#like maybe the bar is on the floor for me but to not have an assumed to be cishet character laugh that off meant a lot to me

[candycandy00]

This is my first time really interacting on here, but I really love you work so I just had to request something.💜💜

Character: Nanami

AU Setting: Masquerade ball

Spice Level: NSFW

Mood: Your choice

Kinks: Degradation and size difference

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Non Curse AU. Degradation. Dirty talk. Size difference. 

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback at all is adored! Dividers by @benkeibear.

 The stranger at the open bar is looking at you again. He’s totally your type, with his slicked back blonde hair and impeccably tailored black suit. He’s tall, muscular but not too bulky, and he stands there holding a drink in his large hand as his eyes slide over to you again. He’s wearing a black silk mask that covers the top half of his face, the sort most of the men are wearing at this swanky masquerade ball for bored rich assholes. 

You’re just here for the free drinks and food. Your uncle’s tech start up recently hit it big, so he got an invite to this party two weeks ago. “New Money”, they probably called him. But of course his perpetually single ass didn’t have a date, so he invited you to be his plus one. He even bought you a fancy cocktail dress, in shimmery fuchsia with a low neckline and high split up to the hip. You topped it off with a matching lace mask. 

When the two of you walked in, your uncle patted your back and jokingly told you to “go nab yourself a rich guy”. You smiled and grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray being carried by a server. 

That was over an hour ago, and you’ve barely seen your uncle since then. You spotted him a couple of times, chatting with other tech business bigwigs, but otherwise you’ve been on your own. You don’t mind. The food is fabulous and the drinks are plentiful. 

Then there’s the handsome stranger who keeps looking your way. You can see his eyes through the holes in his mask, can watch them travel up and down your body as you move across the room. There’s a dance floor where some of the early 20’s folks are dancing, so you head over and put on a little show. You may not be used to fancy places like this, but you go to clubs with your friends every weekend, so you know how to shake your ass to some music.

It worked. The stranger’s full attention is on you, his eyes practically glued to your every move. You wish he would just come over and dance with you, but you suppose he’s too mature for that. He gives off a totally different vibe from the young guys who hang around you at the club. 

Feeling emboldened by his hungry gaze, you work your way over to the bar and stand a few feet away from him, tantalizingly close yet just out of reach. You fan yourself as if you’re hot after dancing, hoping your perfume drifts over to him. 

Within seconds, he moves closer to you, leaning back against the bar casually as he asks, “Who did you come with?”

Are you that obviously out of place? You smile at him. “Who says someone didn’t come with me?” you say teasingly, sipping your fruity drink. 

“Just a hunch,” he replies, glancing at you sideways. 

You point to your uncle across the room. He’s laughing a little too loudly, being just a tad too clingy to the bear-like man standing next to him. You hope they’re hitting it off. “My uncle didn’t have a date, so I tagged along.”

The stranger smiles faintly. Was that his way of finding out if you’re single? His eyes roam blatantly up and down you again. You hope he’s enjoying the closer look. You certainly are. He’s tall enough to tower over you, and his warm, honey-colored eyes draw you in. He’s the kind of man you want on top of you at the nearest opportunity. 

“Are you enjoying the party?” he asks, moving even closer to you. He smells expensive. 

“The drinks and the food? Yeah. Not sure about the people yet,” you say with a grin. 

“Oh? This isn’t your usual crowd?”

You turn your whole body to face him. “Not really. I don’t usually hang around snobby rich jerks. But maybe a few of them are alright.” You say the last part playfully, looking him up and down the way he did you. 

His eyes flick down to your chest, as if tracing the dipping neckline, then return to your face. “Perhaps we could talk in one of the private rooms, and you can find out if I’m ‘alright’.” 

You feel your heartbeat getting faster as your excitement builds, but you maintain your breezy attitude. “Private rooms? Are we allowed to go in those? The owner of this house might not like that.”

The person throwing this lavish party is also the owner of this ridiculously huge mansion. Your uncle mentioned their name but it didn’t seem important at the time. 

The stranger smiles again. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

He holds out his hand, and you take it, trying to keep your breathing steady as he escorts you through the room. He keeps pace with you, probably walking more slowly than he’d prefer, and moves in such a way that it seems like he’s clearing the path for you. Such a gentleman! You really hope he’ll be fucking you like a whore soon. 

As the two of you step into a hallway, you notice the marble floors and the walls lined with paintings. “Look at this,” you say. “Who actually needs all this? It’s obnoxious.”

The stranger chuckles. “You really think so?”

You stop to look at a Chinese vase. It probably cost more than your apartment and your car combined. “All this stuff is beautiful, but I heard the owner lives here alone. He has to get lonely in this giant house, right?”

The stranger regards you for a moment, then says, “He probably does. Maybe he even throws these parties just to have some company.”

You think about his answer. “If that’s the case, I feel bad for him.”

The stranger says no more on the topic, instead leading you into what appears to be some sort of dressing room with an enormous walk-in closet. It’s exactly the kind of room you imagine a stupidly rich guy would get dressed in. There are multiple full length mirrors, high quality lighting, and a display case showing off dozens of expensive looking watches. 

You turn to look at the stranger as he closes the door behind him. He holds out his large yet elegant hand to you again, and when you take it, he suddenly pulls you close, right up against his body. Oh god, he’s so firm and strong! He leans his face down and kisses your lips, both of you still wearing your masquerade masks. His hands slide across your back, one of them moving down to squeeze your ass. 

He pulls away and looks at you, his dark eyes peering into yours. “What would you like me to do?” he asks, his voice low. 

You lean in closer to him, pressing yourself to his warm, sturdy form, and whisper, “I want you to wreck me.”

He puts both hands on your shoulders and, not too hard but not too gently, pushes you down to your knees in front of him. He unbuttons his sleek black pants as he says, “Let’s put that annoying little mouth to good use.”

Oh fuck. How does he know exactly what you’re into? Maybe you give off a vibe. You watch with anticipation, licking your lips, as he pulls out his beautiful, massive cock. Is everything about this man as sexy as possible? From the color to the shape to the thick, delectable meatiness, his cock is gorgeous. 

You don’t waste any time. You lean forward and run your tongue over it, spreading your saliva around, before wrapping your lips around it. You take him so deep, it feels like he’s halfway down your throat, and you love the fact that there’s going to be a hot pink lipstick stain around the base of his cock. 

His hand is in your hair, grip firm but not harsh. “You’re practically swallowing me,” he says. “You must’ve been hungry for cock all night. Is that why you put on that lewd little show for me on the dance floor? So you could end up on your knees for me?”

You look up at his face, your mouth still stuffed full, and mumble a whiny “mmhmm” around his cock. You can see his eyes widen slightly behind the mask, feel his fingers flexing within your strands. You move your head back and forth, fucking him with your throat, fighting back gags, your tongue swirling around him the whole time. 

And when he reaches his limit, he pulls your head back and says, “Open wide.”

You’re happy to obey, sticking your tongue halfway out of your mouth to give him a proper place to aim. When his warm cum hits your tongue and lips, you slowly swirl it around your mouth, giving him time to see it pooled inside before swallowing it. 

He loosens his tie and then lowers himself to his knees in front of you before unbuttoning his shirt, leaving both it and his jacket on but open. You can see his toned torso, can feel how damp your panties have become. He slides the straps of your dress down, revealing your breasts, and then leans down to take one hard nipple into his mouth. You moan as you dig your fingers into the fabric of his jacket. 

The stranger eases you onto your back on the floor, then pushes your shimmering dress up to your waist. It’s the most expensive dress you’ve ever worn, and right now you don’t give a shit it gets dirty. He slides down your lace panties and opens your legs, looking down at your wetness with a somewhat self satisfied smile. 

“So wet for me,” he says as his fingers probe your depths. “Such a little slut, getting soaked for a man who’s face you haven’t even seen.”

Ahhh, fuck, his voice turns you on so much! His fingers rubbing circles into your clit are driving you wild. You want him, no you need him inside you! 

“Please,” you whine, tugging him closer. 

He withdraws his hand and lifts your hips off the floor, pulling your lower half into his lap, his thick cock resting against your needy pussy. “Do you want my cock?”

“Yes, please!” you cry, wiggling in his lap, desperate for some friction. 

He has mercy on you, positioning himself at your entrance and then plunging inside. You gasp in pleasure, arching your back as he begins thrusting into you. 

“So tight,” he groans, gripping your thighs. “You’re clenching me so hard… so desperate… Fuck, you’re the cheapest whore I’ve ever had! You probably would’ve paid me for this cock!”

“Ahhh! Yes, I’m a whore for you! Please fuck me harder!” you scream, feeling your climax approach as he repeatedly hits your g-spot. When he slams into you one more time, you feel the pleasure wash over you as you cum, moaning and trembling. 

He gives a few more pumps, then completely buries himself inside you as he cums, filling you up so well. 

You both pant as he pulls out and stands up, buttoning his clothes. He then extends his hand to you again and helps you to your feet. While you straighten your dress and pull your straps back up, he looks at you somewhat sheepishly and says, “I hope I didn’t go too far with my words.”

You blink in surprise, then laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about it! I was into it.”

He smiles. “I thought so. I’m glad.”

You open your mouth to respond, but there’s a sudden knock on the door. The stranger walks over and opens it. A man in a server’s uniform is standing in the doorway, looking frazzled. 

“There you are, sir! We’ve been looking all over for you!” the server says breathlessly. 

“Oh? And what do you need?” 

“We’ve run out of champagne! Your guests are getting irritated!”

The stranger pats the server’s back. “Send Ryusuke to buy more immediately. Everything will be fine, I’ll go talk to the guests.”

The server seems to relax. “Thanks, Nanami-san.”

You watch the scene, trying to keep your jaw from dropping. Now you remember the name of the host, the man who owns this huge mansion that you’ve been shit talking all night. 

Nanami turns to look at you over his shoulder, a sly grin on his face. “Will you be accompanying me back to the ballroom?”

You smile back at him. “Of course. I might get lost in this stupidly huge house otherwise.”

He takes your hand. “Perhaps if you started visiting on a regular basis, you could learn your way around.”

You walk out the door with him. “That would probably work, Nanami-san.”

#nanami x reader #nanami #nanami smut #kento nanami #nanami x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #x reader #candys2kevent

[johnslittlespoon]

curtbuckbucky nightclub au .* :☆ﾟ. ☽

open for drabble/more pics! <3

alright, i've never done a proper 'intro' post for a fic/au i have in mind, but this one has been rotting in my brain for ages and i know there's no way i'm not gonna write something for it eventually so here goes, bear with me <3 made a lil edit (took me fucking hours to collect enough stock footage lmfao) to go along with it too >:)

a modern au where college student curt is a regular at a new–ish queer nightclub, showing up every friday night without fail to dance his heart out, his way of de–stressing at the end of every week and getting his pent up energy out. he's the prettiest little thing, dresses up so fun– some nights he throws on dresses or crop tops with skirts or short shorts when he's feeling it, other nights he goes for more of a relaxed baggy pants and flowy linen button up type of vibe– always with the same pair of scuffed up sneakers on for ease of dancing.

the bartenders and other regulars adore their bubbly little club bunny, always looking out for him, doting on him with free drinks and food. and even if some of them eye curt like he's dinner when he's out on the floor swaying his hips, eyes closed to fully lose himself in the music, the glitter on his eyelids and cheekbones catching the lights just right, curt's not there for any of that. he dances with people occasionally, he's confident and carefree and likes the attention and it makes him giggle when he catches newcomers staring, doesn't mind a wandering hand here and there, but he never goes home with anyone. the same routine, every friday, dancing until his dark waves are curling damp with sweat against his temples and his black eyeshadow is smudged and he leaves to make the walk back to the flat he shares with a few roomies.

enter john and gale, longterm boyfriends who sometimes like to go out clubbing and find someone pretty to bring home for a fun time, only an open relationship in that sense– they have no interest in actually dating other people, both adamant that it's no strings attached, too head over heels for each other to have eyes for anyone else anyway.

they decide to check out a club they haven't been to yet, usually sticking to the tried and true ones, but a couple of their friends recommend it, so they give it a go one friday night. they've barely sat down at the bar with their drinks when they see a boy who, john comments to gale, looks like the 'energizer bunny' (gets a snort out of curt when he tells him so in the future.) even once they're buzzed enough to head out onto the dance floor together, neither of them can take their eyes off of the bundle of energy, mesmerized.

they both know the other is equally enamoured with the boy, drinking up all the glitter and bouncy curls and blissed out smiles, already knowing they just have to have him– the prettiest thing they've ever seen. curt's confused when they approach him, because he's noticed them too, has been admiring from afar, but he's also noticed their hands and lips all over each other, dancing much too close and comfortably to not be a couple. but john purrs out "we just like to have a little fun every now and then sweetheart, don't you?"

and no, not really, he doesn't. usually a night of exhausting himself dancing is his idea of fun, not ever looking for anything else, not finding most guys worth his time. but john and gale sweet talk him just right, spend time actually getting to know him when he agrees to let them buy him a drink at the bar, and fuck, they're both the hottest things he's seen walk into the club in a long time, and they're giving him all their attention? he decides that maybe he'll be brave and flirt back. despite his confidence and lack of caring what other people think about him, he's so shy and easily flustered when someone he's actually into makes the moves on him, doesn't even know what to do with himself when he realizes he's blushing at their compliments and the combination of their heavy gazes on him.

