#I gotta implement whatever this is

[staycalm-atthedisco]

What the FUCK is this ad lmao

#I gotta implement whatever this is #new lifestyle

[dilutedconfusion]

Soooo…I made some selfship art. Like that may not be what ya’ll cuties signed up for when you followed me but I drew Kid a couple days ago and COULDN”T RESIST THE URGE. Judge me and I’m squirting you in the face with a water gun 🔫 Oh and more than ever proshippers THIS AIN’T FOR YOU. Let me be silly and have fun without being bundled in with some weirdos.

#this is low key my first time drawing myself as a cartoon #I’ve drawn myself realistically a handful of times so the learning curve between that and this WAS HARD #like I thought it would be easier because its more simple but getting a cartoon to look ENOUGH like you #but wanting to implement all your minuscule details but not being able to is ROUGH #anyways I used MULTIPLE images of myself to get it right and she does look like me #me if I had a perfect hair day and had big ole anime eyes or whatever #I think I succeeded in keeping me and kid in the same style?? #oh and I made myself WAY more naked then I dress on average #gotta keep that one piece walking around half naked style intact #self ship #eustass kid #brb just going crazy

[visionkept]

In my delusional mind, Tomo's gameplay would let Tama out and she'd follow along freely in your adventures through the open world. Similar to Topaz and Numby's gameplay, Tama will meow at the player when there's a chest close by, guiding them to it too. If you open a chest with Tama's help, Tomo will have a special voice line referring to how smart and helpful their kitty is.

#accidentally got topaz in a single ten pull (no pity or guarantee) while i was trying to get the new four star #and her world gameplay gotta be the cutest thing ever. lil guy following you everywhere I LOVE IT #got her by accident. loved her on purpose #tomo would absolutely love her too. no doubt (something about white haired individuals with a red streak or whatever AJSKDH) #︾╼╼ █ █ ║˚ ▹ BERRY SPEAKS.▕🗲} #i know it's easier for star rail to implement this but i'd love to see something like that for genshin

[tortademaracuya]

*fixes one (1) minor issue* a mimir

#so happy the chat works now that im ignoring #*the fact it doesnt work as a chat because the texts dont stack #*that for some reason the reply choices arent interactable #*the fact i still gotta implement so many more stuff??? #whatever. im sleepy. this is smth for me to getmad about later. a mimir #haunted.txt

[chellsiememmel]

to be clear no I don’t think max was gifted the win here, that red bull is a fucking rocket and there was no stopping him lol without breaking the rules Again. he’s fucking quick. but I do think this further shows how there is truth to the argument that he was gifted the win last year

#the implementation of todays SC took too long but it wasn’t gonna end before race end even if it had been implemented on time #f1 #i don’t think it’s worth dwelling overall really. no changing it now he’s a champion whatever #but I mean even the die hard a gotta realize that like. lewis fans got a point #Italian gp 2022

[wxshing-aep]

The Prom Committee (pt 1)

Ethan Morales x fem!reader

based on this request:

"how about one where y/n runs an after school club so Ethan keeps getting detention on purpose to see her because he thinks “clubs are for dorks” to quote Paxton and so his reputation as the bad boy isn’t ruined"

Warnings: swearing, banter, the word boobs

AN: decided to make it a 2 parter cause it was getting long while I was writing it and wanted to give Ethan more depth of character than the actually show so part 2 coming tmrw probs!

When his assignment was handed back by Señora Diaz upside down, Ethan wasn't surprised by the big F glaring back at him in red ink when he turned the page over.

“Stupid bitch” he muttered under his breath.

“In Español, Ethan” Señora Diaz paused on her way back to the blackboard, unsure of what he said but certain that it wasn't in Spanish.

“Sorry" he retorted and she continued her route back to the front of the classroom.

"perra estúpida”

“ethan!”

That’s how Ethan ended up in detention for the umpteenth time in his academic career, tapping his pen on the desk in the nearly empty classroom with Mr. Shapiro's happy go-lucky self staring back at him.

"Well, happy to have you here Ethan!" Mr. Shapiro greets picking up a clipboard from his desk. "Not happy to be here" Ethan deadpanned. "Sorry to hear that. Not sure how you managed to get detention during the first week of school, but hey I think that might be a new Sherman Oaks record! Congrats buddy!" Mr. Shapiro cheers before realizing the younger boy is not the slightest bit amused. "Alright, tough crowd."

"Moving right along then," Mr. Shapiro clicks a pen in his hand "time to take roll!" which causes Ethan to look around the empty classroom.

"...I'm literally the only one here"

"I know, I just love checking things off lists," Mr. Shapiro clears his throats " so do I have a Morales comma Ethan?"

"seriously dude?"

"Second call for Ethan Morales"

"you're gonna keep going til I say here, aren't you?"

"You betcha!"

"Here."

"Awesome!" Mr. Shapiro marks a giant check by the one name on his attendance sheet. "god I love doing that- Alright so unfortunately I've gotta skidaddle to help out with the faculty potluck but lucky for you sir we're implementing more of a reformative detention style this year!"

"What the hell does that mean" Ethan asked.

"It means, that instead of sitting here for the next few hours, you my friend, get to offer your help to one of the after school clubs or committees that are a bit low on helping hands" Shapiro responds with finger guns. "so guess who's today's newest member of the prom committee!"

"yea, no. I'm not joining some stupid after school club. clubs are for dorks, losers, and ugly people" Ethan responds grabbing his backpack out of the chair next to him to get up and leave.

"well actually it's a committee"

"even worse"

"Alrighty well I can see what the other options-" is all Mr Shapiro gets out before he is interrupted by your voice from the doorway.

"Oh- hey! Mr. Shapiro, did you find anyone to help with the prom posters? Eric said he'd help me out but then canceled cause he said he had to train with the assistant swim coach to quote make Michael Phelps my bitch end quote. Whatever that means, so I'm kinda flying solo here" You say, drawing Ethan's attention towards you as well.

hot damn. okay maybe after school activities are not only for ugly people. He thinks you might be the prettiest girl he's ever seen and definitely takes a mental note of your outfit that's hugging you in all the right places. He quickly realizes that he doesn't know your name and has no idea how he's never been informed of your existence prior to this moment. He's snapped back to reality by Mr. Shapiro responding to your question. "Ah- I'm sorry but Ethan is-"

"super excited to help decorate for prom" Ethan finds himself blurting out before Mr. Shapiro could finish his sentence.

"Oh- well that's great! Uh Ethan just report back by 6 so I can log your hours! I'm gonna get going, you kids have fun decorating. Go crickets!" Mr. Shapiro says, making his exit as you watch him almost skip down the hall.

"Sup, I'm Ethan" Your attention is brought back to the brown eyed curly haired boy who's suddenly standing in front of you (how the hell did he cross the room that fast, you wonder) with an outstretched hand. He never really shakes hands, he just wanted an excuse to touch you. He's cute, you note mentally. You accept the offer and shake his hand. "and you are?" he continues.

"I'm-" you pause noticing those not so innocent brown eyes are directed elsewhere, "acutely aware of the fact that you're staring at my boobs".

Ethan thinks his brain might've just short circuited cause he was definitely just caught red handed. He'd recently grown a lot more confident with girls since his summer growth spurt and subsequent glow up had dramatically increased the number of girls interested in him, but there was something about you and how you so deliberately called him out that had definitely thrown him off his game.

"Sorry- I uh- I was actually looking at your shirt. They're- It's nice" he wants to die he thinks.

You chuckle at his sudden change in demeanor. "Hmm. Yea, I know they are" you respond, turning on a heel and heading toward the auditorium.

"You comin or what?"

-

For one person, you had made pretty okay progress in a week. The current task at hand was making posters to get people excited for the theme reveal. The ground was littered with several half finished or barely started posters.

"Can you draw?" You asked Ethan.

"I'm not much of an artist"

"Really? the graffiti on the side of the school says otherwise. Your handwriting definitely sucks though so I'll do that, but the art's good and if you can do it with a spray can, you can definitely do it with some paint and markers" your unsolicited review of his graffiti made him crack a smile. His latest act of defiance had been a giant snake comically eating a cricket accompanied with the words "get fucked" on the side of the school building.

"You can't prove that was me" he challenges.

"Maybe not, but Mr. Shapiro had mentioned that I might have a detention helper today thanks to Señora Diaz and I happened to notice the words 'stupid bitch' spray painted on her car containing the same weird ass t's as the graffiti on the side of the school and here you are, Ethan."

"Damn, you're good" he pauses realizing he can't throw your name back at you because he still doesn't know it.

"Y/n" you say quietly.

"Huh?"

"My name's y/n"

Pretty name for a pretty girl, he thought.

"Alright y/n. I'll draw as long as I don't have to to touch any glitter. that shit's impossible to get off"

"deal"

"and I don't write my t's weird"

"you write your t's like a crazy person"

-

Time was pretty much flying by. Together you'd gotten nearly twenty posters done and were slowly finding out more information about each other. You were informed about some of Ethan's tattoos and how he'd actually drawn the designs for all of them himself. Not an artist, my ass, you thought. Ethan learned that he hadn't met you before because you'd previously been homeschooled and had all but begged your parents to be able to go to school with other kids for your senior year until they finally cracked and agreed to enroll you at Sherman Oaks.

"Ah I see, you're a total secret weirdo. That explains your freaky detective skills" he teases.

"I am not a secret weirdo. I just like criminal minds and puzzles"

"You were homeschooled. All homeschooled kids are a little weird"

"That's an unfair stereotype"

"Whatever you say, y/n"

"If anything you're the secret weirdo. or at least an undercover art nerd"

"I'm not an undercover art nerd"

"Yea you are. Something tells me this whole" you gestured largely to him sitting a couple feet away from you, "tortured angsty hot skater boy thing you've got going on is a pretty recent development" you comment absent-mindedly. You looked back up from your poster when he didn't respond to see him sitting there, arms crossed with a smug grin on his face.

"What?" you prodded.

"You totally just called me hot"

You're now very aware that he's a bit closer to you than he was before.

"mm don't think so"

"oh you definitely did"

"did not"

"did too"

"did not" that one came out much less confidently considering his hand had made its way to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. damn, he's good.

"whatever you say, y/n" he almost whispers. have his eyes been that sparkly this whole time? He's leaning in and you're definitely not backing away. You're maybe a centimeter away from his lips until the alarm blaring from your phone, which seemed like much better idea hours ago, sent you flying back from him and scared the shit out of both you.

"shit- I- god that scared me, I uh set an alarm for 6 so you'd remember to check in with Mr. Shapiro cause, ya know, I thought we'd both probably be busy. Um- busy making posters, i mean. Obviously I mean making posters cause we definitely wouldn't be busy doing anything else so-" you ramble.

The smug little smirk has made its way back onto Ethan's face as he is quite enjoying this role reversal from your first interaction of the day.

"shut up" you say to him.

"I didn't even say anything" he responded, hands in the air in surrender.

"I've gotta head home, but thanks for helping out even though you basically had to be here. If you ever find yourself in detention again this semester, feel free to help out. Hopefully the committee is more than just me by then" you say, starting to gather your belongings. Ethan secretly hopes it isn't, he likes the idea of hanging out with just you.

"I probably will find myself in detention again. It's kinda part of this whole tortured angsty hot skater boy thing I've got going on" he says throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

"not what I said" you still attempt to deny.

"sure it wasn't"

"bye ethan"

"bye y/n"

Yea, he'll definitely be finding himself in detention again.

-

Read Part 2 here

#never have i ever #never have i ever s4 #nhie #nhie s4 #ethan morales #ethan morales x reader #michael cimino #michael cimino x reader

[caitlinbueckers]

ok Ik you said Pazzi fic in studio but will never get the idea of Paige calling azzi mamas out of my head so just felt like I needed to share an idea for a blurb or to include in anything you write PAIGE CALLINF AZZI MAMAS

anon ur a genius but i am simply a fool who took this prompt and then ran with it and turned it into a random oneshot soooooo i apologize for the minimal use of ‘mamas’ but hope u like it anyway and will implement that in all my writing deadass

pet names.

paige bueckers/azzi fudd.

2.8K.

kinda bullshit rambling but a lil more of a structure to follow???

minimal nsfw so 18+ as fuck

Wait guys let me know how u rly feel bcuz im not suuuper happy w this one

at first, it’s a subtle change.

it’s not like paige is ever actually serious enough for her words to be taken to heart or with any ounce of meaning behind it— she’s a fucking idiot, and azzi was more than well aware of her incessant antics, and the fact that she just played too much.

so, of course it surprises her, but she can’t say it really means anything, until it does.

it’s funny to azzi, really, when recently, all of a sudden, paige will get caught up in her usual tangents that she’s started letting these random, little pet names slip from her lips, mouth moving so fast, almost as if she barely meant it, could barely even call it out herself.

it happens usually when they’re tired— or, at least when azzi’s tired, and paige is excited. sweat clinging to the back of azzi’s neck, her curls drawing up and away from the edges of her hairline, skin flushed and hot to the touch when paige is suddenly breezing past her. she’s somehow still in a jog despite the rigorous drills they’d done, oblivious to the redness of her face or the plastered strands of blonde hair against her forehead. she’s at the tail end of a conversation with KK, still grinning like a fool about whatever they must’ve been chattering about, yelling out some type of phrase or joke that only those two could conjur up.

azzi’s right eyebrow is already lifted, somehow already suspicious and unimpressed of her intentions when paige is launching straight into a new conversation, cheeks still pink and teeth on display as she skips backwards to keep her eyes on azzi.

