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#i'm sappy i'm sorry

strangersmunsons · 5 months

Text

you're not feeling your best. Eddie gives you some much needed comfort. eddie munson x fem!reader, ~800 words

“Hey, Eddie?”

Your soft voice breaks the comfortable silence hanging over the bedroom, where you and Eddie have been curled up in each other’s arms since you finished making love some time ago.

“What’s up, baby?” He strokes a calloused hand up and down your back, tracing gentle patterns into the skin with his fingers in a way that makes you shiver. You press your body even closer to his.

He smells musky with sweat and drugstore cologne, and the faint whiff of tobacco that lingers from his post-sex cigarette. He tilts his head down to press a sweet kiss to your shoulder, and then another, and then another.

You hesitate, unsure if you want to break this spell of gentleness by voicing your insecurities. But then Eddie traces the furrow between your brows with a delicate finger, smoothing out the small crinkle. His face is expectant. Waiting.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He gives you a dopey half-smile, the really sleepy one that you love the most. “You just did, didn’t you?”

You try to grin back, but it comes out more like a grimace.

His smile fades, face lining with concern as he takes in your expression. You've apparently hidden your unease from him well tonight; he doesn't like it. He brings a hand up to your face, cupping your cheek in his palm. “Of course you can,” he says soothingly, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

You sigh at his touch. “Don’t laugh,” you whisper, throat tightening.

“I would never, sweetheart,” he whispers back.

You stare up at him, eyes welling with tears. You shift uncomfortably in his arms, overwhelmed by the urge to suddenly run from the room.

“Hey.” Eddie gently pats your cheek, growing alarmed at how upset you look, but nonetheless staying calm for your sake. “Talk to me, angel.” He sits upright in bed, pulling you with him, so your tangled limbs are all gathered into his lap. He rocks you ever so slightly side to side, and curls one hand around the back of your neck so he can bring your forehead to his. “What’s got you all worked up?”

You don't want to tell him anymore, but you’re unable to hide from him like this. Your lip quivers uncontrollably. “Do you…do you think I’m pretty?” The words are wispy, barely there.

You might as well have taken a knife to Eddie’s heart. Shock flickers across his face before sinking into unbelievable sadness. He crushes you to him. “Of course I do. I think you’re so pretty, baby. I think you’re beautiful.” The words become muffled as he buries his face in the crook between your shoulder and neck. “Most beautiful girl in the world.”

That does it.

Fat tears spill over your bottom lashes, and you hug him back as hard as you can.

Eddie caresses and kisses every part of you he can reach. “Why’d you ask me that, huh? Did I do something to make you feel like you aren’t?” Every part of him aches at the thought of making you feel undesirable, accident or not.

You can only snuffle in reply at this point, too caught up in your tears to answer him coherently.

“Shhh,” he hushes you gently, rubbing your back. “Take a deep breath, baby. Try and relax for me, okay?”

He continues to coo sweet nothings in your ear while you let it all out, until you eventually come down from the crying jag. You slump against him, exhausted, waiting for the last few rogue sobs to finish wracking your body.

Eddie holds you all the while, and then tucks you away under his chin.

His voice is soft like velvet. “What happened to my girl today?” He resumes the gentle swaying from before, hoping the motion will soothe you. “What’s making you feel like this?”

“O-overheard…s-some people t-today…” you manage to stutter out.

Eddie’s jaw sets. Would you and he never escape the cruel judgment of others?

“They’re wrong,” he says firmly. “Don’t listen to them. Just listen to me, yeah?”

He jostles you lightly in his lap when you don’t answer. “I said, yeah?”

“Y-yes, Eddie.”

He softens again. “Good girl.” He dots a few more kisses onto your head. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart. I thought you were the second I saw you. And then you turned out to be beautiful on the inside, too. Lucky me, huh?” Another kiss. “My beautiful girl. You’re my angel.”

Your voice is still watery, almost inaudible. “Thank you.”

He gives you a tight squeeze, still speaking in dulcet tones. “I’m happy to tell you that, because it’s true. I’ll tell you all the time now.” Kiss. “I think you need some sleep, sweetheart. I promise you’ll feel better in the morning.”

