#I’ve never written anything like this before

[twistednico]

rockstar!eddie absolutely loves it when you get all needy and desperate for him — especially after he’s been on tour for a while…

…soft hands gripping at his shoulders while you rock your hips back into his thrusts, nearly impaling yourself on his cock — it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, second only to your face completely twisted in beautiful pleasure.

“feel good, baby? does my cock feel good?” eddie coos, hips slapping into yours as he fucks himself deep inside; the way he knows you like, the way that drives you absolutely dumb. mindless babbles bubble up your throat, a cacophony of “yes” and “please” and moans.

eddie swears he’s never been pushed to orgasm so quickly before fucking you. your sweet pussy milks his cock like it was made to, completely hot and wet and sloppy, fluttering around him like a velvet ring. absolutely delicious.

it was all so incredibly hot, so addicting and intoxicating — he held such power over you, could reduce you to shambles so easily.

“you love it when i fuck you stupid, yeah?” eddie murmured, thick thumb pressing past your swollen lips. eddie let out a soft groan when you sucked his thumb into your mouth as if it was a natural response, tongue licking and prodding at it clumsily as you stared up at him with those cock-drunk eyes.

fuck, he’d cum if you kept that up.

“shit, baby, want me to cum in you? fill up your pretty pussy and make it all sloppy?” eddie growled, hips faltering just slightly as his gut kicked with something hot. he was close already, and your wet heat was simply begging him to pump it full of his seed.

you nodded mutely and drool slipped past his thumb to dribble down your chin, but if you felt it, you paid it absolutely no mind. so messy, fuck.

“please! cum in me, eddie, wan’ it—” you were babbling around his thumb, slurred and whiny, eyes glistening with crystal tears and cheeks flushed with arousal. so fuckin’ desperate.

god, he wanted to fucking cum in you so bad.

…truly, eddie really did love it when you got all needy for him, but hated how needy and desperate it made him feel as well.

been a hot minute since i’ve actually written anything serious so, drabble it is! thank you for reading <3

[daisymbin]

[19:51] - choi seungcheol

a/n: as you can tell by now, im down so bad for this man...the amount of fics I've written for him....sickening

check out my masterlist!

"if you don't love me anymore, you can just tell me."

the words tumble out of seungcheol's mouth as if they’ve been sitting on his tongue for hours, maybe even days. his voice is quiet but firm, and it catches you completely off guard. the two of you are sitting together on the couch, the usual comfortable silence between you both now feeling...strained.

you turn to look at him, your eyes widening at the unexpected confession. "what?" you ask, the confusion evident in your voice. you’ve been in a relationship with him for so long that you never expected him to say something like that.

he doesn’t meet your gaze right away. instead, he stares ahead, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. you can tell he’s trying to look calm, but there’s a tension in his shoulders and a flicker of doubt in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. it makes your heart twist, and you instinctively reach out to touch his arm.

"cheol..what are you talking about?" you ask softly, your fingers brushing his skin. "why would you even say that?"

he finally turns to face you, his expression more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen. there’s a sadness there, like he’s been carrying something heavy for a while, unsure of whether he should put it down.

"i just... i don’t know," he says, his voice wavering slightly. "i feel like things have been... different between us lately. like maybe you’re not as into me anymore. and it’s been bothering me, but i didn’t know how to bring it up."

your heart drops at his words, and you immediately pull him closer, your hand on his cheek. "cheol-ah, that’s not true," you say urgently. "i’ve been distracted, busy with work, with life. but i still love you. nothing’s changed."

he sighs, his eyes softening as he leans into your touch. "i don’t know," he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. "it just feels like we’ve been drifting apart. and i’m scared. scared that you don’t love me the way you used to."

you shake your head, a lump forming in your throat. how could he think that? how could he even question your feelings after all this time?

"choi seungcheol," you say, your voice firm now, trying to reassure him. "i’m not going anywhere. i love you more than anything. but i don’t always show it in the ways you expect, and maybe that’s where the disconnect is. but i love you. i always have & i always will."

he looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and hesitance. "you still love me?" he asks, as though he needs to hear it again.

"yes," you reply, your heart full of emotion. "i still love you. i always will."

for a moment, he just stares at you, his face slowly breaking into a smile. it’s a small, relieved smile, but it’s the most genuine one you’ve seen from him in days.

"okay," he says, his voice quiet but full of warmth. "i just needed to hear that."

you smile back at him, feeling the weight lift off your chest. "i’m sorry i made you worry," you whisper, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "but i’m here, and i’m not going anywhere."

seungcheol lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "i don’t know what i’d do without you."

you chuckle, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "well, don't even think about that then, it won't ever happen."

seungcheol pulls you into a hug, holding you tight against him. "i love you," he whispers, his voice full of sincerity.

"i love you too," you reply, your heart swelling in your chest.

[iliketopgun]

hi, my darling!! can i request “You getting so flustered is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.” with evan buckley?

i have been obsessed with him for so long (lmao as if it isn't obvious-) and i NEED more of him!!

"Honey Honey!"

Can I kiss your brain? I love this!!!!

🩷 "Nuestra Canción" send me some cute fluff prompts for characters that I write, x reader or my OCs are allowed.

Word count: 560

The prompt: "You getting flustered is one of the cutest things I've ever seen."

A/N: Never written for x reader before so here goes nothing. Legitimately don't know where this came from, deviated a bit from the prompt btw, I had a lot of fun writing this!

Warnings: female!reader, tooth rotting fluff, I totally didn't have Mamma Mia! on repeat while writing this (I'm lying so much), domesticity, curls are here, reader is a part of the 118, a curse word or two, Buck and reader live together, Buck calls his S/O "Baby" and other pet names, Buck is shirtless (yes, suffer), reader's favorite food is grilled cheese (if it's not, I'm sorry), kissing does happen, not beta read

Banner belongs to @/cafekitsune

Do not repost anywhere else or use it to train AI! This is my work! My own brain created this. Don't be a plagiarizer!

Here we go! Safe under the cut!

Buck could've sworn he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole world. His girlfriend was insanely good looking. And her music taste was impeccable. Buck could stare at her all day and never grow tired of her. Yeah, to say he was down bad was a major understatement. But who could blame him, when you looked like a goddess?

Buck was making dinner when you came in from a shift at the 118, it had been a simple 12 hour overtime shift for some extra money, but it had been so uneventful, it took a toll on you. The utter anxiety for the bell that never rang that entire shift. You kick off your work boots by the door, putting your keys in the dish by the door and putting your bag on the floor, you'll get it later. You unbutton your uniform shirt and tug it off, leaving you in a white undershirt. "I'm home!" You call out as you walk into the kitchen of the loft, watching your boyfriend cook. Buck turns around, in your tiredness, you didn't notice that Buck was shirtless and he hadn't gelled his curls back. Was he trying to kill you? Well even if he was you were sure, you'd die really happy. "Oh, hey baby, I'm making your favorite. Grilled cheese." Buck says with a smile, it was adorable. So attentive. "Mmmm, I love you. You're the best." You tell him with as much appreciation you could muster. Your nerves were shot to hell and you just wanted to eat and sleep. Buck takes notice of this and guides you to the couch, wraps you in a blanket and walks to the kitchen, leaving you confused. "Buck? What are you doing?" You ask between a laugh. Buck puts the grilled cheese on a plate and comes back into the living room with the plate and hands it to you. "Eat. Wanna watch Mamma Mia?" Buck asks you, knowing it was one of your favorites. You nod as you bite into the grilled cheese, moaning in appreciation. Buck smiles at you and kisses your forehead. Buck puts the movie on and sits beside you on the couch, placing you in his lap and cuddling you. He was like a personal space heater. But right now you don't care about anything except food and Buck. The movie starts and you finish your food up after a few minutes. You get up and place your dirty dishes in the dishwasher before running up the loft stairs to grab your pajamas. You were walking down the stairs while adjusting your Buck's shirt when the beach scene came on. No matter how many times you watched it, it still made you flush like a little girl. Buck picks up on that. "Are you blushing?" He teases and "N-no!" You stammer, before playfully tossing a pillow at him. "You wound me, darling!" Buck says dramatically while holding his hand over his heart. "Oh shush, you're fine. Plus you deserve it for walking around shirtless!" You reply before walking towards him. "You getting flustered is probably the cutest thing I've ever seen." Buck says as you stand in between his legs while he looks at you with those cerulean blue eyes and you try not to melt. "Oh shut up, Buckley!" You tell him before kissing him.

