#room temperature vodka

[flamingfoxninja]

I'm all set for the final episode of Mentopolis

#calzone #root beer float #room temperature vodka #ready to party #mentopolis #d20 mentopolis #mentopolis final episode

[starstruckodysseys]

nightmare blunt rotation but it’s nightmare drink ordering session. specifically for the mentopolis cast

#pancake syrup. coffee grounds. room temperature vodka. literally just a calzone #WHAT #dimension 20 #d20 #mentopolis #mentopolis spoilers #reese watches mentopolis

[toorurs]

wish you were sober

synopsis: in which you drunkenly confess to aventurine and he doesn’t believe you, rather believing that he’s not worthy, less even deserving of your love. despite that, his insecurity, you're under the belief that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. love - something that you want to introduce to him and show him “what it means to love you.”

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 2.3k (i’ve gone insane) | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol; they're both drunk, insecure aventurine, unestablished relationship, they label themself as friends but reader barely knows anything abt him LMFAO, dual pov, DO YALL GET THE REFERENCE IN THE SYNOPSIS LMFAO??, rushed ending icl, half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

a/n: yesterday i listened to wish you were sober by conan gray and was like “damn.. this’d fit sunday” but then i asked azul what he thinks cause i couldn’t decide between su**day and <aventurine3. and they replied with that it’d be so much more angsty with aventurine (okay not quote on quote but you get the msg) and i dislike su**ay anyway!! so boom! (y’all are still getting another sunday fic..yay..ig.....)

tags: beloved @azullumi <3 and @cherieiu (stop punching me)

“i love you.” 

your confession doesn't come over as surprising for aventurine, he anticipated it. just like how the ebb awaits the flood, yearning for it but disappearing as soon as it arrives. missing out on each other for just a split second, as the other party sweeps and slips away from the grasp of the other. nevertheless aventurine is glued to his seat on the rich sofa. 

colorful poker chips are splattered around the rich mahogany floor tiles, bottles of vodka and wine, some already with their cork removed and empty, others who haven't even been opened yet. a chandelier adorning the ceiling of the big room, its lightbulbs glowing dimly in the caliginous room, illuminating it.

one of the lamps flickers while the others continue to shine brightly - too brightly aventurine thinks, if he were to watch them any longer he’d feel like melting. the closer he got to you the sun, the deeper he'd fall into the bottomless pit he managed to crawl out of.

the room reeks of alcohol. is the temperature rising? he feels like every time the last number on the digital clock changes the warmer it gets. his blond bangs stick to his forehead and beads of sweat are running down his flushed cheeks - that answers his question.

it’s hot - humid even. he's not sure if he's able to bear the heat in this narrow atmosphere any longer. he tries to blow the sweat away by waving at his face with his hand, trying to cool off his face - a futile attempt. god, what's this a/c even good for, if it can't do it's damn job.

he opens his mouth with the intent of wanting to say that you're lying, that you shouldn't say stuff like that when you're drunk and that you'll regret later. but he doesn't, he refrains from doing so. instead he gulps down the words immediately, letter for letter. they're a bitter pillow to swallow. flowing down his throat like the wavering water running down a stream - intoxicating, similar to the alcoholic liquid you've downed.

the blond looks at you through half lidded eyes. you lift yourself off the ground, he takes notice that you have a hard time doing so, legs slightly trembling as you remove them from the floor tiles. (you've always been a lightweight he thinks)

as you make your way over to him, standing up and wanting to sit yourself next to him on the large black leather sofa. you clumsily bump against one of the almost empty shot glasses that still lies on the floor. tripping over the small glass as your foot comes in contact with it. the glass that still contained some of the red wine you've poured in, not too long ago, tumbles as easily as a domino tile, falling upon the smallest touch. making the flimsy piece immediately meet the ground.

it breaks into a few sharp shards and the remaining alcohol starts seeping out of it, staining your once white socks with crimson colored alcohol. “ah m’sorry!” you mumble as you quickly bend down to gingerly pick up the fragments, placing them in the palm of your hand carefully, so that they won't cut you and leave slits.

aventurine takes another peek at you as you tidy up. your face is flushed, your cheeks tinted in a bright red and you let out incoherent sorrys, blabbering incomplete phrases. he wants to tell you that it's alright. that he feels the same and reciprocates yours feelings, that you don't have to apologize and he'll help you.

but he freezes.

the words that he wants to tell you, the ones he's been longing to say don't leave his mouth. neither does he move. instead he coughs, continuing to watch you while you clean up. a tissue has found its way into your right hand, helping you soak up the alcohol. (its his hand that should be intertwined with yours, not the tissue)

his throat hurts. 

(he's not in the right mindspace to acknowledge if it's because of you - the unsaid words that he didn't reveal to you yet or because of the alcohol.) 

it's dry and lacks any kind of refreshing liquid that'd quench the drought that occurs in his throat. he contemplates, thinking about the choices he has. swallowing down his own spit isn't worth it, it makes his throat burn even more.

he comes to the decision to pour himself another glass of alcohol. (debatably his worst decision until now.)

twirling the almost translucent liquid in his glass, before fully gulping it down in one go. a bit of the alcohol escapes the depths of his mouth, running down his chin and messily staining his porcelain-like skin. 

he doesn't like the bitter taste, he can't seem to befriend himself with it. (neither can he befriend him with himself) although it's not the worst, he's just not able to find a reason to like it. after all, after a single sip it starts to sting as it enters his mouth.

the scent isn't great either, it smells strong, too strong for his liking, a scent that reeks of cleaning detergent and not to mention, it prickles on his tongue and burns as it slides down his throat when it makes its way into his blood. but there's one thing aventurine can't deny: it's efficiency.

it fulfills its purpose well making him lightheaded and dizzy, to the point of forgetting everything.

all sounds are drowned out. even the lame pop songs playlist you turned on because you insisted that “it'll set the right mood” is barely audible for him now. his ears hurt hellish, he wants to put his hands over his ears to escape the white noise. the sound that plays in his ears is similar to the one of when an airplane starts boarding - an unpleasant noise.

the only sound that remains for aventurine’s slightly drunk state is your voice. it echoes through his ears. your drunk confession playing over and over in his mind like a broken record, anticipating the day it'll be fixed, so the misery it is in ceases. 

his sloppy and sluggish movements - the way his hands tremble as he pours himself another glass, the nervousness that forms inside his body and the blush that spreads as quickly as a wildfire on his cheeks - they're tormenting him, and he blames none other than the alcohol for it. 

“a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, drunk words are sober thoughts, when you're drunk you reveal your true desires” his ass. the both of you are just friends. friends that are acquainted through work, nothing more, nothing less. aventurine couldn't bear to lose his only friend, after all he's already lost everything.

(anything he'd never want to lose will eventually be lost. it is as if fate had decided that everything that is worth wanting, everything that he wants to have and keep, will be lost the moment he gets his fingers on it. to aventurine there’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life that is full of anguish.)

his father whom he never got to meet, his mother and sister whom he was forced to leave behind and kakavasha, his younger self. all will be lost - everything was lost. if he wasn't careful now, one slip up on the thin ice or feet accidentally trampling over the floor full of eggshells, he'd not only lose himself in the process, but you too. his one and only friend.

crossing this line he set for himself, as he drew it along the earthy ground with his calloused fingers, trembling as they traced over the mud.

walking past the border that was created to keep everything and everyone distant from him, as he stood on the other side turning his back from the world, walking away and waving, to bid his goodbye from them.

the wall he built around him to shield him from the world, protecting everyone from the ugly thing that was kept inside , protecting himself from the people that only want to torment him.

forgetting all of these things, leaving them behind for you would mean showing you who he really was. a frail human being that hides himself behind a mask. the theater curtains revealing the person who played the role of the man who had called himself aventurine for the past years. placing him in the spotlight and giving the audience a show they'll never forget, like the fool he is. 

aventurine doesn't think that he is loveable, that he's undeserving of love - your love.

you think that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. providing him with said love, embracing him and showing him how pure love can be. 

the blond caught your eye right away. he was charming, funny and handsome. aventurine turned into your little work crush, your motivation to convince yourself just to see him.

the road was rocky and full of obstacles, set up by none other than aventurine. it gave you a better perception of who he really was and it intrigued you even more. why does he hide himself away from the world? why does he convince himself to not get anyone close to him even though he longs for the touch of another person? who is aventurine, really?

you can't answer any of these questions and neither are you certain if aventurine really can but that doesn't stop you. you continue to climb up all the way to know who he is, who the person you fell in love with really is. 

love, is weird isn't it? it comes in all different shapes and forms.

if someone were to ask you why you like him, you wouldn't know how to answer, because neither do you know.

but nevertheless you still like him. why? how come you like someone that you don't even know, someone that is foreign to you, almost like a stranger. even though the both of you label yourself as “friends.”

you're not sure what the color is that infuses his irises, he keeps them hidden beneath his glasses. despite that, you long to stare into his eyes and let all the plain and dull parts of your life get painted in the same colors of his hues. a color that brings you comfort and cures your sorrow. it's the hues that you want to stare at as you tuck a golden strand of hair behind his ear, in return he grants you a small but genuine smile.

a smile that you want to see more often, one that you want to keep for yourself. 

as for his scent, every person has their own unique and special scent. you plead to the gods above that he’ll let you bury your head into the crook of his neck and absorb his smell so it becomes the only scent that lingers around your nose. 

there are so many more things that you want to know about him but you're unaware of. one might say that you're odd for liking - no, loving someone that you barely know.

a stranger, a foreign person whom you know little about to almost nothing about, is the person that you love. absurd isn't it? but love is weird, love can be pure and ridiculous, but it can also be painful and heart wrenching. love is a feeling that not only brings joy to oneself but also causes pain. but it's a feeling that you never want to get rid of - not until you introduced aventurine to it. showing him what love has to offer and has in store.

in the iridescent light aventurine remains to look as ethereal as ever. a scent of vodka lingers around aventurines figure, the smell is strong, but you couldn't care less. his hair is disheveled but nevertheless continues to shine in the dazzling light. he lets out a tiring yawn and you couldn't imagine aventurine any more beautiful than in this moment.

vulnerable and for your eyes only. making it unable for you to tear your gaze away from the sight before you. 

he's like a shooting star, if you don't continue to watch and follow it and blink, even if it's just for a single moment - it's all over and you'll never see it again. 

“stop looking at me like that.” aventurine mumbles quietly, almost whispering. upon hearing that, you make your way over to him, glass shards long forgotten as you place them on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

your arms reach out to aventurine, clutching your hands on his shoulders. your grip is sluggish but you don't falter and continue to hold him. “like what?” your lips are slightly parted and your gaze is drowsy as you counter aventurine's question with a question of your own.

“like that.” he placed the hand that just rested on his thigh, on your cheek, slightly caressing it. “you're just gonna hurt the both of us if you keep this up any longer.” he's not sure where the boldness came from, he blames it on the alcohol once again; it finally seemed to kick in.  

“‘m not lying” you hiccup. tomorrow i’ll tell you how much i love you, no matter if it's once” a cough exits your throat “or a hundred times.” the words that leave your mouth are slurred, they're incoherent and muddled up. your grip on his shoulder weakens, hands slipping off and head falling against his chest.

..did you seriously just black out?

aventurine can only sigh at that. a small smile finds its way onto his face. he snakes his arms around you waist, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck and hugging you with the remaining power he had left before falling asleep. guess there'll be a lot to unpack tomorrow but for now he allows himself to indulge in this shared moment between the two of you. 

e/n: hope yall enjoyed this as much as i hated writing this!! (i wanted to throw up) i acc hate how i wrote this. it's not as choppy as when i started writing it but it still feels so rushed and so idk.. anyway reblogs with comments are very much appreciated! >< ALSO that one paragraph written in brackets..guess whose speech it was inspired byyyyy (hint: bsd!!)

© TOORURS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is not permitted.

#toorurs #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #aventurine imgines #aventurine headcanons #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #hsr headcanons

[crazyoffher]

WATCHTOWER.

jenna ortega x fem!reader

summary: a late-night visitor treads into the restaurant you work at, entering with the plan to grab a drink before heading home, and leaving with her drink and a girl on her mind.

warnings: not proofread (unedited).

word amount: 2600+

part two part three

You wiped the tables, a dry cloth over your shoulder as you dragged the damp towel across the wood surfacing. It was a quarter past eleven and your coworker had just served his last table of the night, opting to help the dishwasher load the silverware for the next morning which took about five minutes, leaving you to wipe down each table and chair in the main room and VIP section while he waved his goodbyes to you not long ago.

To say the restaurant having working air conditioning was a major relief considering spring was around and the temperatures were increasing day by day, and it didn't help that because your restaurant was a high-end restaurant in the core of LA, you wore a black button-up with black slacks for pants, black dress shoes, and a white vest and tie as your everyday work outfit.

You were a sweating maniac most days.