He doesn’t let go of you for the entire night.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #sorry this is so sappy & gross i'm just in a mood ig #also sorry for using the term 'making love.' it was the only one that felt right #just really craving some soft sweet eddie rn 🥺

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perpetuallyconfused10 · 8 months

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Im the one who asked about requests lol, I just have this Hotch thought and I can't stop thinking about it 🫂😭

Imagine Garcia "screaming" about a video, telling the whole team about it (except Hotch and Reader), and that video is on tiktok. When they spill something about the video, Hotch and Reader ask which video they're referring to, not knowing it's from a tiktok account where the person makes videos on Hotch x Reader (like edits taken from some interview where they look at each other, slightly touches and things like that) and it's a whole profile with a lot of videos like that! So the whole team teases them and they obviously like eachother!!

Feel free to change anything!!

Gone Viral, Gone Wrong

Thank you to this anon for submitting my first request! I might have written it (and especially Hotch) be a little (way) too sappy, but I love your idea so much and I hope I did it some type of justice! WC: 3.3K

GIF by ssa-aaron-hotch-hotchner

There must be something on your face. Toothpaste, maybe, or coffee on your shirt, or a tear in your trousers. Something to explain the numerous pairs of eyes following you as you dash for the elevator, just as you always do.

This morning’s been one for the books. Between a text from your highschool ex-boyfriend, congratulating you on your ‘newfound fame’ — whatever he means by that, you don’t know — and the incomprehensibly slurred voicemails you woke up to from your sister, you aren’t quite sure what to do with yourself.

You tell yourself you’re probably imagining it. But Anderson doesn’t say a word to you as you both make your way to the BAU, just casts you sidelong glances between the rapid texts he’s sending. You hope to God it’s not you, that he's just having an awful morning, then scold yourself for it. If you’re not off to a good start, at least somebody should be.

It’s the silence in the bullpen that confirms your suspicions. Emily, JJ, and Garcia sit huddled around Emily’s computer, squeezed onto two chairs they’ve pulled together. Morgan leans over them to look at the screen. He’s in the middle of laughing at something Garcia’s said when you walk in.

You don’t even need Reid’s not-so-subtle hiss of “Guys–” to know you’re not going crazy. The smirks that drop from their faces, the giggles that extinguish themselves as you enter through the double doors, are more than enough.

Four profilers and a technical analyst, as it turns out, can be rather terrifying when the force of their stares are directed at you.

A sheepish grin tugs at your lips as you hold up your peace offering: a tray of coffee. “Hi?”

You’ve come to know how the team works. You know exactly how they react when ambushed, how they spring to action like a well-oiled machine.

There’s something a little mechanical to them now, bared in their responses to your arrival. After giving you one of his usual tight-lipped smiles, Reid flips open a random file on his desk and begins to read. JJ grabs the computer mouse, clicks a few times, and turns away from the monitor to greet you. Morgan clocks the drinks in your hands and conjures a grin just a little wider than normal.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says as he plucks the tray from your hands, thanking you with a squeeze to your forearm.

Garcia, eyeing the gesture, nearly chokes on the end of the pen she’s chewing. She stands to usher you over to your desk, her chirpy voice a balm attempting to smooth over what has been a very odd start to your working day.

“What were you guys looking at?” You ask her, eyebrows raised. If anyone’s going to tell you what’s going on, Penelope is, without a doubt, most likely to spill.

You’re disappointed – and even more confused – when she stands her ground. Through her ramble, you just about make out the words “cat” and “spa” before she’s kissing your cheek and speeding away to your lair.

You sigh as you switch on your own computer. One thing is clear. The team doesn’t like to be ambushed. And, somehow, that is exactly what you have done.

—

After finishing off one of your consults, you suffer through a morning briefing that ends up being far more complicated than it needs to be. It’s only a paperwork day, by the looks of things. In theory, this is the ‘easiest’ your job gets; if you’re not called out on an emergency, you can bank on a day of case reports and shitty coffee.