The end!

I hope you enjoyed it!

[frommybedroom]

inspired by this post

Even after he turns in his essay, he can’t stop. It’s not like he’s never written anything before, but those were the silly daydreams of a little boy with his head in the clouds, who dreamed of movie stars and damsels in distress. What he’s doing now is important. What he’s doing now is necessary.

On the third day in a row that he’s late to dinner—so late that Soda has to reheat his plate—Darry says, “What you been writing about, Pony?”

“Yeah,” Soda says, bringing the plate over and setting it down. “You’re always still up when I try to go to bed. I’ve had to replace the batteries in your flashlight twice now. Are you writing another story?”

Pony shrugs. Suddenly, all the words that pour out of him so easily onto the page get lodged in the back of his throat.

How to describe it to them? The urge—to not forget, to hold onto what was. To wring out the words and distill them into a watered-down version of his friends. Those measly words the only things left of Johnny Cade and Dallas Winston.

“Hey, Ponyboy, what’s wrong?”

Pony blinks, and Soda’s blurry face peers at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Darry scoot his chair closer to the both of them. Both wear matching expressions of concern.

“I just—” He swallows past the lump in his throat. “I just want to remember them.”

His brothers don’t say anything. So he keeps going.

“I—I can’t let them just disappear. They were here. They were real. And now they’re not. And I can’t let what their tombstones say be the only thing people remember about them. They were more than just a date.”

Soda leans over and ruffles his hair. It’s starting to grow out again finally, the natural dark roots beginning to peek through. “Don’t worry about that, Pony. You’ll never forget them. None of us will.”

“Yeah,” Darry agrees. “Dallas and Johnny were family, and family don’t—”

“I can’t remember what Mom’s perfume smelled like,” Pony bursts out. “I don’t remember what her high heels sounded like on the floor or the slight burning smell when she would curl her hair. And I try real hard to remember what it was like waking up and hearing Dad make coffee, but it’s gone. They’re fading. Like they were never actually here at all.” He clenches his fists, and there’s still a faint ache in his wrist. “I’m not gonna let that happen to them.”

He doesn’t tell them that sometimes at night, after Soda’s fully asleep and snoring like some dang bear, he sneaks out of bed and into the closet where they’ve kept Johnny’s clothes folded in a neat pile. Sometimes he holds them, brushing his fingers over the ripped jeans; sometimes he can’t bear to sully them. Which doesn’t even make sense because the shirt’s still got some of Johnny’s blood on it so it’s plenty dirty already, but he still feels like he’ll ruin it if he touches them too much or for too long.

He’s broken out of his thoughts by arms wrapping around him. A moment later, another pair of arms joins the first. And then he’s clutching onto Soda’s elbow and Darry’s forearm, and once again they’re all holding each other.

He wonders what this scene would look like to an observer: three boys in a rundown kitchen with grime caked under their fingernails and wearing clothes that don’t fit quite right. Unwanted tears escaping from tightly squeezed eyelids. A forgotten plate of food sitting on the table. No parents or friends anywhere to be seen.

He thinks they would see grief. And heartache and loneliness and pain. But maybe also hope. Maybe also love.

[cmkren]

— a human’s touch

; house x gn! reader

Maybe in some other lifetime romanticism wasn’t lost to House. That he had grown into a man capable of giving clear-cut affections— and capable of receiving it as well. The first ever puzzle he never wanted to solve, and it was of his heart. You, on the other hand, couldn’t give a damn about it all. You tied yourself to him after all.

In your lap, maybe that fact of House’s could be forgotten. For an hour or two.

a/n: i’ve never written for house, or house md at all. Currently in s4, and I’m just so attached to this crowd of misfits. I’m sorry if he ends up ooc— I just wanted to write something as close to fluff as I can with house LMAO 😭

tws; nothing you wouldn’t find in the show — 1.08k words

“What, are we playing mommy and her sexually frustrated boytoy? I don’t recall putting this into the search bar.”

“I don’t think you’re young and spry enough to be playing the pool boy in this scenario. Take as much offence as you’d want to that shocking revelation.”

Despite the very particular banter, nothing nefarious was happening in this scene. It was quite normal actually. In the tidiness of his apartment the two steeped in each other’s presence. Steeped may have been a strange word for it, but it fit the two. House was chatty like always, but even now and then he had grown quiet. Either getting caught by a specific feature of his partner (still thick on his tongue, not something he ever says really) or deep in his own thoughts.

What prompted him to make the off handed remark? Some might ask, especially when they were having such a peaceful moment!

The obvious answer would be because he’s House. What else was he supposed to do? The not-so-obvious answer was the strange feeling in his chest, as his head lay against the thighs of the person he oh-so cautiously let pull him down to such a position. If he turned his head sideways, you’d most certainly feel the prick of his unkempt beard.

He flexes his fingers, arms sort of kept… limp. Close to his chest. The pale blue of his eyes looking up to the other, brow wrinkled into a furrow as he felt awkward. He only allowed himself to be so hesitant for a second more before he went slack jawed and widened his eyes— a mockery of coming to another ‘revelation’.

“Oh! Pray tell me then, what are we?” Spoken like a young teenager picking out lines from a rom-com they watched the day before to aid them in romantic endeavours. His arms even moving just the slightest to resemble a ‘gosh darn it!’ kind of movement. That garnered an amused noise out of you, your hand very gently resting atop his mess of hair.

“Not we, you. What you are, is a man who can’t even sit still and let me dote on you. So I resorted to,” your free hand gestured to him. Legs stretched and resting on the arm rest of his couch, his head comfortably in your lap, “this.”

Then it was House’s turn to give a little snort.

“What you’ve resorted to is crippling a cripple. Can’t move! Should I go dial 911? Or are you going to kick my legs from behind just as I reach my phone?” This time, there wasn’t any sort of sound akin to laughter. Instead, you gave the hairs atop his head a bit of a tug. A warning.

A grunt left him, his eye wincing a little from the sensation but his wit outran any sort of complaint, “Pineapple! Oh— right we aren’t doing anything like that.” He still shot you a half-hearted look. All the playing around didn’t get him anything but a gentle expression though, a soft look in your eye that said that you would put up with him more than he could ever dream of.

A look he’d seen, but never truly appreciated. He wasn’t quite sure if he did so, even now.

“I would tell you to stop being stupid, but I know I could never stop that.”

“Wow, thanks.”

The way you leaned down to give press a kiss atop his forehead spoke to the fact that you never meant any malice or exasperation in their words. Sure, there was bound to be exhaustion, everyone had breaking points. You were always so lenient with him. Even if you wouldn’t admit that yourself.

Suppose in a way, they understood each other like that.

House didn’t react much to the kiss. You gave a lot of those, so. He didn’t say anything though, so that was either a good indication or a bad indication. 50/50, who knows maybe you should flip a coin.

“Good day at the hospital?” You mumbled, slowly twirling the short strands on his head, coiling them around your fingers. House’s face visibly relaxed, only flexing and moving as he responded. “Oh, yeah, like Santa’s little workshop there. Bundle of joy, fun bright lights.” He muttered, eyes closing for a moment.