“i think me an’ KK are ‘finna go play 2K when we get back to the dorms— i told her ass she doesn’t stand like, a single chance when I’ve been on my grind, and she don’t believe me, like, baby, you know i’ve been on that shit,” she clicks her tongue, rolls her eyes before she’s smacking azzi’s arm, giving her a sneaky grin, one that signaled whatever she was offering was really gonna be a delight, (it never was), “you should come chill. you don’t gotta play if you don’t want, you can always be my lil’ cheerleader.”

it wasn’t like her high energy, rapid movement behavior was anything unusual, but that little, barely missable word was.

baby. it rolls off her tongue like it’s been waiting around the whole time, lingering beneath the surface, waiting for the moment to strike. she says it with an ease of comfort she can’t necessarily place, and azzi doesn’t necessarily hate it, but it’s there, nonetheless.

it momentarily stunts her, but azzi still finds herself smiling— not from any type of fluster or flush miraculously, but one that she usually gives paige when she’s amused by her, eyes wide and exaggerated as she huffs out a chuckle. “that sounds… boring, honestly.” but, she’s laughing at the gape on paige’s face anywa, “i need to shower, dude, i don’t wanna watch video games.” she scoffs, before she grins at her, only because she knows it’ll piss paige off.

and it does, so, of course the walk out to the parking lot is filled with a whole lot of, ‘oh my god, bro, you’re so lame.’ or, ‘like, azzi, you can have a turn ‘forreal, like just come over for like, deadass a second.’

ultimately, and unsurprisingly enough, paige ends up getting her way. though, she’ll swear it’s only because azzi takes her shower, does some homework and is in the middle of taking out her braids when the word hits her again, and again, and again.

babybabybaby.

she can’t really blame the way she rolls her eyes despite herself. her and paige had been close for fucking ever, so there wasn’t necessarily much between them that was off limits, but it still resonated within her as something azzi couldn’t just brush off. whether that was more damaging than pretending it never happened, she didn’t have a single clue.

all she did know, was that paige bueckers got her way entirely way too much. so much so, that azzi has to let out an audible groan reserved only for paige, before she texts that she’s on her way over.

and yeah, whatever, maybe it wouldn’t matter so much if it was just a one-off, or if maybe their friendship wasn’t so fucking complicated in the first place.

but then, it does matter, because it doesn’t stop happening.

when paige is frustrated at her homework, sitting plainly with her legs at full extension in the study room with aaliyah, ice, and azzi, it leaves her lips in a huff of exasperation, “azzi, babe, this shit really makes no sense, swear.” even if she’s saying it in the voice that clearly states she hasn’t attempted it for nearly long enough to proclaim she doesn’t get it, “az, can you please just come check it out.” azzi can’t tell what’s worse; the fact that paige had said it, or the fact that nobody had even looked surprised that she did.

or when they’d gotten dressed for media day, everyone milling about as they try not to wrinkle their uniforms or crease their concealer, it’s paige (and eventually nika and aaliyah) that whoops and hollers during azzi’s solo pictures, something like, “yeaaaah princess! nation’s best, babyyyyy! work that shit!” followed by a series of whistles that sounded so off pitch it makes azzi snort, rolling her eyes as she purposely avoids the gaze that paige so obviously wants to capture, teetering at the edges of azzi’s peripheral with a grin so wide it threatens to make her blush.

and, she swears she doesn’t, and instead turns back to the photographer with cheeks only a touch pinker than they were previously, “sorry— can we do that again?”

really, the only time she’d ever allowed herself to actually enjoy it, was on the last night at the hotel after a game. it couldn’t have been later than two or three in the morning, paige and azzi having spent the majority of it whispering beneath the covers, anything to not wake up the two other girls asleep in the other double bed.

it’s not too bad, having to share beds— except that, paige is a chronic cuddler and azzi would rather sleep on the shitty futon than be subjected to paige’s unrelenting weight against her back, or her arms slung lazily over her, but it was because of that precise position that azzi could even hear the words when she says it.

“mmmh-,“ she hums tiredly first, speaking mostly out of her ass, like paige always did when got too tired and let herself start rambling “night, pretty girl.”

it’s soft, and sort of raspy— the way paige gets when she’s been screaming all night on the court, and azzi can really only tell by the amount of ibuprofen that she’d downed before bed being somewhat more than her usual, that she’s probably got a headache. it’s a voice she uses when she’s being sincere.

the quiet sentiment, however insignificant to anyone else, replays in her mind. almost like a secret. almost like the closer she keeps it to her chest, the harder it’ll be to lose it.

it makes her whole body warm all over.

her response comes a few beats later, when she’s sure paige has drifted, and nothing but her measured breath is puffing against azzi’s neck, heard only between the two of them.

“night, p.”

but then, suddenly, everything sort of changes. azzi doesn’t know when this part happened— maybe it’s between the time she kisses her at that bar, tipsy and too close, unaware of the camera that set the internet aflame, and now, where it was customary that paige did homework with her, or ate dinner with her or slept over all the time. perhaps, it’s one selective moment in the chaos between that had suddenly transformed paige’s subtle casualty of the pet names, to something more intimate. more for them, rather for anyone else.

or, maybe it was exactly where they knew they’d end up all along.

it’s after a night out, after neither of them had ever really questioned how this had became their routine. that now, it had become something unspoken, an inherent rule that was followed without it needing to be stated. that, when they got too fucked up with the team, and the ubers were being ordered, azzi and paige always went together, that the address would always end up being paige’s dorm, and that azzi would always be curling into purple sheets by the time she sobers up enough to sleep.

but, she’s not sober. she’s drunk, and her face is flushed hot, sticky with the bar atmosphere. “paige, you’re making me too hot.” azzi complains with an impatient lilt to her voice, lifting her right shoulder up to her neck as if to shrug paige off, but the girl is relentless, humming her denial as she slid a hand across azzi’s thigh, grasping it hard enough that her nails dug into the skin there.

“psh, you’re already hot, shut up.” the words are spoken clumsily, lips brushing against the bare skin of azzi’s shoulder with each word, while a sudden surge of annoyance and somehow gratitude courses through azzi for having worn a sleeveless top, “c’mere, mamas, ‘lemme lay on you.”

she’s being whiny, and it only makes azzi roll her eyes before her gaze flickers to the screen of the car, giving her another light elbow prod, only this time, a short, sneaking smile is crossing her face. “paige, ‘forreal, we’re about to be back anyway.”

this, somehow, only fuels her. “i’m wounded,” she complains, before she’s pressing a little smack of a kiss to azzi’s neck, “my girl’s so mean to me, shit.”

my girl.

what the fuck ever.

azzi should’ve demanded an explanation then, but she doesn’t.

in fact, there’s not an explanation waiting for them when they stumble into paige’s room, their hands in a tight grasp, pulling each other in so that they can both fall against the bed, and azzi really shouldn’t have been expecting one. it’s definitely not explained when they’re somehow under the blankets, and paige has an arm, long and lean, wrapped around azzi’s waist to end somewhere between her legs, fingers finding a rhythm that seems to pull the very air from azzi’s lungs.

it’s not what azzi was expecting to happen, and yet somehow they’d fallen into place like it something they’d done a million times. paige had undressed her, after azzi’s complaint of still feeling too hot, and paige— not even a singular bit sober— finds her hands along the bottom of azzi’s top, tugging it over her head before she tosses her an old basketball camp shirt that had been slung across her dresser.

“you gonna sleep in jeans?” is really what had started it, paige’s pointed tone making azzi’s face burn hot, but the smirk on her face never faltered. “you’re so annoying.”

because then, paige has her fingers hooking into azzi’s waistband, eliciting a string of giggles that escape because fuck, she’s ticklish and paige knows. “what? what am i doing?” the blonde is grinning too, snickering under her breath as azzi’s pants are yanked down her hips, kicked from her feet with minimal effort until azzi feels it. a featherlight kiss was placed to each of her scarred knees, the inside of her thigh, eyes flickering up to azzi’s hazy but steady gaze, “this okay?”

god, azzi hadn’t realized until just then how fucking okay it was.

it’s quiet, sensual even, the way that paige talks her through it— heel of her hand dragging endlessly against her swollen clit, fingers thick as they arched into her, teeth grazing the back of azzi’s shoulder with each word of encouragement.

“c’mon, mamas, jus’ like that.” had anyone known better, they’d think paige must’ve been getting off just to this, by the way her own voice hitched and caught, her own hard swallows that reverberated in azzi’s ear, each laced with little gasps as she plunged into her wetness.

but, azzi did know better— paige was absolutely getting off to it. her voice is all breath, crackling and barely audible, murmuring incoherent mumbles that make it almost incomprehensible to decipher, yet, azzi swears she can understand.

it’s in her ear, over and over, that heat and pressure between her legs building as her hips twitched involuntarily against her knuckles, feels the way they slide deeper within her and azzi lets out a noise that even she’s too embarrassed to recount. “fuck, i wanna hear that shit, need to hear you baby, please.”

it coaxes the orgasm straight from azzi’s core, thighs involuntarily squeezing around paige’s hands, to which the blonde is silent in muted awe. she watches with bleary eyes but bated breath, sitting up only a bit to really witness it. the way azzi’s face drew up, eyebrows furrowed and lips parting, the whimper edged breaths that huffed out of her, the tight clamping of her eyes shut.

“so fucking pretty,” each word is punctuated in a kiss, “so good.”

really, it should’ve been a lot worse for them the next morning. azzi can’t help the wave of a ground shaking realization she gets when she rolls over to inspect paige’s sleeping expression, lips slightly parted, her blonde hair mussed on the pillow behind her. there should’ve been some type of lingering awkwardness that hung above them, some type of trepidation or fear, maybe even regret.

it definitely wasn’t like they talked about it, but they’d also never quite gone this far. did they need to? probably, because azzi knew that the guilt would probably hit sooner or later.

in fact, azzi waits for it to hit, all the way until paige wakes up, and her eyes are a little puffy, watery blue and clear as she blinks up blearily at azzi like she’s the finest thing she’s ever laid eyes on (because she is), and whispers with a grin, “distracted by my beauty?”

she waits even until the next away game, when her legs are propped up over paige’s lap and her fingers are drumming absently against azzi’s thigh, humming something in her headphones with her eyes shut, looking like a complete idiot, before their eyes meet by chance when paige opens them, and suddenly, they’re both grinning.

she even waits for it to hit when the buzzer goes off after the fourth quarter of that game, an easy win, and confetti is thrown. it’s chaos really, with all the girls rushing through the tunnel to get back to the lockers. that is, until, paige pulls her aside for half a second, hidden away from the hungry eyes to press a solid, sweet kiss to her lips.

but it doesn’t end there. azzi waits for it during her injury, when enough nights in linoleum covered white floors with the constant smell of antiseptic start to pierce the inside of azzi’s brain, ruins her attitude enough that paige’s texts go unanswered. and yet, everytime azzi wakes up, the pain in her leg flared and angry, it’s paige that’s sat in the corner of the room, huddled under a shitty hospital blanket, waiting for her to wake up.

it went even as far as the loss against IOWA when the roles are reversed— after the excitement of final four had became real, after the grueling, rampant preparation, and then ultimately, a loss. it’s when azzi gets permission to stick around in paige’s hotel room until she gets back from the game, and the way that the blonde, finally in the safety of the four walls, found herself crumbling to azzi, becoming nothing but a shell of what everyone perceives her to be, everything paige wishes she fucking wasn’t.

it’s only then, that azzi finds herself returning the favor— arms wrapped tight around paige’s waist with a burning, sting in her own eyes that she can feel the moment she sighs against the crown of paige’s head. she can smell the sweat, the smell of a basketball court that had just gotten waxed, but really, azzi just smells paige, and that’s enough to give her the composure she needs to whisper against her head, “don’t be so hard on yourself, baby… you guys did so good.”

and they don’t talk about it, because they don’t need to. the same way they never had to ask the other when it came to the hospital or bus rides or homework dates or hotel rooms— it was unspoken, implied but never mentioned. the same way back when they’d met at USA camp, it was never a matter of conversation for their plays to work, it was all in the matter of a look, or a slight of hand.

and when the team starts asking, giving paige shit about how she’s missing video game nights with KK or azzi’s getting shit about caroline missing her study partner, everybody already knows. when paige tells nika, voice only a little timid as she gives her a condensed version of the last few months like it was a ground shaking news, head tilted to lean on the older girls shoulder, the brunette bursts into laughter. ‘finally, took you guys long enough.’

and really, it was a wonder they hadn’t been like this the whole time.

a wonder that it had taken this long in the first place.

#paige bueckers #pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #writing asf #anon asf

[punkitt-is-here]

How can I cultivate the same, "just keeping making stuff all the time" kind of energy you have? It's very impressive and something I wish I could do!

well, theres a couple reasons i think! one is that i just found ways to be satisfied with small amounts of work. its in part because of my ADHD, but my parents were always trying new things (motorcycles, leatherwork, acrylic paint, collage art, photography, video editing) so that definitely rubbed off on me; i had a great example of people just wanting to try stuff. i keep making stuff all the time because i love trying out new things; you don't have to be an expert to try something new! you just have to have a desire for it! wanna make a zine? google it! wanna write a comic? give it a shot! wanna get into woodworking? buy a carving knife and find a stick or something! i think theres plenty of ways to find entry points into interesting stuff and you gotta let yourself be okay with making shit that sucks just because its fun. which leads me to my second point!!

im okay with being dogshit at stuff! i try new things, i kind of suck at them, and i think it's either 1. cool that i made it this far or 2. kinda funny that this is what its like at the moment. i know that sucking is never permanent, everything can be improved with time, and rarely does anyone ever magically get good at something first try. i think of myself as a talented artist, but its over the course of 2+ decades of drawing; im always improving, and no matter what im going to find things i want to get better at, so why fault myself now for not being perfect? a couple of months ago i really wanted to try woodcarving, so i made spoon with my dad. did it turn out great? not really! you cant even use it as a spoon! but im glad i tried it, it was fun, i had a great time with my dad, and now i know a little bit more going in next time. the idea that you have to be perfect or make tangible progress every single time you try something new is a recipe for burnout. i promise you, it doesnt matter if something doesn't come out like God's Gift to Humanity! Did you have fun? did you learn something? are you satisfied in some small part? good!