obviously they all get each other worked up as the night goes on, and curt goes home with them and gets his world rocked, spoiled and pillow princess–ed and showered in praise, not at all what he expects hook–ups to be like after having only been with people he's been dating. he expects to walk back home after since they all live in the same vicinity of downtown, tries to ignore his wobbly legs when he finally crawls out of bed, gets dragged back down by gale for one last messy breathless makeout while john gets him an uber before curt can protest or offer to pay.

normally john and gale don't get the numbers of their one night stands, but they want to make sure he gets home safe, and they can both gauge how the other is feeling and they know they'll want to see him again if they're lucky enough for curt to say yes, so john puts his number into curt's phone and tells him "text when you're home safe, yeah? or, y'know, text whenever you want." and curt isn't sure if this is john saying they both want to see him again, because he's dense and shy and they made it clear beforehand that they're in a closed relationship, but next friday he texts to let them know he'll be at the club again, and john and gale tell him they'll be there, the three of them going home together for a second time that night, and they fall into a routine from then on.

curt gets giddy every friday, dolling himself up extra pretty for the two men, flushed at their attention every time and so thrilled to dress up for someone other than himself for once. he can already feel himself going all heart–eyes for them after the second or third time they hook up, but he knows where he stands, and he's having fun experimenting for the first time and having two experienced, sweet guys show him a good time every week, so he doesn't want to jeopardize that by getting his feelings involved.

little does he know that john and gale are falling head over heels too for this sweet energetic boy, loving how much he spices up their lives, both in the bedroom and out, realizing their flat feels so quiet now on the nights where they don't take curt home with them. so that leads to some serious conversations to see if they're on the same page about getting to know curt better, both of them learning how to navigate this new territory because neither of them expected to want to bring someone else into their world like this. they agree they'd like to take curt out on a cute date, during the daytime for once, to properly test the waters and see how curt feels– of course he slots into their lives perfectly, as if he's been there all along. <3

but along the way: lots of slow burn, miscommunication, endless filthy smut, curt trying to balance college and work and friends with his newfound feelings for john and gale, john and gale getting dragged to raves and festivals by their always adventurous bf, city night–life juxtaposed by early morning domesticity, etc etc.

this has been floating around in my head for a couple weeks since i got this vision of 2012–stalker–era barry with eyeshadow and glitter stuck in my brain and thus a whole universe/plot spawned from it. honestly would mostly be pwp, but would love to write a proper fic for it anyway eventually, each chapter littered with filth, obviously LOL. i have so many thoughts and so many little scenarios planned out in my head already... these three have me in a chokehold.

i need to make proper intro/drabble posts like these for my other aus too aghhh it just takes so longggg because i get carried away with the drabble and then i have to find the perfect clips for edits and the perfect pics to tie it all together and suddenly i've spent half a day on one post but. someday <3 leaving!bikeriders au next surely! thx for reading hope u enjoy this version of the boys and hopefully i'll have time to write it soon!

all posts about this au will be under #curtbuckbucky nightclub au :-)

#curtbuckbucky nightclub au #johnslittlespoon aus #i'm going fr insane over this actually tweaking #i hope my vision is seen. will happily elaborate (too much) #is this essentially femboy!curt? perhaps. can you blame me tho have u seen 2012 barry how can we *not* want him in pretty skirts and makeup #not my strongest drabble ik but it's more of an au info dump :) #where my girlboy!barry enjoyers at bc this ones for us fr #the edit song is an unreleased one by artemas btw </3 #and i lit rally could not find any good club–esque clips from any callum movies to use so just pretend he's not in his pilot uniform LOL #curtbuckbucky #curtgalejohn #johnslittlespoon brainrot #johnslittlespoon edits

[eddies-house]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Fourteen - A Merry Little Christmas

W/C: 7.5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Have yourself a merry little Christmas…

(Cover) Phoebe Bridgers

Warnings: mentions of bad childhood, mentions of parent’s death, issues with mental health, allusion to a suicide attempt, self harm but not, just appears to be, blood, let me know if I missed anything. In all fairness this is a heavy chapter in the beginning. Oh and also, smut 👀

A/N: this took literally forever to write…only because I couldn’t write for like months lmao. But I spent all day basically fleshing most of this all out and there’s a lot of emotion put into it and not too much editing cause I already overthought everything I wrote as I wrote it, dare I say I put my whole fuckin pussy into this chapter. Next chapter will be the final one in the series 😭

Masterlist

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Christmas Eve was supposed to be different this year.  

A senseless daydream.  

It was dad’s last kick to his gut, he knows it.  Eddie finally had a good thing going for him but alas the Munson’s were cursed and he could never escape.  This was some kind of final revenge for not hanging around like a lost puppy though it wasn’t even his choice to leave Hawkins in the first place.  It didn’t matter, life never spared Eddie a precious moment.  

So he sat there, salty tears still somehow leaking out of him despite how tired he was, despite how wrong it felt.  Last week his dad was the most hated man in his life.  And last week he was suddenly dead.  It didn’t make sense, the devastation that consumed Eddie.  All he knew was that sunlight began leaking through the blinds and dotting the floor.  Birds were chirping annoyingly outside and his skin started to feel like cold cuts and despite how uncomfortable it made him, he couldn’t find it in himself to get off his ass and at least put a sweatshirt on.  

He had promised you breakfast, down the road at that little diner called Reggie’s.  Promised to get you the biggest stack of pancakes covered in whipped cream and all kinds of sprinkles along with the best, artery clogging bacon you would ever taste.  Maybe some scrambled eggs and hashbrowns.  

Whatever you wanted. 

He hadn’t seen you in days, not since the recent news broke.  His excuse of harboring the flu was not how he wanted to start daily phone calls with you.  He knew you would then mistake the stuffiness in his voice for phlegm and not his inner sorrows burrowing their way out of him.  He refused your offer to bring him homemade soup and hot tea, rejected the kindness he hadn’t deserved in the first place.  Told you that he just wanted to get healthy quickly and it wouldn’t do either of you any good to both be sick.  He left you in charge of the bar, much to Jett’s disdain, Eddie didn’t need you to confirm that for him he just knew.

Now just standing up seemed impossible.  Shifting his position on the couch to at least relieve the pressure against his tail bone wasn’t plausible.  And for what?  For a man that never gave an inch when Eddie gave him miles upon miles, practically handed over his life on several occasions.  Pathetic, he knew.  But the pain didn’t cease and he couldn’t even find it in himself to turn his head to check the time.

This was it.  

This was how you were going to come face to face with the fact that Eddie was no man.  Not a real one anyway, a facade if anything.  He could just picture it: you would await his knock at the door and it wouldn't come.  A giddy smile would spread across your face as you thought about your plans of going sledding together–he sees it so vividly in his mind.  And then you would be massively disappointed when he couldn’t deliver.  The creases at your eyes when you got overly excited would cease to exist at the mere idea of him.  He had it coming, he just didn’t think it would be so soon.

Eddie told you he was feeling better.  It was a lie.  He never had the flu.  He didn’t feel better.  He wanted to die.  And the man responsible for it wouldn’t even give a shit had he still been alive.  Now he was dead and Eddie was the one suffering.

And so his neglected stomach grumbled, his incoming stubble itched though he couldn’t find a fuck to give even in his discomfort, and the whiskey bottle ran dry far too soon.  His brain had been clogged with wishes and what he could’ve done, then declarations of it never being enough, a constant tug-of-war that migraines were made of.

He never stood a chance, his DNA had always been coded like a mutant, at least that’s how it felt deep in his bones.  There was always something off, he never resonated with life in general how everyone else did.  A flaw in the system.  And he built his entire being off of it, afterall he never had any control over the way he was perceived so what option did he have?  

Several.

He thought to himself.  

You could have gone to school, shown up.  

Could have stayed out of detention.

Gotten arrested less.

Not get arrested at all.

Could have said no.  So.  Many.  Times.

In all honesty he wanted to blame his old man but he couldn’t stop taking the hits for him even in death.  He couldn’t stop making excuses.  Any normal person would feel relief but he felt nothing but remorse.  For what, he couldn’t exactly piece it together.  Maybe it was a hidden desire to fix him, a glimmer of hope that he could make him turn his life around like Eddie had.  It would never happen, he was well aware, but a certain childish hope clung onto him, tugging on his sleeve, begging himself for reasons.

Until familiar curls similar to his own and an aura of the gentlest kind clouded his vision.  He could nearly hear her voice, smooth as butter and warm as the summer sun when he was a freckled kid.  Rosy cheeks and beautiful chocolatey brown button eyes to match his.

What’s the matter darlin’?

And he just sobbed.  And remembered.

Morning pancakes and the blues.  Muddy clothes and bubble baths laced with melodies.  Kitchen table haircuts, the softest voice humming in his ears, half inch curls littering the linoleum.  Dancing in the living room.  Refusing to eat his broccoli until she told him they were tiny trees.  Walking hand in hand to the corner store for milk and eggs, the promise of a sucker waiting for him at the cash register widening his innocent grin.  Late night cereal bowls when sleep wasn’t an option and nothing did the trick except some off brand Lucky Charms and tales of dragons and fantasy lands he wished they could run away to.

Then he remembered.

Him.

Stumbling into the kitchen on those nights more often than not, spewing nonsense.  Breaking the refrigerator door as he tripped while seeking another beer.  That door forever being duct taped and never properly fixed as promised.  Mama coaxing dad to bed before she slipped into Eddie’s tiny twin bed for the night, most nights.  Dad waking up just to shut the music off in the morning so he could sleep in.  Disappearing for days.

Mama unexpectedly passing and Eddie being so devastated that he didn’t eat for days and willingly waited at the door every day for pops to get home.  Only he rarely did.  Wayne checking in each and every day only to be on the receiving end of a temper tantrum each time.  Years and years of push back.  A clueless kid defending Indiana’s worst dad in the name of seeking some kind of normalcy.  

“My dad has a ton of jobs.”  He would beam, bright eyes and missing teeth.  

The kids would snicker.  Their mocking smiles would be mistaken for a token of friendliness.  And Eddie would once again be disappointed come the end of the day.  Because he’d realized it wasn’t normal to crawl under fences where dad couldn’t fit, to steal expensive things from “higher class pricks” as dad deemed them.  Take your kid to work day had a very different definition in his book.

So Eddie steered away from telling everyone about his dad’s work antics, opted to tell them about how he got to go to the bar with his old man every Wednesday, thinking he’d surely get praise for being considered so mature.  At least that’s how dad described it.  It wasn’t any better and the reactions were only worse.  They called his dad a drunk.  They weren’t wrong but that didn’t make him feel any less enraged.  “Spawn of Satan”, they called Eddie.  Because in truth that’s what his dad was, he just couldn’t comprehend it at the time.  Then came the christening of his formal title, a word so small but so…derogatory with the way it was spat at him.

Freak.

Spawn of Satan sounded so much worse on paper but Freak made his insides hurt.  And as he recounts the events of his life up until now, he tallies everything up.  Closure in some kind of fucked up way.  Childish thoughts of “he was still my dad” try to take over but are quickly replaced by images of their burning house, the records going up and flames and ash coating everything he had left, everything she had left.

Suddenly there’s broken glass scattered across the floor and warm blood trickling down his arm, not by any fault of his own, just pure rage and unknown strength annihilating the poor glass he attempted to drink water with.  Heartbeat in his ear, he swallows thickly and resumes his position against the kitchen cabinet–they’re going to send me back to the asylum.

All over again, even in the afterlife, dad plays his sick jokes.  Gets Eddie into trouble he never sought out–he was just getting water, it was just water and now he looks like the picture perfect case for mental instability.  No one’s seen him for days and–there’s knocking at the door.  He swears it’s not like last time- it can’t be like last time, he didn’t mean it.  This isn’t like back in Hawkins, when he was healing and the courts were making their decisions.  He thought he was a goner, decided to pull the plug to save everyone the trouble, Wayne was at work, Steve was getting him groceries, everyone else was dealing with the end of the world.  They shouldn’t have to worry about me.  With a bottle of prescribed pills in hand.

The knocking turning urgent, conclusions are drawn up in a scattered, tormented mind–surely they’d rip up his contract, the agreement in which he had been assured a promising life anywhere but Indiana.  A life he’d always longed for anyway.  

Be careful what you wish for.  

That goddamn voice taunts him.

The door shakes, manhandled from the other side and he’s forced to confront the final moments before he’s permanently put away.  “One slip up…”  They had said.  It didn’t matter if he told them it was an accident, nothing mattered if it was anyone else’s word against him.  Literally anyone.  As long as it appeared that he was a danger to himself, he was a danger to society. They were probably waiting for this moment: lock up the problem child and throw away the key.  

Cause he was nothing if not a problem.  First and foremost.

Heart beating out of his chest, breath caught in his throat, he could practically hear the sirens whether they be from an ambulance or police car or both, they were coming–

“Eddie?”

It all stopped.  

“Eddie?!”  