Everyone knew that his days were full of pain. He made sure everyone knew, actually. Always made sure that everyone had to be dragged down with him. With you though, he toned it down. Just a little bit.

Your hand caressed the side of his face, gliding down the rough surface and down his scraggly beard. Mindless shapes formed along his skin, his eyes trained on your face. Whether your face would contort the longer you looked at him. As if waiting for you to have a revelation of your own— that he wasn’t who you wanted to spend your time with. That’d you’d wake up soon. Wake up from the dream you seemed so content with, him in your lap and the carefulness of your gestures.

“Something on my face?” Your hand trailed back up to his cheekbone, before pinching the skin there. A smile on your face, for him. For a moment, he stayed silent. Lips that were once parted were now pursed into a tight line, furrow of his brows suggested that he was thinking again.

The longer you waited though, the lighter your touch became. As if you were drawing back. An end to a gentle moment.

“No,” his hands shot up, taking yours in his own. His eyes firm, before they would soften and close as he brought your hands to his face. “Keep it this way a little longer.” For once, not a quip. A moment of genuine love, one that came out of him thinking this was all but fleeting.

In reality, you hardly moved at all.

You were just going to shift, hopefully making him more comfortable if he had felt the position a little awkward. Instead he cradled your hands as if they were the one thing keeping him off his pills. Even just for a short amount of time. Your shoulders went lax, tilting your head as you gave a faint smile. “Okay.” Was all you said.

“I’d rather have you touch me than the old reliables here,” one of his hands let go, giving a bit of a jazzy shake as if to emphasize, “god knows I’ve touched myself enough. Your hands are softer.” You snorted.

“I don’t doubt it.”

[honeyhotteoks]

do you have any advice on like getting better with writing?

hey! i definitely do!! i’ve talked about this before but i have a lot of new readers, so ill start off by saying i’ve been writing for my entire life, and im 30 so thats a lot of years. if you’re a new writer, trust me i used to be there and good god if you guys could see the stuff i published in old fandoms 💀 really, really bad haha

i only say that because i by no means consider myself a great writer, there are fic writers in this space alone that i’m always so floored by and look up to…. but people have been very kind about my writing style and it’s something that took time to develop it’s not something i just “had”. outside of fic, i was a literature and creative writing major, and got very used to writing and workshopping pieces.

now! onto some actual advice —

1. read a lot and read more, but read stuff you actually like and not stuff you feel pressured to read. i love high brow litfic as much as the next pretentious english major, but i started writing a ton after reading a bunch of kindle unlimited romance because it was fun and it got me inspired

2. watch well written television for dialogue and pacing. people do not talk in proper english, they don’t say things eloquently, and there’s a lot of filler and fluff. that’s good! that’s real, so i love well written tv to show me how it’s done

3. get comfortable writing in weird ways. for years i used to sit down and be like “ah okay so chapter one” and then i was stuck, stalled out, and just felt bad about the process. when i started writing both aurora and tnt, i started in the middle. i had an image of a scene in my mind (for tnt it was actually the claim attempt) and i just wrote it out and then bounced around later

4. outlines are your friend! sometimes i’ll get a random line of dialogue in my head or an image but that doesn’t mean i’m ready to write it. i throw it in one big outline so i don’t lose it.

5. if you’re wanting to write really good smut i have two suggestions but please only do this to your personal comfort level. this is what works for me but do not make yourself uncomfortable— for good smut, i watch porn for reference and for good dirty talk, i listen to nsfw audio. i like to really write the visuals for smut and make it immersive but lol i haven’t experienced everything ive written about and logistics of the body are hard!! i usually find a video or an audio and let that help guide the imagery im writing.

6. be comfortable with the editing process. i know the temptation to post something the minute you finish it is there, but sleep on it. come back and edit it, read the dialogue out loud if you have to. i swear you’ll make the piece better just by leaving it and coming back.

7. don’t be afraid to post. most people are kind, and the worst thing that will happen is you don’t get a lot of notes. that’s okay, it’s a process.

8. research! as i’m writing anything, even a silly little oneshot, im doing research on something. i am hyper aware that im not korean and have never spoken korean or lived in korea, so for my fic i try my hardest to ground elements of that in reality. i truly cannot tell you how many hours ive spent reading like korean case law on revenge porn just for like 3 lines of dialogue. and you don’t have to go that crazy, i’m arguably too intense, but i do think some of that helps the story and the dialogue feel real.

9. describe something real- every place in my writing is based on something real. every apartment, hotel, cafe, venue, etc., they’re all either something i’ve found online or drawn from my life and use that to my advantage. i use apartment listings and save photographs, i do google map walks to see what neighborhoods look like, anything to get the feel of a place or an experience. for the christmas chapters of aurora, i watched hours of gwangju walking tour videos on youtube while i was writing just to understand how to describe their walk in the snow. it really helps me to have a visual that i can put words to.

10. find your weak points and see what other writers do differently. if you want to improve, you should find a small place to start. is it dialogue? overall plot? smut? etc. - i’ll never forget being on a creative writing retreat, and a very important writing professor said to me “everything you write is very pretty but you haven’t said anything. you have to decide to say something.” that feedback hurt, but sent me down a much better writing path when i realized where i was falling short and not challenging myself.

okay i hope some of this was helpful and if it’s a mess im sorry im on mobile. i really just love writing so deeply and will always talk about it, so i hope this was helpful 💗

[ramblinscramblin]

Hey there! I read your headcanons and they are pretty cool! I wanted to ask for small headcanons myself

Sniper, Scout and Pauling discovers that reader is a vampire! How will they react?

Reader can be any pronounce you want. You can do romantic or platonic, whatever is comfortable with you!

-💀🌌

→With a vampire!Reader!

Genre: fluff, a lil silly

Characters: Sniper, Scout, and Pauling Warning: canon typical gore.

I love love love this request, thank you so much! This was kind of a hard prompt to get ideas for for some reason. Also I’ve actually never written for Pauling before, let’s hope I get her right!

Sniper

Sniper took note of your gloomy and loner disposition right away.

It’s part of the reason he bothered getting close to you in the first place.

He’s observant so he probably noticed everything separately even if he hadn’t fully put it together yet. Definitely took note of your fangs.

The dislike of garlic, avoiding the sun, never seen eating anything, never seeming flushed or red, your sunken in look, everyone sort of already joked about it.

So he wasn’t all too shocked when you told him.

I honestly imagine he feels pretty threatened by you.

He is generally distrusting of people normally, so you being a night stalking blood drinking beasty doesn’t do much to quell his anxieties.

Couldn’t help but feel intrigued though, can't help but feel compelled by you, even despite his reservations he can't really keep away for long.

The idea of a vampire I feel like would be something he would be very attracted too, the thrill of it all kind of excites him. Of course he doesn't say that, or act on it very often, but you know it anyways.

Idk if this is an out of character headcanon but I highkey think Sniper is a monster fucker.

Supplies you with blood if he sees your low, enjoys how much you brighten after a drink.

Overall finds you very fasicnating, likes learning how to manage life as a vampire

Scout

Scout thinks you're messing with him until the moment he watches you drain the blood from a civilian.

Cautious with the kinds of jokes he makes after that.

He guesses it does kind of make sense in retrospect, you did have a sort of dark air about you.

Honestly finds it so sick, thinks of you as sort of his personal gaurd dog at night, wouldn't say that outloud but internally yes.

He generally would treat you about the same, vampire or not.

If we're talking old timey vampires here finds it hilarious that you can't enter a space without explict permission, will torture you by not inviting you into a room as he walks right through.

Thinks you turning into a bat is one of the coolest things, honestly big jealous vibes from Scout, he wishes he was a big cool vampire too.

It’s a fantasy of his for you to drink some of his blood, is too proud/paranoid to ever say it out loud. But you don’t miss his little sighs as he looks at your fangs.

Secretly dreams of you turning him too, so very secretly.