(pictured: tha spoon)

last, im just really easy to please myself! I'll make a doodle or implement an idle animation in my game or color a piece and go "wow! thats so cool i did that :)" and it really is just a matter of realizing that its fucking COOL to create stuff, no matter how small! whatever you made didn't exist before you, especially in your own unique way, and now it does! doesn't that rule?! i'm obsessed with it! even if its just a stick figure, its a stick figure you made, and it wasn't there before. thats fucking awesome!!! art is so cool!!!! i think that being happy with small goals and victories is a great way of trying out new things and showing off cool stuff u made, no matter what skill level. :) this turned into a whole big thing, but i hope this helps! tl;dr is try things if they seem fun, be okay with not being good at them, and find stuff about it that makes you happy or satisfied!

#petegrammarman #my posts #asks #advice

[majordemonblockparty]

au where sam goes along with the demon blood drinking 'cause he figures if anyone can grant clemency in hell, it oughta be the boy king of the fucking place.

cue full-on yellow-eyed juiced-up rightful prince of hell sam winchester who has spent the past four months picturing how he'll pour into the depths of hell with legions of demons and hellhounds at his beck and call to break his brother out of whatever implement of torture he's been strung up in... except that when he gets there, dean's unbound, unfettered, up on his own two feet with a knife in his hand, and doesn't even notice sam right away. he's dialed in, laser-focused on peeling back the skin of what might've once been a person with all the care of a shearer going after a sheep, everything from his face (oh, god, his face, his dear face; last time sam saw that face he was nailing pine boards over top of it after he'd closed the eyelids and wiped it free of blood and salt and kissed that cold, still mouth and--) to his bare feet spattered in abattoir-floor gore.

(in the end, sam's never entirely sure how he gets dean's attention -- whether he calls his name, or chokes on a sound trying to be words, or if something inside him deeper than a soul screams out for dean -- but there's a knife in dean's hand and blood on the blade when he turns to sam.)

dean just stares at him for a second, that still, cool, animal look he gets sometimes on a hunt; all predator, 'yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil for I am the meanest sonovabitich in the valley' kind'a look that makes the hair at sam's nape stand on end. then dean's face contracts all at once -- eyes narrow, lip curls, jaw tightens -- as he turns on his heel and flings his knife into the chest of the -- man? demon? demon, gotta be; nothing still human wears a face like that -- standing just out of arm's reach.

"thought we had an agreement," dean snaps, gravel-scrape low at the bottom of his register, like he's been sick but won't admit it for weeks on end. (or screaming. like he's been screaming, a lot, for weeks. or months, maybe. but maybe not; sam's been wrong before.) "no more projections, no more games. we agreed."

the demon puts his hand to the hilt of dean's knife, still buried in his chest cavity, and sam can't have that, can't have an armed demon within throwing distance of deandeandeandeandean, and all he has to do is think about it -- not even really think, not anything so complicated as holding the words or the image of it in his brain; just the intention behind the thought is enough to send the knife jerking out of the demon's grasp and slapping handle-first into sam's open palm.

the demon doesn't laugh, exactly, but his face stretches into what might be the memory of a grin; all teeth, no smile. "we did, and I have not thus far reneged on our agreement, boy. if I'm not mistaken, that's the genuine article; sam winchester, in the flesh. and what pretty flesh it is, too. goddamned succulent."

"hey!" dean barks, "knock it off." that habitual, spine-up, big brother voice that's been part of sam's life since before he can remember. "quit talking about his fucking... flesh." he says 'flesh' in a tone people usually reserve for words like 'fascism' and 'gangrene' and sam's chest aches for the dean-ness of it.

for a second, like a hologram or a magic-eye puzzle, sam sees dean. dean disarticulated, splayed out like a frog pinned to a dissection board, chest cut open, organs scooped out and toyed with and put back wrong. bones rent from their joints, eyes ripped from their sockets, fingers broken one knuckle at a time, nails torn from their beds in a bloody little pile. pieces cut off and waiting for their white waxed paper wrappers; bloody red pieces of flank, ribs, leg, shoulder.

"dean."

(he doesn't say his brother's name so much as he breathes it, horror and relief and delight and longing all shading his tone.)

the look on dean's face is like missing the bottom step of the staircase in the dark. he looks at sam like he hasn't seen him in a hundred years. he looks at sam like he saw him yesterday, the very last thing he saw, sam's face inches from his when his pupils blew out, the fine muscles inside his eye relaxing as his brain and heart and lungs all stopped working.

"sam?"

#dean winchester #sam winchester #cw gore #boy king of hell sam winchester #headcanons & other nonsense #she speaks #supernatural #spn fanfic #the brothers winchester #alistair

[chelseeebe]

gasoline.

so this was supposed to be like a the bear au and then i just got carried away and now it’s just whatever the hell this is lmao it’s been sitting in my docs since july and i thought it finally needed to see the light of day :)

this is two parts in one bc i hate doing two seperate parts but it’s highlighted where p1 ends and p2 begins

wc: 12k+ oops

‎♡‧₊˚

Look, the sleazy, deteriorating walls of Frank’s had never been his idea of a dream. But flunking high school and a failed band had meant limited this is where he’d ended up. Running the line at the frankly failing restaurant was more like his idea of hell but it paid the bills and with a solid team of other degenerates, meant that it wasn’t all that bad. 

Well, that was until the devil incarnate came along. And by devil incarnate he means you. 

Eddie couldn’t grasp why someone of your stature would ever take a job at such a shitty restaurant, with your fancy knives and kitchen lingo that really meant nothing to him, why wouldn’t you look for something else? Something better?

You’d ended up here because… well, despite going to culinary school, getting the big job after you had graduated and doing everything by the book so to speak, you’d missed that burning passion that could only be found in the shittiest, dirtiest kitchens. 

Well that, and the fact you’d been let go. But that wasn’t relevant. 

“Honey, I’ve been here for years, I really don’t give a shit about anything you’ve gotta say,” flapping his arms around at your suggestion of maybe washing his hands when he got back in from smoking, “Helen never had a problem with it, so why do you?”

“First off, I have asked you not to call me honey or whatever other stupid pet name you wanna give me… it’s chef,” brows furrowed, the rest of the kitchen pretending not to listen to your latest bickering, “and secondly, Helen is gone, so whatever rules she implemented mean nothing now, okay? You wash your hands when you come back in or… or…” struggling to come up with a suitable punishment. 

“Or.. or what?” he mocks, turning to his colleagues for a little backup, “you gonna fire me? ‘Cause I’d love to see you try,” refusing to back down. 

It was the principle, you see. Eddie really would’ve had no issue with washing his hands if literally anyone other than you had asked. He was positively fuming that you had just flounced in here and started laying down a bunch of bullshit rules that no other soul had cared about in his five years working here. Not only that, you’d beaten him to the head chef role. He was certain that he was a shoe in the second Helen announced that she was moving on. Only to walk in one morning to your grinning face, your uniform crisply ironed and this certain energy only Eddie had seemed to sense.

You sigh, you never liked to be the first one to resign after an argument but Eddie was relentless and would’ve kept at it all day if you didn’t, “Just wash your hands.. chef,” it was entirely too busy to spend all day going back and forth with the man child. 

“Say please and I’ll think about it,” he’s smirking now, knowing he’s got you exactly where he wanted you. 

“Please,” you frown, hand firmly on your hip as you stare back at him. You felt pathetic begging for the tiniest bit of respect in your damn kitchen but it was simply the only way to get him to cooperate. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” he goads, brushing against your shoulder as he makes his way to the sink, the rest of the kitchen is in complete silence, watching and waiting to see how this one would end. 

You readjust your collar, pressing your lips together in a firm line, choosing to ignore his childish remark. There would come a day that he’d regret every horrid thing he’d said to you and maybe that day wasn’t today but it would come and you could not wait. 

-

It’s another month of butting heads with the long-haired prick before things come totally to a head. His inability to just follow simple orders had you at wits end, because Eddie truly believed that he knew better. A suggestion to add thyme to the mash potatoes had caused all out war in the kitchen. 

“No, we add rosemary… not fuckin’ thyme,” he spits, aggressively stiring the pot, his back to you, guarding his precious dish from your grabby hands.

“And I’m saying to add both- actually no, I’m not saying, I’m telling,” grabbing the container of thyme and attempting to sprinkle it into the pan, “move out of the way, that’s an order.” 

“Oooo,” he mocks, knuckles turning white from his grip on the handle, “An order.. I’m so scared,” chuckling as he blocks you from reaching over his shoulder, “why d’you think you know better, huh? You don’t know shit about this restaurant, we’ve done it my way for years and that’s not gonna change now.” 

“Because I’m the fucking chef and I know better than you,” finally snapping at the man, slamming the container down onto the stainless steel countertop, “move. now,” you bark, widening your eyes as he twists around to meet yours, you could feel the disgust radiating from his glare. 

“No.” 

You huff, wanting nothing more than to wrap his fucking ponytail around your hand and slam his head into the worktop, “Step out chef,” a simple order that you thought was far more gracious than he deserved.

His mouth falls open, still gripping onto the now-overworked potatoes, “What the fuck?” frantically flailing for some comradery from his fellow workers, it seemed that they’d all fallen into place, no longer the bunch of grimy assholes he once knew. 

“Step out,” you persist, teeth gritted as you stand strong on your order, tilting your chin to meet his harrowing gaze. Eddie didn’t frighten you per say, but he was intimidating and if it came down to it, you probably weren’t going to be the one to win that fight. 

“Fuck this,” he exclaims, slamming the pan down onto the stove top with a loud bang before storming off out of the fire escape door, not before grabbing his cigarettes from the shelf you’d repeatedly told him not to keep them on. 

There’s now mash potato all over the hob that would probably need some extensive scrubbing and would ensure that your kitchen would absolutely reek of the stuff all night. If you could have it your way, you’d have made him scrub the entire oven with a dang toothbrush until you could see your face in the metal. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your cheeks burn as the rest of the kitchen watches on in utter amazement, even the old, hardened chefs had taken to your ways even if it had taken a little bit of pushing. There was no understanding as to why he couldn’t just listen, just shut up and get on with his job without trying to constantly argue and bite back. Maybe because you were a woman? You were younger than him? Or maybe it was simply because someone was finally up to the job of challenging him and he hated that fact. 

Whatever it was, it was getting on your last nerve. 

Eddie wasn’t by any means a bad chef, he was innovative and knew how to make shit taste good, he was just incapable of accepting that maybe his way of doing things wasn’t the only way. 

You smooth your clammy palms down your apron, nodding at Tina. A subtle way of telling her to carry on and take charge while you dealt with the pathetic man outside. 

The door slams as you step outside, looking around the dark alley for the man, following the trail of smoke to his slouched position around the corner. Now, this was the difficult part, you weren’t really looking to fire him but what choice did you have if he couldn’t just accept that you were his boss now. 

“Have you calmed down?” breaking the silence, fingernails pressed into your palm leaving tiny crescent moon indentations. 

You never were one for confrontation. 

He scoffs, refusing to look in your direction as he puffs on the cigarette, “I’m calm.. are you calm?”

Even now, he couldn’t just smile and nod, always had to say something else, “I’m calm,” swallowing the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, “do you want to work here?”  

“Nobody wants to work here, shit- even you don’t wanna be here,” chuckling to himself, smoke falling from his lips. 

“Yes I do. Do you? Because I can help you if you don’t, trust me I am not scared to just let you go.” 

He chews on the inside of his cheek, tossing the cigarette to the ground before finally meeting your gaze, “you’re firing me?” 

“No,” relaxing your shoulders, “but I need to know that you want to work here. That you aren’t going to keep arguing with me about stupid shit because I truly do not have the energy for it anymore,” watching as his expression falls, at a stretch you’d say he looks remorseful but that could very well just be the moonlight reflecting on his face, granting him more grace than he deserved. 

The alley falls into silence, the only sounds being that of the bustling city around you and Tina’s faint voice barking instructions inside the kitchen. 

His eyes avert to the concrete, with a pained expression he breaks the silence, “I do… wanna work here,” it’s like that tiny sentence caused him physical pain to get out. 

“Good,” you nod, his words may mean nothing but it’s a relief to finally hear that he gives somewhat of a shit about this place running smoothly, “Eddie, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a really good chef… but even the best chefs have to take orders sometimes and you are no exception to that.”

Eddie untenses his jaw for what must be the first time in ten years, that tiny bit of affirmation was exactly what he was looking for, “...thank you,” he turns his head towards yours, “I think you’re… you’re an okay chef,” the tiniest traces of a smile on his face as he pushes himself from the rough brick.

Your eyes roll instinctively but you’re not mad, for once, “get back inside,” waving him off towards the door without turning to look at him. 

Taking the moment to gather yourself and your thoughts. Who knew if Eddie had meant what he said or if it was even going to change anything but it had definitely meant something. It wasn’t a burning desire of yours to come in and be the new evil boss in fact, it was the very opposite of what you’d pictured. There just wasn’t much lee-way when you were given a team of stubborn assholes that had gotten far too used to slacking off. 