There was no accurate way to describe the sob that clawed its way out of his throat, a tortured cry.  The scene before you had been pulled straight out of a horror movie: your beloved Eddie covered in blood, palms pressed into his eyes, stuttered breathing in between sobs.

Upon approaching him he attempted to scoot himself away, glass shards sinking into his hands, a gasp filling the room and you were certain you needed to find someone else to–

“Please don’t make me go back!”

You couldn’t form words.

“I-it was an accident, I-I promise.”  His eyes brimmed with a fear you never could have imagined coming close to witnessing in this lifetime.  “Just–I just got some water-I didn’t mean to break it, I s-swear.  Please d-don’t let them take me.”

Glass crunched under your boots, a slow approach as you crouch in front of the shattered man with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen.  With a shaky breath and careful movements, a silent request to assess his arm and hands is made.  You’re sure your wide eyes can’t be comforting in the slightest though the shock still pulses through you.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“Shh.”  You soothe. 

Forehead pressed to his in a moment of solace, you offer a nudge, nose to nose.  A wordless commitment.  Softness he didn’t know he needed, tender touches of your fingertips to his wet cheek as if to promise a remedy for his aching heart, that you weren’t planning on going anywhere.  You weren’t leaving him like he convinced himself you would or god forbid turn him over to the authorities like he feared.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

–

Glass has been carefully swept three times over, though you were considering a fourth for good measure.  Shards had been plucked from Eddie’s poor hands, your tweezers doing the job just fine after being doused in some cheap vodka he had.  Gauze from a first aid kit you thankfully had in the car had been wrapped around the largest gash in his forearm, not large enough for stitches but large enough to wince at.  He sat there the whole time, staring at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but your face.  

The silence was heavy, a dense fog that hung low throughout his house.  Someone had to break it but both parties were finding difficulties in voicing the reality of what just occurred.  If either spoke it would make it real.  Right now it was hazy, a question of “are we dreaming or did I just walk in on a suicide attempt?” hung in the air.

He said it was an accident, and you believed him.  There was just so much unanswered and it’s the only thing that came to mind.  Anxious fingers tapped against his own thigh, occasionally twisting his rings round and round while gnawing on his lower lip.  It then dawned on you that he was the most human out of anyone you’d ever met.  

He felt on a deeper level than most.

At the touch of your gentle hand against his, his surprised eyes, parted lips, and hesitance to reciprocate hint that he hadn’t anticipated you sticking around this long after you’d found him.  In the standard of fight or flight, he froze.  Realistically he may have been sitting on his tattered couch while you tended to his wounds, both physical and emotional whether he cares to admit or not, but mentally he checked out the second he found himself surrounded by glass and tears.

“Bambi–”

“You don’t need to say anything.”

You were trying to keep it together.  His croaking voice made that hard.  But in all seriousness it wasn’t fair to throw yourself a pity party in light of Eddie’s current stability.  And you’d reject the idea of throwing him a pity party, wouldn’t even touch the idea, but you would offer him all the empathy your soul had collected in a lifetime.  Even not knowing the culprit of his now dried up tears and stinging hands, you’d go to war for him.  Maybe that was dare you even think it, love.  But that’s a crisis for another time.

“Dad died.”

Somehow the silence became even greater, a gigantic void of confusing thoughts and complicated quick conclusions.  Conclusions you backtracked on immediately.  It wasn’t your decision to declare how he should feel about a man who in your eyes and through his words put him through hell no matter how strong your sense of justice grew.      

“Oh, Eddie, I’m so–”  A soft beginning to a sympathetic apology short lived.

“It’s fucked.”  His voice cracked, stoic face crumbling no matter how hard he tried to rebuild the tough exterior.  “I shouldn’t–”  There’s a pause, an intake of shaky breath.  “I shouldn’t feel bad.”

“You’re allowed to.”

“No, no he ruined fucking–everything.”

“And you’re still allowed to mourn.  Even for as shitty of a person as he was, you were still his son and that meant something to you.”

You wished you could erase the flash of pain that glazed over his eyes; something that tells you he knew every word you spoke to be true but couldn’t quite bring himself to be at peace with it yet.  Dust collected on the coffee table in his eternity of reflection, a melancholy aura blanketing the dark cabin as wind whistled through the chimney like spirits demanding attention.  

“How’d you know?”  He finally asked, timid.

“Hm?”

“I left everyone hanging, they all think I’m out with the flu, how did you pick the exact moment I…”

“Needed someone?”

Eddie nodded, hesitantly, like those weren’t the exact words he would pick himself but they seemed to convey what was necessary.  

“Wayne called me.”  You sigh.  “Said he got my number from Steve.  Everyone wanted to jump on the first plane over y’know?”  At this a trace of a fraction of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but he did his best to contain it.  “But it’s Christmas, flights are booked, and even then there’s a storm coming in.  Wayne said he couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“So you knew?”

“No.”  You assure, taking care to relax your features.  “Just sounded really worried, didn’t want to air everything out.  He wanted me to check in.  I guess he has some kind of godly intuition.”  You chuckle.

Eddie retracts his hand, and you know you’ve lost him to his inner battle again.  You can only imagine the bloodshed happening within, after all, you were no stranger to deconstructing your own self worth brick by brick.  The traumas he had been faced with were not anything therapy could simply remove like a tumor.  There were no treatments afterward to ensure everything would get better.  You knew this first hand, that you could try and try to get to the root but there was never any way to truly remove it to keep it from ever festering again.  It would appear, it would be when you least expected, at your worst, and it would look you in the eye and test you.

“I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.  When the host convinces themselves but could never actually believe it to be true in their lifetime.

“But right now you’re not.”

Sabotage.  In his eyes.

“But I will be.  Don’t let me ruin your holiday just because–”

Excuses.  Deterring from the targeted enemy: grief, in the name of saving others the trouble.  A tactic you’d perfected in your years of people pleasing and feeding your tendencies to deflect your sorrows with the intent to appear invisible and self destruct.

“Stop it.”  You demand.

“No, Bambi.  Go to Donnie’s, I’m sure they’ll understand you coming early–”

“Stop.”

Rational thoughts were shoved into a neat little box somewhere else in his mind and you only hoped you could aid in retrieving it before he threw away the key.  Before he decided not even he was worthy of hearing them from himself.  And as he crossed his arms, a stubborn gesture, you braced for impact against his defenses.  His cruel inner monologue and haunted house of a brain.

Big eyes adorned with every brown hue under the sun dissipated into pure darkness.  Cold and black, lacking any of the warmth you’d previously basked in.  He was lost in an underworld he’d been promised to since birth.

“Would you listen to me?!”  Eddie’s jaw clenched in utter frustration and you swear a bead of sweat trickles into his eyebrow.  “I’m not–I don’t wanna be the guy to drag you down.  I’m not gonna be that guy, I won’t do it.  My shit is my shit.”

You weren’t going to become complicit in the reality he’d settled for, the reality in which he felt he deserved scraps and just enough attention to deter himself from going insane.

“And I’m not gonna be the one to leave you while you’re hurting.”  Finally catching his avoidant eye contact, you offer his forearm a squeeze.  A plea.  “Throw me out in the snow, I don’t care but I’m still gonna sit on your porch until you let me in.  I don’t care what holiday it is.”

“Go.”

You try not to take it personal.  It’s not personal.

“Fine.”

The last thing he hears is a slam of the door, refusing to even glance at where you previously sat adjacent to him.  The room turned colder, more vacant.  Even your energy had left with you, none spared for him of course, because why would he be spared anything from your healthy heart?  His was black and blue, barely pumping, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you perform CPR on what he considered an already lost cause.

Do not resuscitate.

As quickly as he’d accepted the death of a budding relationship, the door swung open with aggression to interrupt his mourning, smacking the wall and no doubt breaking through some drywall.  The least of his problems as he watched your determination in setting some stacked boxes on his kitchen counter before exiting again, this time leaving the door wide open.  

It was eerie, the way your second exit was so open ended.  Snow flurries entered and gusts of wind toyed with his curls, his cheeks already hurting a tad with the coldness.  Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of it, you’d dropped off a box of what appeared to be Christmas decorations and what?  Stormed off?  Somehow that hurt even more than the first time, though he’d anticipated the day you would figure out how fucked up he was and retreat.  He could prepare all he wanted but nothing stung more than the actual—

In you came, a box of ornaments under one arm and a small Christmas tree under the other.  And you got to work, setting up the three foot tree right on his coffee table, plugging it in to the nearest outlet and initiating a soft glow of white lights, instantly engulfing the room in a newfound safeness.  The tree needed fluffed and appeared to have bed head, though it still served its cheerful purpose regardless.

Eddie sat with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, on the edge of the couch, eyes shut.  An uphill battle.

“Bambi, what did I tell you–”

“You told me to go.”  You nod confidently, a frown betraying you, pulling at the corners of your mouth.   “And I did.  You didn’t say how long or—or where to go.  But I gave you time to cool off and now you’re gonna either sit and pretend Christmas isn’t a thing or you’re gonna watch the stupid little clay people on TV while I cook dinner and bake.  Either one is good with me but I’m gonna be here whether you like it or not and—“

Before you can look up amidst your rambling, a ringed finger hooks itself in one of your belt loops, tugging you into a warm chest.  

There he is.

Warmth restored in his irises and a semblance of a smirk threatened his lips.  Pale skin rosy in all the right places and endearing eyelashes framing his shy gaze down at you.  Your boy.  

Lips grazed lips, noses nudged into each other, and it all just…made sense.  Bambi and Eddie.  There is not one without the other, not anymore.  Not since you sauntered into his life, demanded a job, puked on him, made him go absolutely insane—

“I love you.”  

It just fell from his tongue.  A promise.

“I-are—are you s—“

“Am I serious?  Is that what you’re gonna ask?”  He nearly mocks your mouthful of syllables.

You nod, gulping.  Not because you’re afraid, no, never.  You’d just never seen such assurance in a single man.

“Bambi…” He tuts.  “You don’t see how bad I’ve got it for you?”

All you can manage is to dumbly bat your eyelashes up at him, mouth hung open like a fish and fists clutching the front of his shirt unknowingly, though he doesn’t mind in the slightest if you stretch out his collar.  

“Bad.”  He reiterates.  “So bad, that even if you don’t feel the same, even if you only like me out of pity—“

“I don’t—“

“I’m not finished.”  Your attempted interruption has him thumbing at your bottom lip.  “Even if you only like me out of pity, I’ll take it.  And I’ll run with it.  Far.  Because I’m pathetic—“

“You are not.” 

“I’m a pathetic man.  Who is deeply in love with you, Bambi.”  

“Stop saying you’re pathetic.”  You challenge quietly, a delicate hand tracing the stubble of his jaw.

“Oh, but I am.”  He breathes, leaving no room for argument when he presses his lips against yours as if it were his last chance.  

Did he believe it was his last chance?

And without thinking, tongues collided, teeth clashed, he had backed you into the wall and there was no telling how you found yourself palming him over rough denim, a whine escaping his throat before you’d barely touched him.

A pathetic whine dare you say.

“Sorry, sorry.”  You gasp, string of saliva connecting you like the invisible string you believed tied you to him all along.

“Don’t—ow!  Jesus fuck.”  Eddie winced, shaking his hand in the air after attempting to cup your blushing cheek.  “Forgot I had fucking…glass in my hand earlier.”

You giggle, a saccharine sound, a melody in his ears that he yearned to make more of.  Embarrassment traces your features, brows pulled into a worrisome look while you hold your hands close against your chest, afraid of further touch much to his dismay.  

“Can you…can you do that again?”  He whispers.  Terrified of the consequences but brave enough to face the rejection.

Nodding, your slow hand reaches for his cheek, thumb grazing over it before trailing down his neck.  His breath hitches, your hand traveling lower and lower, over his chest and down his stomach, exploring all that you’ve so desired only in your wildest  wet dreams.  

Lifting the hem of his shirt ever so slightly, just enough to let your fingers graze his soft skin, your main goal is to tug at that delicious happy trail.  And when you do, he can’t admit to you that he nearly cums in his jeans but you’re certain you’re on the same page when you see his eyes roll back into his skull.

 He can’t control himself when he ruts into you the second your palm meets him once again, beautiful, breathy sighs escaping his pouty, plump lips.  

“Like that, baby?”  You ask, trailing hot kisses down his throat.

“Please.”  A whisper that tells you everything.  “I-I never—no one’s ever—“  He tries to warn you.

“What?”  You encourage, tongue tracing his earlobe.  “No one’s ever taken care of you, huh?”  

“Just my hand.”  Eddie jokes, voice strained.

Guiding him to sit back on the couch, it protests beneath the weight of you both as you crawl into his lap.  Careful fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, patient lips hovering over his.  Doe eyes look up at you, half in admiration, half in hesitation.  

“We can stop.”  You assure him, sweet kisses pressed to each corner of his lips.

“No, no.”  His voice shakes, chest heaving.  “I just—I don’t know exactly…what I’m doing.”  

There’s an undertone of humiliation, the opposite effect you wanted to have on him.  But you were confident that you could make him feel comfortable.  Feel sexy and wanted.

“Let me do the work.”  You whisper against his lips, slowly rolling your hips into him.  “Let me take care of you.”  