You heard the door to the restaurant entry open, sparing the entry's a glance before directing your attention to the table, the last table you had to wipe down, at that. "Sorry, we closed about thirty minutes ago. If you'd like me to, I can set you up a reservation for another day." At the end of your sentence, you looked up at the entryway to get a full glance at the three figures standing at the entry.

The first two to catch your eye were two men dressed in all black with semi-bulky figures, figuring them out to be bodyguards. You looked down slightly to the girl that they were protecting, immediately recognizing her.

It's a part of your job to identify celebrities as they come and go through the restaurant to give them better treatment, so America's new 'It' girl, Jenna Ortega, was not somebody you could've possibly failed to notice. She gave you a slight smile.

"Oh no, it's fine. I was just coming in and out of places around here to see who was still open so I could get a drink." She laughed it off which made you crack a small smile. Looking around the area to see all of the tables cleaned and mostly everything set for tomorrow, you turned back to the girl. "Well, if you were just looking for a drink, I could sit you at the bar for now."

You pointed toward the stools where the bar was, seeing as it was one of the last things you had to set up for the next day. "I don't fully lock up until twelve and I have to fix up the bar anyway, it's fine."

Even from a distance, you could see the uncertainty in her eyes at making you work a bit extra just for her. "You sure?"

"Totally. Sit at any stool," You shot her a smile before grabbing the last chair to turn upside down and put on the table, "and I'll be right there."

You could hear her spare you a 'thank you' before listening to the shuffling of her and her bodyguards, shooting a glance in their direction to see the three sitting in stools, the bodyguards two seats to the left of Jenna, giving her space.

Were you a fan of Jenna's? Maybe. Normally, being in the presence of celebrities didn't bother you at all, you had grown accustomed to it. Something about her, though, it made you a bit nervous to go up and serve her at the bar. You put your fears aside, though, because you'd rather not keep her waiting.

Quickly, you went around the bar into the kitchen to put your cleaning items away, washing your hands quickly but thoroughly before grabbing three glasses from the racks and heading out to the bar.

"You'd like a..." You trailed off, waiting for her to finish your sentence to which she did. "Vodka martini."

You shot her a look, a smile plastered on your face. "At this hour - no, at your age?" She genuinely laughed at your remark, "Okay, you got me. I know you might get this question a lot, and you might hate it, but what do you like that's non-alcoholic?"

You put on your thinking face, settling to ignore the short side-eyes her bodyguards were giving you while deep in their own conversation. "A berry soda usually does it for me. You mix any sort of berry syruping, raspberry, blueberry, etcetera into a Sprite or Sierra Mist, and if you want just a tiny bit of alc then you add a tadpole amount of white wine. A lime is optional, too."

"I guess I'll be having a...strawberry soda then, Sprite with a lime."

"Yeah, you trust me? - My recommendation, I mean." You pulled a strawberry syrup bottle out from under the counter, never breaking eye contact with the girl.

She giggled lightly at your word mix-up. "You seem like somebody I could trust, so sure. You look...good, by the way." Jenna added in, having eyed your suit-wear as she was making her way to a stool. Nervousness was laced in her voice, but you were too oblivious as a person generally to notice.

At the unexpected compliment, your cheeks tinted a slight red, breaking eye contact to hide away your face and grab one of the three cups you had placed out. "Thank you. I dare say you look nice as well."

Jenna scoffed, 'Yeah right." She looked down at her clothing, sporting baggy black jeans and a plain black tee that was covered by a jacket with designs all over it. "My outfit is about the plainest it could ever be."

You shook your head at her, turning to grab a Sprite out from the mini-fridge. "Your outfit never defines whether you look good or bad, not in my books anyway. It's about the face, or even the heart, as corny as that definitely sounds."

Your back was now turned to Jenna, cracking open the bottle of Sprite and pouring it over the ice in a metallic cup. So, unless you had eyes on the back of your head, you couldn't see Jenna with her elbow on the countertop, hand resting on her cheek as she glanced all around your figure.

Something about you to her was...interesting. She couldn't put her finger on it.

"That means you think I have a nice heart. You just met me." Though she couldn't see it, you grinned widely at her audacity to pinpoint the 'heart' part of your words instead of the 'face' part.

"I'd like to hope you do have a good heart, but I'm not sure because just like you said, we just met. I do know you have a rather pretty face, anybody could see that part of you, and I think that's enough for now." You placed the lid over the metallic cup, holding it before grabbing the bottom of the cup and shaking harshly.

Jenna, somebody who was quick with her words, struggled to respond to you. She found no words to possibly combat the indirect, massive compliment you just gave her.

As she drafted her next sentence, she overlooked the cup in front of her until her hand brushed against it mindlessly. Removing her other hand from her cheek, she looked at the glass in front of her, the drink a vibrant red from the strawberry syrup. She then looked up to see you, your eyes staring back at her.

"Are you okay? You seem a bit out of it." Your eyebrows furrowed in slight concern, and the only thing Jenna could do was shake her head. "Oh no, I'm fine. Just a bit tired. And thank you."

"Likewise. And you're welcome." You portrayed a smile that Jenna seemed to enjoy viewing. Eyeing her bodyguards, you leaned in over the counter to shorten the space between you and Jenna for the action of whispering. "Do you know if they want anything from here?"

Jenna's already slight smile grew wider, "What, you're scared to talk to a duo of big guys?" To her words, you gave her a sour look that she knew was all sarcastic.

"Well, in my experience, bodyguards haven't always been the nicest. More overly protective, and yeah, that's their whole job but sometimes they could just tune it down a bit. You try to hand someone their food and they eye you down like you're about to pull a gun out." You pushed yourself back slightly, deciding to give Jenna more space even though she quite didn't mind the vicinity between the two of you.

"I guess that's fair. Eddie, Bennett." She called to them, the two burly men immediately halting their conversation and directing their attention to the significantly small girl.

"Do you want anything from the bar?" The two men eyed you for a split second, leaving you to fiddle with your own fingers in a somewhat nervous state while you awaited an answer.

"Er, just a water."

"Same here."

You muttered an 'okay' before grabbing the other two cups and filling them with water, handing them off to the two men who each thanked you. "I'd say they're pretty nice." Jenna retorted, and you shook your head at her.

"You try the drink yet?" You moved to the bar's ledges where all the alcohol was at, all out of place and some caps left open, and got to work organizing everything while maintaining a conversation with Jenna.

You didn't get a response from her immediately, maybe around three seconds after. "Well, now I just did."

"What 'ya think?"

"I think that I should come here more often so I can get this drink served to me more often by a pretty cute waitress." Jenna regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. It was said with complete confidence, but now she found herself being too bold.

You pursed your lips to fight back the smile that challenged itself to spread, not daring to face her. You guessed Jenna was one for eye contact, as her eyes mercilessly burned into your face at (seemingly) all times.

"Why'd you want a drink so late, especially if you're tired? Don't you have like...a personal little bartender in your million-dollar home?" You cheekily ghosted her wealth, and Jenna bit the inside of her cheek to fight the smile that wanted to glue itself to her face.

"I had business meetings all day, sponsorships, and whatnot. I started them at around ten-ish this morning and I got out not even twenty minutes ago. I didn't want to go home just yet despite the fact that I feel more than ready to pass out on my bed. What have you done all day?"

"Be whined to multiple times and berated by D-list celebrities for not cooking their steak correctly. If you couldn't tell by now, I'm not the cook. I'll deal with it all day everyday though, the number of tips I get by the end of the day is fucking amazing."

"Give me a number." Jenna sipped on her drink, returning her arm to it's former position with her elbow resting on the countertop and her palm on her cheek, listening intently.

"I'd say...a thousand to fifteen hundred per day, two-thousand if we have actual A-listers come in. I earn my rent in a day." You laughed, and Jenna surprisingly looked shocked at the number. "You make that much working, what? Five days a week? That's about seventy-five hundred a week just on tips!"

"Well, because of the number of tips each of us normally get plus our actual paycheck, they shorten the days we work, so I actually work three days a week. I'll take it though, that's eighteen thousand a month on tips."

"That's too much, what's the catch?"

"Being berated constantly, having food and drinks thrown at you by adults acting like toddlers, and you have to be ridiculously fast. I'm talking taking customers' orders, giving other customers their orders, and sometimes making drinks all at the same time. It's stressful, a lot of people quit after the first month or so."

"That sounds awful, how long have you been here?"

You pondered about it. The days moved by fast when you were working so sometimes you lose track of what month it is, even. "Er, six months next week, I'm sure. It's hard to even keep track of months sometimes when the days go by so fast, plus the stress. Right now, I'm probably the most relaxed I've ever been standing in this restaurant, and I have you to thank for that."

Jenna grinned a big, flashy smile that you seemed to heat up at, slyly trying to feel your face. "Well, you're welcome. I - yeah?"

Jenna was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder, the finger belonging to her bodyguard, Bennett. He flashed up his phone to show her the time, "It's time to leave, miss. We promised to have you in the car by 11:45 at the latest."

Jenna just nodded, glancing at her glass that was still 3/4th full before looking up at you, seeing that you were wiping down the glasses Eddie and Bennett had given back to you. "Here, I'll get you a styrofoam for it." You left into the kitchen with the glasses at hand, hanging them back on the rack before searching in a cabinet for a styrofoam cup.

By the time you walked back to the bar, Jenna and her bodyguards were standing up, Jenna's guards merely awaiting her movement while she stretched, waiting for you.

Taking the glass, you dumped the remains of her drink into the styrofoam before sealing it with a plastic lid, handing it off to Jenna who gladly took it. "You have books in here?"

Jenna pointed out the shelves hung up on a wall, holding books that were slanted against one another, most of them with bulky spines. "Oh yeah, those are mainly for decoration, but I've actually read one or two myself. Most of them are the owners but we're allowed to shelve our own books if we'd like."

"You put any up?" Jenna questioned, abandoning her position next to her bodyguards to get a closer look at the nailed shelf. "About three so far. I just finished reading a book of my own that I plan on putting up here as well."

You maneuvered to where Jenna was, pointing to a navy-blue book that was quite big, a bulky spine faced in their direction with the words "CROOKED YOUNG" stretched out across the spine. "Crooked Young, It's the best book I've ever read. I really recommend it."

"Yeah? Where can I buy it, Barnes and Noble?" Jenna looked up at you, taking in your height. You were about four, maybe five inches taller than her, and she could tell through the naturally-popping veins in your arms the way your body was shaped through your tailored dress shirt and vest, you were physically fit.

"What - oh no, take it." You reached forward, grabbed the book off the shelf, and handed it to her. She looked at you again, the same look of uneasiness in her eyes that she gave you earlier. "Before you say anything, yes I am positive you can take it. I've read it one too many times to keep it around, otherwise I'd might just read it again."

Jenna gave you one last smile that lasted until she was out the door. "Alright, but I will be returning this to you when I'm done."

"So desperate to see me again?" You teased, a sly grin on your face as you laughed the joke away. "And how do you plan on doing that if you don't even know my name?" You questioned her to which she just shrugged.

"Your name is..."

"(Y/N). And you are?" You raised your eyebrows, tilting your head to seem sincere about your question. Though she was more than aware you knew who she was, she answered, "Jenna. I'll be seeing you soon, (Y/N)."

And with that, she turned on her heel and left the restaurant, your eyes not leaving her rather-short frame until you couldn't see her anymore.

"Eddie?" Jenna called to one of her bodyguards. sat in the passenger seat as Bennett started driving away. "Yes, miss?"

"Do restaurant workers typically work the same days every week?"

He thought about it for a second before looking at her through the rearview mirror. "Most of the time, yes. Why?"

"Please try to keep in mind that she was working on a Thursday."

☟ ☟ ☟

You guys want a part two? Please comment it below or send your answers in my asks :)

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesdayaddams #bodyguard #celebrity #actress #jenna marie ortega #celebrity x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #restaurant au #wattpad #lesbian

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for putting less effort into food if I know the person who eats it wouldn't appreciate/finish it anyway?

I like to cook, especially for people I like. And there's not many people I like. One of them is my bf, who basically never has the energy to cook for himself, and who I was initially excited to cook for when he moved in. But it turns out he has little appetite period, and he eats so slow that his food always gets cold (or melts if it was cold to begin with), and he literally doesn't care at all. Like, he'll drink melted ice cream and eat room-temperature soup, is how little he cares. And regardless of how much quality remains in the meal, he's basically never ever able to finish it. He always has to-go boxes when we go out to eat and I have to remind him that he has them or else he completely forgets.

Basically there's a lot of food waste that's inevitable with him for adhd reasons (which I understand!) and he has really insensitive taste buds (I also know it's not his fault) that make cooking for him very... not satisfying. And also objectively wasteful. So if there's shortcuts that I can take that I maybe wouldn't take with my own food but it's not gonna make it dangerous to eat or anything, I do it. I know he won't know the difference or care.

