#I know how to sew and I know how to customize shit so it should be like. fun. Likely

[aromanticannibal]

I have one kind, that never fails to look lovely. I make them all the time.

Felt, it is a quite cheap option in most stores, i am not sure about your country, however.

Though, it is colorful, and easy to sew by hand as the structure is not elastic. For these kinds of dolls, in specific, you might not even need a needle, just glue that will provide a durable life. They are little things you can make into tiny charms, earrings, pins, etc.

You just need a design, and the colors. You make a base with the design's sillouette, then cut the lines of it into pieces, then draw, and cut them in the cloth. Sew, or glue the pieces together in their place, example; If you need arms, you take the mold of the arms you cut out, and draw it in the color of felt you want, then you line it with your base. Think about it, as making a lineless drawing.

And you can also make a lot more thing with this methood. It is a fun collage, with thread and cloth. ⭐💫🌠✨ I might make a graphic to illustrate better.

my ass forgot to answer-

thank you sm for the tips I will look into it more

[cecilysobsessions]

STRIP THAT DOWN (m.) | gojo

↬ word count: 7k

↬ fem!reader, stripper!gojo, sub!gojo, inspiration comes from magic mike

↬ genre: fluff / smut

↬ summary: as the owner and operator of an all-male strip club, you cater to the women that prefer the pretty and feminine younger boys to give them lap dances. oddly enough, your most popular and most requested dancer is gojo satoru. he’s too muscular, too handsome, and entirely too annoying. and, of course, he doesn’t seem to be aware you find him irritating. 

↬ warnings: gojo wearing lingerie, gojo begging, gojo got a finger fetish, gojo getting spanked, anal (m. receiving but unfortunately no pegging 😔), gojo bent over a desk, typos but pretend you don’t see them

↬ a/n: this is for everyone that love men who whimper (myself) also i just turned 21! 🎉

m.list

•••

“Your hands feel so soft,” he says more to himself than you. Then, “I wonder how they’d feel in my mouth.”

“What?” you stifle a laugh and smile.

“What?”

•••

As the owner and operator of an all-male strip club, it wasn’t exactly as fun as some might think. 

You were constantly stuck helping your dancers adjust their g-strings between sweaty ass cheeks, constantly sewing back up ripped underwear, constantly throwing out people who got a little too touchy, and more gross things you’d rather not think about. 

After being in the business yourself for several years, your boss had mentioned that you had an eye for running things, so you thought you’d give it a try yourself. You just didn’t think you’d end up running an all-male strip club. 

You’re not sure how it happened—and you’d rather not focus on that right now because one of your dancers is waving a bra in your face, his voice frantic and panicked.

“BOSS! Hello?! I need help!” he aggressively waves the garment in front of your eyes.

“Why are you going to wear a bra for tonight’s show?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Suguru doesn’t even have enough chest to fit in that size!” you heard a voice from across the room. You were currently helping your dancers with a show tonight, stressed because your name was being called in a different direction every five seconds.

It was Gojo.

The brattiest, most entitled, self-centered, good for nothing employee of yours. Good God, every time he spoke you grew irritated, even if he wasn’t talking to you. Although he annoyed you to death with his overly talkative and cocky personality, he was the best dancer here. 

Even though you catered to older women who preferred younger more feminine men, Gojo brought in the most money, brought more customers back, helped scout more dancers, and helped train the most. You hated to admit it, but he really was your most valuable employee. 

“Don't body shame Suguru,” you half-heartedly scolded Gojo, watching him as you helped Geto. 

Gojo was yanking up a pair of skinny jeans past his long legs, struggling to fit into them because his ass wasn’t exactly the flattest. Although skinny jeans might not be trendy right now, the long length and the plump curve of his ass suited it well. Somehow sensing your staring, Gojo turns to you, the corners of his mouth turning up into a sly smirk.

“What’re ya starin’ at?” he asks you with a seductive smile.

You gag. “Get pants that fit better next time.” 

“Oh? Maybe I should just wear no pants then.” he teases and you respond with a roll of your eyes.

After helping the rest of your dancers with their various costumes, you gathered them for a quick before-shift pep talk.

“Alright boys, before we start tonight I want to let you know that one of our regulars, Mina, will be here tonight. Does anybody want to explain who she is to the newbies?”

“She’s an old rich lady who’s picky and has a shit ton of annoying ass requests that’ll make you want to rip your hair out and quit.” Gojo quickly chimes in. 

Being the favorite of the club had its downsides. For private dances, Mina almost always exclusively chose Gojo. Although she tips him well, he always complains about her to you afterwards. Without fail. Every single time.

“And what kind of requests?” you ask Gojo so that he will explain to the newer boys.

“She’ll ask to touch a lot of things if you do a private dance for her. It’s up to you on what you’re comfortable with, but when we’re out on the floor, no one’s allowed to touch anything.” he explains.

Although Gojo himself could be annoying and a burden to deal with, he is good at what he does. Without him, your club would have shut down a long time ago.

“Alright, thank you, Gojo. Let’s have fun tonight, shake some ass and make some money!” you declare and your employees cheer with their fists up. 

When you go to open the doors, the line outside begins to pile in. Nodding to your bouncer in acknowledgement, you watch the club goers by the entrance as you keep an eye out for your regulars or anyone who seems new. As you greet the women walking in, you feel someone bump shoulders with yours. Looking to your side, you look up to see Gojo standing by you in a silk robe and cowboy hat.

“Hey, boss.”

“Shouldn't you be getting ready?”

“I am ready. I got a cowboy bit tonight. The ladies will love it.” he tips his hat at you, playfully winking.

“I’m sure they will.” you spot Mina walk in, watching her take her usual seat towards the front of the stage.

“Will you watch me tonight?”

“No. I’ve got work to do in my office.”

You see Gojo look down and pout in the side of your eye. He’s disappointed. Well, he can stay disappointed. It’s not like this is the only time you can see him dance. 

“But Mina is here. I’d feel more comfortable knowing you’re on the floor if she asks me for a dance. I don’t want her trying anything.”

“She won’t.”

“Still. Please?” Gojo’s eyes have a natural sparkle in them it’s hard to say no. The way he so effortlessly holds eye contact with you and begs you through his eyes pisses you off.

“We’ll see.”

••• 

If there was one thing you didn’t want, it was any of your dancers feeling uncomfortable in the presence of any of your customers. Pushing aside all the paperwork that was piled up, you made your way to the floor when it was Gojo’s time slot.

You snaked your way through the back of the crowd, your eyes and ears struggling to adjust to the moving colorful lights and the wild screams and cheers from the women in the audience. You lean against a wall, watching Gojo as he gracefully circles a chair on the stage, sitting on it to hump the air aggressively as he rocks his hips to the slow slutty song he’s chosen for tonight. He seems visibly tense, but you don’t know why. When you look closely, you realize his eyes are searching for someone, perhaps Mina. You watch him feel himself up, hands moving to unbutton his shirt before he rips it off and throws it into the crowd of women. 

His hands teasingly run over his nipples, squeezing his pecs as he teases his audience more by unbuckling his belt. He looks down at his belt before he takes it off, tossing that item into the audience too. His eyes look back up, continuing to look for someone.

Gojo makes eye contact with you. 

Then, a smile of relief.

From then on to the end of the dance, you watch him visibly relax and loosen up a bit more. He’s feeling himself and having more fun, and you’re glad that you came out to watch him like he asked you to.

•••

You’re sitting at the bar massaging your temples with your fingers, a lousy attempt to soothe your worsening headache. You swear under your breath, regretting that you didn’t take painkillers the moment you began to feel your headache. Thankfully, the lights were dimmed and all your dancers had gone home so it was just you as you finished up your final paperwork for the night. You felt absolutely miserable doing it, though. Tonight was just one of those nights.

“Rough night?” you heard the entrance door being unlocked as a shadowed figure stepped in. Walking into the dimmed light, you watched Gojo approach you, a canned drink in his hand.

“Thirsty?” he offers, opening the soda can and handing it to you as he sits next to you, his knee brushing against your leg. 

“I don’t even like soda,” your eyes linger on his leg that has brushed up against yours, ignoring the fact that he feels warm against you.

“Yeah, well, that’s the first thing I saw at the convenience store.” he chuckles obnoxiously, and you can’t help but continue to stare at his knee that is still brushed up against your leg. 

“I thought you left,” you decide to ignore the warmth you feel from his long legs as you focus on doing your paperwork. You just want to go home. “I saw you leave.”

“I know you want to go home,” he answers, propping his chin on his hand and watching you write something down. “So I came back to help. You seemed a little off tonight.”

“I was not.”

“Was it because I came in late? Were you wondering why I was late when I’m never late?”

“You were late?!” you didn’t even notice.

“You didn’t even notice,” Gojo pouts, one of his hands coming down to rest on the surface, near the paperwork you’re doing. You can’t help but stare at his long fingers, your eyes tracing the prominent veins on his hand. 

When you look up, his eyes are staring into yours through his sunglasses that sit crookedly on his nose. You don’t know if he was always sitting so close, but right now his face was leaning into yours, holding eye contact with you as his eyes gazed into yours. He blinks slowly, watching you for any sort of reaction to his stupid deep gaze.

“If you come in late again you’re fired.” you spit out in a panic and look back down to your paperwork. His stupid blue eyes were distracting you and you didn’t want him to know just how much it was affecting you. What was wrong with you?

He lights up, his smile reaching his eyes. He seems satisfied now that you’ve said something. “Yes, ma’am. Tell me what you need help with.”

“Just lock everything up.”

“That’s it?”

“And fix your glasses.”

“The crookedness adds to my sexiness. Anything else?”

“I don’t trust you to do anything else.”

“What about taking you home? Do you trust me doing that?” he playfully asks. 

“I can get home just fine.”

“It’s not safe. And besides, can’t I spend time with my favorite person?” he teases, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“You really won’t leave me alone, huh?”

“I really don’t want to.”

“Gojo,” you begin. You didn’t have the time or energy to banter with him.

“Call me by my first name.” he asks, a slight pout on his pretty lips.

“That’s weird.”

“But you call Suguru by his first name. Why not me?”

You’re surprised he noticed a small detail like that. “No. And Gojo?” you say as you stand, wondering if he’ll pout about it again.

“Yes?” he’s standing up now, his eyes peering down into yours as he looks at you from up above. He’s more than a full head taller than you, and the fact that he’s staring down at you with an air of arrogance and his stupid smirk makes you want to put him in his place.

There is a moment of tension that rises. It hangs thick in the air and feels dependent on you. On what you will do. On what you will say. You’re not sure what makes it too weird compared to the other late nights you spent with Gojo closing. 

Maybe it’s the dimmed lights or the late hours, but Gojo was looking at you with bedroom eyes so you forced yourself to look towards the door behind him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” you start packing up your stuff. Now that Gojo is bothering you, you decide that you’ll just finish everything at home.

“Wait,” his hand lands on the top of yours, his thumb slightly caressing your knuckles to stop you from gathering your things.

“I wanted to thank you for tonight. For watching me. For… for being there for me.” his voice fades, and you know it’s because he's feeling shy and embarrassed. He’s docile and quiet, something he often does when he gets vulnerable with you. You find it quite adorable.

“You’re welcome.” you go to ruffle his hair, but as you’re about to pull your hand away, he catches it one more, moving it so that you’re caressing his cheek. It’s soft, sculpted.

You watch him stare at you in awe. If anybody walked in at this moment, they would think it’s loving and intimate. 

“I really thought you wouldn’t come out.” he confesses in a whisper, nuzzling against your palm as his eyes close in bliss. 

“Clearly you thought wrong.” you don’t make a move to pull away, and neither does he.