He nods, frantically moving to undo his zipper, only to be met with your delicate hands wrapping around his knuckles.  You’re so patient with him, so gentle, so unlike what he’s ever been faced with.

“I said, let me take care of you.”

Feather light kisses pressed to his knuckles, you continue rotating your hips against his, feeling his bulge in between your legs, the friction tightening the knot within you.  His eyebrows knit together, head falling back against the couch’s when you graze your fingertips just below his shirt again.  

Nails gently drag down his torso, eliciting the loudest moan you’ve pulled from him so far.  His injured hands only allow him to take their place in your belt loops again, assisting in setting the pace as you grind against him.

“Eddie.”  You whimper.

“M’ gonna cum.”  He halts your movements, only letting you hover above what was about to be sweet euphoria.  “Wanna be inside of you.”

You can only gaze at him with the utmost love, entranced by his flushed appearance and his damp curls framing his face.  

“Please, baby.  Please, I’ve got condoms—“

You have to stop his babbling by shoving your tongue in his mouth, nodding against him with a grin.  

“You bought condoms?  Boy, are you prepared—“

A playful pillow is tossed into your face, a deep groan coming from your boy.  

“Yes, I’m cautious, baby, please if you don’t sit on my dick right now, if I have to go one more minute not knowing what it’s like…”

“Shhh, okay, okay!!”  You squeal when he attempts to get up only to fail with you pushing back.  You knew damn well he was strong enough to fling you off of his lap should he choose, which only made your underwear more of a mess.

“You wanna go to the bedroom?”  You tease, nuzzling into his cheek.  

Without a second of hesitation, he launches you both off of the couch, palms against your ass only making you wonder how much his hands must hurt and how much adrenaline he must have not to care.  Playfully, Eddie tosses you onto his bed, a pile of unkempt sheets that only seemed that much more comfortable than your own bed.  You could die happily in the smell that engulfed you.  Purely Eddie.  Woodsy and minty.  A tad smoky.  And some hints of apple.

Just when you think he’s about to jump your bones, in every literal sense, you open your eyes to find him carefully adjusting the needle of his record player in the corner of the room.  And then it plays.  A rendition of Can’t Help Falling in Love.  A folkier version, a woman singing with a twang to her voice.  

“Well alright, cowboy.”  You joke, an over seductive brow raising at him.  

“Shut up.”  He grins, crossing his arms to take his shirt off and toss it behind him.  

“C’mere.”  You reach over, tugging at his belt until he hovers over you.  “Wanna see you.” 

“You are seeing me, been here the whole time.”

Quickly, he gathers what you mean as you reverse positions, pushing him back on the bed to trail your lips along his stomach.  Perfectly pretty lips follow along the scars he’d been left with years ago.  The rough texture doesn’t deter you, doesn’t scare you off like he imagined.  While your lips explore his scarred side, your hand delicately traces the dragon tattooed along his ribs on the opposite side.  Inked skin that arose with goosebumps after each touch.

As if he hadn’t already died and gone to heaven, you stop your torment on his body to discard your own shirt, leaving you in only your bra before him.  Careful to grab his hand, you drag his fingers down your chest, in between the valley of your breasts, down, down, down until you let him dip into your pants.  Beneath your damp panties, collecting slick before he catches on your clit, a moan falling so desperately from your lips.  

“F-feel what you do to me?”

It aches.

His finger sits pressed against your throbbing clit, teasing in a way he has no idea about yet.  But he will and you’re not quite ready to relinquish that power to him…yet.  

You can’t handle the confines of clothing any longer, releasing your breasts as you unhook your bra and toss it to the side.  His eyes grow, lips parted in awe.  And when you go to shimmy your jeans off, the friction against his hand pulls a mewl from you, something so pretty and real.  

You’re completely bare, prey for him to claim although he doesn’t, he lets you have control.  And then you remove his hand, only to drag yourself over his denim covered thigh, slick coating the material without much effort.  

Catching his eyes, you watch as he brings his finger up to his lips, tongue wrapping around the digit with a moan of approval.  That’s when you decided you couldn’t drag it on any longer.

His belt buckle clinked against itself as you worked to yank his jeans down, practically drooling for his cock, drunk on the mere idea of even seeing it.  Plaid boxers ignored, you pay attention to the way it slaps against his stomach, already leaking and red.  Painfully aroused.

He barely survives when you decide to lower yourself and lick a long stripe up the underside, twitching against your tongue.

“B-baby, please.”  While grinding into nothing, poor boy.  “Wanna cum, wanna cum so bad.”

He’s been taunted enough, breaking a sweat as he lays there, fisting the sheets in his hands.  You’ve nearly brought him to tears and you’ve barely touched him.

Leaving open mouthed kisses along his reddening chest, you finally offer some relief, ripping open a condom he’d somehow grasped in his hand the entire time, rolling it onto him, and sinking down, swallowing him into your warmth.  Eddie makes the prettiest sounds, small almost hiccups and gasps.  Slowly, you work your hips against him, clit rolling just right against his pubic hair. 

He’s big, stretches you out and hits just the right spot.  Hips stuttering, he places his hands on your waist, cut hands be damned.  Eddie’s close, has been this entire time, but he can’t contain himself the second you lick up a bead of sweat from his chest to his collarbone.  The site is simply too pornoraphic for his inexperienced dick, hot cum filling the condom.  The moan he lets out as he finishes only encourages you, gets you going faster in the limited time you now have before he softens.  

Automatically you reach down to play with your clit, knowing it’ll push you over the edge though he realizes and beats you to it, a rough finger circling you in a pleasant rhythm.  Overstimulated whines fall from him but he doesn’t quit giving you what you need, what you so desperately desire.  

Then all at once, pleasure crashes down around you, pulsing around him, leaving you twitching and panting.  The record stopped playing however long ago, the silence pulling you back into the realm of Eddie’s bedroom.

 Nothing needs to be said, words aren’t on your minds.  Excuses for what just occurred are nonexistent because if you’re being honest, it was sewn into the timeline no matter what.  Forever embedded into the universe in every lifetime.  Heavy breaths carried a symphony during the cool down, sweaty chests pressed together, sticky and salty.

Absentmindedly your foot grazed against his hairy shin, fingers dancing along his chest and arm.  His bicep was toned, something you were never able to appreciate up close before but would now take all the time you wanted.  You wanted to memorize every detail of his body, every freckle, hair, and birthmark.  All of him.

His lazy hand let his fingers trail up and down your spine, writing letters unknown to you but etched into his brain for as long as he knew you.  He held a new appreciation for intimacy, something he sourly wrote off early on but now would cherish deeply.  

Girls never liked him but if he could go back in time and show younger Eddie the one girl who would ever matter to him, well he imagines younger Eddie would still be a naive dipshit about it but he could try nonetheless.  Supposes he would hit him with a “it gets better, kid” and all that sappy shit.  Something like “you’re gonna marry this girl”.  That would be okay to jump the gun on, right?

–

Cinnamon and chocolatey aromas couldn’t completely wash away the somber haze although it was fairly close.  Post sex air somewhat helped as well, though you weren’t banking on it, it wasn’t a solution, more like a deterrent that hadn’t been planned on either part.  

The little plastic tree on the coffee table decorated with years old ornaments wasn’t going to heal the bruising on an ever healing heart.  Christmas classics played on the TV but you knew Rudolph wasn’t going to erase a lifetime's worth of childhood trauma.  

It could help though.  And that’s all that mattered.  If watching Christmas classics only aided in healing a millionth of the wounds, then it was worth doing.  If decorating his once dark and depressing house with twinkling lights and garland only brought out a smidge of the inner child that needed help healing, then it was worth it.  

While Eddie slept in, you played Santa even if just with one gift, leaving it next to the coffee table, too large to fit under the small tree.  Though it didn’t start out perfect, Christmas was starting to look very familiar.  Baked goods sat out on top of the stove, cinnamon rolls, croissants, the works.  Eddie’s shitty little kitchen radio played Christmas tunes which you found yourself humming along to.  

You’d thrown together some maple bacon, drizzling actual maple syrup on the strips in hopes that they’d candy in the oven, which they did.  Hash browns sat in the skillet, slightly burned but at least there was ketchup in the fridge to cover up the burnt taste.  Snow blanketed the streets outside, snowing you in although you didn’t mind one bit.  

You’d called Donnie, heard the commotion over the line at her house, family members causing a ruckus in the background as she made pancakes.  While you were supposed to be with everyone this morning, she assured you all was well and you could hear the smirk in her voice.

Emerging from his room, Eddie’s bed head is the first thing you greet.  Curls sticking out every which way, bangs defying gravity.  Lines ran down his face, imprints from the sheets and his boxers hung low on his hips.  A dream.

“Merry Christmas to you too.”  You giggle at the way he squints in the early morning sunlight peeking through the window.  

Stretching his arms over his head, you’re forced to witness the way every muscle flexes, drool nearly falling from the corner of your mouth.  It doesn’t go unnoticed but he decides it can be addressed later.  

“Merry Christmas, did you get me some fucking curtains so I can actually see?”  He laughs, voice husky with sleep.  

“No but I can do you one better—“

“I was joking Bambi, I wasn’t actually expecting any—“

“Next to the table.”  

Your grin makes him want to run directly to you and spin you around, kiss you a few dozen times, and never leave this bubble you two have created.  Instead he hesitantly steps toward the previously mentioned gift, a large gift at that, wrapped thoughtfully in reindeer paper and complete with a large red bow.  He felt like an asshole.

“I—no I can’t—“

“Open it.”  

Eddie just stared. 

“Eddie, it’s Christmas, first thing you do is open gifts!”  You smile, approaching behind him.

Then he disappeared back into his room, the sound of him rummaging the only thing letting you know he hasn’t retreated just to hide from you.  When he walks back out, he’s hiding something behind his back, a nervous smile tugging at his face.  

“I swear—I was going to wrap it, I just—I don’t have an excuse.  I just didn’t.  I’m sorry.”  His large brown eyes plead with you, begging for forgiveness that he didn’t need to beg for in the first place.

As if defeated, he hands you a stack of records, several that probably cost a good paycheck.  And you can tell he feels it’s not even enough with the way he avoids your gaze.

“Um, it’s probably stupid, it’s just, they’re records that made me think of you.  I dunno, it’s dumb, music is just—“

“I love you.”  You interrupt.

Without another word you grab the records from him to momentarily set them on the table.  Before he knows it you're smashing your lips against his, passion being poured into every breath he takes against you.  Your hands cup his cheeks, still slightly stubbly but cute.  He wraps his large hands around your wrists, hissing at the slight sting but continuing. 

“You’re not just saying that—“

“I.  Love.  You.”  You enunciate each word with a peck.  “Point blank.  No exceptions.  You’re stuck with me old man.”

“Old man?  We’re like the same age—“

You’ll never forget the amusement on his face but what attracts your attention next are the records.  A huge stack of them.  All genres.  Some Elvis, ones that hadn’t made it in your collection yet, a few that seemed more his taste, metal.  It was a universal language and it was his preferred way of feeling.  That much you could gather.

“Um, yeah, if you don’t like them I can just…”

“Don’t like them?”  You scoff.  “I love them.”

You hold them close to your chest, as if they were books and you were in high school.  You suppose you could be what with the way butterflies erupted in your stomach.  He made you feel like you were in high school, gave you a sense of youth that had been skipped over previously.  

And he was blushing. 

“Well, uh, I just thought you know…music does a lot for me.  I picked some out that I knew you’d like.  Also put some that I like in there, I dunno why, you don’t have to listen to them.”

“Oh, we are listening to them.  Right after you open your gift.”

More blushing.

Eddie takes a few glances at the gift, as if it were there to test him.  Like Pandora’s box or something.  Then he crouches down beside it, hesitantly reaching out to peel back the paper.  A giddy grin rests on your face, records still clutched in your hold.  His face says it all once he’s torn through enough paper.  It’s a guitar case, that much he can tell, eyes nearly popping out of his head.  Then he opens the case, revealing a cherry red electric something that you couldn’t memorize the name of but all you knew was that he had his eyes on it for months before you even entered the picture.  At least that’s what the guy at the thrift shop said. 

“No fucking way.”  He smiles, half laughs.  Then repeats himself.  Over and over.

“Do you like it?”

Instead of receiving verbal confirmation, you’re nearly tackled, strong arms wrapping around you and swinging you around.  Laughter erupts from deep within you, Eddie setting you down just to kiss you deeply and with so much care you figure you’ll faint.  

“I love it, I love you.”

Later that morning, frosting coats his lips then transfers to yours in a quick kiss across his tiny dining table.  The bacon is devoured, mostly on his account, and those claymation Christmas classics elicit laughter like no other.  Deep belly laughs from the man whose legs you sit in between.  His shirt rests comfortably on your torso.

He calls Wayne, puts it on speaker, and effortless banter occurs between you three.  Wayne tells his boy to behave, wishes him a Merry Christmas, apologizes that times have been so shitty and that his flight had been canceled.  Thanks you for being there to ground his boy, tells you how much Eddie’s friends have gone on and on about you two, that he can’t wait to meet you.