Recently I mentioned to a family member how I did this because I was also saying how I don't waste the good water on my little sister who's a toddler and whose water is always mixed with juice anyway. They were appalled and I tried to explain that the tap water isn't gonna make her sick, it's just not to our tastes because we're used to a specific minerality, meanwhile my sister literally does not know any difference. It's extra time and money to go fill up our water jugs with the "purified" stuff, so I'm just being efficient by not using it if I don't need to.

That explanation didn't make that family member calm down at all; they told me I was treating my sister "like a dog." (Personally I don't think that there's a specific different treatment that humans and dogs "deserve" or anything either but whatever.) This is where I went on to say that it wasn't like I had anything against my sister bc I do this with my own boyfriend too, and it's just a matter of being efficient and not putting extra effort where it doesn't matter and won't be noticed. Like, you're not gonna waste the $200 vodka on a cocktail, right? No. If you're mixing it with a bunch of juice and whatnot you use the bottom shelf stuff. It turns out the same.

You can probably guess that that still didn't help. They're insistent I'm like a psychopath or something for being like this. I think the explanation makes it make perfect sense though. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[me-gongoga]

ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɪ ᴇᴠᴇʀ | ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜɴꜱᴏɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary: back home in Hawkins for spring break, you get roped into a game of 'never have i ever' by your friends. but the night takes a turn when eddie accidentally stumbles upon a secret you've been keeping for months

Pairing: eddie munson x reader (gender neutral)

Word count: 4.2k

Tags: aged-up characters (early 20s). fluff/angst, friends to lovers, alcohol use/drug ref, happy ending, no use of y/n

It’s tradition. Every break from college, you head home to Hawkins and meet up with your old crew. Not everyone always makes it, but whatever rag-tag group gets scrounged together is usually more than enough. With graduation on the horizon, you’re happy to see anyone in Hawkins these days.

Tonight, it’s almost a full house, schedules and school breaks aligning. Seven of you are cramped around the old coffee table in Nancy’s basement, laughter abundant and drinks in hand.

Steve proposes ‘Never Have I Ever’ after getting absolutely tossed at darts three times in a row by Robin. And Nancy—three deep in the same room with two of her exes—more than hastily produces a handle of vodka to reward each round’s ‘winner’.

Jonathon and Steve sit at opposite ends of the table, while three girls pile onto the couch—Vickie getting sandwiched between Nancy and Robin. Across from them, you’re sunk happily into an old bean bag while Eddie sits beside you, already asserting he’ll be the champion of the game.

You snort at his proclamation and try to disguise it with a sip of your drink. Eddie catches you anyhow and delivers a swift shove to your shoulder that’s enough to slosh your beer. You glare at him as you wipe up the mess on your mouth, but Eddie only grins back and soon you find yourself smiling too.   

He’s the one person who makes you promises and always delivers.

Eddie picks you up from the train station every time you come home, your favorite from the Hawkins Diner in hand. And while you stuff your face, he regales you with the latest drama from his tattoo apprenticeship and shares weird anecdotes about the more questionable pieces he’s worked on. Sometimes you burn whole days of break just sitting in his trailer and catching up, cross-legged on the floor of his room while he aimlessly plucks chords on his guitar. And sure, you call him while away at school, but nothing compares to actually being at his side and seeing the crinkle in his eyes when he laughs at your jokes. It reignites the warmth that you work so hard to keep contained while away. A heat that’s burning in your chest as you sit beside him tonight.

The first couple rounds of the game are quick and dirty—everyone getting their bottom-of-the-barrel pulls out. The third round is where things actually start to pick up and the admittances get odd.

“You gotta be kidding me, Vickie,” Eddie exclaims, putting down another finger. “You’ve never smoked a cigarette?”

She only shrugs, freckles dotting her dimpled expression. "I don’t like tobacco. Weed on the other hand…”

“Cheers to that,” Jonathon says, raising his beer can.

Eddie hurriedly grabs his own to join.

“Everyone still in?” Robin checks, eyes darting across the group.

Eddie clicks his tongue, voice all too smug as he speaks. “Already down to two again.”

“Yeah, well I’m right there with ‘ya, Munson,” Steve counters, waving his peace-sign count at Eddie.

You settle nice and low in your bean bag, flaunting your index finger. “Better hurry it up, boys. I’m already at one. I can pretty much hear that room-temperature Smirnoff calling my name.”

“You guys know it’s not exactly impressive to win, right?” Robin asks, looking skeptically between the three of you.

Nancy shrugs and crosses her legs with a flourish. “Let them duke it out if they want. I’m still sitting pretty with four fingers.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Nancy,” you say with a nod. “Because, never have I ever, shot a gun.”

The curly-haired woman scowls at you, putting down a finger. “That was uncalled for.”

“Oh, I think it was called for,” Steve argues, down to a single finger now as well. “I mean really, Nance, you should probably put down your whole hand for that one.”

Nancy only waves him off and takes another sip of her drink.

“You’ve tied us all up,” Eddie says to you, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Unfortunately, doesn’t look like I’ll get to win this round.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Vickie mutters, her eyes narrowing at Eddie.  

“Never have I ever,” Eddie says, pausing to give the room a good, long look. “Kissed anyone who’s here tonight.”

And for an amazingly elongated moment, the room stills into a stunned silence—eyes wide and mouths agape. But when the discourse descends, you can only sit in shock.

At first, it’s just a rabble of frustration that breaks out—Eddie still looking smug as hell with himself in his old folding chair as Nancy shakes her head and Robin shares a pointed look with Vickie. But then Steve’s voice cuts above the din, everyone else falling in line.

“He still doesn’t know?” The brunette asks, looking directly at you. “I thought you were going to tell him!”

“What the hell are you on about, Harrington?” Eddie complains, eyes darting between you and Steve. 

Jonathon groans and runs his hands over his face. “This is painful.”   

“I told you he just didn’t remember,” Robin whisper-yells all-too-loudly from the couch as she waggles her eyebrows in your direction. “I told you!”

Eddie shakes his head, looking incredulously around the table, before settling back on you. “Remember what? What the fuck are we talking about?”

You’d give anything in this instant for the bean bag to suck you up whole and eject you into nothingness. Hell, you’d even stick it out in the Upside Down if it meant you could avoid this conversation. There’s a reason you haven’t brought it up before. Of course, you’ve thought about it—tried even, to tell Eddie. But that was easier said than done. And now your own cowardice had backed you into a corner.

“We made out on New Year’s Eve,” you spit out, before anyone else can describe it more… creatively.

Eddie’s face goes pale, dark eyes blinking down at you. “W-what? No we didn’t. Why would we—"

“Dude, we all saw it,” Steve cuts in, running a hand through his hair. “You had your tongue shoved so far down their throat that even I was impressed.”

“Gross, Steve,” Robin and Nancy chide in unison.

“What? We were all thinking it!”

You clear your throat. “You were blackout, Eddie. I mean, we were all sloshed.”

He looks at you, mouth agape as his eyes trail down to your lips. The beer can in his hand crinkles under his grip as you see his Adam’s apple bob against his throat.

You still remember Eddie’s lips colliding against your own—the memory locked away in your mind like an a painting in a vault. Midnight. It was dim lights and streamers and loud music and unbridled joy and warmth and happiness. It was Eddie picking you up and swinging you around, pinning you up against a wall, and kissing you like his life depended on it. It was you holding onto him with all the fervor you’d bottled up since high school and giggling like a teenager as he whispered things in your ear.

Like all beautiful moments—it was fleeting. An hour later, you were holding back his hair in the bathroom as he threw up every Jell-O shot Nance had handed him. And, when you woke up beside each other on the floor of Steve’s living room the next day, Eddie didn’t even remember the clock striking 12. No, he didn’t remember any of it at all.

Or maybe—just maybe—he didn’t want to.

And that was not something you could handle confronting.

So, you asked the others to drop it—to pretend it didn’t happen. Told them you’d take care of it eventually. Took the photo Jonathon developed of you two and buried it in a box in your bedroom.

You wonder what exactly Eddie sees as he looks at you now. Disappointment? Disgust? You tear your gaze away with a nervous smile, not wanting to dive any deeper.

“Welp, guess, we’re gonna need more glasses,” Nancy thankfully announces, digging herself out of the couch and skuttling over to an old cupboard.

“Are we counting that? Really?” Jonathon complains.

“I mean, why not?” Robin asks with a shrug. “Guy clearly doesn’t remember kissing this hottie, so he’s not exactly lying. I say his bad memory earns him and everyone else a reward from the Wheeler’s liquor cabinet.”

Steve laughs at that, leaning over to slap Eddie on the thigh. “Looks like you get to ‘win’ after all, Munson.”  

“Shit,” Eddie finally mumbles, still sounding a bit dumbstruck. “Guess it’s only fair.”  

Nancy dumps an eclectic collection of glasses on the table, quickly pouring alcohol into each one and handing them out.

“Here, here,” Eddie says, raising his shot to the other ‘winners’. “To making out with your friends.”

You raise your own, catching his eyes again as you clink glasses. “Here, here.”

And then, like a weight off your chest, the night just… keeps going. More drinks, more games, more laughter. And Eddie—seemingly—isn’t even acting differently towards you. Things are normal. And normal is good.

Eventually, the evening starts to draw to a close. Vickie and Robin are passed out, tangled together on the couch, while Nancy sits on the floor between Steve and Jonathon—the beginnings of what has to be a ‘will they, won’t they’ saga playing out.

When you announce your departure, Eddie is quick to join you.

The cool night air feels good in your lungs after sitting for so long in a musty basement. Eddie marches past you down the driveway, taking a dramatic stretch and revealing a dark trail of hair down his midriff. You avert your eyes, trying to take casual interest in the gardening equipment scattered in the lawn.

“So,” he begins. “Did you still wanna come over? Watch a movie or something?”

You rattle the backpack slung over your shoulder; polyester material plastered with patches he’s given you over the years. “Didn’t bring a bag for nothing, Eds.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Eddie mutters as you approach him, all too casually snatching the backpack from you. “Let’s go, smart ass.”

You smile and begin the tipsy trek towards Eddie’s trailer. He pulls out his cigarettes, offering them to you first as he always does.

You click your tongue and slip one from the pack. “Vickie would be appalled.”

Eddie chuckles, closing the gap between the two of you to lend a light, his hand cupping the flame in the breeze. You’ve always found him handsome, but when he’s up close and personal like this, fire in his eyes, it feels like you could drown in his good looks, and it would be a welcome death.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking a long drag, as he pulls away.

“You got it,” Eddie mutters through his teeth, lighting his own.

The two of you walk in comfortable silence down the usual route, enjoying the soft crunch of concrete and gravel beneath your boots. Even with the full moon hanging overhead in a clear night sky, you’re thankful not to be stumbling home alone in the dark. Since experiencing the Upside Down together, Eddie always went out of his way to get you home safe or offer you a place to stay. At first you thought maybe it was just safety in solidarity. But now it was familiar. Comforting.

“So,” he says, voice raspy and sudden. “Can we talk about the five-ton Oliphaunt in the room?”

You swallow hard and decide to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that we, uh,” Eddie clears his throat. “Kissed, and I don’t even remember?”  

You chuckle, trying to ease the tension in his voice despite your own discomfort. “Sure, if you want. But there’s not much else to say. We were just trashed.”

“Yeah, but how did we even get there? Us?” He says motioning between the two of you. “I mean, come on, we’re— we’re just—"

“Friends,” you say, finishing the sentiment for him, the word bitter on your tongue.

“Right,” he mutters back, smoke billowing from pursed lips.

“I dunno,” you admit honestly. “Too much to drink, probably. Besides, Eddie, if I had known how gone you were, I wouldn’t have agreed to it.”

“Agreed?” Eddie says, attention piqued. “So, what—I asked you to kiss me? And you said yes?”

You chew your lip, shoving your hands into the too-tight pockets of your worn-out jeans. “I mean, it was New Years, y’know? You probably just wanted someone to kiss at midnight. Everyone does it.”

Eddie scoffs. “Right, because if there’s one thing about me, it’s that I love to follow the crowd.”

You only shrug, clueless on how to respond when you barely have answers yourself.  

Silence falls between the two of you, relief slumping into your shoulders as Eddie’s barrage of questions seems to subside. You kick yourself for admitting you chose to kiss him—but at least it wasn’t entirely strange.

You and Eddie had admitted to finding each other attractive on more than one occasion in the past. Why deny such obvious truths? You had both simply agreed that you were most definitely not romantically compatible.

Though you never hashed out the details on why that was.

“So,” Eddie grumbles, voice like sand paper in the quiet. “Was it bad or something then?”

“Huh?”

“The kiss, idiot,” he says, swinging the bag into your shoulder. “Is that why you never told me about it?”