Nothing is ever easy at the BAU, not even now. Everything is out of order. There’s none of the usual idle chatter that precedes a briefing, just a fragile silence. Rossi moves from his normal position to take your place between Reid and JJ. He mutters something about the chair being uncomfortable and shoos you away from your seat. Though you can’t resist the opportunity to call him an old man for his pedantics, you acquiesce and take his spot instead. You find nothing wrong with it.

Then Hotch walks in to start the briefing, and you find about a hundred reasons to curse David Rossi. He’s wearing the gray suit, again, the one he likes pairing with his red tie. That should be a crime in itself. When he takes the only seat available — his usual seat, the one now next to you — you’re almost sure you hear JJ snort. Emily pats her on the back as she conceals it with a very unconvincing cough.

Hotch frowns in your direction, probably mulling over the change in seating plan, then turns his attention to JJ. “Are you alright?”

The blonde clears her throat. “Fine. Thanks, Hotch,” she says.

Garcia rests her elbows on the table, her mouth concealed by the palm of her hand.

Hotch nods, casting another short glance your way. “Good.”

Then he launches into the briefing, and you can almost convince yourself things are perfectly normal, that your face isn’t alight with heat and you’re not avoiding looking at him, that everything is fine. When you’re dismissed, you scurry towards the door fast enough you almost miss it.

“Garcia?” His voice is quiet, his tone soft with something disapproving hiding beneath it. “My office, please.”

Everything is decidedly not fine.

—

By noon, you can’t take it anymore. “Emily Prentiss, what the fuck are you doing?”

The question comes out louder and more harshly than you’d intended. In your peripheral vision, you see Reid’s eyes widen at the desk next to yours. Emily, halfway through a sandwich, freezes.

“I’m sorry?”

The grin fades from her face.

You huff. “You’ve been looking between me and your computer for the last half-hour. What is it? Is there something on my face?” Morgan laughs from the other side of the bullpen, and you raise your voice a little in desperation. “Seriously. Have I done something wrong?”

JJ must have heard the commotion, because she pokes her head out of her office door. She takes one look at you and sighs. “Probably best to get it over with, Em.”

When Emily hesitates, your eyes narrow. “Get what over with?”

She stands and beckons you over to her desk, firing up her computer screen as you settle into her chair. JJ comes down the stairs to join you. Though they don’t move, you can practically feel Morgan and Reid staring at the three of you from across the room.

What you see projected on Emily’s screen doesn’t make things any clearer.

“That’s—” you pause, dumbfounded. “Why are you looking at me and Hotch?”

The picture is easy to place. It must have been taken a few days ago, during a small-town case. Hotch had asked you to deliver a profile to the media when JJ was working on something else. It was far from the first time you’d faced the press head-on during your time at the Bureau, but Hotch had stood by your side anyway.

You’re not sure why she’s chosen this photo, if any, to look at. The wind’s blowing your hair into your face, and you’re midway through changing expressions so it almost looks like you’re in pain.

“Just watch,” Emily says. She presses the spacebar and the picture bursts into action.

—

“—If you believe you have any information that may relate to this case, we’d appreciate you calling the following number…” you say. You proceed to rattle off the number for the tip line JJ’s set up, but only get halfway through before everything derails.

“How do we know this isn’t all just bullshit?”

The voice overpowering yours is weathered, and so is the man who pushes through the crowd of journalists to get close to you and Hotch, whose posture you see straighten in an instant. You watch as the reporters from the city turn to look at the interloper, pens out and waiting, no doubt, for either you or your boss to slip up.

For a long moment, Hotch watches the man, his face twisted in irritation. He merely restates the tip line number and your request for any potential witnesses to come forward.

But the skeptic doesn’t let up. “This guy’s an outsider. Not one of us. Everyone here knows each other, they have done for years—”

“We’re not trying to cause a panic,” you say, your tone even, “We don’t want you all to turn on each other. But the man we’re looking for knows this town. He’s confident finding his way around the forest, even the areas that haven’t been mapped out yet. He knows the shortcuts, which roads are quiet and which are too risky to take. We’re asking you to exercise caution, and to report anything suspicious if you see it.”

