nose. Dimple on one side of my face.

Clothing: Prefer formal wear over casual. Suspenders over belts. Monochromatic colours or loud ostentatious patterns, no in-between. Comfy dress shoes in black or brown but open to other colours to match outfits; I'm wearing leather monkstrap shoes in the picture. Metal accents like tie clips are crucial. Got laser eye surgery but sometimes wears fake glasses to feel something on my face. Satchel contains good pens, quality paper, and workstation. Fitbit on my wrist to count every step I take to solve the problems of the day.

Personality: wry and dry humour. Workaholic. Lifelong learner. The Parent Friend. Always happy to help. Frontline tendencies.

Skills: technical writing, sewing and clothing construction, trades and mechanics, hair cutting, musician (piano and guitar), singer and actor (theatre), novelist, artist

Likes: obtaining new skills and making new friends. Justice. Equity.

Dislikes: misunderstandings, situations that could have been handled effectively but weren't. Unclear communication.

Occupation before I got Isekai'd: Director of Operations

Character I relate to the most: Lucifer

Character I would date if I was inclined: Diavolo, because he reminds me of my actual partner.

The reason I ship DiaLuci so hard: I love my partner the most and this is a mirror to that, right down to situations and actual conversations we have had in real life. The narrative potential. Other reasons.

My MC and OM Characters in my Devildom:

Lucifer: would smugly tell me that I've used a comma splice and I'd tell him to "shove a semi-colon in it". He's my bestest friend in the entire Devildom. We go to cafes and bookstores and go shopping for office supplies. I tell him to stop working so hard and he stares at me like "You're the one telling me this? The audacity." I needle him about his crush and he tells me to fuck off but his face is red.

Mammon: my other bestie but in a wildly different way. He brings out the shit-disturber in me. We play billiards together and play for treats. I disapprove of his gambling but am all-in on the shopping. He takes me out to all the best food places. "Try this, Beckett, you'll really love it." Meanwhile it's some sort of Devildom Atrocity, but somehow it's still good.

Levi: my nerd friend. I bring him offerings and leave them outside his door. We play games often with Mammon and I kick their butts at fighting games, but get wrecked when I have to make choices. We stay up hellishly late and I wake up with chocolate on my face. "Lets do this again: ive got the hottest new dating sim to try!" We are both groggy and destroyed and i have to go to work, but I agree to come back tonight.

Asmo: my favourite boy toy. He's stylish as hell and knows what looks good on anybody. Hes my personal stylist. I cut his hair in exchange. Just like with Mammon I go shopping with Asmo, except he knows all the good places for clothing and knows where all the thrift stores are. "It doesnt have to be new and expensive to look good honey!" I agree. I cuddle with Asmo the most because he loves touch.

Satan: my boy thirsts for knowledge and I do too. We skill-trade and fan over cats. Unfortunately I'm very allergic, but I appreciate them from afar and draw cats for him to hang in his book-filled room. "Do you want to come to the cat Cafe with me?" Oh Satan. He's his father's son alright, but he's just as much of a shit disturber as Mammon. He teaches me fun curses to use on people but I'm content with just knowing it.

Beel: when I'm tired Beel carries me back home and talks about the science behind calories and energy retention in relation to demonic body types. He enjoys cooking and I love testing recipes on him, but I have to swat him away from eating it before it's done. We do exercises together and buff up together. "I can almost see your six pack, haha".

Belphie: he's my sleepy boy. He can be irrational sometimes but I put a blanket over his head to shake him out of it and he snuggles closer. I play him songs on piano and guitar and sing him to sleep, but then I also end up quite sleepy. He's like a son to me and I lecture him often. I try to keep him and Satan from screwing with Lucifer too much. I'm a double agent in the anti Lucifer league lol

Diavolo: i enjoy it when he regales me with Devildom laws, traditions and customs. He speaks of how the executive branch and legislative branch operates in the context of his kingdom and I suggest to strengthen certain areas of his constitution to bring his vision of equity and interrealm relations to the forefront. I am also a shit disturber and needle him about his crush. "You are asking beyond your means, Beckett. Forgive me if I don't answer." Hm... yes, of course. Sorry.