Then you call up your family back home, more than likely all crammed in the same house, doing puzzles, arguing over stupid things, throwing wrapping paper everywhere.  You miss it.  But you wouldn’t trade your place right now for anything.  Eddie timidly and adorably chimes in, says hi.  Makes small talk with mom and grandma.  Grandma begs him to take a look at her station wagon when he makes his way over with you for a visit some day.  No question about it, he’s going and that’s final, according to her.  He doesn’t seem to mind though, a shy smile pulling at his lips.

Lastly you call up the gang.  Nancy answers, says everyone’s at their house as usual.  Shouting between Dustin, Steve, and Mike is heard in the background.  Something about a broken sled.  Robin takes the call hostage, telling you both about the juicy gossip amongst the group.

“And then Max—you haven’t met Max yet, Bambi, but Max left Lucas a—shit you haven’t met Lucas yet either.  This would all make so much more sense then.”

There’s talk of a summer trip, something fun everyone can join in on.  Kind of like summer camp except Nancy would of course be the ring leader by default.  She would more than likely assign the adults as camp counselors unofficially.  Eddie’s face lights up, tells her about the perfect campsite not far from his house.  Beautiful in the summertime.  Then looks at you, shares a dimpled grin and runs his thumb over your knee.

Loved ones called and bellies full, Eddie plays around with his new guitar, and softly in the background, Muddy Waters plays.  One of the records he’d gifted you.

~end~

Masterlist

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #smoke signals #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie Munson series #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic

[in1-nutshell]

Bot Buddy being Rodimus's older sister and having a crush on Swerve

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Hinted Romance, Cybertronain reader

Buddy is a near carbon copy of Rodimus.

Key word ‘almost’.

Instead of sporting the red and oranges being her main color on her frame, Buddy has more blue tones with some yellow around.

That is where all similarities end.

Buddy being related to Ultra Magnus makes more sense than her being related to Rodimus.

“Hey Buddy! Watch this!”--Rodimus

Rodimus on the top of a tall shelf.

“Rodimus No!”—Buddy and Magnus

Buddy and Magnus look at each other in surprise.

“… I hate when you two do that.”--Rodimus

“Don’t care, get down here before you break something or hurt yourself.”--Buddy

“But—”--Rodimus

“Rodimus.”--Magnus

“…”--Rodimus

She was in fact close to him though.

Being a part of the Elite Guard for most of the war can do that.

The other part was stationed around communications and message relay for the Guard or the Wreckers.

That was where she first met Swerve.

It was purely by accident.

Swerve had been given the wrong number and connected her instead.

“Hello? How may I help you?”--Buddy

“You’re not Blurr. Who are you?”--Swerve

“You have the help line for the Wrecker’s and Elite Guard, do you require any assistance?”--Buddy

“Oh, no not really. I thought I had Blurr’s number. You know Blurr?”--Swerve

“Yes, I am familiar with the racer.”--Buddy

“Isn’t he the best! We were going to hatch a plan to build and run a bar when the war ended.”--Swerve

“Really? Blurr agreed to that?”--Buddy

“Absolutely! He even gave me his number, but I must have punched in the wrong digits and contacted you instead. Not that you haven’t been nice and all!”--Swerve

Buddy laughing a little bit.

“Its all right… umm… what is your designation?”--Buddy

“The names Swerve! And who might I be speaking with if you don’t mind?”--Swerve

“I’m Buddy—”--Buddy

“You’re THE Buddy!? Wow! This is just my day! I’ve heard so much about you and your work with the Elite Guard, The Wrecker’s…”--Swerve

Buddy gets a bit more comfortable on her end ready to continue this pleasant conversation with Swerve.

It was a slow day anyways… it felt nice.

That started a slow friendship between the two.

The chats had to happen on scheduled days since Swerve had a habit of talking too much and Buddy didn’t like to stop him.

Buddy refused to talk to Hot Rod about this.

Swerve was her friend.

Finally, someone that hadn’t been friends with Hot Rod before knowing her.

She was going to protect her friend’s identity as long as she could.

But of course, Hot Rod had a feeling his sister was hiding something from him and was going to get to the bottom of it.

Hot Rod dramatically draping his frame on Buddy’s berth.

“Why won’t you tell me!”—Hot Rod

Buddy rolling her optics.

“I’m not telling you squat Roddy.”--Buddy

Hot Rod suddenly sitting up.

“What if its… someone?”—Hot Rod

Buddy frame stiffens a bit.

“It is someone!”—Hot Rod

Hot Rod flopping on her back and starts popping her side annoyingly.

“Who’s the lucky bot who’s got my stuck up of a sister like this?”—Hot Rod

Buddy grabs his digit and slightly bends it backwards.

“Hey! OWW!”-Hot Rod

“Keep it up and I’ll bend more than your digit Hot Rod. Got that?”--Buddy

Buddy lets go of his digit and crosses her arms glaring at him.

“Fine, fine, I wont start talking about your secret—”—Hot Rod

Buddy judo flips her brother to the floor.

Hot Rod was over the moon hearing that there might be someone out there for his stuck-up sis.

Maybe it would help loosen her up.

Primus knows she needs to stop stressing so much.

Buddy just wishes that Hot Rod would drop the subject… but is secretly pleased to hear that he is happy that she found someone she likes.

…then came Rodimus Prime.

Buddy felt their sibling bond significantly weakened thanks to the matrix bonding.

Rodimus didn’t seem to notice but Buddy did.

But she refused to acknowledge it to him.

He was a Prime now, he had other things to worry about than her.

Just pushing through trying to get her work done.

Timeskip to the Lost Light…

Buddy was not aware that Swerve was on the ship until she got wind of the bar.

She walked in and zeroed in on the minibot.

Buddy walking over to the bar where Swerve had his back to her.

“Welcome to Swerve’s you see anything you like?”--Swerve

Buddy smiles a bit.

“Hmm… I don’t know you recommend anything Swerve?”--Buddy

Swerve stops cleaning the glass in his servo and turns around, wide eyed.

Buddy smiles a bit more seeing Swerve’s own face light up.

“Buddy!”--Swerve

Swerve reaches over the bar to hug his friend.

Several bots at the bar stop seeing the small bartender hugging one of the most strict bots on bourd.

“… 20 shanix that Buddy tells Swerve off.”--Skids

“Deal.”--Chromedome

“Domey--”--Rewind

“Wrong. 50 and she throws him out.”--Whirl

“She wouldn’t do that… right?”--Tailgate

Buddy hugs Swerve back while silent chaos ensues behind them.

So many bots thought that Swerve was going to die that day.

Rodimus had so many com pings within that hour.

He brushes the pings off like a rumor.

Especially when he hears about something potentially happening between Buddy and Swerve.

… That changes when Rodimus starts to notice Buddy hanging out more and more at Swerve’s.

This was the first flag to be raised.

Buddy doesn’t ‘do’ crowded bars.

But he brushes it off as Buddy finally letting loose.

Rodimus is talking with Drift when he notices Buddy at the bar.

“Isn’t it nice seeing Buddy happy?”--Drift

“Hmm? Yeah… but it’s a bit weird seeing her out here.”--Rodimus

Drift raises an optic.

“She doesn’t like big, crowded places, it’s ‘Too loud and too much engex being spilled all over’.”--Rodimus

Drift looking at Buddy happily talking with Swerve at the counter.

“Maybe she’s here for someone?”--Drift

Rodimus downing the rest of his drink laughing at the end.

“Ha! That’ll be the day.”--Rodimus

One time a rather rude bot had come to the bar and demanded to know why he was cut off from the drinks.

All while he was slowly tipping to the side.

Buddy tried to de-escalate the situation.

“Listen, we are all civilized bots here. Lets just get you back to your habsuite or the med bay if—”--Buddy

The bot looks at Buddy and spits in their face.

“Can it! Your nothing more of a has been-washout-guards-bot who is only good for a pretty paperweight!”—Random Bot

Buddy wipes the spit infused engex from her optics, glares at the bot harshly, about to unleash the Pits when she gets interrupted.

“HEY!”--Swerve

Swerve stands on the bar counter gaining some height, his servos shaking at his sides.

“Don’t you EVER talk to her like that! Now. Get. Out. Of. MY! BAR!”—Swerve

Buddy feels her spark skip a pulse looking at the mini bartender.

The bot tries to take a swing at him, but Buddy grabs the fist in her’s.

Buddy’s optics blazing in fury.

“You heard the minibot.”--Buddy

Buddy kicks the bot in the back of the knee and throws the frame across her shoulder.

Marching outside and kicking the bot several feet away from the entrance.

“Get. Out.”—Buddy

“… She gonna be my Amica.”--Whirl

“Whirl, not the time.”--Cyclonus

“Well, I can’t be her Conjunx. Swerve has that covered; this is the next best thing.”--Whirl

“Swerve does not—”--Tailgate

Whirl points at Swerve still standing on the counter with a lovesick smile on his face.

“…Maybe your right.”--Tailgate

“Tailgate, Whirl no.”--Cyclonus

“Hold on Cyclonus, they might have a point.”--Rewind

“Rewind—”--Chromedome

Cylcnous puts a servo on Chromedome’s shoulder shaking his helm.

Chromedome sighs giving in as Whirl, Tailgate, and Rewind scheming in silence.

Buddy managed to cuff the bot and send him to Magnus.

The bot never came back to Swerve’s.

Swerve has heart shaped optics behind his visor.

You’d have to be blind not to see his clear ‘admiration’ for the former member of the Elite Guard.

But he is convinced that all of this will pass.

It’s not like Buddy would actually have feelings for him.

Meanwhile Buddy has started creating Swerve/Love playlists in secret.

A secret that she is taking with her until she goes offline.

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #idw mtmte #mtmte x platonic reader #mtmte x reader #mtmte rodimus #mtmte swerve

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv!!! I’ve seen you have an draco injury/disability reclist but I was wondering if yoy knew of any fics where harry had an injury/disability??

thank you!!

Hi anon! Yes definitely, here are some hurt!Harry for you:

Wield Me by @tackytigerfic (E, 10k)

Draco Malfoy, blacksmith, is renowned through the magical world for his skill and exquisite creations. He could quite easily spend the rest of his days making pretty trinkets for the fae court, and being handsomely rewarded for the privilege. But why take the easy route when instead he could get involved in a dangerous mission with Unspeakable Harry Potter (who also happens to be Draco's... well, he's something, isn't he?). A little story about learning to strike while the iron is hot.

The Snitch-Maker by Omi_Ohmy (T, 21k)

Draco is content with his Snitches, with the tap tap tap of his hammer, and the tiny gears and sharp scent of metal in his workshop - until one day Harry Potter appears, asking for help to solve a rash of Snitch-tampering in the Quidditch world.

Fearful Trill by @vukovich (E, 29k)

Harry should have come out and met someone when he was younger. He should have seen a doctor about the pain in his hip while youth was still on his side. Now, he's made his peace with dying young, but maybe not with dying alone.

If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted by @shealwaysreads (E, 45k)

Harry Potter disappeared a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, and with him went all hope for true change in magical Britain. Three years later, Draco indulges himself and attends his first Dog Fight—the infamous underground fights with no rules, no referee, and no points system bar blood on the floor. The game was simple: you win, or you die.

fly like paper, high like planes by @harryromper (M, 47k)

Harry Potter, Head Coach of the Appleby Arrows, is very content leading a quiet life. He has a doddery old house-elf who makes his breakfast, a team of players who love Quidditch almost as much as he does, and a Kneazle that curls against his damaged leg at the foot of his bed at night. The absolute last thing he needs is a fit, tattooed, and wildly talented Draco Malfoy back from living his life on the margins.

Harry Potter and the elusive day off by pleasebekidding (E, 71k)

Auror Potter needs a fucking break. He is wiped. He is exhausted. He probably didn't intend to put himself into a magical coma but these things happen. And who cares, really? He is comfortable in a house where he has hidden away all the shit he can't deal with.

Merlin Works in Mysterious Ways by lordhellebore (M, 82k) - cw: major permanent disability

When Harry is forced to form a Blood Bond with Draco Malfoy under threat of death, he thinks his future will consist of a cold home and sexual frustration. But when a group of left-over Death Eaters decides to stir trouble, their lives change completely – and it takes them both some years to figure out whether it’s for better or for worse.

Balance, Imperfect by @bixgirl1 (E, 91k)

When Harry sustains an injury in the line of work, he no longer knows how to navigate the life he loved, and finds help and solace from the most unexpected source.

Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (E, 131k)

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

The Ordeal of Being Known by @lou-isfake (M, 146k)

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge... especially from Potter.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #hurt Harry #disabled Harry

[falsemortal]

Hunger

The Ghoul takes a moment to adjust the bandolier on his shoulder, then his fingers brushing against the cool metal of the shotgun before he straightens up and heads towards the back room. He navigates the bar like he owns the place.

He’s wasted enough time, she should be back.

The door to room 3 is slightly ajar, and he can hear the soft hum of a radio and the rustling of fabric coming from inside. He pushes the door open, and Lucy's eyes lock onto his.

She's changed into something a little more... enticing, her curves accentuated by a tight dress, the shade of blue makes him sick but he can’t deny she’s beautiful in it. His gaze rakes over her, taking in every little detail.

The wooden floor creaks under his boots as he approaches.