You shake your head, heart palpitating at the memory of Eddie pressed against you. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then why hide it from me?” Eddie asks, rasp edging into his voice again. You can feel his dark eyes on your profile. “Seems like you went through a lot of effort to keep it under wraps.”

His words sound almost accusatory. Suddenly you’re scrambling for something to offer him—anything other than the truth, really.

You drop your cigarette and stomp it out, watching as the bud smolders to nothing on the ground. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

It takes a second, but laughter erupts from his chest, carrying into the night with an ominous echo. “Right, like you’d ever pass up the chance to hold something over my head.”

That’s true enough—it was part of how your friendship operated. One time he admitted to having a wet dream about the bartender at the Hideout, and you had used it to blackmail him into free drinks for half a year. Eddie gave as good as he got, of course. He knew you had used the Arcade’s backroom to hook up with more than a few people—some more questionable than others—and he had Keith on speed dial should you ever not supply him with free tokens during his visits. All of that was good fun. Platonic.

But New Year’s Eve… the kiss… that mean too much to you just to be played as a gag.

Exasperation grips your voice. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

You really don’t. And maybe Eddie senses that because he doesn’t respond.

It’s quiet as you pace on together, only the soft buzz of Hawkins’ electrical lines filling the empty void, unsettling and cerebral in your ears. It almost makes your body itch.

You’re thankful when Eddie speaks again, even if his tone is surprisingly somber.

“I think I get it.”

Your heart sinks into the depths of your chest. “You… get it?”

You watch the mass of brunette curls bob as he nods slowly.  “You’re ashamed that you made out with me, right?”

His voice is so serious it ties your stomach in knots and stops you in your tracks. He was so painfully, awfully wrong.

“I mean, I can’t say I blame you,” he continues. “Poor, directionless, loser that I am. Just good-for-nothing Eddie Munson. Who would wanna be caught dead kissing me?”

“Don’t say that,” you hiss at him, hands balling into fists. “It’s not true. Not fucking true at all.”

He pauses his stride and turns, chest rising and falling steadily as he stares at you in the night. “I’m just kidding.”

“Are you?”

Eddie runs both hands through his hair and shakes his head before flicking his cig to the ground. “Forget I said anything, okay? Let’s just hurry up and get back to my place.”

“No,” you reply, marching up and attempting to rend your bag from his shoulder. “I’m going home.”

But he only tightens his grip on your backpack, eyes meeting as you pull against him. “Please don’t.”

You scowl at him and give the bag another strong tug.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Eddie stutters, grabbing your wrist. “Now will you please stop trying to rip my shoulder off?”

You want to bottle up the frustration and anger at his careless words and hurl it back at him. But the stubble on his jaw, the scent of his aftershave, the look in his eyes—it’s too intoxicating. Whether he’s acting insufferable or not.

“Fine.” You let go of the bag and Eddie releases his grip in turn though the heat of his hand lingers unwarrantedly on your skin.

You’re supposed to move—supposed keep stomping back to his trailer. But instead, you just find yourself tethered to the asphalt, unable to tear yourself away.

Eddie stares back at you, still and expectant in the night.

Then words are tumbling so quickly from your lips, you hardly hear yourself speak.

“I was too scared.”

He blinks at you, dark eyelashes fluttering beneath loose curls. “Scared?”

“That’s why I never brought it up, Eddie,” you mutter, heart pounding in your ears. “I thought maybe you did remember kissing me and just... didn’t want to.”

His eyes widen, plush lips parting. “Why would I ever want to forget that?”

You shrug, boozy uncertainty welling in your eyes despite your efforts to fight it off. “Because it was me, Eddie. It was me, and not some hot bombshell you could brag about making out with. It was just me. And I’m—” 

“Perfect?”

Your face scrunches at the word. “Don’t make fun of me.”

But he seems to only find humor in your disgruntled expression, his face alit with laughter in the dark. “For someone so smart, you really are damn dense sometimes.”

Before you can protest his comment, Eddie’s pulling you against his chest, your face colliding with the denim of his jacket, musky scent of cologne and shampoo flooding any sense of reasonable thought from your mind. Strong arms slide over your shoulders and snake around your neck as you feel him rest his head atop your own.

“What I said earlier—I’m scared too.” Eddie confesses, a rasp to his voice. “Scared that once you graduate from that fancy-pants college, you’ll get some cool big-kid job that’ll take you far away from Indiana and you’ll forget all about little shithole Hawkins. And... forget about me.”

His admission hits you like a bolt of lightning.

Eddie is the only consistent in your life. Rain or shine, hell or highwater—he’s always there. So how could he think himself anything close to a footnote in your story?

“Never,” you mumble, relaxing into Eddie’s chest. You wrap your arms snug around his waist, trying to impart every bit of your heart with one embrace. “How could I ever forget such a sloppy kisser?”

Eddie cackles unexpectedly, his chest reverberating pitched tones against your head. “Oh, come on. You’ve gotta give me another shot.”

Your heart flutters at his words. “Yeah?”

He relaxes his grip, creating just enough space to greet you with his deep, chocolate eyes. The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile as he stares down at you. “I mean, I can’t say I’m totally sober, and it’s not New Years, so I really have no excuse…”

“But?”

“But,” he repeats back. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wanna kiss you right now.”

Your eyes wander to his lips—the very same that you’ve fantasized about so frequently and experienced only once. And now, standing under the flickering, orange streetlamps of Hawkins, he was offering them to you again.

“You’re sure?” You ask.

Eddie nods. “Listen, I don’t know what exactly got into me that night—”

“Wheeler’s Jell-O shots.”  

He cringes at the word, sticking out his tongue in mock disgust. “Ugh, that’s right. I still can’t even look at anything close to Jell-O.”

You giggle at his perturbed expression. “I know. You nearly fainted when Dustin made us fight a gelatinous cube in that one-shot yesterday.”

He shakes out his head like a wet dog, wringing more laughter from your chest.

“What I was trying to say—before you so rudely reminded me of my gelatin-aversion,” Eddie says with a pointed glance. “Is that I’m glad that some part of me worked up the nerve to do what I’ve spent years contemplating.”  

“You mean throwing up in Steve’s pool?”

“Okay, come on,” Eddie complains, rolling his eyes. “I’m trying to do this whole, romantic-ish situation here and you are just fucking t-boning it at every turn.” 

You’re smiling like a maniac now, starry-eyed and hopeful. “Sorry, sorry—go ahead.”

But Eddie just shakes his head, planting a warm, calloused hand under your jaw. “Nope. I’m just gonna kiss you before you say anything else to ruin it.”

And though you try to retort one final time, Eddie’s reflexes are too fast for you to counter. In a split-second, his mouth is pressed up against your own. He pulls you flush against his hips, encouraging collision as your fingers wind through his hair. His lips are as soft as you remember, but this time they seem intent on savoring every inch of your flesh, dangerously disarming as they elicit moans from your throat.

Your sounds only entice him further. He nibbles at your lower lip and hums with satisfaction as your mouth parts for him, vodka and tobacco crashing across your tongue as he eagerly explores you. The taste of him conceives a delirium in your mind like no drug you’ve ever consumed, thoughts drifting away one by one. He’s warm and perfect and good—so fucking good.

There’s purpose as Eddie holds you—kisses you­­—for the first real time. The happiness is overwhelming, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as Eddie brands you with the heat of each kiss. Your knees quiver under the elation, all of it nearly too much to handle.

As if sensing your imminent collapse, Eddie lifts you up into his arms, your legs wrapping naturally around his waist. You squeal out of sheer surprise, his lips curving into a smile against your own. He gives you a gentle spin to provoke more laughter-hiccupped kisses, his mouth trailing to your jaw and down your neck, his stubble tickling your skin with each peck.

You open your eyes as he starts to slow, watching him intently as he draws back, hunger still hanging in his eyes. He carefully returns you to the ground.

For a moment, you just stare at each other in silence, the buzz of the power cables now but a peaceful ambiance.

“Shit,” is all he manages to say, lips still plump from your attention. His arms are immovably hooked onto your hips.

“That bad?” You tease, struggling to catch your breath, heat still consuming your chest.

Eddie shakes his head, disheveled hair bouncing as he beams at you. “Seriously not sure how I could ever forget something like that. Wow, babe.”

“Yeah well,” you mutter, thoughts dazed by his affectionate words. “Don’t jinx it. I… can’t handle going through that again.”  

Eddie’s expression falters as he studies you, brow creasing. “I’m sorry. God, if I had remembered—well, I would have done a lot of stuff different.”

“I should have just told you—I should have known that you wouldn’t… it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad we’re here now.”

“Tell me about it,” he says, squeezing your waist.

“You better remember in the morning this time, Eds,” you threaten, poking him in the chest.

Eddie smiles and drops dramatically to one knee, crossing an arm over his chest with all the ceremony of a squire about to be knighted at the Ren Faire. He clears his throat before reciting what seems like a well-rehearsed proclamation.  “I, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, hereby pledge that from this moment forward, I will never—fucking ever—forget anything when it comes to us. So help me, Lolth.”

In return, you raise your arms up to the sky. “Praise be to our Demon Queen of the Abyss!”

Eddie laughs and stands back up, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around once more. “God, I fucking love you.”  

“Yeah?” You ask, starry-eyed in his arms.

He nods, folding ring-adorned fingers around your hand and planting a kiss just inside your wrist. “Yeah. And you?”

You smile at him. “Never have I ever loved anyone more than you, Eddie Munson.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #stranger things fix it #eddie munson #eddie my beloved #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #joseph quinn #eddie munson fluff #dungeons and dragons #i should have dited this more but i was getting so sick of looking at it rip

[chungledown-bimothy]

#dimension 20 #mentopolis #mentopolis spoilers #dan fucks #conrad schintz #anastasia tension #imelda pulse #hunch curio #the fix #reposted bc i forgored the nicotine in the calzone

[fillingthescrapbook]

Let's Talk About: Mentopolis and Case Closed

This is arguably the best Dimension 20 finale of 2023… so far. Sure, Dungeons and Drag Queens gave us one heck of an emotional ending that was elevated by Jujubee's personal stakes in the story. The Ravening War was a fun romp through time that delivered cinematic-quality twists, plot developments, and tension-filled moments in the finale. And Neverafter's finale was more scary serious and needed a lot of processing.

Mentopolis though… With the mix of catharsis and a table of players that really focused their talents on the fun of role-playing… This finale was just so enjoyable. It gave me everything I didn't even know I wanted.

And the whole episode was truly bonkers. The fight, the player decisions… Danielle/Anastasia Tension glugging down some room-temperature vodka after a wild chase, Hank/The Fix setting the mood with some genre-appropriate steam, and Freddie/Dan Fucks making the ultimate in-character choice of distracting the enemy with his diamond-hard balls.

Trapp rolled the most cursed Nat 1 from Dimension 20 history--and still survived! Siobhan found the best coda for the whole adventure.

And Alex… Alex has done something no other Dimension 20 player has ever done for me: they made me cry for four episodes straight. Maybe five. I'll have to go back to what I said in previous talk-abouts. But Alex was very masterful with how they delivered their emotional gut-punches. As well as the physical ones Conrad delivered.

Hank didn't want to get left behind either. His final scene with the reunion? Magnificent. And the "did you know" speech in the fight that wasn't meant to be menacing but still managed to scare the shit out of everyone (including myself who is watching months and months after they finished wrapping)? Inspiring.

I need to see Alex, Hank, and Freddie in future Dimension 20 seasons. I would love for them to be together, but I would love it even more if we see them interact with other Dimension 20 cast members and/or newcomers. I want Hank to come back in a season with Murph and Emily. I want Alex on a season with Aabria as the game master, and maybe with Oscar Montoya as a fellow player. And Freddie… Freddie, I feel, could fit in with any table composition. I want to see his chaos with Zac and Lou's though. Or Zac and Ally's.

And I want Danielle partnering with Siobhan again. Maybe in another Good Society-run season by Aabria. Maybe in a different system run by Jasmine Bhullar. I feel like we only got the tip of the possible shenanigans we could've gotten from the two… Thinking about it now, what if Murph guest DMs a side quest season with Danielle, Siobhan, and Emily?! The possible combinations are endless.

While I fantasize about possible casts for future seasons of Dimension 20, I leave you with a few gems I will treasure from the finale of Mentopolis:

"The greatest pleasure is punching your boss."

"Mr. Fix? Duck!"

And "57. My favorite number."

See y'all next time. In the stars. In the soup. In the dome.

#let's talk about #dimension 20 #mentopolis #mentopolis spoilers #dimension 20 spoilers #brennan lee mulligan #hank green #freddie wong #siobhan thompson #mike trapp #danielle radford #alex song-xia

[boosoonhao]

buzzes and butterflies

vernon x reader 5k words non idol au swearing, mentions of drug use, drinking, explicit sexual content

vernon spots you the moment you walk into the living room of soonyoung’s frat. it’s a hot summer, temperatures climbing every day, so it’s not really a surprise that you’ve opted for short shorts and a simple, white tee. that doesn’t stop the sort of strange wallop in his chest when you twist your head around to make eye contact with him.