Pauling

Was honestly so overworked she hardly even noticed.

"Huh? What did you say? Oh yeah, yeah that's nice," she said with a polite nod one day, burying a group of hippies as she did so.

Just enjoys having someone with her during the night, like Scout wouldn't realize you were serious until she sees you feed, once she does it's like a start up noise.

Genuinely uses you as an asset in her work, you turning into a bat and flying is amazing for locating survivors, youre such a big help!

Like I said enjoys the nightly company more than words can describe, she loves quality time.

Really enjoys your darker aesthetic and sometimes thinks you're way too cool to be spending all your time with her.

Will make sure you're always fed, you never have to worry about going hungry while Pauling is around.

If you've been around a few generations wants to hear what life was like before she was around, how it felt to live in a vastly diffrent time period. Finds it so intresting to hear about!

Ohhh boy I hope this is okay anon! Like I said it was kind of hard to think of things to write about for some reason,,, I hope this was good! I had a lot of fun writing it even despite the trouble I had.

[sloppy-little-witch-bitch26]

now that I'm riding this train, do you have any headcanons of kratos and hemidall together? or how their relationship progresses to something more than "enemies" also how they'd romp around in the sheets too 💀 im sensing thered be some sexual tension, especially on heimdalls side. he's never seen such a man like kratos, someone so physically strong and imposing yet a mind as calm and quiet as a gentle river. interested in your thoughts!

Okay, I LOVE this. Again… NSFW!!! NO MINORS. Seriously, I’ll feed to you Svanna and Speki…

Kratos x Heimdall - Enemies to Lovers. Smut ahead MDNI

Not proof read.. I’m very tired.

Let’s pretend Heimdall wasn’t unalived during the fight (maybe he did still loose his arm) but Kratos is walking away, Heimdall’s head is downcast and he lets out a quiet “I can’t go back, I can’t go back” and Kratos replies with a questionable “hmm?”

Heimdall is just defeated, he’s in pain. No one has ever so much as snagged his clothes let alone BEAT him in a fight. He knows damn well though he’s as good as dead if he goes back to Asgard

Kratos contemplates, Atreus’ voice in his head saying “everyone can be saved father” so he removes the spear and mutters a “you so much as antagonise my son and your fate will be much worse than you returning to Asgard”.

Heimdall follows, full on playing the kicked puppy routine, slowly trailing behind Kratos till they reach the others, too embarrassed to even look at their questionable faces everyone has seeing the spiteful little shit trailing behind Kratos.

Fast forward and Heimdall is being taught and learning what it takes to be his own person without Odin‘s influence and releasing not everyone has cruel intentions as he previously believed. People are being civil to him! He still kinda taunts Atreus though but only in thought.

The more time he spends with Kratos, even though tensions are rife, he’s looking at him, watching him. How can this behemoth of a man be so… calm. The roughness of his face, the lines around his eyes, the grey in his beard but yet those almost golden eyes never show him any contempt.

Heimdall fights within his mind. He’s the scion of the Aesir for crying out loud but when that huge Greek god looks at him, Heimdall becomes this timid shell, completely at the mercy of the Spartans gaze.

He starts thinking of the way Kratos helped him. He doesn’t yell at him. Never raises his hands, never condescends him, never puts him down. He treats him like an equal.

Heimdall starts to loosen up around Kratos then one day he’s outside Sindri’s cabin, hearing grunts followed by logs hitting the ground. He follows the sound and there is Kratos chopping wood for the fire. The effortless way he swings that axe and those muscles… they way they constrict and release with each swing. Heimdall is starting to feel flushed and that flush goes straight to his groin. Embarrassed, he high tails it away to avoid Kratos from seeing the wood Heimdall is now sporting.

Let’s say Ragnarok happens, Odin is dead, Asgard has fallen and Heimdall is in Vanaheim helping the Vanir and Aesir rebuild. Everyone has noticed he’s changed. he’s still offish but he’s trying. Kratos notices this too. Heimdall isn’t uptight any more, he’s actually letting loose a little and do his eyes actually sparkle more now he’s free from the burden of Asgard?

There’s been times late at night where they’ve held conversations. Heimdall enthralled by the stories of Kratos in Greece and something more is starting to stir within both of them. Is this what companionship feels like? Common ground with another being?

One night the thoughts become too much. Heimdall can’t sleep, the god of war plaguing each of his thoughts and he can’t help himself but ease the growing tension in his crotch. He assumes everyone is asleep and he is desperate, his hand reaches down until he grasps himself and by the gods.. the pleasure that runs though his veins the minute his grasps his aching cock.

Kratos awakens to whimpers. He’s confused, it’s must be Heimdall having a nightmare. He figures he needs to check on him, Kratos knows damn well how the past can effect a sleeping conscious. He slowly takes steps to Heimdall’s room. The whimpers are becoming more frequent but he thinks nothing of it until he opens the door and he cannot take his eyes off of the sight. Heimdall is lying there, languidly twisting his wrist and palm over his very erect cock, the slick sounds of skin on skin, the glistening of pre cum coating Heimdall’s shaft and Kratos feels himself hardening.

Too lost in the feeling, brain flooded with thoughts of Kratos, Heimdall’s foresight is practically useless at this point, he doesn’t even hear the footsteps coming towards him until he feels his hand still being replaced by something much warmer and much more calloused. Shock setting in, bifrost eyes widening in fear but when he feels Kratos start to pump, by the Norns, he could’ve cum right there and then.

As always, there’s a calm and collected approach to the way Kratos’s closed palm moves so effortlessly along him but the warmth, the pressure, the heat coming from Kratos and Heimdall is close, so damn close. But he wants, no.. he NEEDS MORE.

Too consumed by pleasure to actually speak but he locks eyes with Kratos and he is BEGGING the man to either make him finish or just put him out of his misery.

What follows is an event Heimdall never would’ve imagined. He’s on his back, legs pushed towards his chest and he’s just so damn FULL. The feeling of Kratos… hard, hot, thick and deep is too much and yet not enough. Kratos is towering over Heimdall. Nothing but brawn and muscle and yet each movement. Each stroke. Every slow, tortuous stroke is hitting his spot just right at every thrust and Heimdall is seeing stars.

For the first time in his life, someone is caring for him. Focusing slowly on his pleasure, his comfort, his well-being and he’s so close and so full he almost wants to cry.

What feels like hours is spent in pure, all consuming ecstasy and Heimdall has never felt this connection before.

Kratos, still as composed as ever is also feeling confused but the way this young man clamps around him is too delicious, he needs more. He’s missed that closeness of another person. It may be nothing, a one time thing. A way to relive stress but with the golden haired man beneath him, the heat enveloping his hardened member, he could not care less.

Both men are spent. Heimdall is half expecting Kratos to up and leave without saying a word. Kratos got what he needed, he had no use for him now but when he’s gently pulled towards the Spartan and strong arms are wrapped around him, one hand slowly moving to play with his hair he’s overcome with feeling. For the first time since he can remember, Heimdall falls asleep feeling at peace.

Probably more Heimdall’s character but this bitch is still INSUFFERABLE at times. Mouthing off, sarcastic isms thrown left right and centre towards everyone and anything still happens on the daily until one day, he’s said the wrong thing to Kratos and all it takes is one look at Kratos’ face and he knows he’s about to be punished.

He knows damn well he’s going to be sore tomorrow and walking with a limp after Kratos is done with him but… he’s the god of foresight. He saw this coming after all… that’s exactly why he chose to push the Spartans buttons.

[torubeth]

degradation taken too far (mature content 18+)

context/warnings : it’s smut, so kids shoo! hell of a lot of degradation. they’re so mean i hate them. (swearing, words used : slut and slutty) angst to i have no idea what. pls do lmk if i missed any tws. and as always, its not proofread :p gojo ver.

ryomen sukuna ‘is that all you can do? all your yapping earlier about ridin’ me was just talks? answer me’ his sudden shift in demeanour has you feeling really small. sure he is a rude ass prick but not to you. never to you.