Barbatos: I learn how to be the most efficient I can be from someone who is the most efficient. He is skilled in everything and I must learn from the best. I'm his best student and I'm a teachers pet so i love to hear it. He's been and seen everything and he is an excellent linguist. He is poetry personified in the every day. "Don't let Solomon ruin you too much." I won't!

Solomon: I use my knowledge of mechanics and trades and recontextualise it to be an artificier and create magical items. He is also one to bring out the shit disturber in me and I have almost become Thirteen just from the incidentally nonsense stuff I make. "Oh that's an interesting effect. I wonder what will happen if I give this to Barbatos". Solomon, dude. Do you want to get murdered. Is that what you're into.

Simeon: he is my sweetest and chillest boy. My bestie to talk about justice and relationality with. When I'm insecure and feel like people don't like me as much as they do, he reassures me and tells me stories of his own relationships. "There is nothing wrong with stepping back. Once you've regained your sense of self, you'll be able to pursue the path of friendship again and people will be ready to receive you."

Luke: he is like my son. I make sure he doesn't get nightmares because he seems to have a hard time acclimating to his demonic environment. He teaches me how to bake so that I can make some cakes that look like real inanimate objects and eat them in front of people, to their shock.

Mephisto: I am like Lucifer 2.0. He doesn't really like me but I have no hard feelings toward him.

Thirteen: my Bae. She's a delight but I have to make sure her shenanigans don't cause too much damage in the area or accidentally kill me. I would date her after Diavolo if I was inclined to do that.

I hope you enjoyed seeing my experience and interpretation of the game from my point of view. Everyone's MC journey is very personal to them and I do not believe there is a wrong way to enjoy the game. Thank you for reading. :)

#obey me dialuci #dialuci #obey me male mc #obey me main character #obey me shall we date #otome asexual #Obey me asexual player

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amagbeauty · 8 months

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drrubinspomade · 9 months

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#shop

YES, yes.

We post pinups daily! If you dig this pic we’ve found online, u should investigate the creator/subjects of the above work and fan them, follow them, hire them.

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tincansamurai · 7 months

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excited to be my new barber's first experience with super fine and thin hair. it was funny that he thought a lot of pomade would help instead of just make me look like a wet dog lol. truth be told, at the end of the day idgaf about how good a haircut is because it'll look better than trying to give myself a fade. it's fun to be a learning experience and also get connected to a local community shop right by me. also i liked wearing a shirtless goku powering up haircut cape

#now the weather needs to stop being shit so i can explore more properly #i need to decide which equidistant corner store will be the one i go to more often

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davesbigwhirlwind · 2 years

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Maturing Fast - Part 3

My dad made clear I would be punished for breaking the rules, but I wouldn't receive the punishment until the weekend - and that the severity of the punishment would depend on me not breaking ANY further rules in the meantime. I had to act - and look - like an angel. Literally. Monday night was awful. I wasn't allowed to watch TV or even change out of my uniform. Instead my dad showed me how to bull my shoes. 2 hours later and my already ridiculously shiny shoes were now reflecting my face in them. Grim. Tuesday morning and I was watched like a hawk as I was instructed on what to do. More pomade on my hair. slick it further back. Create a bounce in the quiff at the front. Put your glasses on. Make sure your tie is straight.... I sighed my reflection today hadn't improved any from yesterday. Today my parents were taking no chances - my mum dropped me off right at the school gate much to the delight of my mates. There was no opportunity to try and alter my appearance before anyone saw me, and the derision was so much worse than yesterday. Everyone was loving that this once trendy guy in front of them had been totally transformed into a four-eyed, side-parted, formally attired, nerd, who was without doubt the most conservatively dressed person in the school. Even a couple of the teachers were commenting on my very sudden dramatic change in appearance - and I'm sure I caught at least a couple of them smirking. My form teacher told me that my mum had been in touch - if there was so much as a hair out of place on my head, then this was going to be reported immediately back to my parents and I knew the consequences. The week continued like this, with the kids trying to wind me up more and more - they'd take my glasses or scuff my shoes, or see what they could get to stick in my greasy hair. But each day I was forced to turn up looking like the class joke. It was so clear that no-one in their right mind would choose to look like this, and I was now clearly under the thumb of someone much older and draconian. My appearance was no longer down to me, it was dictated by someone who thought it was a good idea to look like a 1950s throwback. My relationship with my group of mates quickly became more distanced. I wasn't allowed to hang out with them after school, and even trying to play a proper game of football was difficult in these shoes with the slippery soles and rigid construction - but ultimately, they just didn't want to hang out with a nerd. And it was clear to all, that, despite all my years of being a normal, relatively trendy guy, now counted for nothing - and my haircut acting as clearly as a light up sign placed on top of my head - I was - suddenly and totally - a nerd. I was trapped in formality. By Friday afternoon I was just looking forward to the break from the humiliation. My dad met me at the school gates and told me we were going to get some weekend clothes for me. This didn't sound good. At the shops my dad guided me round. First stop was for some check shirts in a variety of shades of creams and blues. Next stop was trousers. Some green twill trousers, blue corduroys and then a pair of fawn trousers were all selected - as if I'd wear any of this stuff? I was so frustrated. Then to cap it all off, a brown tweed jacket was added to the pile. This was like something out of an old-fashioned country magazine photoshoot. No one dressed like this. Despite my protests the items were all bought. Then it was a return to the shoe shop where a pair of very sensible brown brogues were purchased. My grandad owned a very similar pair. As did my dad. That figured.