“hey, vernon,” seungkwan calls from his left, nudges his elbow against vernon’s side. a blue-green bong appears in vernon’s peripheral vision. “are you even listening?”

“don’t bother,” seungcheol chuckles from his own chair on the other side of the table, a roll of his eyes and a half full beer bottled nestled between his thighs. “his girlfriend just arrived.”

vernon glances down the expanse of your legs, pleasantly surprised to see a red-ish purple mark right where the hem of your denim shorts ends. he wonders if you even know it’s there, this blatant reminder of where you spent the night two days earlier. he wonders if everyone knows who put that mark there. 

“she’s not my girlfriend,” he mutters, takes the bong from seungkwan’s impatient arms.

vernon has known you since the two of you were kids; long before you started wearing bottoms that show off your thighs. he remembers play-dates and first days of school; learning how to ride a bike, graduation parties, proms. somehow you’ve been part of every milestone of his life so far; he even lost his virginity to you. he knows you like the back of his hand; all your ticklish spots and strange erogenous zones; every scar and mark that makes your body unique. sure, he loves you, but not like that. not like a girlfriend.

“not your girlfriend,” seungkwan mutters, as if the statement is absurd. his voice cracks, and the shorter man coughs, takes a sip of his red solo cup filled with vodka and cranberry juice. “then stop telling me about your sex life,” he pauses to return the wave you send their way, air blowing out of his nose as you start making your way over. “please.”

vernon hums, feels his head go tingly as he exhales smoke and hands the bong over to seungcheol’s waiting hands. “she’s ace, she lets me do her in the ass,” he says, part-brag, part-to-annoy-seungkwan. when the blond next to him levels him with a scandalized facial expression, vernon grins, feels a sort of childish glee tug at his chest. he shrugs, “anyways, it’s just sex.”

“whatever you say,” seungkwan returns, drags a hand through his hair, leans back on the couch. he shifts his gaze as you come up to stand by the end of the table, almost directly behind seungcheol. opens his mouth to greet you, only to be cut off by seungcheol, who takes a deep hit of the bong and turns his head in your direction.

“anal,” he says by way of greeting, lifts his hand up expectantly in the universal sign of ‘smack your palm against mine to express agreement’. “classy!”

 it takes you half of a second to comply, the sound of your palm hitting seungcheol’s crisp and audible even with the constant hum of some semi-decent edm track oozing out from the speakers littered around the room. 

“hello seungcheol,” you greet, patting the man on the head. “vernon, seungkwan,” you let your eyes drift over to the end of the couch, where soonyoung is drooling against his own shoulder. “soonyoung falling asleep at his own party before ten pm, nice to see you again, too.” a sort of knowing, collective sigh follows the statement. at least the poor dance major hasn’t gotten any dicks drawn on his face this time. yet. “are we talking about the time i–”

“nope!” seungkwan cuts you off, gets up from his position on the couch so fast it makes the furniture creak. “none of this,” he wriggles himself between the table and vernon’s legs. “i can’t take the two of you tonight.” he pushes past you with a squeeze to your shoulder. “have a nice night, freaks.” 

you look in the direction seungkwan bolts off to for a moment, before moving to steal the man’s now empty spot next vernon. your arm is hot against his own, and vernon has to clench his fist to resist the urge, the impulse to reach for your hand. vernon isn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, a touchy guy. he doesn’t feel a need for hugs and lingering touches. but your closeness is so known, so comfortable, that he feels a sort of pull regardless.

but then, that might be the weed. or the alcohol. or both.

he turns his head instead, takes in the details of your face. “hey,” he murmurs, watches as your mouth quirks upwards. 

“hi,” you return. and everything is as it should be.

it’s not that vernon doesn’t like you. for all intents and purposes, he thinks that this thing that the two of you have is perfect. vernon doesn’t care about dating, doesn’t long for a relationship. with you, he doesn’t have to worry about forgetting anniversaries (though, he does remember, to the day, the first time you sucked his cock), or knowing what kind of flowers you like (you’re allergic to pollen anyways), or introduce you to his parents (you’ve already known them for most of your life).

vernon likes when you stay over an entire weekend and only get out of bed to take shared showers or to get takeaway. he likes waking up to the feel of your mouth around his cock, to the taste of weed when he sucks your tongue into his own mouth. he likes spending entire sunday afternoons just lazily exploring each others bodies; intermissions of blazing and eating pizza naked and talking shit. he likes that you have no reservations about parading around his apartment wearing only panties and nothing else and that you’re never opposed to ducking out of a party for a quickie and that you’ll indulge him in his more off-brand fantasies. 

but in love? nah. vernon doesn’t do that.

he turns around in the bed, his thin duvet twisting around his body. you’re doing something on your phone, face scrunched and brows furrowed. he gets the distinct feeling that you’re playing some sort of rhythm game, the kind of high intensity game where you’d be annoyed if he interrupted you. so, vernon clears his throat, lies fully on his back, and he asks; 

“if i asked you to piss in my mouth, would you?” 

it’s not the first time he’s brought up some sort of strange, outlandish ‘what if’ like that, but your facial expression is still as open, as surprised as if he’d never asked for anything raunchier than a kiss on the cheek before. you lock your phone with an audible click, put the device down in favor of staring him down with arched eyebrows and an amused sort of slant to your mouth.

“didn’t know you were into water sports,” you tell him, a husky, teasing sort of quality to your voice. vernon’s own mouth curls into a grin and he turns onto his side, reaches over to brush a lock of hair away from your face. 

“it’s just a hypothetical,” he says, like he always does. like he did the time he wanted to try wearing your panties, the time he was curious about fucking your tits and the time he tried to shock you by jokingly proposing you try pony play. you roll your eyes, already too aware of this game of his.

“well, i guess i’d need some water bottles,” you reply with a casual shrug, the nonchalance of your tone making vernon laugh. he hooks his fingers behind your ear, keeps them there as if he needs to anchor himself. 

“what? you’d actually do it?”

“sure,” you deadpan. “we’ve done weirder stuff.” 

vernon hums, scoots closer. he tugs at your ear, nips at your bottom lip before he lets his hand wander; down the side of your face, curled around your neck, tracing the shapes of your breast before settling at your hip.

“you’re gross,” he tells you, voice filled with a sort of affection he reserves for these moments; for these lazy, casual conversations he could not have with anyone else. you reach out and wrap an arm around his neck, your nose squished against his.

“i’m gross? you just asked me to piss in your mouth!” 

vernon laughs, a booming sound that starts at the pit of his stomach and rips out of his mouth as if he would burst had it not been allowed exit. he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your mouth, teeth clinking together and his leg moving to hook over yours, pull you closer to his body. your own mouth is curled, a clever kind of grin decorating your features. he rolls over until he’s on top of you, fingertips ghosting over your breasts, uncontrollable giggles pressed into the nape of your neck. 

you squeal, writhe underneath him and grab at his hands. he evades you, keeps your lower body trapped between his legs; fingers pressing teasing tickles against the skin of your sides. you squirm, half-laughs spilling from between your lips and echoing around the room. vernon leans down and you make a grab for his coppery curls, tug his face the last few inches to meet your own. you gasp into his mouth when he circles his finger over a particularly ticklish spot of yours, and when he’s finally lazily pressing his cock into you; slow, unhurried movements that feel more like a reflex than anything else, vernon can’t even remember what what so funny in the first place.

(he wakes up from a post-sex nap hours later, drowsy and sticky with sweat. you’re lying a bit away from him, sleeping on your stomach with your head turned away. he hears your quiet, easy breaths, watches your back fall and rise in tune with your inhales and exhales. your duvet has crept down to the dip of your back; the barest, most tasteful side boob visible from underneath you. a warm sort of feeling seeps into vernon’s body, and he wriggles closer, carefully lifts your arm to slide underneath it. he snuggles close, buries his face in your hair, smells the familiar scent of his own shampoo. 

he falls back asleep, feeling safe.)

vernon feels the soft fabric of your panties, slick with wetness already, against his cock. the position – back of the car seat pushed as far back as possible, your knees against his sides – is not particularly comfortable, by any stretch of the imagination, but there’s no denying that car sex always manages to turn him on something fierce. there’s something about your mouth; open and wide against his own, and about the way you clutch at his curls and coil your arms around his head that just makes his head spin. you grind against him, let his hands guide your hips. 

“vernon,” you mumble, voice too low, too close to his ear. a shiver runs down his spine, his hands bunching up your sundress to climb up your body. you’re not wearing a bra. you whine when he pinches your nipple playfully, ground your lower body against him. “we don’t have time for this.” 

he hides his face in the nook of your neck, bites down on your most sensitive spot, keeps you steady as you squirm in his lap. “you should sit on my cock, then, baby.”

he tries to sound seductive, but that flies right out the window when you reach your hand down to stroke his cock, smearing his pre-cum down along his length. his voice cracks embarrassingly. you hum, thumb teasing the head of his dick. “i should, huh?”

vernon groans. “you should.” you lift yourself up, one hand on vernon’s cock and the other pulling your panties to the side. vernon presses his nose against your skin, growls into your shoulder when you slide yourself down his length. you feel so good around him, the perfect mix of tight and hot. his arms wind around your middle, pulling you close.

“fucking car sex,” you mutter, fingers threading back into his locks as you wiggle slightly to adjust. vernon pretends not to hear the stutter-y exhale of air as his cock moves inside you with the movements. “so goddamn uncomfortable.” vernon bucks up, relishes in the feel of your fingers tightening at his hair, pulling until it almost hurts.

“it’s hot though,” he giggles at your neck, teeth grazing skin. you set the pace; slow, languid movements on top of him. vernon likes that, feels a cloud of fluttery butterflies on the inside of his stomach at the way you grind against him. he presses a sloppy kiss to the side of your neck, leaves a trail of chaste pecks along your jaw, nibbles on your ear. “someone could walk by any moment.”

“hurry up, then,” you mutter, guiding one of his hands down, pressing it against you. he takes the hint, circles your clit with two fingers. the sound that tumbles out of your mouth sounds like wind chimes, like bells and symphonies. he repeats the motion, juts up against you and grabs onto your ass with his free hand, his face hovering a hair’s breadth away from your own. “i have to get back soon.”

he stops. “get back?” he repeats. “aren’t you going to the party?”

you exhale through your nose, air hitting vernon’s face in a cool, welcome breeze. “no,” you tell him, hesitate. “i have a date.” 

“a date,” vernon feels like a parrot, leans back. “you’ve got a date.” you try gyrating against him, your insides throbbing with the sudden lack of friction. his fingers are still slippery against the inside of your thigh.

“yes,” you mutter. and here one of your best and your worst qualities come out on full display; your stubbornness. you hands are at his shoulders, your gaze unblinking as you stare him down. even as a drop of sweat slides down the side of your face, even as vernon’s cock is buried deep inside you, you manage to look completely in control. it turns vernon on as much as it scares him. “is that a problem?”

but here’s the thing. vernon has a reputation of being lazy, aloof. of being too stoned to care most of the time and too casual to be opinionated. he thrusts up against you with all the force he can muster, presses you down with one hand and massages your clit with deft, quick fingers. his teeth sink into the skin of your neck and you muffle a cry with the back of your hand.

vernon can be stubborn, too. 

“of course not,” he growls against your neck, laps at the reddening spot where his teeth has bruised your skin. his voice is barely audible over the sound of flesh smacking together as he pounds into you, a sort of inexplicable frustration tugging at vernon’s neck. “are you gonna go on the date like this? fucked out and with my cum still leaking out of you?”

you tilt your head back, neck exposed. “i was gonna shower.” vernon licks at your jaw, feels the way you clamp around him, erratic ruts against his cock and fingers growing desperate.

“don’t,” he says, tries not to notice how possessive his own voice sounds. he hopes you’re too distracted by his dick to take note. 

“that’s unhygienic, vernon,” you reply, his name turning into a moan as he bites down on your earlobe. “i can’t walk around with cum in my panties.” and granted, he’ll give you that. that doesn’t mean the mental image doesn’t make his cock throb inside you, pushes him closer to the edge.

“fuck,” he groans, pauses his movements all while still fingering your clit to keep himself from coming too soon. “fine, change panties, then,” he amends, as if he’s got any say in the situation at all. 

you stare at him, eyes hooded and dark. there’s a sort of furrow to your brow that vernon doesn’t want to think about. “fine,” you relent, and vernon’s shoulders sag with something akin to relief. “i swear vernon, your kinks are getting stranger by the minute.” and vernon doesn’t argue with that, because of course; that’s all it is. a fetish, a kink. another peculiarity of his. 

he snickers, but the sound feels hollow.