“W-what are you doing here?” Her hands automatically go up to cover herself, despite being dressed. Although far less than the last time he saw her, “You can’t be back here, I have a client coming-“

He chuckles, low and husky, as he shuts the door behind himself. "Ah, sweetie, you're so cute when you're trying to play hard to get," He says, eyes subtly roaming over her body. "You don't need to worry about any clients coming, sweetheart. I've got a premium on my time with you." He pulls out the card the bartender gave him, winking at her.

“..you’re the one who-?” She sits on the edge of the desk, flushing brightly. “What do you want? What bounty am I worth now?”

He snorts, a low, raspy sound. "Oh, darlin', you're worth so much more than just caps to me," He says, "You're worth my time, my attention... and maybe even my protection." He takes another step closer, eyes locked on hers. "Let's just say, I've got a certain... interest in you, Lucy Maclean."

A slow, provocative smile spreads across his face as he reaches out, gloved fingers brushing against the edge of her dress.

Her eyes widen, watching as he gets closer. “..why? I have nothing else to give you. We.. we already had our ‘exchange’, didn’t we?” She gestures to him with her newly acquired finger. ”What else do you want to take from me?”

He chuckles, low and menacing. "Oh, darlin', you'd be surprised what I want to take from you," He rasps, "I'm not just looking for caps or information. I'm looking for something a little more... personal." He leans in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "I'm looking for a little taste of heaven, Lucy. And I think you're the perfect place to start."

A slow, deliberate kiss is pressed against the side of her neck, just above her clavicle.

She gasps, her hand going to his chest, curling into the collar of his shirt. The heat of his mouth went directly to her core, a small fire burning within her.

He takes advantage of her reaction, his marled lips tracing a path up her neck to the curve of her ear. "Oh, yeah, sweetheart," He whispers, voice husky with desire. "You're makin' me so damn hungry." His hand wraps around her wrist, holding it in place as he continues to kiss and nibble at her skin.

His free hand starts to caress the curve of her hip, fingers dancing across the fabric of her dress.

Her small hand touches his cheek, softly letting her thumb swirl a soothing pattern. She can feel her body getting hotter with arousal, and she’s frightened by how turned on she’s getting.

He pauses the assault on her skin, hazel eyes flicking up to hers as he feels her hand on his cheek. His gaze burns with a mixture of lust and amusement as he smiles lazily.

His thumb strokes against the side of her hand, his touch light and gentle as he draws her hand away from his face, his fingers intertwining with hers.

“Can I please have your name?” she murmurs out of nowhere, “I don’t want to just call you Mr Ghoul..”

He chuckles low in his throat, eyes glinting with amusement. "Ah, darlin', you want to know my name, huh?" He contemplates, then sighs, "Well, I reckon it's only fitting you should know the man who's goin' to... take care of you." He pauses, gaze burning into hers. "My name's Cooper Howard, sweetheart. But you can call me Coop, if you want. Just.. keep that between us, huh? Don’t need to world knowing my business."

Her whole body twitches against him, “W-wait.. like.. like… you’re THE Cooper Howard?”

He laughs, the sound low and menacing. "The one and only, sweetheart," He drawls, grip on her hand tightening as I press myself closer to her. "The Ghoul of the Wasteland, the man they whisper about in hushed tones around campfires as little ghost stories... that's me."

He tilts his head, eyes locked on hers as he speak in a tone that sends shivers down her spine. "And you're thinkin' it's weird that the infamous Cooper Howard is holdin' your hand and makin' you all hot and bothered?"*

She downright squeaks. “I..I had such a huge crush on you when I was younger.. I watched your movies in the vault- Oh gosh!”

He lets out a low, husky laugh, the sound sending vibrations through his chest as he tightened his grip on her hand. "Ah, darlin', you're makin' an old man blush.”

He pulls her closer, his face inches from hers as he whispers, "And what do you mean, 'had a crush'? You still got a thing for me, don't you, sweetheart?"

She flushes, her eyes darting away from him. His voice was doing things to her.

He chuckles low in his throat, hazel eyes never leaving hers as he presses his advantage. "Aww, come on, darlin', don't be shy," His voice softened to a gentle tease.

He reach out with his free hand, fingers tracing the curve of her jawline as he draws her gaze back to his own . "You know you want to talk about this... and maybe do something about it?"

She melts into his touch, her eyes shining up at him.

He smiles, eyes glinting with satisfaction as he leans in closer, breath whispering against her ear. "That's it, sweetheart... give in to your desires.”

He tightens his grip on her hand, fingers intertwining with hers as he pulls her closer, their bodies almost touching. "You know you're wantin' this... and I'm more than happy to oblige.”

“You.. did pay for a service, Cooper.” She blushes even brighter, “I.. I have a room next door if you want to be more private.”

He raises a nonexistent eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face as he teases her. "Oh, darlin', you're thinkin' I'm just here for the service, huh?"

He leans in closer, voice taking on a sly, seductive tone. "Let me tell you somethin', sweetheart... I've got more interest in you than just gettin' my rocks off.. But I gotta admit, the thought of bein' alone with you in that room is mighty temptin'..."

That piqued her interest, “What else did you want then?”

He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners as I lean in closer. "Well, darlin', I've got a proposition for you. One that's gonna make you a whole lot richer... and maybe even give us both a little something special."

"You see, I've got a little problem. A certain... taste that I just can't seem to shake. And I think I know just the person who might be able to help me out."

Her head tilts to the side slightly, edging him to go on. Curiosity twinkling on her face.

He smiles, a slow, sly grin spreading across his face. "Let's just say... I've got a certain fascination with the more... exotic flavors in life. And I think you might just be the one to satisfy my cravings, darlin'."

“You’re not eating me, Cooper.”

He laughs, a low, rough sound that sends a shiver down her spine. "Oh, no, sweetheart... I'm not lookin' to make a meal out of you just yet.”

He reaches up and gently pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers brushing against her skin. "I've got something else in mind... something a lot more fun."

#ghoulcy #vaultghoul #the ghoul #lucy maclean #cooper howard #ghoulcy ficlet #what happens after this? who knows! #what was cooper offering her? ALSO who knows! #is it an AU? a little bit of divergency #(don’t look at me I’m innocent)

[lipglossanon]

Gloom

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Serial Killer!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader <one shot>

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, troubled reader, violent/dark thoughts, flirting, Leon abusing his bartender privileges 😆, for once no smut!

not proofread; this has been languishing in my drafts and I’m tired of looking at it—don’t know if I’ll add to it or not

title from Gloom by Djo

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Clawing anger stirs in your chest, pricking you like the briar bushes outside your granny’s house. It feels like you’ve tumbled face first into the thorny tendrils, pointed tips digging into your skin, blood dripping like sweat across your skin. Shaking off the phantom sensations, you peer back out across the dance floor. 

You smile, pretending to be happy, mask firmly in place. Good people grin and bear it, don’tcha know? Eyes landing on the table full of people you’d rather never see again, almost without conscious thought, makes your skin itch. The feeling of unfairness fizzes in your blood like carbon bubbles. You hate them. Hate these feelings all stirred up like a kicked hornets nest. 

You hope they get hit by a truck, shanked in an alley, acid thrown in their eyes. It’s hateful and spiteful but you can’t stop the thoughts once they start. Maybe they’ll fall down the stairs and break their leg, bleed out a slow death all alone. Or pushed off the roof of a building, not so tall they have a heart attack before splattering across the cement. Maybe they’ll trip holding a pair of scissors, the pointed end puncturing their eye—

“You need another drink?”

The voice pulls you away from staring across the room to the bartender standing behind the counter. 

“No,” you shake your head, eyes dropping to your glass, water still near the rim. 

“You seem a bit perturbed,” he offers, propping his hip against the drink station, arms crossing and showcasing his thick biceps.

“It’s nothing,” your airy response only makes his eyebrows raise in amusement.

“I’m sure that group over at the table would love to hear how they’re nothing,” he grins when you glare at him.

“What do you care..” your eyes glance at his name tag, “Leon?”

“I don’t,” he shrugs easily, “but you do and I hate to see a pretty lady in distress.”

You snort, eyes rolling, “I’ll bet you say that to anyone with tits.”

His grin widens, “True, but I always mean what I say.”

Someone on the other end flags his attention and Leon leaves you to your intrusive thoughts and untouched water. Your lip curls in a sneer as someone gets up from the table he mentioned and walks over to the bar. They flirt with Leon who you notice gives you a quick side eye before making a round of drinks. 

Once he’s finished up, he walks back over to you with a smarmy little swagger. 

“Miss me?” 

You shake your head, gaze still zeroed in on the bitch taking the handful of drinks he just made back to the table. More people come up to the bar and Leon slips away, busy for several long minutes. While he’s mixing whatever cocktail an older lady and her friend ordered, your eyes widen in surprise to see a few people at that specific table suddenly make their departure towards the restroom. 

“It didn’t kick in as fast as I thought,” Leon muses next to you— a little put upon sigh slipping out for good measure, “they’ll definitely be calling it a night once they’re not puking their guts out.”

Delightful vindictiveness makes you smile broadly at him; it must surprise him because he only looks at you stupidly as you thank him. 

“Didn’t I tell you I hate seeing a pretty lady in distress,” he recovers quickly enough, a pleased smile making him seem boyish and sweet, “besides they seem like stuck up cunts. And not the fun kind.”

You watch with a sort of childlike awe as he goes about the rest of his shift, chatting up customers and making drinks. The table of cunts, as he so politely put, cleared out once the others returned looking sick. 

“I’m off work in ten minutes,” he appears next to you, making you jump. 

“And?”

He drums his fingers on the side of your glass, “Might wanna get your last call in before I walk you home for the night.”

He slips away before you can argue and ten minutes later, he’s helping you with your coat and holding open the door. Once you’re a comfortable distance away from the bar, you turn to him. 

“What did you use?”

“Ah,” he taps the side of his nose with a grin, “that would be telling.”

Your eyes narrow and he laughs. 

“Just a little something I like to keep on me,” he ducks to the side to whisper in your ear, “it’s not the worst thing I’ve used on someone.”

He pulls away, looking pleased as punch, and it makes your heart flutter in excitement. 

“Thanks,” you offer, looking back to the sidewalk in front of you, “it was nice.”

“Oh my absolute pleasure,” he sighs happily, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, “do they come in every week?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip in thought, “usually at the same time.”

“Shall I give them something a bit stronger then?” He murmurs quietly, eyes glittering when you pause to look back at him. 

“There’s something wrong with me.”

You didn’t mean to blurt that out, but it is what it is; he shrugs, total nonchalance, that makes you frown. 

“I want them to hurt. I want them to feel awful. I wouldn’t mind if they died.”

His smile’s a sharp brittle knife, “I can help with that last one.”

Your heart flutters again, and you twist to face him fully. 

“You mean that?” Your eyes stare into his calm blue gaze, “you don’t even know me.”

“Does it matter?” He grins playfully, “besides you seem like the kind of girl who would appreciate it.”

Those intrusive thoughts come back, flashing the various ways you’ve pictured those same people being hurt. Your hands reach up to curl your fingers in the collar of his jacket.

“Do you want help?”

He laughs delightedly, his own hands gripping your hips before sliding up to pet your ribs. He slides your noses together, before hovering his lips over your mouth. 

“How do you want to help me, sweetheart?”

#leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy #resident evil fanfiction #serial killer!leon kennedy #fem!reader

[argreion]

𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆❜𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 — For my first 'getting good at writing by writing at least 500 words a day' training, we got Leon with a dog! Not just a dog, but basically getting a dog. Please, don't look up the dog breed. I laughed writing half of this because I couldn't help but think about Leon and Noodle. Holding 'em up and going, 'Can't you see we're related?'. The Leon in mind is RE2, btw!

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 900

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — Ball talk, ok? Dirty jokes, undertones, whatever. I wanted to be a little silly willy.

“How about we get a dog?” Your boyfriend, Leon, offered. Pulling your attention away from the dogs towards a small puppy in a cage. Acting like a little ball of sunshine—just like a certain soon-to-be owner.

Your footsteps clicked against the laminate flooring. Joining him in front of the cage he was talking about. A sweet little Chinese Terrier with a wagging tail. Jumping against the metal, it stared up at Leon. It looked a little… diseased—didn’t all dogs with their beady eyes, though? Messy bangs, skinny, and weirdly half-naked.

It felt like they had a connection, watching as Leon crouched down. Pushing his finger through the bars to which the dog bit. Giving a playful tug and growl against the flesh. Violent for a small thing that is supposed to be the savior of dysfunctional families.

While Leon was occupied ‘playing’ (getting his finger eaten alive) you looked at its name, age, and the little fun fact. Growling in the background and Leon’s laughter accompanying it.

Noodle – 9 months – Fun Fact: I like balls! <3

Oh geez, balls? Especially with a heart beside it? What are they trying to advertise? That’s horrible. A snort came from you, drawing Leon away from his playtime. Oblivious to what was going through your mind.

“What's so funny?’’ Leon asked, moving over to see what made you snort. Perplexed as he read a little about me. Mentally groaning at how sweet words could be turned perverse.

“I don't get it…” He muttered, face contorting into a small pout. Bless his innocence, made you want to cackle.

“I like balls?” You let the words fall from your lips, hoping he'd realize the undertone. He didn't, he just stood there, confused, still. Knock-off statue.