Back home the bombshell hit me - all my old clothes had been removed. I asked where they'd gone, and was told it didn't matter - I wouldn't need them now. The old clothes weren't appropriate. I went to bed totally dejected, and absolutely exhausted. What would I need to do in order to get back control of how I look? I was woken on the Saturday morning with a call that we were going out shortly, and I was to get ready. The normal routine followed. Shower. Pomade. Comb. It was like a military process, but I did it as I just didn't want the hassle. I was broken after the week's taunts, and being haunted by the image of the boy with the slick side parting, goofy clothes and monstrous glasses. Going through to the bedroom my prescribed outfit had been set out. cream check shirt. Blue cords. Brown socks. Brown brogues. I started negotiating. Pleading. What if one of my friends saw me? Surely I'd been through enough? I'd already had to ensure the forced new look at school, surely I deserved a break. And this is the 90s, not the 70s - parents don't dictate what their children wear. My dad told me that, especially as I had yet to have my punishment I'd better do what I was told or else. I got dressed. It was horrible. The heavy cords made my legs feel weird and hot, and the brogues were really heavy and clumpy, while the shirt was the ugliest, most out-dated thing I'd ever seen. "And why aren't you wearing your glasses? You must always wear your glasses now. You need them, and they really suit you - they complement your look perfectly. You are now a formally dressed young man, and your hair and your glasses are part of that now. This is who you are. " No. Just no. Nothing about how I looked suited me. It suited an old age pensioner, not a teenager!!! The tweed jacket was thrust at me. I put it on. Yet again defeated, humiliated and angry. I looked in the mirror. The outfit looked just like one my dad would wear. That was the point, I guess - humiliation, but how long would it go on for? We were soon outside the barber again. "Time to smarten you up again" my dad said. I was bemused, as my hair hadn't had a chance to grow since the butchering of a week ago. As we went in, the barber was clearly equally bemused - though I wasn't sure if that was fully because of the lack of time since my last visit or my extreme new look. He commented how mature I looked. Yuck. My dad said that I had had some trouble earlier in the week with keeping my hair in order, so he wanted to sort it out. The barber asked if he was thinking a crewcut - "2 all over is no maintenance" was his suggestion. However my dad said no -"to be honest, if his behaviour doesn't improve, he'll be lucky not to be shaved to the bone, but for now, he's still getting use to having a more formal look, and I've made allowances for that - though I'll tolerate no more rule breaking - but I do think the side parting really suits his new look, and he'll soon grow to appreciate it. It just needs to be a bit shorter so that he can't muss it up, but so it still sits smartly and lies down as it should, especially while his hair gets used to growing in a side part." Tha barber said "ok, well how about we start with a number 2 on the back and sides and see how we go from there?" My dad agreed. How could my hair get any shorter? I already had less than about a fifth of the hair of almost anyone else in the school had. I was soon caped up - and then the barber lifted the heavy glasses off my face. The room went a bit blurry. It was amazing how quickly my eyes had adjusted to needing the glasses. Soon there was vibrating at the side of my face. The blade made its way up my head before the barber flicked outwards as he got near to the front hairline. I could just make out a dark fuzz that was left in the place of the hair. This continued around my head as the barber pushed my head forwards and ran the clippers tight up the back of my head. It was the first time I'd ever had clippers used on my head, and the vibration through my skull wasn't pleasant. Especially as it made it abundantly clear that this was going to be a really short haircut. "How's it looking?" the barber asked once he'd completed the other side. "I definitely think shorter at the bottom" my dad answered - "I'm thinking only the merest hint of hair around the hairline and then blending smoothly up to the hair at the top" I'd run out of any disbelief that things couldn't get any worse. I felt I must surely be in some sort of hellish dream that I would wake up from. The