#I mean I'm still very proud of it don't get me wrong

[misc-obeyme]

Hihi can I request a Barbatos and MC with severe depression? Like they have a hard time getting out of bed, showing, and Barbatos helps them if that's okay? Also please take care of yourself! I'm proud of you for taking a break!

Hi, anon! It's definitely okay! I did say in my writing update post that I'm accepting small drabble requests! And thank you, I'm definitely doing much better now! 💕

I used a lot of personal experience for this one, but I've been there and it's hard not to use those feelings when I write. Anyway, I hope it turned out okay!

Barbatos sees the mound of blanket slowly moving up and down with your breathing. It's a relief to see that minuscule movement - an indication that you're still holding on. He sits down on the edge of the bed, knowing that his weight moving the mattress will alert you to his presence. Even so, you don't stir.

He can't see you. The blankets cover most of you. The only thing visible is the top of your head, your hair greasy and in disarray. He knows you haven't showered in days. He knows you haven't left your bed in days except to go to the bathroom. You'll sneak into the kitchen in the night to eat. Sometimes you're awake and scrolling mindlessly through your D.D.D. But mostly you simply sleep. A space of oblivion where you don't have to feel anything when you're feeling everything far too much.

Barbatos reaches out a hand toward you. He hesitates. He knows you're aware of him, that you're awake in that moment, though keeping your eyes closed. He knows you don't want him to see you. He knows that it hurts you to see him. He knows that you don't want to look at him and see pity.

But Barbatos is a master at portraying no emotion aside from the one he very deliberately means to show. All you will see when you look at him is love. Because he will allow nothing else.

Barbatos settles his gloved hand on your back.

He waits.

Eventually you squirm beneath his touch, a subtle indication that you don't want him to be here.

"I will not leave until you speak to me," Barbatos says. He keeps his voice soft, but with a firmness that he hopes will impart to you how serious he is.

You mumble an incomprehensible acquiescence and he takes it.

"Tell me what you need," he says, keeping his tone even and neutral.

There is a long silence.

And then you sit up and look at him. The blanket falls from your shoulders. You have dark circles beneath your eyes and your stare is hollow, but for a tiny spark of surprise.

"You're not going to scold me?" you ask. Your voice is so ragged it nearly breaks his heart.

He reaches out to brush his fingers across your cheek, wishing for the first time that he wasn't wearing his gloves so he could feel you. "You have done nothing wrong, my love."

You bite your lip, hard. He wants to reach out, to pull you to him, to kiss you, to make you stop before you break the skin. But the tears that have formed in your eyes stop him. He's too cautious, still uncertain about what you need in this moment.

He learns his worries are unfounded the moment you collapse into his arms.

Barbatos holds you, rubbing gentle circles on your back as you pretend you aren't crying as hard as you are. You cling to him and the heaviness of your grip feels like solidity to him. Like you aren't slipping away, like you're still his, like maybe he can simply be whatever you need after all. It's all he wants.

So when you've cried yourself out, he asks you again. He asks you to tell him what you need. And you do. And he gives you whatever it is you ask for. It takes some time for you to find your way out of the labyrinth of sadness again. But Barbatos is there to guide you through every turn.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#mmm I just think he would understand #he would take care of you #however you asked him to #if someone simply asked me what I needed #it would have made a world of difference #sorry getting too personal in the tags lol #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me barbatos #om barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #om barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x mc #om barbatos x mc #obey me! #x reader #request #misc writes

[aeviann]

At the Station

reblogs are appreciated~

prints

#this was one of those artworks where I had too many breaks in between the work process #I kinda lost my spark for working on it at one point #I mean I'm still very proud of it don't get me wrong #I have just looked at it too long #I just wanted to draw something high-effort but also very cheesy for them #let those girls be happy istg #vi #caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane #arcane vi #piltover's finest #caitvi #violyn #arcane #arcane netflix #and as always #curse you riot for making me tag my art as #league of legends #lol

[drchucktingle]

Chuck, how do you deal with people who are rude about you and your work? I write queer romance and I want to put my writing out there for people to read, but I'm a very sensitive person and I know it will be hard not to take insults personally and let them affect me. I don't want to let that stop me from expressing myself and sharing my art, but I'm scared!

very good question buckaroo. i am a good example of this as pretty much EVERYONE was rude about my work for many years calling it 'so bad its good' (it is just good) and 'terrible photoshop' (i think it has a great and instantly recognizable style) and 'intentionally stupid premises' (i dont think there is anything stupid about sex being fun and whimsical and playful). even these days the reaction of the VAST majority of buckaroos who discover chuck have this reaction AT FIRST, and then learn to appreciate the tingleverse in a more sincere way over time.

all that is to say BEING DOUBTED HAS WORKED OUT VERY WELL FOR ME. art that changes meaning over time can be very powerful, so if someones initial reaction to my trot is one thing and then it evolves into another thing, well that is just good art. while it can feel bad to get a bad review, i would say a bad review just means you have entered a realm of tension and change and discord and WE ARE TALKIN ABOUT ART BUD so that, in itself, is very exciting.

i think of what i do as 'punk writing', and a big part of that means pushing against preconceived sensibilities. not many other authors will proudly say 'there SHOULD be some spelling errors in my erotic shorts because i wrote it in a day and edited it once. that is the FEELING i want to create', but that is my way. by creating what is in my soul i KNOW i am going to bother some buckaroos and that is okay.

now i am NOT assuming you are also doing punk writing (that is okay of course we all have our own styles. what i am doing with tinglers is pretty rare), but it still stands to remember that there are 7.8 billion people on the planet of this dang timeline and some of them are bound to be bothered by your creations. that is not a problem, that is just part of baring your authentic self.

the other thing to remember is theres no REAL right or wrong in art. it can be analyzed in different ways and i tend to look at it in a way of comparing intention to result, but even THAT is not strictly correct. therefore any bad review of something you make is not actually BAD it is just someones information and feedback for you to take or leave. a one star review is just another opinion, it is no more right or wrong than your own opinion, and that is wonderful. it is freeing.

if i see a bad review of my own book, lets just say CAMP DAMASCUS for instance, i do not get upset because i know this: that reviewer is not wrong. camp damascus is five stars for me, but it is one star for someone else AND THAT IS OK. THAT IS THE WAY IT SHOULD BE. THAT IS GREAT ART. also MAYBE THEY KNOW BETTER THAN I DO. just because i wrote the book does not mean i am the authority on it, and the conversation and tension between those that enjoy something and those that despise it is a creative act. the audience engaging with your work is just your art emerging from its cocoon and saying 'here i am. lets see where i flutter off to now'

do not fear the river of this timeline sweeping away your creations and carrying them where it will. this is inevitable, but it is also beautiful and freeing. you cannot swim against it and that is okay bud, because YOU HAVE ALREADY WON. you have already created something and given a piece of yourself back to this timeline and that is a great honor and privilege. it is literally all there is

by creating ANYTHING you are proving love is real, and that is something to be proud of

#buckaroo lifestyle #art #creation #chuck tingle

[comicaurora]

I'm sorry that the terfs made their way onto your blog but it does feel good to see you support trans people. Thank you for that

Always.

I think, charitably, that the discourse going down on that post is an extrapolation and over-focus on one element of the point I was making: that for me, determining with certainty that I was cis was a rather fraught process. I was presented with many alternatives, but underlying their imposition on me was the oddly regressive idea that the things I liked, the principles I valued, the parts of myself I was proud of were not permitted of women. My whole life I got smacked with the background radiation that I couldn't like being strong because women aren't allowed to be stronger than men. I couldn't like being loud and boistrous because women aren't allowed to take up space. I couldn't be a math geek because women aren't smart. It was all deeply regressive misogyny from day one, but I started getting hit with it slathered in a fresh coat of paint - all those assumptions still held to be true, but now there was the out that I could do all those things if I just wasn't a woman.

Concluding that the underlying bioessentialist premise was wrong was very important. Absolutely none of those statements were true, and were only ever maintained by cultural saturation, goalpost-readjustment when they were actively disproven, and the occasional bout of lying with statistics to pretend they weren't just Shit All The Way Down. The core premise that certain things were only permitted of or possible for men was bullshit, and I didn't need to surrender the gender I liked best in order to play in the spaces I wanted to. I could simply exist the way I was already existing. I didn't need anything else.

The misinterpretation is the assumption that this being true of me means this is everybody's relationship with gender. I turned out to be cis, so for me, feeling that holding onto my assigned gender wasn't allowed was distressing - just another invocation of the same bioessentialist bullshit I'd been dealing with since the preschool playground. This is because misgendering is fundamentally denying that a person has the right to express themself the way they want. When aimed at me, it says I'm not performing traditional femininity well enough to deserve my pronouns. The same disrespect is the root of misgendering when aimed at trans people. "Perform your gender to my satisfaction or I will confiscate it."

The problem is, bioessentialism is 100% ingrained into the terf playbook, which is why, for instance, all their shitty talking points about trans athletes eventually boil down to "no woman can ever defeat a man in any contest because we are simply naturally weak and stupid and there is nothing we can do about it" and quite frankly nothing disgusts me more than the defeatist acceptance of the very lie that feminism is dedicated to overcoming. Instead of accepting that the paradigm of bioessentialism is a false dichotomy right from the jump, they embrace and weaponize it against the people whose existence proves the dichotomy is a lie. If gender essentialism is fundamentally false, then it is nobody's fucking business what anybody does with their gender. If the lines don't exist, nobody needs to enforce them. And yet there the terfs go, hunting down people whose lives are none of their business and trying to argue that they represent some great and terrible evil, some downfall of society made flesh, something that makes it totally correct and normal for them to spend so much time thinking about strangers' genitalia. They want this to be a noble crusade so badly they won't even examine what flag they're flying.

I love and support the trans people in my life and will always, always stand on the side of your right to exist, but alongside that, terf rhetoric especially disgusts and infuriates me because it is, at its heart, utter cowardice. The world told them they were weak and stupid and inferior and they fucking believed it. And now they think Fighting The Good Fight For Women means turning around and using the same paradigmatic weapon that hurt them to hurt the people whose existence outside the binary proves the weapon is a lie. They're the same shithead schoolyard bullies who made me believe my entire existence was foundationally wrong for years of my life and I will never, ever side with them or the shitty, cowardly rhetoric that contributed to the loneliest years of my life.

Figure out who you are and do it on purpose. Find the real source of the misery in your life and try fighting that instead of the other crabs in the bucket. Trans rights.

#asks #not aurora

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 (part one) | neil lewis x reader

title comes from the song you already know by bombay bicycle club

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you've been best friends with neil basically your entire life, and secretly in love with him almost as long. will you ever find the courage to tell him the truth?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 10k

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut, angst, pining/unrequited love - 18+ only

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | alcohol consumption, 'kid' as a petname, reader being kind of a femcel, jonathan being kind of mvp??

Neil had asked you to make sure the Thriller section was alphabetized; sometimes you thought he was just giving you tasks to look busy, but then again, you could probably use it since the employees of Gumshoe Video never looked very busy.  You spent most of the day on the couches, watching whatever old bizarre gem Neil put on— sometimes you thought he only had employees other than himself so that he could pay people to sit here and watch this stuff with him.  

But, the point is, you were sorting tapes.  Because everyone needs their VHS thriller movies to be in perfect alphabetical order.

There actually was a customer in the store, for once, so it was better not to be on the couch anyhow.  You hadn’t really noticed him when he came in, but as he wandered around the shelves, he seemed to drift towards you.  

You tried to ignore him when he stopped right beside you— and kneeling to look at the lowest shelf, he towered over you— but when you stood up he got your attention.  

"Need any help, sweetheart?" he asked, leaning in a little too close.  "I'm kind of a movie buff."

He had a frat guy kind of look about him— polo, boat shoes, quaffed blonde hair.  He could be good-looking, you thought, if he didn’t dress like a discount Abercrombie model… and if he didn’t hit on random women at the video store.  "I actually work here," you corrected, barely looking up from your task.  This is why we need uniforms instead of just dressing up to promote specials…

"Oh, really?" he smirked.  "What made you wanna work in a place like this?"

"My best friend owns the place," you explained, "and I'm, you know… kind of a movie buff."

"Right," he said, not seeming convinced.  "You like Kubrick?"

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost choked: Wow, what a deep cut.  But you kept a straight-ish face when you looked at him.  "Yeah, he's pretty good.  Don't care for how he treats his actors, but he was certainly a visionary."

"What are your top five favorite Kubrick movies?"

You knew this guy was a tool, but you were still a bit shocked that he actually had the gall to quiz you.  "Excuse me?" you scoffed incredulously.

"Can you even name five?" he asked, looking horribly proud of himself, and you straightened up as you glared at him.

"You're heterosexual, right?" you asked him, getting a confused nod.  "Can you name five women you've made come?"

Neil watched the guy storm out, Lucien cringed a bit from behind the register— and Jonathan, not seeming as if he had been paying attention at all, kept laying across the couch and tossing a ball up in the air to catch and throw again.

“Okay, that’s gotta be the third this week,” Lucien groaned.  “What are you saying to these guys?”

“Nothing worse than what they’re saying to me,” you assured with a frustrated, sarcastic smile.

“Listen, don’t get me wrong,” Neil began, “that guy totally deserved it— but maybe, you know… work on your demeanor with customers?”

“Wow,” you scoffed as you crossed your arms, “do you think I should smile more, too?”

“Wha— no!” Neil denied.  

“Yes,” Lucien said at the same time, though he changed his answer with an awkward cough and mumble when you both shot him a look.  “No, no— you’re good— you smile too much, even…”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Neil promised.  “But I think half the guys that come here are just coming here to see you!  Nobody even rents movies anymore.”  He groaned a little, dropping his shoulders defeatedly.  “Can’t you… tell them you’ll go out with them if they rent something?”

“What?!” you squeaked. “No!”

“Sales would double,” Lucien nodded.

“No,” you said again.  “I’m not letting you pimp me out to sell tapes, Neil.”

“I just mean— maybe you don’t really go out with them,” he suggested.  “Just… allude to the fact that you’re only interested in guys who…”

He trailed off as he searched around the shelves for a bit, smiling when he snagged a copy of The Maltese Falcon.

“— in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” he grinned, “you know— for example.  Then they rent it to impress you and we make a few bucks.”

“I am only interested in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” you frowned, snatching the tape away and shoving it back on the shelf.  “But that’s not the point.”

“Maybe you have to be more straightforward, you know,” Jonathan butted in as he sat up, “guys are dumb.”

“Yeah!” Neil agreed a little too easily.

“Just say something about how a massive VHS collection turns you on,” Lucien suggested, and you glared at him.

“Jesus!” you protested, but Neil tried to soothe you a bit.

"C'mon, kid, can't you just… flirt a little?  Get our sales up?"

He'd started calling you kid since you two watched Casablanca together— which was especially stupid as you were both twelve at the time.  At first you complained because he shouldn't be calling you kid with you both being kids; then you complained because neither of you were kids; and then you gave up.  You still punched Lucien for trying to call you that once… you only barely let Neil get away with it anyways.

But you let Neil get away with a lot.  It was a side effect of being secretly, but massively, in love with him.

It had been an issue since middle school— that was when the two of you became such good friends.  Technically, you’d known each other since first grade (where you had shared your crayons, a true test of friendship at the time), and you’d sort of had a crush on him as early as elementary school (mainly because he was the only boy you could stand at the time), but it all kicked into high gear in seventh grade.  That was when you became inseparable, when you got in trouble together, when you stayed up all night watching movies, when you went through all of life’s ups and downs together: you even went to prom together, platonically of course.  

