#and shes like “have you never paid taxes??” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seananmcguire · 10 months

Note

That Xiran Jay Zhao video about the amount of time it takes to get paid by the publisher, a couple of time she says "that's just the way it is." Are there actual, legitimate business reasons for holding off paying someone 6 or 8 or more months what they've earned for their book? Or is it the publisher basically going "We'll pay you when we pay you. What are you gonna do about it?" because they're essentially the one in charge?

And is it the same for all authors? Or is there an unofficial "tier" system based on your name? Are they telling people like Stephen King or James Patterson or Neil Gaiman "you'll see your money in 8 months" or are they more likely to be getting monthly checks just because of who they are?

There are some legitimate business reasons, yes.

Okay, so let's look at the way a book is sold to a publisher. I'm going to use very round numbers, because I don't want to do a lot of math right now. So say I sell a book for $15,000 under the traditional three installment contract--signing, delivery/acceptance, and publication. What this means is I sign the contract, I get a $5,000 check! Yay! I will also get checks when the book is turned in and accepted, emphasis because it means I can't just give them a word jumble and claim I turned the book in, and then again when the book comes out. We're ignoring side situations like "book is never turned in" and "book is never published."

But wait! My agent gets 15% off the top of each of those checks, which isn't a whole lot at $5,000--$750--but means I'm receiving effectively a $4,250 check, and then waiting maybe a year for the next one.

In the US, 1/3rd of that check goes automatically to taxes, and I cannot math that very well, but it's about $1,416. So I'm left with $2,834 as my payment for the year. This is why most authors will have day jobs.

This structure makes sense. They pay you to call dibs on your book: they pay you when the dibs pan out: they pay you when they can start making money. Now, recently, some publishers have started going to a four stage advance payment, and I can't see any real justification for that. Maybe someone will give me one. I'd be fascinated to know what it is.

So here's the thing: until the book is out, there is no more money. You've been paid for the book, but it's not making money for the publisher yet, and so of course you're not getting more money. It used to be the expectation that your advance would pay your bills while you wrote the next book; that is clearly no longer the case. I live in Seattle. A single check from a three-stage advance isn't paying my mortgage for a month. But.

Once the book is out, it can start making money, and that's when things get complicated. Say a bookstore places an order for 10 copies of AWESOME NEW BESTSELLER. Yay! That should be ten sales, and ten units of whatever your royalty is, right? Only these are physical items, and bookstores can return them, so your publisher marks it down as "ten sales, five reserve against returns," meaning you're only getting credit for five sales until the return window (usually a year) runs out. Where it gets a little hinky is when the bookstore sells all ten and orders ten more, and the publisher still has it marked as "five (now ten) reserve against returns." Basically, you're only getting credit for half your sales until that reserve window closes.

Sadly, thanks to certain retailer policies, this has been grandfathered into applying to electronic sales as well.

TL,DR: The delay in royalty payments is to give bookstores time to sell the books, and mean that your publisher doesn't pay you for a hundred sales, only to ask for the money from fifty to be given back when books are returned. This could happen faster in the modern world, but that would involve publishers paying us faster, and they like to keep the money in their hands as long as possible.

To the best of my knowledge, no one is A Big Enough Author that they can demand their money now, right now. And this is why trad publishing continues to self-select for the wealthy and the young.

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ixtaek · 3 months

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Who in the Chain pays taxes?

Twilight - Twilight has helped finance two separate businesses, one of which is right under the castle’s nose. There’s no way he can play the “I don’t have money” card. But he’s also from Ordon, which seems to be its own semi-autonomous region. So I suspect he pays some village taxes but Dusk keeps him from having to pay Hyrulian taxes. She also hired someone to audit MaloMart so it evens out in the end.

Warriors - He definitely pays taxes. Taxes, in turn, pay his salary.

Time - Time does not pay taxes and complains about taxes often. Malon actually is the one paying.

Wild - Pre-Calamity he paid taxes like Warriors. Now, there are no taxes. It’s better this way.

Four - Pays his taxes but sends them with a bill for all the swords he makes the Royal guard which is always, curiously, about twice the amount he just paid in taxes. Picking up the refund is an excuse to see Dot. He uses the fact he pays taxes as evidence he’s an adult when people mistake him for a child.

Hyrule - I am convinced that Hyrule doesn’t really understand money. He does not pay taxes.

Legend - He would not pay taxes except the Hylian equivalent of the IRS has been side-eyeing Ravio’s shop a long time, so to avoid an audit or raid while he’s away, he pays both of their taxes and hates every second. Ravio has never paid taxes in his life and won’t start now.

Sky - You don’t have to pay taxes if you’re married to a goddess~

Wind - In spite of being a literal child he is wanted for tax evasion.

#linked universe #lu chain #I’m in pain so I’m rambling #lu wild #lu warriors #lu time #lu twilight #lu four #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu wind

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morganbritton132 · 10 months

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You probably get this all the time, and I don't know why I only thought about this now, but I'm suddenly fascinated by the idea of a government employee who knows about the Upside Down that has been tasked with keeping an eye on Eddie's TikTok page and just constantly being so frustrated

I never get this but I have thought about it at length!!! Lol.

I just picture one overworked and underpaid agent being tasked with the whole *hand waving* Hawkins Situation.

There used to a time when the Hawkins Project was a coveted position given to the best agents with the highest clearance, but now… Now all the gates to the other world have been closed. There’s been no activity in three decades. Brenner’s dead. The Russians defuncted their projects. The girl – Eleven or Jane, or whatever – hasn’t blown anything up since the nineties.

The Hawkins job is a babysitting job with CIA-level clearance, and it’s just… it was supposed to be a cakewalk but. There’s just… there are so many of them.

And for a while, they were spread all over the country.

One of them is a US Senator now and she called the head of the FBI ‘a bitch’ and ‘a coward’ on a hot mic last week, and maybe.

Maybe for the sake of national security and their own sanity, maybe this agent pulled a few strings and dotted a few more I’s than they’re authorized to just to get Lucas Sinclair, Maxine Mayfield-Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, Nancy Wheeler, and Robin Buckley back in Chicago.

Maybe they did that. There’s no paper trail, but maybe they did.

It’s easier to keep track of a ‘party’ of people if most of them are in the same state.

This Party – as they fondly call themselves – barely qualified as a threat anymore. They are barely a concern at this point. Only a few of them are considered dangerous enough to require anything more than the occasional check-in. Those people being Jane Hopper, James ‘Jim’ Hopper, Nancy Wheeler, Murray Bauman, and – much to this agent’s annoyance – Edward Munson.

Eddie wouldn’t be a cause for concern if he wasn’t so goddamn loud. He is in no way a threat to national security but the CIA doesn’t love when people allude to a defuncted Cold War project that resulted in an inter-dimensional serial killer murdering a bunch of small town high school students.

This agent does not believe that Eddie Munson knows what an NDA is or that he signed one.

It is one thing to write songs about demon bats and hell spilling into small town Americana or to make your album cover resemble the charred remains of Henry Creel’s disfigured body (‘yeah’ the agent thinks, ‘you’re not that slick, Munson’) but it is something else to announce to your millions of TikTok followers that you got rabies in a hell dimension.

This agent does not have enough pull to persuade Congress to outright ban TikTok and actually thinks that a TikTok ban would be an overreach of government control, but damn if it would not have made their life easier. Though they fear that Munson would just go to YouTube and the idea of longer content makes them shiver.

And by the way, this agent expected better from Steven Harrington!

This agent liked Steve! He was one of their favorites!!

Steve didn’t make waves. He lived a quiet life, paid his taxes, and barely had a social media presence. He was an absolute dream to be monitoring until Eddie downloaded that cursed clock app.

Steve was never viewed on the same threat level as Jane Hopper or Murray Bauman, but he was a closely monitored subject due to his long-term injuries and his time spent in the alternate dimension and the Russian bunker under Starcourt Mall. Despite close monitoring, there is no note in his file of any digression until Eddie started shoving Tiktok in his face.

This agent sits in their office at the CIA’s Chicago location.

In the basement, at the end of a long dusty corridor, beneath a buzzing fluorescent light, they get a notification on their computer. It’s from Tiktok, and this agent breathes in slowly. They rub at the forming headache between their brows and names it Eddie Munson.

They click the notification, waits a second for the shitty wifi to bring them to the app, and watches as Steve Harrington says, “Technically we’re time travelers.”

And they sigh.

#Two things I love: (1) Steve being the only one that truly thinks they’re being spied on and #(2) some guy in a middle management-like job having to keep track of all the dumb shit they do #this agent is the reason Eddie gets stopped by the TSA every time he flies. It’s revenge #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

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capslocked · 6 months

Text

KINKVEMBER DAY: 5

[prompt: face sitting]

male reader x ahn yujin

3.5k words

Yujin is giving you shit when it happens.

It’s been a little over an hour since she turned to you, bored and pouty about it, and asked if you wanted to fuck again.

She gives you shit in the way only the prettiest girls can get away with. Perfect smile, like she's innocent. And all low and breathy in her throat. Hitched around the vowels of your name. Threatening enough that you thought about just immediately capitulating. It was tempting.

"Or you could stay on the floor like a lame loser bummin’ around in your pajamas." She leans up on the arm of the sofa. "Either way."

Yujin stretches and her sweater is huge. One of those cozy campus crewnecks that everybody seems to have, oversized and inviting and right. Her shorts are ridiculously small, just enough of her stomach peeking out over her waistband for you to want to feel it, touch it, have the pleasure of sinking your tongue into the shallow groove.

She's teasing you because she never quite knows what to do with her energy. Lacks an outlet big enough, really, but is also selfishly delighted in getting any response at all, no matter how halfhearted it might be. You stare at her. You watch and don't speak when she runs her fingers up her stomach to pull her sweater up with it. You groan. She grins. She is pretty, her lips full and eyes soft. The laugh that follows her is because it's always obvious when she's won and you wish your body wasn't so prone to giving away your weaknesses.

"Hey." She blinks slowly, lifting one leg up. Her bare foot, warm, toes flexed, against your thigh, nudges against you once, and again.

"How many orgasms until I feel a little more forgiving towards my good friend who, I know, is super super sorry that he can't afford the pizza money because he chose to use his own allowance to do something as silly as pay rent, I wonder?"

"I paid half last time."

"Doesn't make sense because you ate it all.