‘no- i can take it. i really can ryo’ tears sting at your eyes as you struggle to take in his full length. his hands giving your waist a small squeeze.

‘yeah and that’s all you’ve been saying for the past goddamn fifteen minutes. either you take it like a good girl or i’ll just have to find someone who will. trust me, i can’ he eyes held no remorse of the words he just spewed and that’s when you break.

correction, you shatter.

somewhere in the back of your head you knew he’ll never leave you but him wording it out makes it seem like it’s bound to happen.

and so tears stroll down your cheeks, your hands and legs giving out on you, your body going limp against his and you whisper the same thing over and over again.

‘don’t leave me ryo. i’m sorry. didn’t mean to upset you. i’m so sorry. don’t leave’

quickly his arms wrap around your body protectively, your face between his shoulder blade and neck, wetting the area with fresh batch of tears.

‘i could never leave you. you’re-’ you’re it for me. ‘you’re always the one that keeps me sane. there’s no way i’ll ever leave you. i’m sorry baby, forgive me. i didn’t mean a word of what i said’ he says.

when he didn’t get a response from you ‘look at me’ he whispers. slowly you leave the comfort of his neck and meet his eyes.

‘i didn’t mean it. you could leave me on deathbed and i still wouldn’t mean it’

‘i can’t leave you ryo. i love you way too much’ you sniffle, new tears threatening to spill so you go back to huddle against his neck.

god. he knows you mean it. and that’s what makes him feel like a dickhead.

‘me too, i- i lo-’ he struggles, just as your palm reaches up to cover his mouth.

‘i know ryo, i know’ you whisper, placing your forehead against his, both of you basking in the quietness of the surrounding.

geto suguru ‘fuckin-! ah shit! some insane grip you have on me baby. can’t move if you clench and lock me up like that’ he smirks against your neck.

‘and a bit quiet today ain’t ya? you sure had a lot to say to satoru earlier heh’ he remarks.

‘we were just catching up suguru, nothing-! nothing more’ you whine.

‘catching up you say? does catching up require smiles and touches? do they angel baby?’ he raises his eyebrows.

‘no..’ you avert your eyes away from his.

‘that’s what i thought. so for that, now you pay’ he pulls out suddenly, and pushes all the way back in making you yelp out loud.

‘sugu! ah fuck, i don’t think i can go another round baby. s’too much!’ the pressure was starting to get to you and you were starting to lose stability.

‘hah, i know you can baby, this slutty pussy’s all you’re good for anyway. fuck, doesn’t matter whose it is, as long as you’re filled. am i right?’ his words pierced straight through your heart.

since when did he-?

out of reflex, your hands reach out to touch his face to make sure that this was a dream nightmare. otherwise there’s no way he-

‘don’t touch me with those filthy hands’ he spits but makes no effort to push your hand off.

‘do you really think that’s all i’m good for?’ your voice is soft, filled with pain, and suddenly it’s like he’s broken out of his trance.

what the fuck am i doing, he thought.

slowly he pulls out, all whilst holding your hand against his cheek.

‘absolutely not. no. fuck, did not mean it angel. i promise. i- i don’t know what came over me-! didn’t mean it. please i’m sorry. next time if i ever lose my shit with you, i want you to take the nearest sharp object and plunge it into my chest’ he heaves out a guttural sigh.

‘you were really mean you know..’ you wipe your eyes.

‘i know baby, fuck. i didn’t mean it. i did not mean it. i’ll never do it again princess, ever’ he repeats.

his face lands on your chest, thanking all the gods and the stars out there for giving him another chance.

he’ll never screw up again and that’s a promise.

nanami kento ‘you really couldn’t wait for a few hours? just had to go and think with your cunt, right? have you no- ugh! no shame?’ his thrusts were sloppy as his hands were placed around your hips.

‘kento- slow down baby, i- i don’t think i can last’ you whine, hands clutching at the sheets.

‘no. you asked for this you little slut. so shut. the. fuck. up. and take it!’ each syllable was accompanied by a harsh thrust.

the usually composed, sweet and calm nanami was nowhere to be found. he’s never once called you a ‘slut’ and what caused this? you rubbing him through his pants and riling him up at his office dinner earlier tonight.

he warned you off multiple times but did you listen? no.

‘why are you so quiet now? i thought this is what you wanted’ his voice comes out raspy and cold.

a quiet but audible whimper escaped your lips, making him halt his actions.

slowly he pulled out, gently laying you on your back as your body shook with each sob.

‘sweetheart…? why are you…’

you look up at him, eyes puffy and swolllen ‘i’m sorry kento, it’s just that, you’re never home these days and i missed you so much’ a cry that’s sure to crack his heart leaves your lips.

‘i just wanted you all to myself for tonight but i didn’t mean to be a bother-’

his warm body hovers over yours, ‘you’re never a bother baby. always know that. you will always be at the top of every and any list i make. there’s nothing more i want than coming home to you everyday after work. and i didn’t mean to lash out at you. you didn’t deserve that, i’m sorry’ he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

‘you will always have me sweetheart, never forget that. now let me make it up to you yeah?’

[loudlightobservation]

How do you think Syd and Carmy will realize they have feelings for each other?

Here’s what popped into my mind.

(Forgive me as I am often poor at articulating my thoughts)

Carmy

Carm and Syd are in the kitchen at the Bear.

They are both independently working, kind of like in S2, ep 5. Sydney knocks something over, curses under breath, grabs a broom and dustpan and starts to sweep.

What she knocked over definitely made a big mess. Usually Carmy would jump in to help but instead he just finds himself observing her. He has a slight smile on his face. We then see scenes of Syd and the times they’ve spent together, as though they are racing through Carmy’s mind. And then, like a ding when something is done cooking, we return back to Camry’s face of realization. He realizes “Oh that’s what these feelings have been? I like her?”

Syd snaps him out of it, “Hey you gonna just stand there? Or are you gonna help me?”

Spell broken, he bends down and helps her clean up, unsure of what to do with this new information. Body on fire because of his now close proximity with Syd.

[author-chan06]

Can you make one about 049 adopting *you*il’and taking care of you. Please and thank you :)

Hello, creepyalienghost! Apologies that it took so long for this to be done, but it is finally here! Pairing: SCP 049 & Child OC Character Wordcount: 2,458 A/N: I do hope this meets your expectations, sorry if he’s a bit off at the moment in this story, this is actually the first time I’ve really written 049, and so I was kinda trying to find my footing, and I hope you like the child character, even though they’re not complex here. The child is kinda supposed to be a self insert anyway, I just wrote it in third person, I hope you don’t mind that. Anyway, I’m rambling now, onto the story! Tws: Sickness, Implied Bigotry (Minor), Parental Neglect or Abandonment, Crying

I’ll Make It Better

Summary: After hearing about a town that has been racked with a sickness, SCP 049 goes over to see if there are any survivors he might be able to assist, and there is. He finds a child that seems to have caught the affliction but is working through it alone.

The old town seems to be deserted.

The buildings are dilapidated and empty, a silence that carries across the area and feels heavy enough to drive away any who would want to near hangs in the air. It smells of decay and death and fear, potent enough to choke any normal person.

The Doctor knows the sensations well though, and easily makes his way through the town, carefully searching through the houses for any survivors, meticulous and sure hands pulling up pieces of walls and picking the locks to check the rooms. He makes sure that no place is left out of his search.

It may seem strange, but he heard from a patron of a bar he’d gone through a couple days ago, about two towns over, about the outbreak that occurred and how it had decimated this town. They had explained in quite vivid detail how the disease has gripped people and turned them a sickly yellow, how it has given them boils that burn as hot as hellfire, and how they deserved it for what they did in that town. For how they were allowed to live there.