“So what? A few pins on a map and you’re convinced it’s one of us?”

Hotch’s jaw tightens. This case has been harder on him than most, and you can sense that he’s on the verge of responding in a way he’ll regret later. You put a hand on his forearm as he raises it to retort, squeezing it gently in the hopes he’ll get the signal you really don’t have the seniority to be sending him: stand down. He takes a deep breath, and you let your hand slide down to meet his wrist, guiding it just a fraction backwards to rest by his side. The contact lasts only a second, maybe two, before you let him be.

When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, his eyes slow to drag themselves from your face. “We’re not here to defend the science behind criminal profiling. Our priorities remain finding the person responsible for these crimes and the safety of this community until we do. If you have any information at all, please don’t hesitate to contact us. We appreciate your cooperation.”

Even the most amateur journalist would know he’s done answering questions. Hotch gives a brief nod, turns and leads you out of the Georgia heat and back into shelter of the precinct. All the time, his hand hovers over your back, his gaze searching for any potential disruptions.

Then there’s his voice, deep and almost inaudible. You feel his breath brush your earlobe. “Thank you.”

—

Oh.

Now you’re looking at it from an outsider’s perspective, you do look a little…cozy with Hotch. Not enough to walk the line of unprofessionalism, but enough for you to notice it.

Emily folds her arms, leans back in her chair. “What’s that about?”

Avoiding her eyes, you shrug. “What’s what about?”

“The canoodling,” JJ says with a smirk, and you slap her arm.

You’re a profiler. You should know your little attempt at denial isn’t going to work, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. “Canoodling? Seriously, Jen? I don’t think anyone under the age of eighty has ever said the word ‘canoodling’.”

You hear Penelope’s kitten heels clacking against the floorboards before you see her. “Doesn’t mean you’re not doing it,” she sings. Her arms wrap around your shoulders from behind.

You groan. “Penny, you know I love you, but what are you doing here?”

“I got lonely,” she says, and her expression is so genuine that you can’t even bring yourself to be upset with her. “Just wait…”

Leaning over you to press the escape button, she exits out of full screen mode and points to the corner of the screen. When you read the number she’s showing you, your breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.

“Would you look at that?” Emily laughs. “It’s gone up.”

You blink. Once, twice, three times. And once more, for good measure. “Six-hundred-and-fifty thousand people have seen that?”

It all starts to make sense. The texts, the calls, the stares, the team’s behavior…you don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. On the bright side, you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing that could get you fired. But more than half a million people have seen you practically mooning over your boss.

Emily makes a noncommittal noise. “Half of them were probably Garcia. And a good twenty-five or so were us, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” You resist the urge to slam your head against the desk. You’ll have to settle for burying it in your hands instead. “Six hundred and…fuck. And they all think–?”

“—That you’re in love with our boss? And that he’s in love with you? Yes.”

“Oh, fuck.” “They think that, too,” says JJ, sounding sympathetic. If it weren’t for the frankly dastardly smile on her face, you’d think she was on your side.

Picturing the general population witnessing you make an idiot of yourself is bad enough. How do you even conceptualize that many people? How many stadiums could you fill solely with people who have seen you head over heels for your boss? Even worse is the thought of Anderson, or your parents, or – God forbid – even Strauss having seen it. You’ll be suspended. Fired. Or, even worse, be called into a mediated meeting with Hotch and HR, where they’ll ask him if you’ve been making him feel uncomfortable.

Emily’s voice pulls you from your shame spiral. “And there’s more, too.”

This world hates you. You’re certain of that as she opens Twitter, putting “FBI agents” into the search bar and bombarding you with hundreds, maybe thousands, of tweets with your image attached. Some are disturbingly sweet. Others poke fun at how obvious you are, and even more disturbingly, seem to think your feelings are reciprocated. That’s not a mental path you can allow yourself to go down.

“So…” You say after a long ten minutes. “What do we do?”

Footsteps, then Rossi appears at the stop of the stairs. “You go back to work. Your break’s over.”