"You said you weren't hungry." You start to object because you do have an objection. A list, actually, prepared, of instances you think you're owed. But Yujin arches, and when a separate but related complaint rises swiftly to the foreground, your throat goes dry -

"Orgasm tax."

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” she asks, and you’re struggling to answer truthfully, honestly.

She rolls over, lets you see everything she has, the tiniest shorts in the world tugged even higher, the generous curve of her ass and thighs in silhouette. You didn't ask for this but you weren’t about to die without it, you think, looking up from the floor and staring, wetting your lips, absolutely sure. She does it all on her own and it takes an absurd amount of effort to peel your hands off the ground.

"Stay where you are," she snaps, seeing it too - and in a second of deliberate slowness, hooks two fingers into her shorts, tugging them aside before looming over you. "Or you're not fucking me today. At all."

You let your head thud down against the rug beneath you. "That's not fair."

"You've gotta come up with something better than that. You could suck up, beg, maybe I'd forgive you if you just told me how much better I was than the cash I could use on literally whatever."

Your eyes cut down.

Part of you wonders if you've always been such an easy mark - whether being here has changed you, if all these months of dangling carrots in front of you are paying off or if you're just a willing accomplice to your own exploitation.

Part of you isn't stupid. Yujin's taken an almost disturbing amount of pleasure in flaunting herself since the first night you drank too much, said too much, resisted too little - you can tell the way it starts, a smile toying in the corner of her mouth, before she taps the band of her bra, waits to hear you swallow - to hear how hot you get - before she casually asks what it would take, "to convince you", to change the conversation from whether she wants something from the vending machine, or she just forgot it was laundry day, or where the hell that note from Wonyoung had gone, to what she'd like the answer to be. What would you let her do if it got you another chance to get under her shirt, see her all bared, eyes dark and hair like a veil across her collarbones, pretty nipples and swells of her breasts pushed up, until you put your mouth on her.

Yujin tilts her hips so it's easier for you to follow, her hand snaking beneath her body as she speaks. A gentle grunt gets muffled in her sweater, her toes curling into the space between your knees and it hurts, stings a little, the desire you're holding back, and then it goes right through you like fire, sharp.

(Part of you is incredibly stupid - but you think the truth is it doesn't matter.)

Yujin's kneeling over your chest, and her bottom lip, plump and lush, catches between her teeth. "Can you think of anyway to be useful?"

"A lot," you choke. It's true.

Yujin makes a noise. "Proof. Evidence. Put up."

The movement she makes - twisting of legs and stomach flexing and the fabric of her shorts down off her ankles - is one single, fluid motion and for a second you're distracted by how quickly she's gotten you there. Thighs resting over your shoulders, the only thing your lungs seem to remember how to do is want.

"Come on." She bounces her knees a bit. "Dick or mouth, get going."

You should really say something smart, show her how clever and charming you can be, how you've actually got a lot to show the hottest girl in the world - and sometimes Yujin giggles like she's shocked about it all herself, but right now her eyebrows are raising, expectant and challenging and it makes it difficult to think when there's an open invitation inches away for you to bury yourself in. Your lips feel like sandpaper when you kiss the inside of her thigh. Her hips stutter and drop an inch as your tongue works its way out, thick and obscene and it shouldn't be so thrilling to hear her so low, so urgent when you have no say, really, in how this is going to go -

"Take care of me, yeah?" she practically whispers the words - all while your fingertips drag along her outer thighs until her spine straightens, gets her shoulders pushed back, her breathing louder, somehow, as if you couldn't feel her need without knowing already exactly what you can do for her.

And the most honest thing you could say in the moment, because Yujin has her panties stretched to the side, revealing the inviting creases where her long legs meet her hips - for god’s sake, her pussy is right fucking there, inches in front of you; glistening slightly in her own slick and looking so, so pretty - the words get kissed right into the curve of her thigh: "It's not fair."

The look she gives you makes it worth it. "Excuse me?"

"You asked, didn't you. It's not fair that your pussy's so good that I can't think about anything else."

She huffs, her thighs shaking just a little with the effort of staying put. "So, what," and your mouth closes in, kiss deep, your nose pressed in right at the peak of her folds, her entrance, and you try not to drool as you inhale and drag the flat of your tongue in, hard, where she's desperate for you, "you think this should all go in reverse or something, like I should worship your dick until you stop being a useless perv - "

But the insult dies in her throat. A moan comes out instead, harsh, deep, loud and enough that Yujin slaps her palm over her own mouth before throwing an impatient scowl down at you.

Here's what you'd tell her, if you weren't busy licking circles into the ache leaking from her core, eating her cunt like a starving man, if you had the audacity. Yujin can't control herself. Doesn't help that she's sloppy. When her orgasm hits she will get louder and she doesn't even like the things that come out. That's the thing about Yujin, really. She says all this shit, and really, in the end, she wants a good fuck so bad she can't keep her mouth shut, but the noises she makes are exactly the same as the sounds that you choke on -

Because as pretty and easy and fun to kiss as she can be, the absolute best thing about your relationship is that the more orgasms she gets the less she can breathe, much less control what the fuck she's saying to you. It's cute and hilarious and beautiful, when she forgets, when she gives everything up because in the end it's never any competition, the way she fucks, is so desperate. Her hips work themselves into your grip, over and over and over again, like they are meant for this.

For getting off on your mouth alone.

All you know right now is that with the way you have your hands on her - one still holding her panties open and the other squeezed tight around the muscle of her outer thigh - it's like her clit's directly in line with the back of your throat. If you press your lips around her pussy and hold them firm, just like the way her knees are starting to tighten around your face, she's going to come. It will hurt her and it will leave her completely boneless, and you've fucked this much to the point where you have learned, well, she can never complain.

Not that she would. The slick dripping down your cheeks and throat and down to the front of your shirt - it's fucking everywhere - makes it obvious: any ability to talk is replaced with her just grinding her pussy against you, bucking and shouting, riding and writhing until you decide her pretty little pink slit can have another taste.

Her only other option, really, is clenching and throbbing and cumming as hard as she can all over your waiting tongue.

"Hey. Get your fucking mouth back down," she breathes, taking her fingers out of her cunt and then promptly pushing your head back in, "and - uhnn, I - yeah, exactly. Mmmnghh - "

You smile, muffled and hot against the fabric of her thighs, her fingers twisting in the hair behind your ears and tugging firmly. "Oh."

"What did you want again?" she asks - except her body tells a different story, all flushed and keening and, fuck, absolutely soaked from your touch - she rocks against the base of your chin, slumping and dropping down and letting gravity do its work. You work your tongue over her throbbing clit, again, again, and Yujin moans loudly. So pleased.

Just this mess she's made of you. The smell that coats your nose, and chin, the way it feels when she ruts her whole body against the place where she's worked the hardest. Her breath stalls where you start to breathe in, and looking up at the cinched look in her face you press further.

It’s every little circle lick and lave and gentle nudge of the tip of your nose, where the feeling makes her cry out, where the sensation, overstimulated, is close to that perfect balance between too much and not quite enough, all while working your fingers into the swell of her ass, and finally her hips make small, greedy, selfish thrusts into your mouth.

She sobs for you. You sigh, contented, because you don't even need to ask.

"You're so fucking good," she murmurs, heel of her palm pushed into her eyes like she's struggling with a headache. "God, fuck, do that again."

It's so wet on your chin already, but you do it again, just for the way she bucks into it.

You give her the closest thing you have, your thumb riding the rim of her ass, tongue rubbing, stroking her pussy faster. Yujin's teeth work against the insides of her mouth as her hips shift forward, and she is clenching and begging for the cock you know would make her scream if you just stood her on her hands and fucked her from behind - it's such a cruel way of making her work to feel so fucking amazing - but you're here to indulge, and really, when she shivers and pleads the exact way she does, your mouth still full, how are you supposed to do anything besides fucking obey.

Yujin reaches up to grab onto the edge of the couch, anything to brace herself as her cunt sloppily gets wetter. The thickest part of your tongue is good enough for this. Everything about her clit is just this dull, swollen throb. Begging to be worked over the way you're licking at the entrance to her pussy, inside and all, kissing, sucking, kneading, pulling, - fucking her just right - until she starts fucking cursing up a storm.

"Oh god, god, oh fuck fuck, fuck," her hips shift until she's the only one riding, the only one fucking. Until you just get to lay there with your lips slack, drooling open, hands a frame for her entire body while she works your face, and nothing could be better - "yeah, oh, fuck, fuck yes - yeah - fuck, hahhh. You're going to make me fucking cum-"

And you almost say it: that's your line - it's not enough, you'll never have enough of her cunt - her clit or the slit, where she leaks, thick and sticky. Her slick tastes heavy on your tongue, and you can't swallow fast enough. Your fingers are so deep into the pliable skin of her ass - digging and needy and reaching for where she's tightest. Her hands pull sharply at your hair. You feel her, tightening her ass around your finger, cumming wet across your cheekbones and -

It goes on, her body pressing into you, until with a sudden snap of a cry, she cums.

“God, fuck-”

If Yujin doesn't have to see the look on your face after getting her off this hard, it's only because the pressure in her body has her knees across your eyes forced shut. A spasm clenches, almost rhythmic, through her thighs, and god, Yujin just cums her brains out. It's pretty hot. You make it count: pushing your fingers just as deep into her pussy, working, exploring - right as her whole body is tensing and coming apart and your other hand circles, two fingers, dipping down and through the cleft of her ass and into her tightest, hottest hole -

You know better than to rub at her entrance once the ripples and waves start - instead, it's more pressure.

Pushing up as deep as you can and your lips mouthing at her folds while her hips squirm for something harder, something stronger and with intent - like, maybe, if she thinks she is trying to push away, she will start to believe that the mess running from her hole isn't hers. It's yours. All that liquid heat pooling below her and what could ever make sense other than she needs more? She needs the way she trembles and shakes, the way her pussy weeps as you wring it for the pleasure that's well on its way -

You always feel like an idiot after, stupid with how much you enjoy this, what she gives you, but how could it be anything but fantastic, your vision dizzying when it swims from lightheadedness and the lack of oxygen to your brain. Yujin's holding you right where she needs, right between her thighs and next to perfection, just tight enough for you to groan, to make a low whine build in the back of your throat and that gets her, too.