Frank’s could really become something if everyone wanted it and were willing to put in the effort required to get there. Sure, you probably weren’t going to earn a Michelin star but you were sure you could make it worthy of something. 

-

Eddie had mostly kept to his word. Finally washing his hands and keeping his hair out of his face, even if you had had to nag at him a little. There wasn’t as much kick back as before. Sure, he’d roll his eyes and huff and puff but he’d actually do it. 

It’s another Saturday night, you’re not so busy but enough to keep you on your toes. Just longing for the moment you collapsed into your bed and didn’t have to think about this place until Monday morning. 

Eddie sidles up to where you’re working, going over the rota for the next two weeks. Weighing up if waking up at the ass crack of dawn was actually worth all this. 

“So I was thinking..” 

“Uh oh,” you add, snapping the book shut before turning to him, he’s hopeful. Well, that or he’s about to say the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Yeah great thanks.. so I was thinking, it’s getting warmer, right? I think we should put sandwiches on the menu, and not just boring old sandwiches.. like, like good ones,” his vocabulary is limited but you get what he means. 

You ponder for a moment, staring into his wide, optimistic eyes. It was a good idea to be fair to him, you just weren’t sure if you had the time to conjure up a whole new sandwich menu on top of everything else on your plate. 

“Okay, I actually think that’s a great idea,” you two were civil, not exactly the best buds but you think maybe now you could trust him. “If you can come up with some ideas and make them for me.. I’ll think about it.” 

His grin is infectious as it spreads across his face, “I got you… what are you thinking? Something with chicken or..” fishing for ideas. 

You throw your hands up, a shadow of a smile on your lips, “that is entirely up to you, okay?” 

He nods knowingly, slowly backing away, eager to get started on his first individual project since your arrival. 

“I’m trusting you with this!” you holler after him, getting back to the mess of a rota in front of you. 

“Yes boss,” he calls back from somewhere in the kitchen, “I mean chef,” catching himself. 

Your heart warms a little. Maybe your lectures hadn’t gone so unnoticed after all? 

-

No matter how hard you stare at the screen, willing for something to magically appear, it doesn’t. The line marker blinking at you, taunting you, pleading with you to just write something. Anything!

There’s a quiet wrapping of knuckles against the door causing your head to fly up, finding a surprisingly clean Eddie standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” spinning your chair slightly, “shit, sorry I forgot to say you’re good to go, I’ll see you tomorrow,” flashing him a tight lipped smile. 

“Oh no… most of ‘em have already gone,” vaguely motioning to the now empty kitchen, “uh… a few of us were gonna grab a drink and wondered if you’d wanna join us?” He resembles a shy child, fingers tapping along the battered door frame. 

“Oh!” you must’ve sounded shocked as his eyebrows travel up his forehead in surprise, getting invited out by your crew had just.. never really happened before, “I’m sorry, I actually can’t tonight,” pointing at the blank word document, “the menu is due next week and I uh- I have nothing but you guys have fun,” shooing him off. 

It was a Thursday night and you couldn’t think of anything worse than waking up tomorrow with a blinding hangover. 

“You need help with that menu shit? I mean, my sandwiches are a hit so.. maybe I could help?” placing his jacket on the old cabinet in the corner, prepared to help no matter what you replied. 

You’re not exactly in the position to say no to help at this point.. 

“I mean.. yeah, if you can think of six amazing, brilliant, showstopping new dishes then be my guest because I sure as shit can’t,” unintentionally coming off a little rude. 

It’s just frustrating, the first big step you were taking for this restaurant and you were still somehow managing to fuck it up

“Okay, what’ve you got?” he peers over your shoulder at the blank screen, “ah, right,” he sucks his teeth, “not great.” 

“No.. no it’s not,” slouching down the chair, “I’m completely fucked,” pushing the loose strands of hair from your forehead. 

“You’re not completely fucked- not yet,” dragging the spare chair around to the other side of the desk, “I’m sure we can think of something tonight,” pulling the laptop closer to him. 

You smile at him, grateful for his positivity even if it was fake. 

The pair of you throw some shoddy ideas back and forth for a half hour. None of them good enough to make it to the word document, instead getting scribbled onto a ripped out page from your notebook. 

“I am fucked, aren’t I?” you frown, rubbing your sleepy eyes. 

He chuckles softly, “nah.. there’s some good stuff here,” running his finger down the messy list. 

You feel completely vulnerable with him here, it might have been the lack of sleep or just the fact that you appreciated his presence so much but you foolishly begin to let your thoughts wander. 

“I just feel like I’m fuu-,” immediately regretting opening your mouth, “no, you know what? Doesn’t matter,” you look at the clock on the wall signalling that it had gone well past midnight, “you should get going, it’s late,” pretending to scroll on the still-bare document. 

“No, what were you gonna say?” 

You keep your eyes on the screen, tapping your foot against the leg of the chair, “I said it doesn’t matter.” 

“It obviously does,” he pushes, egging you on. 

You take a sharp intake of breath to signal that you weren’t willing to go any further with this. Why couldn’t he just fucking drop it?

“Oh my God, you started this conversation and now you don’t wanna finish it,” frustrated that it had seemed like you were finally beginning to seem like you were somewhat human, he grabs his discarded jacket, rolling his eyes as he starts to exit the office. 

“I’m scared I’m not doing a good job… you all obviously care about this place and I’ve just come in here and ruined it,” biting down onto your bottom lip, “and as much as you all pretend to like me, I know you don’t and- and that’s fine,” you shrug, exasperated with the weight of a thousand bricks hanging onto your shoulders, “I don’t care about being liked, I just want this restaurant to work but it feels like I can’t even do that,” slumping forward, confounded and slightly in shock that the first person you’d spilled all of this to was fucking Eddie.

“I do like you,” he says quietly, stopping in his tracks, throwing his jacket back down, “everyone does… you’re making this restaurant better,” rejoining you at the desk, “we’re all just stubborn and mean so no one’s told you but you’re doing good,” a reassuring smile overcoming his lips, his hand wavers, unsure of whether to reach out to touch your shoulder or if that was a step too far. 

He flops back into the chair and you offer him a genuine smile for his words. It was really all you could muster without starting to cry. Coming into an already established restaurant with new ideas and ways of working was never easy but to be met with such pushback from him had made it even harder. So to now have him say in front of you, telling you that what you’re doing is right, well it meant the world. 

“Thank you,” you mouth, blinking earnestly as you flip the laptop lid shut, it was too late and you were far too tired to even try to continue. “That really means a lot from you,” attempting to turn your vulnerability into a joke. 

“I mean it, though,”scooting closer on the chair, “I just enjoy arguing with you too much to admit it.” 

You roll your eyes playfully, that much was true, he definitely enjoyed getting under your hair and pissing you off as much as he could. 

“We should go, it’s super late and I’ve got all day tomorrow to do this,” sliding the pen into the pot, feeling his eyes still boring into the side of your face. 

You stand from your seat, expecting him to follow but he stays firmly planted in his chair. Hand reaching out to grab your wrist as you grab your bag. Jolting away as you’re not expecting the sudden contact. 

He swallows, standing up before deciding whether to just fuck it or if this was about to get him fired. You’re blissfully unaware that this internal battle was even happening until his hand is on your cheek, tilting your chin upwards before closing the distance between your bodies, smashing his lips to yours. 

Oh shit. 

It takes a second for your brain to process what was happening but you don’t.. dislike it. He tastes like cigarettes and coffee, sliding his tongue into your parted mouth with a quickness. 

Leaning into the kiss, your hands hesitantly coming to rest on his shoulders. You’re taken aback by how easy it feels, moving together just right. The small of your back crashes into the rigid desk, pulling you out of the kiss and back into reality. Staring back at his darkened eyes with a slight bemused expression. 

“No.. not here,” squeezing his shoulder. His hand paused on your shirt button, getting ahead of himself. Maybe you had found yourself wanting to fuck Eddie but not here. You weren’t that stupid. 

His hand falls, swinging to his side, “oh.. you didn’t- did I fuck up?” still mere inches from your face, so close in fact, you could feel his breath on your flushed cheek. 

“No.. no, I just..” deciding to just bite the bullet and go for it, “do you wanna go back to my apartment? It’s not far,” blinded by the haze of lust that was filling the small room to the brim. 

His eyes grow wide, realising exactly what you meant, buzzing with impatience and excitement. “Yes.. yeah I’d love to,” his plump lips still wet with the remnants of your mouth. 

You nod, letting go of his shoulder to gather your things, and yourself, before pulling him out of the restaurant. Eddie is more than willing to leave his van in the parking lot, jumping into your car with an primal eagerness. 

The car journey is quiet and you wonder if this maybe wasn’t the best idea. What would everyone at work say? Maybe they didn’t have to know? This could be a one time thing and you’ll both just never mention it again. Well, you hope anyway. 

You think your head might just burst the second he walks into your apartment, somewhere you had never expected Eddie to ever appear. 

You’re quick to continue the abandoned kiss, not giving him any opportunity to make wise cracks about your apartment. It somehow felt easier if it was just mindless sex where you didn’t speak. 

Guiding him towards your bedroom because the couch felt just a tad too casual. His hands are everywhere, sneaking underneath your blouse and then back down into the waistband of your pants. You shove him backwards onto your bed, clambering on top quickly so as to not give him a chance to start speaking or to do anything stupid. 

Eddie’s obviously not keen on giving you the higher ground, gripping onto your waist and flipping the both of you so that he led on top. He’s got this devilish grin on his face that is so smug, you just want to slap it off of him. You chase the taste of his mouth with yours, becoming accustomed to the mixture of cigarettes and mint. God, you hope this doesn’t become a regular thing. 

He pulls away from you to gawp down the space between your bodies, mouth hung open, gasping for breath while his fingers skillfully unbutton your pants, pink tongue poking out to wet his lips, “woah… when the hell d’you get that?” staring at the black ink covering your thigh, a rose curling around the length of your flesh. 

A dumb decision you’d made the first week of culinary school. You felt out of place alongside the other chefs who were absolutely covered in tattoos and felt the need to join them. Except, you hadn’t exactly thought about it and just went along with the first thing the dodgy artist had suggested. He’d also quite purposely left out just how much such a large piece would fucking hurt, especially for a first tattoo. 

You join him in looking down at it, curling your lips in disgust, “when I was like… eighteen, it’s ugly and I hate it so thank you,” continuing your task of getting his jacket off, ignoring the fact that he was still ogling the inking and slightly starting to regret your decision to bring him here. 

“It’s fucking sick, what are you talking about?” he’s smirking, running his fingers along the thick lining as your pants hang around your knees, “I thought you were like… boring,” finding the hem of your lacy underwear and tugging on it. 

Your lips hover above his, eyes hooded as you glare at him, “can you just shut up before I regret everything and make you leave?”

He nods instantaneously, connecting your lips with a quickness, shaking his jacket off of his arm and onto the floor with a thud. Repositioning his knees to either side of your thighs, you’d done a good job of getting your shirt half-off, his fingers fiddling with the rest of the buttons as you break from his lips, leaving wet kisses along his stubbly jawline. 

“Holy fuck, you’re joking?” his eyes just about popping out of his head as your pierced nipples spill out of your bra. Another spontaneous teenage decision you hadn’t got round to getting rid of yet. 

His hand is immediately drawn to your exposed breast, full of pure glee, “you’re a dark horse, you know that right?” thumb running over the erect nipple as you fumble with his tattered old belt. 

Your mouth opens to protest his ogling but is quickly replaced with a soft gasp, his thumb working miracles on the sensitive bud. Head falling back against the pillow when his lips replace his thumb, licking and sucking on your nipple with a wicked grin. 

“Shit,” you moan, his growing erection rutting against your core, “can you- please hurry up,” it sounds strangled coming from your throat, embarrassed that you’ve completely melted into a pile of putty beneath him. If you’d have known that his mouth could be put to such good use, maybe you’d have tried this earlier. 

Thankfully, he takes the hint, leaving one last kitten lick to your chest before rushing to get his pants down. Kicking them off to the side somewhere, the clunk of his belt buckle hitting your bed frame on the way down. 

“Oh baby, that all for me?” remarking on your absolutely sodden underwear, hurriedly pulling them down your thighs, before using the same hand to position himself at your dripping entrance. 

You’re too desperate to think of anything smart to say back, knowing that if you opened your mouth you’d probably just start begging. 

His face mere inches from yours as he pushes himself inside, a groan from somewhere deep in his chest falls out, “Jesus Christ,” he stutters, willing himself not to cum right now. Sex is always better with someone you detested. Now why is that? 

Your arms loosely knot around his neck, intertwining your fingers with his hair, trying your utmost to hold eye contact as his hips begin to move. Slow at first, reaching the hilt before pulling back and sliding in, it’s excruciatingly slow and your legs tighten around his waist, begging for more. 

“Faster.. please Eddie,” whining as his pace quickens, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Yeah yeah.. yeah, say my name,” he blabbers, one hand sliding between your, thumb tapping against your swollen clit before rubbing tiny circles to the sensitive surface. 

“Shit,” you breathe, feeling incredibly full as his tip nudges against that soft, spongy spot. Your eyes squeeze shut, illuminated with an illustration of stars and white hot light. Your heart wasn’t eager to just adhere to his demands like that but shit, when he sounded this desperate, you couldn’t help it. 

Chanting his name like an oath in time with his thrusts. The filthy sounds of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room, accompanying the strained groans coming from his throat. It was far too late and your neighbours could surely hear every single thing. 

“Fuck,” he breathes and you can feel his hips stutter, “you gonna cum for me? Huh?” dropping his forehead to rest against yours. 