As for your feelings, you’d managed to hide them this long and still be his best friend, even when it sometimes felt like letting him stomp all over your heart without even trying.  Honestly, the only thing harder than being in love with Neil was trying not to be in love with Neil: you adored his sense of humor, his generosity, his sensitivity— and he’d been there for you through the things you couldn’t have imagined surviving alone.  That kinda stuff bonds you to somebody… and when that somebody has the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever seen, it’s hard not to fall in love.

“Maybe I would flirt if I knew how,” you offered.  “But I’m not exactly, you know, flirty.”

“How hard could it be?” Jonathan interjected.  “Just, you know—”

You stared in quiet disbelief as Jonathan attempted to push his chest together with his arms.  It wasn’t quite working, of course, and the rest of you watched on as he fumbled around trying to force some cleavage.  “You look like an idiot,” you finally informed him after letting him do it for a minute.

“But is he wrong?” Lucien wondered.

“So, what, you guys really think that if I just went up to customers and—” you pushed your breasts together with your arms, accentuating them significantly in your tank top.

“That would work,” all three men asserted in unison before you could even finish.

“I fucking hate you guys,” you grumbled under your breath as you walked to the back, deciding to take your break in Neil’s office until these guys got their act together.

You never stayed gone for long, though— as idiotic as they could be, your friends were certainly charming.  They won you back with a promise to let you pick what tape to put on, and the four of you ended up laying on the couches watching Roman Holiday.  

When the movie was almost over, you rested your head on Neil’s shoulder; you guys did stuff like that, it was normal for you, but it always made your heart skip anyways.

~

This time, you were all hanging out at Jonathan’s primary workplace: the club.  In fact, it was a much larger crowd than just you and the guys— plenty of your local friends and loyal supporters of Gumshoe Video, all sitting around a big table while someone’s mediocre cover band took the stage.

"So, uh, me and Denise broke up," Neil said suddenly, going back in for another swig of beer right after.

The others offered their mild shock and half-hearted condolences, but you knew it was going to happen— he'd told you before he did it.  You tried to tell him that paying off a waiter to spill water on her was a weird way to prove what he already knew, but you couldn't disagree with his conclusion.  She was definitely difficult, and shockingly judgemental for someone who managed to date a video store owner for this long.

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” he promised, “I don’t think anybody’s too surprised, right?”

There was an awkward hesitation among the group as they wondered if they should lie, or just fess up now that he was obviously accurate.  You broke the silence to suggest someone go get another round of drinks for the table, and even though that was pretty much a one-man job, nearly everyone agreed and quickly shuffled off— leaving just you, Neil, and Lucien.

“I guess tonight’s your chance to meet somebody new, don’t you think?” Lucien suggested.  “Get over Denise, you know.”

“I think I’m already over Denise,” Neil decided.

“And if I told you that girl back there,” Lucien returned, pointing with the hand still holding his drink, “has been looking over here at you for the past ten minutes?”

You glanced where Lucien was pointing as well, seeing a girl in a denim mini skirt and massive hoop earrings settle her eyes on Neil before looking away quickly with a lip-gloss lacquered smile.

“I think I need some help getting over Denise,” Neil agreed suddenly, patting Lucien on the back before he left the table.  

You wanted to pout, but you were used to this— he was good-looking, he got a lot of attention from women in places like this… it usually didn’t work out for him, though.  Certainly not never, probably more often than most guys, but… definitely not every time.

You tried not to look over too much, you didn’t want to get caught spying or, even worse, looking a little jealous— but you noticed that every time you looked over at them, Neil was talking.  That was his problem, see: he never fucking shuts up.  Guys, girls, anybody who will listen— if you admit to not knowing about his favorite fifty-year-old spaghetti western or the most recent pre-Code horror comedy he watched, he’ll gladly blab to you about it for ages.  The first time you glanced at them, you saw her giving him doe eyes, laughing at something he said— and the last time, those eyes had glazed over and her laugh seemed more nervous and confused; you smirked to yourself.  He’s still Neil…

“So, um,” you struck up a conversation with Lucien, “what about you?  Anybody here catching your eye?”

“That’s actually the perfect descriptor of my type,” he replied.  “Anybody.”

You snorted.  “Then you should go, you know, talk to anybody?”

He shrugged and frowned a bit, and it was a simple movement but you understood completely.

The band started to play a new song, something upbeat and energetic, and you smiled.  “Wanna dance with me?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m drunk enough for that—” Lucien began to protest, but a minute later you were dragging him up by the stage.  Neither of you were actually any good at dancing, mainly you were just kind of jumping and flailing around together, but it was fun and that was the point.

Eventually, more of your friends wandered in to join you; when the song ended, everyone clapped and cheered, the band bowing in gratitude.  You only stole one more look over at Neil and his conversation partner, watching her interrupt his rant with a hand on his shoulder: your throat felt a little dry.  You just hoped what she was saying was more like hey, my friends are leaving, I’ve gotta go and not hey, wanna come over to my place so you can keep explaining German expressionism to me?

Your heart dropped when he reached for her— what if he kissed her now?  What if he wrapped her up under his arm and they walked out together?  What if you had to spend the whole night thinking about him having sex with her?

“Hey, we should ask them if they know any Strokes songs!” Lucien suggested, tugging on your arm to get your attention, but your mind was elsewhere.

“Uh huh, yeah,” you mumbled blankly, and he frowned at you.

“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to look for what you were seeing; but Neil wasn’t reaching for her, he was lifting his hand to wave goodbye as she left.  You beamed, even though you did feel a little bad when you saw Neil’s shoulders sink— it’s not that you wanted him to be alone forever, you were just relieved that you might have a few more moments to breathe before he got with somebody again.

“Nothing, sorry,” you answered Lucien, giving him your attention again.  “What’d you say?”

“We should ask the band if they—”

And immediately, Lucien lost your focus as you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at Neil again— he was already looking at you, seeing you all on the dancefloor.  You waved for him to join you, and he smiled as he made his way towards the stage.  A new song began, even louder than the last, and you could blame that for not hearing Lucien’s question for the second time in a row.

Although he danced with you all for a few moments, Neil draped his arms over your and Lucien’s shoulders, nearly yelling to be heard over the music.

“You guys are coming over tonight for a movie, right?” he presumed.  “Jonathan’s working ‘til late so he’s out, but—”

“Sorry, I’ve gotta be up early,” Lucien explained, “my brother and his wife are visiting, remember?  We’re getting brunch and—”

“Whatever, party pooper,” Neil frowned, before suddenly smiling at you.  “Guess it’s just me and you, huh, kid?”

You tried not to sigh too noticeably through your smile.  “Yeah, me and you…” you agreed.

~

As you groggily blinked your eyes open, you found Neil staring at you, his face uncomfortably close to yours, with a big smile.  “Mornin’, kid,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

You yelped and nearly jumped out of your skin while he laughed.  “Jesus Christ, Neil!” you shouted, kicking off the blanket on you— and then you began to process where you were and why.  “God,” you groaned as you held your head in your hands, while Neil kept laughing at you, “did I fall asleep on the couch again?”

It was sort of a rhetorical question— obviously you had, it would be much stranger if you woke up on the video store couch without having fallen asleep there.  “Yeah,” he said, standing up and sighing a bit, “but you didn’t miss that much of the movie.”

“What happened at the end?” you asked, stretching your legs and snatching the blanket off the floor to fold up; Neil must have put it on you after you dozed off.

“No, we can finish it later,” he decided, walking up to the register, and you groaned.

“Seriously?  Not even falling asleep gets me out of finishing The Man Who Laughs?”

He smiled a little as he started prepping the store for open.  “Nope,” he said proudly, popping his lips on the p sound.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” you assured, getting up and trying to ignore the soreness in your back from sleeping on a ratty old sofa all night— you remembered helping Neil carry this thing from where he found it on the side of the road.  Considering you knew where it came from, it was a wonder you ever sat on it, let alone slept on it… but this happened relatively often.  Sometimes it almost felt like you slept easier here or at Neil’s apartment than your own. 

You stood up and stretched your arms, sparing a glance over at him.

“Can I run home and change?” you asked, and he frowned.  

“We open in ten minutes,” he noticed, “you won’t be back in time.”

“Yes, and who will serve the clamoring crowds that await our open outside?” you rolled your eyes, gesturing out the storefront to the abandoned sidewalk.  “You can handle it on your own.”

“Just go to my place,” he shrugged, “it’s closer.  And I think you left some jeans there anyway.”

Right— you’d borrowed a pair of his sweats to get comfy for a movie night, and forgot to take the jeans back when you left.  You yourself had one of Neil’s short-sleeve button-ups at your place, when you’d both changed there for a costume party, but you let him believe it was just lost… it was too late to tell him now that you had it, ‘cause then he might ask why you kept it so long and then he might, somehow, deduce that you had been cuddling it at night from time to time…

“Right, okay,” you nodded, “but I still need a shirt.”

“Just borrow one of mine,” he said, like it was no big deal at all and didn’t make your heart skip.

For a second you wondered if you should protest— if he was still dating Denise, you probably would’ve said something.  But you decided not to say anything, in case he changed his mind; you nearly bolted out of the store and down the two blocks to his apartment.

Your jeans were on the dresser, draped haphazardly in their same just-peeled-off shape you must have left them in last week.  You grumbled to yourself a little about how he could’ve folded them for you so they wouldn’t be wrinkled… but then again, all his jeans were wrinkled, so he clearly didn’t know any better.

And now the fun part: picking a shirt.  You smiled to yourself as you opened the drawer, perusing through t-shirts with old movie posters and semi-witty slogans… cute, sure, but those were pretty similar to what you already wore.  

But the button-downs?  Those were quintessential Neil, and you'd be wasting an opportunity if you didn't put one of those on.

You felt a little giddy as you opened the next drawer down and found them all folded.  The first one you saw had light blue and white stripes, so you snatched it up and slipped it on.

The fit was definitely off, but you let yourself indulge in a fantasy for a moment: waking up here, in Neil's bed… in Neil's arms.  You'd slip on his shirt while you went to find some breakfast, and he'd hum something about how pretty you look in his clothes, and you'd end up tangled in the sheets again not too much later.  

Sighing to yourself, you buttoned the last button, leaving the two at the top undone so you didn't look too formal, and headed back to the store for opening.

Neil stared at you for a second when you walked in— at the shirt, specifically.  You waited for him to say something, but he didn't.  "What, should I not wear this one?" you asked, looking down at it as well, and he shook his head.

"No, no, it's fine— sorry," he mumbled, "just start sorting out last night's returns, please."

You definitely got a much stronger reaction from Jonathan, as soon as he walked in the door.

(Why was he here when he wasn't even working today?  Who knows— he was just always here somehow.)

“Hey!  You look even more like a lesbian than usual,” Jonathan greeted with a peppy fake-smile as he approached you, and you smirked a bit.

“Don’t blame me, it’s his shirt,” you nodded towards Neil.

“See, I told you you dress like a— wait,” Jonathan stopped mid-insult, looking back at you, then at Neil again, then at you; he pointed his fingers at each of you, crossing them back and forth.  “Did… you two…?”

You narrowed your eyes, waiting for him to explain what he meant.

“Did you guys hook up?!” Jonathan accused, wide-eyed.

You felt your face getting warm, and you stammered out your denial; Neil started waving his hands in disagreement as well, but Jonathan was already on a roll.

“Oh my god!” he yelped.  “The one time I miss movie night here and it gets freaky!  Should’ve known better than to leave you two lovebirds alone—”

“Jonathan, we didn’t—” you choked.

“It’s not— it wasn’t—” Neil butted in.  “She just borrowed my shirt!  ‘Cause she— because—”

“I mean, we’ve kinda all been waiting for this to happen— but I never really thought it would,” Jonathan steamrolled along.  “Well, yeah, I guess I thought it would, I just—”

“Wait wait wait, what?” Neil shook his head, stepping up closer to the two of you.  “What does that mean?”

Finally, he seemed to get Jonathan’s attention, who began to nervously backtrack as both of you stared at him.  “W-well, I just mean—” he started.

“And who’s ‘we all’?” Neil noticed.  “This isn’t just you, thinking this?”

“I… I mean,” Jonathan scoffed, “you know— just, just some people… we thought that maybe… that since you two are so close, that you might—”

“Wow,” Neil chuckled, crossing his arms in disappointment.  “You know, that’s so reductive.  For a bunch of progressive, free-thinking hipsters—” he waved his hands as he said it in a mocking way— “you’re really just, like… like… you know, not!  ‘Cause apparently men and women can’t really be friends?”

“No, come on, not like that,” Jonathan denied, “of course we can—”

“I mean, you’re her friend, you’re both single,” Neil noticed, gesturing between the two of you, “why don’t you two, just, you know… hook up!”

You cringed a little as Jonathan tugged at his collar nervously.  “Well, I—”

“Come on, why not?” Neil went on, smiling at the suggestion even though he was clearly unamused.  “I mean, she’s nice, she’s pretty, she’s got a vagina— why don’t you hit on her?”

“Hey, come on, Neil,” Jonathan sighed, “I’m well aware she’s got a vagina—”

“So what’s the problem?” Neil insisted.  “Clearly you can’t just be friends with someone with a vagina—”

“I would really prefer if we didn’t talk about my vagina anymore,” you mumbled nervously.

“— how come you never hit on her, Jonny?” Neil pressed, backing him into a corner metaphorically— but also somewhat literally, he was leaning in and Jonathan was pressing his back more and more against the shelves.

“You really want me to answer that?” Jonathan replied, almost threatening.  That made you furrow your brow a bit.  It seemed like a rhetorical question, Neil trying to prove a point, but you didn’t expect Jonathan to have a literal answer.

“Yeah, sure,” Neil decided, “enlighten us.”

Neil glanced at you, like you were just as gung-ho about this interrogation, but you were feeling a little sick.  You understood the spirit of Neil’s argument— and technically, you agreed with him— but it still stung to see him so incensed at the suggestion of you two together.  You were trying not to take it personally, it wasn’t like he was disgusted by you or anything… he even said just now that you were pretty, and he’d told you that before, but… it still bothered you a little, for reasons you couldn’t quite describe and that you were sure were illogical.

“I never hit on her,” Jonathan answered, lowering his voice, “because I… I figured it would piss you off.”

That seemed to surprise you both, maybe for different reasons; you bit your lip to suppress a smile.  Did Jonathan really think Neil was that protective over you?  “Why would it piss me off?” Neil wondered, but he sounded a little defensive— defensive in a caught-red-handed sort of way.

“I… I don’t know,” Jonathan shrugged.  “That’s just the vibe I got, okay?  That she’s sorta… off-limits.”

Neil hesitated.  “Well… she’s not,” he decided.  “You’re grown-ups.  Whatever you wanna do is none of my business— as long as you’re not being, you know, creepy or an asshole.”

“Of course,” Jonathan agreed, most of the tension settling as Neil backed up a step.

“Okay, well, ask her out then,” Neil instructed firmly.

“I didn’t say I wanted to!” Jonathan sputtered.

“Neil, Jesus!” you complained simultaneously, and he seemed to relent, shrugging as he walked back to the register.

“Sorry, sorry,” he dismissed, “just letting you know it’s… fine with me!”

You rolled your eyes a bit and looked back at Jonathan.  “Sorry,” you offered him quietly, “he’s… I don’t know.  He gets weird about that.”

“Oh really?” Jonathan scoffed sarcastically.  “Didn’t notice.”

“The real reason you shouldn’t be hitting on me is because we’re coworkers, by the way,” you reminded him.

“Hey, I only work here part-time,” Jonathan noticed, “so I think that means it’s cool as long as we only go out part-time.”