There is the rush and a wave, the heat, of something that crests and breaks in her that has to match the absolute loss of control she seems to have all along - the only part you feel you are sure about is that Yujin always rides her cunt - all dripping lips and aching holes, swollen and flaring and practically begging to be fucked harder and more thoroughly - into every orgasm she's taken from you, until there's no where to run.

Even through your nose, and you're suffocating, her legs trembling with the rush of it all. You're gasping and shaking but she's shaking apart and you need that: to feel her melt from where her body collapses all its weight onto you and the way the aftershocks have to make it seem, at least for a moment, that she’ll never, ever recover.

"Fuck," Yujin sighs, "I fucking hate you."

(Translation: she can't fucking live without you.)

"Any time," you murmur and her entire body falls into you, straddled across your chest and slumped there, sweaty and spent. Your heart beats the moment, trying to remember when it was you could stop feeling this way about your roommate.

A part of you believes that, once upon a time, before all of this started, that your desire, your lust was rooted in seeing a friend who was beyond hot and simply unavailable.

A bigger part of you knows that asking for clarity isn't the point - because maybe, right now, in the way your hand has started massaging the soft skin under the curve of her spine, you should realize you can't live with it never happening again.

"What's my balance," you ask, rubbing your thumb into the crook behind her knee.

"Mm?"

You exhale.

"Two. I think you're good for two."

You laugh. "For real?"

She stretches.

"Or I suppose we can go for four or five, but that means you're paying for dinner, too." Yujin does this thing with her hair when she's excited. Swings it back, smiling wide.

Which is fair, you think, given the pulse between your legs throbbing and twitching as you picture it: the curve of Yujin's waist and the drop of her lower back, her bare ass. Her soaked little slit that can't help but beg to fucked and fucked and fucked, until she's trembling and quivering and leaking-

"Then I'm gonna eat," you promise her, "every last inch. Going to taste you and swallow."

Yujin shifts, sitting astride you.

You hum. "Still interested."

She simply kisses you - breathes you in - tasting herself on your lips and tongue, before leaning back with her palms flat against your chest and taking it slow as she starts to ease you into the kind of sex that doesn't leave either one of you with a throat quite so raw and dry.

So it's quiet in your apartment, just for a little while, when the afternoon starts to settle in and she rolls back onto her heels, not able to support the rest of her. You fuck her deep and it's amazing how quickly you both fall into rhythm. Yujin's clutching hard on either side of your hips. Folding herself back. Trying, by the end, to bury you where her fingers have been.

By the time she gets herself up on the couch, belly flat against the cushions and her hips arched back as she fucks herself with the length of your dick, you're just desperate. Aching in a way you know will happen any moment and even so, you can't even bring yourself to consider stopping because this is perfect - it's everything, really. To push her down, hold her still, and fuck her so thoroughly that she cries and shudders as you spill into her.

To have her.

Yujin holds a part of yourself so tender, something you have kept close for far too long, and watching her with her arm reached behind herself, clutching blindly with her fingers, as her moans go quiet with just these whimpery, little things, a thought occurs to you, of exactly how dangerous your roommate is -

Because with you fucking into her like this, this is more than sex ought to be. More than it’s ever been.

(More dangerous yet is thinking: maybe - perhaps - it is exactly what Yujin wanted, from the start.)

#yujin smut #ive yujin smut #ive smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 year

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Hi! What do you think would happen if there was a disease that turned people into yanderes and the reader is immune? So she’s the only sane one, which everyone around her falls in love (romantically and platonically) and turns obsessive?

Hrmm I'd like to take a different approach to this than the original *yandere apocolypse* of which I was thinking. Just wrote down some odd thoughts for this one!

Perhaps two thirds of the world has been inflicted with this specific disease-- making this new population become violent, deranged and utterly--obsessively, in love.

There's the beginning stages of violence and death of course, causing a great chunk of the world to go mad as some yanderes who must share a darling cannot do so. Celebrities, idols, and your local barista who's friends with everyone in town, are constantly in a tug of war battle between their yanderes.

But life seems to somewhat settle down. Everyone still functions as they would in society-- going to the bank and paying their taxes, remaining at their 9 to 5 jobs. But there are far more murders, laws are no longer followed; the daytime has become just as dangerous as the night.

Our dear reader, a cashier for a chain grocery store, has so blessedly not been affected by this newfound disease. They know their residence in a large city and with a social job would not leave them unharmed by this new change to the world. So, they begin to attend support groups for 'darlings,' the victims and (mostly) sane population that has been left. At first the other victims were people they had never seen before, seemingly innocent and normal people who just wanted to go on with their lives. They all seemed to lead a much harder living, with their unending stalkers and vicious pursuers that made them sob for hours as everyone else listened to their woes.

Reader had yet to be targeted, of which offers them a sliver of relief-- until they fear perhaps they have been affected by the disease. But their life continues, without any impulse or desire to snatch anyone up, and without any stalkers or murderers on their trail. Life is almost, weirdly, normal.

They don't watch the news anymore, they go home before it gets dark, and refuse to take any extra shifts with anyone who's been affected by the outbreak. They continue to go to the meetings, out of solidarity and precaution in case they begin to hear footsteps behind them when walking from home or find eyes peeping behind their curtains. However, the support group seemed to have slowly begun to change. Its regular members were beginning to dwindle, less and less showing up regularly. And, there seemed to be an addition of.... hostility, amongst the newer members.

The support group "leader", a man who has thrown reader off since day one, seemed to be far more invested in hearing their experiences with these "attackers" as he called them. As was everyone else, of which were slowly becoming vaguely familiar faces. Not familiar enough to mention it, but to the point where it was beginning to get eerie.

It wasn't until they went to their next shift for work, did they realize why everyone seemed so odd. Customer after customer came up, all purchasing odds and ends that could be suspicious if one paid close enough attention. But all that reader could focus on, was how the eyes of each person seemed to linger upon them, taking notice of their loose work shirt and unkempt hair. It was a common sound to hear heavy breathing from the other side of the counter, odd compliments on how beautiful their eyes were, or deafening silence from customers that didn't utter a word but stared in complete captivity. The next support group meeting, those nameless faces seemed to be far more recognizable. At this point, the original members of which reader had originally met, were nowehere to be found. All that remained, were the uncomfortably familiar customers, and the oddly charismatic leader.

Every eye seemed to be on them, each waiting for them to speak on their experience. But despite the creepy, lustful gazes and hateful glares at one another, there was some form of supportiveness that came from the group. They gave reassuring pats and squeezes, some getting a little handsier than others.

There were a few that reader recognized more than others: the silent, dark haired man that came to their register everyday, the businesswoman who always seemed to loosen her scowl once she saw them, and the couple who seemed a tad more than "friendly." Out of all of them though, reader felt the most reassurance from the group leader-- the man who seemed to dote on them like a parent would, though there was still fear over his constantly nagging questions and downward stare behind his glasses.

It was once reader decided to stop showing up to the increasingly more recent group sessions, did things start to turn sideways. There would constantly be a knock at the door, asking why they weren't there, if something was wrong, if a stalker had gotten to them. But it wasnt until recently did they feel they were being watched, followed, stalked.

Things started to go missing, from their favorite pair of underwear to little knickknacks kept on their desk. Reader had never felt the effects of the disease and its victims, but ever since the uncomfortable shift in the support group, life hadn't been the same.

One fateful afternoon, there came another series of knocks. Reader couldn't take it anymore, and had long given up on answering the door. The knocking continued, however. Thered be a pause, a moment of hesitation, before the pounding began again. Muffled voices could be heard outside readers front door, and suddenly there grew a great fear in their chest.

Not long after, the knocking seemed to occur in other areas around the house. The backdoor echoed as glass was banged on, the windows of their bedroom seemingly pressured by fists that begged to be let in. Their name was called from outside, small and booming voices all begging to be let in, promising that they were only there to help.

Reader covered their ears, crawling under the blankets and rocking themselves to the hope that the noise would go away. And eventually, It did-- only to be replaced with the sound of shattering glass and rushed footsteps.

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samthestrangerthingsfan · 2 months

Text

Out of The Woods

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: You're back in Hawkins, and the memories keep on coming.

chapter warnings: mentions of grief, parental loss, motherhood, swearing, brief description of injury (bloody nose)

a/n: chapter one! the ball is officially rolling! I'm so excited for you all to read and get to know these characters. Enjoy!

chapter one: I've Got Sunshine || series masterlist

Muscle memory is a funny thing.

The faded wheel of your ‘88 Ford Escort was being gripped so hard that your knuckles ached. You recalled shortcuts and one-ways with ease, moved through neighborhoods and back roads you hadn’t been down in nearly decade--seven years to be exact. They say home is where your heart is; if that was the case, Hawkins stopped being home a long time ago.

Still, part of you supposed it was normal.

Normal to remember this place so vividly, you could draw its map with your eyes closed. Normal to recall the smells and sounds and the stoplight that hasn’t worked properly since ‘79.

Normal to see the Plant, and Melvald’s—Joyce Byers’ car parked dutifully out front. You remembered everything, despite having tried to forget.

You never thought you'd be back here. After you got your diploma, after all the hell you'd been through--after what happened, you’d gone East. A scholarship earned you a full ride to Yale University.

Then life happened.

Maggie happened.

Once school was no longer an option, you looked for work. Doing job after job, sometimes three at a time to make the rent and keep food on the table for her.

As much as you tried to deny it, everything seemed like a sign from above that this place wasn’t meant to be. Rent went up, you’d been let go from your waitressing job, and then your car started to shit the bed.

Hey, when it rains it pours, am I right?

Then came the call that brought you back here to Hawkins in the first place.

Your Dad died.

Not that you’d ever been particularly close, especially not after your Mom died. You were just 14 at the time and it was hard. That's the age every girl needs her Mom, and without yours, you were left to navigate grief, high school, and becoming a good person all on your own.

Your Father was...an unfortunate side effect of her passing. Consumed by his own grief, you assumed. It turned into him not being able to stomach being around you. The fighting was constant, you could never do anything right in his eyes, and he could never replace your Mom in yours. You’d practically lived everywhere but home your entire high school career, and he was either working at the Plant, or too drunk to care.

That’s why when a lawyer called you up and told you you’d been left his house, you damn near fainted.

"You're sure you have the right person?" You asked, stretching the cord around your finger nervously.

The man repeated your name, date of birth, and 'relationship to the deceased'.