When his eyes open, they are droopy. Gojo smiles softly, guiding your knuckles to his mouth as he presses a gentle kiss to them. When you give him a small smile, he kisses your hand again, this time it’s your ring finger. He kisses the back of your hand, then turns your arm so that he can kiss the inside of your wrist. And finally, his soft lips make their way to caress your palm as he kisses your hand one last time.

You’re not surprised Gojo is being physically affectionate with you. After all, he’s physically affectionate with almost everyone at the club, so it’s not weird to see him kissing people’s cheeks and giving bear hugs to every person he sees. But what he’s doing right now… it’s oddly intimate. Something you thought he’d never do. Especially since he isn’t saying anything playful or flirty. He’s completely serious right now, eyes unwavering as he watches for your reaction.

“Clearly I did.” He may not be kissing your hand anymore, but he’s holding it in his and studying it; watching it as if it’s fascinating. His thumb smooths over your skin, rubbing it gently with love. You feel your heartbeat speed up all of a sudden, your cheeks hot with embarrassment. 

“Your hands feel so soft,” he says more to himself than you. Then, “I wonder how they’d feel in my mouth.”

“What?” you stifle a laugh and smile.

“What?”

•••

It was 10am. And Gojo was staring down at you, shades sitting on top of his nose, his eyes peeking out from underneath. You had given Gojo a spare key to your apartment in case of emergencies since he lives a little far from the club and you’re closer. He usually let you know in advance if he was coming over to crash at your place, and the times he did it was because it was too late and he was too tired to go to his own place. But today he decided not to and he knows you don’t get up until after noon so why the hell was he here now and what did he want?

“Get out.” you spat out, crankiness lacing your voice as you turned your body to the other side of the bed and covered your face with the blanket.

“It’s an emergency.”

“Call an ambulance.”

“But it’s a fashion emergencyyy,” he pleads, gently shaking your shoulder. “I forgot to buy lingerie for tonight’s show.”

Tonight was a Saturday night, which meant it was going to be busy. Lots of customers which meant lots of tips. On nights like these, Gojo always decided to dance to something more erotic, sexier than his usual dances. He had mentioned a couple nights ago that he wanted to try out lingerie for the weekend.

“Take Suguru. Leave me alone.” you shooed him away from under the covers.

“But you live closer to the mall. Pleaaaaase? I’ll buy you breakfast and your morning coffee.” he asked.

Your head peaked from beneath the blanket and you eyed his outfit. A black compression shirt and grey sweatpants. You looked away quickly, trying to ignore how well the shirt fit snug around his biceps and chest area, and how low his sweatpants hung on his hips you caught a glimpse of his v-line.

“Fine. But you come in early to help set up. Since you were late the other day.”

You tried to ignore the looks people were giving you at the mall, but you couldn’t help but notice how everyone’s stares lingered on Gojo, or how you saw women old enough to be your grandma giving googly eyes at Gojo everytime the two of you walked by. You knew he was attractive, so why did you feel a pang of jealousy anytime anyone stared at him in awe? 

Gojo just had to wear the tightest and smallest clothes he could find. The way his pecs were so clearly defined from his stupid compression shirt and how tightly snug it was and how if you looked closely enough and for long enough, you’d notice the slight bump of his nipples through the thin fabric. 

Not to mention his sweats. Fitted, but still loose. Fitted as in you could make out the shape of the curves of his ass as he walked, but loose around his hips that his sweatpants were barely hanging by a thread. It was distracting. Eyeing him again as he sifted through lingerie, you try to ignore the slight bulge through his pants. 

“—don’t you think?” Gojo asks, turning to you and holding up the thinnest, sluttiest lingerie you’ve ever seen. It was black and thin and lacy and delicate looking. Gojo would definitely rip it while dancing.

“Too thin,” you shook your head, pretending to ignore whatever he said because you were too busy checking him out.

Turns out he noticed you staring. “You don’t even know what I said.” he tilts his head to look at you. Eyeing you up and down.

“I know what you said. I’m just ignoring you.” you brushed him off, suddenly self conscious and walking to another section of the store and searching through the different sets of lingerie.

“You were too busy looking at my tits to hear anything I said.” Gojo follows you, smirking down at you with his usual stupid arrogance that pisses you off. 

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Jealous because they’re bigger than yours?” his eyes slightly moved down to your chest, before gazing back up into your eyes.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Stop changing the subject. Here,” you picked up a bra and panty set that seemed more suitable for stripping. “You won’t rip this accidentally.” It was red and thicker and less lacy than the other set he picked up, but this one was definitely sexier and bolder. 

“I’ll try it on.”

You assumed people thought you and Gojo were shopping for you because unless you’re being dramatic, you definitely felt stares of jealousy from random people who walked by. And when Gojo asked an associate to try on his clothes—hangers of solely lingerie, you ignored the stares again. You were sitting outside the dressing room when you felt your phone ringing and saw that it was Gojo.

“Come in and help me.” he immediately said when you picked up.

“What? Why?”

“It’s—it’s a little stuck. I can't take it off. Shit’s way too tight.” he whispers through the phone.

“Why did you put it on in the first place if it was too small?” you lectured.

“I thought I could take it off! I didn’t think it’d be this hard. Help me.” you could hear the desperation and panic in his voice through the phone.

You rolled your eyes, hanging up the phone and walking up to the employee by the dressing rooms. 

“My friend needs help taking off their clothes. Mind if I go in?” she brushed you off with a wave and you walked into the dressing room area, trying to look near the floor to get a peek at which room Gojo was in.

“Gojo?” you whispered, hoping the other customers wouldn’t hear. 

You instantly saw his hand come from beneath the dressing door, waving you towards him. When he opened the door and let you in, your eyes took in the sight in front of him. 

He was right. The lingerie was way too tight around his body. The bra squished his chest together too tightly you saw a cleavage forming and it was for sure better than yours. Looking down at the panties had you staring at him in silence. It was too small you could see his dick slightly sticking out, his tip a soft pink.

“Stop staring and help me!” he stood there and whisper-yelled at you. His hands automatically covered his crotch and your eyes moved back up to his face. His face was flushed, almost looking like the afterglow after sex. His cheeks were a pretty pink and his eyes were looking everywhere but you. His eyebrows were furrowed in worry as he pleaded for your help.

“This is so embarrassing, please do something.”

You nodded, walking over to him and turning him around so his back was towards you and he was facing the mirror. You were going to start by trying to undo the bra clasp, but when you looked up, you saw Gojo watching you in the mirror. Ignoring him, you focused on the bra. Tugging at it, you finally got it open after fiddling with it and it snapped open immediately. Eyeing the marks it left on his back, your fingers lightly trace them in an attempt to soothe it.

“Turn around. Lemme see your front.” you demand, and he automatically turns to face you, his eyes watching your every move. 

Your fingers move slightly over the red irritated skin on his chest. Almost like you were under some spell, you traced the red lines, gently rubbing them to soothe it. Gojo’s chest heaves and he lets out a breath he unknowingly was holding. When you look up, his cheeks are red and his lips are parted and he’s looking at you like he’s begging you to kiss him. You didn’t realize you were standing too close to him in this cramped dressing room.

“Gojo?”

“Yes?” His voice is breathy and light and barely a whisper. You could feel your heartbeat beating in your ears and the silence is way too loud and the only thing you can hear are the other customers outside changing.

You lay your hand flat down on his chest above his heart, wanting to see if he was feeling just as nervous as you. And he was. His heartbeat was a panicked rush and he was looking at you like he was waiting for you to make a move.

“Am I making you nervous?” you ask, leaning up towards him, your lips just inches from his.

“Yes.” his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat, and he looks at you, gaze focused on you and you only.

“Is that all?” you ask, wanting more from him. You could tell he was turned on; you didn’t need to look down at his crotch to confirm it. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing was abnormal and he was looking at you like he was begging you to fuck him with his eyes.

“You make me more than just nervous.” he admits. 

“Oh?” you waited, a silent beat hanging in the air.

“You make me hard too.” he confirmed, his voice a mere whisper. 

Just as you were about to lean into him to kiss him, you heard a loud knock at the changing room door. 

“Hey! We don’t allow more than one person in each stall!” the employee on the other side nagged.

“Oh, I’m just helping my friend take off their clothes!” you quickly step away from Gojo, turning around. 

“You can take off the underwear by yourself, right? Hurry up!”

•••

Gojo is avoiding you. 

Normally you’d be happy, relaxed, welcoming to that sort of behavior. But today it was weird. Ever since yesterday, he has been avoiding you like the plague. Even going so far as ignoring you completely when he walked in on time today and you tried to greet him. 

Gojo almost never avoids; actually it’s always the opposite. When he’s not busy, he’s following you around like a puppy and carrying out any order you bark at him. Cleaning the tables, sweeping the floor, whatever it was, he was happy to do it for you. Only today he hasn’t spoken a word to you. Hasn’t even glanced at you. 

So why did it bother you so much?

As you help set up the bar with Geto, your eyes follow Gojo’s movements as he moves across the floor, setting up the tables and chairs for tonight’s opening.

“Your eyes are drilling holes into him. Something happened between the two of you?” Geto asks by your side as you wipe a wine glass clean.

“He’s ignoring me.”

“That’s new. What’d he do?”

You think back to the last couple days. His lips on your hands. His soft, whispered tone as he stared into your eyes with those stupid bright blue ocean eyes of his. Then in the dressing room, how he became so obviously aroused by you just touching him slightly. How there was so much tension you would have fucked him right then and there if you weren’t interrupted.

“Who knows,” you shrugged it off, deciding to act like it wasn’t a big deal that Gojo was ignoring you. It totally wasn’t. Not at all. It wasn’t like you’ve been staring at him the moment he came in wondering why he won’t talk to you or anything like that. Not at all.

You’re not sure what happened tonight, but Mina stopped by to speak with you, concerned for Gojo.

“He wasn’t like his usual self tonight,” she told you. “It’s like his head was totally somewhere else. I didn’t even ask to touch his beautifully sculpted big rock hard cock like I usually do.”

“You didn’t need to tell me the last part, Mina.” you scrunch your nose in disgust at her words.

“I’m saying I’m worried. You should check up on the boy. Maybe you’re overworking him, eh?” she told you with a shake of her finger as she exited through the doors as the last customer.

You didn’t watch Gojo tonight and decided to stay in your office, so you wondered if that had anything to do with him not doing his best tonight. Wanting to find out, you started looking for Gojo throughout the establishment. The break room, the bathroom, the changing room, but he was nowhere to be found. Just when you walk back to your office to call him, you open the door to find him leaning against your desk, arms crossed across his chest.

“Who said you could come into my office?” you close the door, ignoring the fact that he’s leaning on your desk and wearing his stupid compression shirt and gray sweatpants. 

He ignores you, instead, choosing to follow you behind your desk and stare at you some more. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Ignore me.”

“What? I’m ignoring you? Do you hear yourself? I tried to say hi to you when you walked in, and you pretended to not know I was there. You’re the one who’s been ignoring me.” you told him.

“You ignored me first.” he sighs in frustration, looking away with a pout on his pretty lips.

“Gojo, what’re you talking about?”

“Yesterday! In the dressing room. You almost kissed me. You know I wanted to kiss you too. Then after that, you just pretended like nothing happened. And I hate that you don’t call me Satoru.” he almost rolls his eyes, whining and complaining like a child.

Oh. So that’s what he was hurt about. He wasn’t wrong; you did kind of just brush off whatever happened in the dressing room and pretended like nothing happened. But that’s because you didn’t know how to deal with your feelings and you assumed he didn’t want you like that. 

You’re fucking stupid.

“I’m sorry,” you stand up quickly, moving so that you’re standing in front of him. His legs part slightly, letting you stand in his personal space as he manspreads all over your desk. 

“I just assumed you didn’t think much of it, and I didn’t want to look stupid if I made a move or said anything about it.” you confessed, watching him for his reaction.