He’s lucky you’re so fond of him. Had it been anyone else (save maybe one person) to disrupt your shame spiral, you’d have been furious. More than furious. You’re still a little irritated now.

There was nothing wrong with his fucking chair.

—

Your mission is simple. Avoid. Deny. Deflect. The rest of your afternoon drags along in a blur of paperwork and teasing comments you choose to ignore (mostly courtesy of Morgan — JJ and Emily have decided you’re nearing your breaking point and vow to leave you alone).

Five o’clock can’t come soon enough. Even when it does, there’s no reprieve. Reid turns out to be the one to betray you as everyone else packs up to leave, their files in his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers. To his credit, he looks like he means it.

“Judas,” you hiss back, but you stand and take the reports from him anyway.

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “Going somewhere special?”

You flip him off, muttering something under your breath that sounds just a little like “your funeral”.

The stairs to Hotch’s office feel much longer and much steeper than usual. At every step you reconsider. Reid’s probably still heading for the elevator now. If you catch him, you can guilt him into doing this instead. But your thoughts carry you close enough for Hotch to spot your approach through the blinds. He rises from his desk, opening the door before you can even reach for the handle.

You can’t even look him in the eyes. “Hi.”

Stepping aside to let you inside, he says your name, and it sounds so warm coming from his mouth. You wonder if he knows about your newfound fame, too. He seems to be focusing his stare directly between your eyebrows.

“I just came to drop these off.”

As if your words aren’t explanation enough, you hold up the files for him to see.

“Thank you.” Hotch reaches out to take them, and you feel his fingers brush yours as he does. He stops before the exchange is over. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”

It won’t be long now before the sun sets. It’s making its final play for glory now, golden light filtering through the window and settling over Hotch’s face. Hints of amber tones surface in his eyes, usually so dark and unreadable, making him appear much softer than usual. Safer.

You sigh. “I think some people got a little more out of that press release in Georgia than we intended them to.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“You know about that?”

You wouldn’t half mind if a wormhole opened up, right there in his office, and transported you to another universe where you don’t even have to think about this moment ever again.

“I do.” He winces. “Garcia’s computer system is the most secure in the FBI, but she doesn’t have an inside voice.”

The dry comment shocks a laugh out of you. “No, she doesn’t. But…it’ll die down, right? No one is actually going to believe that. Us being together would be—”

“Unprofessional,” Hotch supplies after a beat. “Very unprofessional.”

He reaches backwards to put the files you’ve given him on his desk, somehow managing to do so without actually taking a step away from you. If anything, he gets a little closer.

“Exactly. Strauss would kill us if we even thought about it,” you say, “Not that we would, I’m just…”

Now he looks down at you, straight into your eyes. You swear his pupils are dilated, that he slips for just a half-second and lets his attention drift down to your lips. “There’d be a lot of paperwork.”

You nod. “Too much, really. You’ve got enough already. It’d also be…”

“…Nice.”

Hotch stops breathing, lips downturned in a frown. You’re sure you’ve heard him wrong. But half a minute passes, and he doesn’t retract his statement, though he looks as if he’s close to doing so.

“I’m sorry?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He’s close enough you catch a hint of his cologne, and the woody scent of it makes your head spin.

“I can say it again,” he says through a long exhale, searching your face for any sign of discomfort as he takes another step closer. His breath ghosts your neck. “Or we can forget this ever happened.”

Your answer is almost immediate. “Let’s not do that.”

Hotch tilts your chin up so you’re forced to look at him. You lean upwards to meet him halfway in a kiss that is soft and tentative, the sort that promises everything and asks for nothing in return. One of your hands cups his jaw, and both of his find their way home to your waist, rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. You smile against his lips. He leans forward as if to chase yours when you pull away. It hits you, now, that this is really happening. The months you've been agonizing over this - whether to make a move or to shut the part of you that cares for him away - have led you here. There's much you've got to think over: what this means for both of your careers, the risk to the team's dynamic, whether it'll even work in the long run, if Hotch wants that too. You know he's thinking the same thing; his face adopts the same mask of concentration it always does when he's considering something. You take a deep breath. It might be hard, but does that stop it from being worth a shot? In the end, you don't think it does.