"The home has been paid off since, lemme see here," You heard the flip of a paper, "'Ah, '78. Taxes and such can be put into your name when you begin occupying the residence, but we do need a decision by--"

"I'll take it!" The words flew out of your mouth before your brain could stop you.

This was a sign, the last sign you needed. You took $300 out of your savings to fix your car, packed up everything that mattered, and the two of you started the 12 our road-trip home.

Now you were just two right turns away.

“Hey, Sunshine. You awake back there?” You ask, a smile in your tone.

Maggie stretched, adjusting the blanket on her lap. “I’m up, Mama.” She's smiling, clearly just beginning to wipe the sleep from her eyes. “Where are we?”

The question left your daughter’s mouth just as you turned into the driveway.

Slowly, you find the strength to put the car in park. Deep breaths, right? That's what you tell Mags to do when she's scared. So you take your own advice, and do one big deep breath. “Our new home.”

Maggie’s gasp startled you. “We get a whole house?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “Yes, baby girl. A whole house, and guess what else?”

She clutched her worn, stuffed teddy bear tightly to her chest and watched you with bated breath.

“You get your own room!”

Your six-year-old squealed with delight, kicking her feet into the seat in front of her. “Mama I’m so excited! Can we go in? Please! Please!” She begged happily.

With shaking hands, you snatched the key from the ignition. “Absolutely.”

Maggie’s feet were taking her faster than the rest of her could follow. As she waited on the stoop of the familiar blue house, you bent down and lifted the 5th rock from the left that lined the path. The key was there, just as it always had been, though now it was aged with rust. You’d hidden it there after being unable to wake your Dad from his drunken stupor on more than one occasion.

The house—your house, was nothing grand, but the look on your daughter's face said otherwise.

“Mama, we get this whole place?”

You tussled her hair as she moved to wander the living room. “Sure do, baby girl.

The two of you had lived in a one bedroom for her entire life. In the six years since you'd had her, she’d never really had a space to call her own, and even though you’d given Maggie all you had, it killed you not to be able to give her what she deserved.

“So, I was thinking…Maggie?”

You walked the familiar hallway to find her in your old bedroom; it looked exactly like it did the day you left.

“Mama! Is this you?” She ran at you, holding an old Polaroid.

With tender hands, you grabbed it from her. “It sure is, Mags.”

Her smile grew as she spoke, “So pretty, Mama. Who’s the peoples with you?”

The grin on your face matched hers, “This right here? This is Robin, she’s the one who sends me all of those funny birthday cards.”

Robin didn’t know you were back, and you’re not exactly sure how to say, “Hey remember me? Your friend who disappeared? Well, I’m back for good and so is my daughter that you’ve never met.”

“Oh, who’s this boy?”

You chuckled, “That’s Steve. He’s a real cheese-ball, but you’d love him. I hope you get to meet him some day"

Maggie's giggles filled the room, and you could feel your cheeks aching from the size of your smile.

She deserves the world. I'm gonna make sure she gets it.

"Mama?"

You sit on the edge of your old desk, "Hm?"

"Who's this guy with the long hair?"

Your heart sank. Collapsing in on itself, and descending into your stomach. "That's uh, his...his name is Eddie."

Saying his name--speaking him into reality made you sick. It made your bones ache and your muscles twist with rage and grief.

Just then, your beautiful daughter, blissfully unaware and innocent, asks a follow up question.

"Is he your friend too, Mama?"

The lump in your throat was hard to swallow, but you do it for her. "He used to be." It's all you can manage.

She holds the photo in her little hand, analyzing the image with all of the brainpower her six year old mind could muster.

"His eyes kinda look like my eyes!"

7 little words, spoken in the sweetest, happiest tone, break you.

"They kinda do, don't they?" You ask, turning around to pretend to organize whatever random clutter you could find.

Maggie places the photo on the desk, and moved on to the next room.

"Wow, Mama! A bathtub! i can take bubble baths!" She echos off the tiles walls, and you crumble. Falling to you knees and silencing your sobs with you palm.

How are you gonna do this? How are you going to live here and avoid him? What will happen in he sees you? See's her?

Maggie is all that matters in this. Hawkins is big enough, right? Surely, you can avoid all of the old haunts you remember Eddie going too. Avoid the Hideout and Lover's Lake, and certainly avoid the Forest Hill's trailer park.

God, that place was your sanctuary for so long--both you and Eddie.

After every party, every fight with your Dad, you'd find comfort at the Munson home. Wayne demanding you stay as long as you wanted, and assuring you that this place is as much yours as it is Eddie's.

The trailer was where you cleaned Eddie up after every run in with Jason and the other douchebags at Hawkins High.

NOVEMBER 15th, 1985

Your fingertips turned crimson as you held the damp towel to Eddie’s nose. He winced the moment it made contact with the newly bruised flesh.

“Fucking…fuck.” Eddie barely managed to get it out.

You recoiled, but he protested. “Nope…no. Just, just get it over with.”

Slowly and as carefully as you could, you dabbed the blood from the already purple skin. “Jesus, Eds. You bruise like a peach.” It’s a small offer of a joke, a way to ease his pain and your guilt.

A hiss as you touch a particularly sensitive part on the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.” You’re the one wincing now.

“Still look tough though, right? Even if I got my ass kicked?” He smiled gently, a self-deprecating pull at the corner of his mouth.

The trailer was cold, it was just turning fall in Hawkins, and Wayne didn’t use the heat unless it was below freezing. A chill ran down your spine as your stomach flipped.

“You got a couple of good licks in, I just wish you didn’t—“

He cuts you off immediately. “It’s never a question, and you know that.”

A shaking sigh passes your lips as you turn your back to him. The warm water running from the sink rinses the blood out of the washcloth, and as swirls of red spin down the drain, you're fighting back tears. “Jason’s a prick who gets his rocks off watching people squirm. He knows I’m repulsed by him. He’s not worth it, Eddie.”

You hated seeing him like this because of you. Jason was being foul and vulgar and his typical jock-with-one-brain-cell self when he’d cornered you in the cafeteria.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t see Eddie walk in behind him.

Jason was describing exactly how he’d 'make you moan'—barf—when Eddie spun him around and decked him.

He was able to get three or four shots on him before the rest of Jason's caveman friends ganged up on Eddie, only stopping when Principal Higgins stepped in.

“He’s not, but you are. I don’t know how many times we gotta go over this, Bug. I’ll never let anyone hurt you--ever. Who cares if I get a little banged up in the process?”

Bug.

The nickname he's called you for the past 4 years. A way he shows you that it really is just you and him against the world.

"I care. You're all I've got Eddie Munson." You say it dramatically, in hope the seriousness of the moment wouldn't make things weird. Eddie's warm hand finds your cheek, the pad of his thumb swept over the soft skin.

"Forever, kid. You and me."

The memory made you shiver.

Get it together. You chastise yourself.

"Hey Mags?" You call, scrubbing the emotion from your face onto your palms.

She bounds down the hall, still in awe at the space. "Yeah, Mom? Did you know my room has a closet? I can fit all my toys inside!"

Your arms reach for her, and she jumps into your embrace instantly. After squeezing her, you pull back to take in the little person you'd made.

God, she really does look so much like him.

She's got your nose, and cheeks for sure. But those eyes? The smile? That's Eddie, through and through.

"You know I love you, right?" You kiss her forehead.

Maggie pushed your cheeks together, smushing you face in her palms. "I know, Mama. 'Nember what you always say?"

"What's that, Mags?" You ask, brushing the hair from her eyes.

"You and me, kid. Forever and ever."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #OoTW #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic

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steddieas-shegoes · 16 days

Text

is that tax fraud?

for @corrodedcoffinfest warm-up round prompt ‘taxes’

rated t | 671 words | cw: language | tags: they’re just so stupid, and I love them, look Steve is here!

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

“What the hell do you mean you’ve never filed taxes?” Jeff asked Gareth as they sat around trying to write a song.

Keyword: trying.

Now it looked like they were gonna be figuring out how to keep Gareth out of fucking prison for tax fraud.

“I thought our band accountant handled it!” Gareth exclaimed.

“We don’t have a band accountant! The label just handles our money!” Jeff exclaimed back.

“Okay, let’s calm down.” Eddie, the voice of reason at this moment, held his hands up towards them. “Technically, Gareth only turned 18 two years ago. That’s only two years of back taxes. And if he’s honest, it’ll be fine! He probably didn’t even make enough the first year for them to care.”

“Well, I did get an inheritance from my grandpa who died,” Gareth said unhelpfully. “Does that count as income?”

Everyone stared at him in shock.

“This is a joke,” Freak said from his spot on the couch. “Has to be.”

“Oh my god, our drummer is actively committing tax fraud,” Jeff put his head in his hands.

“Guys, it’s fine! I’ll just file it all this year,” Gareth assured them.

“We should call someone. Right? Someone should be told about this,” Eddie started pacing the floor, wearing a trail into the shag carpet.

Who even put shag carpet in here? Shag was terrible.

The door swung open and Steve walked in holding three large pizzas and a grocery bag full of sodas.

“They didn’t have any Mountain Dew, but that’s probably for the best. You guys have a conference call in an hour so eat up,” he said as he started setting everything on the coffee table. He looked around when he realized it was way too quiet. “Everything okay?”

“Stevie. I fear our drummer may be going to prison.”

Steve paled. “What? Why?”

“He forgot to tell the government he has money. For two years.”

“He what?” Steve looked at Gareth to explain.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to file my own taxes! I thought we had a guy!”

Steve looked between all of them. He looked at Gareth.

“You do have a guy. The label provides a guy. I think his name is Sam? Maybe Shane.” Steve shook his head. “Either way. You have a tax guy. He filed for all of you last year.”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence.

“What do you mean? We all filed for ourselves last year. Except Gareth, apparently,” Jeff was frowning at the floor.

“Uh, well, you may have given double the money, then,” Steve laughed, though this wasn’t exactly funny.

“So let me get this straight: the label provided a guy to do our taxes without telling us. We all file our own taxes after this guy already did. No one caught it. Gareth’s the only one who hasn’t double paid into the fucking government?” Eddie asked, face red with shame or anger, it was hard to say which.

“Yeah, appears so.”

“Fuck you guys. Had me worried I was going to prison and I’m the only one who’s done shit right!” Gareth laughed. He reached for a slice of pizza and sat back in his chair, smug smile on his face. “Feels good to have my taxes paid.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Freak rolled his eyes. “So how do we get money back if we double filed?”