You snorted, but he seemed to get nervous.

“You know I’m kidding, right?” he added quickly, and you nodded with a laugh.

~

"You know, I was thinking— we don't have many events at the store these days,” Neil mumbled around a bite of pretzel, watching you play your turn at Skee Ball.  Normally he would put coins in the machine beside yours and try to beat your score, but the other machine was out of order and you decided to take a relay race approach.  “What if we did, like, I don’t know… maybe a double feature for a couple bucks?”

“Neil, we show movies every night,” you sighed, “and we invite everybody, and ninety-nine percent of the time it’s just some combination of me, you, Jonathan, and Lucien.”

“Yeah, but this time we could do movies that more people like— a little easier to watch,” he suggested, “something that would get new people in the store.”

“New people don’t wanna sit on a musty old couch with strangers,” you reminded him, and he nodded as he chewed and swallowed his next bite.

“You’re right,” he agreed, holding the pretzel out towards you.  “Wanna bite?”

You were trying to get through your skee balls pretty quick, so you just leaned your head over and chomped down on the end of one of the twists while he held it for you.  You hummed in appreciation— it was pretty good, fresher than the last one you guys got here.

Visits to the arcade used to be your thing, back in high school (aside from watching movies, but that was a given).  Then you slowed down with the trips, feeling a little old and out of place surrounded by kids— but the problem was, this place wasn’t filled with kids anymore.  It hadn’t changed much at all since you were both in high school, and that was exactly the issue: it was old, run-down, a bit grimey… kids weren’t coming to arcades anymore anyways, they were all on the Internet apparently.  So, while you and Neil sort of appreciated having the place to yourself, it also broke your heart knowing your old haunt couldn’t hold itself together forever… you two visited not just to recapture some old childhood joys, but to try to do your part to keep the business afloat.  

You pretended to like being here— because you really did want to support the place, and Neil wanted to keep coming back— but it actually made you pretty fucking sad.  Surrounded by all the neon, the noisy pinball machines, the Dig Dug machine that had a fifty-fifty chance of stealing your quarters, the photobooth (you still had some strips from that thing pinned to your wall, some so old that they’d faded from the sunlight that came in your window each day); it all felt sort of eerie now.  You would’ve never known all those years ago how little this place would change, even though you never expected it to— you would’ve never known how little anything would change.  Neil was still by your side, but still so far away… if you could talk to that fourteen-year-old girl now, you would warn her that no amount of time spent running around this place and playing Street Fighter was going to make Neil love her, or you.

But here you were anyways.  “Woo!” you cheered when your final score came through: 50,765.  “Beat that!”

Neil set the pretzel down on the bar-height table (on a pile of napkins, don’t worry, neither of you trusted those tables that much) and brushed the salt off his hands with a scoff.  “Oh please, I can beat that with my eyes closed,” he assured as you crossed your arms.

As he put his quarters in and stepped up to the game, you smiled wide.  “Alright, if you say so.”

You came up behind him and covered his eyes with your hands, making him jump and then laugh.  “What are you doing?”

“Just keeping you honest,” you giggled, holding on tight even when he tried to move his head around so that he could see.  

He did his best, usually struggling to even find where the balls were coming down more than rolling them decently— but after the first three went in the gutter without even scoring, you knew he didn’t stand a chance.  He did score a few times, but when the buzzer went off and he lifted your hands from his eyes, he laughed at the pitiful 1,150 on the board.

“Ohh, that’s too bad,” you winced, “guess you’re just full of it.”

Still holding your hands away from his face, he spun around and twirled under your arms like you were dancing for a moment; it ended with him face-to-face with you, swinging your hands back and forth a bit to force you to twist with him slightly.  “Wanna play Street Fighter next?” he suggested quickly.  “I know I can beat you at that.”

The giddy joy of the moment dropped and shattered; if you thought about it too much, you probably could’ve cried right then.  As pathetic, yet oddly aesthetically pleasing, as it would be to cry in an arcade, you swallowed down the emotion and smiled back at him.  “Yeah, okay,” you agreed.

~

You’d been a little antsy all day— Neil seemed to notice, asking a couple times if you were okay, but you just nodded and shrugged it off.  He had a sense for when you were lying; but that’s the thing, you weren’t lying, really.  You just weren’t sure what to say.  You weren’t sure if you should say anything.  And yet, you felt a little guilty not telling him everything that was going on with you— not just guilty, but plain weird.  Because you usually did tell him everything— except, you know, the thing— but you didn’t know if you should talk about this.  Not that you couldn’t— but should you?

So you were sort of gnawing on your lip most of the day, keeping yourself busy with tallying late fees behind the desk, trying to keep conversation light and meaningless: thankfully, in that regard, Jonathan and Lucien made it pretty easy.

“Okay: fuck, marry, kill,” Jonathan began, “Dracula, the Mummy, and the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”

“Dude, I can’t answer that,” Lucien refused.

“Okay, then Neil, what would you do?” Jonathan changed his target.

“Um, well,” Neil pondered, “I think I’d have to kill Dracula— spare the world from that evil, you know— and I guess I’d marry the Mummy—”

“Freud would like to have a word,” Lucien butted in.

“And I’d fuck the Creature from the Black Lagoon,” he concluded, “out of morbid curiosity.”

You snorted, but didn’t look up from your clipboard.  “You come up with one that Lucien will do,” Jonathan challenged Neil.

“Alright, uhh, let’s see…” Neil stalled as he thought, looking up at the ceiling and stroking his chin dramatically.  “Fuck, marry, kill: Sarah Carter, Ripley, and Trinity from Matrix.”

“Okay, see, that’s a real challenge,” Lucien affirmed.  “If I marry Trinity, do I have to live in the post-apocalyptic wasteland or can she live here?”

“You’d have to live in the Matrix,” Jonathan announced, like it was obvious.

“Hm,” Lucien pondered, “do I know it’s a false reality?  Does she know?”

“She knows, you don’t,” Neil decided.

“Is she gonna tell me?  What if she has another guy on the side in the real world?”

“Okay, you’re overthinking this,” Jonathan groaned.

“And is this the Sarah Carter that’s already had John?  ‘Cause if not, I can’t kill her, or the human revolution stands no chance— but if she has him, I can’t marry her, ‘cause I’m not ready to be a stepfather—”

“You’re useless,” Jonathan informed him flatly.

“Well, it’s easy then,” you offered, still tallying fees on the printed table.  “You fuck Carter, marry Ripley and kill Trinity.”

“Yeah, I guess that works,” Lucien shrugged.

“If you’re so good at this game, you should play,” Jonathan decided.  You looked up from your work for once, finding Lucien looking excited at the idea and Neil looking a little nervous but intrigued.

“I’ve got one for you,” Lucien decided, looking concerningly smug.  “Fuck, marry, kill: the three of us.”

Jonathan let out a giddy ‘ooh’ and Neil raised his eyebrows.  “Oh— I don’t know— that’s too weird,” you shook your head, “it’s different, you’re real—”

“Wait, wait,” Neil interrupted, “now I wanna know.”

You froze for a second, wondering if you should double down on not participating, or if you should tell him the first thing that popped in your head: am I allowed to do all three to you?

Instead, you set the clipboard down and crossed your legs, and the men seemed to straighten up as they prepared for your answer.  “Alright,” you said, looking at them for a lingering moment before sighing.  “I think I’d fuck Jonathan, and then kill myself.”

“Yes,” Jonathan hissed, shaking his fist triumphantly.

“Dude, really?” Lucien snapped at him.  “That didn’t sound like a compliment to me.”

“Don’t care, I stopped listening after ‘fuck Jonathan’,” he replied.  “Alright, Neil, you’re gonna have to make good on that ‘she’s not off-limits’ promise you made to me—”

But Neil wasn’t listening to Jonathan, he was still looking at you.  “Wait— you wouldn’t marry me?” Neil interrupted, putting a hand on the desk and leaning in a bit closer— he looked half-amused and half-offended, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Um…” you started to wonder how to defend yourself from that.  What did he expect you to say?  Yes, I’d marry you, I’ve actually been planning our wedding since junior year.

“Hold on,” Lucien stopped you, “if she fucks you and marries you, that means I’m getting killed!”

“Yeah, so?” Jonathan smirked.

“What, you don’t think I’m marriage material?” Neil laughed… but he didn’t seem like he was really joking, per se.  He didn’t seem serious either, of course, but you decided to take his question seriously since he’d dared to ask it twice.

“Well,” you mumbled, “no.  I don’t.”

Then he seemed a bit more serious, adjusting his posture a bit.  “Why not?”

“I mean… you’re my best friend,” you reminded him, “but… you’re not reliable.”

He nodded, pursing his lips together.

“You’re not ready for marriage,” you continued.  “I mean, I think you’re just as sure of that as I am.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And honestly?  You’re a great friend and all, but… if you were my husband, I don’t think I could really… you know, trust you…”

The silence seemed a little heavy— all the men were sort of frozen for a second, you wondered if you should wave your arm around to make sure time hadn’t stopped.  But they did move, Neil first in fact, as he stopped leaning on the counter and nodded a little.

“I’m just surprised that you didn’t fuck Dracula,” Jonathan said to Neil in an attempt to cut the tension, “considering your massive man-crush on Bela Lugosi.”

“Hey, that reminds me, tonight’s movie is Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla,” Neil announced, apparently shaking off whatever odd energy he’d picked up just before, “you in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jonathan nodded, “should I bring drinks?”

“Uhh, yeah, why not?” Neil agreed. 

“Is a six-pack enough?”

"Uh, maybe…” Neil considered, turning over his shoulder to look at you.  “Kid, how many beers are you gonna want?”

You swallowed nervously.  “Um, I… well, I’m not coming.  I’ve got a date, actually.”

Of course it was just assumed that you would be there; you felt a little guilty admitting you wouldn’t, to the point that you almost considered just skipping said date and staying to avoid the awkwardness.

“Hey, great!” Jonathan said proudly, throwing his arms out wide.

“A date, huh?” Neil noticed, looking happily surprised.  “Sorry, I— I didn’t know— you didn’t say anything—”

“No, it’s cool,” you shook your head, “it’s kind of a last minute thing… you know how they’re showing Rope at the Palace tonight?  I met this, um, this guy the other day and we got to talking, and I asked him if he’d wanna come with me.”

“Rope, wow, that’s a great first date movie,” Neil nodded approvingly, “that sounds perfect.”

“Yeah— he hasn’t seen it, actually,” you admitted, smiling nervously, “so I guess how much he likes it will kinda be a good judge of if he’s worth going out again, right?”

Jonathan nodded approvingly, but Neil seemed skeptical.  "Well, the showing isn't until nine— you can at least hang out until the movie starts, right?"

"I've gotta get home and get changed!" you explained 

"You can't wear that to a date?" Julien wondered.

"No!" you scoffed, looking down at your ripped jeans and Dracula t-shirt.  "Besides, I have this whole plan of what I'm gonna wear— remember when we did Bonnie and Clyde for Halloween?"

Neil was Bonnie and you were Clyde, in fact; he looked shockingly good in that blood-red lipstick, you tried to convince him to wear it again but he insisted it was a one-night-only situation.  

"I figure if I wear my Clyde suit, I'll look kinda like James Stewart!"

"You're doing drag on a first date?" Lucien pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, lighten up, I'm just dressing up for the movie— I'll still, you know, try to look pretty," you assured.  "What, I don't look good in a suit?  'Cause I got a lot of compliments on Halloween—"

"No, hey, go for it," Jonathan decided, "it's festive!"

"I think it's cool," Neil agreed.  "Have fun, alright?  And if he creeps you out or something, call the store number and I'll come get you."

"I'm not really worried about—"

"You know? Just call the store when you get home," Neil decided, "so I'll know you didn't get murdered."

"Dude, chill," you groaned.  "We're going to the movies, not, I don't know… hiking off-trail in the middle of the night."

You never agreed to call, but you did him one better: you ended up coming back to the video store afterwards, a bit over two hours later.  Of course, the guys were still on the couch— apparently the movie was over but they were watching anime (undoubtedly something Jonathan had brought as a palate cleanser after the movie).

They all looked over at you when you came in the front door and the little bell rang; they seemed excited to see you, and presumably to interrogate you about the date.  You sighed, knowing you couldn't have expected anything else, but you'd come here hoping they'd let you watch something with them so you could stop thinking about the date.

“How’d it go, hot stuff?” Jonathan purred, and you rolled your eyes as Lucien wolf-whistled.

“Oh yeah, it was awesome, best first date ever— I’m at his place having sex with him right now,” you frowned as you tossed your purse down onto the couch, and Lucien chuckled while Neil looked a little defeated.  

“Not that great, huh?” Neil noticed.

“Was he a creep?” Jonathan assumed.

“Did he think the movie was bad?” Lucien pressed.

“No, no, he was great,” you sighed, “he loved the movie.  We talked about it for a bit afterwards and he seemed to really understand it.”

“Okay!  That’s good, right?” Jonathan said optimistically.

“Yeah— so good that I asked him when we could do this again,” you recalled, “and he said that he didn’t wanna lead me on and he wasn’t interested in seeing me.”

“What?!” Jonathan yelped, while Neil winced a little.

“He said I was really cool and funny and easy to talk to,” you explained, “but that he didn’t feel any chemistry.”

“Chemistry?” Lucien repeated, confused.

“He means he’s not attracted to me,” you clarified.

“What?” Jonathan scoffed again.  “Why not?”

“I don’t know!” you whined, but you did know.  “I think I’m just, like, friend material.  I’m just ‘one of the guys’, you know?  Not somebody you actually wanna be with.”

“But isn’t that what every guy wants?  To date somebody who’s just ‘one of the guys’?” Lucien noticed, and then paused when everyone gave him an inquisitive look. “That sounded way less gay in my head.  You get what I mean, right?”

“As much as I would love to never let you live that down,” Jonathan smirked, “you’re not wrong— like, a chick who can hang.  That’s the best.”

“Well, here I am!  Hanging!” you snapped.  “Where’s my harem of suitors just desperate to date one of the guys?!”

“I mean, you are wearing a suit…” Neil noticed, getting a little defensive when you groaned and dropped your head back.  “No, no, you look cool!  I mean, you look really great.  I’m not sure what he wasn’t seeing.”

"Maybe he's got a girlfriend!" Jonathan suggested.  "And he was gonna cheat but he chickened out."

"Maybe he's intimidated by strong women," Lucien added, sounding more like he was quoting a Cosmo than actually thinking that.

"Respectfully, guys aren't that complicated," you assured.  "If he wanted me, he would.  He doesn't.  It's not that deep."

Neil looked away when you said that.

"Well, come take a seat on the losers couch," Jonathan offered, but Neil sitting next to him frowned.

"You think I'm a loser?" Neil protested.

"No, I was talking about that couch," Jonathan said as he pointed to the other one which Lucien was on.

"I'm not even offended," Lucien decided, patting the spot next to him.  "I'd rather be a loser with you than a winner with anybody else."

You smiled and plopped down next to him, pulling your legs up on the old sofa and finding the best angle to see the TV from.  "Okay, catch me up," you requested, bracing for the barrage of borderline nonsensical exposition about whatever obscure anime Jonathan was forcing on the group this time.

~

Since the store closed at eight on Tuesdays, you and Neil decided to go out for a late dinner after locking up— the nearest place you usually walked to was a little hole-in-the-wall dishing out Thai fusion, and even though there were open tables inside, you took your paper boxes outside to eat together on a bench.

You each sat up on it with your legs crossed, facing each other, while he poked at his fried rice with his fork and you stirred your noodles with the chopsticks.