“I think I’m gonna order takeout tonight,” you say quietly. “There’s a really good Thai place down the street from me.”

Hotch clears his throat. “That sounds nice.”

Shaking your head, you rest both hands on his shoulders, laugh at him. “That was my way of asking you if you wanted to join me.”

“Oh.”

His brow furrows. For a terrible moment, you think he’s about to say no. And then, “Haley has Jack tonight. I…I’d like that.”

You beam, pull back, and head towards his desk to find a pen and a scrap bit of paper. “Here’s my address.” A quick glance down into the bullpen, which is thankfully empty. “Give it ten minutes, then follow me?”

“Okay,” Hotch says. Even you can tell he’s grinning like an idiot, and you make a note of the rare expression. “Okay. I’ll see you soon?”

Squeezing his hand, you kiss his cheek and walk towards the door. “Soon.”

You feel his eyes on you until you reach the elevator.

If you got this far, thank you for reading! I've watched a lot more Dharma and Greg than CM, lately, so I have a feeling that my version of soft!Hotch is currently just a grownup version of Greg Montmgomery????

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #thomas gibson #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch hotchner #this is pure disgustingly sappy fluff I'm sorry guys #I think I'm too down bad right now to write any angst whatsoever #But maybe I'll start crying one day soon and decide to write one #who knows

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nyoomfruits · 1 month

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tip toe please!!!!!!

a kiss on the forehead

Oscar doesn’t expect to see Lando, at least not privately, for the rest of the night. He sees him on the podium, of course, watches from the crowds, tries to hide his proud, fond little smile and fails terribly. And he’ll see him at the debrief later, and at the after party. But there will be other people there, congratulating Lando, celebrating with him.

It’s his first win. Lando deserves to celebrate it in style. Oscar will get his moment, much later, after all the celebrations have finished and it’s just them, in the quiet private comfort of their hotel room.

He’s okay with that. He’ll take any tiny bit of Lando he can get, always.

So he’s a little surprised, when he pulls on his hoodie and the door to his driver’s room swings open to reveal a beaming, champagne soaked Lando.

“Oscar,” hey says, and then practically dives forward, straight into Oscar’s arms.

Oscar laughs a little, surprised, but catches him easily, pulls him close. “Lando,” he says, and hopes that one little word captures everything he can’t quite put into words.

“I won,” Lando says, into the crook of Oscar’s neck, his smile pressing up against Oscar’s collarbone.

“You did,” Oscar says, mostly into his hair. “I’m proud of you,” he adds, and leans back a little to press a gentle kiss to Lando’s forehead. “You drove an amazing race.”

“Thank you,” Lando says, “Shame you couldn’t be up there with me.” He pulls away from the hug then to smile softly at Oscar.

And god, he’s so beautiful, in all his champagne soaked race sweaty glory. And he’s here. Instead of with the team, with his adoring fans, with his friends, his family. He’s here, in Oscar’s arms, because this big exciting thing happened and he wanted to share it with Oscar.

“Next time,” Oscar says, and means ‘I love you’.

“Next time,” Lando repeats, and means ‘I love you, too’.

#landoscar #mctwinks #twinklaren #this is so sappy i'm sorry having a lot of sappy feelings rn

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so-many-ocs · 5 months

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hey! creating things is hard. creating things and feeling like nothing you make is good, or like no one will care, or like you'll always be a couple steps behind everyone else is hard, too. creating consistently when your physical and/or mental state isn't the best is (get this!) also very difficult. and if anyone who's reading this has felt that way or still feels that way, i want you to know that i'm proud of you, and the things you make matter because you matter, and it's okay to sometimes feel like garbage as a creative, but it will pass. take the time and space you need and remember that just by virtue of trying, you are doing so well.