“You do look stupid,” he jests, eyes lighting back up, empty of his worries and concerns. “I’ll forgive you if you call me Satoru. No more Gojo this, Gojo that. I want you to call me Satoru.”

You throw him a thankful smile. “Mina was worried about you. She told me today before she left. Said you weren’t doing your best.”

“Mina can go kick the bucket.” 

You gasp and hit him jokingly. “Hey! She practically pays your rent!”

He wrinkles his nose in annoyance. “I got a bigger size for the lingerie. It got me my best tips ever.”

“Even though you were out of it tonight?”

“Yeah…” he says quietly, taking a moment to think to himself. “But I think I ripped it.”

“You should just buy a new one then. Don’t sew it up.”

“Hmm. I think you can sew it. At least take a look at it.” 

When you reluctantly agree, Gojo spreads his legs a little further, his hands wrapping around your waist to pull you further into him. Your eyes automatically move down to his crotch as he presses you against it, the outline of his hardened dick against your legs. He swiftly takes off his shirt, the red bra sitting against his chest. 

“You’re staring.” he observes aloud.

“No, I’m not.” you reply, your eyes trained on his hardened nipples that are practically peeking out through the lacy thin bra.

When you finally manage to tear your eyes away from his body and actually inspect the bra, you see that it’s actually in perfect condition and not ripped at all.

Then you realize what Gojo is doing. 

“You idiot! You didn’t rip your stupid bra! You just wanted an excuse to take off your clothes.” you finally look up at his eyes with a glare. His stupid ocean eyes stare down at you arrogantly, a playful smirk painted on his pretty face as he sticks his tongue out at you.

“You’re totally right. I lied to you. How mean of me to lie directly to your face, huh?” he tells you sarcastically.

You raise an eyebrow at his sarcasm. Where was he going with this?

“I suppose I might need to be punished for that.” he says, his voice bored and waiting.

You take a moment to think about what he’s asking from you. It was obvious enough he wanted you the way you wanted him; his hardened cock was throbbing against your leg and his hips began to slightly move against your body, a subtle desperation for any sort of friction.

But what exactly did he want? Did he want you to suck him off, or bend you over the desk and fuck you? Gojo didn’t seem like the type to want to do that though; from his interactions with you, he was definitely one for harsh punishments that caused pain. Masochistic little bitch.

While you’re busy thinking, your eyes stay on his lips, perfectly soft and begging to be kissed. So you lean in, pressing a warm and pleasant kiss to his lips. Gojo almost immediately gives into your warmth, leaning in closer to you, his hands wrapping around your waist. He exhales a shaky breath against your cheek, kissing you back gently. When you pull back and look at him, he raises an eyebrow.

“That didn’t feel like a punishment.”

“What kind of punishment were you thinking of?” you ask, because you weren’t about to waste your time guessing.

“Oh, I don’t know… perhaps a couple of spanks might suffice. And maybe while I’m bent over your desk.” he wonders aloud to himself.

You laugh out loud. He’s definitely thought this scenario through. Without replying verbally, you grab Gojo by the front of his bra, aggressively yanking him towards you as you greet him with a kiss. This time it’s not as soft or gentle as the first one. You’re more aggressive this time, biting down on his bottom lip and licking the inside of his mouth. He moans into your mouth, his legs wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him. His moans are dripping with desire, so desperate for more as he kisses you harder, overly excited and clumsy. 

“Pants off. Now.” you breathe into the kiss and pull away for a second. 

But Gojo is still kissing you. Your cheek, the side of your mouth; any part of your skin he can reach with his mouth. His hands are shakily tugging at his jeans, impatiently trying to yank them down. His legs leave your waist and you yank him off the desk, roughly turning him around and bending him over your desk. Pushing your things aside, you finish stripping him of his pants and they pool at his ankles.

You look down at him, taking the sight of him in. The back of his neck is flushed red, one of his bra straps is falling down his shoulder, and his curved ass cheeks are rubbing against your legs, hungry for some sort of stimulation. He’s wearing a thong, the string between his ass cheeks thin and so easy to rip off. 

Your hand caresses his ass, soothing his skin before you slap him lightly, curious as to how much he can take.

“Nghh,” he whimpers lowly. “Hit me harder.” he demands, arching his back and sticking his ass further up the air for you.

Cautiously, you smack his ass harder than the first time, and you watch his pale skin turn a bright red. 

“More.”

You give in to Gojo’s demands once more, leaning over his back and smacking his ass. You lean close to his face as he lets out a high pitched whine. 

“Quit telling me what to do, Satoru.” you harshly whisper in his ear, and he moans in return, excited to hear you call him by his first name for the first time. He rubs his ass against you again, whines of pleasure escaping his lips.

“Hnghh, spank me harder, please.” he asks you.

“You could beg a little more if you’re that needy.” you tell him with a slap to his ass, listening to the sweet sounds of his whines.

“Nghh, p-please… please…” 

“Please what? What would you like me to do to you, Satoru?” you emphasize his name, enjoying his whimper of pleasure every time his name escapes your lips.

“I want more… more than your hands on my ass.” he’s quiet, almost shy and too embarrassed to admit what he really desires.

“What would that be, hm?” your hands place on his waist, your fingers rubbing in circles on his soft skin as you whisper into his ear. “Is it just more spanking you want? Or do you want me to fuck you?”

“Mmm, God, y-yes please. Please, please fuck me. I’m so hard and horny, please let me come.” he begs you, his voice high and whiny and desperate.

“How do you want me to fuck you?” your fingers make their way between his ass, ghosting over his hole as you kiss the back of his neck, sucking hard on his skin to mark him. 

“Hnghh,” he whimpers, unable to reply.

“Answer me.” you demand, smacking his ass once more.

“F-fuck, ahh… your fingers. I-I want them in my ass. Stretch me out and fuck me until I cum, please.” Gojo finally voices, a breath of relief leaving his chest. “There’s lube in your left drawer.” he tells you, out of breath and impatiently waiting.

“Did you put that there without telling me?” you ask, taking it out from your desk. 

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for this exact moment for months.”

“What a slut you are,” you laugh, yanking down his panties and pouring the cold liquid between his ass. He moans as you lean over him again, your finger rubbing at his entrance. “How long have you been wanting me to fuck you?”

“Mmm, since I started working for you.” 

You didn’t realize Gojo had a thing for you for that long. He’s one of the OG employees that have been with you since you opened the club a couple years back. You thought it was odd he never dated much, but it turns out it was because he was too busy pining over you to consider anyone else.

While you’re distracted thinking about how long Gojo has wanted you, his voice draws your attention back to his body.

“C-Can you touch my… me, please.” he asks shyly.

“Where?”

“My cock, please.”

You smile, glad he was clearly asking for what he wanted from you. You reach down to grab his dick, stroking it firmly as your other hand works on his ass. His tip is already wet with pre-cum, and his hips are thrusting in your hand as he moans with every stroke from you.

“You’re dripping wet,” you tell him. “Ready to cum already?”

“Haaaah, I want to cum from your fingers. I bet they’re gonna feel so good inside me.” he says. Then, “you can put one finger in. I’m ready.”

You happily oblige, slowly and steadily entering his hole with one finger, and he immediately tightens around you. Your lips stay on his neck, peppering him with small kisses to aid him through the process.

“Good job, Satoru. You’re taking it so well.”

“Haaah, I love it when you call me by my name.” he tightens around you after he hears you using his name, his hardened cock throbbing in your hand as you loosen him up. 

You slowly work him open, kissing and sucking and licking his skin as he shudders and moans beneath you. But your walls are thin and Gojo is too loud. His moans are growing louder the more you fuck him with your fingers, and you’re getting worried someone might somehow hear even though it’s after hours. 

“You’re too loud.” you tell him, roughly shoving your fingers into him as a small punishment. 

You should’ve known he was going to enjoy it.

“Unghh,” he whimpers, louder than his other moans. His back arches once more, shoving his ass into your fingers and clenching around you, desperate for more. “C-can’t help it. Feels too good.” he moans out. 

Your other hand leaves his front, covering his mouth with your palm. He moans as you continue fucking him, your office dead silent besides his moaning and the sound of your fingers fucking him. You feel his tongue against your hand, licking his leftover pre-cum off your hand. 

“Filthy slut,” you tell him, and he tightens around you in response, sticking his tongue out so you can shove your fingers in his throat. 

His mouth is warm and his tongue wraps around your digits, taking them into his mouth and sucking. His eyebrows draw together and he closes his eyes in pleasure, trembling with pleasure. He’s practically fucking himself on your fingers, hips moving on their own as he chases his high. You finger him roughly, leaning down to leave hickeys on his neck as he continues to thrust into you and suck and moan on your fingers. He practically screams in pleasure when you take him over the edge, his hips stuttering as he spurts on your floor. He breathes heavily against you as you rub his ass, your other hand leaving his mouth. 

“Good?” you ask after a couple minutes of letting him catch his breath.

“Call me by my first name.”

“Satoru?” you ask and he stands back up and turns around to look at you.

You laugh at the sight of him: pants pooled at his ankles, hair tousled and sticking to his forehead with sweat, and cheeks red, and his bra barely hanging on.

“Why are you laughing at me,” he pouts, pulling his sweats back up in embarrassment. 

“I didn’t know you liked being fucked like that.” you point out, wiping your hands. 

“Well, I am a filthy slut.” he winks, his hands coming up to your shoulders and guiding you to sit in your office chair. “My turn.”

“Clean your jizz up first.” you nod towards the spot on the floor where he finished. 

His cheeks flush. “After I eat you out.”

•••

a/n: yall i was too lazy to write the second smut scene so use your imagination 😂 i’m too excited to write my enemies to lovers zuko story so stay tuned! (btw i totally named this fic after that one song by liam payne lmao)

m.list

[dipperscavern]

'Tis the chonk, back it again. The brain worms, man. They never stop.

So, I'm in the Dragon Age fandom, a fantasy game if you didn't know, and a fairly common fanfic trope is MGIT, which stands for Modern Girl in Thedas. Basically, present day reader magically being transported into the world of Dragon Age.

I'm thinking, Modern Girl in Westeros? Eh? Gen Z reader magically being transported to ASOIAF and is like, "Queen Daenerys is serving cunt today," and gets fucking burnt to a crisp because everyone thought she was calling her a cunt.

Imagine if we were on some Deadpool shit and just wouldn't fucking die. Breaking the fourth wall and shit. Making references literally no one would understand.

Reader calls Joffrey a twink and gets fucking beheaded.

GEN Z READERREERRRRR!!!

gen z reader getting magically transported to asioaf on some jumanji shit.. waking up as a tyrell/baratheon/lannister/stark/arryn/targaryen etc. being so culture shocked & panicking because you don’t know how to sew? how to speak properly in this time period?

you spend what little time you have alone worrying. of course, eventually, you’re called to perform and act naturally, as a lady should. you don’t know how, but it’s like you have two different mindsets. in your mind, you think regularly. well — as regular as modern gen z can get.

— a girl is in a beautiful dress? who is this DIVA

— a man gets beheaded? he forgot to thank beyoncé

— someone says they aren’t hungry at a feast? should we call bella hadid

but it comes out of your mouth as

— “I beg pardon, I don’t believe we’ve met. Your dress is lovely.”

— “May the gods have mercy on his soul.”

— “Are you feeling ill, my lady?”

and when needed, you do know how to sew. you know all the customs, how to properly address people, how to braid your hair, which utensils are used for what in dining. all while useful & allowing you to blend in, these are the least of your worries.

war is coming, you know it is, but now you’re in the midst of it. and alike a bloodraven, you know everything that’s going to happen before it happens. which also means you have a chance to change the outcome.

[xiaq]

Steddie outsider POV fic Pt. 4

AO3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Eddie watches Steve leave the hospital room and Will watches Eddie watch Steve leave. 