Your thighs squeeze around his torso at the words, feeling yourself grow closer to your impending orgasm. His thumb still expertly rubbing your clit, slow but deep thrusts as he nears his own end. Your brain too hazy to think coherently about anything as you tighten around him, overcome with the blinding pleasure of your orgasm. 

“Yesyesyes,” you garble, trembling as you come undone completely, back arching from the mattress which brings your bodies impossibly close. Tugging gently on his curls as a means of encouragement, not that he needed it. 

“Ohhh fuck yeah.. shit,” unable to stop himself in time, spurting thick ropes of cum inside of you. You’re too fucked out to truly think about the implications yet, still gasping for air as he pumps his cock a few measly times before pulling out and sitting up on his knees. 

His wild hair stuck to his moist forehead as he looms above, trying to catch his own breath between your knees. “I’m so sorry.. you’re not.. you can’t get pregnant, can you?” one hand coming to rest on your thigh. 

Your eyes roll on their own, accelerating back to Earth at an insane pace, “no,” reshuffling so you laid comfortably on the pillow, “but you can’t do that again,” glaring up at him without any realisation as to what you just said. 

“Again?” his brows raise, still poised between your legs, “there’s a next time?” 

You huff, turning on your side, away from Eddie and his stupid doe eyes and that ridiculous smirk. Reaching down to grab a shirt from your bedside table while he chuckles to himself. 

Ashamedly, your heart skips a beat when he slides in behind you, pressing his body into yours. You were losing it, and embarrassingly quickly too. Ah fuck. 

-

A hand snaking around your waist pulls you from your sleep and for a brief moment you start to think someone had broken in and decided to crawl into bed with you. Until said hand creeps down to your hip and those lips you’d hung off last night press a small kiss to your shoulder. 

“Morning,” you grumble, placing your hand atop of his to stop it creeping into the waistband of your shorts.  

“Ah c’mon..” frowning against your back, “best way to start a long day.” 

“I have to get ready for work, so do you actually,” keeping your head firmly on the pillow, there were no real intentions of getting up. Not yet. 

“Hmm.. five minutes,” hand descending even with yours on top, his smirk evident, dripping through his words. You shudder as his hand reaches your cunt, leaning backwards into his chest, ever so slightly parting your legs. 

“Five minutes,” you agree, fully acknowledging that you were slipping into dangerous territory here. 

-

“Did you fuck Helen too?” you ask, not really wanting to know the answer but just having to know if you were right in your stereotyping. 

Every kitchen had one. The one that seemed to make their way around everyone eventually. You were sure Eddie was that one and you were the last on his hit list. 

“What? Helen was like fifty dude,” messing with the volume dial on the radio. 

“So? Did you?”

He’s silent for a second, throwing his hands into the air, “it was one time,” raging that you’d caught him out on such a baseless accusation. 

“I knew it,” nodding smugly to yourself, he most definitely has the aura of the kitchen bike and that was for sure. 

“Yeah but… you’re like actually hot and I know what you’re thinking but no, I am not a slut… it was once and we were drunk and that was it, so you can shut up,” deciding to turn the stereo off, not a fan of your choice of Taylor Swift records. 

“I’m like… actually hot?” mimicking his tone. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head, of course that’d be the only part of the sentence you picked up on, “hon, you don’t notice me pop a boner everytime we argue?”

Your face screws up, unsure of whether to take it as a compliment or if you should be speaking to HR, “wasn’t generally looking in that direction if I’m honest,” swinging round into the car park, just past Eddie’s abandoned van, “thanks though… I think,” smiling at him as you gather your things. 

“It was a compliment, by the way,” stepping out of your car, tapping the doors of his rusty old van before walking inside, going on and on about Peggy (his van) and how important she was to him. 

You’re not entirely paying attention as you walk into the kitchen, startled by the presence of somebody already clattering about in there. Eddie follows closely behind, just as confused as you that anybody sane would be here this early. 

“Hello?” you call out, rounding the corner to spot Marcus who had taken it upon himself to come in early to start prep, making a monumental mess of the counter. 

“Oh yeah, hey… I wanted to start now ‘cause I need to leave early- you two came in together?” perplexed by the sight of Eddie peering over your shoulder, the batter covered wooden spoon pointed at the pair of you. 

“Right… er- his van broke down last night and I said I’d give him a ride,” nodding at your obviously fabricated story, looking to Eddie for some back up. 

He nods along happily, “I’m gonna take a look at ‘er later, fingers crossed or you’ll be givin’ me rides all week,” slinking away into the locker room with a sly smirk on his face, thankfully hidden by the shoddy wall as he winks. 

“God forbid,” you quip back, scrunching up your nose as you leave the two of them and make your way to the office, throwing your bag onto the cluttered desk and collapsing onto the desk chair. 

You had to get this damn menu done by Friday or you were completely, utterly fucked. Already three days behind on the schedule, you’d be lucky if you even made it home tonight. Flinging the discarded laptop lid open to be met with the very much blank menu once again. An email pings through that makes your heart jump. It must’ve gone unseen when you were otherwise occupied last night. 

Hello,

I hope this email finds you well. 

I just wanted to confirm that Joan will be in attendance on May 18th as per your invitation. She is looking forward to trying the new menu and will subsequently write a review expecting to be published on or around the 20th. 

Thank you, 

Imogen Smart, The Indianapolis Star

Oh shit oh fuck oh balls. 

It had slipped your mind that you’d even invited her along to try the new menu. What a colossal mistake this would turn out to be. 

Stupid, stupid girl. 

You’re slouched over the desk, head in your hands when Eddie creeps through the open door, startling you when he speaks, “you good?” making his way to the desk, leering down to look at the screen as if it was any of his business. 

“I really do not have time for you right now,” smoothing out your new-found forehead wrinkles. You never had time for his bullshit but you certainly did not have time for them now. 

“Eh, what the fuck? I was inside of you like three hours ago and now you’re being weird again?” 

“Shhh- shut up,” you whisper-shout, the chair rolling back as you stand rather ferociously, staring at the gap in the door and just praying that Marcus was too busy doing whatever the fuck he was doing to hear. 

“Jesus… chill out,” his hands are on your shoulders, soothing your nerves irregardless of how much you cared to admit it. 

You blink at him, cheeks burning, “I just- I have so much to do today, this critic is coming and I still haven’t finished the men-” 

Your sentence is rudely interrupted with his soft lips pressing against yours, caressing your cheek with his rough hand. It’s automatic, but you’re leaning into it, finding yourself gripping onto his bicep as he nudges you back towards the desk. It’s probably a good thing that your tailbone smacks into the sharp edge, pushing him from you as you come back to planet Earth. 

“Stop.. stop,” gently squeezing his arm, the other consoling your throbbing spine, “I need you out there today, okay? You’re gonna have to take charge, get shit done and do not bother me unless that kitchen is on fire or you’ve cut your arm off, okay?” lowering your head to meet his eyeline. 

“My arm? That’s a bit extreme,” deciding to turn your high stress situation into a joke. 

“Yes your arm, finger you can deal with, capiche?”

“Yes ma’am,” hand lingering on the small of your back, “you sure you’re good?” 

You exhale slowly and perhaps a tad too harshly snap, “yes.. I’m okay, now unless you have a brand new menu for me.. get out,” sweetening the blow with a sickly smile, motioning for him to leave. 

“Okay okay..” he begins walking to the door, “I’m in charge, right?” ever the opportunist. 

“Yes, but do not make me regret it,” flashing him a warning look. 

“Sweet,” winking at you as he slips out of the door, rubbing his hands together like the little demon he is. You roll your eyes but can’t deny the way your heart thuds with affection.

Whatever was blossoming had the potential to fuck up every single good thing you’d done for this place, but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to at least see how far you could go before total chaos.

- p2

You had meant for it to be casual. Like a few times a month sorta thing. And yet somehow you’re sat with your head on Eddie’s shoulder, half asleep as the gory horror film he’d picked plays on. 

It had started that way, to be fair. After a stressful day or on a quick lunch break you’d catch him and pull him into the office. It’s no surprise really that it didn’t take long for the rest of the kitchen to catch on. 

But back to right now, you’re only supposed to be  resting your eyes as you lean into his shoulder. He smelt like kitchen, cigarettes and the new cologne you’d bought for him as his old one was quite frankly disgusting and had irritated your nose. He jolts upright when the screen flashes, knocking you from his shoulder and rudely pulling you out of your slumber. 

“You’re a prick,” you mumble, glowering in his direction before opting for the opposite side of the sofa, the side that wasn’t rude. 

He snorts but quickly realises that you are very serious and very much not happy, “I’m sorry.. come sleep on me again,” pleading with you, “or d’you wanna go to bed?” clicking the pause button on the remote. 

“I wanted to go to bed an hour ago,” grumbling into the cushion as he’d ignored your request and swore that you’d just love this new movie. You didn’t. It was fucking boring. 

“Okay okay, let’s go to bed,” he shuts the television off before standing from the couch, towering over your curled up body, “I’m not fuckin’ carrying you,” already wise to your tricks. 

You groan something incoherently, something deeply offensive to his entire bloodline, before pulling yourself from the couch. “You know, if we’d gone to bed when I’d asked, I would’ve let you put it in my ass,” shrugging innocently before leading the way to your bedroom. 

“Wait what? You didn’t say- I didn’t know that was an option!” speed-walking to catch up with you, incredibly eager to figure out if this offer was still on the table. 

It was not. 

“Yup, shame really.. you should probably listen to me more,” clambering into the unmade bed with the tiniest smirk on your face. 

He’s not far behind, leaping into your bed, “we can still do that though, right? It’s only..” glancing at your alarm clock, “..two” he doesn’t even sound sure of himself. 

“Nope,” pulling the blanket over your shoulders, purposely choosing to face the other way, “you missed your chance buddy.” 

-

Whoever had done the ordering (you) had royally fucked up and left tomatoes off of the list. So as a consequence of your stupidity, you were now in Bradley’s trying to balance ten packets of stupid fucking tomatoes in your arms. 

You’re not even looking where you're going, too focused on not dropping the damn horrid red things as you skulk through the store. It’s already too late when you bash the elbow of some innocent bystander, knocking multiple packets to the ground. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you grumble, grabbing at the discarded fruits with your spare hand. 

The kind gentleman had already started to try and balance them back in your arms. You look up to thank the stranger to be met with a face you hadn’t seen since high school. 

“Steve Harrington? I- what the fuck?” you remark, clutching onto the produce so as to not cause another collapse. 

“Holy shit, it’s you,” he’s utterly dumbfounded, staring back at your face in amazement. 

You’re suddenly extremely aware of your dirty uniform and messy hair, eyeing his well pressed suit and just general put-togetherness. His hair still perfectly styled though just a bit shorter now. 

“What are you doing here? I didn’t think you lived in Indiana anymore?” the last you’d heard of him, his father had sent him away to his office in New York, desperate for his son to have the life he never had. 

“Ah.. well, I do now, bit of a long story,” chuckling awkwardly as he takes the majority of your tomatoes to the counter, lightening the load. 

“Oh well, that’s cool..” you nod to the cashier who asks if you’d like a bag or multiple bags in your case, “I’d love to catch up but I’ve got a bit of a tomato crisis, uh..” digging in your pocket for the company card. 

“Yeah definitely… here let me,” he grabs one of the jam packed bags under his arm, “I’m gonna assume these aren’t all for you?” leading the way to the parking lot. 

“Oh no, I fucking hate tomatoes.. I messed up at work so it’s my job to fix it,” loading the bags into your dusty old car, “here, take my number and we can plan something.. it’s been so long,” grabbing for your phone in your apron. 

“I uh- I actually have your number,” he nods, not bothering to get his own phone out. 

“I’ve changed my number since high school, Steve.” 

“No, yeah I know.. I got it from Robin, I was s’posed to call you when I got back..” rubbing his thumb along his forehead and into his hair, “I’ll give you a call later and we can do something,” smiling softly as he closes your back door. 

“Oh, okay.. yes please call me, I- uh I really have to get back,” sliding into the driver's seat, fumbling with your keys, as you roll the window down to continue the conversation. 

“I will, I hope your tomato crisis.. gets better,” shrugging awkwardly as you start the engine. Wincing at his choice of words. 

“Me fucking too,” rolling your eyes as you pull off, not entirely registering what had just happened, focused on getting these stupid vegetables back to the restaurant. 

It’s not until an unknown number flashes up on your screen that you think about it again. He’d left it until you were right in the middle of stuffing dinner down your throat to call of course. 

“Hello?” you muffle into the phone, chewing on the lukewarm piece of chicken. 

“Hey! It’s Steve.. you said to call so.. I called,” he sounds nervous, like he was calling a stranger and not you. 

“Oh hey.. sorry I’m eating,” covering your mouth as you loudly swallow, “how are you?” 

“Yeah I’m good, hope your crisis turned out okay,” laughing into the receiver. 

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad.. thank you for your help, you saved me from squishing a ton of tomatoes.” 

“Of course,” he clears his throat, “would you wanna grab a coffee or something tomorrow? I take it you’re busy with your.. tomatoes but I’m free pretty much whenever.” 

“Yes.. yes erm-,” you set the phone onto loudspeaker and flit through the bookings for tomorrow, it wasn’t insanely busy and you were sure they would manage without you for an hour or so, “does ten sound good for you?” 

“Ten is perfect,” you can hear his smile through the phone, “I’ll see you there then, enjoy your dinner,” still sounding as awkward as ever. 

“Okay.. I’ll see you then, then,” making a mental note for tomorrow that you’d probably end up forgetting anyway. 