“damn vernon,” joshua marvels, three hours and fifteen minutes into the party. vernon has his head leaning back against the couch, a pleasant mixture of weed and alcohol mingling in his body. he has to squint to really manage to focus on the older man, tilting his head to face the new arrival. “who pissed in your drink tonight?”

his brows furrow. joshua’s a pretty boy, he muses; a clean sort of look, neat haircut. always wears clean shirts. vernon wonders if the boy you’re on a date with is like that; if he’s got his license and all the buttons on his ironed shirts. “what are you talking about?” he barks, the sound a tad more aggressive than intended. joshua’s own, perfectly shaped eyebrows rise until they’re almost completely hidden underneath his bangs. a teasing sort of smile takes his mouth. 

“you’re in a bad mood,” he says, and it’s not a statement; it’s an observation. vernon frowns. 

“he’s just mad his not-girlfriend ditched him,” seungcheol offers as an explanation. vernon feels as if he should argue, but his mouth is full of syrup. 

“ah,” joshua muses, an airy sound full of understanding that vernon find completely unwarranted. it’s almost annoying, how quick the other boy is to take this explanation at face value. “where is she tonight?” 

vernon huffs out a laugh; a sound that tastes as bitterly as it sounds. “she’s on a date.”

a collective, soft ‘aah’ falls over the small crowd of boys in the living room, and vernon’s head jolts up so fast it makes his brain hurt. he stares at the group, a deep frown pulling at his lips. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“come on, dude,” seungcheol rolls his eyes, takes a long sip of his drink, presumably for dramatic effect. “you’re jealous.” vernon sputters, scandalized by the accusation, but seungkwan cuts in before he can object.

“seriously,” the blond huffs from his own corner of the couch. “how long have you guys been doing this? you had to know she’d want to start dating at some point.” seungkwan, bless his heart, takes on his most lecturing tone of voice, the one he dons when he wants to remind vernon that he’s not the only one who’s known you for years. that vernon’s not the only one you talk to.

“if you really don’t have feelings for her at all you have to prepare yourself to let her go,” he continues, watches you with something between suspicion and curiosity in his eyes. “she’s not gonna want to be your fuckbuddy forever.” 

and realistically, vernon knows that. he knows that at some point you’re going to want more than sex – even if the sex is amazing – and that you’ll start looking elsewhere for the things vernon isn’t giving you. he just thought he could avoid it for a bit longer. something cold rests at the pit of his stomach.

“oh,” joshua pipes up, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. somehow, he looks sort of like a lemur. “i guess the date didn’t pan out.” vernon whips his head around, scans the crowd that’s accumulated by the pool table right outside the nook of a living room the group of boys have gathered in. 

and sure enough, there you are; fingers sweeping your hair out of your face and sundress reminding vernon of the things that transpired mere hours earlier. you haven’t spotted him yet, it looks like; too busy leaning close to allow hoseok, a man vernon only knows by name and face and dance major, half-yell something into your ear.

vernon gets up. you notice him a moment before he manages to wriggle past the crowd to reach you, and you lean over to say something to hoseok, who nods and claps you on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

“hey,” vernon half-yells into your ear, a hand automatically coming to rest at the small of your back. “what happened to your date?” he pretends that he doesn’t say the word ‘date’ with visible distaste. you shrug, hands crossed over your chest.

“eh, i wasn’t feeling it,” you tell him, face so close he feels your breath against his face with each word. “he kept asking me to call him daddy,” you roll your eyes, a sort of lopsided grin curling your mouth. “it’s 2018, who even does that anymore?”

vernon snorts, curls his fingers into the fabric of your dress. “i do. literally all the time.” the edges of your mouth twitch.

“it’s just funny when you do it.”

warmth spreads from somewhere in vernon’s chest and through the rest of his body. damn right it is, he thinks, a sense of superiority tugging at his stomach. “you always do it, though,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, tugs at your dress to pull you closer. you size him up, a small smile on your face. it looks fragile, somehow, as if your face can’t quite keep up with your mouth. 

“yeah, well,” you reply with a slow roll of your shoulder. vernon can’t help noticing your defensive, passive stance. “i guess there’s only room for one daddy in my life right now.” 

silence follows. well, not really, of course; a sub-par dubstep track is booming from the speakers and around you people are hollering, laughing. but somehow, there’s only a muted sort of quiet surrounding the two of you. vernon blinks, a sort of weight to your joke that feels misplaced, too heavy. you clear your throat. 

“i only came by to drop off some weed,” you explain, clearing up instantly, then, why you were talking to hoseok – possibly the only one with a bigger stoner reputation than vernon himself – instead of seeking out your usual group. “i’m gonna take off. early shift tomorrow.”

usually, you’d offer to drive vernon home. it’d just be an excuse, of course, a flimsy, indirect invitation for him to come over and spend the night between your legs. he waits, but it doesn’t come. you shift, vernon’s hand slipping away from your back, and you pat him on the chest, gaze not completely on him.

“i’ll see you later, daddy.” 

vernon watches you leave, seungkwan’s words echoing in his head. his heart is beating against his ribcage so hard he feels like his whole body is vibrating. 

time passes. a week. two weeks. vernon barely sees you at all, barely even has the chance to speak to you. you’re taking extra shifts, you tell him; you have homework to catch up on and tests to study for. it’s bullshit, of course, so transparent and blatant it leaves a bad taste in vernon’s mouth. he knows what you’re doing. 

you’re avoiding him. 

so he does what he always does; he talks to seungkwan. you’re an idiot, seungkwan says. i told you this would happen. if you don’t want to lose her you gotta put a ring on it. seungkwan might have taken a back seat in your trio once vernon and you started sleeping together, but that does not mean he’s not an important part of it. he probably knew, long before vernon realized, that vernon is in love with you.

so vernon does the only thing he can think to do. he goes to walmart.

he knows you’re home, because seungkwan – as the top notch best friend he is – has done some recon. vernon knows you’re studying, that you’re sitting somewhere in the apartment on the other side of the door. still, he’s reluctant. 

vernon has never been a relationship sort of guy. has never needed to be. he fell into the rhythm of whatever the two of you have been doing for the past few years before he even had the time to consider anything else. why would he need a relationship, when you’re there to lean your head against his shoulder during movie nights and slip your hand into the waistband of his pants when the movie gets boring. why would he need a girlfriend when you already know and love his parents, let him eat you out in empty parking lots and make out with him in bathrooms at parties? 

he’s an idiot, of course, because it took seungkwan literally beating him over the head for vernon to realize that the only thing that separates your ‘no-strings-attached’ relationship and an actual, official relationship was the names you call each other.

vernon inhales. he never thought he’d be nervous to see you. he might know how he feels, now, but he has no idea how you feel. only one way to find out, he supposes.

vernon knocks.

he hears a thud, a low curse followed by footsteps.

you rip the door open as if you’re expecting someone, pausing only when you come eye to eye with vernon. “oh,” you mutter. “vernon.” he takes a moment to take in your appearance; face free of makeup an attire decidedly comfy. he’s pretty sure the hoodie you’re wearing used to be his at some point. you arch a brow, eyes on the bouquet of plastic sunflowers in vernon’s hand. his palms feel clammy.

“you here to murder me, bro?” you ask, and the ‘bro’ feels sort of like a distance, a line being drawn. vernon cringes. 

“plastic,” he explains. “for your allergies. lasts longer, too.” it’s not much of an explanation, really, doesn’t at all clear up the awkward tension that rests between you. you hum, cross your arms and lean against the door frame. vernon tries not to feel self-conscious at the fact that you don’t invite him in.

“what’s the occasion?” 

vernon clears his throat. “we need to talk, i guess,” he tries. these conversations look so easy in romantic comedies. “about us.”

you exhale through your nose, mutter a low ‘oh boy’ under your breath. “what brought this on?”

“i miss you,” he mutters, feels like he’s on display. 

“you miss sex.”

vernon’s brow furrows. “fuck off,” he huffs, before he can stop himself. “i miss you. i miss that you drool on my chest when you’re sleeping,” he twists his hands around the stems of the plastic flowers in his hands, needs something concrete to ground himself. he feels like he’s going to disintegrate, like he’s being pulled apart at the seams. “i miss smoking with you and just eating chips in bed. i miss holding your hands.” 

“where is all of this even coming from?” you ask, something unsteady to your voice. your fingertips dig into the flesh of your arms. “you’re always going on and on about not wanting a relationship. flowers and anniversaries and all that.” you wave a hand towards the sunflowers. 

“i’m an idiot,” vernon says, earnestly. “i didn’t even realize until seungkwan told me that the reason i didn’t want a girlfriend was because that meant we’d have to end.” he sees the subtle, slight change in your expression, feels a hopeful thud against his ribcage. “i just don’t even know who i am without you.”

“you’ll have to spell it out for me, vernon,” you murmur, shoulders high and tense, teeth gnawing into your bottom lip. vernon inhales, is all too happy to comply. he takes a step forward, presses the plastic bouquet of sunflower into your hands. 

“i’m in love with you. looking back who the fuck even knows how long i’ve been in love with you,” he says, runs his thumbs along the back of your hands. “and it’ll break my mom’s heart if i have to tell her we’re not actually dating.” you snort at that, you lip twitching. vernon takes it as encouragement, leans his forehead against yours. “please be my girlfriend.”

your arms wind around his neck, and vernon can’t quite help his relieved sigh at the contact. the more pathetic part of him feels like crying. “you can’t take it back,” you tell him, and despite your best attempts you can’t quite hide the fragile quality of your voice. “if you do this now you have to commit to it.”

vernon circles his nose around yours, hands sliding along your back. “just be my fucking girlfriend,” he murmurs, and then he closes the gap. 

it feels like he hasn’t kissed you forever. it feels like he’s kissing you for the first time. there’s something different about it, about the way your tongue slides along his bottom lip and about the moan when he sucks it into his mouth. he pushes you against the door frame, presses his body as closely against yours as he can. his lungs are burning, desperate for air, but he perseveres, groans as you pull at his hair. 

“fuck, i missed you,” he whispers, voice raspy as he moves to nip at your neck. his hands are at your ass, squeezing and pushing and pressing fingers into your flesh. there’s a crack in his voice that he can’t find it in him to be embarrassed about. “i missed you so much.” 

“i missed you, too,” you tell him, as if it’s an admission, as if the words are thick in your throat and reluctant to be spoken. 

“are you busy?” vernon asks, his lips against your throat. he feels your hum against his mouth, the vibrations like a jolt of lightning through his body. “we have two weeks of sex to make up for.” you laugh, nails scratching at his scalp in a way that sends shivers down his spine.

“luckily for you,” you tell him, press a light kiss to his lips, pull him into your apartment. “i’ve had a shit ton of water today.” vernon smiles against your mouth, bites your bottom lip. 

“you’re such a freak,” he murmurs, guides you towards the couch. you open your mouth, to object or to take the joke further, he doesn’t know; he steals the words right out of your mouth, takes your face between his hands. “luckily for you i love freaks.”

as it turns out, girlfriends suck dick even better than fuck friends.

#svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #vernon x reader #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios

[maxer-blaster]

You ever think about how the Nostalgia's Diner scene in episode 2 was Icabod meeting his future brother in law for the first time?

This huge man comes in with the WEIRDEST GROUP IMAGINABLE.

He talks about a chair that says "Albert" and orders a calzone.

Meanwhile his friends are eating coffee grounds and drinking pancake syrup and room temperature vodka.

#mentopolis #d20 #dimension 20 #the fix #pasha n #icabod iceskates #tbf fix was one of the more normal ones there #and he absolutely ADORES Pasha

[spikershoyo]

I Don't Know You | Robbie Reyes x f!reader | smut | minors DNI!

Warnings and notes: Smut, one-night stand with Robbie, oral sex (fem), Robbie having bi panic, mentions of sex and drinking, Gabe's sleep being disturbed, wrote this on my phone and with very little editing so tell me if I missed anything to tag, this was inspired by the song 'I Don't Know You' by The Marias it's so good, listen to rn,

The sun peeking through the curtains of Robbie’s windows shine over his eyes. They flutter closed again when he’s hit with the light. He moves around a bit and slowly sits up, a hand making its way to hold his head, the steady thump of a headache starting to bloom.

He groans as he takes in his surroundings. He’s home. Safe and sound. He can hear Gabe’s soft snores from the other side of the wall. He looks over at his nightstand, the clock reading 10:14. That’s waking up late to Robbie’s standard on a weekday.

Robbie becomes aware that he’s not wearing anything under his sheets, he takes in the sore feeling of his neck, his back, and his legs. The fan from the ceiling of his room is on the highest setting, spinning around and creating a fresh temperature in his otherwise hot room.

A soft groan comes from him as he stretches out his back, his mind bringing him back to the party from last night. The annoying voice of one of the assholes from his senior year of high school telling him to ‘let loose’ is etched into his mind.

He really did let loose last night.