The longing is familiar. Will thinks—he hopes—that he hides his inadvisable crush a little better. Then again, Will is not currently high as a kite on painkillers recovering from a near-fatal injury. Eddie probably can’t help the way he looks at Steve right now. 

“Are you in love with him?” Will asks. It’s maybe unfair to ask, all things considered. They barely know each other. But if Eddie is like him; if Eddie knows, he’d give anything to find someone to talk to. To see himself in. Especially someone like Eddie.

Eddie closes his eyes.

He doesn’t answer for several seconds. When he does, it's resigned. “Maybe.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Will says, because he’d want to hear it.

Eddie opens his eyes to roll them. “I know, kid. You ain’t too subtle either.” He makes a moue of distaste. “And you have shit taste in men. You could absolutely do better. At least I chose a suitably gorgeous out-of-my-league object of worship. If you’re going to pine after someone unattainable, have the self-respect to pick a really,” he sighs, the roll of words slowing to a crawl, “really impressive specimen.”

“Hey. I do not have—I think you’re hot.”

“You’re just confirming my point,” he says, gesturing to his admittedly pretty battered face. “Shit taste in men.”

Will feels like he should probably tell Eddie not to talk about himself like that, but he’s never been good at stuff like this.

“Steve has been here every day,” Will points out. 

“Because we bonded through trauma and he thinks he owes me for valiantly saving Henderson’s life at the near expense of my own. We all know Dustin is his favorite.”

“I’m just saying. My situation is hopeless. I know that. Yours might not be.”

“Please stop talking, Byers.”

“Sorry. Can I ask about something else?”

“Sure kid.” Eddie sounds exhausted.

“When did you know? That you were—uh.”

“When didn’t I know,” he mutters. “I don’t think I ever had the luxury of not knowing.”

“But you’re so…”

Will gestures at him: the bandana holding back his curls, the rings and the nail polish and the oversized Metallica shirt Steve had cut down the back and added a safety pin fastening to at the top so the nurses still had easy access for bandage changes.

“You’re so cool. Different. Loud. And the guys said you aren’t afraid of anything. That you’ll get in jocks’ faces and make speeches standing on cafeteria tables. How do you do that without being afraid?”

“Being afraid of what?” Eddie asks, “Afraid if I’m noticeable people might notice? That I’m gay?”

He says it so easily. Will has never even said the word out loud. “Yeah.”

Eddie shifts, wincing, as he reaches to scratch his chin. “I was never good at being subtle, is the thing. So I didn't have much of a choice. But in middle school I started getting into fights. Because people suspected. By high school I figured if people were going to stare I’d give them a reason before they could make their own. It was—”

He drops his hand, flexing his fingers, considering the rings on them.

“It was sort of like designing a character. Except the character was myself. The summer before freshman year, my uncle took me to Indy and we hit all the thrift stores. Found me a whole new wardrobe, and he taught me to sew to customize some vests. I figured it’d be easier to BS my way through acting brave if I looked the part.”

“And that worked?”

“It worked,” Eddie agrees quietly, attention still on his hands. “Maybe a little too well.”

“Huh.”

Will touches the slightly jagged line of his hair. He tugs the collar of his shirt and studies the scuffed toes of his sneakers. “If I wanted to do something like that, would you help me?”

“Of course,” Eddie says. “Yeah, of course. Just say when.” 

***

Three months later, Will drives to Eddie’s trailer in his shiny new bribe-from-the-government car and knocks on the door.

There’s a crash, a muffled thump, and then Eddie hissing, “Ow, fuck—no don’t, I’m fine, just stay––I know, but hold on. I think it’s one of the kids.”

“Uh…Eddie?” Will calls. “Are you ok?”

“Fine! Totally fine. One second.”

And then Eddie is wrenching open the door just wide enough that he can poke his head out. His mouth is red. His face is flushed. He’s wearing jeans that are neither buttoned or zipped and it is readily apparent that there’s no underwear underneath them. Will drags his attention back up to Eddie’s face, probably slower than he should, but Eddie is hot, even with––maybe especially with––all his scars. Sue him.

“Hi,” Eddie says, more a panted exhalation than an actual word. “What’s up?”

“Hi.”

Will may have woefully nonexistent sexual experience, but he knows what a hickey looks like. And Eddie has…a lot of them. He has like, an entire necklace of hickies.

Eddie frowns at him, follows the direction of his attention, and then brings up a hand to cover his throat. “Oh, you motherfucker,” he mutters.

“Sorry?”

“No no, not you.”

“I can…come back later,” Will says. “If you’re doing something else.”

He thinks he hears muffled laughter from inside.

Eddie sighs. “It’s fine.” he glances behind him, running a harried hand through his even-wilder-than-normal hair. “My boyfriend is here, but he can wait.”

“Oh. Oh.” Will is sort of dumbfounded that Eddie found someone in Hawkins. Maybe he’s not from Hawkins. Maybe he’s visiting from somewhere else? “That’s great. That’s really great, Eddie. But what about––”

“SO,” Eddie says loudly, before Will can say Steve’s name, “why is it that you’ve graced my humble abode with your presence, Will the Wise?”

“Um,” Will says. “You know that thing we talked about, in the hospital?”

“We talked about numerous and sundry things in the the hospital.”

“About not being afraid anymore. About giving people something to look at.”

Eddie’s expression softens. “I do.”

“I think I’m ready to not be afraid anymore. But I need help.”

“I see. How wild are we getting here, kid?”

“Hair and clothes. And maybe…I was thinking maybe get my ear pierced.”

Eddie whistles. “I’m honored you’ve selected me to accompany you on this journey. Is there anyone else you want to join the party?”

“I was thinking maybe Steve. Except he wasn’t home when I went by earlier. I thought I saw his car parked a few houses down from here, though. He might be at Max’s.”

Eddie presses his palms together like he’s praying, and touches pursed lips to his index fingers. “Give me a minute,” he says. And abruptly disappears behind a slammed door.

There’s frantic whispering, a choked off laugh, and then the door is being pulled open again by—

Steve.

“Holy shit,” Will says.

Steve is also shirtless; his pants are at least buttoned. His chest looks like it’s been clawed by an Eddie-sized cat, though.

Will tries to tell his dick that the situation is mortifying, not sexy. His dick does not agree. 

“So,” Steve clears his throat. “Impromptu trip to Indy?”

“We’ve both got work tomorrow,” Eddie says, “but Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Will agrees.

He can’t stop staring at Steve’s arm, curled proprietarily around Eddie’s waist; at Eddie’s hand resting on Steve’s wrist, like he’s not even conscious of its placement. Will wants that. He wants it so bad it winds him.

“Hey. Don’t make that face,” Eddie says, like he knows exactly what Will is thinking. He probably does. “You’re sixteen. You’ve got time. Hardly anyone ends up with their highschool crush. I’m an outlier.”

“And no offense dude, but Mike?” Steve says, “You could totally do better.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Hold on,” Steve backtracks, turning to look at Eddie. “I was your teenage crush?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “What? No.”

“That’s literally what you just said.”

“We really need to get you back to that concussion doctor,” Eddie says, “because clearly you’re hearing things, and auditory hallucinations are very concerning.”

“Hey,” Will interrupts. 

Those both turn back to look at him.

“I’m driving,” he says, trying to sound firm. “I’ll pick you both up here at 9am on Saturday.”

“You’re assuming I’ll already be here?” Steve asks.

“Won’t you?” Will argues.

“I like this assertiveness, Byers,” Eddie says approvingly. “A+ start. But maybe you pick us up at ten.”

“Nine,” he repeats. “See you then.”

He nods decisively and turns to walk back through the yard.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters behind him. “These kids are going to kill me.”

“Shut up, you love them,” Eddie says, and then, louder, “Hey Byers, keep this to yourself, will you? At least for now.”

Will holds out his hand, thumb up.

When he gets back in the car, Will puts in a Dio tape and cranks up the volume. He grins all the way home.

***

Will arrives at the final Hellfire club meeting of the summer wearing a cropped Black Sabbath shirt, ripped jeans that rival Eddie’s, and shitkicker boots that were well worth the eye-watering amount of money he paid for them. His hair is fresh-shaved on the sides and slicked back on top. The guys are mostly used to his new look by now but Max and El both give him appreciative once-overs that are gratifying. 

“Bitchin,” El says approvingly.

Will’s attention doesn’t linger on Mike. Doesn’t look for his specific reaction. It hurts less to look at him, now; gets easier every day to see him and El and not feel like their affection is engineered to hurt him. It helps that he’s gone back to Indy twice since he went with Steve and Eddie. He’s still too baby-faced to get into the bars, but he can wander through the record stores and thrift shops in the neighborhood. Sit in a cafe where no one knows him or his name. Flirt, carefully, while bumming a cigarette from a cute guy with a bandana in his pocket. The world is so much bigger than Hawkins. And he’s going to see it one day.

However, he’s still stuck there for two more years, and he plans to make the best of his time. Exhibit A:   Today is both the end of Eddie’s final campaign, and the day in which Eddie selects his successor as dungeon master.

Will thinks, maybe, it might be him. He wants it to be him.

Except when he gets to the basement, there’s no sign of Eddie. And Eddie is never late.

“Has anyone talked to him today?” Dustin asks. He’s pacing.

No one has.

“Have you tried calling him?” Will asks.

“Yeah.”

“Have you tried calling Steve?”

“Why would I call Steve?”

“Maybe just try? They’ve been hanging out a lot recently.”

Max meets his eyes and Will gets the distinct feeling she knows.

Dustin stomps up the stairs, then back down again a minute later.

“No one picked up at Steve’s house either.”

“Robin?” El suggests.

Dustin groans and heads back upstairs.

“No,” he yells down. “Any other suggestions?”

“Family Video,” Lucas shouts. 

“Or the garage!” Mike says.

Dustin has a muffled conversation first with someone who is clearly neither Steve nor Robin at Family Video, and then a longer conversation with someone else at the garage. It’s full of stops and starts and anxious-sounding questions.

“Guys,” Dustin says, coming back down the stairs. “I think Eddie and Steve might be in trouble.”

“I’ll drive,” Will says. 

They’re piled in the car and tearing off toward the garage in a matter of minutes.

“Tell me again what he said,” Max demands.

“Jason Carver and some of the guys came in to drop off a car and they were harassing Eddie last week. Since then, they’d been waiting in the parking lot across the street sometimes when Eddie got off work. So Steve has been picking him up.”

“Okay but what about today?”

“He didn’t know!” Dustin’s voice cracks in Will’s ear where he’s leaned forward over the center console from the back seat. “He said that Eddie came in to work a few hours in the morning and Steve picked him up. That Jason and his friends may have followed them but he wasn’t certain.”

“What time?”

“Over an hour ago.”

“Shit.”

“Where would they go? If they’re not at their houses?”

“The quarry,” Will says. “Or skull rock.”

“Why would they go there?” Dustin shrieks.

Will meets Max’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

He abruptly changes course.

Quarry first.

His stomach goes sour when they round the corner. Because there are two vehicles at the quarry. One is Steve’s BMW.  There’s a rucked quilt on the hood and one glass coke bottle tangled in it, tipped on its side, staining the floral fabric. A second bottle is on the ground, shattered by the front tire. Steve’s keys are laying in the gravel next to the broken glass.

 The second vehicle, parked at a haphazard angle beside it, is Jason Carver’s truck. All four doors are open. The engine is still running. The radio is still on. But there are no people to be seen.

“Oh no,” Dustin says. “Oh no, no, no. This is not good.”

“Shit,” Lucas says, “shit, ok. So they probably ran for the woods, right? Do we have any weapons?”

“Lucas,” El says.

“Ok, obviously you. But we’re going to have to split up to search for them and the rest of us can’t exactly defend ourselves with our minds.”

Will pops the trunk.

And gets out the bat.

