#[but to be fair i was working on this for hours....]

[patched-heart]

I must dissent in regards to this scornful attack on trans members and trans allies in the left. One of the biggest problems we have is leftists who believe it's fair to operate under the principle that everyone in the left should know absolutely everything about every political figure. It's toxic. I never heard of McBride before. I follow politics somewhat but I'm more focused on trauma recovery and peer support in our community. I had a minute long celebration about McBride because literally all I knew was 1. trans 2. now in Congress. Essentially what we have are some leftists who expect each of us to do hours of research before saying anything ever. TO BE CLEAR: correcting others in a way that respects their human reality, informing others in the left of important things such as a politician's stance and behaviors regarding Gaza is ESSENTIAL. And without a question, the genocide of Palestinians is of the highest humanitarian crisis category. It's absurdly sick what the state of Israel and Israeli colonists are doing to Palestinians. I denounce it. The nasty attitude is poison in our community. You can call it tone policing if you want, but I am informing you of basic Dialectical Behavior and Internal Family principles. These are the most cutting edge and biologically accurate models of mind and interrelationship we have. Their principles matter. Here's an idea: if we want to win, let's do what works. We can educate each other in a fashion of loving kindness. Proposal: meditation practice.

“omg yay the first trans member of congress!!!” please be fuckin serious

[impala-dreamer]

Go On and Beg

A Supernatural Story

~Dean Winchester has got quite a mouth on him, and he knows just what do to drive you insane...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

3,033 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Dean's Slutty Lips, Oral, Multiple Orgasms, Smutty Smutty Smut. | Originally posted to Patreon July 2023

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

It just wasn’t fair. He had been teasing you all day with those plump, sexy lips, driving you nearly insane.

For some reason, he needed to steal a lollipop from the bank during witness questioning, sneaking a red sucker into his sports coat pocket while you were talking to the bank manager. He sucked that thing for a good half hour while driving around town, his left elbow on the window, his hand casually on the steering wheel. His eyes were only half on the road, the rest of the time checking on you, watching how your gaze was drawn to his mouth every time he made a sucking sound, and he did it so quite often. When he finally found the paper stick inside, he crunched down on the sugar and you were thankful that the ordeal was over. There was only so much you could do to hide the fact that you were squirming in the passenger’s seat.

At lunch, the bastard asked the waitress for a straw, which he rarely did. “Real men don’t use straws”, he’d often tease, but this was a different kind of teasing. He was listening while you rambled on over theories of the case, but his ultimate attention was trying to grab yours. So many times, he reached for the straw with his tongue, letting the wide muscle sneak out of his mouth and toy with the plastic tube, rolling it around a bit until you had no choice but to acknowledge the movements. Your body ached at the sight, thinking of that tongue flickering against your pussy instead of the pop-filled straw.

During a meeting with Mr. Pennacker, one of the victim’s teachers, Dean decided that trying to blow bubbles with his non-bubblegum gum was a grand idea. He slipped the white minty mess onto the tip of his tongue, pushing it between his teeth and puckering his lips. There was little hope for you then, as he cracked a tiny bubble between his teeth and smirked your way. Your panties were soaked and you wondered if the hose you wore would hold it all in.

While working that evening in the motel room, he seemed to think that chewing on his pen was a great idea, sliding the thing in and out of his mouth and puckering his lips tight around the tip. It was mesmerizing and utterly delicious the way he made love to the pen and your nipples craved the same attention, your clit throbbed in anticipation.

When he tapped the pen on his bottom teeth, you shifted in your seat, unable to take it any longer.

The chair legs scraped hard over the floor, the wood nearly fell tipped over when you sprang from your seat and lunged at him.

“Whoa!” The pen fell from his hand as he held them both up, offering a surrender that you wouldn’t allow. “What’s goin’ on?”

Furious and aroused, you grabbed a fistfull of his collar and tugged, forcing him to sit up straight and meet your gaze.

Dean smirked. “You seem pissed.”

“Oh, not pissed,” you assured him, stepping back to drag him to his feet. “Horny. Very… very fucking hot right now. And it’s all your fault.”

He stumbled forward as you stepped backwards, his shirt still clutched in your hand.

“Is that so?” Green eyes swept down your body and he reached for your hips. “And I wonder what could have made you so… turned on���”

Yanking his face down to your level, you snapped your teeth. “Don’t act like you haven’t been screwing with me all day, mister. I know your games.”

He licked his lips ridiculously slowly and your eyes dropped to them, fascinated, entranced, desperate. The fire in your soul died down and everything melted. Your hold on him eased and Dean snuck his fingers into the hem of your skirt. He knew he had you, knew what you needed, what you were dying for.

“You do, huh?”

Another swipe of tongue, a flash of teeth.

“Please…” You didn’t mean to say it, but sometimes your brain just let things slip out. Sometimes, he had control of you and that was just fine by you. “Dean…”

Pushing up on your toes, you tried to kiss him but he turned at the last second, kissing your cheek instead. You groaned and tried to move, but he had you caught between his giant hands, your face locked where he wanted. He kissed his way down your jaw and dipped his lips against your pulse, making your knees give out and your head flood with pleasure.

“Fuck!”

“Still mad?” he asked, lips pulling on your throat.

“Never…”

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you up and against him as he pulled your blouse to the side and sucked a mark on your shoulder. Your hands slid between your bodies, fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers, desperate to shed the Fed outfits and feel his burning skin against yours.

“Please-”

He laughed at your whisper and growled against your ear. “You want me?”

Your nod was insufficient and he locked his thick fingers behind your neck, jerking your face up to his.

“Say it.”

His tone washed over you and your pussy clenched at the emptiness. “I want you, Dean,” you breathed, still stuck staring at his impossibly juicy lips. “Want you so bad. Please.”

There was a rush of air, and a tumble of limbs. He tore at your clothes, stripping you down with rough fingertips and soothing kisses until you were bare but for the horrible panty hose and thin panties beneath. The elastic dug into your stomach and you moved to tear it away, but Dean grabbed your hands and shook his head.

“No. Keep them on.” His jaw twitched and his eyes fell down to the gusset between your thighs. “I like them.”

You groaned. “Really? They suck.”

His right hand slid down, fingers teased at the nude shimmer on your thigh. “Keep them on.”

You nodded absently and he fit his palm between your legs, rubbing upwards with a firm but infuriating push. It just wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fair.

“Please, Dean…” You grabbed at his shoulders, spread your legs to encourage him. “Need you so bad.”

With an evil grin, he stepped away, turning his back on you.

“But-”

Dean cleared his throat and pointed to the bed. “Lie down.”

Pouting, you did as he said, resting your head on the pillow and watching as he undressed. He took his time, but made no show of it for you, gently placing his suit pieces on the back of a chair while yours lay in a pile on the floor.

Waiting was horrible. Every inch of skin he uncovered made your pulse quicken. Each flex of back muscle had you leaking a little more. You squirmed over the blanket and bit your lip hard, waiting as patiently as you could.

Finally, he was finished and he turned back to you, naked and beautiful, tanned and perfectly delicious. Your eyes fell down his body and when you saw his cock, long and half hard, curved towards his left leg, your jaw dropped and your mouth flooded with drool.

“Oh, you’re too much fun,” he joked, laughing gently at you. “Doesn’t take much to get you all worked up, does it?”

You laughed at yourself and rolled your eyes. “I guess not.”

Before you could blink, he was on the bed, crawling over you like a lion, hands and knees digging into the old mattress. The springs creaked and your muscles tensed. His lips puckered and your mind slipped away.

Dean hovered over you for a long second that seemed like forever, toying with you, enjoying the pathetic look on your face.

“Please…”

He shifted and brought a knee up to part your legs and you gasped at the pressure against your needy clit.

“Dean…”

He dipped his chin to lick at your lips, but refused a kiss, pulling back when you reached up for him.

Water welled in your eyes and annoyance rang in your voice. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He clicked his tongue and cocked his head to the side, enjoying everything about you. “Doing what?”

You groaned and pressed your fingertips up against his chest, batted your lashes up at him. “You’re being so mean to me.”

His nose grazed over yours, his breath danced across your thirty lips. “How?”

“Teasing me so bad when you know I need it.”

Dean smiled and dropped down, crushing you with his weight and setting his mouth by your ear. His confession was a whisper that sent shivers through you.

“I just love to hear you beg.”

It wasn’t fair. It was all too much. You pushed your body up, arching against him, breasts, hips, lips, every bit of you calling out to every inch of him.

“Please, Dean. Please don’t do this to me. I need you.”

The need in your tone made him growl gently and he nipped at your ear before pushing up onto his arms. “There it is,” he praised, finally giving you a proper kiss.

You moaned into his mouth, wrapped your hands around his head, scraped into his scalp, pulling him, begging him with your entire being.

He was gone too soon, but he kept his lips upon you, sliding down your body with wet, suckling kisses that drove you wild. He nibbled on your shoulder, sucked hard on each nipple, plucked a bruise onto your belly.

Every touch was like a spark of bliss, every press of his beautiful lips drawing you deeper into his game. He moved up and down, back and forth across you, kissing you everywhere but where you needed it the most.

Covered in him, you whined, thrust your hips against his chest, begging once more.

“Need it so bad, Dean. Please. Please!”

He looked up at you, green eyes bright and happy. “What do you need?” he asked, eyes on yours while he dropped a kiss to the soft flesh of your stomach.

“You…”

He pulled up and shook his head. “Be. More. Specific.”

You squirmed, unable to ask for it. It was too strange to say it out loud, you were too shy to ever ask.

Dean saw the nerves twist on your face and he helped you out a bit, slinking down and spreading your legs with his broad shoulders. “Go on, Y/N… Ask me. Beg me. Say it.”

Pushing up on your shoulders, you looked down at him, hoping the pain on your face would be enough. “Dean… I- please? Please do it…”

Again, he shook his head. “Not until you say it. You have to beg me for it.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

Dean opened his mouth and pressed it against your covered pussy, breathing out a mass of hot air that penetrated the thin fabric and ignited a fire so strong that a cry caught in the back of your throat.

“Dean!”

He pressed his tongue flat against the nylon and drew his face upwards. “Say it.”

“I- I can’t-”

“You can.” He gnawed on the fabric lightly and your hips jerked. “Say. It.”

He moved his lips again and pressed his index finger against your padded slit, pushing in just enough to make your brain sizzle.

You snapped, finally breaking and begging with all you had. “Fuck! Please eat my pussy, Dean. Please! I need your mouth on me so bad. Fuck!”

Dean lifted his head and smirked. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

A desperate whimper answered him and he took pity.

Two hands on your thighs, Dean ripped the shining hose from your body, splitting it wide open. The tear echoed through your head and you melted into the pillow, rocked your hips, clawed at the sheets.

“Please!”

A second rip tugged your panties away and your cunt glistened, wet and needy, ready for him.

Dean hummed happily at the sight and flicked the very tip of his tongue over your flesh.

“God! Fuck! Please, please lick my pussy, Dean!”

Hands on your hips, he pushed his way into you, spreading your sodden lips with his stubbled cheeks. The sting was worth it and you cried out blissfully as his tongue dove into your throbbing cunt.

“Yes! Jesus, fuck!”

Dean chuckled into you, and the vibrations made your eyes roll. His tongue slicked up to your clit and he pressed two long fingers deep inside.

“You taste so good,” he praised, lips staying just above your clit. “So fucking good, baby.”

Bucking your hips, you drove yourself into his mouth, done with waiting, done with begging. He got what he wanted, now it was your turn.

He pumped his hand, flicked his tongue, pulsed his lips, tugged, bit, slobbered all over you. Your head filled with mushy pleasure and you rubbed your tits, pinched your nipples, rolled your body into him. You humped his face, loving the hard bump of his nose against your flesh and the thought of coating him in your juices.

Dean hummed as he worked, getting himself off while he got you off. When he felt your body clench down, he picked up his pace, fucking deep into you until he felt the snap, the rush of warmth run down his wrist.

“So good, baby,” he praised, but kept his fingers where they were, stroking that sweet spot inside. “One more…”

The orgasm rolled over you and you dropped a hand to his head, trying to push him away. He shook his head, this time with his plump lips against your clit and you screamed out, quickly clamping your hand over your mouth.

“Fuck! Please!”

“Gonna make you cum until you can’t think straight,” he warned, voice like a raspy song. He added a third finger and you pushed down onto his hand, unconsciously taking him in deeper. “Such a needy thing…”

“Yeah.” You tugged on his ear, wiggled your hips, wanting his mouth again. “So needy. Need your mouth, Dean. Need it.”

He licked the sheen from his lips and locked eyes with you. They never left even as he sank down and took a bite of your inner thigh. They stayed with you as he kissed the crease of your leg, licked a long stroke up your clit, set his lips around your clit. He kept his gaze on your face until your eyes rolled back and you fell down against the pillow, wrecked with pleasure, thrumming with another orgasm.

“So good, baby… So good…”

Still, he wouldn’t take his fingers away.

It wasn’t fair. It was too much.

“I can’t!”

“You can.”

Dean sealed his lips around your raw clit and sucked hard, swirled his tongue, flicked it like a metronome until he felt you break again. When your juices hit his elbow, he finally relaxed, pulling his fingers from your cunt and taking a breath.

Moaning, you squirmed on the bed, needing to close your legs and curl up, hide in the blanket for a moment to come down, but Dean wouldn’t let you rest.

He knelt between your legs and grabbed your hips, tugging you down and up. Your ass rested on his thighs and you gasped as he drew his thumb through your slick.

“No, Dean, I can’t-”

His teeth snagged on the corner of his mouth and his eyes went dark. “Oh, you can.” He rubbed on your clit lightly, dragging the need back through you. “You can come as many times as I want. I told you. Gonna make you nice and stupid.”

The aching tightness appeared again and Dean picked up his pace. His gaze was focused on your face, the way you struggled to hold your breath, keep back a scream. He pressed a little harder and saw the spark behind your eyes as the pleasure snapped again.

“Fuck!”

“Knew you could do it,” he whispered, leaving your clit to wrap his right hand around his cock. He stroked himself to fullness and tapped the head on your pussy, slapping gently.

“Dean!” Your eyes went fuzzy, your mouth fell slack.

“You want this?” he asked, rutting his hips and driving the shaft through your folds, teasing mercilessly.

“I do,” you whimpered, “please-”

“You know what you have to do,” he growled. “Go on and beg.”

Dean grit his teeth and nudged the very tip of his cock at your entrance. You could feel his heartbeat through his cock and your bodies pulsed together, both stuck on the very edge of madness.

He thrust his hips just a tiny bit and your thoughts emptied like he had turned on a faucet.

“Fuck me, Dean! Fuck my pussy, please! Need your cock so fucking bad, please fuck me. Please!”

A sneering smile tugged on his swollen lips and Dean gave in, sinking into your cunt with one fluid push.

Your body trembled and he shifted, setting your ass down on the bed and crawling forward to fuck you deep and hard.

The bed rocked.

The blanket rumpled.

Your scream nearly woke the neighbor.

He couldn’t move once he came, hunching over you with a stupid, empty look on his freckled face. His mouth hung open, his vision was blurred. He panted, shoulders moving fast as his heart raced in his chest.

“Holy fuck.” He was wasted and sated and somehow managed to pull out before he collapsed, leaving a slick stain between your thighs. “That was- incredible…” He drew a big hand down his face, wiping off your wetness, waking himself up.