This boy was hopeless, rubbing your face as you sighed. Dense he was, but you liked it about him. Made him adorable, like the puppy in the cage he was playing with.

“You wanna get Noodle? Spitting image of father and son.”

The man rubbed his chin, biting his lip as he thought about this. It was small, a puppy, and seemed nice. Maybe needed to lay off the gnawing and biting, but he liked Noodle. Son-like-father with that haircut.

“Yeah,” Leon responded with a nod, “Let's get Noodle.” 

Getting a worker was fairly easy, with a small wave and conversation. Going through adopting a dog and all the warnings, dog beds, food, puppy pads, you name it. Tedious at best, but Leon seemed surprisingly fine. Content to have a dog, even if he was mostly busy with work. Going from tazing a crackhead that ran to lying on a couch with a half-naked ball of violence. (You wished he didn't choose a dog that looked like Noodle, it was cute just… Ew. Prayed your friend wouldn't send you to the Nine Hells for that thought.)

In the end, you're left with a dog in your hands. Lapping at your fingers as you walked towards Leon's Jeep. Leon being chivalrous enough to carry bags was a blessing. Setting them in the backseat while you situated your newfound puppy.

Leon couldn't help but smile for two reasons—one a new friend, and two what he planned later in his head. Sure, he seemed harmless, but behind every seemingly good man was a monster. His monster being what happened in bedrooms, depraved bastard. At least he had the morals not to be a corrupt cop.

“Y'know…” He started, leaving the words on his tongue for a second, “I know someone else who likes balls.”

The clogs turned in your head before your face burned. Steam wanting to come out of your ears at such words. Felt like the Windows blue screen of death with how he was staring at you. Clever bastard for a guy with a baby face.

You brushed it off, getting into the Jeep's passenger seat, and brushing your clothes off as you sat down.

“No response?” Leon laughed, shutting the door as he got inside. Fishing his keys out of his pocket to start the engine. Right before turning the key clockwise, he met your gaze.

“Would love it if you take care of mine, they're a little lonely.”

Disgusting, foul, loathsome—shut him up please before he gets popped across the face. If he wanted to be dirty, he should've saved it for the bedroom. The man babbled and flushed when put on the spot. Staring at your lover’s nude body.

Your finger looped with his shirt, pulling him close. Seeing the sweat on his neck and the gulping of his Adam's Apple—the boy thought he was smart. Dead fucking wrong.

“You think you're so fuckin' smart, huh? All cutesy and innocent but a depraved, pervert underneath it?” Such a hostile response left him wide-eyed, a poor deer in the headlights. Growing compliant and also aroused by such roughness. Words caught in his throat.

“Fuck around and find out, little boy.”

You followed your hostility up with something that could be considered kinky. Giving the corner of his lips a small lick, tongue flat against the moisturized skin. Before a butterfly kiss on his lips. Shoving him back into his seat as you pretend none of it happened—to forget your stupidity.

He didn't forget, and neither did he forget the ache in his boxers. Nor would the traumatized dog in the backseat watching his parents act like horny, repressed teenagers.

Tomorrow's is gonna be ball worship fyi, I wanted to do it for awhile haha. A few moots better get me on my ball train (and pull me the hell off.)

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you

[changingplumbob]

Pancakes Household: Chapter 9, Part 4

This is Halloween, Halloween, Halloween

Bob: Costume time! Okay friends and fans, it’s time for our Halloween special, who wants to make a pumpkin pie with me?

From beside Bob the droid chirps to indicate that people are tuning in.

Bob: As you can see I have chosen to be a rebel pilot today. I’ll be keeping this on for the bake and my bake sale but something tells me the boss would not approve of me turning up to work in it. Okay let’s run through all our ingredients

The drone chirps while Bob begins preparations. Eliza’s suggestion to get the drone may have stemmed from a place of wanting the flashiest one but Bob appreciated having a set of eyes he could look at when he talked.

Bob: Ugh, kneading, not my favourite part after I’ve already done a workout but hey, that’s on me

He continues to narrate his baking, even getting the drone to read out a question or two that viewers have sent in about the recipe. In the end he pulls one excellent pumpkin pie out of the oven, a perfect Halloween treat.

Bob: Come one, come all to Bob’s Bars! We don’t just have our classic beloved lemon bars today, we have cake and cookies for the sweetness you want on Halloween. If you’re having all that sugar, may as well get full eating it!

The first few customers seem unimpressed with Bob’s selling today but when some new sims walk up to purchase suddenly decide maybe the baking isn’t so bad.

Fergus: Hey Onyx could you- woah! What are you

Onyx: A knight obviously. I see you’re going with the classic skeleton

Fergus: No point fixing what isn’t broke. But could you please help me with my bike? Dad’s busy with the sale and I don’t want to interrupt mother when she’s practicing her speech

Onyx: Sure, I can try. Hop on and I’ll try explain, remember I only just learnt how to ride before my birthday

Fergus: Oh yeah, that’s right

So Fergus wobbles his way around the yard with Onyx doing their best to provide guidance.

Bob: Alright folks, my shift will be starting soon. Who’s going to be customer of the day and buy the last lemon bar?

Harvey: Hello. Do you have bake sales often

Bob: Why yes I do sir

Harvey: How convenient! And do you get positive reviews

Bob: Indeed I do

Harvey: Well then person I’ve never met I would like to buy the last lemon bar

After Bob makes the sale Harvey tells everyone around him how good it is while Bob packs up. It’s good to have friends.

Eliza greets the first trick or treater and offers them some candy. The kid leaves happy and Ginger comes out of the house very confused.

Ginger: *whines* What’s going on

Eliza: Ginger sweetie it’s just me, it’s just mother. Here let me give you a brush

Ginger: *barks* you may not look like mother but you definitely smell the same

Then it’s dinner time for the Pancakes left at home.

Fergus: Dad left us roast! Awesome

Eliza: Onyx will you be able to eat in that helmet

Onyx: I could ask you the same question. But I won’t, because I’m a good kid who deserves a horse

Fergus: *laughs*

The trio chat and eat while Ginger looks on. Sure she has biscuits in her bowl but that looks like real meat on the table. Why won’t they feed her that?

Onyx takes care of the dishes and Fergus decides it’s time for Ginger to learn another trick, playing dead. Mustering his drama skills he does his best to show her what to do, but she remains skeptical of the exercise. Fergus keeps trying though and eventually Ginger catches on, rolling to the floor.

Fergus: You did it! Well done Ginger, we’re stars

*doorbell rings*

Eliza: Onyx could you get that one

Onyx: Sure mother

They open the door to the deck candy all prepared and are greeted by a teen girl dressed as a maid.

Zhafira: Trick or treat

Onyx: Uhh… what

Zhafira: *laughs* I mean for me

Onyx: Oh, right. Have some candy?

Zhafira: Why thank you

Onyx has just decided they should ask what high school the stranger attends when she turns and skips off down the drive.

Carson pops over to visit and become best friends with Onyx!

Onyx: Where’s your costume

Carson: I’m dressed as someone who doesn’t care about Halloween

Onyx: Your loss. Hey, have you seen a girl at school?

Carson: There are many girls at school

Onyx: I mean a specific one, she’s a brunette with a bob cut

Carson: You don’t know a name

Onyx: She left pretty quickly, but she was cute and I wondered why I hadn't noticed her before

Carson: People keep aging Onyx, so more teens. But sorry I don’t really find many people cute at our school so haven't noticed

Onyx: You said that last year. But if you know you’re bi you must have been attracted to someone once right

Carson: I mean, it’s going to sound stupid...

Onyx: You’re my best friend, sound as stupid as you like

Carson: I mean I’ll find a guy or girl pretty but my daydreams are usually romance filled instead of woohoo filled

Onyx: Huh. So are you like, anti-kissing

Carson: I don't know, growing up is confusing

Onyx: You’re telling me

Previous ... Next

#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #simblr #my sims #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #R0904 #OnyxPancakes #FergusPancakes #BobPancakes #ElizaPancakes #HarveyFoster #CarsonFoster

[irkimatsu]

@monstrousvoice sent me fanart of Husk in a muzzle: https://www.tiktok.com/@zammyx0/video/7330695414468988166

And it's my favorite form of Husk art, the sort where I'm not sure whether to cry or be horny. Curse how hot this man looks in bondage, despite his unfortunate circumstances...

For fic purposes, though, I went strictly for the crying. Husk is being punished for disobeying Alastor, Reader finds him after a few days, hurt/comfort but mostly hurt ensues. 1.8k words. No sexual content but still emotionally rough, with mentions of alcoholism and withdrawal.

---

“Niffty? Can I ask you something?”

You try not to make any startled movements as the small Sinner slowly turns her head and looks at you with her one large eye. She continues smacking her feather duster at the wall as she looks up at you. “Yeeeees?” she replies cheerfully.

“Have you seen Husk?” you say. “He hasn’t been at the bar for a few days, and no one else knows where he is. Not Charlie, not Vaggie, not Angel…” It’s not unlike Husk to disappear every so often, usually due to errands from Alastor, but it’s not like him to not warn you before vanishing for this long.

“Ohhh.”  Niffty giggles as she turns back to the wall and continues dusting. “Husker is being punished. He was a bad boy.”

“...punished?” Dear god, what did this little gremlin do to your boyfriend?!

“He’s supposed to do what the boss says! That’s the deal!” Niffty continues. “But he said no, so now he’s being punished! Those are the rules!”

“Do you know where he’s being, um… punished?”

“He’s in his room,” Niffty says casually. “He’s not allowed to leave until Alastor isn’t angry at him anymore.”

Alastor is mad at Husk, and now he’s being kept in his room like he’s a naughty child? The more you learn about Husk’s predicament, the less any of it makes sense. “You have a master key so you can do housekeeping, right, Niffty? Is there any way you could let me in there?”

“Nope, not supposed to!” she says. “Supposed to go in there to clean, that’s it! Don’t talk to him, don’t give him anything he asks for, nothing else!” 

“Please, Niffty?” you beg. “I’m worried about him…”

“Hm…” Niffty looks back up at you with her eye, giving no hint as to what on Earth is going on in her head. “Well… he is your bad boy, isn’t he? Maybe if I let you in, you’ll… punish him further?” God, her laughter about that is fucking creepy.

“Um… yeah…” You can’t be more committal about it than that, even if it’s for the sake of seeing Husk.

“Okay, I’ll let you in!” She pulls a key out of her pocket and hands it to you. “Don’t lose that! It works on all the doors in the hotel, so losing it would be very bad. And don’t let Alastor know I lent you that, or see you using it!” Her voice lowers to a menacing pitch. “Make sure you punish that bad boy real good, okay?”

You nod slowly until she turns back to her cleaning tasks, and as soon as her gaze isn’t glued to you, you immediately flee to the stairs.

—

The reek of booze assaults your senses as soon as you open Husk’s door. You don’t know the last time Niffty has cleaned in here, but in that time, the floor has become littered with shattered glass and puddles of drink. You shut the door behind you and gingerly tiptoe around the mess as you look around for your boyfriend.

“Husk?” you call out quietly. Are you in here?”

Another full bottle rolls to the floor and shatters as the lump on the bed starts to squirm.

“Husk…?” you repeat, more concerned than ever, as you approach the bed. You slowly pull the blanket back to reveal Husk curled into a ball, his whole body concealed by his wings. They’re in a terrible state, with feathers pulled out in clumps that left behind bloodstains. His tail is curled around himself, and the plumage on the tip has been equally tattered.

Even more concerningly, now that the blanket is gone, you can see the metal chain tying him to his bedpost.

You gently stroke at his wing, only for him to growl and shrink back from your touch.

“Fuck off…” he groans, his voice muffled by what remains of his feathers.

“Husk, it’s okay. It’s me,” you assure him.

He slowly lifts one of his wings and stares at you with pupils blown wide. Now that you can see his face, you can see the chunk of metal fastened against his mouth with a series of leather straps. Only the extreme sides of his mouth are visible, just enough for you to see sharp teeth bared into a snarl. His only other attire is the metal cuff around his neck for his chain; the rest of his body is exposed, revealing deep claw marks and bald patches all over him.

“Husk!” you cry out in horror. “What happened?!”

“What are ya… doin’ here…?!” he asks in turn. You get the feeling he’d sound a lot angrier if he had the strength to. “Get out of here… he’s gonna... be pissed-” He interrupts himself with a groan and a series of dry heaves. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he grumbles to himself between heaving.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” you insist as you sit beside him on the bed. His body begins to spasm, and his heaving soon turns to sobs. You gently stroke one of his ears, knowing it won’t provide him any meaningful relief, but if there’s any sense of comfort you can give the poor man…

“...drink.” His groaning and mumbling finally manages to form a coherent word. “Haven’t… had a drink.”

Normally, the last thing this man ever needs is more alcohol. But as you put the pieces together, you begin to realize how he got into this state, and how this was done intentionally.

Niffty’s words echo in your mind. “Don’t give him anything he asks for!” All you can see is Husk desperately pleading with his friend for a drink, just one drink, even while both of them know she can’t risk that sort of mercy…

But you don’t owe Alastor any promises. “Where do you keep them?” you ask.