“The Palace is still doing their Hitchcock screenings on Sundays,” you recalled, “I think the next one is Rear Window.  We could make Lucien man the store and go see it together?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” he smiled.  “But we gotta sneak in the candy, that place is getting so overpriced…”

“Well, that’s a given,” you laughed.  “When I went on my date there I had Sour Patch Kids in my bag, but I was kinda craving Reese’s by the time the movie started.

"That guy sounded like an ass, by the way," Neil announced with a frown.

"Oh, no, it's fine," you dismissed.  "He was really nice, even when he blew me off, and I… I guess I wasn’t really expecting it to go anywhere, anyways.”

“Really?” Neil scoffed.  “Then why’d you ask him out?”

Just in case.  “I… I guess I’m trying to put myself out there more?”

“Huh?  You’re trying to put out more?” Neil joked.

You rolled your eyes and unfolded your legs to kick him playfully.  “You know what I mean,” you groaned.

“Yeah, yeah,” he admitted, “and I support it.  It’s sort of insane that you’re still single.”

“Wow, thanks for the pep talk,” you rolled your eyes before shoving a thick swirl of spicy-sweet noodles in your mouth.

“No!  I mean, like, I can’t believe you’re single,” he clarified, and you smiled somewhat awkwardly while chewing your mouthful.  “You’re smart and fun and cool and pretty—”

Thanks to the food in your mouth, you didn’t have to worry about coming up with a way to respond to that, so you just shrugged.

“Seriously!” he insisted.  “I mean, guys hit on you at the store— I wish somebody who actually deserved your attention would walk in that place.”

The guy I want is already there every day.  Swallowing, you finally got a chance to talk to him again.  “Thanks,” you sighed, “it’s fine, though.  I mean, I’ve been single this long— I think I’ll survive.”

“Keep waiting for the right one, okay?” he encouraged, and your heart swelled.

“I will,” you promised, sounding more wistful than you meant to.

After a brief lull in the conversation, he cleared his throat and continued.  “Hey, um, while we’re on the topic of Sunday, about the whole fuck-marry-kill thing—”

“I’m sorry,” you offered right away, “I shouldn’t have answered that.  I wasn’t being serious, obviously.”

“No, I wanted to apologize,” he returned, “I shouldn’t have pressed you on your answer.  It was funny.  And it wasn’t like you could say you were gonna kill one of us.”

You snorted.  “Yeah, that one was probably the worst of the three.”

“But I shouldn’t have asked you about what you would’ve done to me,” he shook his head, “I was making it weird.  So, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assured.  “Did you really expect me to say I would marry you?”

“No,” he admitted, “I thought you’d say you’d fuck me, marry Lucien and kill Jonathan.”

“What?” you scoffed, though you were still smiling.  “Why?”

“Well, Lucien would definitely make the best husband of the three of us,” he explained, “and Jonathan was the only one who wouldn’t have gotten butthurt about you saying you’d kill him.  He probably would’ve just asked you to give him a nice send-off, y’know…”

You nodded in agreement, wondering if he was going to address the obviously missing third piece of all this… he sure was staring down into his empty fried rice container with intense focus…

“And, you know, as for me,” he began sort of thinly, “I, um… I guess I just figured, you know, you’re the most comfortable with me.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “obviously, but maybe that would make it worse?  Like, at least with Jonathan, I know that if we ever did hook up or something, it probably wouldn’t mess up our friendship.  ‘Cause we’re friendly and all, but it’s not so serious.  But with you…”

“Uh huh, well, that’s why it’s good it’s just a game,” Neil finished for you, chucking his trash in the nearest can.  “Don’t have to worry about any of that stuff.  Least of all you and I being married.  Talk about a disaster.”

You choked on your throat.  “Yeah.  No kidding…”

“Well, anyways,” he sighed, standing up from the bench and stretching for a moment, “wanna come over and see if the game’s still on?”

“Oh, um, I’m just gonna go back to my place,” you decided, throwing away the last couple bites of your food on account of your suddenly-lost appetite.  “Kinda thinking I should get my sleep schedule in order.”

“That’s good,” he nodded, “I respect that.  Have a good night, then, kid.”

“Yeah, you too,” you breathed, waving as he turned and walked off into the night, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.  

You looked down at your lap, taking a deep breath and shutting your eyes for a second.  Did he have to be so sweet just to cut you down like that?  Could he have even known how it would hurt you to say that?

It’s not even like he was wrong, but you were dying to ask him why he was so sure that you and him together would be so bad.  What was wrong with you that he still couldn’t see you that way?

Not interested in this repetitive thought cycle anymore, and being very familiar with where it leads, you got up and started to walk down the street.  You didn’t turn to go to your apartment, though; you kept going until you heard live music— scratchy, whiny guitars and throbbing bass drums— seeping out of the club.  You just needed to be somewhere familiar that wasn’t the video store or home; and, this place conveniently also had liquor.

You slipped inside— hit by a wave of sound as you entered— and took a seat at the bar, half-listening to the band that was playing, pretending to be focused at all on what was going on in the outside world rather than just spiraling into your own thoughts inside your head.

“Hey,” Jonathan nodded at you from the other side of the bar, and you nodded back.  He instantly started looking for Neil— of course he would— and you deflated a bit.  “You here alone?” he noticed.

“Yeah,” you shrugged.

“Wow,” he smirked, “it’s like when Peter Pan’s shadow escaped.”

You should’ve probably been offended by that, but it wasn’t worth denying— and you were more interested in getting liquored up than justifying that you did, in fact, have a life outside of Neil.

And, actually, Peter Pan was a pretty good way to describe Neil, too.  Fear of commitment, leader of freaks and outcasts, daydreamer… all he needed was some green tights.  “What are you drinking tonight?” Jonathan finally asked.

“What pairs well with feeling completely unattractive and unlovable?” you sighed.

“Well, that would be my drink of choice: whiskey,” he smiled, setting a bottle down in front of you.  “I’ll do a shot with you.”

He poured you both a shot, and you timed it to shoot it back together; he, obviously, took it better with you, and you cringed from the acidic flavor.  "Jesus, people really drink this on purpose?" you grumbled.

"Yeah, give it a few minutes," he assured, "it's gonna numb all those stupid emotions."

"I don't have a few minutes," you sighed, "do you have anything more fast-acting?"

"Yeah— a second shot," he joked, but you nodded in agreement.  "Okay, shit, you're not messing around tonight."

"Nope," you agreed, watching him pour just one shot this time.  "You're not doing it with me?"

"I need to pace myself, I'm here 'til two," he explained.

He slid it to you and you contemplated it for a moment, before forcing yourself to get it down as quickly as possible to avoid the burn.  You still grimaced, but recovered quickly.

"Is it working yet?" he wondered.

"I guess," you answered half-heartedly.

“Well, you could always gush to the bartender about all your problems?” he offered, but you just shrugged it off.  “Come on, you wouldn’t be the first tonight.  And since I know you, I might actually be able to help.”

“I don’t think you can help with this one,” you assured.  “This problem has been going on longer than you’ve ever been around.”

“Oh?” he pressed.  “Let me guess… boy troubles?”

“Isn’t it always?” you scoffed, irritated that he saw through you that quickly— apparently your reputation of being horrible with men preceded you.

“But this is just one boy,” he presumed.  “One boy who… conspicuously isn’t here tonight…”

“Is it that obvious?” you wondered with a whine, dropping your head in your hand.

“Well, if you weren’t having any issues with him, you’d be with him,” Jonathan guessed— and it wasn’t bad logic.

“But, like, does everyone know?” you wondered.  “Does everyone but him know that I’m in love with him?  Oh god, Jonathan, you don’t think he knows, do you?”

“Wait— love?” he repeated, and you swallowed thickly as you realized the whiskey had already gotten you to say too much.  “You… you’re…”

“Okay, so I guess not everyone knows,” you mumbled.

“No, yeah, I think you managed to keep that under wraps,” he assured with a nod, eyes getting wider.  “Sheesh.  No, I had no clue.  Now it’s even weirder that you guys aren’t together.”

“Well, he doesn’t love me,” you explained flatly.

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, god no— I mean, he tells me he loves me,” you corrected, “but he doesn’t mean— we just say that, you know, like at the end of phone calls or when one of us is sad.  It’s not, like… we never meant it that way.”

“Right, okay,” Jonathan nodded as he wiped a glass— the way bartenders do when they’re listening to people— but he didn’t seem to understand entirely.  “So, you’re not his type?”

“I don’t think I know what his type is,” you scoffed.  “I haven’t really noticed a pattern, have you?”

“You’d have to have a few more data points to really draw any connection between them,” Jonathan laughed.

“Yeah, fair,” you smiled, “he’s only had… I don’t know, maybe four girlfriends since I’ve known him?  One in high school, for a month— then Eva, they weren’t even really serious, just dating for a while.  And then, uh—”

“Tanisha,” he remembered.

“Right!  I liked her,” you hummed.

“What happened to her again?” he wondered.

“Got back with her ex,” you recalled.

“Wow, that blows,” Jonathan sighed.  

“She told me before she told him,” you admitted.  “She wanted me to tell him for her, actually, but I… I couldn’t do that to him.  But I came over right after, you know, and we ate ice cream from the tub and watched movies ‘til we fell asleep.”

Jonathan made a sort of face, one you couldn’t quite interpret, and you tilted your head as he seemed to mumble to himself.  

“What?” you wondered.

“Nothing, it’s just… he’s kind of an idiot,” Jonathan decided.  “I don’t think he gets how lucky he is.”

You wrinkled your brows together, laughing a bit.  “What do you mean?”

“Look, I’m not saying he’s, like, legally obligated to fall in love with you just because you guys get along so well,” he clarified, “even if that’s what Neil accused me of thinking— I really do think it’s fine for men and women to just be friends.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m just saying… like, how do you have someone who cares about you that much, and you end up dating fucking Denise for almost a year?!”

“Well, nobody knows how he ended up with Denise,” you coughed.  “That was a fucking disaster.”

“I mean, not to be crass, but, uh,” he stumbled a little over his words, “I’m surprised that you coming over after that breakup didn’t turn into a rebound, at least.”

“After eating that much ice cream?” you laughed.  “That would’ve been awful.”

“But really, though,” he insisted.  “I have a hard time believing the thought didn’t even cross his mind…”

“I can’t really be sure that it didn’t,” you admitted, “I’m just saying, nothing happened.”

“I guess he’s just known you too long to go for it with you,” Jonathan shrugged.

“It’s not just that— you know Neil, he’s kind of an adrenaline junkie,” you rolled your eyes, “or at least he thinks he is.  He wants adventure, I guess— and he always talks about us doing spontaneous stuff but it never happens— and I’m just too familiar.  Too comfortable.”

“Yeah, he does kinda have something against stability,” Jonathan agreed, “do you think it’s a divorced parents thing?”

“I don’t know, I stopped analyzing that a long time ago,” you groaned, “and I told myself I would stop trying to be what I thought he wanted, but I think I keep doing it.”

“Well, I know you know him better than anybody,” Jonathan countered, “but I know guys, and that guy… there’s no way he thinks of you as just a friend.”

“Why do you think that?” 

“Because he was fucking lying when he said it wouldn’t piss him off if we hooked up,” he insisted.

“You really won’t let that go, will you?” you grinned.

“Did you see his face?  He couldn’t get the image out of his head!” Jonathan assured confidently.  “And then that whole ‘fuck marry kill’ thing— he started getting nervous, I think.”

“Nervous about what?”

“That something could really happen with us!”

“You really think he would care?” you frowned.

“I swear to— to Ash Williams,” he decided, “that if I walked into that fucking video store, and told him that you and I did whiskey shots and you came back to my place and we did the horizontal tango, he would beat me to death with the register.”

“You swear on Ash Williams?” you repeated with a smirk, knowing that meant more than swearing on any deity would mean.

“Him and his chainsaw hand,” Jonathan assured, putting a hand over his heart to add to the bit, and you giggled.

“Well, I don’t think Neil can pick up the register,” you decided.

“In that case, you let me know the next time you wanna get back at him for something,” he offered with a wink, and you smiled at him sympathetically.

“I know you’re trying to be nice,” you sighed, “but you don’t have to do that.”

“Hey, come on,” he frowned, “I know you’ve got this I’m insecure I’m a weirdo nobody notices me thing, but you can’t actually think it would be some kind of charity work for me to sleep with you—”

“No, I don’t mean that,” you sighed, “I know I could get laid if I wanted to—”

“But you don’t wanna get laid,” he finished for you, “you wanna be loved.”

You sighed again, even harder.  “Yeah,” you nodded.

“I know,” he agreed.  “And you know I love you, but—”

“But not like that,” you took your turn finishing his sentence.

His only reply was raising the bottle of whiskey with a sideways smile, a silent offer to pour another shot— for both of you this time.

“Yes, please,” you hummed, watching him fill the miniature glasses with a sigh.

part 2

#neil lewis x reader #neil lewis smut #watching the detectives #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #you know... eventually #but you have to get to part two for that lol

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐧 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

things aren't the way you planned coming home with your newborn, but you have eddie there to lean on when things get hard (and an unlimited supply of 'munson-style' hugs). requested here. infatuated dad!eddie x mom!reader, 3k.

cw post partum recovery, reader is suffering from some symptoms of post partum depression

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"You're sure you can manage?" Wayne asks, his voice buzzing down the line.

Eddie peers out of the kitchen into the living room quietly. You're sitting on the sofa in a shape that can't be comfortable considering your recent stitches, the baby on your thighs where you've brought them together, your hands delicately posed on either side of his head. 

"I think so," Eddie says, answering Wayne's questions with honesty. "She's feeling a little better today." 

"It's hard, Eds. You take care of her and call me if you need help, okay? I'm proud of you. Both of you." 

It catches Eddie off guard for a moment. He's done enough crying lately, clearing his throat to say, "Thanks, Wayne. Call me tomorrow." 

"You call me, I don't wanna wake anyone if you're sleeping." 

They say their goodbyes. Eddie leans against the kitchen doorway to spy on you and the baby. Babies cry more than he ever could've imagined despite the warnings, but it's quiet, too. There are moments of peacefulness like this one breaking apart the chaos. 

You're whispering something. Eddie stands very still, wishing the dishwasher would magically silence itself. He strains to hear you. 

"I love you," you say. "Sorry I'm tired, honey. I promise I'll be better. You're so beautiful." 

Eddie bites his cheeks, wondering if his family (his family!) aim to make him cry and little else tonight. He gives himself a look in the mirror magnet on the fridge framed by a We Love Michigan border, rainbows and cute elk surrounding something less pretty. His hair is frizzy but that's nothing new, greasy at the top and dry at the bottom. He scrapes it back into a scrappy bun and wipes the oil from his face with his sleeves. He's in dire need of a shower. 

Resigned, he steps out of the kitchen, new socks slippery on old linoleum before finding stability on the crush of carpet in need of a vacuuming in the living room. You look up and bless him with a smile.

You've had a bad case of the baby blues, though the midwife assured him that was normal, and not to worry unless it continued past the first few weeks. 

Well, Eddie will worry. Any depression you experience breaks his heart, no matter the cause, and no matter how temporary it may be. Just 'cos a cut might heal doesn't mean it didn't hurt when you got it. 

"How do you feel?" he asks cautiously. 

You make a face that he knows precedes a lie. "Don't worry about me." 

He sits on the arm to look down at the baby —his baby, his son— in your hold, your face moving immediately to rest on his thigh. 

"I'm okay, teddy," you say.

"How about you?" he asks the baby, taking his hand gently. 

The baby doesn't open his eyes nor answer the question, well and truly asleep. 