He’d felt kind of ridiculous when he’d made it, carefully hammering nails into the wood until it looked like Steve’s. He hadn’t even practiced with it or anything before he’d put it in the trunk with the first aid kit and the jumper cables and the tire iron: all things he’d hoped he’d never have occasion to use. He’s grateful for it now as he swings it experimentally.

“Dude,” Lucas says.

“Nice,” Max says. She takes the tire iron.

“Let’s go,” Will says.

***

It probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that Will is the one who finds them.

It feels right, all things considered. Less Deus Ex Machina and more destiny. 

Eddie is on the ground and Steve is standing over him, arms out, like he can protect him from Jason––Jason who is pointing a gun at Steve's chest, while his three goons are circled around them, watching. 

A gun. God, it’s almost insulting. The very idea that a gun might be the thing to end one of their lives.

Steve’s voice is low and frantic.

And Will is angry.

He knows he should be scared. Maybe he is. But he’s faced far worse that Jason fucking Carver. And when he looks at Jason he sees Lucas’ battered face and Max’s casts. He sees every bully with straight teeth and a letterman jacket that ever shoved him in a hallway.

The hand not holding the bat curls into a fist.

“Hey,” he shouts, and stalks forward.

“Stop right there,” Carver says, swinging around wildly to take aim at him.

“Or what?” 

“Do you not see the gun in my hands?”

“Yeah, you see the bat in mine?”

He keeps walking.

“You think I’m joking?” Carver’s arm is shaking.

“You think shooting me will work?” Will shouts back, heart loud in his ears, but voice shockingly cavalier, “I came back from the dead once, maybe I’ll do it again.”

He keeps walking.

“What the fuck,” one of the guys says, “is that Beyers?”

“Jason,” another one says, “Jason, come on, this isn’t what we talked about. Harrington and now the Beyers kid? You can’t––”

“Shut up,” Carver yells.

Will keeps walking.

He brings his free hand to his mouth and whistles. Loud. Piercing. Something the party had practiced until they all could do it three summers before.

He immediately gets three whistles back.

“Over here!” he shouts. He stops walking just within range of Carver. 

He plants his feet. He taps the bat against the side of one boot.

“You’re about to be outnumbered,” he says.

“Fuck man,” one of the guys says. “I’m out.” And with the sudden departure of one, the rest follow. Including, after a moment, Jason himself. He starts with a few steps backward, then his arm drops to his side and he scrambles into a run.

Steve watches them until they’re out of sight, and then he’s collapsing like a puppet whose strings have been cut, reaching for Eddie as Eddie reaches for him, colliding in a tangle of desperate hands.

“Are you okay?” they demand of each other, and then, after a moment of frantic reassurances, they turn to face Will.

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve says, eyes on the bat. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Gee, can’t imagine where he learned it from,” Eddie mutters, spitting blood as they struggle to their feet. Steve doesn’t look to be in much better shape than Eddie but at least his face is mostly unscathed.

“Oh, don’t even try to pin this on me.” Steve wraps one arm around Eddie’s waist to keep him upright and throws out the other to gesture half-heartedly at Will. “Look at him.”

“Well sure, but I don’t go around with a fucking nail-bat in my trunk and I sure as hell don’t provoke people when I’m up against stupid odds unlike some dipshits who have no appreciation for their own mortality.”

“The safety was on,” Will points out. He whistles again. Three whistles back again, this time accompanied by shouting. 

“What?” Eddie says.

“Jason,” Will says. “The gun he was holding. The safety was on. I definitely could have hit him before he could have shot me.”

Eddie lets out a hysterical little laugh. 

He trips on something and nearly takes Steve down with him.

“Whoa, hey.” Steve hoists him back up as Max and Lucas come stumbling through the undergrowth. 

“Oh shit,” Lucas says, “guys, are you ok?”

“Peachy keen,” Eddie warbles.

Steve uses his shirt to wipe blood off Eddie’s upper lip. Will thinks his nose might be broken. 

“Hey, look at me,” Steve says. “How’s your head?”

“Fucked,” Eddie groans. “Probably still better than yours, though, sweetheart. Should change your name to King of Brain Damage.” He blinks blearily at Steve, smiling through pink-stained teeth. “ Or maybe King of pretty eyes.”

“Stop trying to flirt when you’re concussed.”

Dustin crashes into the clearing next, throwing himself at Steve and Eddie and nearly dumping them back onto the ground with his exuberance. 

And then El and Mike are there and Will is handing his bat to Lucas and pulling Eddie’s other arm over his shoulder, nodding to Steve as they move forward.

“Hospital?” He asks.

“No,” Eddie whines between them.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “And we gotta call Hopper to come get pictures and take our statements.”

“Hopper is gonna kill us,” Mike sighs.

“Nah,” Steve says. “But Joyce might kill Jason for pointing a gun at Will.”

“...do we have to tell them that part?” Will asks. 

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” Steve says.

Will sighs. 

It’s going to be a long night.

Ten minutes later, they stumble out of the trees and make their way down the quarry rim to the cars. Carver’s truck is gone.

“Will,” Steve says, “you mind driving us?”

Will glances across Eddie’s ducked head to meet Steve’s eyes. “Sure.”

“You’re going to let someone else drive the BMW?” Dustin says incredulously. “You never let anyone else drive the BMW.”

“Special circumstances,” Steve says. “Hey, Sinclair. You got your permit, right?”

Lucas looks like this might be the best day of his life.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Passed with flying colors.”

“Be still my heart,” Eddie croons, “for King Steve cannot bear to be separated from his humble bard.”

“Bard, sure,” Steve mutters, “humble, not so much.”

“You wound me, sire. And on my deathbed too?”

“You’re not dying,” Steve argues, aggrieved. “Hold on.” He opens the back car door and Will helps Steve slide Eddie inside.

“I can sit with him,” Dustin says. “If you still want to drive, I mean.”

“No,” Steve says. “It’s fine.”

“We cannot be parted!” Eddie shouts from inside, “For Lo! Young we are and yet have stood like planted hearts in the great Sun of Love so long (as two fair trees in woodland or in open dale stand utterly entwined and breathe the airs and suck the very light together) that we have become as one, deep rooted in the soil of Life and tangled in the sweet growth!”

“Is that…” Dustin bends, hands on his knees, to frown at Eddie. “Why are you quoting Tolkien’s wedding vows?”

“Boys are so stupid,” Max says. “No offense, Will.”

“None taken,” Will murmurs.

“No offense Will?���” Lucas repeats.

Steve exhales loudly, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but he’s smiling. He crawls into the back seat, pulling Eddie’s head into his lap. He runs his fingers, gentle, through the mess of Eddie’s hair. He smooths his thumb against the quickly swelling curve of his cheekbone.

“Wait,” Lucas says. “Wait, wait, wait. Are they––”

“Uh,” Mike says.

“So stupid,” Max repeats, stooping to pick up Steve’s key’s from the ground. She tosses them to Lucas. “Come on, let’s go. We can deal with your complete inability to see what’s right in front of your faces at the hospital.”

Will agrees. Dustin slides into the passenger seat of Will’s car, still spluttering, as Will is buckling his seatbelt. He starts the engine.

He glances in the rearview mirror just in time to see Steve duck to press his lips to the mangled bridge of Eddie’s nose; to see Eddie’s grin in response.

“Wedding vows, huh,” Steve murmurs.

“I’m concussed,” Eddie says primly, “I’m out of my mind.”

“On that we’re agreed,” Steve says, but he’s looking down at him with such fondness it makes Will feel like a voyeur.

He suppresses a smile of his own and puts the car in drive, turning up the radio over Dustin’s demands for details. 

If he wasn’t before, Will is definitely going to be Eddie’s choice for dungeon master, now. Did Dustin save Eddie’s life by threatening Jason Carver with a nail bat while Jason Carver was pointing a gun at his face? No. No he did not. 

Will did.

Pt. 5 (Tommy Hagan)

[lebenspurpur]

Headcanons for slashers (whoever you want) finding their s/o smoking cigarettes after hiding it?

Only if you're comfortable of course, thank you :)

AN: I've added my personal thoughts whether they can roll a ciggy or not because it's hilarious.

RZ Michael Myers

Oh, he does not care. Not even for the fact that you tried to hide it.

Michael grew up in the 90s, I am pretty sure he is used to smoking.

He will however steal your cigarettes now. Not because they're bad for you, no, he just wants to smoke too.

It will be a nice little habit, though, smoking together. Gives you an excuse to cuddle into him for warmth while you're standing outside.

Michael can not roll a cigarette for the life of him, and you can't convince me otherwise. Either he rips the paper or he loses the filter. And they always look tortured.

Cig rolling ability: 1/10

(He gets one point because at least he knows how it works in theory.)

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent isn't bothered by the smoking. What worries him a little is the fact that you tried to hide it.

He tries to assure you that he doesn't mind, in order to hopefully ease your anxieties. After all, he's got a smoking brother already. You won't be much of a bother.

Vincent can roll a cigarette.

Come on, tell me someone with hands as deft as his can't roll a cigarette (Wow, I should stop talking about his hands).

Plus, I think he smoked in his youth as well.

Cig rolling ability: 9/10 (I'm subtracting one point because I refuse to believe he's this good at everything.)

Bo Sinclair

Bo is a smoker. And he'll find it absolutely hilarious that you tried to hide your habit from him.

He will never stop his teasing.

Now that he knows that you share his preference, he can pull so many moves. Bo's the type of guy to light your cigarettes as a flirting method.

He thinks it's hot, you think it's a little ridiculous.

Bo can roll a cigarette, but he applies too much pressure. They look a little squished sometimes.

Cig rolling ability: 7/10

Lester Sinclair

Don't we see Lester smoke in the movie?

I went into heavy research and yes we see him smoke in the movie. IN THE TRUCK, to be exact, which is a crime.

So yes, Lester is a smoker too.

He won't take it too hard that you hid your habit from him, but he still reassures you that he doesn't mind.

He likes smoking with you, in fact.

Please stop him from smoking in the car.

Lester can roll a decent cigarette. Sure, sometimes they lack good structure, but he makes up for it with enthusiasm.

He is the type of lover that will pre-roll cigarettes for you, and it's super sweet.

Cig rolling ability: 7.5/10

Brahms Heelshire

YOU DID WHAT??

I fully believe Brahms has never taken any drug in his life, ever. All his life was spent in the walls, and while his parents seem like expensive whiskey drinkers, he has probably never tried it.

So he's shocked to see his own significant other smoke.

"Don't you know that this can kill you, Y/N?"

He will forbid you to smoke, because he is a little shit brat.

However, he won't really do anything but sulk when you continue your custom. And after a while he gets used to it.

Brahms obviously doesn't know how to roll a cigarette. Not even in theory.

Cig rolling ability: 0/10

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas is surprised to see you smoking, but he doesn't mind all that much.

You're your own person, and you've got your habits.

In addition to that, he thinks it's kinda hot.

Thomas has never smoked and probably never will, but if you let him, he will try.

(I tend to think Thomas is a pretty curious, and rather experimental guy because he was denied so many things in the past. Therefor, he tries to catch up with the stuff he missed.)

Nonetheless, he does not like it.

Even so, Tommy will join you when you catch a smoke break, mostly because he wants to keep you company.

Thomas would be capable of rolling a ciggy, if he ever actually tried. I mean, come on, he sews as a hobby, and you got to have pretty skillful hands for that, too.

Cig rolling ability: 2/10

(He's only this low because he never actually tried to roll one.)

Jason Voorhees

Uh oh.

He's not a fan.

Jason will try to make you stop, most likely by finding an alternative that's actually healthy.

If it doesn't work, he'll accept it, but not without a weekly complaint.

Jason would rather die than touch tobacco. He can not roll a cigarette.

Cig rolling ability: 0/10

Otis Driftwood

Otis is also heavily entertained by the idea that you hid this from him.