“Not sure we can,” Jeff sighed. “Probably isn’t worth figuring it out anyway. It’s not like we were rolling in for last year’s taxes.”

“But this year…” Eddie started.

They all looked at each other and nodded.

Yeah. This year would be different. They’d skyrocketed after the release of their first album and their first tour. Money was…pretty fucking great.

“So…pizza?” Steve asked.

They all nodded and started grabbing for their food.

“If you guys want, I’m sure Nancy can try to find a way to get money back. She’s good at that stuff,” Steve suggested.

“Nah, she’d call us idiots.”

“Well, if the shoe fits.”

“Hey!”

#corroded coffin #eddie munson #gareth emerson #jeff #freak #steve harrington #corrodedcoffinfest #drabble

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shslbunnylover · 4 months

Note

hii, i wanted to request a fluffmas story. one with melissa x reader where it’s their first Christmas as a married couple and reader wants to make it as special as possible

★★★𝘼 𝙎𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞'𝙨 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙣 (12 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙁𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙢𝙖𝙨 𝘿𝙖𝙮 7: 𝙈𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙤𝙚 & 𝙂𝙞𝙛𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜★★★

Character: Melissa Schemmenti

Requester: Anonymous

Taglist: @inlovewithgreta @lilfartbox1 (Message me to be a part of the taglist until I get a page set up!!)

Trigger warnings (DL, DI): A couple mentions of sex,

Genre: Fluff (With hints of crack 😉)

A/n: Here ya go anon! Thanks for this request! It was perfect to add to this fic! (Also this gif goes perfectly with the story 🤭)

Word count: 2.0k

...

Being a Schemmenti came with a lot of perks. For one there was the delicious food served up by each family member, plus there was also the bonus of always knowing a guy and having kind in-laws. But for you, the biggest perk of being a Schemmenti was none other than the fiery redhead you were married to, Melissa.

She knew how to take care of herself and you, and she was kind and sweet to all of the kids she taught and every kid she didn't. Her figure was seductive, and her facial expressions would have you squirming in your seat like a schoolgirl who just got passed a note by her crush. The way she treated you in the bedroom made you feel like either a princess or a slut (In a good way of course) depending on your moods, and the way protectiveness she had over you made you feel loved and wanted.

The way your eyes looked at her was like a lovesick puppy looking at a bone, and she'd never let you forget about it.

"What is it with you and those puppy dog eyes?" She'd always ask you, and it would always result in you breaking out in a blush.

There was so much Melissa and the rest of the Schemmenti family had done for you, and all you wanted was to do something for the redhead you loved.

One thing you knew, was that being a Schemmenti meant that you knew how to pull off a plan.

And it all started with a simple shopping trip.

"And how much for the bat protector?" You asked, pulling out your wallet as your thumb ran through the stack of bills saved up inside the pocket.

"That'll be fifteen ninety-nine with tax," The man across the register smiled at you, scanning the item before putting it in a bag. "Is this your husband's Christmas present?"

"Wife's," You corrected him with a chuckle, grabbing the bag as you handed him the cash, placing the change in one of the pockets in your wallet.

"Oh, I see," He nodded, "Have a nice day. I hope she enjoys the cover!"

You walked out of the store in the mall, checking your phone for the time before you quickly ran down the stairs to the lower level of the building. You looked around for the back exit, sighing in relief once you finally found it.

"Now it's time for the best part of surprise 1," You thought out loud, going out through the door into the chilly air, only to be met with a familiar sight.

Anyone who knew Melissa knew she loved Philly and their sports teams, especially the Flyers mascot Gritty, so you found a hookup and paid him to sign the bat cover for Melissa's main Christmas present.

Even though you never got the whole hype around the guy, you just went along with it for Melissa, it was cute how happy she'd get.

"Hello there Gritty," You chuckled, handing him a stack of cash you had saved up from a couple of side hustles and working at extra-curriculars at Abbott (and using thousands of coupons with every purchase you would make through the year).

He simply waved in reply, keeping his public persona as a mascot even though it was just the two of you. The mascot took the tiny stack of cash in one of his large furry paws, putting it in his pocket while you took out the gift.

"Thanks again for coming," You smiled in gratitude, looking at the thing in front of you as you handed him the gift.

You watched as he signed it, secretly taking a photo of the sight before taking back the bat cover.

"You know you didn't have to do this-" You chuckled, pausing at the end. "You aren't going to reply, aren't you?"

The furry orange mascot shook his head, causing you to chuckle.

"Alright then, thanks again for this Gritty. I never got you, but if it makes Melissa happy then I'm all for it," You laughed.

Bored with the silence, you simply waved, saying your goodbyes before getting in your car.

"Mel's gonna love it..." You sighed, putting the gift in a special box you had bought.

"Hon?" Melissa hummed, hugging you from behind as you stood at the kitchen island, grading papers.

"Yeah, baby?" You asked, turning around to kiss her softly on the lips.

"You wanna watch a movie with me?"

"Of course!" You smiled in reply, grabbing her hand as the two of you sat on the couch.

"Wh-"

"No," You cut her off. "What do you wanna watch?" You smirked, looking at Melissa's slightly surprised expression.

"I was thinking of a Hallmark movie..." She replied, her voice going quiet out of embarrassment.

"Oh! That sounds awesome!" You beamed, "I told Jacob you had the best tastes in movies!"

"You are not telling him that I like these sappy ass Hallmark movies-" The redhead threatened, pointing at you.

"I'm not going to tell him, and you know that. I've kept a secret through three years of dating and almost a whole year of marriage," You rolled your eyes.

Melissa chuckled, pulling you close up against her body.

"You're a sweetheart, hon. You know that?" She smirked.

"Oh I know, that's why I'm planning on making this the best Christmas ever for you~" You replied with a wink, watching as a soft smile formed on her face.

"Any Christmas with you is the best Christmas ever," Melissa reassured you, pressing a kiss to your hair.

When Christmas day finally arrived, the two of you exchanged gifts like every year, but you kept the special gift until her family came over, much to her confusion.

"Trying to keep me waiting huh? It better not be anything dirty- You know Vinny will never allow me to let that go," Melissa looked at you with narrowed eyes as she swept the floors.

"It's not Mel!" You chuckled, finishing up your job of setting up the table and organizing the kitchen.

"Good-" The redhead looked at you. "I wouldn't mind it if it was~ I'd just prefer not to have my Ma look at any part of my sex life," She winked, causing you to blush.

"I don't want my mother-in-law looking at my sex life either Mel," You reminded her with a sassy tone. "That's why I'm now deciding to give it to you after they're here,"

But before Melissa could reply, the doorbell went off, just in time as the house had now been fully cleaned.

"Speak of the devil," You chuckled, running up to the door to let them in.

"Hey there Y/n!" Melissa's mom hugged you tightly, "How are ya?" She asked, kissing you on each cheek like she always did.

"I'm good Teresa, Mel is in the kitchen, everything is set out," You pointed in the direction of the kitchen before saying your greetings to everyone else.

One tradition you loved participating in was the Secret Santa, every year the Schemmenti would sit down and draw out of a hat who'd they get the gift for, but it was different. The gifts could only cost under 5 dollars.

But once everyone was handing out their actual gifts, you all would hand out the Secret Santa gifts, and the chaos would ensue.

"Oh my god- What the hell is this Vinny?" You exclaimed through laughter, holding up a toilet LED light.

"It was on sale! Amazon had it for 3 dollars!" The man defended himself. "Plus, we only had 5 dollars to spend!"

"What the hell made you think this was a good purchase?" Melissa cackled, bending over in laughter.

"Maybe you needed to see when you go to the bathroom at night!"

"We have light switches for that, you dumbass!" You laughed, holding your stomach as it began to hurt out of laughter.

"Oh, whatever! You just bought her a couple of scratch-offs!" Vinny replied, gesturing to Kristin-Marie as he tried to hold down his laughter (and failed miserably).

"At least those can make her money!" You scoffed, "Plus she loves those things,"

"She's got you on that one Vin-" Kristin-Marie chuckled as she looked at her scratch-offs.

"You all suck-"

"You love us though," Teresa said through her laughter.

Once everyone had gone home, you brought Melissa to the Christmas tree, picking up the box hidden in the corner as you looked at her.

"So are ya finally gonna show me what it is?" Melissa smirked, watching you stand back up, her smirk becoming a soft smile as she heard you starting to speak.

"Melissa, you've done so much for me, and I love you so much... Merry Christmas," You smiled, handing her the gift and watching as she opened it.

You watched as she picked up the cover, looking at the signature as her eyes widened and she covered her mouth.

"You're joking right?!" Melissa gasped.

You shook your head, showing her the photo you had taken a couple of days earlier when the mascot was signing the gift for her.

"It's real, I thought it'd be a nice cover for Edith," You chuckled, knowing how much she loved her emotional support baseball bat.

The redhead in front of you wiped a tear from her eye, smiling like a kid who had just gotten their favorite candy.

"I-I...I'm speechless," She whispered. "Thank you... All that effort you put into this means the world to me... You didn't have to,"

"But I wanted to, let me say I love you in my way," You replied. "Just this once?"

Melissa looked up a bit, noticing the mistletoe she had hung up a couple of days ago as a ploy to get more kisses from you.

"Then let me say I love you too," The green-eyed woman said in a soft and loving tone that you only heard in the privacy of your shared home before she pulled you into a deep kiss, her hands grabbing softly at every inch of your body.

"Mmmm..." You hummed in satisfaction after a minute passed and you pulled away for air. "So, was I right? Did I give you a good Christmas?"

Melissa nodded, hugging you tightly.

"The best Christmas ever,"

...

If you enjoyed reading this, don't forget to like, reblog and comment! Thank you and you are loved <3

-Akira

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti imagine #melissa schemmenti #lesbian #bisexual #pansexual #wlw #wlw ns/fw #nblw #nblw ns/fw #wlw and nblw only #fluff #12 days of fluffmas #12 days of ficmas #Akira writes #lisa ann walter

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emwheezie · 3 months

Text

Who are you choosing if my characters were in a dating sim?