#🌿 writing #sorry for the sappy post but i have been having a Hard Time Writing #and someone commented something that hit really close to home #and i think of times where all i needed was someone to say they were proud of me #so #i'm proud of you #whoever's reading #writeblr #writer positivity #writing stuff #on writing

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muzzlemouths · 11 months

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I don't say this enough but every day that goes by is a day I'm overwhelmed with love for this fandom. Everyone here is incredibly genuine and patient and kindhearted, never before has a fandom felt more like family. You're all exceptionally talented to boot (yes, ALL OF YOU) and every contribution you've made to this community matters to me more than words can express. Truly, you've made this a warm, welcoming, and unforgettable place to be, and I know I'm not alone in feeling grateful for this big ol' home everyone's worked to build 💕

#muzz mumbles #sorry to get sappy on you #feeling a certain way in this chilis tonight #dare I tag this? yeah i'm gonna #DCA #DCA Fandom

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steveharringtonsstrugglemeals · 1 year

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Ok, based on this post about a bunch of college dudes putting up a craigslist ad for a "BBQ Dad" to attend their backyard barbecue:

A No-Upside-Down AU where the Party is in college, freshly of legal drinking age, and they decide to throw an end-end-of-year backyard barbecue bash. However, as a group composed primarily of hardcore nerds (many of them lacking in paternal figures), they're not exactly the most qualified when it comes to top-tier grilling. More than that, they need someone who can bring the 'it-factor,' someone who can work a crowd and really get the party going. So naturally, Dustin claims, the logical move is to put an ad out in the paper.

Robin is the one who finds it — she buys a paper every day, reads Nancy's articles, then skips to the funnies and the advice column and finally the classifieds. Obviously she has to show Steve — c'mon, he'd be perfect! Steve can work a mean grill, he listens to dad music, he yells at sports on TV and wears khakis... He may only be pushing 30, but Steve has the energy of a middle-aged father-of-three.

Steve is embarrassed, but he's never one to turn down one of Robin's dares, so he writes a reply. It's not like those kids are actually going to respond to him anyway, they're probably looking for someone older, a real dad. Right?

The Party proves him wrong (for the first time but not the last) — they call him almost immediately and officially invite him to the barbecue. And Steve is a sucker who can't turn down such a nice group of kids, so the next thing he knows, he and Robin are loading his grill into the back of Eddie's van and headed across town to the shabby little house shared by Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Max.

(Eddie, by the way, is a grad student and friend of the Party's. He may be a 'real adult,' but he has no BBQ Dad vibes whatsoever and he downright refuses to be caught dead manning a grill.)

As far as the Party is concerned, Steve is the 'prophesied-hero' of paternal figures. He's the stuff of legends, the kind of father (in spirit) that all dads aspire to be. He shows up wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt. He brings not only his own grill and grilling tools, but also a sun-powered radio already tuned to the local baseball broadcast. He calls the Party members 'kiddo' without a hint of irony on his face, and has the lamest but most contagious sense of humor they've ever heard. Just standing next to Steve (and what name is more dad-like than 'Steve'?) feels like shooting hoops on your driveway until the sun goes down, or washing the car as an excuse to hose off on a 90-degree day, or getting picked up after soccer practice, dirt-stained and weary, but happy down to the bone. And yes, his burgers and brats really are that good.

Naturally, Dustin immediately takes credit for finding him and doesn't hesitate to crow about it.

By the end of the evening, they've already made plans to throw another barbecue in a few weeks. Steve quickly becomes the official Party Dad, an inseparable member of the group. He doesn't just do barbecues either — whether they need a reliable ride, some sage advice, or a necktie tied, Steve is there for his kids.