barber nodded and took the guard off the clippers. The bare blade was then run a good half inch up the side of my head. Then at the back I could feel the clippers running much higher. The skin on my head was getting really hot. Different guards and levers were then used as he worked over and over the sides of my head as he inched higher and higher. He then took his comb and started blending the top of my hair with the now skinned sides. Any remaining bulk of hair on the sides of my head had been removed leaving just a like pelt before joining the, now - in comparison - relatively long hair on the top. My dad confirmed the sides were looking much better, so discussion turned as to what to do on the top. "As the part is so far over to the side, I think we just thin it out on that side, as the hair is already much shorter now, and it's just the right length to lie down. While on the other side, I can take it a bit shorter at the front if you want - maybe down another half inch, though then it won't be long enough to flip over at the front, but it will just have to lie straight across his head, as I'll thin it out more as well, so it will have no choice but to follow the part. That was agreed and soon the thinning shears were thrashing through my hair, and then the little hair that was left at the front was brushed down once more and then cut again at the stupid angle, but this time starting about a third of the way up my forehead, rather than at my eye. He then worked around the edges with a straight razor removing the tiny hairs that had replaced the hair that I had been left with the previous week, creating once more a smart freshly-barbered edge around my head. He then once more shaved in the part line on my head, and then placed the razor at the very top of my ear and scraping downwards, removing the small tab of hair that signposted where my once glorious sideburns had been. He explained that it made more sense to remove this hair altogether, given that as I now wear glasses it looks much smarter to have the hair stop at the level of the arm of my glasses. I thought it all looked totally ridiculous. The required dollop of pomade was then vigorously applied and then a comb was used to put everything into place - however, where as last time there had been a flourish where a small wave was created across the top of my head and through the quiff at the front, this time the comb was just dragged tightly across my head creating straight lines running perpendicular from the horrid white part line that was shaved into my skull. The barber handed me my glasses and my head swam into focus. It was much worse than before. My head now looked even smaller. My face looked gaunt, while the little hair that was remaining on the top of my head was plastered down - reminding me of how an old man might have his hair fixed to try and cover his bald spot. Only I was 15 not 75. The glasses on my face now looked even larger, and were the main defining feature now, and were exactly what the balding pensioner who has my haircut would choose to wear. Then I moved my head to the side and gasped. There was a big band of white skin glowing half way up my head with only the lightest stubble which then blended lightly into the little hair that was left on top of my head. No one at school had short hair. Razor cuts were only for people in the military. The barber showed me the back - it was even worse with a sea of pale white scalp rising three quarters of the way up my head before any sort of length of hair was allowed to grow. And now devoid of hair it highlighted the strange shape of my skull that jutted out at the back. It was a freak show. My dad was delighted - "that will be much easier for him to keep, and to be honest, is probably a good cut for him to keep now summer is coming" I shot him evils. The barber commented how nice it was to see a father taking such an interest in making sure his son was properly turned out. The barber suggested that if I wanted to keep this military horror of a haircut, then I should come back every 2 weeks to ensure it didn't get too bushy and the skinned sides remained visible. My dad enthusiastically nodded. With the shorter, smartest haircut any young guy would hate to wear, and clothes that only an old man could think were wearable, it surely couldn’t get any worse - but would my parent ever listen to compromise?

#forced haircut #nerdification #forced makeover #age progression #tf story #formally dressed

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