His sudden departure from the area had been hardly noted, and he had been glad. If he stayed any longer he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his oath to do no harm to living creatures. And moreover, he knew where he was needed.

No matter, the Doctor banishes the thought of the uncouth man and continues his search, his senses detecting some signs of life farther away. He follows it, ducking under a broken door frame and opening the door to a much smaller room that seems to be some type of bedroom. The scent of life is much stronger here, he notes, hopefully closing the door behind him and aiming to search the room as thoroughly as possible until he finds whoever or whatever it might be that had survived this scourge. It should be fairly easy with such a small space to search through, and then he can get back to his main goal of curing the wretched Pestilence from humanity.

It doesn’t take long— in truth he doesn’t even need to look, for as soon as he closes the door a cough rattles out from beneath a pile of blankets on the bed, ragged and painful sounding in a way that suggests the throat is scratched and rough, and a small hand peeks out, fingers curling around the cover and pushing it weakly to the side as if fighting against the unrelenting hand of the gods themselves; there’s another cough, and the covers slip, falling from the bed and leaving the person below completely exposed, shivering and hot. 

A child, the Doctor immediately realizes, something almost like panic pressing in his chest as he stares.

It’s not the Pestilence, or at least, it’s not the one he’s spent his entire existence fighting, but he can still feel the sickness radiating from the child. The Pestilence is present as well, but only dormant, and he knows that if the child stays like this for any longer then they will not live long enough for it to develop any farther. Usually that would betoken a job done, once the Pestilence has been infected into someone— and there are so very few without it— the only way to end it is through his cure, or death of the mortal flesh. And his cure is not perfect, it is barely satisfactory at the moment, meaning that the child would likely not survive that either. Their death would cause the exact same outcome at the moment. He should move on and find another survivor, there is surely at least one more that has less Pestilence in their system. And yet. And yet.

Dark eyes peek up at him, barely lucid but just bright enough, just there enough, that he knows they see him, and he finds himself paralyzed. Their hands curl around themselves, seeking warmth of any kind as if they can feel the chill of death breathing down their neck, and when they try to move closer, to take a closer look at him, their arms tremble and they fall backwards, a horribly painful sounding cough racking their small frame and making them whine.

He should just leave, or even try to cure them; he’s never hesitated before, and he should not allow himself such a liberty now, and yet.

He’s never wanted to harm anyone. His goal has always been to save, to help, to make better.

This child could be helped. This child could be cured. If not of the Pestilence, then of this horrible sickness that has taken hold of them now.

The Doctor inches closer, reaching out a hand to the child, who blinks blearily and tries to reach back, muscles trembling and sweat sticking their small amount of hair to their head, their fingers splayed apart as if in pain or for more reach. And he quickly grabs their hand just before it falls— he assumes it would have pitched them forward, and something about that thought makes his chest lurch— and he leans the child back, watching the way they move with him carefully, supporting their back with a hand, while keeping their hand in his, his deadly touch deactivated, as their breathing that had pitched higher at the strain calms a bit and their eyes start to clear a bit more, as if his mere presence cures them a bit, as if his mere presence helps them feel better.

He isn’t quite sure how to feel about that, but he makes sure to keep his voice as kind as he can when he finally speaks, “Child, what ails you? Did the grown folk speak of the plague harming your town?,” He pauses, and then adds, “I am a physician, and I am here to help you.”, hoping to assuage any worry the child might have of his appearance. 

Plague Doctors such as himself are common, though they were not called that by any but himself as far as he has knowledge, but most children were unfamiliar with the medical field unless something disastrous has occurred. He hopes he is the first this child has had to meet, but, from his looking around, it seems unlikely, despite how miserable that thought is. 

But he is still certainly different from others in his field— he has been told as such by many— and he would not want to scare this child with his unconventional methods and his strange looks.

“Phy…” They whisper, their voice broken and feeble. Their hand shivers in his and he moves just that much closer, pressing a hand to their forehead to measure their temperature as they try to continue, “Physic’an? Momma sai’ they only c’m ‘round in the bad,” And it’s like they remember this as they say it, because their chest jerks, eyes going wide as their body swings, trying to get away or go do something, but they cannot, their mind obviously spinning as their breathing labors in their chest and makes their lungs seize, and the Doctor helps, catching them and trying to calm the way his own heart has jumped. They are quite hot to the touch, he notes down with worry.

He settles them back on the bed, and leans back, just far enough that they have space to move without his hovering. “That is,” He hesitates. What is appropriate to tell a child in this circumstance? If their mother and father haven’t left already, then they are very likely dead, and if they did leave… The Doctor has seen that enough to be sure that they are very unlikely to come back. “The town has been struck with a nasty plague, I’m afraid.” He settles on, keeping his hand on their shoulder so they don’t jerk too hard again, and keeping an eye on their face. It does no one any good to deny them information.

They turn ashen as they swallow, and their eyes flicker back and forth, like they’re looking for something and it takes a moment for him to realize that—

This poor child is going to be heartbroken.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, “I could not seem to get here in time, and the sir and madam of this house… They do not seem to be around anymore.” He doesn’t specify for what reason, mainly he keeps it as such because he does not know for certain, but seeing the crumble of the child’s face… that might have influenced his words, he must admit. He thinks the child knows anyway— there is an intelligence about them— but he won’t say it unless they ask.

The child’s trembles intensify and they press their hands to their face, their legs pulling up to their chest slowly, and he can hear their breathing go rough, a ragged sob that has been building for he is unsure how long falls from them, and, as if a dam has been broken, they start to fall in earnest, small hands try to rub them away, to push the feelings away and make it stop, but they just continue to fall, and their lips tremble, the redness of the fever giving way to a despair that strikes the Doctor in the heart.

The Doctor does not even think before he moves closer this time, drawing the child into his side and letting them be covered by his robes as they cry, and, despite their apprehension before, they latch on immediately, stronger and more trusting than he would have ever expected making him jolt, staring down at the child, though he does not push them away, only moving to make it a bit more comfortable and to be able to have his hand on their shoulder to comfort them if need be. And they seem to appreciate it, as their hands dig into his robes and they dig their face into his chest, their tears pressing into his skin and dampening the fabric like covering. 

Not that he minds the dirtying of his clothes itself– he is a Doctor, that happens often enough— but he does wish they weren’t so sad; the tears harm his heart, and he is not used to that.

It is not something he would particularly like to get used to.

But this goes on for quite some time, and he does not rid of the child, nor does he try to cure them— no matter how much his hands itch to— and instead he just continues to hold them, eventually hesitantly shifting so that the child is on his lap, curled up and small but protected, his robes fanned out more than usual and arms settled on their back. If anyone or anything enters, it means he can turn his wrist and catch them with his deadly touch before they can harm either of them, and it means that he can rub the child’s back.

“Why would mama leave me?” The child eventually mumbles, tears still falling but starting to slow to a sluggish pace. Their face is shiny and red, eyes blurry and dark, and the Doctor is overwhelmed by a feeling he’s never had before, one that he cannot quite classify the way he would like to, and it makes him wish for a more expressive face, a more human build so that he could calm this child more effectively, so that he could show his emotions.

But he did say that he would tell them if they asked, and they are asking.

The Doctor hums, rubbing a hand down their back, listening in the silence as everything pauses, “I can not say for certain she left, child, but if she did…” The child tenses and looks up at him, and he once again wishes for a human face, anything more expressive than his beak when he admits, “It is likely she thought you would spread the plague to her and her other loved ones. She made the decision to stop the spread, because she knew it would take them as well, if she didn’t stop it.”