Lennon:

Gremlin mode

Daddy issues

Bad hair

Musical/Creative genius. Perfect pitch

Ambitious

Doesn't shower

Ate a lasagna once

Doesn't know how to use his words

Fights drywall

Movie watcher

Chicken addiction

Street smart

Closeted Weezer fan

Dunkin Donuts

Shoes on the bed

Green Day

Might be silly

Goes up the stairs on all fours

Stressed/depressed/poorly dressed

PBC singer and lead guitar

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Tony:

Purple

Crazy driver

Mall pretzels

Catholic school survivor

Emotionally smart/book smart

Stressed/depressed/dressed to impress

Afraid of getting old/ugly

Wants to fight the MBTA

Might be delusional

throws up from anxiety

Redbull and Taco Bell

Loves dogs

Green Day

Poetic

Saw Moses (biblical) in the woods while high with Theo

Bisexual

Lactose intolerant

Finds meaning in everything

Always in a relationship

PBC bassist and "manager"

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Enzo:

Evil

Might have killed a man

Man Bun

Posts on DeviantART

Loves dragons

whispers and shakes

Future tattoo artist

Movie connoisseur

Might be a furry...?

LOVES the Saw movie franchise

Protective and loyal

Street smart

Stays up all night in the dark

In an online relationship

Does what he wants

Doesn't waste time

Sparkling water enjoyer

Tea drinker

Never listened to a music in his life

Guitarist in a band (PBC)

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

Theo:

From New Hampshire

Asexual

Golden retriever personality

Grew up with 8 siblings

Joined the military after High School

Eats Oatmeal?

Doesn't wear a seatbelt

Outdoorsy/hiking adventures

Works at a club/bar with his wife, Gia

Is a cinnamon roll

Emotionally smart

Saw Moses (biblical) in the woods while high with Tony

Calls music his "funky jams"

Forgets his shoes

Mtn Dew

Forgetful

Kidney Stones

His appendix exploded once

PBC drummer

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

Park:

Loves alcohol

Hates the government

Hates the IRS

Has never paid taxes

No sense of personal space/very touchy

LOUD

Climbs things

Grilled cheese enthusiast

Dunkin Donuts manager

Aliens are 4 realz

loves video games

Wicked smart

Goes to MIT for like space engineering or something idk

Makes monkey noises

"I have to be both the sexiest and most mentally challenged person in the room at all times"

Obsessed with skin walkers

Conspiracy theories

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

Oli:

Photography/cinematography

Graphic design

Urban Explorer

Abandoned things

Summer time vibes

Lives in sleeveless shirts

Black coffee drinker

health freak/gym rat

Smokes cigarettes (hey we all have our vices)

Secretly gay

Chronic complainer

Works at zumies

Does graffiti

Runs from his problems

Travels for work

Drives a modded Subaru

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

Alyssa:

Preforms unethical experiments in the sims 3

Loves cows

So many many plushies there's no room for her in the bed

weezer fan

Talks a lot

Lots of keychains/charms

Maximalism!

Assertive

Good listener

Workaholic

HAS to be the BEST at anything she does

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

Rosie

Grew up with strict parents

Working too many hours at Dunkin Donuts

Former ballet/dancer

Likes to bake and really good at it!

Compulsive liar

"I have a twin sister who goes to another school"

Gets jealous easily

Body image problems/eating disorders :(

Emotionally Immature

Spider eyelashes

A nose ring is "rebelling from my parents"

Currently in college

Afraid of change

Emotional support eldest daughter

Loves to sing

#long post #dating sim #ocs #original character #webcomic

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batrogers · 3 months

Text

If you want the short version of "Which Link's pay their taxes?", here's my LU headcanons going off the excessively long post here:

Sky = He's telling people what taxes to pay because he's helping Zelda build the city on the surface and in Hylia's name, he's got way more sympathy for Gaepora now that he's had to deal with it himself.

Four = He's enjoying immensely that his grandpa handles it for him, and he has NO intention of seriously dealing with it himself if he can ever avoid it. (He has indeed been sat down and taught how, and he is fond of insisting that he is *fourteen*, you are NOT dying, stop making me do this--)

Time = Zelda gave him lands as a gift for his military service and the whole knighthood thing, but she was sensible enough to give him lands that manage themselves, so he only "owns" Lon Lon Ranch. Talon incessantly teases him about this fact that technically he owes him tax, not Zelda, and Time groans every time it comes up. (Talon just pays the Castle directly still.) Malon, when she's especially annoyed at the cows or horses on any given day, will tell him that *his* livestock are acting up, but otherwise politely does not remind him.

Wind = Tetra has never paid a harbour duty tax she could avoid, but she HAS been caught and narrowly escaped several times. There's a few ports they can't legally visit anymore because of this, and Wind finds it hysterical. (I imagine the rest of the Chain is not looking forward to bailing him out of jail if they wind up in one of those cities.)

Twilight = As a resident of Ordon village, he's not really responsible for his own taxes because they're paid by the village as a whole. Mayor Bo handles it, and he hasn't legally established himself in anyone ELSE'S census so he's free of worrying about it. Mayor Bo does bug him for money once in a while, but overall it doesn't come up.

Warriors = He's a conscript who's not really asked if its legal for him to not be a soldier anymore, but hey! He's only paying some taxes which he likes because taxes pay for his food and lodging. He's vaguely complained about it a few times and rapidly realized the others have no idea what he's talking about, so he sticks to the simple stuff: he's a Captain now! He only pays a few nominal taxes. Better than the rest deal with, right?

Legend = His uncle and grandfather both are still around and so he's safe from having to pay his own taxes for a while, although they live elsewhere. That doesn't matter, though, because as a knight's son as long as they claim they're covering him the royal family doesn't much care what he does. Ravio has definitely stated this is fantastic, and Legend has been treated to some exhausting stories about the process to rebuild Lorule. He's holding out hope his uncle lives a very long time so he's not going to be stuck dealing with it himself, thank you VERY much.

Hyrule = He's living in Castletown and working with his Zeldas at this point, so he's paying whatever's normal taxes for the city. He's a nice enough kid he probably pays other people's taxes too, and does his best to keep up with things so his Zeldas have the best chance of rebuilding possible. Definitely ducks out of any labour calls though, so he doesn't draw monsters nearby and they all know why not.

Wild = He's paying Hateno taxes like everyone else, although I imagine he's had a few extended debates with the mayor about what's the most useful thing to pay in. The mayor sometimes has a hard time processing the fact there's options, nevermind what the options ARE. Zelda would mostly like him to stop trying to plant durian in the yard.

#Linked Universe #LU Headcanons #LU Time #LU Sky #LU Four #LU Warriors #LU Wind #LU Twilight #LU Legend #LU Hyrule #LU Wild #LU Meta #dumb posts #my conspiracy to apply terrible things to people continues #Especially about Hyrule Warriors

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ratcate · 2 months

Note

I'm here to admit that I may have developed a hyper fixation on your OCs (especially on Zerion and Sir. Valentine) so can you perhaps tell us more about them? (And other OCS)

oh hey!! great selection of characters. Makes me really happy you wanting to know more about them! I love them a lot, but Sir Valentine more, as Zerion's personality and setting is pretty nebulous still. info about them both under read more!

Zerion is some sort of cartoony super villain, heavily inspired in the night of the bald mountain monster interpretation from Fantasia(disney)

(art from 2020)

I think he's a very strong dark mage or something. Right now I have him reduced to a joke. A cartoony villain living his slice of life, but always awaiting action, the smallest spark chaos, to join in, in a world where nothing ever happens. He has his sidekick, Vampina (I think that was her name). A vampire chick who lives in the moment and is Zerion's servant, as long as he provides him with some blood every now and then

(2023)

(2021)

she almost never pulls off that relaxed smile from her face, her brain usually has no thoughts more than "can i eath this?" "I can eat this" Both of them are pretty evil. I remember once i tried to sketch out a first chapter, where they had a visit of income tax department agents, coming to remind Zerion he hadn't paid his taxes, and both Zerion and Vampina made a whole intricate plan on how to get rid of them and torture them, to show the government they're not to be fucked with. Though, all their scare tactics were just confusing, failed magic tricks for the men, now tied to apparent non functioning electric chairs, looking at each other through their sunglasses, stoic faces, while confused to what Zerion is yapping about in his villain monologue, while Vampina eats a stale bread in the BG. ---------------------------------------------------------

I don't have much about Sir Valentine either, but I certainly have drawn him more. For now, His name is Sir Cannon Valentine, but we'll get to that in a bit.

(both from 2020)

This is the first art ever I made of him, and that's a lot of his vibe. (2019)

This MAN, is some warrior who died in his armor but is back by some whack magic, and he's impatient, easily irritated, screams instead of talking, and I've always imagined having him a strong accent. He's here to fight and go headfirst into everything bc he really cannot die.

As of 2024, Sir Valentine is Sir Cannon Valentine (you can still call him the first version), BECAUSE, besides him being reborn and inmortal, angry and ready to fucking obliterate anything in his way, now his body works as a canonball

He went through my manic episode of redesigning many of my characters, after getting a taste of Pizza tower's cartoony characters, and became this. Much more functional, easily drawn, flowy. he just works, i can animate him in a snap of fingers. Still consistenly working to improve his design even more.

I will probs change the story, but this guy is resucitated as a last resort for a war between kingdoms, as a mistake, bc they wanted to revive some other guy, but got mistaken and went to his thomb. This guy revived him, after a ritualistic dance and some lightning

and then he is like "oh wait I fucked up", and Valentine is like "TOO LATE BITCH I'M FREE!!" and blasts away from him, as a cannonball, fueled by his own fire and methane gas from the catacombs he is in lol. This story is very not much constructed, but I love Sir Valentine a lot, and the characters I can surround him with. I see him falling for a bourgeoisie woman, or a princess even, bc all my stories need the romance, I'm nothing without the romance. I am also thinking of including another character of mine, Sayen, as the daughter of this death guy

Sayen previously appeared as a participant in a nsfw comic in my twt alt account lol. I love her and her design very much.

#zerion oc #sir valentine oc #OCs #oc

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odiesdayoff · 3 months

Text

The Winner Is...

pair: Robert Fischer x fem!reader

summary: Robert Fischer's stuck judging this year's Miss America Pageant. That doesn't mean he can't use his position to his advantage.

warnings: extremely dubious consent!! (heed the warnings!); mean/condescending Robert Fischer; anal; blowjobs; deepthroating; unprotected sex; a bit of misogyny; power imbalance

made reader from Georgia because I've been watching a lot of Kim of Queens. I've never written a lot of this before so I hope you can enjoy <3 this is also on Ao3 so yea... feedback always appreciated!

but also your consumption is your fault so if you don't like the content well then you should not have skipped/ignored the warnings

ALSO happy valentine's day from me :)

“In your opinion, what is a way that young women can lead successful lives in traditionally male-dominated professions?” Miss America from 2003 spoke clearly into the microphone. She wore her winning sash across her chest and a sparkling dress.