You end the call, locking your phone and finally giving all your attention to the cold plate of food in front of you. 

“Who was that?” Eddie appears out of nowhere, frowning as he walks into the office. 

“Hmm? Oh, my friend Steve,” devouring the chicken without a second thought as to why he was even questioning it. 

“Your friend? That you’re going for coffee with…?” 

“Were you listening to my conversation?” blinking up at him. 

“No.. I overheard you- don’t change the subject, you’re ditching work for a date?” he’s scowling, coming to perch on the desk. 

“It’s not a date,” you warn, prodding the fork into his rib, “he’s a friend from school and we’re catching up while it’s quiet tomorrow, is that okay with you?” shaking your head, not that you were genuinely asking for his approval. 

He narrows his eyes, “I suppose..” he takes the fork from your hand, helping himself to your dinner, “it’s just coffee?” asking tentatively as his greedy ass tucks in. 

“Oh my God yes, it’s just coffee,” he was incredibly jealous for someone who was not your boyfriend. 

“Okay okay.. sheesh, no need to get defensive.. date whoever you want,” shrugging as if he couldn’t care less. 

“You’re the one getting jealous, not my fault you never ask me to go for coffee.” 

“Because we spend every waking moment together anyway,” repetitively banging his heel into the desk, irritating you to no end. “But I’ll make sure to ask you to go for coffee from now on.. don’t want some loser taking my place.” 

You huff, pulling the plate away from his greedy hands, “are you done?” 

He shuffles backwards, still picking at your food despite your obvious attempts to get it away from him. “Okay okay.. I’m done.” 

Eddie, in fact, does not drop it. 

He’s still pouting when you climb into bed, sighing to himself like a pathetic old dog. Except now, he’d become desperate and slightly weird about it. Making all sorts of promises and hypothetical dates for you two to go on. 

“Why don’t we go for coffee tomorrow? I’ll even pay,” walking his fingers along your side. 

“Eddie please, can you stop? Who am I in bed with right now? Because it’s not Steve, I can tell you that,” exasperated by his incessant attempts to piss you off. 

“Okay.. okayy,” retiring this tired bit for the night at long last, “you’re still taking me to work, right?” settling his hand on your waist, cuddling into your back. 

“Yes, you bum,” switching the lamp off before setting your head on the pillow. 

“I’m not a bum,” feeling him frown against your back, “it’s not my fault you refuse to get in my van.” 

“It’s a death trap, I’d rather risk walking along the highway,” smiling into the darkness. 

“Yeah whatever, good night,” he mumbles, pretending to be pissed off until you feel the tiniest, sweetest kiss to your shoulder. 

-

You’re running late, as usual. Something about the bookings being fucked for tonight meaning you were either going to have a full restaurant or have absolutely no one show up. 

It didn’t matter to you, not right now anyway because you’re jogging along the sidewalk to get to the dang café before Steve thinks you’ve abandoned him.  

You’re huffing and puffing when you shove open the door, making a royal fool of yourself as anyone would believe you’ve just sprinted in a marathon to get here. 

Steve jolts up the second he hears the door go, giving you a small wave from his table in the corner. It’s a relief that he hadn’t just up and left considering you were fifteen minutes late. 

“I am so so sorry,” you say hurriedly, sliding into the other chair, “another crisis and obviously I’m the only one who’s capable of fixing things so..” you stop your rambling to look at him properly, “sorry- you don’t care, shit did you order?” 

He chuckles nervously, “yeah.. I didn’t know what you wanted so I didn’t get you anything,” he stands up, “what d’ya get?” 

“Uhh a cappuccino would be great.. thanks,” setting your bag down on the vacant chair beside you. 

You chat about nothing and everything for a while until Steve turns the conversation back to high school. Now, you and Steve had a weird relationship during high school; hung around the same group, had a massive crush on the guy and was pretty certain that he at least liked you too. It had just never amounted to anything. 

“I remember in school, you always used to cook shit for us.. it’s crazy that you’ve got your own restaurant now,” shaking his head in slight disbelief. 

You’d bring tupperware full to the brim with whatever random shit you’d cooked up the night before. Forcing your friends to eat it and share their opinions no matter how harsh they could be. 

“It’s not really my restaurant,” sipping the cappuccino he’d kindly bought, “I just run it and make sure it doesn’t burn down or go bankrupt,” laughing to yourself. 

“So it’s technically yours..” fingers fiddling around with the empty sugar packet, “I’ll have to come by sometime, I wanna see what all the fuss is about.” 

“I mean, I could probably get you in tomorrow.. if you wanted?” 

“Well yeah, that sounds great,” smiling earnestly across the table. 

“Great! I’ll text you the details later but you should definitely bring your wife, I’d love to meet her,” you vaguely remember seeing the extravagant wedding pictures on Facebook a few years back. 

You hadn’t paid much attention as to who he’d married just recalled noticing the absolutely gargantuan manor house in the back and how stunning her dress was. 

His smile fades and his mouth opens to speak but doesn’t manage to squeeze anything out. You get the feeling that that might have been the wrong thing to say. Immediately wanting to slide down your seat and hide under the table. 

Steve takes it well though, laughing softly, “Ah.. not anymore but uh- thank you for bringing that back up,” playfully shaking his head. 

“Oh no, oh my God.. I’m sorry,” grimacing because of your big fat mouth, “I thought I’d seen it on Facebook but maybe that wasn’t you.. oh fuck.” 

“No.. it probably was me, we just- yeah not anymore,” wiggling his empty hand in your direction, only just now are you noticing the lack of a ring. 

“I’m sorry,” smiling apologetically, “I’ve gotta ask though.. what happened?” 

He sits back in his chair, preparing for the absolute novel of a story he was about to tell, “well, my dad moved me to New York, wanted me to learn how to be a man or whatever,” waving his arms about, “and I met the love of my life- I thought I met the love of my life.. we got married and it was great for a little while but she..” he inhales, recalling the still bitter memories, “..obviously didn’t feel the same way,” you’re sat eager eyed, waiting for the real gossip, “she was fucking her boss.. whole time.” 

“Shittt…” baring your teeth in a pained expression, “that’s awful Steve, I’m so sorry,” gingerly patting his outstretched arm, “what a bitch.” 

He nods along, “yeah she is,” his fingers drum a rhythm into the table, “that’s why I’m back here… I’m sick of New York.” 

“God,” guilt rising into your chest for being the one to bring that back up, “at least you’re home now, right? Must be nice seeing everyone again,” your eyes flitting to your phone that had lit up for the umpteenth time. 

eds:) : when r u coming back?? 

eds:) : helloooo? 

eds:) : stop fucking ur boyfriend and come back 2 work 

eds:) : i’m being serious now we need u 

Steve follows your gaze to your phone screen, realising that you’d been sitting here for a while now and he’d just pulled you from your work to talk about his messy divorce. “Work?” 

You look back at him, “yeah.. I’m gonna have to run, but I’ll get you a table for tomorrow,” pushing your chair back, grabbing for your bag, “bring whoever.. I’ll text you the details!” offering him a small smile as you rush out of the busy cafe not bothering to wait for his reply. 

-

Eddie is just as irritating as expected when you get back, hanging off of your arm the second you walk in the door. 

“So, you just had coffee? You were gone a long time, man,” an attempt to play off his jealousy, though it was hardly working. 

“Don’t call me man, and yep, just coffee. Like I’ve said a hundred times before,” hanging up your bag and tying the apron around your waist. 

“Right.. he wasn’t tryna do anything though, was he? ‘Cause I can tell him straight if you need me to,” hanging around your ankles like a lost puppy dog. 

“He’s in the middle of a divorce. I don’t think you need to do anything, big boy,” gently patting his arm. 

“Ohh so that’s why he’s back and trying to fuck you now.. I get his game.” 

You turn to face him, sandwiched between his body and the rusty lockers, “will you just relax? Please,” running your hands down his chest. 

Eddie frowns slightly, but nods, “he’s got nothin’ on me anyway..” a silhouette of a smirk forming on his face, “you know who’s givin’ it to ya good,” planting his lips on yours before you get the chance to express your utter disgust. 

You’re smiling when he pulls back but push him away from you regardless, “do not ever say that shit to me again,” tightening the straps around your waist, walking away from the freak and into whatever hell awaits you in the kitchen.  

-

It’s not very surprising that Steve comes in alone, your heart aches a little seeing him sat at the table on his own. 

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie is watching your face with a foul scowl on his. His eyes roll to the back of his head when you announce that you’re going to see how he is, practically snarling at the thought. 

He knows the dish in front of him is Steve’s order, he’d audibly criticised the fact that Steve had removed the mushrooms from his food, is he a fucking toddler or something? 

His eyes dart around the room, pursing his lips as he prepares to maybe just let the glob of spit fall out of his mouth and accidentally into Steve’s childish dinner. 

“Don’t,” Tina’s hand clamps over his mouth, stopping his despicable plans in motion. 

“I wasn’t actually gonna do it,” he protests, glowering at his co-worker. He definitely was going to do it and she knew it. 

“Leave him alone,” flashing him that universally understood look that tells him not to even dare, “can you blame her, though? Meow,” grinning as her eyes flicker to you and Steve through the tiny window. 

Eddie kisses the back of his teeth, whipping the dish towel at her, “ha ha very funny,” she’s desperate to rile him up as much as possible, taunting him with her mean quips. 

His eyes slide to the window, met with the image of you absolutely cracking up at something Steve had said. It was the kinda laugh he loved to force out of you, usually late at night when you were overly tired and a little hazy. Unheard by most people. It was a slight comfort to know that Steve definitely wasn’t that funny, he could almost bank on it. 

It’s like torture watching the pair of you interact for what feels like forever. Pulling his eyes away, deciding to go for a cigarette instead of putting himself through any more of that. 

The air outside is still, it’s getting colder again but it seemed like Indiana was still hanging onto the dregs of summer; the sky illuminated with streaks of pink and orange. Maybe that’s what he was doing? Desperately clawing to keep your thing alive all the while you were trying to wriggle out of it. 

He’s harshly pulled out of his self-pitying cloud, “Eddie?” you call out of the door, bounding over to where he was slouched against the brick wall, “thank you for doing that.. he said it’s great,” your toothy grin making an appearance. 

Eddie grunts something in response, trying desperately not to think of you smiling at Steve like that. 

“What? You okay? Why’re you being weird?” 

“I’m not being weird,” he shrugs, lying through his teeth. He couldn’t help it, his heart twisting and contorting with every mention of that prick's name. 

“Yes you are,” sighing softly, “you’re actually jealous? I thought you were just joking,” stepping toward him as he throws the cigarette to the floor. 

His eyes eventually find yours, “I’m not.. jealous,” curling his finger into the bow of your apron strap, using it to pull you in, “I don’t get jealous,” another blatant lie. 

“Mhm is that right?” you giggle, his behaviour over the past few days had proven that statement to be false. Wrapping your arms around his waist as your cheek begins to rest on his chest. 

Desperately trying to convince himself that this is a sign. That if you’d really wanted to, you’d be in there, doing this with Steve. But you’re not. You’re here. You’re clinging onto him and everything is fine. 

-

The door handle at the front of the store rattles a couple times before whoever is behind it gives up and knocks, you all look at each other slightly confused before Eddie takes the plunge and goes to answer. You’re standing behind the counter with a guarded expression, not prepared for whatever crazy was trying to get in at stupid o’clock in the morning. 

Steve is standing behind the open door with an apologetic smile, holding up a takeaway cup obviously bought for you. Eddie is less than thrilled, skulking back into the kitchen with the most horrendous scowl plastered on his face. 

“I’m sorry.. I should’ve text first,” kicking the door shut behind him, offering out the warm cup for you to take. 

You breathe a sigh of relief, “yeah.. that would’ve been a good idea, thank you though,” gladly taking his offering. 

“I just wanted to say thank you for last night, I didn’t catch you before I left so thought I’d stop by,” sipping on his own coffee, poised in the middle of the restaurant floor. 

Eddie’s stood leaning against the wall that separates the kitchen from the front of house, arms crossed against his chest. Disapproving glare set solidly on Steve. 

“Yeah absolutely, I’m glad you liked it,” smiling fondly at the man, sipping appreciatively on your cappuccino. 

“I uh- I have a question for you,” his eyes flit to Eddie who was still stood with his eyes narrowed, scowling, “in private.. if that’s alright?” 

You spin to look at Eddie, nodding towards the back, “I’ll meet you in my office in a minute,” shooing him off, “please.” 

He snarls back at you, looking back over his shoulder to shoot daggers into Steve before eventually disappearing into the kitchen. For someone acting so jealous, you’d think you’d have been in a committed relationship for years. 

Rolling your eyes as you trundle closer to Steve, “ignore him.” 

“He a handful?” 

“Mm and a mouthful sometimes,” perching on one of the tables, totally oblivious to your innuendo. 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, blinking ferociously as you finally catch on. 

“Oh no- I just meant he’s like.. rude,” stumbling over your words, cheeks beginning to burn. 

“I know what you meant,” Steve assures, though he looked a little flustered himself. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, “just continue,” rolling your hand, desperate for him to forget you’d opened your mouth.

He clears his throat, “so I was talking to my buddy.. he owns Garson’s in the city and he was saying there’s a spot opening for a sous,” glancing at you, “I just mentioned your name and I’ll give you his number but he said he’d love to meet you,” his mouth twitching into a smile. 

Well, that was not at all what you were expecting.  

In fact, it was a massive curveball ball that you’d not rehearsed a response to. 

Garson’s was insane, they’d just earned their first star and everybody who was anybody was trying to get a reservation. It would be career defining to even stage there. 