Their chest hitches but they don’t start crying again. They rub at their eyes roughly, but the Doctor stops that, running a gloved finger under them, and letting his beak curl into the closest he can get to a smile as his voice warms, “It could also mean, she thought you could survive on your own, that she trusted in your ability to persevere and live, and well,” The child blinks and leans into his hand, and something about that makes him feel warm. If only for a moment he worries about contracting what the child has, but he knows that’s impossible and so he continues, “She would have been right. As though you are sick now, I have gotten here on time, and by the time I leave, I promise that you will be better.”

“Better?” The child asks, hopeful and small, hands coming to clutch at his own and at his robes.

The Doctor nods, and keeps his voice warm, just as warm as he feels, as he agrees, “Better.”

It’s strange, the Doctor will readily admit that, to be curing someone of something other than the Pestilence, or even to have to comfort someone through the process, someone who can still be scared of the items and methods he is using. But he wouldn’t call it anything other than that. It isn’t painful, or bad, or awkward, or anything of the sort, and maybe that’s because it’s this special child— though he doesn’t quite understand why the child is special yet, these instincts have never driven him wrong before, they’re the same ones that pushed him onto the path of the Cure over and over again, they’re the ones that assured him that traveling through Europa was the right choice— or maybe it’s easy to comfort them for some reason that is just something that he cannot pick out.

But no matter what it is, it makes him care about this child, and since he cares he will cure them.

And when it’s time to leave—

Well, the Doctor has always needed an assistant.

Never mind the fact the child rarely remembers what he teaches, often gets the wrong ingredients and tools for him, and can cause all sorts of trouble. That’s his assistant and they go wherever he goes, and they learn, slowly but surely. And he learns with and of them, of humans and their customs, of family and friendship, of hope and laughter and excitement, and silly fun.

And he finds that he doesn’t just make the child better. No— they make him better too.

[palukoo]

this is SUCH an insane thing to say in a random blog post/obituary especially as the author is ostensibly not a lesbian. like truly hello??? that said. well… points we’re made!! there WAS something vaguely dykey about her.

[pizzaqueen]

To the anon who sent me the love spell prompt aaaaages ago: I hope you’re still around! Because I finally started writing it. Here’s a little teaser for you (and anyone else interested):

Always the goddamn babysitter. Steve slumps back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. He should be out there, with everyone else, doing something. Not stuck in the Wheelers’ basement. This time it’s Eddie Steve’s been tasked with keeping an eye on, though, not one of the kids. He’s honestly not sure if that’s better or worse.

At least Eddie’s alive. That’s better. So much better. Steve casts a sidelong glance at Eddie. He’s oddly calm for a guy who’s been presumed dead for the better part of a month and was then discovered to be under some kind of freaky mind warp spell, servant to Vecna. Steve hadn’t really understood Dustin’s explanation, but, then, most of Dustin’s explanations are just made up shit from D&D, so it’s not like they’re any more real than the way Steve tries to figure things out. But Eddie’s calm, now, seems content even.

It’s weird because, when they’d dragged him here, it had been literally kicking and screaming and the only person he won’t freak out around is Steve. Steve doesn’t get it. They barely knew—know—each other. Why him? No one had an answer to that, not one Steve liked, anyway, but it didn’t change anything. Eddie is only calm around Steve, so here Steve is, keeping Eddie as far away from Vecna as he can until the rest of the gang do their thing, take Vecna out, save the day, while Steve’s playing babysitter.

Eddie would probably be good company any other time—though the way he’s sitting there, chin in his hand, just looking at Steve is unnerving—but Steve should be out there. What if someone gets hurt and he could have stopped it? Fuck.

Steve scrubs a hand over his face, looks at the walkie talkie that’s been silent too long. Something’s gone wrong, it must have. Why didn’t those idiots listen to him?

“So,” Eddie says, “did you miss me?”

The suddenness of his voice in the quiet startles Steve. He blinks over at Eddie where he’s sitting cross-legged on the couch. “Hm?”

“When I was…gone. Did you miss me?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “sure,” partly because he doesn’t want to upset Eddie. And partly because it’s true. He hadn’t known Eddie well, but there had been a place forming for him in Steve’s life in the short time they had. An Eddie shaped place, almost fully formed, suddenly void. He’s not sure if what he felt was grief—there hadn’t been time, after, to feel much of anything except panic—but it was still strange. Wrong. And seeing Dustin torn up the way he was is something Steve never wants to see again. “Of course I did,” he adds.

This look Steve can only describe as dreamy passes over Eddie’s face and he smiles up at Steve. It’s unsettling. Makes something tangle in Steve’s chest, maybe not entirely unpleasant, he can’t tell. He’s all mixed up and tired and, fuck, why hasn’t anyone checked in?

“I missed you, too,” Eddie says.

“Uh, cool. Thanks, man.”

Eddie’s smile grows wider. And then, one moment, he’s sitting there, staring up at Steve, all doe eyes, and the next there’s this ripple that runs through the room and Eddie falls back. Like a puppet with its strings cut.

[commence-screaming]

I know you all are awaiting my response, and I’m grateful for your patience. There are some things I have to address here. Never wanted to put everything out there—I don’t like drama on my blog. I have a document that’s over a thousand words long, but I realized that when people have blocked me and are saying stuff in the main tag, they don’t want to listen. They just want to hurt me.

So I guess now there are things I have to clarify… it’s heavy, but I tried to keep it short. I didn’t have the energy to read everything they were saying about me so I may get things wrong. I didn’t really want to post this.

Content warnings for mental illness, suicidal ideation, mentions of abuse.

Let’s get right into it.

1. I’ve always lived with the paranoid delusion that everyone was conspiring against me, that people secretly hated me and would smear me behind my back. I passed these off as negative thoughts, anything that might’ve “confirmed” this would set it off. I’d have an episode I would have to deal with on my own. I thought that nobody would stick with me in a crisis, and I would always be thinking along the lines of, “is it all over?”

I feel liberated, now. There’s no need to fight when they’re true. I am more at peace with myself.

2. I never want to hurt anyone. Not a real level, the angst stuff is fictional pain. I am autistic—the things you’re hearing me say are the first times I’ve talked to people (other than my family) for my entire life. I always want people to go to me when I do something wrong so I can handle it and learn from my mistakes, that’s why I have my bio set to what it is.

That, and my memory is so fuzzy that I can’t remember too much from even last week. I tend to dissociate and my brain turns into mush.

3. The “minor incident” that Ghouse and the others were talking about was one of his mods saying she’d “tear people apart” and then immediately citing me as the main cause because I was “being rude.” I told her why I was taking a break, as I couldn’t handle it, this had happened before and I asked them to correct me if I was wrong—even confirming multiple times that we were just joking around because I was paranoid.

I suggested they go straight to me for future reference. I was having a mental health episode. She called me crazy and that I was overreacting, implying I was stupid. Another mod told me I was overreacting and that I was acting pathetic and childish. This made point 1 so much worse.

4. The “suicide baiting” was something I told the Panic Room server in confidence. I told them I was talking a break. Ghouse said “it wasn’t that bad but okay,” as if he were gaslighting me. He said things like this as I was sobbing alone in my room, which he was well aware of.

I have to clarify that it wasn’t baiting. Suicidal ideation has been something I’ve been dealing with since I was 9 years old. I have been abused/gaslit for more of my life than I have been safe. I never wanted to say this, but they were brushing me off at a point where I was trying to find a reason to live. I had stupidly thought that they would understand what they were doing to me if I said.

5. That was the first time I had an episode like that. To say that it was baiting is to say I was lying. Let’s play devil’s advocate here.

If I were lying for attention, why would I destroy all my relationships in a single night? Why wouldn’t I make art or something along those lines? They’re big on art.

If I wasn’t, then that would mean that I was having a few bad days and they did nothing to help me… beyond condescendingly saying that I need help. I don’t blame the minors in the server, I’m talking about Ghouse, who is older than I am by around 2 years. I told them I called 988 and it didn’t really work. He continued to tell me off.