Husk weakly lifts a claw and points, and you follow the trail of glass and puddles he’s indicating to a cabinet pushed against his wall. You open the cabinet, and it’s just as much of a disaster as the floor, its shelves lined with more shattered bottles and puddles. Thankfully, you manage to find a miniature bottle of whiskey that’s survived the carnage. You take the bottle and rush it back to Husk’s side.

“Open it for me?” he asks weakly. You nod at him.

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”

You position yourself cross legged on the bed, then gently pull Husk’s shaking body into your lap, careful not to touch any of the bloody gashes in his skin. You balance the back of his head against the crook of your arm, then unscrew the cap on the bottle.

“I’ve got you,” you repeat, your voice much softer now, as you position the opening of the bottle against the exposed side of his mouth. “Are you ready?”

You’re not sure if his groaning response is a yes or no. All you can do is take a chance. You slowly tip the bottle up until the contents begin running out. Some of it runs down his chin and stains the panel over his mouth, but some manages to drip to where his tongue can reach. You finally find a position that gets most of the drink into his mouth, and he gulps desperately until the bottle is completely drained. Slowly, his tremors begin to cease, and his breathing becomes much less labored.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice little more than a ghost. “Thank you… thank you…”

Surely that one little bottle won’t be enough to fight his symptoms for long, but you’re not ready to leave his side just yet. You set the bottle down on the sheets and wrap your now-free arm around him to pull him closer to you.

You know you shouldn’t start crying. You’re supposed to be the one comforting him. And yet…

“Hey… doll…” he murmurs as he wipes a tear away with his claw. His paw is still trembling slightly, though not as badly as it was before you got him his drink.

“What happened?” you ask. “Niffty told me Alastor was upset with you, but that’s all I know…”

“She the one who gave you the key?” he asks. You nod in response, and you can just barely see  him smiling behind his muzzle. “So she figured out how to help me after all…”

“She told me I’d be in trouble if Alastor saw me in here,” you say.

“Yeah, you probably will,” he says. “Though I’ll be the one in real shit for accepting your help…”

“Why’s he this upset with you?” you ask.

“Refused his orders,” Husk says simply. “I don’t wanna do what he wants, so he’s drying me up until I’m desperate enough to go through with it. He’s done it to me before, he’ll do it to me again.”

Before? Again? You knew Husk and Alastor’s deal was heavily unbalanced to Husk’s detriment, but before now, you hadn’t fully grasped just how dire Alastor’s treatment could be.

“What is it that he wants you to do?” you ask.

He averts his gaze. “You don’t need to know that,” he says simply. “It’s just something I don’t wanna do. No matter what he does to me.”

“But what if he hurts you even worse if you keep refusing?” you ask. “I don’t want you to have to do something you’d hate! …but if it’s the only way… I couldn’t stand losing you, Husk…”

His next words are so quiet, and the muzzle doesn’t help you hear him any better. “...that’s how I feel about it, doll…”

You hold him in silence for a while, your only movement a continuous light scratch behind his ear. He returns the silence, only responding with a faint purr. As you hold him, you can’t help but look over the injuries to his body and his wings. Did Alastor do this to him?

On closer inspection, you notice that the tips of his claws are caked in dried blood…

“You should go,” he says. “I don’t want you to, but if he finds out…”

“I understand,” you say, trying your hardest not to imagine how badly Husk might be punished for daring to accept comfort in a time like this. “Just… whatever it is that Alastor’s asking you to do… I’ll understand if you do it, okay? I won’t blame you, no matter how awful. I just want you to get out of this…”

“...I can’t,” is all he says in response.

You lift him up so you can kiss the plate separating his mouth from yours; never before have you missed the taste of his alcohol and tobacco so much. He wraps his arms around you and cuddles close, and you can feel his tremors starting to return.

“I can get you another drink before-” you start.

He cuts you off. “Go,” is all he has to say. “Please.”

You kiss his forehead, desperate to feel his warmth somehow, before gently laying him back down on the bed. As soon as you let go of him, he returns to his earlier position, tucked in by his own tattered feathers. You give his wing a few more strokes, and this time he doesn’t flinch; he doesn’t do anything at all.

The only thing you can do now is leave, give Niffty her key back, and hope with everything you have that even Alastor is capable of some level of mercy for the man you love so much.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel husk x reader #hazbin husk x reader #irk blubbers about nothing #irk huskposts #alcoholism #abuse #withdrawal #self harm

[shorthaltsjester]

the mighty nein - critical role

this is a place where i don't feel alone. this is a place where i feel at home.

#also with softer vibes. i offer They #every silly little brainheart found family deserves a to build a home edit #the mighty nein maybe most of all. thats my family #also the lyrics deliciously well suited to m9. #when jester pulls that. stupid tarot card for fjord. home or traveler. and there's a carnival wagon. and veth says Thats Us! . them #i just think about . the tower is their home the xhorhouse is their home the lavish chateau is their home the balleater. the mistake. #the nein heroez. veth and yezas apartment. the dome. fjord and jesters living room floor. #a bar with a silly name on rumblecusp #also like. the song has stone and dust imagery. gardens and trees. #the inherent temporality of life and love and how that holds no bearing on how greatly people can love. im losin it okay. #ive been making this edit for days straight with my computer screaming at me for trying to shove 143 episodes of cr into a 2min20sec video. #crying becuase. theyre a family do you get it. they were nine lonely people and most of them had given up on seeing their own lives #as something that might be good. something that might make the world a better place. and in the end they're heroes. #and it doesn't matter if no one else knows because They know they're heroes. and they wouldn't've believed that was true when they met. #rattling the bars of my enclosure. to be loved is to be changed #posted on twitter and want to get in the habit of posting here too bc. #general reasons but also bc . i have noticed some of the ppl liking/sharing it are also ppl who shit on my ops by vaguing about my posts #which is in general whatever but does leave a funny taste in my mouth. #critical role #the mighty nein #cr2 #caleb widogast #caduceus clay #jester lavorre #fjord #veth brenatto #yasha nydoorin #beauregard lionett #mollymauk tealeaf #my posts

[silasplaskett]

one of my favorite and seemingly underrated exchanges in heartbreak high is darren offering to get malakai something gayer to wear and malakai saying “oh Yes PLEASE” 

#like maybe the bar is on the floor for me but to not have an assumed to be cishet character laugh that off meant a lot to me #i just like malakai very much. i wish mardi gras wasnt so horrible for him he deserved so much better #heartbreak high #malakai mitchell #darren rivers #bea.txt #collection post

[gregmarriage]

i may know it’s healthy to interact with people and be social, but that doesn’t mean i find it easy in any way

#like i don’t actually mean to isolate myself i just get lost in doing my own thing #which isn’t bad in itself #but then i find myself feeling sad and idk why #bruh you haven’t spoken to your friends in quite a while #if i was a sim my social bar would be red #but i still don’t wanna talk to people sometimes #like i have to physically force myself just to say ‘hey! #everyone pray for gwen’s social life bc it sucks and isn’t really getting any better even tho i’m trying my hardest #i do wanna push myself more and talk to ppl i’ve always wanted to talk to #but my stupid brain won’t let me #i’m trying to push past it though #it would be nice to make new friends that i then neglect bc i’m bad at friendship #idk maybe that isn’t fair #but i still wouldn’t say i’m great at it #idk i just feel dumb for begging people to talk to me #or even just sending messages to new people #or even my friends who i know won’t judge me but still #idk i’m still sensitive after my episode and i just feel embarrassing and annoying and like i’m bugging people #and i believe them when they say i’m not but it doesn’t stop completely me from feeling that way #literally ‘hey’ feels like i just pissed on the floor in front of them #like god! way to be annoying gwen!! #yes i know it’s my brain talking but literally i use up so much energy trying not to feel it #and so much letting myself feel it #and i only have so much energy as it is #not that it matters #bc most ppl don’t care as long as i check in sometimes #but again i repeat my earlier statement #don’t wanna check in i feel cringe #need friends and communication but cannot maintain them #like the 100th post i’ve made but it’s what my thoughts are currently

[magentagalaxies]

uploading all the videos i took during my time on tour with scott onto a flashdrive and there's 190 items selected omg,,,,

#to be fair some of them are like 10 seconds of b-roll but other ones are 45 minutes to an hour so idk exactly what the total time is #and not all of these are specifically from the tour a few of them are other vids that could be used in the doc #but i'd guess the vast majority are the tour #current mood is that meme where someone asks to see the person's phone and they're like ''sure just a sec'' #and then it's a screenshot of deleting 50+ screenshots of the same fictional character or celebrity #except all of the scott images/vids on my phone are somehow for WORK and i can't delete them i'm duplicating them onto a flashdrive #so even if i do need to free up space i will have the video of scott teasing me at my first gay bar FOREVER #anyone wanna watch through the several hours worth of footage with me as i try to figure out how i'm gonna edit this into a 10 min sample #as the final for my independent study credit lmao #(rhetorical but also maybe at some point i'll be sharing some of this behind the scenes footage even if it doesn't make the doc) #that tour was such a wild experience i miss it so much lmao #feeling nostalgic for sitting on the floor of a nyc train station with scott and casually chatting about being undiagnosed manic-depressive #literally the best vibes i wish i was sitting on the floor of a train station with scott rn

[rashfordian]

daily shuffle ting 📸

#im having a mid crisis when im not even middle aged n i dont wanna go back to school #good day and good night. i wanna sink into the floor #bc a football club i decided to support with my heart n soul has betrayed me n i dont even like to watch games anymore #also im reading a drarry fanfiction like im 13 again. #and my skin is awful. and and and im having a crisis n so many emotions that i dont even know where they stem from #i cant even smile properly anymore ive been facial training again bc ive slacked during covid n now — #i dont know how to my eyes have expresseds n i dont know how to smile or look like i care and i TOOK A HARDER HISTORY CLASS FOR NO REASONNN #I DONT EVEN LIKE HISTORYYYYYYYY #and i hate everything n ive been avoiding all my friends n texting ppl less n im just in a Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #i feel worthless n disgusting n my first thought when i wake up is 'i gotta take my acnetame and maybe if i deserve it i can shave my legs' #i naired one of them— my right. she is smooth in ways she hasnt been in a while. my left? chewbacca #n my school changed my passwords for my canvas so now tmr at 1:30 !! I GOTTA WALK UP THERE N GET MY NEW PERSONAL INFORMATION #the clothes i bought i didnt rlly like. but i just wanted to leave the store n make my grandmother happy. now im going into the school year #with clothes i hate n they dont feel gpod and theyre Not the right texture theyre too tight. But not in ways i love theyre too Tight. #n i .s.msneenen all my shoes r blk !!!! theyre all blk !!!! #sjsndjddjd and my hair !!!! my hair!!!!@ sjdjdjdu #God i just wanna lay in my room take showers n rot #roll around and hit myself on my headboard so hard i go into coma n i miss my entire year #n then i fuck off to hershey for chocolate bars and chocolate bags #cant even scrapbook right itsall paint its all paint n aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh im in agony bc im not even saying whats rlly wrong with me #im focusing on the little problems and not the one it stims from. Like a web but if the spider only hang off the edge n never the middle #n everyone keeps talking at me n when i respond they yell at me for everything n i get pushed to the side #bc they hate whatever i have to say for whatever reason n wtv ig i hate them back. always pushing me down fuck them fuck them get out. #n now my friend is texting me her stuff after never speaking to me unless she has a problem #Anyways. sorry sorry. im whining im complaining im really depressed rn n def not in the right headspace to post any of this #or talk to anyone who is reading this. this probably doesnt make sense i left holes in my sentences #so sorry super sorry #that is a photo of me as a baby btw. it is the only one. please love her and maybe tell her she has nice eyebrows. she'd love that #we always take rlly good care of our eyebrows. thats a rule. we just plucked them today #anyways. see you. ill post hp gifs later n forger i ever felt bad to beginning. all of the best.

[qualityrain]

joker & akc being considered as one got me sidnskjdsjjdjdjsndjsjdjsjdnsjjd two sides one coin. in the end your wishes became one. one conclusion. dont even need to plan the showtime fuck it we ball lets go tear this motherfucker to shreds joker!!!!!!!!!!!!

#its 1am sorry for being delirious asf #shaking you #one conclusion. they end togetherbimngojsjdksjskjsjs #being absolutely insane but yk. one conclusion. maybe it can happen outside of marukis reality too #they were fated to meet by god and yk maybe they can meet again throwijgnup #two sides one coin………………………………….. #having the same wishes and being able to work tgt instantly like a singke unit thanks i think this is a sign i need to sleep #sorry my friend talked abt sok0uku and dazais chuuya we r indelibly fated to- #and i think the brainrot is bleeding into me #the way the showtime is the only unplanned one too like oughhhhhh there is no other #akc and jokers by relationship is so special because of every other relationship joker has in the game #and u can compare……… #insane insane i think i need to sleep frfrfrfr #claude txt #crying on the floor thinking abt ideal ending shuak3 being called one conckusion and the way. #they end at rhe same place and uts together #the idea of then sharing the same wish if wanting to vibe and be rivals ough guys #crying on thr floor the ending ideal art w joker and akc at the bar area and theyre like separated from everybody else at the chairs #ok claude go to skeep