On her left, a former professional basketball player crossed her arms and sat back. She won the finals for her team two years in a row and now she was stuck judging brainless, but beautiful women being asked sexist questions in the veil of feminism and the uplifting of women. It didn’t matter, though. She was getting paid.

On the right of Miss America 2003, Robert Fischer leaned on the judge’s table with his hands folded. Ever since he fumbled the business deal with Eclipse Solutions, Maurice thought that the best form of punishment was to take his spot as a judge in this competition. Initially, Robert thought that it wasn’t much of a punishment, but after a long week of nonstop noise and hearing these women yap about how they were going to change the world, he understood why his father made him.

The hard-on he was sporting towards the beginning of the competition was long gone. He couldn’t bear to look at any of them anymore. Even during the swimsuit portion, for God’s sake.

Your smile never fell. The swimsuit you chose emphasized your breasts and slimmed your waist. Saying that you chose it was an exaggeration, your coach said that if you could catch the eyes of Fischer and Johnson, who your coach was convinced was a lesbian, you would have it in the bag. You still weren’t too sure about it. Knowing that your body was getting exposed to millions of people over the television was enough to raise your anxiety.

Attempting to not look like a total fool, you took a deep breath and nodded in response to her question. “Well, as someone who is in the career path of accounting, I have faced a lot of adversarial coworkers and peers. I believe that the best way that young women can gain success is to keep their self-confidence and never stop allowing themselves to learn and grow both professionally and personally. The best way to prove your doubters wrong is to excel in the path that you choose.” You weren’t exactly sure what you were saying, but you had hoped that it came across as something really intelligent to the judges. This was a question you had practiced for so long with your coach, but your mind drew a blank.

Robert held back a laugh or at least a scoff. There’s no way he would hire you. With a face like that and the way you spoke, there’s no way that you knew how to do anything within the range of taxes or money. Probably a case of affirmative action, he was sure. Either that or you sucked the right man’s dick to get to where you were now.

Miss America 2003 grinned. “Thank you, Miss Georgia. What a lovely way of thinking. I wish you the best of luck! Mr. Fischer, do you have a question?”

Robert’s bright blue eyes pierced into yours, despite the fair amount of distance from each other. He leaned into his mic. “Do you believe that you get respected more or less because of your appearance?”

The question felt like a double-edged sword. The last thing the general public wanted to hear was that you thought you were beautiful. It weirded people out to acknowledge your beauty, according to your coach.

“While I do think that appearance does affect the way that strangers treat others, it’s in your personality and how you treat others that matters. For me, it doesn’t matter what someone looks like for me to respect them. People that base how they treat others based on looks aren’t worth your time.” You had only hoped that the foundation you had on was holding back the sweat threatening to fall down your forehead. Robert Fischer had been asking the most condescending and borderline rude questions to everyone. It was bound to happen to you, too.

“Mm. Thank you.” He didn’t look amused.

Music began to play and the audience cheered. You smiled again at the judges' table before leaving the stage in the T walk. Once you were off stage and out of sight of both the judges and the audience, you let out a sigh and released the way that you were sucking in your stomach. You had been doing pageants like this ever since you were a little girl and now, your dream of being in this competition was real. Why did it feel so humiliating?

There was only one final day. It was the evening gown portion and the announcement of Miss America for the year. After that, you could finally relax. That is, unless you won and would immediately have to start your training for Miss Universe. Maybe you didn’t want to relax, after all.

By the time the sun fell, most of the contestants were either spending their last night together in their hotel rooms and doing spa nights while the rest decided to go out to the clubs. You were advised not to befriend any of them by your coach to avoid feeling guilty when you eventually won and they lost. Now, you were alone at a nearby bar nursing a beer and listening to the band playing. It was a cover band of The Killers. Mr. Brightside was the current song getting butchered by the young singer.

It was freeing to be out of dresses and swimsuits and finally not showing off your body. You wore loose jeans and a top with a jacket over it. If they didn’t know you, nobody would even know that you were who you were.

You felt someone sit next to you. In a bar of several open seats, of course, they chose the one basically on top of you. They waved the bartender down and ordered a whiskey. The voice was familiar, one that was ringing in your head all day. You faced him to confirm your suspicions. Robert fucking Fischer.

The drink in your hand was what you tried to focus on. “Not very talkative off stage, huh?” It would be rude to ignore him, you knew that.

You shrugged. “My social battery is drained.” While it was partially the truth, he was the last person you wanted to be speaking to.

“You know,” he swirled the whiskey in his glass, “it’s between you and Miss California.” He took a generous sip of his drink as he let the information sink in.

Excitement and guilt mixed in your stomach. “You shouldn’t say that. We shouldn’t even be speaking, Mr. Fischer.” You finished your drink and stood from the barstool. His hand wrapped around your wrist and stopped you from taking a step away.

“You wanna win, don’t you?” You sat back down, mostly involuntarily, and met his eyes with your own again. They were almost hypnotizing. “I can make that happen.”

“What do you mean?” Questions ran through your head. Was he asking for a bribe? Maybe he had some sort of bet running on you winning.

He smirked at the sight of your intrigue. “This whole competition’s about who’s the best woman, right? They’re still forgetting about the most important thing that makes a woman.” He leaned in closer to you, his hot breath against your skin. “How well they can fuck.”

You waited a moment to make sure that he was being serious, hoping that he wasn’t. The lustful look in his eyes didn’t tell you that he was joking at all. “You’re disgusting.”

“Even if I am, I’m the deciding factor on whether you go down in history as a winner or as nobody at all.” He finished his drink and stood up, fixing his tie. “Johnson likes you. Miss 2003 wants California. It’s all up to me.”

If he was lying, rejecting him wouldn’t mean much in the long run. If he wasn’t, you probably would’ve spent the rest of your life regretting taking him to bed. “Someone will see us going to the hotel together.”

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed you one of his room keys. “Room 704. Wait ten minutes and then come up.” Without saying another word, he dropped some cash on the bar for his drink and left.

The room key felt heavy in your hand. Was winning worth anything if it wasn’t honest? He better have a decent-sized dick if you were really going to do this.

You felt a hand tap your shoulder. “Y/n L/n? Oh my god, I’m such a big fan! I’ve been watching the whole pageant with my daughter, she loves you!” A woman shook your hand, feeling a bit too formal. The guilt grew in your stomach. How could you be a role model for little girls like this? “Can I have a picture?”

Despite your appearance, you nodded. The room key burned a hole in your pocket as you fixed your hair and took a picture with the woman. Hopefully, the dim light of the bar made you look better than you felt.

It had already been fifteen minutes since Robert had left. You finally paid for your drink and headed for the hotel. With each step, your anxiety grew. The elevator rose to the seventh floor and you stopped in front of 704. Instead of knocking, you pulled the room key out and inserted it into the door. The light flashed green and you pushed it open.

Robert was sitting at the edge of the bed without his clothes, stroking himself and staring at the door until you finally walked in. “You’re late.” You kept your eyes around his, trying to prevent yourself from looking any lower.

“I got caught up with something.” You took your jacket off and laid it on the office chair. Given his state of undress, you weren’t entirely sure whether or not you should strip now or wait for his instruction. He seemed like the type who was obsessed with control, especially in the bedroom. The last thing you needed was for him to get angry with you over something so trivial and ruin your chances.

He rolled his eyes. “Sounds like you don’t really want this, don’t you? To win?”

Frantically, you shook your head. “I want it.”

He pointed to the floor right in front of him and spread his knees further apart. You didn’t respond, knowing it was most likely for nothing, and knelt in front of him. For the way that he acted, you would assume it was because he was overcompensating. God, you were wrong.

His free hand grabbed hold of your hair and pushed your head closer to his aching cock. He leaned back. “You’re not gonna win just by looking at it.” You held back from commenting on his attitude and kissed the blushing red tip, the same color as his lips.

You flattened your tongue against the underside of his head, allowing his precum and your saliva to mix. After hearing the slightest moan of pleasure from him, which was an exhale at best, you took a few inches of him into your mouth. His hand in your hair guided you back and forth along his length.

“That’s all you’re gonna take? I think you could do much better than that.” He taunted, not pushing you down and wanting you to do it voluntarily. “Or, I could just call down Miss California. She’d love to deepthroat me.”

You tried to relax your throat and took him deeper. He was big, much bigger than what you were used to, but you could take him. You inched deeper until your nose pressed against his lower stomach and your breathing was constricted. “Atta girl.” He smelled like the generic body soap the hotel offered with a mix of his cologne. If you could focus on breathing through your nose and sucking him off the best you could, this would be over quickly.

Hearing his heavy breathing and attempts to hide his whimpers sent shockwaves down your spine. You felt the warmth growing in between your legs the more you pleasured him. “I’m about to cum. You’ll swallow, right?”

While you couldn’t answer, you made a sound of agreement that vibrated down your throat. You’d need to do some vocal treatment and tea tonight so you still could speak tomorrow. “Fuck.” He gripped your hair tighter as he came, ropes of cum shooting down your throat.

He finally pulled out once he had fully finished. You wiped a trail of cum and spit from your lips and looked up to him. “Not bad. Though, I’ve had much better. I guess I overestimated you. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

“What does that mean?” You cocked a brow. It felt even more humiliating considering your position in front of him and the way that you could still taste the remnants of his semen coating your throat.

“Oh, come on. You get a high-paying job straight out of college at a Big 4? You’re either a genius, which I doubt considering half of the answers you’ve given so far, or you’ve slept your way into the job. Now, strip for me.” He spoke matter-of-factly. It was like he’d already convinced himself of his theories, even though they were far from the truth. Couldn’t imagine that a woman like you could make her way up the corporate ladder without the help of rich and successful parents.

There was no use in arguing, you told yourself and took your clothes off until you were standing naked in front of him. “How exactly is the winner chosen? Aren’t there scoresheets? You’re making it sound like it’s entirely based on personal preference.”