“Oh wow… Steve I actually don’t know how to reply to that,” placing your coffee onto the table in fear of dropping it on the floor. 

“Well obviously think about it, I’ll text you his details later, he seemed pretty eager to get someone in so.. don’t take too long,” drumming his fingers onto the table. 

“Yeah.. right, holy shit,” you remark, trying to take it all in. It’s unclear what to even say to him in this situation, thank you seemed too small but slathering his face in kisses was probably a step too far. 

“I gotta go, let me know what you decide,” his smile honest and genuine as he grabs his coffee and heads to the door. 

Just before he slips out, you jump back into action, “thank you!” beaming with pure unadulterated joy. 

He nods, disappearing into the street as the door slams shut behind him. 

You can barely contain yourself, practically skipping through the kitchen to go and find Eddie who you were absolutely certain was not going to share the same level of excitement you possessed. 

“What’s got you so happy? He ask you out on a real date finally?” turning up his nose without you saying a word. 

“Noo..” you chime in, still riding the high, kicking the door shut behind you, traipsing over to rest your hands on Eddie’s shoulders, “so.. Steve said there’s a position going in Garson’s and it��s basically mine if I want it..” struggling to contain your grin. 

His hands falter, brushing down your sides to now hang limp beside him, “what?” Unsure if what he had heard had been correct. 

“There’s a job at Garson’s and it’s basically mine.. isn’t that great?” grabbing at the back of his neck. You were expecting a little more happiness than this, you can’t lie. 

He looks almost offended. Features screwed up in pure confusion, as if you’d insulted his mother. “So you’re leaving? Some fancy job pops up from your fancy pants boyfriend and you’re suddenly abandoning us?” 

“Wha- no? I’m not abandoning anybody,” removing your arms from his shoulder, “this is an opportunity to actually do something with my career, show everyone what I’m capable of,” you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just pretend to be happy for you. 

He stands up, the chair making a god-awful noise behind him, “so you get to come in here, change everything and then jump ship as soon as something better comes along?” eyes that once looked at you with pure adoration now full of disgust. 

You’re gobsmacked. Utterly speechless that he was acting like such a petulant jerk. You hadn’t seen this side of him since that night so many months ago in this very office. 

“Eddie, what has got into you? This is good news! You didn’t expect me to stay here forever, did you?” 

“I don’t know,” exasperated, “I just didn’t expect you to run to the next best thing so soon,” he looks venomous, mean. 

“I’m not! He’s my friend and he’s helping me out.. why are you being like this?” he may as well have torn your heart from your chest and stomped on it in front of you. 

Eddie scoffs, running a hand over his mouth, “your friend… who you haven’t spoken to in years suddenly has this great new job for you and has absolutely no ulterior motive? Ha, right.” 

It finally clicks in your brain, he doesn’t really give a shit whether you stay or go. This was about hating Steve and being a jealous loser despite still not asking you to be his girlfriend. 

“That’s what this is about? You think Steve.. what? That he wants to fuck me? You’re pathetic, do you know that?” 

“It’s not about that,” raising his voice, chest puffed out. This was the Eddie you’d met and hated six months ago. You were sure you’d never have to deal with that prick again. “I don’t.. I don’t care what or who you do, I just think you’re a traitor and I don’t want anything to do with someone like that.” 

Your face falls, blinking rapidly as the tears prick in your eyes. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat. He could be an evil prick when he wanted to be and before, it never would’ve upset you this much. But now it felt personal, like you’d let him in only for him to use everything you’d told him against you. 

“Get out,” bottom lip quivering, tears threatening to spill. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction at least, waiting until the door is slammed in your face to let them fall. 

Humiliated and utterly pathetic as you flop into the chair, letting the tears fall free. 

If he was trying to convince you to stay, then he’d failed. Majorly. 

-

You’re hidden in the office for the remainder of the day. Courtesy of Eddie’s horrible words. 

And he’s just a ray of sunshine in the kitchen. Clattering about as he drops pans, recklessly launching knives and utensils onto the counter. 

Marcus has had enough of his tantrum, tapping on his shoulder, “let’s get some fresh air, yeah?” steering Eddie towards the back alley. 

He slides down the brick wall, cigarette poised between his lips while Marcus mouths something to the rest of the beady eyed staff. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Marcus asks, he’s genuine but stern. Has talked the boy down a multitude of times but this seemed different. 

“She’s fucking leaving..” blowing the smoke from the side of his mouth, “some stuck up restaurant that dickhead Steve got her into.. that’s what’s wrong with me.” 

Marcus’ mouth opens but doesn’t speak, deciding to get down to Eddie’s level, perching next to him on the floor, “and why’s that made you so angry? She break up with you as well or somethin’?” struggling to understand why he cares so much. 

“No,” Eddie glowers at the floor, “you can’t break up if you’re not together. I’m just.. I’m pissed off, she came in here.. changed everything and now she gets to just move on like it’s nothing.” 

Poor Marcus is trying to piece it all together in his head. Settling on the only sensible conclusion that maybe whatever was going on between you and him was perhaps a hell of a lot deeper than either of you were admitting. 

“So.. you’re pissed that she made this shithole better? You sure that’s it?” questioning the validity of Eddie’s anger. 

“What’re you tryna say?” Eddie snaps, gritting his teeth together. How dare Marcus not believe his incredibly flimsy words? 

“That you’re not really angry ‘cause she’s moving on, you’re pissed because of this new guy and you think he’s.. he’s gonna take your spot or something? I can see right through you bro,” clapping his hand emphatically on Eddie’s shoulder, having caught him red handed. 

Eddie glares at the man, snarling but unable to respond. Because he was right. Eddie is a pathetic, insecure loser who can’t bring himself to just admit to you that he was jealous of Steve. It was easier for him to just make you hate him than to be honest with you about how he felt, at least that way you didn’t have the opportunity to shut him down. You couldn’t reject him if you didn’t know. 

“You’re gonna fuck this up forever if you keep acting like this,” Marcus sighs, getting up from the floor, “get in there and apologise or you’ll just push her right into his arms and I really don’t wanna deal with you if that happens,” flashing him a stern but well-meaning glare before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

His eyes squeeze shut, and as much as he didn’t want to hear that, he knew he was right. Self-sabotage had always been his forte except this time he was truly terrified of the possibility of losing you. And he wasn’t going to let that happen.  

-

There’s a quiet knock on your office door and you’re just about prepared to bite the head off of whoever dares to disturb you. 

“Come in,” you bark, dropping the pen onto the desk in frustration. 

A very meek Eddie peeks around the door, testing the waters to decide if it’s safe to fully come in without you throwing something at him.

Nothing collides with his head so he pushes the door open, holding onto a plate of pasta he’d made especially for you. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, still deciding on the right words to say. 

“You haven’t eaten all day..” he decides on, gingerly placing the plate in front of you on the desk, “you don’t have to eat it but don’t throw it away,” stepping back from the desk with extreme caution. 

You’re taken aback, not at all expecting the kind gesture, blinking at the delicious food in front of you. “Can I have a fork..?” 

“Shit yes I got one,” digging in his apron pocket for the utensil, laying it down next to the plate gently. 

“Thank you,” you nod, poking your fork into the food. It is delicious and it was still warm which is an even better bonus. 

He smiles slightly, “I wanted to say.. I’m sorry for being an asshole, you should..” trailing off into silence, swallowing the lump in his throat, “you should go for it, it’s a great opportunity,” reassuring himself even if he didn’t quite believe it. 

You chew slowly, apprehensive about his sudden change in attitude. This surely hadn’t been a conclusion he’d reached on his own and you wonder just who in the kitchen had given him a pep talk before sending him in here. You appreciated it nonetheless. As weird and complicated as you guys were, you weren’t quite ready to give it up already. 

“Really?” you look up, trying to gauge his reaction. It was evident that he was putting on a brave front and he still had some apprehensions about it all but for you he was willing to ignore them. 

Your heart swells. Which makes you feel a little sick. In a good way though, well, you think so anyway. 

“Yeah.. you’re a great chef and you deserve better than this shithole,” one side of his mouth twisting into a smile. The words are heavy and difficult to get out, but they’re true. He means it and would really do anything to ensure you were happy. Even if it did mean swallowing his pride and letting you follow that douchebag Steve. 

You stand from your chair, rushing over to wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you..” resting your chin on his shoulder. His arms wrap around your waist, placing a soft kiss upon your forehead. 

He was going to miss these little moments the most, he thinks. Shaking his head slightly when his mind flits to the thought of you in some other kitchen doing this with someone other than him. 

“You want some food? Don’t wanna eat this whole thing myself,” pulling away from his grip, motioning back towards your desk. 

“Thought you’d never ask,” masking the ache in his heart with a sloppy grin. 

If his uncle had taught him anything, it was that you had to make sacrifices for the people you loved. Or thought you loved. Whatever. 

-

It doesn’t take long for Steve to show his stupid little face again and it irks Eddie to know that you were probably texting with him this entire time. Getting excited about this new position with another man. Blergh. It was knocking him sick. 

You look over Steve’s shoulder to give Eddie a small glance, smiling ever so tenderly as you disappear into your office. That should be enough confirmation that he truly had nothing to worry about. It was just a job. Oh God, what if you find someone else to bicker with? Look what had happened to you two. 

That sicky feeling returns and he wants to bolt. But he doesn’t, he’s big and brave and instead chooses to focus on finely dicing some onions until you reemerge from your office. Whenever the fuck that would be. 

It must be a whole half an hour before Steve walks through the kitchen, giving Eddie a sly pat on the back on the way out. Smug prick. He just grips the knife tighter, waiting for you to confirm that you’d be gone next week and that he should really start moving on before you left. 

“Ed’s can I talk to you outside?” your voice snaps him out of his pity party, giving the rest of the crew what looked like a sympathetic smile, you’d tell all of them the bad news later. 

He knew this was it. You were about to lay it all bare, tell him it’s okay, maybe we can still be friends? I hope you understand but I have to go and work at this fancy restaurant with my fancy high school boyfriend, sorry! 

Reluctantly walking into the alley way, the alley way you’d shared many sneaky kisses, reassuring words and that one time you’d got carried away and almost gave him a hand job right then and there. It was painful, the once comforting aura of the brick walls had since vanished. 

He’s already bracing for the worst, keeping his back to you as he walks further down the path. It’s the only way he could be sure that he wouldn’t end up begging on his knees for you to stay. And even then he couldn’t guarantee that wouldn’t happen. 

“Will you look at me?” your voice echoing through his veins. 

He does, turning on his heel excruciatingly slow. Bottom lip starting to sting as his teeth cut into the skin. 

“When are you going?” solemn and miserable, honestly trying his hardest not to start pleading with you. 

“Never,” shaking your head, “I’m staying here,” feeling incredibly smug. You looked it too, nose scrunched up as you grin at him. 

Fuck. He’s not even sure if he’s heard that right. But the blood rushes back through his body and he almost crumbles, falling to his knees to thank whichever being up there had answered his prayers. The glum look he’d seemed to possess had vanished, grinning like a fucking maniac as he bounds over to you. One minute you’re on the floor and the next you’re being spun around, his arms almost crushing you. 

“What? Why’d you change your mind? I- fuck I’m so happy,” setting you back on solid ground, much to your relief. 

“Well, the thing is.. there’s this guy who works here, he’s a bit of an asshole but for some reason I really like him and he’s convinced me to stay,” fingers digging into his biceps, still afraid that you might become airborne at any moment. 

There’s not time to catch your breath before he’s crashing his lips into yours with great force, sending you flying backwards against the wall. His hands grabbing at anything he could touch, travelling the length of your body to brace your cheeks. Keeping you steady, making sure this was actually real. Christ, he thinks he loves you. 

Scrap that, he’s fucking certain that he loves you. 

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic

[nayatarot777]

what strengths do you have that are not acknowledged by you?

subscribe to the patreon if you’d like to :)

• pile one •

it seems like in situations of complete chaos and disaster, your independence immediately kicks in. you know what to do and operate from your intuition which influences your actions and how you approach dealing with messy situations. i’m also hearing that you yourself will burn some shit down if you need to lmao. sometimes you don’t even know why but it’s because whatever it is has been keeping you in the dark, away from your own strengths. you intuitively pick up on that and know when connections with people, things, and places need to go. you know how to cross a bridge and acknowledge any illusions and truths that may have been hidden prior. you guys do a whole lot of self work too, and i don’t think that you realise just how much you invest energetically into yourself. this tearing shit down might be in relation to yourself - you know when aspects of you gotta go 😂. you use chaos as a tool to push yourself forward (you could do well with chaos magic for my witches and practitioners out there).

you’re not someone with control issues. if something is clearly crumbling, you don’t try to cling onto it and prolong your pain unnecessarily. you understand that nobody’s holding you at gun point to settle for chaotic people and situations, so you move accordingly. period. you’re extremely nurturing, caring, etc - but that doesn’t mean that you allow yourself to act like a fool in the name of love or caring about someone. you know how to also implement your own boundaries and do what’s best for you. because you have unconditional love for yourself - or more love for yourself than for the people and situations that cause a ruckus in your life. when things go wrong, you put yourself into a state of acceptance and receive the lessons that you need to from these situations. you take responsibility and accountability for the part that you play in the crumbling of connections and situations. meaning that you’re not someone who acts like a complete victim to life and to everyone around you. you know that certain things in your life wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t play a part and allow them to develop when they clearly weren’t built on stable foundations in the first place. even if someone else does you wrong, you will still ask yourself “wtf is wrong with me and my actions/mindset/standards that helped aid in this bs happening? why did i continue to feed into this? why did i settle for this?”.

you hold onto stability internally for yourself, therefore that reflects in the physical in some way. whether that be through your finances or some other area of your practical life. you listen to your intuition that helps to protect everything valuable that you’ve already accumulated for yourself already. you also don’t over-extend. mfs may have tried (and failed) to make you feel selfish for this but you understand that they’re just mad that you won’t let yourself be used as a charity case for leeches. you’re receptive to your higher self when it steps in to protect you from certain people. even if they’re people who your ego doesn’t want to necessarily let go of, you’ll let it happen for the sake of your own self-preservation, which is how it should be. you’re loving and caring and nurturing but not out of desperation for love and acceptance. not to receive that back for yourself in order to fill a void. this isn’t self-serving love and nurture for others out of a state of lack. this is out of pure genuine intentions. you’re fulfilled alone and you’d like to fulfil others where possible. however, if you ain’t getting wtf you deserve back, you dip and go back to just focusing on yourself. you don’t let your energy be easily accessible to energetically vampiric people.