Except from that amusement, you won't get much of a reaction, though. Otis smokes himself, why would he care if you do?

(I don't actually remember if we ever see Otis smoke, but come on, look at him and tell me this isn't canon.)

Otis can technically roll a cigarette, but they always look horrible. They're very... sloppy.

I also feel like he's the type of guy to smoke rolled cigarettes without a filter.

Cig rolling ability: 3/10

Baby Firefly

I feel like Baby is more drawn to vapes than cigarettes, mostly because those can taste sweet.

She probably owns a pink vape, and her favorite flavor is probably something like strawberry or strawberry cheesecake.

Nonetheless, she doesn't care if you smoke. And she will scold you a little for hiding this from her. Partners are supposed to trust each other, after all.

Baby can roll a cigarette, but it will fall apart in seconds.

Cig rolling ability: 2/10

Josef

Josef is a bit on the wine aunt trip, so he's opposed to everything that goes against his usual diet (smoothies, wok pans and dry red wine, ah and occasionally some dark chocolate).

Therefore, he won't appreciate the cancer sticks, but he'll stick up with them because he likes you.

Sporadically, he'll steal a hit, but that's usually when he's tipsy.

If you ask him if he can roll a cigarette, he'll say yes, but that is a fat lie.

Cig rolling ability: 0/10

Amanda Young

Amanda is torn between amusement and worry when she finds out about your mannerism.

She doesn't necessarily mind cigarettes, but her strong history with drugs influences her opinion a little.

Though, as long as your smoking habit stays reasonable, she won't acknowledge it that much.

Amanda can roll a pretty neat cigarette on a good day, and she will roll for you if you ask her to.

Though, sometimes her hands shake too much to hold the paper properly, and then they all look horrible.

Cig rolling ability: 6.5/10

[kittycat-427]

~*|| Stressed ||*~ (Frouse fanfiction)

Characters: Kryoz, Smii7y, BigPuffer, and Blarg.

Ship: Krii7y (Kryoz x Smii7y)

Request?: Nope

TWs: Slight mentions of mental health or self harm

WARNING: CRINGEEE (I'm bad at writing, forgive me for the cringe)

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

*Smii7y, Kryoz, Puffer, and Blarg are all hanging out at Kryoz's house*

Puffer: "So Kryoz, you've been sewing recently?"

Kryoz: "Huh? Oh yea, mostly just making some custom pants and shit."

Smii7y: "Are the pants you're wearing right now custom? They look sick as fuck!"

Kryoz: "Yeaa, got these pants for like $2 at a thrift shop. I decided they needed a little pizazz!"

Smii7y: "Damn, $2?! Where you shopping? I gotta check it out!"

Kryoz: "It's just a little thrift shop down the street, I think it's called 'Little Things'? Though I doubt they're also in Canada."

Blarg: "Damn.. Guess I'm not getting any cheap shit."

Puffer: *laughs* "I mean there's gotta be some kind of thrift shop in Canada, I highly doubt there just isn't any thrift shops-"

Smii7y: "Nah, I ain't ever seen a thrift shop where I live. It's just fucking Target and TJ Maxx."

Kryoz: "Damn, y'all ain't got shit... You should just live here in America."

Smii7y: "Nahh, I like it in Canada. Plus it's not easy to just find a house to move into."

Kryoz: "I mean- You could just live with me~"

Smii7y: "Hmmm... Not gonna lie, that sounds kinda fun~"

Puffer: "Now y'all are just flirting with each other. Like y'all always are-"

Smii7y + Kryoz: "What?!"

Smii7y + Kryoz: ". . ."

Smii7y: "Jinx bitch."

*The 4 of them sat and chatted for the rest of the night. Puffer and Blarg headed back to their hotel room, but Smii7y stayed with Kryoz.*

*Smii7y and Kryoz hung out for a while, but things got quiet after a bit. It was very late... 1:00 am*

Kryoz: *sigh* "...God, I wished tomorrow just- wouldn't happen"

Smii7y: "..?"

Smii7y: "What do you mean..?"

Kryoz: "You know..? Everything just kind of fucking sucks, I'm tired of just living. It's so fucking stressful, why do I gotta be perfect?"

Smii7y: "Perfect? You don't have to be perfect, no one is man."

Kryoz: "Well- I just feel like everything I do has to be perfect. My art needs to be perfect, my videos need to be perfect, my fucking life has to be perfect."

Smii7y: "... Are you okay man?"

Kryoz: *sigh* "No... No I'm fucking not okay."

Kryoz: "I'm so so fucking stressed, I'm confused about everything..."

Smii7y: "Confused..? About what?"

Kryoz: "Well... A lot of things. Mainly a... love interest."

Smii7y: "Love interest? Damn, how come you didn't say something earlier..?"

Kryoz: "I-... There's a reason okay? If I had told you, things would've... been different."

Smii7y: "Different? Why? Am I the love interest~?"

Kryoz: ". . ."

Kryoz: *sigh* "Yea, you are.. And I'm not fucking joking alright?"

*Smii7y just sits there, shocked... Not sure what to say.*

Smii7y: "R-Really..? I wasn't expecting that-..."

Kryoz: "Yeah... Sorry for being emotional, tonight was just supposed to be a fun night."

Smii7y: "What?! Don't apologize!"

*Smii7y moved closer to Kryoz and held his hand*

*Smii7y feels Kryoz's hand and wrist...*

Smii7y: "Kryoz.. Your wrist is so beat up..."

Kryoz: "Oh I-..."

Smii7y: "Kryoz..."

Kryoz: "I- I'm sorry.."

Smii7y: "Don't fucking apologize! Just, please take care of yourself man. And hey... I love you too man."

Kryoz: "O-oh! Okay, I didn't expect that..!"

*Kryoz looked at Smii7y for a second or two, leaning closer eventually leading to a kiss.*

Smii7y: "Glad you said something, cause I would've never had the confidence to say anything-..."

Kryoz: "Heh... I almost didn't say anything."

(THE END)

(Y'ALL I SUCK AT WRITING I'M SO SORRY)

[mr-leach]

Okay so I am so close to taking my supervisor to the side and tearing her to shreds and then taking the bosses aside and tearing them to shreds because there are just so many little things about every single job that are never set in stone to the point where unless you are glued to your supervisor (impossible in my department for reasons that I will soon explain) you will have no idea how to do the job right and at least one thing will have to be fixed/changed and you will of course be blamed for it.

Yesterday I had a job where it was unclear to me where the tags should go on the garment. This has happened so many times that it might as well be a daily occurrence. Our athletic tops usually have the label on the left side seam of the garment, because tags on the collar are obtrusive and uncomfortable. Except when the customer wants the tag on the collar, of course. Usually, when that happens, the technical drawing on the work order reflects this. There's also another, secret rule that if there's two tags attached to the bundle (our logo tag plus the legally required fibre content/washing instructions tag) then it MUST be put at the collar. Sometimes though, the people bundling the job will just throw the additional tags in, even though they're not required, and we're supposed to just know when they're not supposed to be used. I have had jobs with hundreds of pieces where I was given two tags and put them on, only to be told after the fact that I should not have put both tags on. It's very frustrating. Oh, but SOMETIMES the customer will ask for things that we supposedly NEVER do, like they will want shorts with 2 tags, and so in that case we ARE supposed to sew both on, even though normally we NEVER sew 2 tags into shorts.

You can see how this gets annoying.

Now you might think that the order sheet that comes with each job would give us this information. It does not. Sometimes the sheet will have context clues on it, like when there's a tag clearly visible on the technical drawing. Sometimes, if there's only one tag, I know there's an 80% chance that tag goes on the side seam and not the neck. But otherwise, I typically have to ask my supervisor.

My supervisor is never around. She actually runs 3 different departments in different parts of the factory, and she is almost never in ours. She has a "helper" in each department, who is someone that basically keeps track of the work to be done and relays any issues to her (before you ask, no, they do not get paid more for the added responsibilities. Obviously. 🙃). Does the helper have access to the secret knowledge regarding the minute details that aren't accounted for on each order sheet? No. Why the fuck would they know that.

So if I have a question about where the fucking tag goes on something, the person directly overseeing me has no way to answer that question. Oh, but our supervisor doesn't like it when any of us get up from our machines and goes looking for her because it makes her look bad, so I have to ask her helper to do it for me. This goes for any of the half dozen of us in our department, meaning that sometimes, my guy isn't even around to relay my question, because he's busy relaying someone else's question. Idk how me sitting on my hands waiting to just ask someone where a label goes does not also look bad on my supervisor but what do I know. When this happens several times a week, or even several times a day, it can get really fucking old, and honestly it makes me feel bad for the helper because he also has his own work he needs to get done and he's stuck running around having to ask dumb questions that should be easily answered by the order sheet. So I'm really just incentivized to try and figure this shit out on my own by process of elimination, while running the risk of getting it wrong.

So yesterday! I had shirts to make. Tags on the side, right? Er, well, there's 2 tags. Well, then, tags on the back neck, right? But wait a fucking second. The technical drawing shows a printed tag (where the tag info is printed onto the fabric directly, for comfort). Maybe the person bundling added 2 tags by mistake? Maybe it's still a side tag, but with 2 labels, for some reason? I have no clue. And helper has gone somewhere. Fuck.

So I sew both tags into the side. I mean why the fuck would they make sure to show a printed tag in the technical drawing if they wanted back neck tags. It takes effort to add the printed tag to the drawing. And if the two tags in the side is wrong, I can blame it on the person who bundled the job for putting in the extra tag.

EXCEPT NOPE WRONG it was back neck tags all along! Apparently I should have seen the two tags and ignored any and all other information and just known to put them in the back neck. I fucking. Hate this shit. Of course when I explained my reasoning, the helper also thought it was weird that the technical drawing showed a printed tag and not a physical tag so he had to run around and be told by the supervisor that yeah, it was supposed to have two tags at the back neck.

Where is this information??? Why does she know where it goes and why is that so different from the context clues?? Also the person bundling must have got that information from somewhere too, how do they know???? WHY ISN'T IT WRITTEN ON THE ORDER SHEET??? GAAAAHHH!!!!!

[fuck-customers]

https://fuck-customers.tumblr.com/post/700332407235264512

This shit INFURIATES me!

LONG POST/RANT BELOW

So the pictures in the linked post are from a month and a half ago and I just went into work yesterday (12/15) and it fucking looks like that again!!

But there's multiple levels to this. It's infuriating enough that my workplace is a gigantic mess, but what was specifically pissing me off (obviously) was that no one was doing their job.

WELL. I get about 4-12 hours a week, I only get 1 or 2 fabric department shifts per month. (probably because it's my favorite department and my boss is a bitch) HOWEVER I checked the schedule and realized that my boss secretly made one of my coworkers full-time (she has 35-40 hours on every schedule for over 2 months) when 1. I'VE BEEN THERE AN ENTIRE YEAR LONGER THAN HER A N D TWO YEARS LONGER THAN THE SM HERSELF!! And 2. More importantly, SHE AIN'T DOING HER JOB!!

Top left is what I walked into when I clocked into work. I had almost nonstop customers (it's the week before Christmas) but I made it a priority to at least make a dent in that pile. So I rolled and labelled (and documented, as seen above) all 25 of these remnants during my 1 piddly 4 hour shift. I also had to look up most of the fabrics manually on the store website.