A heavy, sleepy sigh passed through you and you rolled toward him, curling your arms beneath your head. “That- you got a good- that mouth is- fucking wowwy.”

He laughed sweetly and turned, curling in to face you. “Hey, it worked. I fucked you stupid.”

It was too funny, but he was right. It wasn’t fair. It was too perfect.

“Yeah, well…” You slapped a hand onto his cheek and smiled. “Anytime you wanna do it again, you just lemme know.”

Dean turned his face and kissed your palm. “All you have to do is ask…”

2024 Tags 

@feelmyroarrrr @caplanbuckybarnes @mariekoukie6661 @alwaystiredandconfused @zepskies

@k-slla @foxyjwls007 @shadyloveobject @cosicas-cuquis @luvr4miya

@deanwinchesterswitch @cevansdove-baby @somebrokeartstudent @peytongoose @illicithallways

Add Yourself To The List

[retiredteabag]

An uninformed narrative

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2

Synopsis: You had lived in Stardew Valley for a year before you met the hunter from the adventures guild, Sukuna Itadori. It did not take long for him to catch your attention but you couldn't help feeling as if his affection resided anywhere but you.

Pairing: Sukuna x reader

This is a Sukuna stardew valley au, heavily inspired by @tearzintheclub's similar series with butcher!sukuna, I highly recommend reading their work, they are super kind and were a big motivation for me to make this!

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Damn it...damn it...damn-

After all the work you had put into your farm, into your skill set, into your friendships, the Dunning-Kruger effect had bitten you where it hurt. And you couldn't help but feel it was all your fault.

The pit in your stomach was sinking. How could you have let this happen? You had been so careful, you had even worn the armor you recently acquired from the guild. Was all this effort for nothing?

There were many thoughts swirling in your head as you frantically attempted to fend off the ghosts attacking you. You were encircled. Yes, the number was weening but so was your health, you knew you didn't have long. And the strongest feeling brewing in your heart was the shame that you had overestimating yourself.

The sword in your hand shook and your knees throbbed as you fell to the stone floor deep within the mines. Your vision was fading and even as you knew there was nothing left for you to win, you swung at the ghost coming your way, missing in your haste, and slump to the ground. Unmoving.

At least nobody would find you here...see you like this.....

-- several hours prior --

Life continued on as usual after joining the adventurers guild. The Stardew Valley Fair had just passed and after collecting your most prized items, you had won. Your heart had been full that night, not for your accomplishments, but for how loved you felt after a day of festivities with your friends.

You had sat and eaten with Penny and Leah, discussing life in the valley. You and Leah both had come to the Valley after living the city life but Penny had been born in Stardew, and that evening she had confessed her hope to one day travel away from town. The three of you decided that one day, you would adventure together.

Penny had cried.

Your heart was warm, watching Yuuji, Jas, and Vincent play in the apple-bobbing bucket and participate in slingshot games. Yuuji bounced up and down when he spotted you and his teacher, begging the two of you to come and play with them.

Life had felt whole.

Despite the labor that went into caring for your crops and animals, you had never felt so fulfilled.

Having just cracked level 50 in the mines that weekend, you grew excited when a day would come when you would have the chance to explore more of the depths.

It was not simply for personal gain, either. Though it was nice to have useful ore and pretty gemstones, you couldn't help but love feeling useful to your friends in town. Hunting the monsters below the surface was never too much work when it meant seeing their grateful faces.

Not too long after the town fair the forecast called for rain. Those days were designated for the awaiting mineshaft as you had little to do around the farm.

Back then, you had never thought it would cause this.

--

Night had fallen when you were found. It was dark, and relentlessly pouring rain, you could hear its aggressive pitter-patter on the ceiling of the cave.

You squeezed your eyes and tried to move but your body cried out against the stretch. You drew your hands down to the earth you were strewn upon. Your fingers traced the dirt below you.

Dirt?

Your eyes shot open. Heart beating as if you had never lost consciousness. Your vision and skull were pulsing painfully with the beats of your heart. You flung your head around dramatically.

You were within the face of the cave, you could just make out the Mountain Lake through the rain...

Your palm finds your forehead, and some kind of inhuman noise escapes you. Your brain was just starting to question how you moved up 55 levels when you opened your eyes again and saw him.

A man is squatting by your side, he looks... furious... to say the least.

Not expecting to see anything but a ghost in the case of your survival, you gasp. Shifting away from his all-too-close glower.

"Stay still you moron." He's gripping your shoulder with a hand, pulling you closer, you hadn't seen or felt it before, but he's got his other hand on your shin.

"Wha-what- how-who- I just-" Nicely said. Very eloquent.

He seems to scowl even more, despite not thinking it possible.

"Are you out of your mind?" His eyes glow red in the dark of the cavern. Though he has brought himself close to the ground in examining you, he is still a looming presence. "How can a damn farmer not have any food on them?"

"I just- I was" It was then that you realize who the man before you is. You had met him this past week, in the adventurers guild. The embarrassment you felt increased ten fold. "I had some...but-"

"What? You used it all and didn't think to head back? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" He released his grip on your left calf and a fiery pain shoots up your leg. You gasp.

"No-!" You shake with the feeling.

"Sure looks like you are." The man shoulders his backpack to his front and starts searching for something.

Gratitude is the last thing on your mind. You're already ashamed enough but this man... this Sukuna was it? He was being unnecessarily rude.

He finally brings out a wad of cheese wrapped in parchment, and hands it to you.

"Eat. Your runnin' on fumes right now."

You huff but don't try to hide your desperation. Accepting the cheese and scarfing it down. Once it's settled in your stomach you feel much more alive. The pain in your calf is still very real but at least you have enough energy to make it home.

You push down at the ground, attempting to lift yourself but the weight on your leg causes a dramatic whimper to escape your throat. The pain was blinding. You'd have to see Harvey about this...

"What are ya doing?!" The tattooed man shoves your shoulders once more to keep you from rising.

"I'm trying- I need to get back..." You shake off his grip.

He laughs at you. But there's no smile on his face. It's cruel. "You really must be an idiot." Your brows furrow. "You aint walkin' on that leg." He points, and when you make no reply, he tugs up at the hem of your pants.

It's strange. He is the biggest, burliest man you've ever encountered, to countryman or city man alike, he is... quite large. He has a rough voice too, and a brutal look. Yet the touch he leaves on your ankle as he relives its weight, sliding the pantleg up, is as clement as a kitten.

This gentle juxtaposition throws you and it takes a moment for you to realize his intention to show you the blackened bruise that covers your left leg, ankle to shin. All air leaves you.

"You were fully out by the time I got down there. You're lucky most beasts here aint hungry for human flesh." He tucks your pant leg into your sock, softly settling your leg onto the ground once more.

You stare at his bent form. "Well...I'm- Thank you, you didn't have to get me, but I appreciate it." He's making an incredulous face, insulted. "And-" You speak up, "for the cheese as well, I feel much better."

He scoffs- "Oh, I didn't have to? And I suppose I'm to just leave ya to die? Gimmie a break."

He's stood to his full height just then, as he makes his way to peer out of the cave entrance you roll your eyes. Mentally retracting your thanks.

"Picked a great day to be here. Real nice choice of weather." He's taking off his backpack, then his jacket.

"Well..." You huff, "I guess you can come down here whenever you please but I'm busy with the farm when it's not raining, so actually today was ideal weather." You cross your arms, annoyed. Then work yourself up to try and stand once more.

"Oh yea?" He shuffles in his bag again, "Well I'd imagine if you were so busy with farm work you wouldn't come down here without some food to sustain your travel." He looks at your wobbling form now, and hisses between his teeth, dropping his bag.

"What the hell is wrong with you??!" His voice is frightening, and your eyes shake as you watch him stomp your way. "Couldn't wait one second, huh?"

"I need to get home, it's almost midnight..." You were starting to get fed up with his attitude. He's rolling his eyes and scoffing as if you've done something wrong.

But then he does something strange. He's grunts, squatting right beside you, but he's turned now, his broad back in your face.

"What... are you doing?" You squint at him.

"Thought you needed to get home." He turns to look at you, "Are you suddenly getting patient now?"

"What? No! I can do it myself!" As you say it you become more sure of yourself. There is no way you are letting this pompous prick carry you all the way to the farmhouse.

This time he sounds as if his laugh might be a bit more genuine. "Don't-make-me-laugh." His voice is mean and he turns to face you. "You're dumber than I thought if you're gonna try and walk home on that," he points to your leg, "in this." He directs his finger to the cave entrance, illuding to the downpour outside.

You grit your teeth. Almost wanting to swing at him. "Fine. Carry me then. Since I'm clearly incapable." Some part of your presumes he'll leave you here to fend for yourself. But he just frowns.

Disbelief covers his brows. "S'what I was trying to do from the start." His voice is low, and he turns once more, one arm pulls your own over his right shoulder, the other cradles your wounded leg.

"I'm gonna pull. Don't hoist yourself."

It's annoying. How prominent his lats and lower traps are. He lifts you, his right hand locked on your forearm, holding it to his chest. Now that he has risen, he uses his other arm to swing your left leg across his hip, allowing you to find a comfortable position as his new backpack.

There was a strain in your body as he had lifted you, but still, you're shocked by how effortless he made it look.

Too afraid to make a noise for fear of something stupid like "wow" coming out, you hold tight in silence as he bends down to grab his jacket. As he swings it across your form, the zipper hits your temple.

"Ow!" You grumble in his ear and he chuckles.

Bastard.

He bends once more to grab his bag and with it in hand, starts off through the mountains.

You never asked for his jacket. And you wouldn't have either. But you do feel a little bad that he is getting soaked while your clothes remain almost perfectly dry.

You swing your elbow onto his shoulder and bring your hand to the top of his head to block the rain.

"Enough of that." He swats away your hovering hand, "M' not made of sugar."

"Could've fooled me." You mumble

He reaches up to you with an open hand, finds your head with precision, and promptly flicks your skull with a firm finger.

"Ow!" You whine, tearing his hand from your forehead and tugging his ear like a grandma.

It's silent for a while as he treks past the carpenter's house, and into the path behind the bus station. "I'm just down here." You point. Trying to avoid the awkward silence.

"I know where the farm is." He motions your hand away once more.

Okay. You grit your teeth. Why can he not just be friendly like everyone else in this town?

When you begin to see the lights of your house, your heart starts to pulse. Are you supposed to invite him in? Is he going to lay you in bed? Your mind spins.

Before stomping up your porch steps, he grabs a large stick that your dog undoubtably has been carrying around and leans it against your door. "You good to be dropped off here? Or d'ya need me to tuck you in too?"

Little. Brat.

"I think I'll fair just fine like this." You force out. An attempt at cordiality.

"Alright then." He reaches around, gripping the small of your back, and gently lowers you to a stack of logs you keep for winter. Not allowing you to swing down and fall.

A small part of you wants to thank him. Was he an annoying git? Yes. But he didn't need to go to all the trouble to carry you home. Even so, his irritating remarks still float in your recent memory, so instead of a 'thank you', you say,

"The town is that way!" Pointing to the path he had walked past. His back had turned from you and continued south.

He turns around only for a moment.

"I'm well aware. I've lived here a'lot longer than you." He turns once more, making his way down to the forest.

"That's the way to the CIdersap Forest though?" You shout after him over the roars of the wind.

"Really?" He yells over the storm, not turning back, but moving slowly, "Didn't know."

"Well...." You lean on the stick he brought you to stand, "Where are you headed, it's nearly morning!"

The man turns one last time a grimace on his face. "I live in the Cidersap Forest."

His words permeated your brain now that he's gone from your vision. How could that be? That's where Marnie, Leah, and Jin lived. Could it be that there was a place you hadn't encountered in your year at the Village? Maybe so, seeing as you had only met the Hunter this past week.

The events of the night weighed on your shoulders as you limped into your house, gently closing the door. Your dog was wagging its tail, laying in bed, waiting for you.

It wasn't until you were about to flop on your bed that you realized: he had left you his jacket.

[jezebelblues]

I just started following you a while ago and I love your work so much, I was even considering restarting my blog to write!

I was wondering, can I request something about the reader being a college student? And maybe harry is taking a break from touring and writing music. He’d probably try to make jokes and distract her sometimes, but he’d also want her to teach him stuff and debrief after class. He might even get serious about her study sessions and be super quiet, but also bring her snacks here and there.

If you get to write this, thank you sm!! 😊

lady grinning soul | h.s

summary: see request ^ basically that, but it’s a slight au because harry isn’t tooooo famous in this

| thank u anon <3 ur too sweet. i hope u got back into writing

cw: fem!reader, unedited. bf!harry, lhh

word count: approx 4.4k

| sorry this took so long to get to! i’ve been in a slump. i hope you don’t mind either that i made him more of an up-and-coming artist rather than the fame he has today :^) lhh just felt right for this too he’s so bf

"you did what?" YN laughed, her fingers coated in the smooth, familiar feel of one of harry's leave-in conditioners as she worked it into his damp curls, gently coaxing through knots and tangles that told stories of long nights and late shows.

harry sat on on leg while the other hung lazily off her bed, shirtless, his skin glistening faintly under the dim dorm lights, still cool and damp from his shower. a well-worn towel hung low on his hips, clinging to him in soft folds, and he twisted the silver ring on his index finger, flashing that crooked, boyish grin that still managed to make her heart skip.

"yes—water," he said, a hint of pride in his voice as he looked up at her through dark lashes. "poured it right into the crowd. they went mental."

she chuckled, focusing on a particularly stubborn knot as his head tipped back, giving her a better angle. "do i even want to know why you did that?"

"beer," he replied simply, with a lazy shrug and a mischievous glint in his eye. he shifted, turning to face her fully, the mattress giving a soft creak under his weight as he adjusted. "they were flinging beer at me, so i figured it was fair game. bit of payback," he said with a smirk, his voice deepening in that low, conspiratorial way that she adored.

her lips tugged into a soft smile as she leaned in, her eyes tracing the ink on his skin, pausing over the small mermaid tail curling near his elbow. she felt the room go still for a beat, her fingers just barely grazing his tattooed arm. "tell me more?" she murmured, barely above a whisper.

but instead of answering, he caught her hand in his own, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he brought her palm up, pressing it gently against the warm, bare skin just below his left breastbone. his expression softened, and his voice dipped, tender and a little unsteady. "was thinking–right here. your initial." his gaze searched hers, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that made her heart skip, lingering between them in a way that left her breathless.

a small, breathy laugh escaped her as she drew her hand back, fingers trailing down his chest as she settled back on the bed, her heart fluttering with that same familiar warmth that only he could draw out of her. "about the show, styles," she chided, though her cheeks had warmed at the idea. it was all she could do to keep her voice steady, even as that look in his eyes held her captive, that glimmer of something deeper, something unspoken.

with a lazy grin, he slumped back on her bed, folding his arms behind his head as if he owned every inch of this tiny dorm room. he was still her harry—the one who'd lean against her door at ungodly hours after a gig, smelling faintly of stale smoke and beer, his voice barely a murmur as he recounted the night's little victories and mishaps. but there was something else in his eyes tonight, an edge softened by the dim light, his hand inching toward hers, fingers grazing against hers.

he gave her a dramatic sigh, pretending to be exasperated, but she could see the way his eyes lit up, the pride he tried to hide. "alright, picture this—tiny, cramped stage, lights barely working, and a crowd that's already three drinks too deep."

she chuckled, already seeing it. "sounds like your crowd."