• pile two •

your strengths are related to your belief systems and your life philosophies. you know how to be your own mentor and how to give yourself the knowledge that you need - mostly about yourself. this seems to be how you maintain your internal peace. you don’t gain much peace from knowledge given to you from outside of yourself, and that doesn’t mean that you can’t find valuable information from others, but you know that you have a direct connection to the divine of your own. you also know how to manifest and persist in manifesting whatever you want over the course of a long time. and whereas other people would grow impatient, you stay balanced and understanding that what you want is in the process of being given to you. you don’t let much in your external life fuck with your internal state of being. and there’s a repetition of patience throughout this whole spread. you don’t force anything. i’m also hearing that you know how to navigate traditional expectations and structures in society through your own methods. it’s like you don’t fit into society and what they want, but it seems like you do from the outside, so you go under the radar or something like that.

you value your own beliefs and morals over what other people may try to enforce onto you, and this results in a very stable sense of self. you know what you stand for based on your own viewpoints and opinions, so you’re not prone to easily falling for feeding into other people’s expectations of you. you’ve also made your own safe space according to how you want your life to be structured and it’s not easy for others to have influence over this or to even be let in. you guys could also allow your shadow as an energy of protection. you could have lilith or pluto in the first house or something like that. but your shadow is clear to see to other people, especially to those who try to take something of yours that’s quite valuable to you (whether that’s money, time, or something else). thanks to this, you see what you need to and i believe that people view you as someone who people can’t really get anything past. also, when you’re tending to your work (whatever that may be) you’re able to redirect your path to one with less challenges when you encounter blockages on the path that you’re on. it seems like this is quite easy for you, or like it’s easy for you to maintain momentum + motivation with what you invest energy into.

you’re able to learn a lot about the physical realm and how to feel complete within it. even when others would expect you to feel some type of lack, it seems like you understand what’s truly valuable to you. your version of abundance may be heavily different to other people’s version - your abundance is felt metaphorically - and you could reject what the world tells people regarding what to prioritise and what’s important (like earthly riches). you could find more value in your family, teachings from family members like your grandparents for some of you in particular, and that’s what has you feeling like you always have a stable foundation in your life. where other people would only ever feel stable through finances, you feel stable through the faith that you hold. you also know how to dissect your mental state when you’re dealing with some mental conflict, leading you to single out the mindsets that actually serve you and discard the rest. your mind seems to be constantly changing for the sake of becoming more grounded in reality, so maybe that’s something that you feel like you struggle with usually. but you’re doing it! a lot of you could have earth signs in your big three.

#psychic readings #pick a card #pac #pick a photo #tarot reading #pac reading #pick a picture

[crunchchute]

When you draw Dave it looks so much like the comic but manages to avoid any uncanniness 👍

well, i can certainly do whatever the hell this is:

but obviously i wanted to put some of my own ingredients into the design like people do, however thats more specifically for william, i made a "reference sheet" for him how i wanted to draw him initially

but when it comes to Dave, i like to mix it up and go for something in the middle i guess? like taking my Will design and Dave and put them in a blender and whatever comes out of it is what you see

but obviously im taking full inspo from pinky, and all controversies aside, i do like her artstyle and i think the comic has just been drawn in more rush? no idea, but her personal work seems more polished atm. and yeah the comic panels do look quite uncanny but i think the design is a great one, and somehow it just stuck in my brain as The William design, not even the movie one took the spot (even reading parts of the novelization, i just see Dave in that Williams spot)

also gotta add, i prefer my Will at least a little bit "ugly" unstead just conventionally hot. (well he is hot to me like this lol) so i will still try to implement the goofy comic style as i go aaand i do love drawing in a cartoony style, it just looks weird if i do shading and painting so. yippee inconsistency!!

ALSO have to mention gorillaz. i wonder if it shows but Jamie's artstyle is a huge inspo to me so, my Will is like, Dave if he was gorillaz or something. uncanny Murdoc 🤝 uncanny William. and i make them more pleasant looking. i think

#answered #i wanted to send a quick reply yesterday but then i realized im the guy that loves to talk about himself so i thought up a long answer #i wanted to draw more examples but i dont have enough time so i only spat out that dave but imagine there was like a whole cooking going on #a full on cauldron where i was listing the ingredients i put into drawing him and whatever #my art #long post #uhhh shhhhhhhh #thanks for asking! #fnaf #five nights at freddys #william afton #dave miller #five nights at freddy's #crunchchute art

[shai-manahan]

Hi! It's been a while since I've talked about the upcoming updates, but I finally had a chance to actually sit down and make plans! (the life of a corporate slave, am I right? 🙃)

It has something to do with the changes I will be implementing on my patreon, though. I've thought for a while how to give content that's worthwhile of subscriptions while also making sure I can be comfortable with them, and in all honesty, I had a tricky time doing it. HM is too personal for me, as I used to talk about before, and some of the patreon benefits I promised before eventually felt too revealing - of my own thoughts and people whose lives were a huge inspiration for this story.

I will be talking about these changes and the update schedules as well below the cut.

UPDATES

I aim to finish at least half of HM's Book 1 this year. It seems to be a more realistic goal than forcing myself to finish everything right away (which tbh may have been a huge pressure I put on myself the past few years), though admittedly, things are unpredictable in the field I'm in; my job is full of overtime hours, and I spend most of my weekends trying to recover (or sick).

Still, I gotta finish it one way or another, and it's not going to write itself (though I wish it would!), so yeah, set realistic deadlines, pull out a few all-nighters, and maybe I'll actually get through it, who knows?

I do hope I'll have steadier finances by the time Book 2 starts so I can put more focus on writing and have sufficient energy for it, but that's a conversation for another day.

Changes in Prologue - Chapter 2

Okay. I know I promised not to make revisions until I write more chapters, but changing how some game mechanics work and reworking the stats made it a necessity, and I underestimated how much rewriting I'd have to do. A few scenes ended up not working well anymore, and I couldn't resist from revising a few clunky sections while I was at it.

Dialogue options were one of those that were significantly affected by the stat changes, but no worries, nothing is changed in the story -- meaning Wesley still fucks with the Ripper's life (oops), Richard still goes off doing whatever non-sus thing he's doing, you can still punch Bale (it's even a lot funnier this time), Bertrand remains a bitchy cop, and you'll still have your sad flashback with your former best friend/lover/crush or whatever they are to your MC.

The plan is to release the updated version of Prologue and Chapter 1 to patrons by the end of March (I will have a few days off work that week) and release it to the public once the new content is also ready, which I presume will be available next month (I will keep you all posted but I really hope I can get it done by then because it's been forever 🥲).

I might tweak Chapter 2 a little so the available portion can stand on its own rather than be divided into two parts, because it's just too long lmfao and is harming the pacing as I keep worrying about the length. I'm also incorporating a few suggestions a few folks gave me these past few months.

Succeeding chapters

I've probably said this before but things are bound to get more insane in HM once we're past the first three to four chapters. But also quicker to write in a way. They're the kind of scenes I thrive in, and while they have bigger variations, they're a lot more fast-paced, characters start being manipulative little shits, and the threats are more prevalent than ever. Your Ripper will not have a good time, but I certainly will (I say as I look at my outline and get sad doing it). There will be a few "breaks" in between, but this is not and will never be a light-hearted story. Anyway, I'm inclined to believe I'll be more consistent with updates when that time comes, so bear with me for now :')

PATREON CHANGES

This is getting long, so I'll just list the updated tier benefits and end the day with it. I'll be posting a schedule that I will be committing to (here and on patreon tomorrow morning), with the below details as well (so if you wanna stop here that's totally valid) but for now, here's the tentative list:

Tier 1

Early access - 4 days before a public update (this month will be an exception and you'll get the update as soon as the other tiers get it, too).

Sneak peeks and deleted scenes - I included the latter because apparently I delete a lot of great scenes

Hints for future revelations in the story - the categories will depend on results of polls; the hints may be about Bale's death, about Ripper's family, Pharos, Cyro, the ROs themselves, or the nightmares that the MC is getting, etc. Might be in form of vague conversations/dialogues between unknown characters, might be me dropping subtle info about those involved. Either way, it will be fun :). The polls and these hints will be given monthly.

Tier 2

Early access - 1 week before a public update

all the other benefits for Tier 1

monthly RO snippets - I'm still experimenting with this, but I might simply write MC x RO snippets (with different kinds of MCs for different scenarios because I deeply hate writing blank slate MCs, sorry)

a choice to see the POV of a character, decided through polls, for every chapter/update.

Tier 3

Early access - as early as it's available and goes through testing stages

all other benefits for previous tiers

Non-RO short stories

Previews on unintroduced characters :)

That's all for tonight! I am so tired lmfao but I hope you all are having a great weekend so far! See you tomorrow :)

#patreon #patreon changes #updates #hollowed minds progress update #interactive fiction #hollowed minds series #hollowed minds #wip #writing #hollowed minds book one #if wip #interactive novel

[transfaguette]

ive started implementing this “they just wanted it more” philosophy in my life. i could go through a lot of effort to try and prevent bad things happening to me or being taken advantage of. but you know what if someone does like mug me or steal my identity or whatever, they just wanted it more. gotta respect the grind.

#coyote.txt #half joking but also slash srs

[winryrockbellwannabe]

✨Get Ready with me...✨

for the second semester of my 3rd year of college

Part 2: Friendships and Mental Health (all pics from Pinterest)

(Part 1: academic life and free time in here)

🪩 Friendships: 🥤

- No more people pleasing. Like the wonderful @zzzzzestforlife was saying on her post, it's time to stop being ppl pleasing. And i took it at heart lol Ofc it's not going to be an extreme thing, there must be an effort in friendships, but I gotta learn to prioritize myself when I'm with friends - As I said before, i want to become more intentional about my time. So, like, actually scheduling plans with friends, instead of ending up every other afternoon at the coffee shop complaining about life. Don't get me wrong, i do love one good gossip session, but it does keep the negativity around us and it leaves me drained sometimes. And I don't want to be drained after being with my friends - Take more decisions. That does sound more like a mental health thing, than a friendship thing, but i find it harder to make decisions when it implies other ppl, and i overthink if they even wanted to do whatever i planned for in the first place. So I'm going to start realizing that I can make my own choices and trust ppl to tell me if they hated it.

🍃🪻Mental health:🪻🍃

- i would like to try to implement a morning and bedtime routine. I really do think that that would be beneficial for me. (maybe ill try to hold myself accountable for this on my posts too). Especially a no screens bed time routine - in this same theme - reduce screen time - something i still do a lot is biting my nails. It's not something i manage to stop overnight, most times i manage to stop i end up getting even "worse" habits, like biting my lips, or picking skin. So find better coping mechanisms - go on walks. touch some grass lol. now the weather is getting nicer again, so i can get around to do this again - and in general just take my time. I feel like those last 3 years passed in a rush and i barely noticed the time passing by, and that scares me tbh.

And that's it :)) I'll try to hold myself accountable for some of this stuff in my posts, but ofc I'm not expecting to achieve all of this consistentively. It's more about being aware of what i want to get better at and try to make that effort😊

#studyblr #study blog #studyspo #stemblr #stem student #study blr #study moodboard #vision board #adhd studyblr #2.3

[dateamonster]

My hot take is that people advocating for 4-day work weeks are leaving a vast majority of workers out of there plans, especially workers who are on hourly wage. Lowering work expectations is a good idea, yeah. But that has to come AFTER they increase min wage. Because for many? Having their hours cut is a death sentence, and there's a lot of people who refuse to acknowledge that.

this is actually something ive been thinking about a lot lately! yeah i understand the excitement when we hear about businesses trying out a shortened workday or workweek or whatever and i think its fine to like. derive a little precious hope from that. but even in the places where these shortened workweeks already exist, you gotta think abt who actually gets to benefit from them.

imo its kinda like. im so so grateful for weekends, for federal holidays, for overtime and holiday pay, but especially because p much all of the jobs i worked before my current one didnt offer any of those!! i think its possible to support the fight for better work conditions while acknowledging that its very probable only a small percentage of workers will actually reap the benefits until we've successfully implemented a universal basic income at the very least.

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send me controversial or unpopular opinions and I'll tell you if I agree or disagree

#ask #ask meme #tldr i guess is i agree but with the caveat i think we should still be fighting for 4 day weeks BUT NEVER NEVER NEVER BE SATISFIED WITH THA #KEEP FIGHTING UNTIL EVERY PERSON IS CARED FOR EVERY NEED IS MET #partial disagreement in that i highly doubt if the 4 day week is implemented it will even be extended to those working for an hourly wage #its gonna be all salaried office workers guaranteed but while that. sucks. i think its still work fighting for #did i just talk myself into disagreeing actually? idk idk