"Do you think Charlie was the right name?" you ask, stroking his small face lightly. 

"If we hate it, we can just call him Wayne." 

Eddie's out of this world lucky that you'd liked the name and loved him enough to name the baby after his uncle. Charlie Wayne Munson, born six pounds and two ounces, the smallest baby they saw all week in Hawkins General. 

"He looks more like a Wayne than a Charlie," you say, rubbing your cheek into Eddie's sweatpants. 

"He's so fucking beautiful," Eddie says, getting his hand behind your shoulders. He gives your back a loving rub, up and down the whole stiff length of it. "Would you relax? Or tell me what's wrong? Please?" 

"Nothing's wrong… Look how perfect he is, I'd be a freak to act like something was wrong," you say, the exhale of your words warming his leg. 

Eddie rubs his hand up with a tad more roughness until the cinch between your shoulders has flattened. 

"You're having a biological reaction," Eddie says, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head. "Don't feel bad about feeling bad, sweetheart. This is a physical thing, that's all it is. You're not a freak for feeling wobbly." 

You relax even more, pad of your thumb swiping Charlie's smooth cheek. 

"Want me to make you feel better?" he asks.

"How?" 

"I'm not sure yet. I was thinking we'd make a list. Starting with a hug, quickly followed by something amazing to eat before Wayne wakes up." 

"Charlie," you correct with a small laugh.

"Is there a nickname for Charlie?" Eddie asks. "What are we gonna call him? Lee?"

"We'll think of something," you promise. 

Eddie isn't worried about it. He figures there's at least five years of nickname time to get one that sticks. For now, he has a list to make and things to do, and the first is making sure you're as well as you can be. He starts with the hug, pulling what you want for dinner from you one soft kiss to your temple at a time. Chicken pot pie? Ramen noodles with a fried egg on top? Sesame chicken? Triple cheeseburgers? 

You can't decide. Eddie chooses breakfast for dinner. It won't take long —he can fry the sausage, eggs, turkey bacon and toast in one pan. 

He keeps the door open to watch you, though nothing is actively wrong. You're deflated now rather than tense, petting and fawning over the baby as much as you can without waking him up.  

"Just as handsome as your dad," you say. 

It's a lovely sentiment but Charlie does not approve. He blinks awake, signified by your saccharine, "Hi, baby boy," followed by ten seconds of awe-filled cooing. Eddie's frying some bread in the pan but dinner can wait, he wants to see the baby with his eyes open again. 

By the time Eddie reaches the couch, he's crying. 

You move him carefully into a rock-a-bye hold and shush him. "It's alright," you say. 

"He sounds like you." 

"What?" you ask between shushes, hand tapping a slow and gentle rhythm into Charlie's swaddle. 

"He sounds like you when he cries," Eddie insists. 

Not your pained screams a few days ago nor your heart wrenching tears when you're feeling at your worst, but your hormonal sobbing. Like when you saw the commercial about the new 'shoplifters exposed' program on CBS that featured an old lady who stole a tangerine from the grocery store and got arrested despite her having alzheimers. She didn't mean to, Eddie, why would they make her cry like that? In fairness, it was a very upsetting commercial, but you cried for four hours, and for days afterward your eyes would well with tears and he'd know exactly what you were thinking of. 

"When you're on your period," he explains. "When you know you wouldn't usually cry." 

"You think so?" you ask. 

"I think the solution is the same, too." 

You nod your agreement. "He's hungry." 

You and Eddie feed the baby with varying levels of success. Charlie doesn't wanna latch even though it's a bottle teat, causing some confusion —is he not hungry? Is he cold? No, sweetheart, he's not cold, he's got two blankets and the thermostat's at 68 Fahrenheit. Maybe he needs a new diaper? You check. His diaper's clean. 

You're looking more and more defeated by the second. Eddie sits beside you to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. Babies are hard to look after, but he knows you'll both grow into it. You're exhausted from nine long months and a turbulent half day stint of pushing and crying and turning the bones in his hands into powder, your hormones are going crazy, and you're having a tough time. This won't be your forever feeling (though if it were to last, Eddie would stay at your side through that, too, that's not a question). 

"You know what else works when you're not feeling good?" Eddie asks, offering his arms. He isn't some muscled herculean shape, but when you hand Charlie over, his arms look strong. Capable. Holding Charlie feels just as perfect as holding you. "A Munson-style cuddle," he finishes, trying to speak to his wailing son in that same bubbly parentese you've started talking in. 

Eddie did a lot of talking to your bump while you were pregnant, but he was usually just trying to make you laugh. There were times where he'd lay with his nose against your hip and his arm under the bump, wondering about moments like this. What was the baby going to look like? What colour would his eyes be? What will it feel like to hold the baby in his arms? 

Charlie feels lighter than Eddie first prophesied. Small. He has eyes like yours rather than eyes like his and he couldn't love it more. 

Eddie takes the bottle when you offer it and sandwiches the baby to his chest. He doesn't want to condescend you, doesn't want to shoo you off, but Charlie's crying around the bottle and you look veritably miserably. 

"Do you wanna go and make sure the food isn't on the turn?" he asks. When he realised the baby wasn't going to go down easy again he put your plates on a baking sheet and put the oven on low to keep it warm. 

You hesitate. "Are you okay?" 

"I don't know. I think so, sweetheart. We're barely a room away, alright?" 

He's called you sweetheart more since the birth of your son than ever before, which is insane; Eddie's called you sweetheart likely twice a day since the day you met. That's a whole lot of sweethearts. 

With the baby's changing mood comes a change in the weather. Eddie pats his little back, a quiet thump thump thump, while rain lashes the closed windows. The baby finally decides he's hungry, and the mood turns from frenetic to ambient almost immediately. 

"You make sure you eat if you're hungry!" Eddie calls to you. 

"Are you sure?" 

"I think…" He drifts off, distracted by Charlie's long eyelashes, the way they skim under his eyes and the tiny noises he makes as he suckles. "Aw, baby," he murmurs, "good job. I knew you were hungry. You sounded just like your mom." He can't help grinning. Eddie is really talking to his kid right now, his real life baby. "You made her super emotional, but you're her whole world now. You're mine, too, obviously, but I'm cooler than this." He sighs. "No. I'm not. This is the coolest thing ever." 

"What do you think?" you ask softly. 

Eddie looks up. You're standing at the door, staring at them like they're made of sparkling diamond, every inch precious. 

"Right. I think that we're gonna have to start eating when we can. Wayne never had a baby, but he said I was bad enough as a teenager, and Steve said he's lucky if he gets to eat a hot meal some days." 

"Steve does have three," you say, frowning. "We really can't eat together anymore?" 

You ask like you're less bothered than you are. Like a gimmicky Oh, man. Eddie knows it hides a real worry, and right now he's trying to give you the world on a silver platter, so he dots a little kiss on Charlie's head and says warmly into his skin, "No, that's not true. You're going to be such a good kid, me and mom will be eating together all the time. Isn't that right?" 

Eddie looks at you with his head still tilted down. "I wanna eat together, okay? Everything's changing, but dinner doesn't have to. I just wanted you to eat 'cos you left half of your waffles at breakfast." 

"I can wait." 

"Then let's wait. You wanna come and hold him?" 

"No, he's settled. I don't wanna mess it up again." 

"You didn't," Eddie says, firm and sweet at once. "Sweetheart, come here. You didn't mess up, okay? I'm serious, come and sit with me." 

You hesitate in the way. You're still unsteady on your feet despite the few days you've had to recuperate. Though your hair is cleaner than his it certainly isn't clean, nor are the clothes you've pulled on. Eddie read up and asked around on what would be comfiest for you, debating nightgowns and silk pyjamas at length, but all you've wanted to wear is a hoodie you've had since you were a teenager and a pair of sweatpants with fraying cuffs. He loves it —you look like an adorable dork. 

Your stomach visibly churns. Eddie thinks you might chuck up, is already pulling the baby to his chest to place in the bassinet when you take a short, quiet gasp for air. 

"Sorry, I don't know why I feel so on and off. I know it's just hormones. I promise I feel happy– I feel happy–" You gesture an open palm toward him. "He's gorgeous, Eds, he's everything I wanted and so much more, I just– I just feel like crying and I don't know why," you confess, blinking to suppress tears, shifting your weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. 

Eddie detests seeing you this uneasy, and he swoops in to correct it. 

"Come here," he says again, no hands free to hold out to you. He hopes his voice is inviting enough. 

You shrink into yourself. "I'm being weird." 

"I like when you're weird. I kind of love it. I don't think we'd be in the mess if I didn't love it." 

"It's a mess?" you ask. 

"It's perfect." 

You finally smile, creeping around the bassinet and the needlessly baby proofed coffee table to sit on the edge of the couch with him. Charlie makes a sound in the back of his throat. 

"Hear that? He knows you're here," Eddie murmurs, making room for you hopefully. 

You sidle up to his thigh and lean on his arm, careful not to knock his elbow. You watch Charlie drink his bottle for as long as there's milk left, two ounces knocked back like it's nothing. 

Eddie eases the teat from Charlie's lips carefully. With care but a clumsy imprecise manoeuvre, he lays Charlie down in the bassinet. He has a lot of hair for such a small baby, enough to stroke back from his forehead, soft under Eddie's fingertips. 

"He's really, really beautiful," Eddie says quietly. 

"I know," you say, an anxious hand on your cheek. "I can't believe something as good as him could come from someone like me." 

Eddie stands between your legs, resting a loving hand at the slope of your shoulder. "Why would you ever think something like that?" he asks, his voice as soft as it's ever been, but with a smile in case you don't want to talk about it any more. 

"He's… I'm just not…" 

Eddie gives you time. You've needed it ever since you went into labour, time to piece things together.

"I really thought I was ready," you say, looking up at him with a pinch between your eyebrows.

He brings his hand up to cup your face. You don't lean into it. "Alright, I'm going to talk for a little while, 'n' I know you won't agree with everything I'm saying but I need you to know that this is how I really feel, yeah? Buckle up." Eddie bends down, unafraid of embarrassing himself because it's you. "I know you think these feelings are your fault… that this is some failing, like you're–" He drops his voice to a whisper, "Like you're being a bad mom already, but it's not the truth." 

You startle at being read so easily. "Eds," you mumble. 

"We knew this might be how you felt afterward, the midwife talked and talked about baby blues and you said–" 

"I said I couldn't understand how I'd ever feel sad once he was born," you say, looking at his neck rather than his face. 

"And that's fine, you know? You're not a bad person for thinking it would be perfect and then changing your mind." 

"But he is perfect," you say. 

Eddie rubs your cheek. "He's perfect, but this is hard. Being a new mom with your stitches and your aching tummy and all the gross fluids–" 

You laugh through a groan, pressing your eye into his hand.

He leaps to keep it going. "This isn't how you expected to feel, but that's okay. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Cry if you feel like crying and don't feel fucking guilty about it, this sucks. You had to do the world's most tumultuous campaign for the last nine months and suddenly you're standing at the start of a new one that takes up, like, a gazillion pages with half health and an equally useless companion." 

Your lips press into a thin line, but your eyes are soft and bright despite their obvious fatigue. You bracelet his wrist with your fingers and push his hand further into your cheek. 

"My dork," you murmur. 

"You understand it, don't you? Makes you an even bigger dork."

You nudge your nose into his palm. "I understand. Thank you, honey." 

Eddie's not done. "You said you don't know how something good like him could come from someone like you? I don't think bad was a possibility." 

Your second thank you is better. The first wasn't inauthentic, but this one sounds as though you genuinely believe him. Eddie bows down into a crouch to wrap his arms around you, the majority of his weight on your shoulders and avoiding your sore lower region, and the entirety of his love pressed to your cheek, a long, mindless kiss. 

"I love you," you say. 

Eddie tucks his head against yours, ignoring his protesting knees. "I love you, too." 

Your food turns to dry mulch by the time you remember it in the oven. You're too distracted by Eddie's hug, his offering for a shoulder massage, and the subsequent second hug that ensues, your back to his chest, dozing in the sanctuary of his arms. Munson-style cuddles are his expertise.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you for reading!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4

[woso-dreamzzz]

Proud II

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Summary: The London Derby against Chelsea

Something was wrong.

Something was desperately wrong.

But you couldn't tell what it was.

All you knew was pain as you laid face-first in the grass. Pain in your head. Pain in your body. Pain in your foot.

"Shit, shit," You heard above you," Oh, babygirl, I'm so sorry."

You knew that voice. You knew that voice very well.

You sobbed into the grass.

Another voice appeared at your side. Hands clutched at your shoulders.

"Hey, kid," Leah said softly," We're going to roll you over, okay?"

"No," You sobbed," No. No, please."

"I'm sorry, kiddo," Leah said," But we need to do this. I'll be so gentle."

You were turned until you looked up at the sky, the summer sun blaring down on you. Pain radiated through your body. You could see Leah and Beth looking down at you.

You turned your head to look at the defender that had taken you down.

Morsa.

"Oh, babygirl," She said," I'm so sor-"

"You need to back up, Eriksson." Katie came barrelling out of nowhere, shoving your Morsa away forcefully.

Morsa shoved her back. "That's my kid. Don't tell me what to do."

"Your kid that you just fouled!" Katie spat back.

Their conversation was drowned out as Momma approached, crouching down next to you.

"Hurts, Momma," You said, clutching at your ankle," Bad."

"I know," Momma said," I know, baby. Just wait a minute, for me. We're gonna get help."

Her tone was soft and soothing and you wiggled yourself closer until you could press your forehead against where her knee was resting on the ground.

"So bad, Momma," You said, tears choking you," So, so bad."

"I know, I know," Momma repeated. She pulled you closer into her. "It's okay. It's all going to be okay."

But she didn't sound too sure, not when you were sobbing into her like a baby and Morsa was being shown a red by the ref.

A gut-wrenching scream escaped you as the medics moved your ankle. You tried to pull away but couldn't with the way you were being cradled by Momma.

"She needs to come off," You heard the medic say," We need to check her ankle properly."

"Okay, okay." Momma nodded. "Hey, baby, we're gonna get up, alright? You've got to come off."

You could do nothing as Momma wrapped an arm around one shoulder and Leah took your other. You hobbled, your ankle feeling excruciatingly painful, to the side lines with the last bit of dignity you had left.

Morsa approached slowly, reaching for you. "Baby-"

"Go away." You turned so you didn't have to look at her.

"y/n, I-"

"I won't say it again." You flinched when she reached out for you, hand resting on your shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fix my ankle," You spat back bitterly," Fuck!"

Normally, Morsa would tell you off for such language but she didn't. She didn't leave either, just sat with you as the medics flexed your foot. She stayed at your side even as you ordered her away, tears still running down your cheeks as anger boiled in your blood.

The anger pumped through your system as a boot was fitted to your foot and you were given a pair of crutches.

Soon enough, it was just you sitting half inside the tunnel with your Morsa by your side. She still had her hand on your shoulder so you shoved it off, glaring ahead as Beth snuck in around Millie Bright and scored.

"You can't ignore me forever. I'm sorry, babygirl. I don't even know what I was thinking."

Stubbornly, you ignored her.

"I said I was sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. Honestly, babygirl, I'm so, so sorry."

You kept ignoring her.

"y/n, seriously. You can't ignore me."

"What do you want me to say?!" You whirled on her, the tears you were trying to keep at bay spilling down your cheeks. "You've fucked up my ankle! I'm in a boot!"

"I was doing my job. None of it was personal."

"Of course it was personal! Everything that you do on that pitch to me is personal!" You took a deep breath, clenched fists shaking from where they were resting on your thighs. "You got a red card for it. My ankle's fucked."