"my exact type.” he hummed, eyes glimmering. "i was halfway through kiwi when this guy in the front row starts singing louder than me. like, absolutely shouting every word—more like repeating guess, i don’t think he knew the lyrics—didn't care if he was off-key or not."

"oh no," she gasped, theatrics, biting back a grin. "how did you handle that?"

"well, first i tried to ignore him. y'know, be professional and all." he raised his chin, like he was already picturing himself on a real stage. "but then he threw his beer in the air, and half of it hit me, so i thought, why not join him?"

she felt the words settle over her, a quiet intimacy that wrapped around them, thick and warm. she let herself lean into him, their knees brushing, her hand finding his and lacing their fingers together. here, in this cocoon of her dimly lit dorm room, the outside world faded. it was just him-her’s, with his rough edges, inked skin, and soulful eyes that held a thousand unspoken promises.

"so," she murmured, her thumb tracing slow circles over his knuckles, "it was a good show then?"

a soft laugh escaped his lips, his eyes dancing as he looked at her. "good? better than good, baby." he said, a certain fire in his voice as he recalled the night. "place was packed-should've seen it. they might've only been there for the drink deals, but by the time we hit the first chorus, they were in it." he paused, a flicker of excitement lighting up his face as he leaned closer. "even had this one bloke shouting for an encore, practically begged us not t’leave."

she could see the pride, the kind that was so uniquely his—modest, but bursting at the seams, a quiet confidence that only she got to witness in moments like this. her heart swelled, and she squeezed his hand. "sounds like a big deal," she teased, her voice softening as she held his gaze. "next thing i know, you'll be playing to actual crowds, not just randoms at pubs."

"don't tease me," he chuckled, nudging her gently with his shoulder. "could happen. could be my big break, y'know? today, it's a back alley pub with sticky floors—tomorrow, a real venue." he looked at her, his expression shifting from playful to something quieter, almost vulnerable. "maybe even a place you'd be proud to be seen at."

she shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "h, i'm already proud of you." and she meant it—down to the core of her. there was a strength in his persistence, his dreams kept alive by late nights and small crowds, his music spilling into the shadows of empty bars and dim lights. it was the kind of resilience most people never understood, but it was something she loved about him, something that made him feel like home.

his hand shifted, cupping her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he searched her eyes. "how'd i get so lucky, yeah?" he murmured, almost as if to himself. he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time, the weight of the night lingering between them, the quiet promise of everything they'd built together.

she tilted her face into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as she breathed him in-the faint smell of his shampoo, mingling with the scent of rain from outside and something warm, something distinctly him. her hand found his chest, fingertips resting over the steady beat of his heart.

"can i stay tonight?" he asked softly, his voice a low murmur against the backdrop of their shared silence.

she nodded, her lips brushing over his knuckles as she squeezed his hand. "wouldn't want you anywhere else."

with that, he leaned forward, capturing her lips in a kiss that felt like a thousand words, soft and slow, as if they had all the time in the world. harry's hand slid from her cheek down to her neck, his fingertips tracing a delicate line along her collarbone, sending a soft shiver through her. the playful glint in his eye had shifted, replaced by something deeper, a heat she felt all the way down to her toes. he inched closer, the rough rasp of his stubble brushing her jaw as his lips found the soft skin just below her ear.

"you're staring," she murmured, voice low, a smile on her lips as her fingers traced along his shoulder, her touch grazing the edge of his tattoo.

"can't help it." he whispered, his voice low and rough, leaving no question about what he wanted. his fingers trailed down her back, pulling her just a little closer as his towel slipped dangerously low on his hips, clinging to him in a way that left little to the imagination. "s'not every day i get my girl all to myself, undistracted." his fingers slipped just beneath the hem of her shirt, his thumb stroking slow, lazy circles along her hipbone, sending a faint shiver up her spine.

she felt herself melting into him, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw before wandering down to rest on his chest. his skin was warm, firm beneath her touch, and she felt the steady beat of his heart thrumming under her fingertips. just for a moment, she let herself get lost in it-the way his hands roamed, slow and sure, his lips brushing her neck, her jaw, her shoulder, each kiss igniting a trail of warmth.

but as his hands started to wander lower, his towel barely hanging on, she bit back a smile and placed her hand flat on his abdomen, feeling the firm, taut muscles tense under her touch. she let her fingers linger for a moment before giving him a light flick, snapping him out of the haze that had taken over.

he kissed his teeth, head snapping up, a shocked, slightly betrayed expression crossing his face as he met her gaze. she smirked, letting her eyes trail up and down him with a playful glint before meeting his eyes, her voice light and teasing.

"don't get too excited, styles. i've got an essay to write, remember?"

he blinked, looking adorably lost for a second, then let out a groan, throwing himself back on the bed in dramatic defeat, one arm flung over his face. "an essay, bunny? now?" he peeked at her from under his arm, a playful pout tugging at his lips. "you're really gonna make me lie here in agony while you write about... what? politics? shakespeare?"

"modern lit," she corrected, grabbing her laptop from the bedside table with a grin. she settled beside him, nudging his leg with her knee as he sighed in exaggerated frustration. "i'll make it up to you," she added, her voice sweet but her expression mischievous.

"is that right?" he asked, raising a brow, his mood instantly lightening as he leaned up on one elbow to watch her type. "what kind of 'make it up' are we talking, then?"

she rolled her eyes, though her smile softened.

"you're ridiculous, you know that?"

“mm-hm, i know,” he chuckled, unbothered. he kept his eyes trained on her as she adjusted the computer in her lap, fingers flying across the keys as she tried to ignore his gaze.

but she could already feel his fingers tracing idle patterns along her thigh, his head resting on her shoulder as he sighed dramatically, determined to make her work for it. “fine,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder, knowing she wasn’t going to let up. “but don’t say i didn’t warn you when i’m too tortured to focus on my next gig.”

she shook her head, grinning. “i think you’ll survive.” and despite his protests, she felt him settle beside her, his hand wrapped loosely around hers as he waited, patient and easy, for the essay to be done—and for the night to be theirs again.

after a few more minutes of him sighing and shifting beside her, nudging her leg with his knee, or letting his fingers brush distractingly over her shoulder, she finally gave him a pointed look. “lovey, come on. at least put some pants on,” she said, biting back a laugh as he gazed up at her with an exaggerated look of betrayal.

“y’sure baby?” he mumbled, the corners of his mouth tugging into a cheeky grin as he adjusted the towel around his waist, letting it dip low enough to reveal the line of his hip bones. he leaned in close, his face just inches from hers. “last chance to give up on that essay.”

she rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly as she tried to suppress a smile. “h. pants. now.”

he sighed dramatically, rolling off the bed and muttering under his breath as he crossed the room, as if she’d asked him to do something outrageous. “you’re cruel, you know that?” he grumbled, pulling on a pair of briefs, followed by his well-worn grey sweatpants. he shot her a mock glare as he snapped the waistband into place. “i hope that essay’s worth it,” he teased, flopping back down on the bed with another exaggerated groan.

but he couldn’t keep up the act for long. settling beside her, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her snug against him as he leaned over her, his gaze shifting to the screen of her laptop. she felt him press a quick kiss to the side of her head, and then he tilted his head curiously, reading the words on her screen. “alright, genius. what’re we working on?”

she grinned, knowing his curiosity was genuine—harry was the only person who ever asked about her classes, who remembered the details of her projects, who even stayed up late to help her brainstorm ideas when she got stuck. “it’s for my modern lit paper,” she said, turning the laptop slightly so he could see the opening lines. “i’m writing about identity in contemporary poetry.”

his brow furrowed, and he gave a thoughtful hum. “identity, huh?” his fingers started playing with a strand of her hair, twisting it absently as he thought. it still smelt like her lavender shampoo. “so, like–how people see themselves? or how they think they should be seen?”

she nodded, feeling a warm flutter in her chest at the way he genuinely tried to understand. “yeah, lovey, exactly. it’s about how people present different versions of themselves, depending on the world around them. how sometimes people feel like they have to hide who they really are, or adapt, to fit in.”

he was quiet for a moment, his eyes thoughtful as he took that in, a small crease forming between his brows. “guess i know a bit about that,” he murmured, almost to himself, then gave her a soft smile. “makes sense, though. we’re all trying t’figure it out, right?”

she looked at him, her heart swelling at the way he always found a way to connect with her world, to show up and care. he wasn’t just the guy who played guitar in pubs and poured water over the crowd—he was thoughtful and reflective, her safe place and her biggest support. she reached out, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead, her gaze softening.

he met her eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched her type a few lines, completely relaxed against her side. “y’really like this stuff, don’t you?”

she nodded, feeling her cheeks warm. “i do. and i like that you care enough to ask.”

he grinned, his hand resting over hers on the keyboard. “wouldn’t miss it, bunny. i want to know it all. even the boring bits,” he teased, pressing another kiss to her temple. “so… what’s next? how do y’wrap this thing up?”

as she dove into her explanation, she felt him settle in closer, his head resting on her shoulder, eyes flicking back and forth between her face and the screen. and even though he’d begun the night wrapped in little more than that towel and mischief, there was something about the way he lay beside her now—calm, engaged, just there for her.

after a while, she tried to concentrate on the closing argument of her essay, but harry’s hand found a lock of her hair again, twirling it lazily around his finger, his touch warm and gentle. every so often, he’d place a quick, messy kiss on her cheek, or the side of her head, each one more dramatic than the last, until she couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, nudging him back.

“alright, enough with the distractions,” she muttered, shooting him a mock-stern look as he grinned back, clearly pleased with himself.

but he was relentless. when she referenced another poet, he piped up, a mischievous look in his eyes. “ah, yes, that guy,” he said, tone teasing as he tapped his chin as though he were deep in thought. “big fan. wrote that one poem about… feeling feelings, right?”

she rolled her eyes, biting back a laugh. “harry, i’m serious.”

“hey, i am too!” he replied, the grin on his face only widening. “poetry’s got layers, YN. all about emotions and metaphors.” he lifted an eyebrow, giving her a wink that made her want to laugh and push him off the bed all at once.

she groaned, turning back to her screen, though the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. despite his teasing, she knew he respected her work and thought she was smart, even if he pretended to be clueless just to get a rise out of her.

a few minutes passed, and she found herself stuck, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she struggled to find the right words to tie everything together. she could feel harry’s gaze on her, his eyes flicking between her face and the screen, and right then, her stomach gave a loud, unmistakable growl.

harry’s eyebrows shot up, and a playful, knowing smirk crossed his face. “oh, is that how it is, then?” he said, nudging her gently. “i’m over here pouring my heart and soul into supporting you, and you’re starving yourself for art.”

she laughed, rolling her eyes as she tried to wave him off. “it’s fine, i just need to—”

but he was already halfway across the room, grabbing his phone with a sense of purpose, tapping away with single-minded determination. “nope, not happening. i’m ordering us food. you’re no good to me fainting on the job,” he teased, tossing her a grin as he started scrolling through options on doordash.

she watched him, warmth blooming in her chest at the sight of his focused expression as he debated between a few late-night favorites. his finger paused on the screen, and he shot her a look over his shoulder. “what are we feeling? i know goodfella’s is open late.”

she hummed, folding her arms and pretending to think. “their pizza sounds good.”

“perfect. what kind?” he asked, giving her that soft, endearing look that always managed to make her heart skip.

“surprise me,” she said, her eyes crinkling with a smile as he turned back to his phone, murmuring thoughtfully to himself as he made his selections.

once he’d ordered, he slid back beside her, his arm slipping around her shoulders, pulling her close as he planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “alright, aristotle. you’ve got about twenty minutes to wrap this up before the pizza gets here.”

she grinned, feeling a rush of renewed energy as she settled back into her laptop, his warmth beside her and the promise of food on the way. and as she typed out her final thoughts, she felt his hand come up to her hair again, his fingers working through her locks in a gentle rhythm as he leaned his chin on her shoulder, watching her with a soft smile.

“think you’re about to blow the rest of the class outta the water.” he muttered, his voice low and genuine, cutting through the playful teasing of earlier.

she paused, glancing over at him, her cheeks warming under his gaze. “you think so?”

he nodded, brushing his nose gently against her cheek. “definitely. i knew you were brilliant the first time i met you. just, you know, don’t forget me when you’re off being some lit professor with a fancy office and your own bookshelf in every bookstore.”

she laughed, shaking her head. “you’ll be playing stadiums by then, styles. i think you’ll be just fine.”

once harry met the driver outside of the dorm and made his way back up the stairwell to the second floor of her building, they sat cross-legged on the bed, the pizza box open between them, warm and smelling faintly of melted cheese and marinara. YN took a bite, savoring the comfort of it as they eased into the rhythm of their usual conversations. she told him stories about her classes—about the professor who insisted everyone call him by his first name and the girl who always argued with the readings in ways that both amused and baffled her. he listened intently, his eyes focused on her like she was the most fascinating person in the world, laughing at all the right moments, nodding as if every small detail mattered. and for harry, it did.

soon enough, the conversation shifted, and he told her stories from his recent gigs—how the second-to-last venue had practically been held together with duct tape, how he’d overheard some guy loudly claim he could “totally play guitar better than that dude.” she laughed at the way he imitated the voice, rolling his eyes in good-natured frustration. “seriously,” he groaned, grinning through a bite of pizza, “the heckling never stops, even when you’re playing to like, fifteen people.”

she nudged him with her knee, a smirk tugging at her lips. “just you wait, one day those fifteen people are going to turn into fifteen thousand, and that guy will still be standing there with his pint, going on about how he should be the one on stage.”

harry’s face softened, his gaze lingering on her. “you’re just saying that because you’re in love with me.”

“maybe,” she said with a wink, brushing a crumb off his cheek.

they fell into their easy banter, and soon enough, poetry came back up. she was telling him about one of the poets she was analyzing, the language they used and the intricate metaphors she was supposed to decipher, when harry raised a brow, an amused look crossing his face. “you’re talking like i don’t write poetry myself, you know.”

“oh, really?” she teased, leaning back with her arms folded, a skeptical look on her face. “let’s hear it, shakespeare.”

with a grin, he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his notes until he stopped on something, looking a bit sheepish but handing it over to her with a small smile. “here. latest masterpiece.” he joked with a shrug, though he seemed a bit nervous. “study it in your lit classes ‘n all that.”

she took his phone, her heart skipping a beat as she saw the title: adore you. her chest warmed as she started reading through the words. it wasn’t like the love poems she read for lectures, full of flowery language and convoluted metaphors. no, this was simple, but sincere—lines that felt raw, real, and vulnerable in a way that only he could make them. each line felt like a glimpse into him, into the parts of himself that he shared only with her, the quiet moments, the late nights, the laughter and gentle touches that only they knew.

when she finished, she looked up at him, unable to hide the wide smile spreading across her face. “harry, this is—you’re so cute.” she said, her voice soft with genuine awe. “forget those old poets i read about. they’ve got nothing on you.” she squeezed his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles as she looked back down at the lyrics, rereading her favorite lines.

a blush crept up his cheeks, and he gave a little shrug, pretending to brush off her praise, but she could see the way his eyes shone, how much her words really meant to him. he nudged her playfully, leaning in with a grin. “you know it’s about you, yeah?”

she felt her heart flutter, her smile growing even wider as she met his gaze. “is it now?”