He laughed, this time, a genuine one. “Scoresheets are arbitrary. We make those up to align with who we like the best.” He gestured to the bed behind him with his head as he stood. You followed his order and sat on the edge where he had previously been. His tongue flicked around his lips as he got a good look at you, sitting there so obediently for him. “Didn’t even touch you yet and you’re already dripping.”

You gave him your best version of doe eyes that you could, following the instruction of your coach. She always said that facial expressions were the most important aspect of impressing someone. If you could read the person and make yourself into their ideal partner, they’d be putty in your hands. Robert seems to like to be in charge and superior, but there was an underlying hint of something you couldn’t put your finger on. Maybe it was the desire to be nurtured?

“Can’t imagine you’ll feel that good. Not as tight as you used to be, hm?” He took hold of your knees and separated them enough for his hips to fit. He was slowly getting harder again and you felt his tip nudge your clit before gathering your arousal on himself. “How do you think we can remedy that?”

He jerked himself off using your slick, then moved the tip to settle against your ass. You immediately stiffened against him and put your hands against his chest. “No. I don’t do that.”

He groaned and took a step away from you. “Little Miss Georgia Peach is too good to take it up the ass? I’m trying to help you win, but I guess you don’t care.” He picked up your discarded clothes and tossed them to you.

Your eyes followed him as he walked to the hotel phone and began to dial a number. He checked his watch. The person he was dialing answered. “Yeah, hi. Annie? I need you to do something for me. If you could-” You almost leaped towards the phone and pressed the button, ending the call. Annie was Miss California, he didn’t even need to continue the call for you to understand what he was doing.

“I’ll let you!” You were nearly out of breath, your voice hoarse.

He had to hide his smile from his plan working. “No, sweetheart. You have to ask me for it. Specifically.”

“I want you to fuck my ass, Robert.” You gulped. If this wasn’t your dream, you wouldn’t be begging him like this.

“Turn around.” Once you turned, his hands were on your waist and his tip rested against your ass. He slipped two fingers into your pussy, gathering arousal, and then re-lubed his cock. You’d done this before, but it wasn’t something you necessarily enjoyed. The pain outweighed the pleasure. You just needed to breathe through it.

Your hands gripped the sheets below once his head was inside your tight hole. He slowly pushed further inside until he bottomed out. The white, hot pain was rippling through your body. You focused on inhaling and exhaling and continuing to hold tightly to the bedsheets.

He offered you some mercy, moving only after about ten seconds of being inside. After that, he fucked you as he pleased, entirely ignoring how you might’ve been feeling. You were gonna be sore tomorrow. “Fuck, this is how Miss America should feel.”

He pushed your face into the bed so that he could get a better angle and began to fuck into you roughly, rutting into you like he’d die if he didn’t cum within the next few minutes.

Confusion surrounded you when he pulled out and you felt a sudden emptiness. Not that you were complaining. He flipped you to your back and you could barely process what he was doing before his hot cum was spurting onto your breasts and stomach.

He pushed his hair back and caught his breath, taking a step away from you. “Get dressed and leave. I’ve got some calls to make.”

You couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach at his confirmation of your win. Maybe it was the orgasm that had never reached climax. Either way, you couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Pins pricked against your soft skin as they held parts of your evening gown together. Lights glare on you and your competitors on the stage. It took a lot of your might to not show the extreme soreness that you felt between your legs. You knew that if you were to touch your breasts or tighten the dress a bit more, you’d only be pushing further against the bruises Robert had given you.

The man in question sat in his chair with the other two judges, arms crossed as usual. He barely gave you a passing glance, instead, he focused on discussing things with the judges or looking at the other contestants. Maybe it was just a ploy to not make it seem like he already knew who was going to win. Certainly, that was it.

The announcer walked on the stage from the judge’s panel with an envelope in his hand. That envelope had your name on it, you knew. He was an irrelevant game show host that you remembered watching when you were home sick from school as a child. Whatever paid the bills.

You kept your award-winning smile on while the announcer took his microphone and began to speak about how the competition was the opposite of what most people thought when it came to beauty pageants. Mostly pandering and filibustering so that the program would be able to run another round of advertisements when they played it on cable.

“Well, I have in my hand the name of Miss America of this year. Without further ado, why don’t I open it and save these women some anxiety?” He laughed at his own joke while the audience cheered.

Miss California stood next to you on your left and Miss Connecticut on your right. As per tradition, you held hands with them while the announcer opened the envelope of the winner. You almost felt bad for them, knowing that they were going to lose.

The envelope was open. The announcer leaned into the microphone. “And the new Miss America is…Miss California!”

It was as if you were seeing things in black and white. Confetti fell from the ceiling and Miss California dropped your hand to receive her flowers and sash. You knew that crying would make you look bad, like a sore loser, but that’s the only thing that you felt like doing. You forced a smile and clapped for her.

Robert clapped for the winner, though his cold stare was on you. What you’d never forget was the smile plastered on his face.

He had won.

#inception #robert fischer x reader #cillian murphy x reader #robert fischer #odiesdayoff #cillian murphy

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staytinyville · 4 months

Text

OUTLAW (44)

ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

Series Masterlist

Warning: none

A/N BETA READ (@mariana-mmtz). This chapter is short because it's a filler one. Next couple of one might be as well.

All the boys in the camp turned their heads the moment you came stomping in with Yunho behind you. They raised their brows at each other when they saw the scolding look on your face, wondering if it would be a smart idea to ask what was going on.

“Hey, Darling. Where were y'all?” San was the one who had the courage to ask.

“Hendrick has my dad in prison.” You sighed, shoulder dropping as all the tension left your body the moment you saw all the boys.

“Why?” Mingi asked.

“They are accusing him of being the one to take the money from city hall. They're also thinking we were the ones who did it.” Yunho explained to them, crossing his arms.

“They're going to come looking for us again?” Wooyoung questioned, looking around.

They knew it was best to leave town for a bit and go into hiding. However, that was before they thought about sending a manhunt for specific people. Things would change if that was the case for the group.

No matter how many times you were able to break someone out of prison, you would still be coming back to help the people of the town. Even if you did take the money this time, who’s to say that Klein wouldn’t just raise the taxes again to collect the money back? Quaid was still going to be there whispering things into the mayor’s ear.

“No.” You spoke up, looking at them all with your head raised. “We'll go to them.” You said

“What do you mean?” Seonghwa furrowed his eyebrows, looking at you oddly.

“It doesn't matter if we take the money and give it back.” You explained. “So long as Quaid is here he'll keep taking the money. He's the one who brought in Sciencslaver. We have to cut the weeds from the roots.”

“Princess is right.” Hongjoong spoke up, coming out from the main tent.

“Captain it won't matter if we don't stop Strickland.” Jongho told him. “They'll just keep sending more goons.”

“Then we have a while to plan for our next heist.” Hongjoong grinned at his members. “For now we can save this town from them.”

“We've done this before. It's nothing new. You all already know how it goes.” He shrugged it off like it was nothing.

“What did we get from the homes?” Yunho asked.

“From Quaid's house we found letters to Z.” Yeosang explained. “They talk about how stupid the mayor here is and how easy it was to manipulate them. He also has some letters between Hendricks. The sheriff knows about Strickland.” He added.

“How can we get them both out then?” Seonghwa asked. “Klein has nothing to do with it obviously.”

“We should go to him first and reveal everything.” You spoke up.

“You think he'll listen?” San raised a brow.

“He's an idiot as Quaid says.” You pursed your lips. “I don't think it'll be hard to make him see what he's been doing.”

“How do we get Hendricks to resign?” Wooyoung questioned.

Your lips twitched at the mention of that man. For as long as you could remember you never really had any bad blood with him. Only had the chance to watch him from afar during church hours and the likes. You never really paid attention to the way he did his job. You didn’t bother to get involved with those kinds of affairs obviously.

You did hear gossip rumors from the saloon’s patrons though. How they heard that the sheriff would take bribes to keep from giving the rich tickets or taking their taxes. It wasn’t your business–not until he came to arrest you for someone mistaking you as a criminal.

And maybe you were one now, but it was for a good cause. Back then you were saving that girl, and she understood what you did at that point. She understood what it was like to be in that position with nothing else to do. She had been thankful you were there to save her but she regretted saying anything with how the sheriff seemed to have twisted her words. It wasn’t her fault but you knew there was something wrong with Hendricks that day.

“We will have to ask Klein for help. I'm sure he has dirt on the man.” You answered.

“I never trusted him.” Jongho sneered.

“No one did.” Yeosang retorted.

“We have to move now.” Hongjoong got up, getting his gun ready. “I'm positive Quaid has caught on and will be skipping town soon. Have to catch him before he can leave.” He locks his pistol into place, giving all of you a glance.

“Doll, you're gonna need to keep your family safe.” Mingi mentioned. “If they have your dad in custody they'll probably try to get them to tell them things. Bring them here for now.” He told you.

You suddenly remember how your father told you to take care of them. To run from the town with the boys and your family. But you couldn’t just leave him behind when he wasn’t the one who did it. It had been you and your family was caught up in your problems.

The boys knew what it was like to feel guilty for dragging others down into your own problems. They had brought so many people down in their mistakes–caused some to lose things that meant so much to them–but in the end they knew good things had come from them. They understood that in order to make things right there were going to be something that would go wrong. It was for the greater good, they would tell themselves.

But in this moment they had the chance of saving your family and keeping them from getting hurt. It was best to do what they could to keep you from feeling worse than you already did. You meant a lot to them and they would rather loose than see you upset over something that happened in their watch.

“Okay.” You sighed.

“We'll keep them safe.” Hongjoong walked up to you, bringing your head forward to place your forehead against his. “You have my word.”

“It's not them I'm worried about.” You whispered, pulling back to look Hongjoong in the eye.

“Like I said. We've done this a bunch of times. We know how things go now.” The captain grinned.

You trusted them wholeheartedly, to the point that you were sure if they asked you to do something you would. You knew your family was more than safe in their care. Even if they were going to be with you the whole time, you were sure they would keep your family in a place where no harm would come to them. Not on their watch.

You didn’t know what they had planned up their sleeves–you honestly didn’t even know what you were going to do. But you knew that you had one thing on your mind and that was to take your father out of prison. And to do that you had to get to Hendricks first. Your anger towards him was what fueled your passion to reach what you needed.

And you were more than ready with the boys standing behind you.

“Let's go.”

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