"I know," Morsa said softly. She didn't try to touch you again. "I know, babygirl."

Her voice was quiet, meant just for the two of you despite the amount of phone cameras pointed in your direction, sitting in the tunnel together.

"It hurts, Morsa." Your voice came out choked as your throat closed up. "It hurts so much."

"I know," Morsa said again, allowing you to make the first move, leaning into her and hiding your face in her neck," I know and I'm so sorry. I acted in a way that I shouldn't have and I'm so sorry."

The echoing of approaching football boots surrounded you and suddenly Momma was stood in front of you.

She glared down at Morsa, who shrunk down under the weight of her stare.

"That was stupid," She said coldly," And reckless. And completely irresponsible, Magda! To foul her is one thing. That's expected. To wipe her out like that? Unacceptable! Look at her! She's wearing a boot."

"I've already apologised."

"That's not good enough! She's in a boot! She'll need to be on painkillers! Need to go to rehab! Sorry doesn't cut it! You're going to be grovelling for days, Magdalena Lilly Eriksson! I can promise you that!"

It wasn't often that Momma got mad at Morsa but this was clearly one of those times. She pulled you up and away, tucking you into her side and walking off, guiding you on your crutches further into her body.

"Morsa's going to walk home tonight," She informed you," And we're going to get a takeaway. What do you want?"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Look, This is gonna be one of those things that sounds bad until you read the whole story. Please don't read the title and go to 'yta' without reading.

AITA for yelling at our friend that my brother isn't trans?

Look, My brother ISNT trans. He likes to wear kilts and sew, Which is what kind of started all of this. My brother is NOT trans, He loves being a boy (trust me, I can hear him enjoying being a boy in his room all the time. Theres no way he'd wanna chop it off(I mean this as a joke I don't actually know how the surgery works), He's told me multiple times that being told by others what he likes is 'feminine' and 'girly' upsets him because he's proud of being a boy and doesn't like being called a girl. Its not because he hates girls or thinks less of them, He just does not like being called the wrong gender which I'm sure you want to be called the correct gender too.)

Anyways lets begin. I (16F) am my little brothers (15M) best friend, Basically. We grew up together and do everything together, Including sewing. I liked it when I was younger, And eventually convinced him to try it as well. He loved it, And we love just sitting together and making random crap we usually end up selling at our yearly garage sale. (Our mom makes us sell all our unneeded crap every year, But we aren't complaining when we make like $100 for it, Mom and dad even help us figure out what we actually wanna keep (we sometimes see old things and go 'Oh I could never get rid of this' and then throw it away))

Sorry for the rambling, But you'll see why some of this is important to know.

Basically, We were getting our shit together for the garage sale, And invited over a mutual friend of ours, Who I'll call uhhh Ley (16F). Shes kind of obsessed with the LGBTQ and loves to help people 'realize' they're gay or trans or non-binary. By this I mean she'll literally bully people she 'knows' is gay or trans by always telling them they are and spreading rumors about them saying they are. The way she 'knows' these things are from gut feelings. I thought maybe she needed friends who would be honest with her and tell her gently that it needed to stop. She stopped being so bad with it and we even convinced her to admit to the rumors she started being fake. We've known her for around 3 years now, And she's stopped doing it as aggressively for 2 of those years. She still makes jabs and 'jokes' saying things like "Oh thats so girly, Are you sure you're not trans?" and "Oh thats such a boy thing to do, Are you a lesbian?", Both quotes she's said to me and my brother less than a week ago. I am straight and cis, So is my brother. We have nothing against the lgbt, We just aren't apart of it. We support the lgbtq as much as possible (with my part time job I like to donate some of my paycheck towards point of pride so people who need the surgeries or binders can get them), And are very open about supporting them.

While we were cleaning out my brothers room and finding stuff to throw into the 'sell' box (we like to do precleaning before our parents help us, It makes everything faster and less work on the people trying to help), And Ley found my brothers kilt. She did a long exaggerated gasp, Looking at my brother.

"So, How long have you been trans? Why didn't you tell me?? I knew it the whole time!"

My brother tried to explain that it was a kilt for men, And he wasn't trans, But she kept interrupting him saying crap like 'you don't have to lie I know now' and 'Its nothing to be embarrassed about, I knew ever since you started to sew'. The last straw for me was when she continued not listening to him and started to ask about how he was gonna come out as school. I yelled at her to get out, That neither of us were gay, Neither of us are trans, And neither of us are apart of any of the lgbtq. We are allies and nothing more. She tried to argue that he had a 'skirt' which OBVIOUSLY meant he was trans, I basically screamed at her that she was a stupid know it all who made everyone who wasn't apart of the lgbtq's life hell because she made sure everyone knew them as someone they arent (I know, I shouldn't of brought up 2 years in the past) and that I was tired of her trying to force everyone to be in the LGBTQ when its just not realistic. Not everyone is gay or trans, Some people are cis and straight. She started crying and left, We haven't spoken in a few days but I think I'm justified. I'm tired of living my life being told I'm something I'm not, I'm tired of seeing it happen to my brother too.

My brother later thanked me for standing up for him, Telling me it made him really upset when she said those things. To cheer him up we watched his favorite movies and I made him his favorite dinner (mom and dad both work day jobs so we both make lunch and dinner)

And for those who are gonna say that allies are apart of the LGBTQ I strongly believe the A is for aro/ace. Being an ally isn't a gender or sexuality

(unless people identify using ally/allyself of course or whatever it is, I'm not quite sure how neos work or whatever but I love to see how creative people get with it and am happy it gives people who don't identify with any of the normalized(? Idk the correct term but yknow the man woman and nb) genders a chance to be who they actually are)

Extra info on why I think I could be the asshole: I feel like we might've been able to explain it if we got her to shut up for a minute, But she kept talking over us. I feel like I went too far by insulting her, And I feel like I might be TA because she's also autistic (so is my brother though, And I have ADHD).

Why I think I'm NTA: My brother is really quiet and doesn't really defend himself often. He doesn't really know how to stand up for himself and is 'easy' to talk over (soft spoken, Quiet talking voice and nonconfrontational) which is why I believe I had to step in in his place, And I don't believe I did anything wrong defending my brother and making her stop calling him what hes not.

Anyways. AITA for yelling at our friend that my brother isn't trans?

To see later: PINK PANTHER

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[happiest-hotch]

Mother's Day

Summary: Jack has a very important, surprise gift to give you on a special holiday for your inaugural celebrations together

Paring: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader (Fluff)

WC: 1.4k

Whenever he can, Aaron leaves work early to get Jack. Thankfully, with Strauss's return, he's not still stuck doing two jobs, so he finishes his work in time to get Jack from school. You also love when he has days like that because it means he'll cook something delicious and homemade, maybe even dessert if Jack has anything to say about it.

Jack gets into the car like any other day, but what he says isn't the typical comment about his day or request for an afternoon activity. "Did you know it's Mother's Day this weekend?" Jack asks.

Aaron's heart clenches in his chest. Mother's Days, birthdays, Christmases, and the anniversary of Haley's death are all especially hard days for Jack, and Aaron tries his best to support his son. "Do you want to talk about mom?" He asks softly as he drives. Since Jack doesn't remember a lot of it, Aaron fills in the blanks and answers the questions.

"No, I might want to talk to her tonight, but I want to get a present," Jack explains.

Aaron frowns a little but accepts it. "We can do that. What do you want to get her?"

Jack's thinking face looks like his dad's, something you were the first to point out to Aaron. "I don't know." He admits. "You always get roses for Y/n so maybe I can get her flowers?"

That really throws Aaron, and it rapidly occurs to him that he and Jack aren't talking about the same person. "You want to get a present for Y/n?" He clarifies.

Jack shifts uncomfortably in his car seat, clearly nervous at his father's reaction. "I'm sorry. Is that wrong?"

Aaron can't shake his head fast enough. "No. No, of course not, buddy." He assures his son, reaching back with one hand to touch the boy's foot for extra reassurance. "I think she'd really like that. What made you think you want to get something for her?" He tries to ask it in a non-judgemental, casual tone.

"Well, in class, we were all talking about what we love about our moms, and a lot of the things that my friends were talking about are things that Y/n does for me." He explains, and Aaron feels his heart clench in the best way that time while he bites down a wide smile. "Mom is still my mom, and I'm not forgetting how she used to do those things for me, but Y/n is there for me too."

Aaron notices what he's emphasizing, and he's immensely proud of Jack for being able to express those feelings, understanding that appreciating his mom and recognizing your role in his life aren't mutually exclusive.

Then he's thinking about you as he absorbs the confession. And how lucky he is to have you. You have been a constant source of support and love, a beacon of hope and stability in the wake of their family tragedy, never anything but good to them. He feels so much joy and a tiny bit of sadness. He knows Haley would have loved you and appreciated how much you care for Jack, but he wishes she was there to see it.

He's choked up as he goes to speak. "Jack, that's very sweet of you, and I think, no, I know, Y/n feels the same way about you. She thinks you're the most amazing kid ever."

Jack smiles softly. "She does? Really?"

Aaron can't nod fast enough. "Yes, she always tells me how great she thinks you are."

"So we can get her a gift for her?" Jack confirms, looking hopeful.

"Absolutely." Aaron agrees, taking a right turn to the mall rather than a left to their home. "Whatever you want."

~

It's been such a long week of work and Saturday mornings are Jack's soccer games, so as soon as your Saturday movie night is over, you're fast asleep next to Aaron.

Like usual, he stirs beside you first on Sunday morning, but when you go to get up with him, he softly whispers for you to go back to sleep and that's very easy to do.

When you next wake up, the sun is creeping through the blinds at a different angle, signaling that you slept in for longer than you usually would.

There's a soft knock at the bedroom door before you can properly wake up and get out of bed, and you softly call out for who you expect to be Jack to come in.

You're right in your guess that it's Jack, who quickly jumps up onto the bed with you, followed by his father who has a breakfast tray with a big vase of flowers on it accompanying a delicious-looking plate of French toast.

"Wow, you've both been busy this morning." You mumble sleepily as you sit up to hug Jack who's jumping into your arms.

"Happy Mother's Day!" He cheers joyfully, and you're taken off guard by the greeting, completely shocked.

Your eyes dart to Aaron's to make sure you heard Jack correctly, and his wide smile confirms you have. He's looking between you both with so much love and tenderness, his heart so full it feels like it's bursting.

Your eyes fill with tears as you realize the enormity of what he's just said. "Thank you, Jack." You squeeze him even tighter in a hug, not wanting him to slip away from this perfect moment.

He pulls back and smiles at you before turning back to his dad. "Can we give it to her?" He asks.

"Sure, bud." Aaron agrees, setting the tray down over the top of your legs. He sits near the foot of the bed while Jack snuggles into your side.

Jack reaches forward to pick up the little box next to the breakfast. "Here." He hands it to you. "Happy Mother's Day. Thank you for caring so much about me."

You kiss his forehead, holding him tighter to his side as you gladly accept his thoughtful and unexpected gift. "You're very welcome. I love you, Jackers."

Whatever he has for you has to be jewelry from the small, flat shape of the box and the designer jewelry stamp. You open it up, and your heart melts more, if it were possible. What's inside is a gorgeous gold bracelet with a flat, circular charm, engraved with the letter J.

Jack touches it as your finger does. "It's a J for Jack."

You nod so you don't start crying too much. You're so overwhelmed by gratitude and happiness that you can't help but let one tear slip out.

"Thank you." You finally get the words out. "It's perfect and I love it so much. I'm going to wear it every day, so you're always with me."

Jack's grinning a proud grin, clearly proud of himself for picking it out. Aaron had told him how much you would love it, but seeing it confirms it for him. "I think it'll look beautiful on you." He tells you adorably.

You chuckle a little. "You're a sweet talker just like your dad, you know?"

Aaron laughs next to you, but Jack's confused at what your compliment means, and his attention is drawn elsewhere. "Daddy and I made French toast for me as well. Oh, and I got you flowers."

It's a gorgeous bunch of flowers, beautiful colors, and lovely smells. "Thank you so much. Both of you." You repeat to them, making sure they're feeling the reciprocated love you're feeling.

"You're welcome," Jack says politely.

Aaron leans over to kiss your forehead. "I love you." He whispers.

You whisper it back before looking back at your breakfast plate. "There's a lot of French toast here, so I might need some help eating it." You say suspiciously, looking between Jack and Aaron.

Jack's eyes light up like he's been waiting for you to offer him some of it, and you can't blame him, it looks and smells like restaurant quality and you know breakfast foods are Aaron's strong suit cooking-wise.

"I am kind of hungry." Jack agrees, smirking at you softly.

"Eat up then, bud." You say, offering him the first spoonful. "We've got lots of fun stuff to do today."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds fic #criminal minds family

[munivrse]

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Too close

closeted bada, bf-to-ex howl, secret gf y/n.

c/w: angst. angry howl, homophobia, minor and very, very minor physical harm done to bada. closeted bada, out and proud reader. its alooooot of angst. some comfort at the end though so don't worry!

a/n: the characters depicted are not related nor based off of their personalities in real life. this is purely fiction. also shout out to @wrosie-writes. they wanted to see anti howl fic. they ask, they shall receive. enjoy!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"are you okay?"

bada hears howl, but she's more concerned with the contents on her phone than she is with him.

"i'm fine." bada tries to make it sound as believable as possible.

“i don’t get you.” howl glares at her, eyes boring into the back of her head.

“...what are you talking about?”

“you and y/n. you’re just really close with her. you confide in her, you trust her. it kind of pisses me off if i’m being honest.”

bada moves her focus from the tv to howl who stands behind the couch she sits on. she looks at him incredulously. why is he bringing this up now?

“what prompted this?”

“you. i know you’re texting her right now.”

bada challenges him, “and if i am?”

howl rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. he was so fucking fed up with you. every chance you got, you were with howl and bada. howl felt like you were intruding all the time, meanwhile, bada told you to not be a stranger. he was angry.

“i want you to stop talking to her.”

bada fully turns around and blinks up at him, “what?”

howl’s eyes narrow, “you heard me. stop talking to her.”

bada shakes her head, “i shouldn’t have to choose. don’t make me choose.”

howl stands firm and bada almost caves. a part of her loves howl. another part of her loves you, deeply.

bada stands up and tries to walk around him. what the fuck was she supposed to do? why was he putting her in this impossible position?

“lets go to bed and talk about this in the morning. please.”

bada continues walking towards their shared bedroom but howl stops her. he grabs hold of her wrist and pulls, “don’t walk away from me. you’re avoiding this.”

she wrenches her hand out of his grip and rubs at her wrist. he’d never done that before and it hurt. it hurt.

“i just don’t want to talk about it right now.”

howl frowns and tries to grab at her again but bada dodges his advancement toward her. she shifts to the other side of the island in their kitchen.

“i dont like this.”

she felt scared. small.

howl raises his voice, “you know what i don’t like? watching my girlfriend be mentally intimate with another person. you’re not even fucking her, you just care too much about her. you pour yourself into her instead of me. god, bada, we havent had sex in weeks! you barely let me hold your hand. Is it y/n? is she forcing you to do something you don’t want to do?”

bada’s jaw drops momentarily. but her shock is replaced with anger and frustration. distress and confusion. “what did you mean by that last part?” she leans forward and places her hands on the surface in front of her.