He didn’t do anything too crazy last night, he hopes, just a lot of drinks and a lot of eye fucking from both him and the people at the party. He remembered the string tequila they had brought out and the Don Q vodka. The most he drank was beer and the occasional shot of something.

What he does remember though is the people he talked to. The redhead who was drunk on mojitos blabbered to him all night, making a not-so-subtle comment on how hot he was.

A few guys he had known prior but didn’t really get a long with. This chick at the bar that was all over him and couldn’t stop reaching for his belt. Yeah, he didn’t let her get too far.

A man who was maybe a few years older than him said he liked Robbie’s jacket, he seemed cool. He was definitely cooler than most people at the party. What he didn’t expect was that the same man was going to have him blushing as he whispered soft words of praise into Robbie’s ear.

In no time, Robbie was stuttering out excuses and apologies, telling the man ‘N-nah, I don’t swing that way. Sorry.’ When it was clear that he had been thinking it over for the last few months after that stupid dare he had done between him and his friends. He won’t admit it’s still buried in the back of his head.

After one too many drinks and flirting here and there, he didn’t even remember if he went home with someone or not. But he found out soon enough when he felt a shuffle from beside him. He was so immersed in his memories of last night that he didn’t even take into account that there was a beautiful someone in his bed.

He lies back down when he sees the back of a girl, her shoulders have hickeys and bite marks over them. Robbie covers his mouth as he smirks a bit. Her hair a slight mess as it lays under her head. He puts his arms out and pulls her to his chest, a soft groan emitting from her.

You could feed strong and rough hands pulling you to a warm source. Not wanting to wake up yet, you just stayed still, lying in the comfy bed. Robbie’s hands snake around your waist, squeezing and feeling your sore body.

Once you do finally open your eyes, there’s a slight dizzying feeling in your head. Must be all the alcohol you drank last night. A soft stream of kisses starts being planted over your shoulders, the coarse feeling of facial hair on your soft skin makes you tingle.

When you turn around you’re both met with unfamiliar faces. Jesus, how much did you drink last night?

Robbie’s eyes widen at how pretty you are. He smiles gently and leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, which makes a smile of your own bloom across your face. He pulls you in for a hug and his hands wander down your naked body, feeling your curves and your skin.

You accept the warm and gentle hug, fitting into him like a puzzle piece. Your own hands came up and scratched his scalp, a low moan escaping him. You chuckle at the sound.

After a while of touching and re-exploring, you find the courage to use your voice.

“I don’t know you.” You laugh lowly, hiding your laughter in his neck. Robbie chuckles as well, his hands never stop touching you, now tracing shapes and words into your skin.

“It’s fine. I don’t know you either.” He pulls back and kisses your cheek. “But I like this.” “Oh, definitely.” You both end up laughing, relishing in the glow of the morning. “I’m Robbie.” You nod, telling him your name. “Y’know, one would think you’d remember my name after the amount of times you screamed it last night.”

Your eyes widen as a gasp leaves you, a laugh following after. “You! I had- well, we had a lot to drink.” Robbie agrees at your words. He pulls back from the hug and bites his lip softly. “God, you’re beautiful.” He slides down the bed a bit so he can be level with your chest. He presses kiss after kiss to your body, sometimes leaving wet spots as he licks over bites that he left last night.

“I should make your breakfast.” He sighs into your body, his fingers pressing themselves into your plush thighs, kneading any part of you that he found sore.

“I think I wanna stay here a bit longer. Maybe go for another round…” you whisper cheekily. Robbie laughs and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t mind at all.” He pulls you down to face him now, getting to see his pretty brown eyes. Your hand comes up and you trace the freckles on his face, connecting them like constellations.

He can feel his cheeks dusting over with pink, quickly becoming fond of your gentle and calm nature. He sits up and has you sit up as well, your back against the headboard.

He leans down and puts your legs on his shoulders, his face leaning down to your core. Robbie presses a kiss to your clit and you can’t help but shudder. He doesn’t waste time diving in and eating you out.

A whine escapes you as your hands bury themselves into his cropped hair. “Robbie-“ “Mhm, love the way you say my name, baby.” He talks into your core, some of it muffled as he licks up your wet cunt.

One loud moan from you is all it takes for a light knocking on the wall from Gabe. “Robbie, shut up!” His little brother groans as he shuffles in his bed. This makes you and Robbie end up laughing and having Robbie put a hand over your mouth as he pulls orgasm after orgasm from you.

#[robbie reyes <3] #[v won’t stfu] #[my writing!!] #robbie reyes fanfic #robbie reyes x reader #robbie reyes #robbie reyes textpost #robbie reyes smut #robbie reyes fluff #ghost rider x reader #ghost rider #all new ghost rider #ghost rider textpost #ghost rider smut

[butchregina]

i think i once said her drink of choice is a red solo cup of room temperature vodka

She is so fucking pathetic 😭

she’s like that dude with no bed frame who says he doesn’t deserve happiness.

in all seriousness she’s like definitely a “literally whatever they hand her at a party” girl or a “white claw when she actually gets to pick” girl 😭

[piratesfromspace]

What happens in Siberia… (141xReader)

Pairing: Reader x Ghost x Soap x Price x Gaz Rated: Very Explicit Word count: 2.7k Summary: the squad celebrates your first successful mission in their own way. Note: This is just pure filth, just bring me to horny jail at this point. In the same universe as my "Rain or Shine" fic. Reader callsign is "Rain", she's bi and autistic (I am autistic myself). Inspired to finish this wip by the queen @yeyinde and her Body Electric, go read it.

Content: group sex, oral, p-i-v, praise kink, size kink, alcohol, probably some warcrimes, overall canon typical violence

MASTERLIST // PART 1 // PART 2 // <> // PART 4 // PART 5

They are at the end of the world. Far East. Miles and miles of snow and ice and the occasional patch of dark trees. It’s just the five of them: Price, Soap, Gaz, Ghost and her.

They've been hiking for days now. Camping along the way, never really leaving their heavy gear. All-white winter jackets and pants, the gray of the kevlar vests, the black of their weapons. The blizzard makes everything blur. The cold - deadlier than any heat - numbs the fingers and the senses. 

They're used to the humid furnace of the jungle, the burning sun of the desert, but the freezing temperatures of Siberia are seriously undermining their mood. It was the only way to discreetly reach the compound of this Russian oligarch they need to steal intel from. The mission was simple enough : reach the damn place, eliminate everyone in a surprise attack, find the hard drive with the info in it and wait for evac. Simple. The difficult part was getting there without being killed by the cold or the beasts living in those damned icy woods. Soap swears he saw a wolf the size of a jeep. Or maybe it was a bear. Hard to tell when you have to wear a ski mask so your eyeballs don’t freeze in your skull. 

When the 141 strikes, they sweep the place clean. The handful of guards don’t stand a chance against them despite the weariness of the travel. They had found an entrance in the sewer system, reached the basement and its concrete walls, but when they climbed to the higher levels of the building, they suddenly found themselves in an imitation of a luxury cabin. Warm wood, white furs thrown on sprawling beige sofas, a fireplace big enough for a child to stand in it. A chef kitchen. Half a dozen bedrooms with king size beds and ensuite bathrooms.

The place is stocked for literal orgies. Champagne and vodka and cocaine - and the drawers in the bedrooms are full of condoms and lube. The kind of place rich assholes spend their winter vacation in when they go skiing in the Alps. It fits with what they know of the owner.

Once they secure the hard drive, and make sure nobody else is alive in there, they all stagger to the living room with a palpable relief. Evac will be there in a little less than 48 hours. Two whole days in Nowhere, Siberia, with nothing else to do except rest in this 5-stars chalet after days of miserable trek in the snow.

“I really need a shower” Rain mutters, and she makes a beeline for the main suite. Ghost follows without a word. When it’s just them and the core squad they don’t bother to hide anymore. It was Rain's first field trip as not just a supply manager. Of course they had her at the back of the group when they breached the building, Ghost the first to break in as usual. She did not even have to fire a single bullet. But she went in with her gun tightly clutched in her hand and her night vision goggles on nonetheless. 

They are doing shots. Tsarskaya vodka, straight from Saint Petersburg. The hot meal has been the best she had in months thanks to the freezer of the pantry being full of stupidly expensive delicacies. Price, Gaz and Ghost are sprawled across the sofa, Soap and her are sitting on the plush fur carpet. They’re all down to cargo pants and T-shirts, a blessing after days in those heavy and cumbersome jackets. She could cry at the relief of feeling something else than the wooly inside of her gloves under her fingertips. Her limbs still ache from days of fighting the cold and sleeping on the ground, but the fatigue has been somewhat dulled by the vivid memory of Simon’s tongue between her legs when he dropped to his knees during the shower she took earlier. Her back is warmed by the fireplace, her belly is full and she still feels a bit light-headed from the fight. She wants nothing more than to indulge in the playful atmosphere and the many promises of those two full days of rest with her squad.

“A toast” Price starts, raising his vodka “to Rain - for her first mission accomplished!”

“Please Captain, you make me sound like a damn rookie. I’ve been in the team for a year now. And I’m older than Soap for fuck sake!” 

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

The easy banter goes on, more vodka burns her throat, she bares her neck and laughs - and Ghost’s eyes narrow with a glint. 

Nah, I tell you, you're still a rookie. Oh yeah? I bet you could not think of something I haven’t done that MacTavish has. Easy, you never killed. Not because you never see me do it means I didn’t do it before. (there is a silence)  Let’s lighten the mood… ‘bet you never kissed a girl. Come on, I’ve had more girlfriends than you, Soap.  Never had a threesome?  I did once back in college. Why, you’ interested, Gaz? (it’s a joke - but also not really)

It lasts for a while until Soap grins victoriously.

“You never kissed me.” he beams, even though it doesn't really make sense for the little game they’re playing. She’s too tipsy to care.

“If that’s the only thing to shut you up.” and she leans into him, grabs his thigh for balance and just like that - she kisses him. Her tongue breaches his lips and she can taste the vodka they’re drinking and the sugar of the russian caramel they had for dessert. The kiss lasts only a couple of seconds, but Soap is glass eyed when she sits back down. 

Price lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Rain...”  “Thank you, Captain.”  “John for tonight” “Thank you, John.” she whispers, tone low and suggestive. “I’m gonna get more dessert!” she announces all of a sudden - she had always craved sugar - and she bounces to the kitchen, leaving them all a bit stunned. 

Price glances at Ghost. For once, he has no clue how he will react. To his girl openly flirting with others, to his girl initiating something they won’t be able to come back from. 

“She decides.” Simon’s voice is even more gravelly than usual. “You follow.” he asserts, and that’s all the instructions they will get from him. It’s clear enough though - she’s the one in charge from there, Ghost trusts them to do as she says, and he trusts her to ask for what she needs.

When she comes back, she sits down next to Soap, leans heavily on him. He brushes her hair out of her pretty face, and she looks at him with intent, daring him to continue what they started. It’s like she provides him with a pool of gasoline, and hopes for nothing more than a spark to light it all and let the fire consume them both - and by a chain reaction consume them all.

He doesn’t resist and kisses her again. She lets him. She even moans against his lips when he grabs her nape. It’s like the match has been cracked, it’s too late now. No coming back from that. The flames are already spreading. Gaz falls on his knees behind her, strong hands on her waist, his mouth against her earshell.

“Is this okay? ‘This what you want?” She breaks the kiss just enough time to answer a breathy yes.

The rest is a blur. Someone removes her T-shirt, lays her down on the fur. Expensive vodka poured into the divot of her navel.

“It’s cold!” she protests with a laugh until Gaz laps the alcohol from her skin with a gaze so sinful it warms her right up. 

Ghost is right there by her head, a hand spanning her neck, holding her jaw. Through his mask, he whispers sweet praises to her, walking her through it. Soap is playing with her tits, teeth grazing the gentle curve of her breast before his latches on one of the tender buds. Gaz is laying on his belly, tongue buried in her cunt. She’s still sensitive from what Ghost did just before during their shower, but Gaz is different in his approach, he takes his time, goes slow, licks her clit like they’ve got all night (they have). 

He sinks one finger into her then a second. “Fuck she’s tight.” He exhales against her folds, half-wonder, half-worry. “Let me do it.” It’s Price - he’s been hovering around them all, carefully observing, waiting for the right time to step in. It’s not that easy for him, he’s their Captain, even though he had the intuition to forbid her to use his title earlier. But if they’re going to do this, he wants to do it right - right by her. He won’t let her be hurt on the battlefield, no reason to stop caring for her now. 

He takes Gaz's place between her legs.

“Open your mouth for me darling.” he croons and he coats two of his fingers with her saliva, presses on her tongue and rewards her with a good girl when she licks at the rough pad of his fingers. Price sinks into her cunt again, gently fucks her with two fingers, scissors her open with an infinite patience. Gaz pets at her clit, circles slow and wide, not enough for her to come, but definitely enough to make her forget the burn of the stretching process. 