I got all this done in 4 hours while also being interrupted every 2-5 minutes by dumbass customers on top of doing my regular duties: the fabric go-backs, answering the phone, answering in-store customer questions, helping in-store customers locate items and unlocking products (sewing machines + scissors) for customers. There's no reason why my coworker can't get that pile done in 40 hour weeks for 2 months. She's ONLY scheduled for the fabric department. Never for register or anything else. (I get scheduled for other departments, and only get a fabric shift once or twice a month...for 4 hours)

But now I have a few questions for everyone. I want to bring all of this up to my boss and show her these pictures and basically say <1> "I've done ALL of this work as well as go-backs in just two 4 hour shifts. I made sure that I didn't leave any work for the next person who comes in. It's unacceptable that the fabric was left that way in the first place. I've been here nearly 3 years. Longer than EVERYONE in this store, including YOU, SM. So WHY THE ACTUAL FUCK am I getting single digit hours during CHRISTMAS?" Obviously, I won't say it in those words, but that's the general point I want to make. I also want to say this without throwing the full-time coworker under the bus. <2> I also want to remind my SM that I have a hearing disability that I was hired with and I know the previous SM was aware of it and should have told her. And I know that I personally told her. (the new SM) Did she forget? Is she retaliating against me because she thinks I'm ignoring her when I don't respond because I didn't hear her due to my disability? I know I can't say that like that, so how should I word it without basically saying "what the fuck, bitch??" Lmao

Thank you for reading my long ass rant.

[meili-sheep]

This is really poorly timed as October was so long ago but I just thought of this so, Diluc harem couples costumes??

I love these because I love thinking about the Diluc harem but HOLY COW, do you know how long these take to write. And 3 days in a row is a lot for my poor fingers. Lolol

Anyway, let's hit it.

And we'll start with breaking it up into They suggested the costume, and Diluc suggested.

So first up, their suggestion.

Childe

So this is the obvious suspect. Like he's a guy who loves the holidays. Like no matter what holiday it is, he goes all out. Halloween, in particular, he goes crazy for. He loves coming up with great costumes that get kids all excited.

And now he can do that with Diluc, the person he loves the most.

Honestly, Diluc's not enthused about it. Like he doesn't mind being dressed up, but honestly, he'd feel a little like a spectacle. He goes along because Childe's happy the kids are happy, so his discomfort isn't that much of a sacrifice. And Childe would probably pick some very uncomfortable costume.

I think Childe would pick out like the sexy kind of Angel/Devil Costumes. Like this (And yes. Diluc is the angel)

So yeah. Diluc's uncomfortable, and Childe doesn't notice for a while because he's just so so excited. But when the night winds down and Diluc's just totally out of it. Childe realizes what's been happening and Is suddenly plagued with a shit ton of guilt. And just goes into spoiling Diluc mood and apologizing.

Eula

Now, this is totally one of Eula's revenge plots. But Unlike Childe, she still makes sure the costume is stylish. And It is more focused on Diluc still being comfortable. She'd end up putting Diluc in like a wolf onesie, and she is in a very nice red riding hood outfit.

So like this. And honestly, Diluc would be really embarrassed by all this. But he'd have a good time. Mostly cause Razor would love Diluc's costume, and they would just have a good little introvert time together. Eula will never admit it, but she loves seeing Diluc interact with the kids. It gives her some pretty bad baby fever. So her revenge doesn't go quite as she originally planned.

Itto

So I don't think Itto would know about Halloween or dressing up for most of his life, and Diluc does end up telling him. And Itto jumps on the idea of doing a couple costumes. But he probably can't find a good costume that fits him so well I think Diluc would take it into his own hands. And would probably talk with Granny Oni and make and really nice Oni costume.

And Itto would just love to match with Diluc, to be honest. He really goes into all the specifics of how to be a great oni. And really teaching Diluc all about oni culture. And honestly, Diluc out of the two of them, is probably the scary one.

Kaveh

Ok Kaveh has been planning this FOR MONTHS. He wants Diluc to be seen as the most beautiful creature in the world. And I do think Kaveh has a talent in sewing. So he'd personally make himself and Diluc outfits. And they wouldn't be costumes so much as just elegant outfits. Maybe making himself like a knight and Diluc a prince.

Diluc's pretty unassumed as he thinks Kaveh's doing it because of his title as uncrowned king and his position as a former knight. Kaveh is shocked when Diluc points that out to him.

"You really didn't know..."

"I... did not."

"You know I was also a knight too."

"... Should I change the customs?"

"Haha... No, I'm a little endeared now. I'll be the prince to your knight."

Thoma

Now out of everyone so far, Thoma's probably the most reasonable one and probably the one who really talks to Diluc about what he'd think would be fun. Their costume would probably also be the goofiest and somehow the least embarrassing for Diluc.

Like mustard and ketchup or Peanut butter and jelly. Or a Plug and a socket. Just something really light heart warm, and goofy. Sort of like how the two of them are. They are defiantly the more relaxed and domestic of all the Diluc harem. And really, they are the pair that is gonna have the most funny with their silly little costumes and handle out candy to all the kids.

Zhongli

This is going to be closer to Itto because Halloween is definitely more of a Mondstadt thing. So Zhongli doesn't know too much about it. But he instantly loves the idea of a matching costume with Diluc and just as quickly wants to do something from like Liyue lore.

Now I do really like the Phoenix Dragon stuff with Zhongluc, and I think Zhongli would suggest a reverse custom idea where he dresses like a bird while Diluc is the dragon. And While Zhongli would want to do more elegant-looking costumes, I feel Diluc could talk him down into something a lot more comfortable and, well, honestly... less expensive. And while disappointed at first I think recognizing Diluc is showing him something more about his personal culture he'd accept and actually end up having a lot of fun taking a step back and just letting things come.

Now Diluc's suggestion.

Albedo

I'll be honest here. This isn't really Diluc suggesting they do a couple costumes. It's Alice. Alice sent them both a costume, and OH, would you look at that, they match! How on earth did that happen?!

Of course, Klee matches too. Can't have her left out now, can they? And Kaeya? She bribed him to take a lot of photos of the trio. Which he's not happy about, but you know He's not fucking stupid he's not gonna fight Alice, and if she happens to offer him a really nice wine in return for a couple of pictures he's not gonna say no.

And Honestly, the pair just take it as it comes. They probably really enjoy watching after Klee the whole night and after Klee has gotten all her candy. They just settle down for and when she's asleep, they have some warm apple cider and treats of their own. Just a very sweet and relaxing night.

Al Haitham

Al Haitham is not a party guy, and he's actually surprised when Diluc suggests a couple costumes for a Halloween party. And To Diluc's surprise, he's instantly onboard. Haitham sees it as another form of commitment, and it think he's the type who, while not really one who shows traditional affection, he likes showing his commitment and devotion. Things that say. "Yes, we are together." So he's into matching things quite a bit.

And yes. He's given Diluc several small matching trinkets and jewelry. So he's fully on board. But he's very, very picky. To the point that Diluc honestly just gives up and lets him a bit, giving him Diluc's size and just leaving it at that. Come times for that party, Diluc is very surprised to see very beautiful and nice costumes based on Aranara or some type of Sumeru spirit. Very very elegant and beautiful and, of course, comfortable and practical. Al Haitham's is probably red, while Diluc's is green. Both have a very, very good night.

Ayato

Now Ayato will probably get put into another case of It's a holiday, and he's working. So he doesn't even think about a costume but is whining about how he can't just spend the night with Diluc. Which Ayaka relays to Diluc, so Diluc prepares a costume for Ayato and gives it to Ayaka.

So come the event, Ayato being busy up to the neck, just puts on whatever he is given. And he doesn't even know that it feels off. Like It's clearly supposed to be something of a set. Something from a popular romance novel Inazuma. Think along the likes of Fred and Wilma or Morticia and Gozem, something people are gonna recognize, but when they see one alone, they go up and ask Ayato where his partner is. And he's pretty confused by this at first until he gets around to seeing Diluc. Who is just happily laughing on the sidelines? Enough of the slight confusion Ayato's been dealing with.

Xiao

So Xiao stays away from people, especially on big days for holidays. But he'd be curious about this. And peak around. Diluc did tell him all about it and probably complained about it. He is mostly there watching Diluc and making sure he's OK and safe.

And like Albedo. It's not really Diluc who makes the suggestion but in this case. It's Venti. Cause he totally notices Xiao stalking and seeing Diluc. Ultimately he's like, "Ooooh hoho~" so he probably forces Xiao not only to come out but to come out in a costume that's clearly meant to match Diluc's, no matter what it is.

Xiao is extremely embarrassed. But Diluc quickly sees him and is so excited to see him, which instantly eases Xiao.

[hakahakaiprincess]

I truly think that every oc creator/person who makes a lot of content for some show/game/movie/etc should really get into some kind of handcraft.

Like i feel the most common types of fanworks ppl make for shows is art or writing (Same for oc worlds) and that's awesome, i'm no exception, but if you're able (Cause i understand if you're not able, in which case I would suggest alternatives, but I can't think of any, so if anyone wants to give alternatives in tags or smth that would be nice) I really do recommend getting into some kind of hobby that lets you Make Things with your Hands (crochet, knitting, sewing, embroidery, doll customs if you have the money (And even if you don't you can always find a way.)).

Because if you do it will: a) allow you a break from drawing or writing or your most common mode of "making content" for ocs or fandoms (I don't at all like that phrase lol)

b) You can make your ocs or their clothes in real life you can TOUCH it you can INTERACT with it (i'm crocheting my oc's sweater over the summer!!!!! doll customizers can make their ocs or their blorbos or whatever!!!! IN REAL LIFE!!!!) and that idea is fucking crazy to me so of course i love it

c) If you're in a rut artistically just do the other handcraft lol!

This is from the point of view of an able-bodied person who draws and crochets primarily and can afford many of the materials for the craft, so there's a lot of stuff I DON'T know about (how disability, income, etc affects this + as simple as other types of handcrafts i dont know about) and I'm okay with admitting that*. I want people to share the joy I have for creation or some shit like that. Actually i want people to understand that you can make your oc's clothes in real life or perhaps even a cotton doll of them. You just have to learn.

*also, i am clumsy with my words, so ask for clarification if you're struggling to understand the post pls!

[thenon-fictiondays]

Wait give us the wage theft story whatd she do

so like my former boss is one of those people who 1) underexplains everything bc she thinks everyone thinks the same way she does and 2) always thinks the other person is at fault for everything all the time. So we'd naturally have a lot of miscommunications in times when she'd leave me work to do and leave the office. Now the thing about sewing, especially when you're making a different thing every time as we did making custom gowns, is that you're constantly making decisions about how to do things and what order to do them in, and not just obvious stylistic decisions, but very specific decisions about minute details (you probably know this already, but clarifying for anyone else reading this). The bigger decisions are up to the designer (aka my boss), but when it comes to the smaller decisions, the designer has two choices: they can either make the decisions in advance and communicate that to the underling (aka me) or they can leave those decisions to be made by the underling. The issue with that second option is that you can't always assume your underling is going to make exactly the same decisions as you would, so if you want things done in a very specific way, you have to choose the first option.

.......or you can be like my former boss and communicate nothing but the bare minimum of information, leaving me to make many decisions, and then complain that I made the wrong decisions. And when I say bare minimum I mean bare minimum, like that woman wouldn't even give me a sketch or a reference picture so I would know what the final product is supposed to look like 🥴 so needless to say, there were A LOT of times when she'd text me furious about the job I did. The final straw was when she went off on me because she told me to sew the bottom of a gown skirt to the top part of the skirt- the whole bottom part was covered in feathers that were weirdly sewn on, and it had a train, so this thing was an unwieldy mf that barely went through the sewing machine (imagine if someone skinned Hawks from MHA and turned him into a gown), and her only instruction was "sew this to that", and then she had to redo the whole thing (that I'd stayed late to finish) because apparently by "sew this to that" what she actually MEANT was "sew up the back of the skirt and then sew the raw edge to the raw edge, yes there will be a gap between the feathers and the upper skirt but I'm going to cover that later so don't worry about it". Because ofc I wouldnt see a big ugly transparent gap and think "surely she meant for the hem of the upper skirt to cover that", why would I? /s. The kicker is I'd actually sewn it the way she wanted it the first time, then realized it looked like shit and torn the whole seam out and redid it the way I assumed it should be based on the knowledge I had (which was next to nothing), so she really wasted BOTH our time. And then she blows up my texts saying if she has to redo my work again she'll "take the hours" from me. Sent both in text and in video form, because if you're gonna threaten to illegally mess with your employees paycheck, always make sure you give them all the evidence they'd need if they wanted to take you to court!!!