“you heard me. i know y/n likes women. is she coming on to you? you know i don’t like that and i can make her stop if you want me to. just say the words.”

bada shakes her head, confusion still drawn on her face, “you can make her stop? how? and what do you think it is that she could possibly be doing? what’s so wrong with her liking women?”

howl puts his head in his hands. he couldn’t believe how dense bada was acting. it’s like she didnt understand that-

“i don’t like that about her. you know that doesn’t sit right with me. i can take care of it. of her.”

fear pools in the bottom of bada’s stomach. she gets nauseous and thinks carefully about her next words as they mean alot for your own personal safety. she did not want to compromise that. she… she did not want to compromise herself either. she tries to act passive and pulls out her phone. she sends you a quick “sos” and sets her phone on the counter.

“you don’t need to take care of anything. stop worrying about it. about me. about her. everything is fine. i’m tired baby, can we please just let this go for the night?”

she glances down as she sees the texts coming in from you.

are you okay?

please answer me.

are you at howls?

its late, i need to know if you’re safe

i see your location, i’m on the way

*y/n has shared their location with you*

i’ll be there in 10 minutes. if it’s howl messing with you again, i swear to god i’ll take that fucker out tonight.

howl rounds the corner of the island and takes steady strides to bada and she stumbles back, praying that you show up sooner rather than later.

“you don’t see how she’s fucking with your head? she doesn’t love you like i do, bada.” howl reaches a hand up to bada’s face.

bada shakes in fear, its creeping up her spine and she can feel his breath on her face. he’s too close.

he’s too brave.

bada takes his hand in hers and places it back down by his side,

“you don’t love me howl. I’m something for you to show off like a trophy to your friends. I have no real meaning to you. you dress me up and make me out to be whoever you want me to be, but i’m not her. I’m not the girl you want me to be so desperately.”

bada straightens up for the first time in a couple months and she laughs as she realizes - her and howl stand at the same height. it makes her chuckle in his face. she advances towards him instead and now, the tables turn. howl looks almost… disturbed? shocked? he’d never seen bada be so… firm. so confident.

“y/n lets me be myself. fully. she accepts every part of me without question. her love is unconditional with no limit. no ceiling. there are no dealbreakers- she just loves me. howl i cant even wear sweatshirts around you without you saying i’m not being feminine enough. i’m not pretty enough. but y/n? it doesn’t matter what the fuck i have on because its me. and she loves me regardless.”

bada’s phone dings again and as she looks down at it, its you.

i’m parked, i’m in the elevator going to your floor now

bada walks around howl to their bedroom, he follows.

“where do you think you’re going?” howl crosses his arms.

bada grabs her emergency bag, only needing a couple items since you already had half of her wardrobe at your apartment. “i’m going out. i’m not sure when i’ll be back.”

she exits the bedroom and makes her way to the door,

“and let me just tell you this, howl. If it came between you and y/n, i will always choose y/n. without question.”

and as if on cue, the doorbell rings. bada swings the door open to reveal you in a pair of sweatpants and one of her sweatshirts draped on your body. bada tries her best to shield howl from your sight and exit as swiftly as she possibly can given the situation, but howl grabs her arm and yanks. you hear bada hiss, and as soon as you lay eyes on howl, you feel rage encompass your entire being. you step into the door and remove his hand from her arm, pulling bada from out of the door frame and behind you.

“how dare you lay your fucking hands on her? are you kidding me?” you take a step forward but bada pulls you back and intertwines her hand with your own, “let’s go y/n. please”

howl’s body is slumped, insecurity swallowing him whole. you can't help but laugh at him. he was such a fucking idiot. you turn around and scan bada for any harm, luckily, she seems fine other than being a little shaken up. you lean up to give her a kiss on her cheek and take one last look at howl. pathetic. you both turn to walk away and howl hopes bada turns around to look at him, show any waver of uncertainty. but she never looks back, she just moves forward. with you.

──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

your fingers twirl through bada’s hair. she’d changed into comfy clothes once you guys got home and now she’s sprawled out on top of you, head laying on your chest.

“you okay?” your hand pushes the hair out of her face. you feel her nod. she shifts so that her head is resting upright.

“i am now.” she grins up to you, pressing her lips against your own. she really meant it this time.

#bada lee #bada lee x reader #bada lee smut #smut #bada x reader #swf 2 #fuck howl #not irl #but still fuck depicted howl #swf 2 x reader #lee bada x reader #lee bada #street woman fighter x reader

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Hey!! I absolutely love your work 🫶🏽 so I totally didn’t think about this while doing a Duolingo lesson at 3 AM 👀 -

But imagine Miles (Earth 1610 or Earth 42) coming over to his gf’s house bc he missed her and he finds her trying to learn Spanish to surprise him? 🥹🤭

(Hello! Sure I can! Enjoy!)

Reader Learning Spanish For Him

He had noticed you were being quite sneaky on your phone for a little bit

He wasn't thinking you were cheating, he knew you wouldn't that

He trusts you enough in the relationship to rule out cheating

But that didn't mean he didn't wanna know what you were doing on your phone

He was coming up with many things you were doing but always somehow ended up being wrong

He tried looking over your shoulder got always got caught

It wasn't until one day he just popped by into your house

Miles was fresh out of a job, and just felt like being around you

So him being him, Miles snuck to your window and welcomed himself inside

And mind you he is somehow so quiet

He could sneak up on you anywhere and anytime of the day and you wokld not know until he made himself known

He saw you sitting on your bed, and just on your phone

But he heard like chimes, and little phrases in another language coming out

You were even repeating some of them and checking to see if they were right

He took a moment to realize it was Spanish

He could feel a little proud and amused smirk coming onto his face as he slid by

You jumped when he wrapped his arms around you and put his chin onto your shoulder

"This what you've been hiding, hm?"

He was teasing a little and was even more amused if you jumped or started trying to give excuses

He took your phone from your hand and started scrolling through your Duolingo while ignoring your attempts to get it back

He was holding it away from you, still smiling as he waved the screen at you and went

"You needed an app? When you have me? I'm hurt, hermosa, I really am."

He was happy you were trying to learn Spanish, but was a bit like

"Why'd you hide it?"

And then you explained it was to surprise him, and he couldn't help but smile, a real smile, come across his face

He was actually really happy you cared enough to try and learn, even if it wasn't your language or you didn't speak Spanish

He very much s hugged and kissed you

But he threw out the Duolingo and became your teacher

He helped you immensely, from pronunciation to very complicated words

And soon enough you could understand and speak spanish, even maybe fast and fast Spanish speakers

He was very proud every time you got something right

He took payment in kisses don't worry

Also rewards in kisses, sneak in a few more babe

But that didn't mean you were immune to saying some dumb or dirty shit he tricked you into saying

He's an ass, yeah, but he's a very lovable ass

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @mushystrawberries @sweetheartlizzie07 @itstooearly-its3am @Ihavetoexist @kaorussgf @samsketchezz @yas-v @Lovelymiaablogss @the-dumpster-fire-of-fire @sussybaka10 @shisuishoe @sairavity @moonlight-rosevine

#across the spider verse x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #into the spiderverse x reader #into the spider verse #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles x reader

[allllium]

Pinky Promise

~ This definitely ended up longer than I meant it to be but no regrets, Matt is so adorable in this.

~ Fluff, Angst but not really? More like play fighting. Reader is referred to as Matt's girlfriend but other than that gender neutral. WC: 1,939

~ Matt tells you he's Daredevil

  You have been filled with anxiety all day after a text from Matt. This morning he asked you to come to his apartment as soon as you could after work. He wouldn't say anything else about it, just that it was very important. 

  Matt has a habit of not believing he deserves good things. Throughout your relationship, you have done everything in your power to prove him wrong. But still, when he says he needs to talk to you, about something really important, your mind falls to the worst-case scenario. 

  “Matty, I'm here.” You announce as you walk into your boyfriend's apartment. 

  “Oh hey, sweetheart.” He greets you at the door, as he always does. He is the perfect gentleman. 

  “Hi.” You let out, trying not to let your anxiety be too obvious. “What did you want to talk about?” 

  He opens his mouth to say something before immediately shutting it again. “I ordered some food. It should be here anytime.” 

  “Is there a reason you're trying to change the subject?” He grabs your hands and leads you over to the couch. Sitting down, he pulls you down onto his lap. 

  “No, I'm just letting you know. I know how you get about your food.” 

  “Mhm. And is that the only reason?” 

  “I have to tell you something.” Oh no. You know what this is about. This day had to come eventually.

  “Okay, what is it?” You let out a soft sigh. It wasn't hard to figure out once you got together.

  “I don't want you to be mad at me.” 

  “Matt I won't get mad, I promise.” 

  “How do you know?” His eyes show you how worried he is. 

  “Because I love you.” You grab his hand and lean into him more. “And unless you're about to tell me that you cheated, I won't be mad.” 

  “What! I would never!” 

  “I know, baby. It was just an example.” You almost laugh at the surprised expression that covers his face. 

  “Well, you know how I became blind.” He begins.

  You were right, he's about to tell you he's Daredevil. Yes, you already know. For two reasons. One, a blind man can't do everything he does, the way he caught you when you fell on one of your dates, or the way he knows where things are without being told. Two, Foggy. He didn't mean to tell you but you had your suspicions and you may have tricked Foggy into secretly confirming for you.

  Foggy has no idea what he said allowed you to know the truth and you never told him so he wouldn't feel bad about accidentally exposing his best friend's secret. You're not proud of it but your curiosity got the best of you.

  “Yeah, I do.” 

  “Uhh, it did more than make me lose my sight.” You weren't able to confirm anything about the accident but if Matt is Daredevil then something had to have happened for it to be possible. 

  “What else did it do?” 

  “It heightened all of my other senses.” You squeeze his hand to encourage him to continue. “I can hear things from very far away and smell things better than normal.” No shit. 

  “How much better?” As much as you already know, there are a lot of specifics you still don't understand. 

  “I can smell what you have eaten all day, I can hear your heart beating and I can tell when you're making a face.” That's a lot more than you thought. “I can hear everyone in this building and mostly tell what they're doing.” 

  You immediately scramble off his lap. 

  “Did I weird you out?” The lace of sadness in his voice breaks your heart.

  “No it's not you, I'm just weirdly aware of myself now.” You assure him. You don't know how to describe it like you're going over everything you did in the day to try and figure out what Matt can tell.

  “You don't have to be, sweetheart. You're not the weird one here.” 

  “Matt, you're not weird. You're perfect. You can't control what happened to you or what it caused these senses. I don't know. You can smell me and hear me? It's just a lot.” 

  “That's not even the part I'm trying to tell you.” 

  “Matt, I have to be honest with you. I know.” You whisper. 

  “You know?” He asks in shock. “Know what?” 

  “That you're Daredevil.” Your voice grows even quieter.

  “What? How?” He exclaims, standing up to meet you. 

  “I don't know. One day I was just thinking and kinda put it together!”

  “When?” His voice booms around the small apartment.

  “A few months ago. There was this clip of Daredevil on the news and he looked so familiar so I started thinking about the injuries you get, how you disappear at night, how you can catch me when I fall. It became really obvious and then..” You stop your rant, not wanting to expose Foggy. Even though he had no idea what the conversation was about, you still feel terrible.

  “And then?” 

  “I may have tricked Foggy into confirming it for me.” Matt’s face quickly shows anger and disbelief. “I swear he has no idea I know anything, he didn't mean to confirm anything.” 

  “Why didn't you just ask me?” Is he serious right now? 

  “Because you never would've told me! We've been together for almost a year now and you're just now trusting me with this! I'm the one that gets to be pissed right now, not you!” 

  “Okay you're right I should have told you but I was just scared that..” 

  “No.” You hold your hand out and interrupt him. “I swear Matt, if the next thing you say is that you were protecting me, I will beat your ass.” 

  “That was one of the reasons, yes.” You step forward, fully intent on keeping your word. “Let me explain.” He smiles and pushes you away. 

  “Fine but it better be good.” You cross your arms and raise your eyebrows to show how serious you are. 

  “I wasn't just worried about your safety, I was worried that you would feel different about me. Maybe even leave me.” 

  “Matt, I love you. And I know you doubt yourself but I would never leave you for that. You could kill a million people and I wouldn't leave you.” 

  He gives you a very concerned look. “That's not good, we need to talk about that.” 

  “Eh.” You wave him off. “We need to talk about all this shit,” You move your hands over his body. “All this self-deprecating shit you do.” 

  “Oh well, I'm so sorry for believing you deserve the world.” He says as sarcastically as possible.

  “Exactly. Think more like that.” You nod.

  “I'm not gonna do that.” 

  “We are getting off topic.”

  “Is there more to talk about?” You can tell he's worried about you knowing the details.

  “We are one month away from our first anniversary and you're just telling me this now, that's not okay Matthew!” 

  “I know! I didn't want to wait this long but the more I thought about telling you the more I thought about losing you and I can't handle that.”

  “Wait so why did you want to tell me today? Are you okay with losing me today?” You half-joke.

  “No, because Karen told me if I didn't she would, and I know you should hear this from me.” 

  “Yeah you're right but this needed to happen forever ago!” 

  “I'm so sorry I didn't tell you, sweetheart, I know I should've. But out of curiosity, when would've been the best time to tell you?” He asks sincerely, sitting back on the couch. 

  “Why? Want advice for your next girlfriend?” You can't help but tease. Sitting back down on his lap. 

  “I'm never gonna have another girlfriend.” 

  “Oh yeah? And you're sure about that?” 

  “What does that mean?” He asks in fake concern, used to your teasing antics. 

  “I don't know. What do you think it means?” 

  “This isn't funny.” He says while he laughs. “I can't tell if you're mad at me or me.” 

  “Oh, I'm very mad.” 

  “About me being Daredevil?” 

  “No, Matty about you keeping it from me. What you do for people in danger is amazing. I love that you use your senses selflessly. I mean I hate the fact that you get hurt in the process but clearly, you can handle yourself.”

  “You don't know how relieved I am to hear you say that.” 

  “I'm glad I could help. But seriously the next time you keep a secret like this for that long, we're over.” You make eye contact with him as you say this, needing him to know you're not joking. 

  “I promise I won't.” 

  “Good! Now onto that not having a next girlfriend thing?” 

  “Ugh, do we have to?” He leans back, making you yelp as you fall into him. 

  “Yes, we have to. I want to hear you say it.” 

  “It means I want to marry you.” You giggle at his words. 

  “I knew it, you're obsessed with me.” 

  “Does that mean you want to marry me too?” He asks hopefully. You almost feel bad for your next words. 

  “Hmm. I'll tell you next year.” 

  He runs his hands over his face. “You are not funny.” He says that but you can see the smile he's hiding. 

  Before you can respond, the doorbell rings. Perfect timing. “You keep a secret, I keep a secret.” You shrug and head to answer the door. 

  When you go back to the couch and set the food on the coffee table, Matt pulls you into him once again. 

  “Someone's touchy today.” 

  “Just happy you're not trying to beat my ass.”

  “I would win.” 

  “Oh definitely.” You feel him smile on your neck. “Are you gonna make me wait another year to propose?” 

  “Sorry baby but you know I don't marry someone before the second year.” 

  “You're killing me y'know.” He groans loudly in your ear, making you lean away from his ticklish breath. 

  “Maybe your next girlfriend will marry you before the first anniversary.” You yelp again as he pulls you even further into him, using his strength to make sure you're as close as possible.

  “Sweetheart you are the last girlfriend I'll ever have.”

  “Oh, I know I am.” 

  “Oh god, what does that mean?” 

  “It means if you ever have another girlfriend I'll haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

  “Haunt me? Are you dead in this scenario?” He asks in obvious confusion.

  “Yes because I'm never gonna let you leave me.”

  “I'm beginning to think you're a little crazy.” 

  “Crazy about you.” You wiggle your eyebrows.

  “That was terrible.” 

  “That was amazing, I'm a great flirt.”