After I was kicked I was made aware that they immediately started insulting me. Whether you believe me or not, purposely attacking someone who’s mentally ill is… too far. I hadn’t done anything to them before this incident.

6. The reasons I freaked out was because I was sad that I had unintentionally hurt people, I had started a new, dangerous job, and… well, to be honest, I was terrified.

They were making me forget that I’d been hurt. I was starting to trust them. I had been starting to look forward to tomorrow. And, I was so scared that it would all be over. I didn’t know when, just that it would be.

Now, it is.

7. I may very well have been joking around with everything while on the server, but serious topics were serious. I was never “demeaning” when Ghouse was venting about something that happened to him beyond a couple of lighthearted comments. I thought they’d have the same respect for me. Again, I had confirmed multiple times that I was joking.

8. I might not have done much wrong in the Panic Room situation, but the other things that people are saying about me? I had no idea.

That was the first time I’d ever heard of them.

In the past, my autism had gone completely unchecked. some of those things were from when I was a week into being on my first server… ever. I was 17, had no idea how to check for age or even pronouns. Never used anything but tumblr, never interacted with anyone. Never went to school or even had a job at that point. I more tried to figure out everything based off of my own experiences… which was, not good. To say the least. The things I did, in my head, I thought they were “normal.” This doesn’t make it less terrible, but I hadn’t even remembered some of the incidents until someone pointed it out. It was so mundane to me—I was a messed up child. I’m sorry for this.

8. I wasn’t the best person, I really wasn’t. I didn’t know how to “mask” my traits at that time, I was excited to be able to talk to people. I was protective over my friends (my first friends! ever!) and very clingy. I didn’t know that people held characters close to their hearts, either? (When I have a favorite, I only want to hurt them, you see)

So while the doc was deliberately taking things out of context, some of the other accusations are true, unfortunately. I will be posting my DMs between me and the people on the server in my doc.

9. I have explanations for what I’ve seen of the accusations, but I don’t really recall anything from that incident over 3 years ago… if someone had told me, or even confronted me, I’d have known what was wrong. But they didn’t, and they kept talking to me like everything was normal. I was completely unaware. This is most of the reason I thought people were plotting against me—people would be cold to me and I wouldn’t know why. The worst part is that I can’t apologize. I can’t even try to rectify anything. Some of the people in that server still played PAYDAY 2 with me, some would even reply to my DMs. I had… no idea.

I have hurt people. Unknowingly, but still. I apologize to anyone I’ve affected. Most of it was not knowing how basic social media functions worked. I hope you understand that my behavior was out of line, and that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Don’t defend me on that, I was entirely wrong. But… smearing me in the fandom tag instead of going to me directly means that they want to attack me. They don’t want an explanation.

All of my actions were genuine. I never intended to hurt anyone, but that’s what ended up happening. I’ll put more detail into the doc.

10. I was already going to take a break. I was already doing poorly, and the server knew this. At that point, they want me to go through with it. What else would they be saying when they do all of this? Unless I’m reading that wrong. Whatever the reason is, they don’t want to help me, they’re deliberately being malicious and they know I wasn’t baiting.

Although, I guess I have to thank them. Now, I can say that I wasn’t delusional. I can say that I was too smart for my own good. How crazy does it sound to think that everyone was just waiting to betray me? But… they were. I can begin to trust myself again, even if it’s accepting some of my “negative thoughts” as reality. I won’t be reaching out to anyone I don’t already know, and there is safety in never putting myself out there again.

Thank you to everybody who stuck around. My delusions… weren’t entirely correct. Just like how most of my former friends blocked me on sight, there were a few people who didn’t mind when I wasn’t responding. There are some people who believed in me to a point where even if all those accusations were true, they believed that I could change. That’s… something I never thought I’d hear, ever, in my life. That is a form of trust I don’t deserve, really.

So, I was wrong again. Not everyone wanted me gone. It took all of this for me to realize that there were people who loved me in the truest form of it.

As for everyone who cut me off… well, I hope you understand that because of my mental issues, I can never trust you beyond a professional level. It is for my own wellbeing, because I’m still not doing good. I will still be taking that break. The PAYDAY 2 fandom was a source of reprieve for me, and now it’s not. It wasn’t an accident that it turned out that way. All my safe spaces have been taken from me. I don’t know why the Panic Room server hated me, so I can’t provide any extra insight on that.

The truth is, I haven’t been around because I’ve been dealing with depression for a long time. I’ve been passively… yknow. Not actively. I haven’t had the energy to respond to anything on most days, I’m sorry for that :(

All of this was just the breaking point, really.

Thank you for reading. I know most people won’t, but I appreciate those who do. I won’t blame the rest of you if you all decide to leave as well, I understand that. I never made the blog for other people, I made it for myself. This whole thing will serve as a reminder that there are more important things than online spaces. Can’t get therapy because I’m broke, but I can enjoy the few things I still can… even if I’m reminded of what I’ve lost. I don’t think I’ll really be here anymore, but I will be okay.

[lesinquietes]

Ok let’s talk farmer au real quick 🥺 I’m leaning towards making Levi a very gentle yandere and have reader be totally okay with the whole thing in. Am I insane?

[unknownarmageddon]

You guys remember that Death’s Doorstep album I made. And also remember how I said I may write lyrics for some of those songs

Yeah so I did something

Fuck You, Dad - by my boys Death’s Doorstep (and me too ig)

Full lyrics, baby!! I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing 🧍‍♂️

[Spoken, distant]

Hey, get up there and say something

I don’t know about this..

C’mon, this is your song, man!

[Louder/closer, Cross’s voice; spoken]

This goes out to the bastard that is my father

Fuck you

[Three people laughing in the distance]

[Music starts; interlude for 20-ish seconds]

[Killer’s voice; sung]

You look at me, I know you never see me

Look right through me, but you never see me

Yet you’re breathin’ down my neck

[Brief guitar interlude]

[One second pause, music stops]

[Spoken, deadpan; Dust’s voice] Give me a break

[Music resumes, more aggressively]

[Killer’s voice; sung]

Did you ever love me?

I doubt you did

You hated my friends, you hated my hobbies

You only saw what you wanted to see

Which was anything but me

And the only time you did, all it was was mistakes 

[distant, spoken; deadpan] “Mistakes”? Yeah, sure 

[Brief interlude, serves as transition to chorus] 

Your palm, across my face like a bee sting and your glare a dagger to my hubris

Just one little mistake and you’d lose it

Always breathin’ down my fucking neck

What do you care, if you’d hate everything I did next? 

What an unfixable wreck

Sorry, I wasn’t perfect

I guess

[Cross’s voice, loudly; spoken] Well, you can kiss my ass ‘cause I’m not sorry

Unsupportive, unsupportive, unsupportive fucker

All I needed was support, especially then

But you couldn’t even give me that, no, you wouldn’t even begin

I was just a ghost to you, is that it?

Did you ever love me?

I doubt you did, you didn’t even treat me like your son

And that’s what I was supposed to be

But I turned out to be just some tool,

Is that what I was? What a useless tool, huh? 

Bet you thought I was just another young fool

[Louder] I’m fucking done

[Aggresive guitar riff]

Your palm, across my face like a bee sting and your glare a dagger to my hubris

Just one little mistake and you’d lose it

Always breathin’ down my fucking neck

What do you care, anyway, if you’d hate everything I did next? 

What an unfixable wreck

And look at me now

With people you’d hate, a guitar you’d hate

And I’m doin’ better than you

Bet you’re fumin’ now, aren’t you?

[Dust’s voice, spoken] God, I’d love to see the look on your face

[Killer’s voice]

Fuck you, dad

[Brief guitar/drums interlude] 

[Cross’s voice]

Fuck you, dad

[Music fades, and eventually stops. As everything goes quiet there’s the faint sound of people cheering and laughing in the background]