[aprincessofthevoid]

I was assessed in HS for other learning disabilities because my grades were SO bad... figured out years later it was basically an IQ test tbh. And even then, my English understanding was well above average, but my math was a lil under, im fine with money cus i grew up broke as shit lmao. But my adhd brain does not give a FUCK about algebra 😂

I scored in the 91st percentile. I have predominantly worked customer service jobs. And as someone who's disabled I don't wanna shit on ppl who might struggle with like, english or math and maybe takes longer to learn a task... but schools need to just hold them back when it comes to the basics... my mother had to FIGHT the school to keep me back when I was in elementary school... and this was way back in like... 2005???

Fucked up part is there are 100% teachers out there too,, who grew up with most their class not being held back like mine. As well as parents with kids who are almost HS age (or middle school depending on your area) that are now a whole 2nd gen at min, of kids who nobody gave a fuck about enough to make them redo a grade to be sure they understood the bullshit the government decided kids should know...

And MOST of this is either funding, or them claiming they don't want the kids to be separated from their friends... yet they don't seem to give much a fuck about bullying and bigotry so idk why they act so concerned about the power of fucking friendship if the 15yr old doesn't know how to do basic addition???

Don't get me started on them removing most the home ec classes either... zero reason to remove the cooking n sewing classes, or even the computer classes. Like what happened to the small sections on how taxes work and how to calculate them? Cus I had that in school (tho it was a short section it's in my old textbook I accidentally stole lmao.

[medicinemane]

Semi related, but I saw Lewis Rossman do a video where he was talking with this disabled guy that... I think he actually built his wheelchair himself or at least had customized a lot of it

Cause... like the foam pad he had on his seat would have been something like $3000 cause it was "custom", but... getting the foam, cutting it to size, and having someone sew an outside protector for it was more like $20

...mhh... hold on, I will find the video and post a link to the guy's website... here it is, The Mobility Independence Foundation

Anyway... my point is that if I get my shit together enough in other ways, I'd very much like to reach out to a group like that and be like "you tell me how to do it and do it right, and I'm happy to help assemble wheelchairs for people"

And of course when I say assemble, I mean like... custom, cause the more I pay attention the more obvious it is to me that any kind of mobility aid needs to be customized to the user

Like you get where I'm coming from, if I'm sat here thinking that maybe I should learn to make my own tv, then I sure as hell want to see people having their own wheelchair that's customized. Whole reason I'm thinking about "what if I just bought the screen and shoved my current tv's electronics in a custom frame" is so I have control and get just what I need... and people who need mobility aids need that a hell of a lot more than I need a tv, you know?

...maybe once I get the back porch in, which I want to put an ADA compliant ramp on... maybe once that's done and this old house is more accessible at least on the first floor... maybe that'll be the time I'm both more capable and also more... in the right mental space for it

But that is something I'd like to do... love it if I could help people out making custom mobility aids, both giving people something that's custom tailored to their needs, and also be able to like... send em home with spare parts and the knowledge how to fix it if something goes wrong... not have em stuck waiting for insurance to cover things

[j-a-smiths-blog]

2020 29Apr24: Chapter 120.

120 days into the year 2024?!?!?!?!

Man time is just a rolling... rolling... rolling down a rivaaaa.

Today, I had to take my vehicle back to Toyota. Which, by the way, is really pissing me off. How can such a well-known company not have their shit together. They talk down to their customers, they rely on computers to tell them what's wrong with a vehicle, and unless you can "manifest" the issue in front of them multiple times, they won't believe you. I'm sorry... if I could manifest the problem.... then I'd know what's wrong with my can and have it fixed already? But they don't want to hear that.

So anyways, they called us over the weekend and told us we needed to drop our car off on Monday, and we don't know when we'd get it back.... we asked for what reason, and they said they have to do a conference with technicians from Alabang area about our monitor issue... again, I am confused as to how can they not schedule this? Why does it always resort to you need to leave the vehicle with us indefinitely, and you can never schedule times for the car to be worked on?

I'm to the point that I want to mouth off and tell them I'll never do business with toyota again, and I'd rather go to Geely... our friend asked why would I say that, and I said, "Because at least I would know I'm not getting great service!"

So this afternoon, I continued with sewing my blue waistcoat. Today's focus was finishing the arm hole. It wasn't very easy as I would typically like to double roll hem it but I ended up having to single roll, sew then roll again and sew. It got the job done but took twice as long to finish. Now I have to do the right arm hole tomorrow so then I can move on to either pockets or buttons.

While searching through my fabrics, I was able to find my Jean material as well as the white canvas. I need to go ahead and eyeball the canvas so I can tell if I will have enough to make a pair of breeches or not. I think the canvas with some of the muslin for an inner layer would make for a nice pair of work breeches.

So I'm trying to stay on this little course I am setting and not stray from it to far. I actually almost feel like tomorrow morning, since the nephew doesn't have school again, that I should go ahead and push along with the treadle lathe and make the marks and potentially start cutting the notches.

Wow... I just zoned out for a few minutes as I was imagining the lathe and how I'm going to work on it.

Back to reality. It's not exactly late but it's not early either. I got my post done for the day so now I think I should enjoy some games hahahah.

[ask-a-gotham-mortician]

Dear diary,

Shit's been getting weird. I should have known what I was signing up for when I decided I was going to carry on this business in the old man's stead. He had told me stories about operating in this city, but perhaps part of me believed he was exaggerating things. Hyperbole. Just for shock value and to keep the conversation going.

Yesterday, a body was dropped off anonymously by somebody who made damn sure that their identity wouldn't be discernable. Shadowy figure in a trenchcoat, all features obscured. The decedent had been some mafioso. You could tell by the expensive jewelry: the gold rings on his hands, the fancy watch, and his custom cufflinks.

His wife stopped by to see him, and it broke my heart. She sobbed into his suit, going on about their daughter and how she had wanted him to see her finish high school, be the first in her family to attend college, make something of herself. (The daughter in question had been too young to accompany her mother, having been dropped off with her uncle.)

I helped the widow to set up the embalming and burial arrangements. I've never been much of a physically affectionate type, but she surprised me with a hug on her way out the door and I couldn't just shove away someone who is grieving.

Later after she had left, sometime around 2 or 3 am, I was startled by a loud, insistent knocking on the door. Big guy, tough looking, very intimidating. He muscled his way in through the entrance, demanding to see the body that had been brought in earlier.

The way he dressed and the manner in which he had carried himself had also suggested mafia. I knew telling this guy no would have been hazardous to my health, and so I had no choice but to comply.

He produced a pair of dental pliers from his pocket, reached into the corpse's mouth, and got to work wrenching away at the dead man's mouth, extracting several gold teeth. I was so flabbergasted that I just stood there and watched with my mouth agape. He shoved a fat wad of cash into my hand and just left. No explanation.

I can only assume this man was from a rival family, knew the guy had a few gold teeth (which these sorts use as a symbol of status), and wanted them for himself, maybe as a sort of trophy.

I guess I have no choice but to continue with the widow's requested services without telling her what happened. It shouldn't matter, anyway, since I normally sew the mouths shut for presentation. You don't want a dead guy's mouth flopping open like a fish in the middle of the eulogy.

I don't know how to feel about all this. I feel… Conflicted. I know that we can't take material possessions with us when we go, so it's rather pointless to be buried with them. I'm also against the defilement of the dead. But this mobster left me with enough cash to cover services for a couple of deceased without going broke if the families can't pay.

[chaotic-goodsir]

Hatchetfield Mall, after closing time. The lights are down, and the whole complex has liminal feel, a space just on the fringes of reality. A lone shop assistant tidies the shelves of the newly-opened Hot Topic, waiting for her manager to come back from a smoke break and lock up.

The storefront shutters are half closed. The corporate-approved pop-punk that usually plays over the intercom is switched off for the evening. There's only the hum of the aircon and the assistant's quiet footsteps as she moves to tidy the window display.

Then, through the window, she sees a customer approaching.

How they got in, when the mall's main doors should be locked by now, the assistant isn't sure. But she's more concerned by the way the figure limps as they walk, clearly struggling with some injury - and by the dark blood that's soaked into their all-denim outfit, splashed across their face and hands and slicked-back hair.

They see her staring, and lift a hand to wave. Something about the movement is somehow undeniably wrong - not to mention the grin that creeps across their bloodstained face, more shark-like than human.

There's blood on their teeth, as well.

The shop assistant screams.

The customer appears in front of her, somehow moving several feet in less than a second - and apparently moving through the half-shuttered window. They raise their hands in what might be a calming gesture, if it weren't coming from some maniac covered in blood. The sharp, coppery scent of it surrounds them, mixed with the smell of sweat and grease and something artificial and sour. Weirdly, the shop assistant thinks of apple candy.

'Hey, now,' the customer says, their grin not dropping as the assistant's unheard scream trails into silence. 'Ain't no need for that.'

There is a panic button under the counter, the shop assistant remembers. She makes a dash towards it, but the customer appears in front of her again, barring the way.

'Terrible service,' they say, almost casual. 'D'you always try runnin' away from customers, or is it just me?'

The assistant takes a step back, praying for someone, anyone, to show up right about now - her manager, or one of the security guards, or, hell, even the weird homeless guy that sleeps by the bins...

'Sorry,' she manages to say. 'Uh, we're- uh, we're closed now, so...'

'Tsk, shame,' the customer says, fussing with the collar of their bloodsoaked denim jacket. 'I was really hopin' to purchase some of your-' they look around the room, raising an eyebrow, '...fine wares. Y'all sell any pins in this store?'

The assistant stares at them.

'Pins?'

'For the jacket. It's new, see. Well, second-hand - retro, you could say.' they chuckle darkly, 'But now it's mine. Figured I'd have a bit of fun with it. Patches are too much effort, an' I ain't got shit to sew 'em on with anyway. But pins'd be nice. Add a bit of colour.'

'Um,' the shop assistant says, 'Okay, I - look, are you alright? Do you need help, or anything? An ambulance? You're hurt, there's blood all over you - you do know that, yeah?'

The customer tilts their head, confused. Their bright green eyes almost seem to glow in the shops florescent lighting.

'Look, uh, my manager will be back in a minute,' (any second now, the assistant thinks, desperately), 'She can call someone for you, or, uh, I can, if you let me get to the phone...'

The customer looks down at themself for a moment, finally seeming to register the state they're in. Then they laugh, flashing red-stained teeth.

'Oh, I don't think you wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna call anyone, missy. Now you just show me any pins you got, an' then I'll go, and no one has to know I was ever here. You understand?'

The assistant nods, terrified, swallowing the terror that rises in her throat. The customer doesn't have any weapon that she can see, but some instinct tells her they don't need one - and that most of the blood they're soaked in is not their own.

...

By the time her manager returns, the customer is gone. The assistant stands behind the cash register, shaking, staring at the scattered assortment of rejected pins on the counter.

The customer never made any attempt to pay for the ones they took, and she hadn't dared to ask - or to press the panic button, even as her hand hovered over it the entire time.

'The hell are you doing?' her manager asks, frowning at the mess. 'I thought I said tidy the shelves, not... whatever this is. Do you want to stay here all night, or something?'

'Sorry,' the assistant says, quickly sorting the pins back into their tray. With the sleeve of her sweater, she wipes away a bloody fingerprint from one of them.

Her manager doesn't seem to notice at all.

I like to imagine that Wilbur got those pins on their jacket right after killing Holloway. Just, they walk into a store, covered in blood like, "I'd like to order some custom pins, stop screaming."