They take turns making her shatter to pieces only to carefully rebuild her after. Soap takes her in long lazy strokes, before guiding her lips on his cock and she can taste herself on him - it’s enough to make her whimper around his flesh. Price maneuvers her on her hands and knees, grips her hips with large hands, fucks her in powerful thrusts and drown her in praises.

You’re so fucking pretty like this You tell me if it’s too much Fucking hell, you feel so good

She keens and laughs as she comes for the third time of the night. It’s a lot but they don’t stop, not as long as she welcomes them. Not as long as the embers of her desire are still shining gold. Gaz has her ride him on the couch, Ghost holding her waist to help her get up when her legs become too shaky. They work as one, just like they did hours before. They take care of each other in so many ways, it was just a matter of time before such a night would happen.

Ghost is finally shedding the last of his gear - he’s naked except for the mask. The flames of the fireplace frame his devilish figure with an unnatural glow - an Angel of Death, covered in so many scars he looks like he’s been to Hell and back a few times. Muscles rippling fat and strong under his skin, light trails of blond hair leading down to his leaking cock. Rain is not the only one to stare, but she’s the only one he sees, and when she pleads his name, he drapes his body over hers.

One of them has brought back lube from one of the bedrooms. Simon coats his length in the shiny liquid before burying to the hilt into her cunt. Despite the fair share of preparation, she’s still panting at the sudden pressure. Her little pained whimper has them suddenly on high alert. But Simon is handling her with the confidence she can take it, he offers shallow trusts and reassuring words until the burn of the stretch turns into blistering pleasure.

He brings her legs on his shoulders, his arms the size of her thighs, and if she already appeared small compared to the rest of them, Ghost is dwarfing her. Soap is mesmerized by it, how Simon’s dick fits inside her despite the absurd size difference. Ghost moves again and the change in position has him hit that spongy spot hidden just behind the bone of her pelvis that makes her moan and whimper. Johnny had already dreamed about it, imagined it, heard it from the other side of a door, but actually seeing her lips part around cries of pleasure under his lieutenant, it makes his cheeks burn even more than when he was the one hitting the end of her soft cunt.

He’s taken out of his trance by Rain’s pleading voice. Please Johnny she begs - and she begs so pretty he would do anything she asks him - and she catches his hand and brings it just where Ghost and her are connected. When he presses on her clit, she arches off the sofa, and when he keeps rubbing in time with Simon’s thrusts, she comes so hard she drenches his whole hand. 

There is a pause in the non-stop sex, someone presses a glass of water to her lips, another digs his fingers into the muscles of her back. She closes her eyes and sighs in contentment, lulled by the soft crackling of the fire and the satisfied groans of her lovers. She thinks they’re all sated, but it’s her Captain - no, it’s John - that cups her cheek and asks oh so gently will you have me again, sweet thing?

How can she say no when he talks to her like this? She’s raw between her legs, delicate flesh all swollen and still wet, and she will regret it tomorrow - will she?. She nods, and he moves her back down on the pile of throws. His rough hand on her delicate neck, he feels the warm pulse of her life - he has her life between his hands everyday, tonight is just more literal. What did he think would happen back when she appeared on base for the first time?

Despite everything, she had survived her first few months with them, had embedded herself so far in their team, she is impossible to remove now. The men foolish enough to try would have to step through their fire. It was inevitable, actually. The squad swore to do anything to protect each other, and it’s even more obvious with her. One could mistake it for machismo, the reality is they do their best to understand what it’s like for her to live in this world made of ongoing threats - coming not only from their enemies but also from the other soldiers they sometimes share their missions with. The revelation that she had killed before - before them - is no real surprise for Price. He’ll ask her more, maybe, when the time is right. When the place they’re in will be no more than ashes and smoke, white and gray and covered in fresh snow.

When they are done, nerves raw and skin too sensitive to the touch, it’s her captain who carries her under the shower, letting the water soothe the last of their fever. Once he’s sure she can still walk, he reluctantly lets her go. She needs to be alone, needs to reset away from their eyes. You alright sweetheart? Was it too much? - Price is suddenly anxious, the pungent bile of doubt pooling under his tongue. Her temples burn, she’s a bit ashamed of what she’s about to say but here in a place that no one knows about and that will vanish from the surface of the earth, she feels like she can admit it, that her secret will be safe, thrown out in the blind blizzard of Siberia. It was perfect.

She steals the largest T-shirt discarded in the living room - Simon’s - before crashing into one of the beds. Ghost materializes by her side, like a cryptid she can’t quite get rid of even if she wanted to. He glues himself to her back. Check-ins and praises whispered in the icy black of the night.

Fucking hell, you were so -so good. Are you okay pet? Didn’t know you had this in you.

She finally falls asleep just as the foggy glow of dawn starts creeping up the dark sky. They still have one whole day and one whole night before packing up and dowsing the place in gasoline, before cracking a match and watching it burn. They’ll make the most of it.

NEXT PART

#ghost x reader #soap x reader x ghost #soap x reader #soap x you #price x reader #price x you #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #141 x reader #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfic #141 fanfic #task force 141 #soap x ghost

[frick-it-sugar-spice]

(Or read it right here below)

tws for: anxiety/panic attacks, drugs and drug use are mentioned, a character mentions nausea/v*ing and related things but does not actually get sick.

Angel Dust is not having a good time and made questionable choices, Vaggie walks in on him suffering the consequences, they hang out. Hurt/Comfort-ish Angsty-ish

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

“Look it made sense at the time, an’ I don't feel like I'm gonna die again or whatever tha hell that awful feelin was-”

Vaggie winced as Angel turned his head to let tears and drool drop from his face into the sink. She awkwardly patted his back, it's what Charlie would do, and it seemed like Angel needed something physical to distract from the situation he put himself in.

“Just,” Vaggie paused as the other demon coughed, “why the hot sauce. Why drink the hottest hot sauce we had in the fridge?”

“A shot of hot sauce sounded better than a shot of vodka or a line for a change, okay?”

 

Angel tried to snap, but the deep sniffling and constant streaming from his eyes, particularly the one set, sort of undercut the aggression.

“Aye, idiot you touched your eyes too? Get under the tap-”

“Feels like I'm gonna puke fire still Vaggie-”

“I won't let you choke if you do. You don't want to blind yourself either, get under the tap.”

With a strained, heavy blink, the lanky demon ducked down and Vaggie turned on the water. She ran it away from his face for a second while he gasped around the burning in his mouth and throat and the temperature equalised. Once the temperature was stable and Angel cracked open an eye to check on the hold up, he sucked in a breath and held it. She turned the tap on him and helped direct the flow of water more to the set of spider eyes that were the most red rimmed and streaming.

A few rounds of Angel dust pushing the tap away to shake off the water, gasp and gag, or simply catch his breath and then another dousing later, his eyes were burning much less. His throat, mouth, and lips still stung something awful.

“So. Hot sauce,” Vaggie crossed her arms and cocked a hip, “at asshole o'clock in the night. Why?”

“Just. Thanks for that, but don't ‘cha worry your pretty little head about it, okay?” Angel tried to snap.

He wanted to get back to his room before the horrible numbing waves of panic and nausea crashed back over him. Shit he still had an ice pack gripped so tight in one pair of hands gone so cold he didn't even realise he still had it until Vaggie had taken it and dropped it to the counter.

“Kind of the exact wrong words and tone for getting left alone in a place like this. Don't make me get Charlie.”

“Look- I,” 

Angel huffed and looked back at the fridge. The burn was wearing off, his head was going fuzzy again.

“I am just tryin’ to deal with my shit as good as I can, okay,” if his voice broke and was a little hoarse neither were willing to point it out, “I am trying to not be a fuck up, and i just want somethin’ cold and somethin’ to focus on that ain't whateva's- just, going… ugh.”

Angel's hand dropped from where he was pointing and gesturing around his head. The one hand hung limp while three others all worried at seams on his clothes or were picking at his fuzz and skin.

“I feel like I'm gonna puke, and just. Gettin’ a reminder that I'm here- like me, I, am right here, touchin this nasty ass hotel carpet, breathing here, and got somethin else to focus on… it helps.”

“Right. Okay. I think, I think I can get that.” 

“It sounds so stupid sayin it outloud. Maybe. I don't know, honestly if I didn't know it, I'd worry someone slipped me somethin again. I. Couldn't breathe or focus or nothing.”

“Does that… happen a lot?”

Angel bit at the inside of his cheek and looked away. Vaggie’s brows were creased so sharply it almost hurt to look at. 

“Nah. Maybe.”

Vaggie sidestepped Angel and opened the fridge. He couldn't look. He was going to start spiralling again if he couldn't leave, if she kept pressing, if he couldn't go and just even smoke a joint. At least that was a gone, dazed feeling he knew and felt less like imminent re-death. It was what he should have done in the first place, the hot sauce was stupid. It worked, but it burned like a son of a gun and-

Angel yelped as something icy cold tapped the juncture between his neck and topmost shoulders.

“Here. Cold,” Vaggie pressed a fresh ice pack into his less frozen hands along with a glass, “and something like club soda and a ton of lemon juice might not suck as much as the hot sauce.”

“Why ya acting so,” Angel gestured vaguely at her, “like Charlie over all this?”

“Cause it helps. To have something else to focus on to remind me that I am here,” Vaggie paused, “and I guess she’s starting to rub that nosy, helpful streak off on me too.”

Angel sat rather gracelessly on one of the chairs at the table. He kicked out a second one and crossed his legs before taking a sip from the glass. Vaggie took the unspoken invitation and sat. She even managed a lopsided smile and chuckle at Angel’s over-the-top sourpuss expression as he slid the still fizzing glass to her.

“Yeesh, I think I’d rather the hot sauce again, that's got a punch!”

“That's the whole point,” she took a sip from the other side of the glass, “ooof, shocks your brain back into the present, or so our Princess says.”

“A’course you picked that up from her. Got any other wisdom to share?”

“Well…”

#hazbin hotel #angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel #vaggie hazbin hotel #vaggie #vaggie and angel dust #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #art ain't the only thing im good at ;) #txt

[angelosearch]

Behold! My Final Fantasy VIII-themed Dinner

In case anyone is curious...

Cocktail - Quezacotl's Thunderstorm

Pretty simple - Vodka, orange juice, (meyer) lemon juice, and plain seltzer served in a light-up novelty glass. (not pictured: the logo on one side for the Christmas event it came from LOL

Appetizers - Mini Hot Dogs and a Balamb Garden Salad

Each ingredient of this salad is representative of a different enemy that you fight in Balamb Garden at some point. There's iceberg lettuce (glacial eye), Radicchio (Grat), grape tomatoes (Bombs - the red ones are literally called sugar bombs), honey goat cheese (Granaldo), candied walnuts (raldo), green goddess dressing (green like caterchipillar), and tajin (something with a bite for bite bugs). I think this would have come together better if I had made the dressing, but I will be happy to have this for the lunch for the rest of the week.

The mini hot dogs were frozen from a box lol.

Side Dishes - Malboro Tentacles and Mashed Norg

The Malboro Tentacles are extremely tender, slowly cooked asparagus with A LOT of garlic (need that bad breath), and some chili flakes for spice. I also threw in some soy sauce for color. This is exactly how I imagined they would be when I set out to make them, so I am pretty happy about it.

Norg - pointless boss, great side dish. These are pretty basic buttermilk mashed potatoes but I wanted to maximize the yellowness. I used yukon gold potatoes (even peeled them, which I never usually do), a dash of tumeric, and lots of butter. That wasn't quite yellow enough so I dug to the back of my spice cabinet and found the saffron I was given as a gift and can never seem to find a meal special enough to use it for. HONESTLY, these were so good. Definitely going to do this again.

Entree - T-Rexuar Steak

I was REALLY worried making these. I've made steak before but I usually use pretty simple seasoning. But for a T-Rexaur, I wanted the outside of the steak to be reminiscent of a T-Rexuar hide. So I actually marinaded the steak in a Tikka-like sauce (paprika, cayenne, tumeric, ginger, garlic, lemon, yogurt) because I was looking for redness. I have NEVER put yogurt on steak before - YIKES what a risk. When I took them out to come to room temperature before cooking them, I patted excess marinade off and added a generous amount of salt, paprika, chili powder and garlic in hopes of creating a redish crust. Then I seared them.

Guys. I don't know if it was the marinade or what but this is some of the best steak I've ever made... or even had. The crust was excellent and the steak was so tender. Def getting a permanent +1 to strength for this one.

Stay tuned for dessert!

#yes I am a freak who loves a theme sorry #not me considering writing a FF8-themed cookbook?!???! #this was fun #final fantasy viii anniversary #final fantasy viii #food #cooking #theme dinner

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

I will never be over Anastasia Tension's room temperature vodka

#d20 #mentopolis