  “Yes, you are.” He chuckles, in that amazing deep voice. “I'm sorry for not telling you sooner.” 

  “I'm sorry for not asking you directly and using Foggy.” 

  He holds his hand out to you, sticking out his pinky.

  “What's this?” 

  “A pinky promise.” 

  “Oh, a pinky promise with the devil.”

  “Stop that, I promise not to lie to you again and you promise to ask me things instead of tricking poor Foggy.” 

  “Okay fine. Pinky promise.” You link your finger with him. 

  “I love you.” 

  “Aww thank you.” You laugh at his surprised expression. 

  “Say it back.” He whines.

  “I don't wanna.” You can't hide the smile on your face. 

  Matt takes a second to stop himself from smiling before making the biggest, most dramatic frown. 

  “Fine, I love you too.” You break out in giggles as he tackles you.

#matt murdock my beloved #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock imagines #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock reader insert #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfic #matt murderdock x female reader #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fics

[raphael-angele]

If Hades raised Nico and Bianca Part 21 (Coming Out)

Hades in IM: Bianca

Bianca: Hi, papa. What's up?

Hades: What's wrong with your brother?

Bianca: What do you mean?

Hades: He's been rejecting my calls, he's not replying to my messages, it's like he's ignoring me

Bianca: Hmmm...can't think of anything right now.

Hades: *sigh* it's been a week already.

Bianca: Wait, a week? Oh no...

Hades: What is it?

Bianca: ...there was this quest and there was a part of the quest where he had to confront Cupid

---

Hades Cabin: *knock*

Nico: Come in.

Hades: *enters*

Nico, suddenly on high alert: Papa. What are you doing here?

Hades: You don't answer my calls, you don't reply. What else am I supposed to assume?

Nico: W-well, I-

Hades: Bianca told me what happened.

Nico: ...about what?

Hades, sitting beside him on the bed: About the quest. About Jackson. About Cupid.

Nico: *starts getting scared and starts to cry*

Hades: Is there something you want to tell me, Nico?

Nico, crying: I'm sorry, Papa. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Hades, pulling him into his lap and hugging him tight: What are you sorry about? There's no need for you to apologize.

Nico, still crying: I wanna stay in this camp. I don't wanna go to the other camp. I wanna stay here.

Hades: Camp Jupiter?

Nico: No, the other camp. The one where they take boys who like other boys so they can be fixed.

Hades:

Nico: I don't wanna go to that camp. I wanna stay here.

Hades: Nico, what makes you think I'll take you there? How do you even know about that place?

Nico: I remember back in Italy where they were taking boys to those camps

Hades: Nico, you can't possibly remember that. You were barely 5.

Nico: They were saying that those boys were freaks and that they were weird. They said that God hates them.

Hades: Nico-

Nico: Am I weird, papa? Am I a monster?

Hades: No, of course not. Of course, you're not.

Nico: ...i feel like a monster...

Hades: Niccoló, you are not a freak. You are not weird. And you are most certainly not a monster.

Nico: You think mama hates me?

Hades: Absolutely not. I'm sure your mama would be so proud of you right now.

Nico: I don't wanna leave this place

Hades: You're not going to. You're not going to those camps. I promise on the river Styx, I will never send you to those camps. Ever. You don't need to be fixed. You are perfect, just the way you are.

Nico: *still sniffling*

Hades: I'm so sorry, bambino. I'm so sorry I ever made you feel like you couldn't tell me.

Nico: I love you, papa

Hades: I love you, too. Very much. And I know your mother does, too.

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson incorrect quotes #incorrect percy jackson quotes #percy jackson headcanon #hades #nico di angelo #bianca di angelo #gay #coming out #percico #solangelo #heroes of olympus

[babeydollx]

Take Care of Eachother | Rafe Cameron

❀ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: cursing, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, very slight mention of drugs, mentions of sex MDNI.

❀ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Rafe Cameron x Female Pogue Reader

❀ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: In which Rafe comes to Y/N after getting into a fight. Y/N tries to take care of him and clean him up but, Rafe also has other ideas.

❀ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1k

❀ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I'm not sure if I am going to make a part two to it or not, I might if enough people want a part two.

© Maybanks-Luver 2023, please do not steal, copy, modify, repost, or translate my work.

You listened to the sound of the thunder and the rain patter on your bathroom window as you did your nightly routine. As you were doing your skin care, you herd someone knock on you door. The knock was loud and a little frantic. You put your moisturizer down and hurried to the front door. You grab the curtains that were attached to the window that was beside the door and peeked out to see who it was to decide if you would open the door this late at night or not.

To your surprise the person behind the door was none other than your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron standing out there in the rain and he looked pretty hurt. You felt your stomach sink when you saw him in this condition. You quickly unlocked the front door before gently pulling him inside. You cupped his face and looked up at him. He had a black eye and a busted lip. You used your thumb to gently wipe the blood off his chin. He also had a pretty bad bruise on his cheek along with other cuts and bruises on his body.

"What the hell happened to you?!" You asked frantically as you checked him all over, making sure that there was nothing severely wrong. All of his injuries seemed minor but still looked pretty painful. "I just got into a fight with these two guys, it's not really a big deal." He said as he winced slightly when you checked his bruised eye. "Sorry.." You said softly, trying not to hurt him as you checked the injuries on his face. "Here, how about you sit down and let me take care of you. Then you can stay here with me for the night. You shouldn't be out there anyways in that bad storm." You said softly as you helped him over to the couch.

You disappeared into the bathroom before coming back with your first-aid kit. You sat down beside him on the sofa and began to gently clean his wounds. His winced and hissed a little as you did so. "Sorry, I'm trying to be as gentle as I can." You said with a small frown. "I know, it's okay princess." Rafe said with a small smile. "So how did this fight start anyways?" You asked as you began to wrap his arm with a bandage since he had a kind of nasty cut on his bicep. "Please don't tell me it was over drugs again." You said with a sigh. "No no, not drugs." He said as he shook his head. "Then what happened?" You asked.

"It's just- it was about you." He said. You stopped what you were doing to look at him. You were shocked that the answer was you. "Me?" You asked in confusion. "What do you mean about me?" You tilted your head. "Those two guys.. they had a thing for you." Rafe said as you could see the rage coming back in his eyes slightly as he spoke of what happened. "Which, obviously I can't blame them but, they knew that you are mine." You felt butterflies in your stomach when Rafe said that you were his out loud. "They were saying so much sexual things about you to me just to rile me up but, they also meant it so... I beat them up." He said, almost sounding proud of himself.

"Well as much as I appreciate you protecting me like that, you know it didn't have to end in a fight baby." You said softly as you ran a hand through his hair. "I- I know.." He sighed. "It's just.. I got so enraged and I couldn't help myself." He said. You smiled a little and kissed his cheek before he looked at you. "I love you, Rafe." You said as you smiled more. "I love you too, Y/N, so much.." He said as he leaned in and kissed you. The kiss was soft and loving. You pulled away eventually and looked back to the first-aid kit. "Well, I better get you fixed up." You said and he nodded.

You finally finished fixing your boyfriend up and he gave you a kiss on the cheek as a thank you. "Well there you go, all better." You giggled as you gentle kissed his nose causing him to scrunch his nose slightly. "Now that I took care of you, we can get ready to go to bed." You chuckled as you went to get up but, Rafe gently pulled you back down onto the couch. "I- baby what are you doing?" You asked as you looked over at him. "You took care of me, now let me take care of you in my own way." He said with a smirk. You laughed and shook your head. "You need to rest, love." You said with a smile.

"And I'd say fucking you tonight.. getting to have you all to myself so I can have my way with you is a pretty damn good way for me to relax, wouldn't you say?" He said with a wicked grin. You giggled and bit your lip. You couldn't lie, the idea of him having his way with you did turn you on but, you just didn't want him to over do it. "Are you sure you are up for this baby, I don't want you to do too much." You say softly, your voice laced with concern. Rafe smiled before cupping your face and kissing you softly. "I'll be fine, princess." He said with a smile. "Okay." You smiled back and nodded. He leaned in and kissed you again but this time the kiss was rough and passionate. This was going to be a long, pleasurable night and you couldn't wait.

Author's Note: tysm for reading, lovies!

#outer banks #outerbanks #obx #rafe cameron #r. cameron #rafecameron #rafe #cameron #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x f!reader #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #smut #drew starkey #d. starkey #drewstarkey #drew #starkey #drew starkey smut #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey x female reader #obx cast #obx cast smut #outer banks cast

[shiro-s2e2-erukinzu]

Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 93... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

IT HAPPENED...! IT FINALLY HAPPENED!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! AHHHHHHHHHHH!! 😵

Honestly, words cannot describe how crazy this chapter was, but we're gonna talk about it anyway...!! 👀 LET'S GO!!! 😆

The chapter begins with everyone checking how well they did on finals, and Anya did a whole lot better than last time...!! 😆

I AM SO PROUD OF HER!!! 👏😄

Anya went from 213th to 168th place!! 🎉 Let's hope that Anya continues to improve in the future...!! 😊👍

Then, we finally got to see how well she did in Classical Language and...:

She got second place...!

But, she will still receive a Stella for it!! 👏😆Then, we find out that she got 24 points in math, which is just below the cut off point... Which means...:

So, not only did Anya get a Stella, she ALSO received A TONITRUS BOLT!!? 😵😂🤣😌

GODDAMNIT ANYA!! 😂 That means the score is still tied, but now it's 5 and 5 until she either becomes an Imperial Scholar or gets expelled...!! 😌

Then, we got probably my new favorite Loid expression...:

🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂 I'M SO SORRY LOID!!🤣

This poor man can't catch a break, but at he's quite proud of Anya for doing well on the test...!! 😊

After that, we cut to Authens praising Anya as well, but Sigmund says something that intrigues me...:

"...One day you'll experience the frustration of realizing that hard work is not always rewarded..."

Hmm... What could this mean...? Personally, if Sigmund does have something to do with the experiments that were conducted on Anya, then this could be his way of saying that not many know of his scientific experiments... But, that's just a guess at this point and I could very well just be reading too much into this single sentence... 🤔

Moving on, before Anya goes to bed that night Loid asks her a question...:

I was surprised that Twilight asked this!! 😲 But his question turned out to be for naught because Anya doesn't really remember... 😔 So, Twilight just tells her to forget about what he asked and now I'm wondering if this will lead Twilight finding out the truth about Anya's past and that she's a telepath... 🤔

Well anyway, we cut to Anya and Damian receiving Stellas for doing well on the test, and then it's the middle school students turn... AND GUESS WHO SHOWS UP...?! 👀

DEMETRIUS MOTHER F---ING DESMOND!!!😵

AFTER ALL THIS TIME, HE HAS FINALLY APPEARED...!! 👀

I can't believe that I was ACTUALLY RIGHT that he was gonna look more like his dad...! (Check out this post where I drew what I thought he might look like!! 👍)

But to continue, Demetrius is also as strange as his mother and father... ESPECIALLY BECAUSE OF THIS...!!:

After finally getting to meet him and seeing that Anya can't read his mind, my original theory that he might be working with his father, just got thrown out the window...!! Because now, I think that Demetrius has been experimented on... 😥 I hope that I'm wrong, but I just don't know this point...

AND THINK THAT'S ENOUGH ABOUT THIS CHAPTER FOR TODAY!

Today's chapter was excellent, but now that Demetrius has finally shown up, my mind is going crazy about what this ALL MEANS!😫

Anyway, I think I'll stop for today and possibly regroup with myself to figure out WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE DESMONDS!! (Except for Damain, who is the only normal one there..!!🥲) So until the next Mission or if I try attempt to figure out what is up with the Desmonds; take care, be safe out there and be kind to one another...!! Later!! 👍

#spy x family #sxf #spyxfamily #Mission 93 #spy x family manga #sxf manga #spyxfamily manga #anya forger #damian desmond #becky blackbell #ewen egeburg #emile elman #bill watkins #loid forger #yor forger #sigmund authen #barbara authen #demetrius desmond #I CAN'T BELIEVE THST HE FINALLY SHOWED UP!! 😵 #WHAT IS UP WITH HIM!? #WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE DESMONDS!?!? 😫 (Except for Damian...! 👍) #manga spoilers #spy x family spoilers #sxf spoilers #spyxfamily spoilers

[skitariiposting]

Skit's Mini Painting Journey Pt. 3

The Admech one.

C'mon, you all saw this one coming.

Back when I was painting my nurgles purple, I wanted to do a similar color scheme for my Admech army. I slowly moved away from it however, as I didn't quite like the way it turned out. The green and purple look took to Nurgle well, but purple Admech on desert planets didn't make a whole lot of sense. Didn't stop me from trying though, and while they certainly didn't look bad, I'm glad I didn't stick with it.

The Mars Pattern Family

This little fella may look familiar! Here was my first attempt at a more traditional mars pattern skit, and a jawa-esque one to boot! This was a kitbash of a proper galvanic rifle and backpack being added to The Makers Cult's Lil' Recruit.

I mean, Jawa admech is so amazing, but I had to have my little guy properly equipped!

Continuing the Mars linage is a technopriest and engiseer, both TMC printed minis. I love the way these two look. The face-shield on the technopriest looks amazing, and I'm incredibly proud of the reflection on it. The OSL on the hand isn't very visible in the picture, but it also looks really good.

This Thallax bot was supposed to be a Kastellan Bot for @elnubnub, however I got the two mixed up and picked the smaller one. I'm going to eventually remedy that, but he still looks good nonetheless.

This is by and large one of my best pieces in my opinion. Back when @cannibalcaprine had a bird face, this model was more applicable. Dominus Hera has so much soul and time put into her I don't know if I'll ever be able to replicate the state of mind I was in that let me get this mini to look this good. The cloth effects are fantastic, the OSL from the gun is fantastic, the molten axe is fantastic, the color choices and layout is fantastic, the cables are fantastic; I don't know who painted this mini, but it certainly wasn't me. It couldn't have been.

And the most important member of the Mars Pattern Family, the fan favorite: Goober. A kitbash gone wrong gone right. A broken mini finally becoming whole. The legend himself. What more is there to say?

Finally: The Submechanicum

Penelope, the Ocean Queen. My first model I painted for the Submechanicus. I'd love to say that this is my magnum opus, considering I made a whole video about her and everything...

However, I must rip the band aid off and say that this is the first version of Penelope...

Because what immediately followed her was this beast. This is the Krabaphron, another contender for one of my best models. This sucker was so genre defining, that it set a new standard for the rest of my Submechanicus army and would cause me to re-do my color-scheme and paint job planning going forward.

I based all of my future Submechanicus models off of it, using it as a template. The Skits and Techpriest both got the same treatment and I've got to say, I'm in love with the way it looks. I've continued using this style so far and I haven't had to make many modifications.

As such, Penelope... didn't quite fit the bill anymore. She stood out from the rest of the models.

So... after a livestream of planning and base layering...

She was finally given the paint job she deserved.

And that's just were our story begins fair traveler... With the rise of the Depth Guard, a proper protector of the Submechanicus will be needed to combat the forces of Nurgle... And coming late April, there will be such a machine surfacing, with a video to present it.

Of course, this is quite an older photo. It's far more painted than that. I've teased photos of it so far, however I'm saving the proper display of it for the video, so be on the look out if you want to see the completed product!

And that's about it! Hope you've enjoyed this little walk down memory lane and gallery of my mini painting endeavors! I'll be making a website for easier viewing once I've gone through and gotten some more professional looking pictures done. Thank you for reading and viewing!

-Jerry

#adeptus mechanicus #admech #skitarii #40k #warhammer #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #miniature painting #mini painting #skitposting #photo dump