“obviously,” he chuckled, shaking his head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “i mean, who else am i going to write about? you’re the one i can’t stop thinking about. the one who makes every line worth writing.”

she felt warmth bloom in her chest, reaching out to lace her fingers with his. “well,” she said softly, “then i think i’m the luckiest girl alive.”

he squeezed her hand, his expression softening as he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against hers. for a moment, they stayed like that, their hands intertwined, the world outside her tiny dorm room slipping away. it was just him, his steady heartbeat under her palm, his soft gaze that held a world of promises, and the quiet knowledge that he’d put it all into words just for her.

“so, poetry and pizza,” he murmured, his lips curving into a contented smile as he leaned back, pulling her into his chest. “didn’t think my night could get any better.”

“oh, really?” she teased, settling against him, her head resting just under his chin. “not even if i let you watch me struggle through the rest of my essay?”

“thrilling stuff,” he joked, his hand trailing gentle patterns along her arm. “actually, it’s all kind of perfect, YN. you, me, pizza, some poetry… maybe the start of a terrible song i’ll write when i can’t sleep tonight.”

“a song about pizza and poetry?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“why not?” he grinned, his eyes sparkling. “everyone needs a little inspiration, hm?”

she laughed, and the sound seemed to brighten the whole room, making everything feel light and carefree. “i’d listen to it.”

“i’ll dedicate it to you,” he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his voice softening. “after all, you’re my favorite muse.”

they sat like that for a while, the remnants of their pizza scattered around them, the warmth of his arms wrapped around her. she felt her eyes growing heavy, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soothing hum of his voice as he mumbled quiet words of nonsense, half-asleep, just for her.

“hey,” she whispered after a while, her voice soft, almost a breath. “thank you for being here. for everything.”

“always,” he murmured, his voice a low, sleepy rumble. “wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

[giuseppe-yuki]

Imagine Kimi going missing and everyone from Mercedes going to try and find him to eventually find him in the sun laying curled up with his tiger girlfriend laying on her and cuddling her tail wrapped around him

omg that is such a canon thing for kimi to do!

not-so-small blurb below:

picture credits from pinterest :)

kimi antonelli x tiger!shapeshifter reader + cameos of other drivers and their shapeshifter!gfs

w.c.: 2.9k

t-minus 60 minutes

”what do you mean you lost him? go find him!“ toto exclaims, with a dismissive wave to pedro, kimi‘s engineer. “the meeting is one hour, and i expect to see kimi to be sat in front of me at exactly when it starts so we can discuss some important plans.” 

toto turns his attention back to his “pet” wolf, who continues to curl in figure eights around toto’s legs protectively and blinks her sparkling eyes at pedro, as if she was amused at his evident distress.

with a gulp, pedro nervously leaves the room, leaving toto in his office, gently petting his purring wolf, and heads to the merc garage.

“well, have you tried texting him?” an engineer suggests helpfully, watching pedro pace around the garage. 

pedro was basically cooked if kimi didn‘t show up for toto’s meeting, as he was put in charge of watching over the young mercedes driver after an incident that involved kimi crashing one of the mercedes golf carts when attempting to give his “pet” tiger a ride around the paddock. it wasn’t even pedro’s fault that he lost kimi- he had literally just stopped to talk to say hello to a fellow coworker, when kimi and his tiger just straight up disappeared!

”yes! of course i have,“ pedro exclaims, exasperated. “he‘s not responding!” 

the engineer gives him a look of pity while she neatly packs up her papers and laptop in preparation for the meeting. 

“well, i would probably check with the other teams, in case they saw kimi after he disappeared,” she says, hefting her mercedes-branded backpack onto her shoulder. “good luck!”

with a groan, pedro packs up his things and beelines his way towards the closest garage- redbull. 

“give that back!” kimi just about screams, causing a few engineers walking out from the redbull motorhome to look over in concern. 

grinning, you sprint away down the sparsely populated paddock, clutching the cookie that kimi stole from hospitality in your jaws. your tail flicks mischievously behind you, as if taunting your boyfriend. when you reach an acceptable distance away from him, you turn around towards kimi and purposely swallow the cookie whole.

kimi stops in his tracks, eyes wide. you just ate the cookie that he stole, fair and square. 

“how dare you!” he explodes, charging towards you. “i’m gonna catch you and then i’m gonna shave off all your fur- not even ollie can save you now!“

you laugh internally. you both knew full well kimi didn’t have the guts to do that, but you humor him. with a soft growl, you scamper away from him, claws scraping against the concrete because of how fast you turn on your heels. 

kimi bolts after you with surprising speed.

t-minus 50 minutes

when pedro scoots his way towards the redbull garage, white team kit clashing with the tell-tale navy blue of the redbull engineers, he tries his hardest to look inconspicuous. it doesn’t work, of course, the silver three-pointed star sewed on his t-shirt immediately giving him away.

“hey!” a redbull strategist shouts when she spots pedro, “you aren’t supposed to be here!” narrowing her eyes, she sends him a suspicious look. “i hope you haven't come here to steal our strategies-” she lifts up a shiny wrench that she seemed to have pulled out of nowhere- “i have a weapon and i’m not afraid to use it!”

pedro quickly hefts his hands up in surrender, signaling that he means no harm. 

“woahwoahwoah!” he exclaims, trying to disperse the situation. “no! not at all! i’m- i’m just trying to find kimi! have you seen him?” the woman’s face softens immediately.

“oh,” she remarks, placing down the wrench on a side table. “erm, not really.” 

she gestures further into the garage.

“you might want to ask max though- maybe he’s seen kimi?” pedro gives the strategist a light thank-you, one for not attempting to kill him, and two for the slightly helpful tip, before scooting further into redbull’s garage. 

after wedging himself through a group of rather shocked-looking redbull engineers playing cards on the floor of the garage, he comes to a stop in front of max. 

max doesn’t notice him at first, more focused on cutting up a piece of fish for a pampered-looking “pet” ragdoll cat next to him. it isn’t until the cat meows softly and paws at his arm does he look up to find pedro standing there awkwardly.

he raises an eyebrow and sends nods towards pedro to acknowledge his presence, but continues to focus his attention on cutting the raw fish into perfect squares with the precision of a surgeon while periodically stopping to feed the cat a piece. 

“hi max…” pedro says nervously, “er, so i was told you might know where kimi is? i need to find him in like, half an hour for something really important.”

max thinks for a bit, before shaking his head no. 

“i have no idea,” max says, at the same time one of the engineers playing cards notes, “i saw him with his tiger in the paddock like ten minutes ago!” pedro whips around, profusely thanking the engineer, before bolting out of the garage. 

your claws scrape roughly on the concrete ground of the paddock as you bolt towards garages. kimi yells behind you, shaking his fist in the air as if he was one of those old grandpas in the movies you watched so often together at home. luckily for you, the walkway leading to the garages had barely any people, like the paddock, so you didn’t have a chance to run into (and accidentally run over) any poor team employees like last time you ran around the paddock with kimi. 

as you sprint down the pit lane, you approach your final destination- the ferrari garage. an employee chats up charles near the front of the garages, who was clutching a hedgehog close to his fireproofs. the employee, on the other hand carried a giant bucket of water, most likely for polishing the front of the garage, judging by the squeegee that he animated swings around as he talks to the charles. 

an idea pops into your head.

the ferrari driver’s eyes grow wide when he sees you approaching, and he stumbles back a few steps, but you’re not here to hurt him. gingerly, you snatch the bucket with water from the employee and haul it straight at kimi, who was gaining on you with a speed like max in brazil 2024.

the bucket narrowly avoids his head, but the water splashes on him dead center. he immediately starts screeching, and you feel just a little bit bad, but then, you remember that he threatened to shave off all your fur, so you were basically even.

the ferrari employees and charles gape at you in shock. next to you, you hear a honking laugh that could only belong to daniel ricciardo, who points to a soaking wet kimi as he walks past the scene with his girlfriend in tow. 

t-minus 40 minutes

pedro is exhausted by the time he arrives at the paddock all the way from the red bull motorhomes. everyone seemed to forget that he wasn’t a built f1 driver or an energetic 18 year old who could run back and forth without passing out from exhaustion. even if the walk from the garages was brisk, perhaps five minutes, pedro was huffing and puffing, especially with his backpack chalk full with kimi’s racing data. 

where the hell was kimi??? 

honestly, thinking about it, it was amazing how he managed to lose a well-known star and a giant tiger in the paddock. 

pedro snoops around the hospitalities along the paddock for around 10 minutes (almost getting security called on him by aston martin and stake kick sauber for looking suspicious) before collapsing onto a bench by vcarb’s hospitality. he had half a mind to give up right this moment. a slight yelling session by toto for “losing kimi” wouldn’t be so bad right? 

just then, a dampened bang sounds from behind a mysterious closed door behind him. the door creaks the slightest, but stays closed.

pedro’s mind immediately shoots back to kimi. maybe he was behind that door! yes, it was a vcarb building but kimi always seemed to get himself in weird situations, so it wasn’t a far cry. 

kimi’s engineer yanks the door open.

what he sees is definitely not kimi. instead, he sees none other than daniel ricciardo making out with his girlfriend in what looks to be a janitor’s closet on the side of the vcarb motorhome. 

hurriedly, pedro tries to shut the door to preserve whatever shred of dignity he has left from witnessing this rather scandalizing moment, but before he can, the driver seems to take notice.

he pulls away from his girlfriend, who turns quite red, and flashes his signature grin at pedro. 

“hiya, mate! how can i help you?” he asks, as if pedro did not just interrupt his makeout session in a damp closet. 

“s-s-sorry!!” pedro manages to utter out, face as red as daniel’s girlfriend. “i thought- you were.. um, kimi…? er, yeah, i think i’ll go, yeah, sorry again!”

daniel, still concerningly unbothered, nods understandingly. 

“no problem, really. i saw him around the ferrari motorhome with his ‘tiger,’ so if you’re looking for him, you can check there!”

pedro nods quickly, wanting to get out of the situation as fast as possible, but grateful for the help. 

he thanks daniel profusely, but before he can leave, daniel points to the wide-open janitor’s door, a mischievous grin splitting his face. 

“i’d appreciate it if you’d shut that for us again, thanks!” 

“i’m sure she’s sorry- look at her sad cat eyes!” ollie says to your boyfriend, patting his shoulder.

you manage a sad whine towards your boyfriend that you surely do not mean. 

kimi now sits, a little less sopping wet, wrapped a ferrari blanket that a kind engineer provided, on a stack of tyres in the ferrari motorhome. his usually fluffy brown curls stick slightly flat to his forehead. 

he still pouts, back towards your imposing figure sat on the floor of the ferrari garage. 

“yeah, right,” he snorts, “she started the whole thing by stealing my cookie first!”

ollie adjusts his “bear cub” in his arms before sitting down next to kimi on the tyres. 

“oh, come on, don’t be like that, kimi! go to the shops and like, share an ice cream or something- that always helps when i’m feeling a little bit disgruntled with my girlfriend!”

ollie’s bear cub nibbles softly on kimi’s pant leg in agreement. 

kimi spares you a glance, to which you respond by giving him a lick with your rough tongue as a ‘sorry-for-taking-a-water-bucket-and-almost-killing-you-and-soaking-your-entire-body-with-freezing-water’ type of apology. 

he seems to take it, because he gives you a soft kiss on your head and points out to the exit of the garage. 

“lead the way, then, baby,” he says.

the walk there is pretty light- it’s only past the garages, through the paddock, and to the shops. you spot the ice cream parlor, that display the words, ‘pit stop ice cream parlor’ lights in shiny letters with a big fat scoop of ice cream next to it. now, you were getting a little hungry. you take off into towards the half-crowded shop. unfortunately, you have to skid to a stop because carlos sainz walks by with his “meerkat” on his shoulder, holding a board that is suspiciously in the shape of fred vasseur, but you continue bounding towards the shop after they pass. what flavor should you get?

t-minus 20 minutes

from mercedes, to redbull, to the paddock, and now all the way back to ferrari garages? kimi was going to be the death of him, pedro swears. how has this boy even managed to travel this quickly, he would never understand. 

once again, he finds himself awkwardly standing in front of a garage that certainly did not belong to his team. pedro slowly shuffles forward towards the entrance, accidentally soaking half of his shoe in a rather random puddle of water on the floor in the process.

to his relief, he sees ollie peep his head from the side of the garage with his “bear cub” clinging to the side of his pant leg. since he was part of prema, ollie was well-versed in kimi’s wild acts of mischief on the grid, which meant he ought to be helpful in his quest to find kimi.

ollie smiles at pedro, giving him a friendly wave. 

“hi pedro!” he chirps. “what are you doing here?”

“hello to you too, ollie,” pedro says, nodding in acknowledgement, “and to your girlfriend as well!” he exhales one big breath before continuing. “i was just looking for kimi- we have a meeting in like, less than 20 minutes!”

ollie’s bear cub blinks her little brown eyes at pedro and waves one her stubby arms back towards the paddock. 

“yeah,” ollie says, scratching his head. “like she said- i might have told ollie to go all the way back towards the paddock, to the shops, to get some ice cream…?” 

he gives pedro a sympathetic look, seeing how kimi’s engineer just deflates after hearing he has to walk all the way back towards the paddock to find kimi. 

“thanks, ollie- i guess,” pedro says, hefting his heavy backpack closer to him, and getting ready to trek back towards the paddock. 

however, when he turns around, he just about screams. pedro comes face to face with none other than fred vasseur himself. he almost instinctively swings a punch straight at fred’s face, but he realizes it is made out of…cardboard?

carlos sainz’s amused face peeks out from behind the cutout of the ferrari team principal, along with a chittering meerkat. 

“ha! got you!” he cackles, his “meerkat” mirroring him. 

pedro groans. when he found kimi, he was going to force kimi pay him for all the emotional turmoil he experienced during this absolutely ridiculous timed hunt. 

you purr in content as kimi sets down a giant bowl of strawberry ice cream that you take a giant lick of right away. he himself take a bite of his own stracciatella ice cream. you both eat in comfortable silence. ollie was right, you suppose, cause the love of ice cream really did bring you both together. 

kimi even lets you take a nibble of his stracciatella ice cream, (a tiny nibble, as large doses of chocolate are lethal to tigers) which he never does, usually. 

the sun shines brightly above you both, allowing kimi’s curls to fluff back up into its regular state as you both bathe in the warm light, full from the ice cream. 

“i’m kind of sleepy,” kimi says, and you can’t help but feel the same. 

you're not quite sure how you end up on the open top floor of the merc motorhome, laying on one of the sun chairs with kimi. you faintly remember dragging kimi sleepily back towards the paddock by his shirt…up the stairs…? you do know, however, how content you feel right now. with full bellies and the warm sun wrapping like a soft blanket around the two of you, it feel so nice. kimi is already knocked out, curled in your warm fur. he clutches to your tail in his arms as if it’s a stuffed animal. you stretch your paws, and your eyes slowly flutter shut.

t-minus 10 minutes

with ten minutes left until the meeting, pedro can’t help but frantically run around the shops and paddock area to look for kimi. he checks just about everywhere- gift shops, food stalls, ice cream shops, but they all seem devoid of a certain mercedes driver. 

he almost gives up, like he did half and hour ago at nearly the same spot by the vcarb building. but, that’s when he sees it, on the glittering roof of the mercedes building. the giant form of a tiger and-bingo- andrea kimi antonelli. you can call him the flash the way he sprints up the two flights of stair onto the top floor of the mercedes building. 