#this got sappy oops but i'm a sucker for that shit #steve harrington #stranger things #dustin henderson #robin buckley #eddie munson #steddie #ronance #yes it's only lightly implied shh i know i'm sorry #dad steve harrington #shsm writes

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carlyraejepsans · 7 months

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growing up i always had these mental marks for big scary experiences I'm necessarily gonna have to face in the future. middle school exam, driver's license, CAE test, highschool exams, etc. always carrying the connotations that there was a looming threat on the horizon i had to be scared of, something to keep me on my toes. and going to uni was one of them. i was so afraid of it, i mean, whole new space, might have to move away and I'd be completely on my own, physics ain't exactly the easiest subject either, and I'd lose whatever frail social network id managed to build up in oh almost 20 years of living on this planet? i was Scared. i almost decided not to go.

i wish i could take younger me—even just from one year ago—and shake them so hard. i wish i could look them in the eye and say look buddy I don't know what kind of hole we dug ourselves into for so long but the moment you step foot out there you will have the kind of friends you get smashed with at parties and you will have the kind of friends that will keep your hair out of your face when you're bent over the toilet afterwards and you will do the same for them. your deadname won't sting as sharply because you'll use it for people you love (and you know what? it suits them better than it ever did you. what a lovely sound) and you'll figure some other shit out along the way. don't be afraid. for the love of everything, this was the best thing that ever happened to you. don't be afraid. i swear things are getting better. look forward to it

#sorry I'm sappy but. WAAAAA

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veetowervaporwave · 1 month

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I feel like we all have moved past this way too quickly. It makes a heart!!

#.ramblings #hazbin hotel #vox #valentino #staticmoth #voxval #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel valentino #sorry for all the sappy staticmoth I'm in a mood

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blatantlyhidden · 19 days

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forever grateful for the community we've built and the friends i've made here <3

#the fact that i know so many of you by name makes it feel like a family to me #as cheesy as it may sound #i'm sorry but it's sappy hours #and i love you all #käärijä

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starflungwaddledee · 2 months

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this is a long shot and i'm sorry to ask, but if you don't mind, can mutuals (or contacts or regulars... just... this community) of mine who aren't jumping ship like... let me know? will any of us still be here? is it over? i'm trying to know if this really is it or what's... even happening. i hate to reassurance seek but i'm feeling pretty miserable and confused.

edit: felt like i was being really pitiful and fragile making this but everybody is being so nice to me and responding so patiently with all your thoughts and i'm in tears of gratitude thank you thank you thank you 💖

#i glanced and thought they brought out a feature so that we could turn off ai access #that seemed... okay? i thought? but now i'm really confused. i don't know. i'm so tired and scared. i just can't... keep doing this #i know this is stupid but this feels like it's my fault.#it happens every time i find something. if i'm happy somewhere. it just.... poof. goes away. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry #on the edit: i would only *ever* think this about myself. double standards that i hold for myself are high. i expect emotional control #& performance from myself only. i would never think badly of anyone else being stressed about this or anything. thank you for your kindness #this community has been so beautiful and kind at every turn. i'm so grateful to get to be here and meet you all #okay... being really sappy now. y'all get to see my anxiety first hand today!! whee!! anyway. i'll get it together. haha! thank you.

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donutdrawsthings · 3 months

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People secretly really do love oddballs and people who do things that are out of the ordinary. There are many who stare but also many who at most are genuinely curious and ask about what you're doing and at least silently walk past you with a smile.

This post was brought on by the people of my neighbourhood, posting a snow sculpture I made on facebook saying it made their day for the 2nd year in a row.

Where I live (🇳🇱) there's very little snow these days, which only pops up around January and February in the form of something that melts instantly or can only he found lingering on cars. The people here don't really bother to build anything with that, but I like making snow sculptures so I take what I can get. As I'm making these though, I get weird looks from the people around me. They'll walk with a big bow around me, stare and make their car light up from a distance, because with a 24 year old near their car, the only reason they could think of for me being there is that I'm obviously out to steal it.

When you do something out of the ordinary, people these days are quick be wary of you. It's just how things are over here now. I once had cops approach me because I was picnicking alone and away from the more populated Picnic Place at the park!

But there are also people who really like what you do or who you unapologetically are! They'll approach you with genuine curiosity, ask what you're doing and will make some small talk! Some people are more shy with their appreciation and just walk on talking to their friend about it.

And that's when you get online and see people take a picture of their kid next to your silly little sculpture or write a heartfelt post about how despite all their frustrations such a tiny thing managed to make their day.

In the end that's what I do it for anyways :o] making something to talk and smile about