“tell kimi to get up right now!” kimi’s engineer shouts, nearly deafening your sensitive ears. kimi still naps on through pedro’s shouting, his entire body still layed on top of your fur. unamused, you gingerly untuck one of your paws from underneath kimi to try and bat pedro away. couldn’t he see your boyfriend was sleeping so peacefully?

he has the audacity to brush your paw away. “no!” he yells angrily. “you do not know what i just went through! i ran in legitimate circles around the entirety of the property, got caught in a weird situation with daniel ricciardo, soaked my entire shoe in this stupid ass puddle, and then got jumpscared by carlos sainz and his stupid poster! i am not about to be yelled at by toto!” without another word, he takes his water bottle out of his merc backpack and uncaps it. and, for the second time in the span of half an hour, your boyfriend is soaked in freezing water. 

t-minus 1 minute

with one minute left to spare, pedro leds a disgruntled half-wet kimi into toto’s full meeting room. you scamper in next to kimi as inconspicuous as you can, which is kind of hard considering you were a tiger, after all. toto clears his throat, looking at your boyfriend’s appearance weirdly.

“can someone please tell me why my driver is sopping wet, please?” 

a/n: i hope the concept and the way i worded it isn't too confusing 😥

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Open Door 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: silverfox!Thor, side of silverfox!Loki

Summary: you're neighbour needs a little extra help after an injury but starts to expect too much of you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Thank you again for all your help,” Thor says as he shifts on the couch. His weight draws a creak from the frame as he grips the back cushion and tries to reposition himself. “I must admit, I have a hard time accepting any.” 

Your neighbour is always friendly enough. He waves or says hello or good morning, but you never really stop to chat. Not until you witnessed his avalanche of groceries as he attempted to balance his bag between his crutches. It was too heart-rending a scene to ignore. 

Despite his size, you got him inside. He grunts and you rush over to help prop his leg up on a pillow. He grits as you gently lay the cast on the fluffy bundle. He groans and leans back against the armrest. 

“Ah, the shame,” he decries dramatically. 

“I don’t mind,” you insist. “Really. I couldn’t just watch you struggle.” 

“Too sweet,” he praises, his silver hair glinting in the low lamp light. “I didn’t know there were still neighbourly neighbours.” 

“Well, I’m not that nice,” you assure him. “I got all your groceries away and you have your tea. I gotta get back to my desk. Work.” 

“Ah yes, of course, of course,” he waves you off, “I could not infringe further on your day.” 

“It’s no trouble. You can text me,” you assure him. The soft smell of chickory wafts in the dim air. 

Your eyes wander as you make your retreat. The decor is a blend of brass and walnut. Warm in a visual way. It’s a space that has been long lived in. 

“Before I go, you’re good?” You ask as you stop in the doorway. 

“I’m wonderful,” he assures you. “You’ve already done too much. Once I’m back on my feet, I promise I will be certain to repay you.” 

“You don’t owe me anything,” you assure. 

“Says you,” he counters. 

You chuckle and leave him. You can’t be too bothered by the interruption. Your work is tedious and most of it solitary. Working from home is flexible and freeing, but it can just as often be constraining. 

After smelling the spicy strain of tea you brewed for Thor, you’re in the mind for a cup of your own. Apple chamomile. Calming but not tiring. 

You sit and go back to work. It’s a fair bit of excitement in the usually dulcet neighbourhood. You sink back into the monotonous tasks. Check, check, check. Done, done, done. But why is that doing that? Ugh, it’s not supposed to look that way. 

Your alarm goes off, notifying you that your day is fifteen minutes from over. It’s a necessary reminder otherwise you’ll work three hours over and not realise. You wrap up your work and leave yourself notes for what needs to be done the next day. 

You yawn and grab your empty mug and phone and go back to the kitchen. Your phone vibes once. A missed message. You unlock it and check the waiting text. It’s your neighbour. Sent thirty minutes ago. 

You tap on the convo and frown. There’s only the picture of a ceiling and the edge of the wall. Oh, that can’t be good. 

You hurry to the front door and step into your shoes. You shuffle down the steps, slightly off-kilter, and cross the street. You get to Thor’s porch and knock, breathless as you wait for an answer. 

“Brother, is that you?” He calls from within. 

“No, uh, it’s me,” you say back through the door. 

“Yes, I figured you were hard at work.” 

“Can I come in?” 

“Please,” he hollers back. 

You turn the handle and find him in the entryway, lodged in the alcove beside the stairs awkwardly. You want to ask what happened but you’re sure he wouldn’t want to recount that story. You come forward and tuck your phone away. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I got restless. Tried to do a bit of dusting,” he looks at the feather duster on the other side of the hallway. “I didn’t realise it was such tight squeeze and...” he wiggles his shoulders between the wall and the cub shelf that houses various shoes, boots, and accessories. “I anchored the thing you see. It’s not giving.” 

“Oh,” your brows ripple. It’s a strange situation and you’re not sure you’re strong enough to help. “Right...” 

“You could get a screwdriver. I can reach to undo the anchors, at least enough to get free, I think,” he says. 

“Right, a screwdriver,” you nod. 

“In the utility cupboard. Right by the back door,” he instructs. 

You give him one last look. He can’t be comfortable. He’s a big man and his shoulders are cramped between the small space. His leg is also jutted out in the cast as his other is bent to take pressure off. 

You go to the backdoor and find the dark wooden cabinet mounted on the wall. You open it and take out the small toolbox. You bring it back to Thor as he groans again. 

“Star,” he says, “please.” 

“Sure,” you shuffle through and hand him the star driver. 

“Great,” he grunts and raises his arm up awkwardly. He twists as best he can and angles his hand toward the shelf. He fumbles and knocks against the screw. He growls in frustration. “Too tight.” 

Before you can response, a voice drifts through the open door. “First, I must come and fetch you off the basement floor, and I’ve come again to save you from yourself.” The dark-haired man with streaks of silver in his long locks proclaims, unimpressed. “Oh, and I see someone has beaten me to it. What a wonderful detour this has been.” 

“Brother, wait,” Thor says. “You can help. I’m... stuck. I’m afraid it might be a two-person job, as it were.” 

“Certainly, would be,” the man drones as he comes closer. “You hired a nurse?” 

“Neighbour,” Thor supplies and reaches up. “Please, I’m losing feeling in my tailbone.” 

“Perhaps in your brain too,” the man quips. 

“Right,” Thor wiggles his hands impatiently. 

You take his right and the man takes his other. Thor counts and you haul him up onto one foot. He’s so big, he nearly falls into you but the other man catches him by his shoulder. They are almost of a height but the man with the black in his hair is much thinner. 

“You should consider hired help,” his brother reprimands. 

“I am not helpless.” 

“Sure not.” 

“Um, thanks,” you say to the man. He looks down his nose at you. 

“Loki,” he offers his hand formerly, “the brother. I should apologise on his behalf. He can be overly needy.” 

“I’m just glad he’s fine,” you say. 

“Mm,” the man hums and his eyes slit skeptically, “well, then, brother, do I need to stay and chaperone or can I be on my way?” 

“Go,” Thor huffs in agitation, “thank you both for your help.” He faces you in particular, “I owe you.” 

“As ever,” Loki agrees and spins on his heel. 

You smile at Thor, “you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’ve spent enough of your time and effort,” he gently squeezes your shoulder, “I will be sure to use my crutch next time.” 

[stabbingandorbeingstabbed]

we had to go thru this whoooole thing at work months ago bc my coworker was purposefully giving me all the big cases and taking the small ones for himself so now we split the stack in half to prevent that but the stack is front loaded with a bunch of big cases and that bitch comes in like 15 minutes early EVERY DAY to make sure i get the half of the stack with the most work so i said something like "hey why don't we alternate who gets the first half bc it's always bigger and i get it every day and clearly our supervisor doesn't care" instead of calling him directly on it and he started waffling like "ohh i never noticed a difference" and so i was like ok so then you should be ok with doing it this way !! if it makes no difference :-) and he never said yes he just got annoyed and started picking cases which is confirmation enough that he's been doing it on purpose this whole fucking time i'm sorry i just hate him literally so badddd like he SUCKS !!!

[hiraethwrote]

VENT SESSION LETS GOOOO — you’re allowed to scroll if you don’t care mwah

i spend an ungodly amount of hours on this app, and i look at you as my friends so just want to let you guys know

i am also a very nosy person myself, so seems only fair i share my own situation. but if you don’t care about all this, you can just keep scrolling. i honestly don’t mind lol

anyways… a few weeks ago, i told you guys i was going through something that was kinda heavy — yeah my bf and i were going through some stuff and started seeing someone professionally… we broke up

there was an understanding that this might be outcome when we first opened up this can of worms, and there turned out to be a lot of underlying issues that both of us had refused to acknowledge

it was definitely a mutual decision. though it’s a hard pill to swallow, we came to the conclusion it was the best for the both of us

we want such vastly different things in life, things neither of us should compromise on. to me, life came at me a lot faster than i anticipated and felt like there were things left unexplored — and neither of us want to hold the other person back from what we want

however, this is a person i have been with for six years, a quarter of my life. there’s obviously a lot of shared history which is hard to let go of. it’s also so incredibly painful when we’re not splitting due to lack of affection and love for the other person, but because our desires and wants in life just don’t align

he is still my best friend, and because of how our life situation is, we will continue living together as we have been doing for the past three years (he only lives here half the time due to work), until i move across the country when summer comes. we’re also going to celebrate christmas together because it just feels right lol

i would say i am doing as well as i can… we are obviously on good terms, but this is probably one of the hardest things i’ll go through. it is the biggest heartbreak of my life. but that is really just a sign that the time we’ve shared together haven’t been a waste. we can be proud of the fact that we’ve been honest, faithful, respectful and kind throughout the entirety of our relationship, to the point where this is so hard even though it’s the right decision

obviously, i am very scared of the path that lies ahead. he has been by my side for the better half of a decade, and i have the privilege of exploring things on my own. it’s obviously what i have been missing in my life, so i am excited for what’s to come, but terrified of living a life he’s not going to be such a big part of anymore

but things are going to be fine. idk how long it will take, i am suspecting very long, but i know in my bones this is for the best for us both. so with time, i will be happy

and not to worry, i have a fantastic support system. i have incredible friends who are there for me. i am lucky to have a family who is not guilting me about leaving a long term relationship, despite also being sad. and i’ve learned i have a great community on here who has showed so much kindness, and i am so grateful <3

that being said — i am not planning on taking a break from tumblr lol. if anything, i am starting to get out of my writers block. this past week i have written more than i have the last month so that’s good! i think i might try and be a little more productive than i have been the past few weeks (at least i hope so, work is picking up again hehe)

not putting this out here for sympathy or anything, but just a little update. i am interested in the lives of those i follow, so maybe some of you are interested in mine

wishing everyone a nice weekend 🫶🏻 i got work in the morning (day after the breakup that’s fun)

[subbytcklslut]

First Tickle Session (11/08/2024)

My first tickle session with @dca101

I'm going to do my best to recount everything, but frankly there was so much going on and I know I can't accurately run through every single second.

So, I'd been anticipating this session all week, it was my first REAL tickle session. It had me completely nervous in the best and excited way possible. I'd be lying if I said I didn't have butterflies as the hours ticked down closer and closer.

So of course when he got here we had a moment of just chilling, talking a bit. I got a hug which definitely helped put me at ease. We started slow, him just getting a quick tickle in here and there. I wore shorts, a bralette and a thin spaghetti strap tank. I wanted to be tame but also leave as much ticklish real estate exposed as possible, so yeah at one point the tank came off. I actually had shoes and socks on starting out, so he focused on my thighs and my hips. Working his way up and teasing my sides and finding out how ticklish my underarms are. It was all gentle tickling, some rough tickles mixed in and I can't believe how giggly I was already becoming.

Fun fact, he teased my neck a fair bit( which is a turn on for me) but ummmm he glided his hands along the backs of my shoulders which we both then discovered is weirdly ticklish. Needless to say he had to test every inch between my neck and shoulder blades. Meanwhile I'm scrunched up and trying to squirm away from it. He oh so RUDELY honed in on my knees with some nibbles. Lucky I didn't jerk from how mean and ticklish it was.

He eased me in to some of the tickle toys. The vibrating feather particularly tickly to my stomach and ummm breasts 🫣. I have found my ultimate weakness though in that pure torture device that is the double pronged flosser thing. Doesn't matter where it touched, I was a giggling and squirming mess. He gave me a break from that evil little tool, but it was time to experience my first taste of foot worship.... I can't believe how much I liked it. Feeling my toes in his mouth was actually kinda hot and it tickled the tiniest bit. Then the oil came out! He tested the ticklishness of my feet without oil on one and oil on the other, with the addition of the hairbrush(the only tickle tool I experienced until this point). He discovered an absolute death spot that was my toes and proceeded to call ME a liar for having thought the spot under my toes was the worst. Totally not my fault, so I was subjected to some torture on my poor toes with multiple tools.

Turns out, I'm certain areas I'm also very lickilsh. Um the underarms 😨 and my poor soles.

Of course my sassy and bratty self couldn't help it at times to bite back and it resulted in me getting pinned down(holy fuck was that hot and got more than it's fair share of moans) while he tickled my upper body. His teasing tickle talk only driving me more crazy and to more laughter. He got me to admit what a ticklish toy I am and um excuse me but how dare 😤💀

It wasn't until 3 hours in that the restraints came out. We kept it easy, rope and some good cushioned restraints. My heart was absolutely pounding with anticipation as I lay there while he secured me. Testing my mobility by tickling my foot, my thighs, my underarms. The real ticklish panic set in when I realized I couldn't stop or squirm or hide any tickle spots.

For all my bratiness he had to dole out some punishment to my oiled and secured feet,using each tool he had and really going to town with them. Again, that double pronged flosser is my weakness, followed very closely by grooming gloves 😵‍💫🫣 I was warned these toys were going to be intense but nothing can prepare you for them. Even writing this my toes are scrunching as I remember what happened. He had me so much in lee headspace that I couldn't help but beg and laugh. All the while just adding enough teasing torture to bring a whimper from me.

I'll admit, we had some NSFW tickles... Again that evil fucking flosser right along my pussy. The moans and laughter from me were embarrassing to say the least 🫣 but I fucking enjoyed every minute of that agony. We ended our session with one last vigorous torture to my feet, that evil fiend).

But honestly, the sweetest fucking thing was how caring and gentle he was. He made sure to give me breaks to breathe, letting me adjust to each new ticket sensation. Making sure I was okay with what happened and not pushing boundaries that I had set. He really helped ease me into my first session and I couldn't have asked for a better first time. He's an absolute teddy bear of a guy and snuggling him as both of our aftercare had me grinning ear to ear.

More sessions will definitely be happening and I'm damn lucky y'all 🫠

[beef-brisket]

Emily cringed: Yeah, fair enough... well, let me know if you need a hand. I'll get started on some dinner.

Adam smiled at his sister. Once she left, he could finally breathe. He enjoyed the silence. And the air smelled normal. Not musty like old wood.

Thankfully, Adam didn't actually feel sore. He thought giving birth leaves you in pain for weeks after. But he felt fine. Like it never happened.

He ran his hands over his body. Nothing had really changed. He thankfully didn't have tits. Well, bigger tits- pecks. His hips were slightly wider, but nothing his usual baggy shirts wont fix.

The only thing that sucks is his dick being gone, which hurts Adam's soul as much as he thought it would. He's devastated. Maybe he can beat that short creep up, make him bring his dick back. Then Adam will kick him in the dick for BEING a dick.

Yeah. That's a good plan. Lots of dicks involved. Just how Adam likes it.

But Adam will focus on payback after doing a few paragraphs of his essay.

Nearly an hour later, Emily walks in with some food, he almost didn't realize because of how in the zone he was.

Emily: ...Addy?

Adam: mm?

Emily: Food.

Adam perked up and looked over at his sister. He eyed what seemed to be pasta.

Adam: Fuck yeah. Thanks sis.

She hands it to him, and he starts eating while reading over what he typed.

Emily: You've done a lot... how is it coming?

Adam: Just have two more bullshit paragraphs- then the conclusion.

Emily: Wow. I didn't think you'd be done so quick.

Adam: I did do some before we left, the car ride here AND the first night here. I know I look like a loser stoner, but I'm not. Sometimes~.

Emily sighs: Mom wants you off the weed, Adam.

Adam: Don't rat me out, man... hey, uh. Can you not tell her what happened? She already worries about me too much, and this will make her chain me up in the basement and never see light again.

Emily: I mean- you are always getting into trouble.

Adam: No, I'm not!

Emily: ...you got kidnapped by a dead witch that YOU woke up.

Adam: Okay, fair. But I didn't know that bullshit would work! It's a fucking candle! Any cunt could have lit it.

Emily: And unfortunately that cunt was my brother. We told you not to.

Adam: ...I'm a cunt. What can I say?

Emily: Just. Eat your pasta and finish your report then shower. You look like you've just been kidnapped by witch and put through a whole day of trauma.

Adam: Ha! Bitch, you don't know the half of it. And I'm not traumatized. I'm fine! I'm ready to go back and kick his little ass!

Emily: Don't you fucking dare. We talked about this. Tomorrow, we're going home.

Adam: Yeah, yeah, I was joking. I'll spend the next five years beefing up, THEN I'll go back and kick his ass!

Emily: ...make that ten years.

Adam: Rude!

Emily laughed and left Adam to it.

Oh, he was going back all right. Maybe not tomorrow or next week. But he will be back, and he'll fuck that dude up. Assuming he hasn't been burned alive again. Stupid bastard.

Adam looks down. He can't help but wonder about the baby. Charlotte. She seemed to be crying when she was born, Adam wasn't really focused on her at the time. But he hopes she's okay. This crazy shit wasn't her fault.

Hopefully, she's a better person than him.

Charlie: Say it.

Lucifer: eh...

Charlie: Dad. Say it.

Lucifer: I-Immm. I'm s... sssss...

Charlie: Say. It.

Lucifer: ssssssooo... sssssooorrrr... charlie! This is hard!

Charlie: DAD!

Lucifer: Agh! Fine! I'm sorry for kidnapping you-eventhoughyoulitthecandle- forcing you to be pregnant with my hundreds of years old daughter, forcing that pregnancy to happen in a day, forcing you to stay in one birthing position, not cleaning you up afterwards, taking your bodily autonomy away AND forcing you to marry me. I'm sorry... A... Aa... Aaron.

Charlie: Adam!

Lucifer: Adam! I'm sorry, Adam!

Charlie: Very good.

Lucifer: Fantastic! Can you tell me where he is, now?

Charlie: No... you've lessened his pull to us, right?

Lucifer: Yes, I have.

Charlie: Then he'll come when he's ready. No more forcing. He'll come to us eventually. But when is not your concern. Until we see him, you need to learn some basic human skills. I have a lot to catch up on to! But this will be a great time to learn! So, again! From the top!

Lucifer: AGGGHHHHHI wish I was dead!

Charlie: Well, you're not. AGAIN!

Lucifer: I'm sorry, Anthony.

Charlie: Adam!

Lucifer: Adam!

I know that Halloween is over but I still gotta talk about this Hocus Pocus au I thought up

(Human) Adam just moved to Salem, the witch capital of the U.S and the whole town is telling ghost stories of Lucifer Morningstar, the famous male witch who swore he’d be back to take revenge on the townspeople before he was hung by the neck until dead.

Adam thinks this is a crock of shit, so he and his new friend Lute and his sister Emily sneak into Lucifer’s house (which has since been turned into a small museum) legend tells that Lucifer can only return if a virgin lights the black flame candle and Adam is being less than honest about his sexual exploits to his new friend.

As a joke to freak them both out he lights the candle. Unfortunately for him, it works and the witch appears in a violent gust of wind

That’s all I got but I just like the idea of Adam trying to escape from witch Lucifer

MY DUDE I LOVE THIS!!! @fanofstuff01 @beef-brisket

And I'm going to have him and Lute be like freshmen in college so Adams like 19-20 and Emily is like say a senior in high school her and Adam are a year apart.

And yes they had Emily out trick or treating because she's short en to get away with it and said "teenagers are allowed candy too".

-

Lute: Adam come on this isn't funny, the curse is real.

Adam: It's not real because witches and magic aren't real. The trails were just so they could hang a bunch of people who didn't agree with their beliefs.

They looked around the museum house and at night it's creepy especially being in the woods. Emily turned on a light so they could see.

Emily: Can we go?

Adam: No look at all this cool stuff! And that book? Says it's bound in real human flesh...... Gross.

Lute watched as Adam went over to the black candle.

Lute: Don't light that! If a virgin lights the candle it's said that Lucifer Morningstar will come back from the dead.

Adam burst out laughing: Good thing I'm not a virgin then.

Emily raised a brow: You only dated Eve for like a week.

Adam: You can have sex in a week!

The truth was they only made out a little bit and then her folks didn't want her having a boyfriend until after she graduated from high school.

So yes, Adam is a virgin. But his fucking sister doesn't need to know that!

He pulled out his lighter and smirked, curses and magic what a load of shit.

Lute: Adam no!

Adam lit the candle: See, nothing to-.....

The house started to violently shake, the floorboards glowed underneath and a laughter could be heard.

Lute: The fuck!?

Emily glared at Adam: A virgin lit the candle.

Adam: W-what!? It's okay! I'll just blow it out!

He blew out the candle but the flame came back.

Lute and Emily's eyes went wide when they saw a man that matches Lucifer's picture come out from the back room.

Lucifer: And who do I owe the pleasure to? Hmm? Oh, you.~

Adam turned around and jumped, what the fuck!?

Lute: We should go.

Adam: Good idea.

They all turn to run out the door, Emily and Lute make it out but the door slams in Adams face locking him in.

Adam: Fuck!

Emily bangs on the door: Adam!!

Adam tried pulling on the door but it was no use. Chills crept up his spine when a low laugh echoed in the room. He turned to see Lucifer standing there with his book now in hand.

Lucifer: Oh, you weren't leaving already were you?~

[imsodishy]

Take a Step That is New

another episode of Four's Company (a series on ao3)

this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience

May 1987 

The cheery chimes above the door at Dot's Dinner ting-a-ling as Steve walks in and he almost throws his stupid briefcase at it. He settles at the last minute for telling it to, “Shut the hell up,” and heads for the counter. 

“Whoa, buddy, rough day?” Robin's already saddled up on a stool, Billy’s just serving up her burger and onion rings. 

The boxy fan they’ve set up on the counter does nothing to dispel the muggy heat that’s settled over the city, just moves the humid air around. It also does nothing to improve Steve’s mood, sweltering in his stupid suit, he yanks at his tie until he can breathe again. 

Steve claims the stool next to Robin, peels off his stuffy jacket and slams it down on the teal formica counter top with zero thought for whatever grease or condiments it might find there, then he plonks his head down next to it without acknowledging Robin, and groans like a dying seal, “I hate my fucking life.” 

It’s not true, Steve likes his life. Mostly. 

What he fucking hates is his job. Which makes up… some way too big percentage of his life; 9 to 5, Monday to Friday is a big chunk of the week. The heat doesn’t help. 

Robin pat-pats his shoulder consolingly. He hears Billy huff at his dramatics before walking away from the sad spectacle of Steve’s life. Off in the corner Seymour, a grumpy old regular who basically lives at his booth, frowns. He’s always frowning at something though. Mostly at Steve, though not exclusively. Eddie earns his fair share of stink-eye. 

Robin's hand is still on Steve’s shoulder when he can sense her lean in closer and– “Don't fucking sniff me, dude!” He snaps upright, leaning as far away from her as he can without toppling off the stool. “It's so weird.” 

“Sorry! Sorry,” she says, “You seem stressed is all, and I was just checking you didn’t go crawling back to sweet lady nicotine's disgusting embrace.” 

Robin’s been rabid lately on her bid to get all three of them to quit smoking. It started with a not in the house rule, and has quickly progressed to all out war on the cancer sticks. Steve's the only one who's buckled so far. He's on an almost two month streak right now, and she's been playing hard defense to keep him on it. He draws the line at the sniffing though. That is simply unacceptable. 

Steve rolls his eyes, and grumbles, “I didn’t smoke,” God, he could really go for one right now though, “If I bring a lighter to work I’ll end up burning the building down.”  

A strawberry milkshake clonks down on the counter in front of him as Billy basically drops it like a bomb, “Oh my God. Quit! Just quit your stupid fucking job that you hate!” he explodes, “I cannot listen to your sad-sack, bitch-baby, whining about it anymore.“ 

Steve pulls his milkshake in close just in case Billy tries to confiscate it for bitch-baby behavior. “I can’t just quit,” he whines. 

Billy just rolls his eyes and doesn’t try to take Steve’s one joy away from him. “Why? Because your Dad got it for you?” 

And like, yeah, but Billy doesn’t have to be such a dickhead about it. 

Billy landed his job at Dot’s Diner like some kind of magic. Seriously, their first day in New York, they hadn’t even unpacked any of the boxes they'd schlepped into the house when Billy dusted off his hands and said, “I'm gonna get the lay of the land,” and walked out the front door. 

He came back six hours later with a job and a peanut butter milkshake. It took him a month after that to tell them where he worked, and he tells them frequently that he's regretted it everyday since he caved. They do spend a lot of time there bothering him, despite the fact he refuses to give them freebies. His boss, Sal (who reminds Steve a lot of Benny from the diner back home, if he had about two dozen extra tattoos, like they both rolled off a big, gruff, diner proprietor assembly line somewhere), is actually way more likely to sling them a free coke or some fries once in a while. 

“We could find you another job,” Robin says, as she’s been saying for months, “One that makes you at least sixty percent less arson-y, guaranteed!” 

Robin got her job at the campus bookstore through student services, (obviously not an option for Steve), although, with the first year under her belt, she's talking about looking elsewhere for employment, since the school pays them peanuts anyway, and she thinks she'll be able to balance her schedule better now on her own. 

The door chimes jangle crazily as Eddie bursts into the diner, “Outstanding news chums!” he booms, ignoring Seymour scowling in his direction. 

“Easy on the door, Munson,” Billy warns. 

Eddie shuts the door with exaggerated care, before he hustles over to the counter and hops up on the stool on Robins other side. He gives himself a drumroll, rattling all the flatware on the counter. Old Seymour’s glare intensifies. 

“I have news,” he repeats, flipping his cup right-side-up for Billy to fill with coffee he doesn’t need, upcoming nightshift at the bar or no. 

Robin takes a guess, “You talked to you boss about getting the time off for the Hawkins trip?” she doesn’t sound that hopeful. 

And for good reason. “What? No,” Eddie dismisses her with a flapping hand, “I have an audition with a band!” 

“Gasp,” Robin says flatly. The only news Eddie gets this excited about is when he's auditioning, or sitting in, or has a lead on some new band seeking a guitarist. 

Eddie, by his own account, got his so-called day job (it’s nights, bar-backing) by just hanging around the bar/music venue he frequents all the time, bothering the bartenders (and selling them weed) until one of them slapped a rag in his hand and told him to make himself useful. Which suits him just fine to fill time while he chases his music dream. 

“Look, I'm going to Hawkins either way,” Eddie tells her with a carefree shrug, “If Rosco won't give me the time off I'll just quit and get a new job when we get back.” 

“See!” Billy says, slamming the coffee pot back into it's cradle, “You see how easy that is, Harrington? You lose a job, then you get another one. C'est la fucking vie.” 

Eddie leans around Robin to look at Steve, “Oh-ho. Did the little Lord Harrington finally break free from the yuppie rat race?”  

“No,” Steve says, and slurps a big sip of his milkshake. 

Steve didn’t get his own job at all, obviously. It was already lined up for him before they even rented the moving truck. It came pre-approved for him courtesy of his father and his father’s business connections. Steve's been working there for almost a year now, but he's still not entirely clear what they do. 

It's real-estate... kind of? The company buys properties, but they do it by selling shares in the properties to other companies, then they use that money to pay construction companies to tear down those properties and build new ones on the land. Those construction companies use that money to buy steel and other building shit from Steve’s dad’s plants back in Indiana (and Michigan). Then Steve's bosses sell the whole shebang for several butt-loads of money for them and their investors to start the game all over again. 

Steve’s job largely seems to involve standing around, insuring their side of the boardroom has the most men in suits at all times, and occasionally kissing investor ass. He’s a Junior Account Associate somehow. 

It’s soul crushing. 

“Aw, cheer up, Stevie,” Eddie says, slapping him on the back, “Look on the bright side, at least you can always keep our beer fridge stocked with that fat paycheck of yours.” 

Robin does Steve the favor of smacking Eddie upside the head. 

Steve decides to change the subject, “What’s the band called, Ed?” he asks, because that’s always good for a laugh at least. 

Eddie holds his hands in front of his face like he's framing a marquee, “ God of Gore ,” he announces in a theatrical growl. 

Steve snorts to himself. Yeah, that’s good shit. 

“And,” he goes on, voice rising in pitch as he gets more hyped up, “Get this, their last guitarist up and moved to Indiana! How's that for kismet? It's fate, I tells ya!” 

“Who would willingly move to Indiana,” Billy wonders, “The whole state's a toilet.” 

Not at all bothered by the shit talking of their home state, Eddie hops down of his stool and announces, “Speaking of which, gotta drain the snake.” 

While Robin is busy grimacing at that, Eddie wiggles incredibly unsubtle eyebrows at Billy. He gets a, much more subtle, jerk of the chin back, so Eddie slips right past the bathrooms and into the kitchen, and doubtless out the back door to smoke in peace, away from Robin’s judgmental gaze. He’s made vague, placating noises at her about cutting back, but he’s just been sneaking around behind her back, with Billy as an accomplice. 

Billy might be smoking more out of spite. 

Eddie's whirlwind act really made Steve feel like the sad-sack Billy accused him of being, and he’s sick of that feeling, gets more than enough of it everyday at work.  

All the silverware rattles as he slams a decisive hand down on the counter, much to Seymour’s ire. “You know what I think would make me feel better?” Steve asks loudly and rhetorically. 

He shoves away from the counter and heads straight for the jukebox. 

“No!” Billy booms, pointing at Steve like he’s a cat on the counter. 

Steve backs slowly down the aisle, facing Billy the whole way with big, guileless eyes. “What's that?” 

“You’re still banned for Bryan Adams crimes.” Honestly, Steve’s probably got a couple bans stacked at the moment. Billy doles them out liberally.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hargrove,” Steve bumps into the jukebox because he still won’t turn away from Billy’s impotent glare. It's great, his ears are going red.  

“I call the shots here,” he tries, fruitlessly. 

“No you don‘t, Sal does,” Steve snorts, “And, anyway, I am a private citizen, this is a free country! My dime is as good as anybody’s!” He's been spending too much time with Eddie. 

Billy throws a spoon at him. 

Steve cackles as he plugs the jukebox. There’s a couple beats of bassy synthesizer. 

Billy tells him, “You’re a monster,” with feeling.  

Then— “ Watching every motion in my foolish lover’s game.”  

Steve slow dances back towards the counter, swaying to the dreamy beat of the bum-bum-bum-bubums, high on the joy of being deeply annoying. He slides back onto his stool just in time to dramatically sing along to, “ Take my breath awaaaaay,” right in Billy’s face. It's gone all red now, like the cherry on Steve's shake, which he happily pops between his grinning teeth. 

“It’s not my fault Sal won’t put Mötley Crüe in there,” Steve says, munching happily on his cherry. 

Billy storms off into the kitchen. 

“Someday,” Robin muses through he mouthful of fried onions, “he’s going to feed you a floor burger, and I’m not going to stop him. This song is sincerely awful.” 

“I like it,” Steve declares. 

“Of course you do.” Robin pats his hand condescendingly. 

She swivels on her stool to face him, a concerned little furrow in her brow, and ketchup on her cheek. “Seriously though, Steve, we could find you a different job. No problem. You got the job at Family Video, and Scoops before that.” Robin got him the job at Family Video, and he only got the job at Scoops because the first guy they hired showed up to the training stoned, but it’s nice of her to say. “You don’t need to stick it out because of your dad, you don’t need his help. It’s not your only option or whatever bullshit you’re worried about. You can get a different job. And, okay, no it wouldn’t pay as much, but you'd get by.” 

Robin wasn’t Steve’s first real friend or anything like that, he wouldn’t even say she’s his first good friend . But she’s definitely his best friend. Steve lays a hand over her slightly greasy one on the counter, and furrows his brow right back at her, “But then, Robin, who would keep the beer fridge stocked?” 

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her burger, “So we'd have to bid goodbye to Daddy Beer-bucks, we'd survive.” 

They would. Robin, Billy, and Eddie are resourceful, and smart, and self-sufficient, they’d figure out a way get by, even with Steve hanging like an anchor around their necks. But Steve hates the idea of dragging them down. Actually can’t stand it. He literally gets a stomach ache if he thinks too hard about it. When he can hear future Robin, somewhere down the line, when she’s sick of his shit, saying You can’t expect us to handle every little issue for you, dingus, in his head, except sometimes the ‘dingus’ morphs into ‘darling’ and imaginary-Robin sounds disturbingly like his mother (which doesn’t help the stomach ache problem at all). So he needs to keep bringing in enough money to pay his way. 

Steve just smiles at her. 

Billy reemerges from the kitchen to make a round of his tables, giving Steve the evil eye as he goes, before settling behind the counter to concentrate on glaring at Steve despite the fact that the song is long over by now, Eddie Money is playing now. Steve raises his eyebrows at his glare, “Don’t look at me, I’m all out of dimes.” 

Robin, perhaps prompted by Mr. Money asks, “Where'd Eddie go? He’s taking forever in there.” 

Billy silently points over her shoulder to where they can clearly see Eddie’s hunched form cowering miserably under the diner's awning from the unpleasantly warm rain that’s finally broken after threatening all day. He’s sucking down smoke like his life depends on it. Must not have been enough shelter in the alley when the rain started. 

“No!” Robin shouts, much like Billy had shouted at Steve earlier, and dashes out the door, bells cheerfully chiming her exit. Eddie takes a couple more panicked puffs before Robin gets to him and he has to start playing keep away with the butt. 

Steve watches them through the window for a couple seconds like a real life version of those weird old puppet shows, “What are those puppets that–“ 

“Punch and Judy,” Billy answers the unfinished question. 

He flicks a dime that bounces off Steve's forehead and drops to the counter with a ring-a-ting-ting. “Go put on some Springsteen, Bambi,” he says, smiling at him like he’s still a sad-sack, sure, but at least he’s one Billy’s kinda fond of, then he goes to top off Seymour’s coffee down at the far end of the other end of the diner. 

For Billy alone, Seymour’s got a great big smile.

Steve has stapled his tie to his desk. Which seems like the kind of thing most people would only do by accident. Not Steve, though. No, he simply got so bored that when the thought, I wonder if I could staple my tie to this desk right now, breezed through his head he went ahead and did it. 

Turns out he could, so he added a couple more staples for no better reason than the first one. 

Steve feels like his brain is melting out his ears which is maybe half boredom, half the heat. The AC has been in and out all week, something about the grid according to maintenance. Turns out a cracked window and a fan isn’t any more effective on the 10th floor of a Manhattan office building than it is in a ground level diner in the Bronx. 

“Harrington.” All the staples explode off his tie, flying all over his little hot-box of an office, when he jerks upright as Connor Michaels walks in to his office. The guy definitely notices the staples too, judging by the shitty little smirk on his face. 

The thing about all of Steve’s coworkers is that they hate him, because he’s clearly just a doofus nepotism hire who has no business working here. They all hide it behind a veneer of polite condescension while trying to use him as a connection since his last name is Harrington, though. It’s all so pathetically exactly like high school Steve can hardly stand it. 

Connor chuckles, “Tgif, am I right? Listen, I asked Laura to pull the permits for the Hell’s Kitchen property for me, but she’s on the rag or something and flipped out at me.” 

The other thing about Steve’s coworkers is that they’re all douchebags. 

“Okay,” Steve says to avoid stapling his smug face. 

“I know she does shit like that for you all the time, so think you could work your magic?” Connor wiggles his fingers vaguely that reminds Steve of how his mom would talk about his sport’s things any time it came up. 

Laura is the only exception to the douchebag rule. She’s smart, and competent, and the only woman at Steve’s level of management. She also hates Steve, but she doesn't try to hide it. She’s got integrity about it. The only reason she helps Steve with things like permits and filings is that she knows she’s the one who will have to clean up the mess if he royally screws it. She reminds him a lot of Robin in the early days of working at Scoops, just completely unimpressed by and uninterested in his King Steve bullshit. 

Steve does frequently throw himself on her mercy, she’s the only reason he hasn’t caused any serious problems so far. Which is maybe the other reason she keeps helping him, because he unreservedly admits that it’s a joke that they’re on the same level professionally. And not a funny one. 

Steve starts sweeping the staples that landed on his desk and not the floor into a pile, “Sure,” he says to Connor, hoping that’ll get him to leave. 

No luck. Instead he tucks his hand in his pockets and settles into a slouches against Steve’s wall, “How do you manage that anyway?” he asks lightly, “You tapping that?” 

Steve rolls his eyes, “No.” 

Connor hums, “Yeah, not surprising. I bet she’s a dyke.” 

And maybe, on a different day, when Steve wasn’t already at his boiling point both figuratively and literally, he would have responded more... diplomatically.

“I quit my job,” Steve announces as he walks through the front door of his house.  

All three of his roommates turn to gape at him from the living room. 

They were all lounging around in the bare minimum of clothes required for the living room with two opposing fans pointed at them in an attempt at a cross breeze when Steve arrived home with his briefcase in a cardboard box with shockingly little else in the way of personal effects in it. He really hadn’t built up much of a presence at the office over the nearly a year he worked there. 

“What?” Robin exclaims, as she mutes the TV, “What happened?” 

“I threw a stapler at a guy’s head.” Steve answers. 

“A stapler?” Billy asks, baffled, “Why?” 

Steve shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, I also said a lot of shit, but the stapler was probably the button on it.” Steve drops his things, steps out of his wingtips, and starts tugging at his tie as he makes his way across the room, “It wasn’t even- Like, I mean, it was business as usual, really. It wasn’t anything new, and I just... lost it.” He’s down to his undershirt and boxershorts by the time he collapses between Robin and Billy on the couch with a massive sigh like a slowly deflating raft. 

“Right on man,” Eddie says from his spot on the armchair, leaning over to slap Steve’s knee, “I bet that guy had a stapler to the face coming.” 

He really did, Steve must concede. 

“Shit, I can’t believe I quit.” 

Robin makes a questioning noise, “Did you actually quit, or did they fire you? For the stapler thing?” 

“Who gives shit,” Billy says before Steve can tell them he’s not actually sure technically, “It’s done and dusted either way. Which calls for a celebration!” 

Billy bounces up off the couch and goes to the kitchen to collect a round of beers for everyone, he’s the only one who’s foregone a shirt so far, which is unsurprising. He pops the caps of with his ring before doling out the bottles. 

 “To casting off the corporate shackles!” Eddie toasts, Billy and Robin here-hereing it. 

Steve takes a big gulp of his beer. “What the hell am I gonna do?” he wonders aloud. 

“Celebrate!” Robin says, she’s also in a t-shirt and boxershorts, which she stole from Steve a while back for loungewear, “Like the man said.” 

Steve huffs, “I meant like, longer term. The rent and stuff.” 

“Don't worry, Stevie my boy,” Eddie says, clapping him on the back, “Once we find you a real person job you'll do just fine. After all, the rest of us plebs cover our fair shares with our piddly little paychecks, right?” 

Steve, caught out, hesitates a beat too long (long enough for Billy's bullshit radar to ping), before saying, “Right. Sure. Yeah,” in a way that clearly doesn’t cover for him. 

Billy squints at him, “We have all been covering our fair share of the rent, right, Harrington?” 

Steve nods but he can’t maintain eye contact when he answers, “Right. Fair shares.” 

Robin, catching on immediately, groans, “Oh god, Steve, tell me you haven’t been doing something outstandingly stupid, like paying half the rent, this whole freaking time.” When Steve doesn’t answer right away she screeches, “Steven!” 

“Not half! I haven’t, okay?” he rushes to explain, “Just, like,” he holds up his fingers pinched so close together, “A little more, than you guys.” 

“How much more,” Billy demands through clenched teeth. 

“Well,” Steve tries to think of how best to phrase it, “Imagine we had a fifth roommate, who's rent I have also been paying.” 

“So, double,” Billy’s basically growling now, “You've been paying double what the rest of us have. This whole goddamn time!” Steve hadn’t thought of it that way, but the math does check out. He thinks. 

“And... also the utilities,” he admits reluctantly. 

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie says, shaking his head sadly. 

“Fuck!” Billy shouts and storms off, stomping his way upstairs without anyone trying to stop him. When Billy removes himself from a situation, it’s best to let him. 

“I can probably still get the job back,” Steve offers, even though the thought makes him nauseous. He’ll eat shit if he needs to, “If I tell them I was on coke or something they might actually respect me more.” 

Eddie’s still shaking his head, but more decisively, “No way, man. We’re not letting you go crawling back to those corporate shitbags now, not a chance in hell.” 

“No other job I can get for myself is going to pay a quarter as well, though.” 

Robin backs Eddie up though, “You were miserable, Steve. None of us wants you to be miserable like that, not for any amount of money.” 

Steve still can’t just let it go, though, “But without that money- 

“There’s no need to panic, all we need is a plan. You’ve got savings, yeah? That’ll give us a cushion until you get a new job- we need to do a comprehensive household budget,” Robin says, like she’s already running numbers in her head, “We’ve been way too loosey-goosey about it, anyway.” Because they’ve been relying on Steve to smooth over any gaps. Not that they necessarily knew that. They’d just hit him up for beer and pizza sometimes and called it a Shill tax. 

“I don’t know how to do a budget,” Steve admits with an apologetic grimace. 

Eddie slings an arm over his shoulders and tries to pull him into some kind of wonky headlock while Steve resists him easily, “Don’t you fret, for you are a very lucky boy, with three wonderful roommates, whose collars are all extremely blue. We’ll show you the ropes.” 

“You know what the easiest expense to cut is?” Robin says brightly, “Cigarettes.” 

“You know what!” Eddie wheels on her, suddenly apparently at his limit on the whole smoking thing. 

Steve watches them bicker back and forth for a couple minutes. Even though it’s clear that this has been building for a while, and of course the inescapable heat doesn’t help, Steve can’t help but feel like it’s his fault for dropping a stress bomb on their heads. Or at least it feels very reminiscent of watching his parents fight about the wallpaper when what they really want to fight about is their miserable marriage. What’s the word for that? Displacement? 

Eventually he slips out, leaving Robin and Eddie to their squabbles he can’t really contribute to one way or the other and heads upstairs.

Billy's not in his room, but Steve didn’t really expect him to be. 

Halfway up the flight of stairs from the second floor to the third there's a window, and outside the window is a strip of roof, about five feet wide by ten feet long, and gently sloped, covering their porch below. Billy likes to sulk out there, especially since the weather turned, though not quite so much since it turned mean.  

Sure enough, the window is ajar and Steve can smell smoke. 

He sticks his hands out the window, palms out, he comes in peace, “I’m coming out,” he says, “Please don’t hurl me off the roof.” 

Billy doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t bite Steve’s head off either, which from him is basically an engraved invitation. 

Steve hauls himself up onto the little stretch of roof, crab walking over ‘til he can plant his butt next to Billy. Even though the sun is sinking fast the heat hasn’t broken at all. 

He snags the cigarette right out of Billy’s mouth as he settles next to him and takes a long, indulgent drag. He only grimaces a little at the taste, Billy and his fucking Marlboros. 

“Ooooh,” Billy deigns to speak to him, snatching his smoke back, “Robin's gonna be mad at you,”  

“More or less mad than when I tell her I'm not going to Hawkins this summer?” 

Billy's hand freezes with the cigarette just about back to his mouth. His lips, already parted to accept it, now just hanging slack pointlessly. “Seriously?” 

Steve shrugs, shooting for nonchalance, missing by a mile probably. “Figure I can do without getting the full rundown on what an embarrassing disappointment I am in person. I’m sure I’ll get the CliffsNotes from our answering machine anyway. Those were always more my speed.” 

He figures they'll share a laugh at that, but when he looks over Billy's not laughing. In fact, he's not even smiling, he just takes a rough drag off the cigarette and then hands it back to Steve without prompting. “If your dad leaves any blowhard message on our machine, I’m deleting them.” 

Steve’s not sure what to say to that so for a while they just pass the butt back and forth in silence until he screws up his courage to ask, "What about you? You mad at me?” with a wince, “About the rent thing.” 

“Well I’m not fucking thrilled about it, Harrington.” 

Yeah, that was obvious. 

Billy runs an agitated hand through his hair leaving his curls, already frizzy from the humidity, even more messed up. “Thought- it felt like we were making it. Doing it for real, you know? Standing on my own two feet like a man,” he scoffs to himself, “ Stupid.” 

Billy’s got a very specific tone he does when he’s quoting his dad, and Steve fucking hates it. 

“You are,” Steve insists. Billy quirks an eyebrow at him, and Steve scrambles to clarify, “Making it. Not stupid. You’re making it.” 

“Not without a heaping helping of charity apparently. I can’t-” 

“It wasn’t charity, dickhead!” Billy’s mouth snaps shut, and thank god for that, because Steve has no more interest in hearing what Neil Hargrove would have to say about his son than Billy does in suffering through phone messages from Richard Harrington. “It just made sense. I took that stupid job from my dad, and the paycheck was the only good goddamn thing about it. And you guys have all this other stuff going on. You and Robin have school, and Eddie’s trying to do his whole music thing. I mean, what the hell else was I supposed to do with all that stupidly easy money I was barely really earning? Other than use it to buy you guys food, and beer, and, yeah, pay the fucking rent!” He’s worked up a good head of steam, but he deflates immediately in the wake of his outburst, “I mean, what the hell else am I bringing to the table here?” 

Suddenly self-conscious in the silence that follows, and way too aware that he’s breathing a little heavy, Steve snatches the cigarette from Billy’s hand. Takes a huffy little puff, like someone who doesn’t know how to inhale, then takes a slower, more measured one. 

“You sell yourself short, you know,” Billy says, uncharacteristically quiet. Steve looks over at him, but Billy's not looking back, he's gazing out across their neighborhood instead. 

“Look,” he goes on, slow and awkward, “I don’t exactly know where I'd be right now, if not for you. But, I know I wouldn’t be here .” He throws his arms out wide to encompass all of New York City, and their whole life here. 

It's not like they have a spectacular view or anything, they're not up remotely high enough for that. Their sagging little strip of roof, on their rundown building, isn’t even facing the glittering Manhattan skyline. Down below them a taxi driver is shouting at a truck that’s blocking a cross street. The humidity is oppressive and the heat makes the streets stink like garbage, and it’s not like it’s any cooler in the house. 

Their whole life here? It doesn’t actually look like very much from the outside. 

Steve gets it though. 

He jostles their shoulders together, “You would have gotten out. You would have made it anyway.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Billy plucks the cigarette out of Steve’s grasp, kills the last of it and pitches the butt to the street below. Steve watches the glowing trail of the cherry as it falls. 

“You know,” Billy says after a long stretch of mostly comfortable silence, “If you don’t go to Hawkins, you’re gonna have to let Eddie drive the beemer.” 

“Shit, I didn’t think of that.” He waves off the thought, “Can’t be helped. I need to start the job search anyway.” 

Steve thinks about that process for all of thirty seconds before he groans, “Man, my resume is gonna be so fucking weird.” Steve lists his employment record out on his fingers, “Scoops Ahoy, burned down. Family Video... I don’t think I gave notice at Family Video, I think I just left and didn’t come back. Kensington Group Limited, assaulted a co-worker with stationary.” 

“Well, if all else fails, you know Eddie would love to fake some references for you,” Billy says, “Bet he’ll do voices and everything.” 

“Just what I need. A reference from Gondelf.” 

Billy snorts a laughs, “It’s Gandalf, you know it’s Gandalf.” He’s right, Steve knows that, because Eddie never shuts up about that book. 

“Mmm, pretty sure it’s Gondelf. I mean, he’s an elf, right?” Billy just rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, and listing a little towards Steve. 

“Billy,” Steve speaks softly, earnestly. Billy hums back a question, “Would you... get me a job at the diner?” 

Billy explodes with laughter, “Fuck no!” 

“C’mon,” he wheedles, through his own laughter, “We can commute together! Sal loves you. Be a pal, put in a good word for me!” 

Billy punches him in the shoulder, “Sure, I’ll tell him you’re a chronic masturbator and that I’ve never seen you wash your hands.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I really appreciate that.” 

Billy grabs the shoulder of Steve’s shirt and rattles him around a bit like a dog with a squeaky toy, “I’m going to shove you off this roof,” he threatens through laughter. 

They lapse into giggly silence and then just silent silence. Billy keeps his grip on Steve’s shirt like he’s worried he might actually go toppling over the edge after all if Billy doesn’t keep a tight hold. 

Or maybe he’s just forgotten that his hand is there. 

“Hey,” Steve says after a while, just to get Billy to look him in the eye, “We’re gonna be fine,” he reassures him once he has. 

Billy’s undivided attention is always intense, eyes like blue lasers locked on to a target. It used to freak Steve out in high school, but he’s gotten used to it. It’s just how Billy is. Sharp like that. 

Sharp enough that he reads Steve like a goddamn book and knows that as much as Steve really was trying to reassure him, he was also, maybe just a bit, fishing for reassurance too. 

“We’re gonna be fine,” Billy parrots. 

They stare at each other, probably for too long, sitting in a little loop of comforting and being comforted. And Steve, he believes it. They’re gonna be fine. 

They have each other.

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Where we go from here...

It took me awhile last evening to get my mind in the right place to do the baking I had to do. I thought I would put on some music on my little radio station to kick my head into work mode. Tried some Glenn Gould playing Bach (always a go-to for morning coffee music), and it didn't hit right.

So I dialed up the huge mix I have titled "1969-72" and almost immediately started the long road back to feeling like myself. After about a half-hour, I was in the groove. Listened to the mix far into the night, after I'd finished working.

I managed to keep my focus and got the cookies all baked, and kiddo's mom happily packed them up and just left for her party, and I'm over here for the next couple of nights, sadly for my back. Two nights of "No Mattress For Old Men" and I'll need a week to recover, but hey...

Wanna thank all y'all for your comments and messages when I posted that I was prolly just gonna go black. Y'all loved me back off the ledge. Posted in a moment of true despair...something I haven't felt in awhile. I am hurting for all of us...and all of you. I have never in my long life been scared for the nation until now. Or at least that's what I thought. This feeling of complete despair, the emotional pain of millions of people, the hopelessness, the fear for the future...after I sat with it awhile I realized yes, that I have felt this same combination of toxic shit before.

In the 65 years I've been on this stinkin' rock, I've been through a number of particularly devastating previous elections, most notably the two Bush2(Dumbya) regimes. I remember the night of the 2004 election...Americans were posting tearful photos taken by their webcams, with them holding up signs saying "We're sorry."

I saw first-hand all the fights for rights that we have gained from the early '60s onward. To find ourselves set back to square one, 50-60 years later, when we had finally gained some footing toward fairness, is cruel. And cruelty is what they will wield as their main weapons in the coming days, as we suddenly find ourselves in the same predicament as 1963-65 when a virginal Joan Baez and little Bobby Dylan changed protest music forever.

So yes, I have felt this same way, and no, the nation didn't die or descend into complete chaos. Our lives went on, essentially as they had, with a growing pile of "things we can't do anymore" heaped atop via the collective wounding of 9/11.

This is another collective wounding--an intentional collective wounding. The next few months are going to be chaotic, they will try to push through their agenda as quickly as possible come january.

I may not post much overtly political stuff from this point on, but if I do it will be refocused on positive news. I don't know for certain how long that might last, but I can't take a 24/7 barrage of bad news and outrage bait. I'm probably gonna unfollow a few blogs, but don't think it's personal...it is Mental/Emotional Health Care.

And yes, I've been in the trenches with y'all a long time...we are all Family at this point...Brothers and Sisters in arms. I'm not leaving, but my presence/role will be different, out of the renewed sense of self-preservation this has thrust me into.

I woke up disoriented, but quickly remembered I'd gotten what I needed to get done done, and had a slow re-entry, sipping my coffee for a couple hours. I kept remembering how well the music had helped me last night, and then the beginnings of what this might turn into began to coalesce. Concepts of a plan. lulz.

As the day went on, I've been on a roller-coaster, emotionally, with seemingly hopeful leads on a roommate not materializing, on top of my craigslist ad for a roomie getting flagged and deleted. Pretty goddamn hopeless as far as this situation is going.

Looked at the huge box of cookies I'd managed to bake last night and it hit me. I've been reblogging the "Gooood Morning, TUMBLR!" graphics every morning up until the election. The image of Robin Williams being in character calling up the role of the military DJ.

Back when I did my cafe in the mountains of NM, a friend lent me a book called "Radio Venceramos", about South American rebels who had a radio transmitter and clamped the leads to the barbed-wire fences to broadcast their signal/programming to their fellow rebels.

Still not sure how the format will work out, but I've decided: my new role is going to primarily be the voice of inspiration over the air-waves to my fellow rebels. Not sure if it will be a second blog or if it will be a continuation of PTSD, but with no further ado, I will become the Voice of my fellow rebels with:

I may make a second blog out of it, but until then I guess I'll make it a series of posts. Tumblr will let you blog up to ten videos/post, and that may be how I start things out. Consider them like stacks of 45s and LP tracks from my paul-shaffer-brain...meant to help keep spirits up and keep the focus.

Made a couple of graphics, will probably try others in the course of it.

So the message today was "You did what you had to do. Heal up for what's ahead."

I will probably start this new focus in the morning...I'm still chewin'.

[hinamie]

sry i have chronic only draws megumi disorder the doctor said it's terminal :/

[isbergillustration]

Started writing a new werewolf story. You can maybe get the general gist from this.

[izzystizzys]

Ever since touching down on Triple Zero, both a military and quality marker for the planet in his mind, Marshall Commander Fox had become intimately acquainted with the biting pain of headaches and migraines.

This, however, feels like it’s going to make his skull cave inside out.

“I can hear voices, Thorn”, Fox hisses, wide-eyed, breathing harshly through his nose. His bucket sadly lolls around on the pavement from where he ripped it off in a panic, unable to breathe all of a sudden. But even exposure to the open air hasn’t helped much - now, Fox just feels like a fish drowning in water, desperately breathing in the air but unable to keep it in his lungs.

“I mean, we all hear voices, ori’vod, that’s really less concerning than if you couldn’t -“, Thorn begins, hands stretched out towards Fox like he’s trying to approach a rabid beast. “Voices, Thorn!”, Fox repeats, whisper-screaming over the strange sensation of all his blood pooling in his head and ears popping. “In my kriffing head!”

Thorn’s mouth opens to gape, then closes again immediately, countenance turning decidedly more alarmed than before. Fox crumbles to the ground, head clutched in his hands, moaning in painpainpainpain-

The only thing like this he’s felt before is after one of his private meetings with the Chancellor, the one he never lets anyone else have and Fox never remembers. It feels like there’s something else in his head, worming around his thoughts and bouncing off the insides of his skull-

“- is kriffing losing it, Thire, I don’t know what to do -“

“- keep position, help is -“

“- kriffing RED ALERT, what the -“

“- do you mean a karking Venator exploded over Coruscant?!”

“- call it the Zillo Beast - it caved in the side of the ship, apparently, and is making for the surface -“

The pressure inside Fox’s head increases, warmth dripping over his cheeks and from his noise, swelling until he thinks his head really will explode, and then - stops-

Fox looks up, gasping, at the shadow that has fallen across his and Thorn’s patrol, into two massive, glowing eyes. The thing tilts its head, and chirps. It sounds like a greeting.

Silence. Then -

“You’re right”, Fox says, in a daze, “we should kill the Chancellor.”

“WHAT”, Thorn screeches.

———————————

Fox wakes an indeterminate amount of time later to a gentle breeze and nebulous feeling in his head. This is strange for several reasons - one, Guard HQ are both insulated and airconditioned like ass, thus the temperature is always wrong and the air constantly stuffy, and two - he hasn’t woken up not in pain since touching down two years ago.

“Stabby gave you the good shit”, his own voice says, and yeah, that would explain that.

“Stabby is a little bitch”, Fox tries to say, which comes out more like a warbled gurgle. “You’re welcome”, a third voice replies, sarcastically. Fox pries open his eyes with great difficulty. Ah, yes, that’s Stabby looming across the room - and Stone, next to his bedside, lounging in a chair next to a passed-out Thorn, whose head is tilted across the back of his chair at an angle that will definitely put a crick in it.

And, behind them, where the medbay wall used to be, two gigantic, glowing green eyes, tilting along with the rest of the eldritch face floating next to Fox’s bed.

“Hgngndndnsndnfnfffhhh”, he vocalizes, and Stone shrugs. “Yeah, been there the whole time. Do you remember anything?” Fox frowns. Stabby snickers somewhere from his far corner, quietly bustling around and probably concocting something nefarious to make Fox sleep or “take a break”.

Stone’s eyebrows rise incrementally. “Really? Not even when you mounted the space monster, took a joyride through half of Coruscant, crashed through the Senate Dome and battled a lightning-launching Chancellor?”

Fox blinks. The Zillo Beast chirps cheerfully. “Huh.” A sense of strange, deep satisfaction spreads through Fox’s chest, raising goosebumps. “Did we bite his head off? I think we bit his head off.”

Stone chokes, and Stabby races over to thump him on his back, Fox watching warily for any sharp objects. You never know on that one - one second he’s checking your pupils for dilation, then you’ve got a needle sticking out of you and boom, ten hours gone. Or suddenly you’re spitting out decaf - ew - at five kriffing in the morning, being lectured about heart health and some other banthashit.

Something that feels strangely like a chuckle titters across Fox’s mind, and when he looks over, the Zillo Beast is blinking innocently at him.

“Yeah, your little friend did actually bite off the Chancellor’s head” Stone confirms, once he can breathe again. Thorn slowly stirs, until he jackknifes to awareness all at once, and then Fox has a lap full of hugging vod’ika.

“ - took twenty years off my kriffing life, goddamn, ori’vod, you’re giving me grey hair -“

“It’ll match your old man bones”, Stabby murmurs, making Thorn screech indignantly into the top of Fox’s head. The Zillo Beast trills mournfully, aiming a sad look at the medic, who shakes his head and brandishes a hypo at the thing. Fox wonders if he’ll have to intervene - he would try to hypo an eldritch space monster, the absolute lunatic. “Absolutely not - we talked about this, no scritchies until we can be sure it won’t bust more of Fox’s ribs!”

Fox’s mouth opens, and Thorn snickers mercilessly. Stone, far too dignified for it, buries a grin in a datapad. “It’s imprinted on you, Fox’ika”, he says instead, the traitor. “Tried to gte to you in the Jedi temple, but it wouldn’t fit - which is when we brought you here. The interior design was so butt-kriffing ugly it wouldn’t matter much to tear it out.”

“Imprinted?”, Fox asks, not even willing to touch on anything else that’s been said yet. An image flashes across the inside of his skull - him, tossing a space-tennis-ball into the air, and the Zillo Beast slithering off after it. In reality, it perks up and mrows hopefully at Fox God, he wishes he was still insensate. Thorn snickers again, and the desire increases tenfold.

“Yeah, like in that one holoshow, whatchacallit - with that one blonde chick, the Mother of Krayts - you know, the one that made Hound cry when they killed the loth wolves so we had to ban it in barracks?” Thorn’s eyes light up. “Wait, does that make you the mother of Zillos?!”

“Oooh, mummy Fox!”, Stabby screeches, the absolute traitor. Stone breaks out into barking laughter, and Thorn sounds like he’s actively asphyxiating. Fox hates them. Fox turns to the Zillo Beast.

“Please, please eat them.”

[blueskittlesart]

cant post this comic yet bc its not done but the difference between these roughs is sending me. lovingly rendered perfectly in-perspective boots vs A Literal Screenshot Of Some Rando On Youtube's Letsplay