#Release the tapes so I have something new to obsess over

[unaturallybornkiller]

I love how Jeffco says they won't release the basement tapes because they fear it'll "inspire copycat crimes" and "give instructions" as if what we already know about Columbine hasn't already inspired 16+ shootings.

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

Malevolent, TMA, and Dracula Daily fans! Lend me your ears!

Are you looking for a new spooky horror podcast? Then might I recommend, The Holmwood Foundation?

Malevolent fans, do you like possession and co-dependency? How about traveling on a cross country road trip over the English countryside with a decayed magical possessed severed head? Do you like fighting the Horrors™️ with impractical weapons like a stolen camping stake? Then you’ll love Holmwood!

And Magnus Archive girlies, you like tape recorders and bureaucratic secretive organizations investigating supernatural artifacts and events, right? How about archivists actually doing an archiving job? We can only hope Then you too have lots to look forward to with the Holmwood Foundation! And don’t forget a healthy dose of queer representation to go with that 😉

For the Dracula Daily and Re:Dracula fans out there, this one is for you at heart! The story takes place 130 years after the events of Dracula with the main characters Madeline Townsend and Jeremy Larkin getting possessed by the spirits of Mina and Jonathan Harker after Dracula’s skull is uncovered in an archaeological dig and something dark and dangerous is released into the world trying to claw its way back. Follow Maddie and Jeremy under the guidance of Mina and Jonathan as they attempt to end the threat of Dracula coming back once and for all.

The Holmwood Foundation is currently being kickstarted with about 4 days left in their campaign as of writing this (10:30pm CST, November 9, 2024) and they are about 76.5% of the way towards their goal. I really want to see this podcast come to fruition and see where the story goes, so if you are interested, listen to the first episode that’s already out now on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Acast, or anywhere you can listen to podcasts, and if you like it, consider donating to the campaign!

You can find the kickstarter here and the first episode for the podcast here!

The Holmwood’s original posts can be found linked here and here

And a list of the episode titles can be found here!

Just to clarify, I'm not being paid to promote this or anything, I just have an unhealthy obsession with Dracula content and a desire for More that I can't get if the story doesn't come out :(

But it's so good guys, I promise it's so good, please listen to it I love it so much 💕

[eds6ngel]

hey! I saw that your requests are open! so i can ask for an eddie x reader where she tries to understand more about d&d or metal, those things to try to please her bf, however eddie doesn't have a good day and ends up mocking and embarrassing her. I liked your account, if you don't like this, please ignore me! 💗

of course my love, i loved this ask! and thank you for the compliment <3

warnings: fem!reader. pet names. established relationship. angst, but it ends in fluff. swearing. j*son c*rver mentions [1.7k]

As Eddie exits the torturous walls of Hawkins High, he exhales a sigh of relief. If he was being honest, today had been a shit day. Jason was in one of his moods where he decided to turn all of his obvious internal issues into spiteful words towards him. Something that on the last day of school of ‘86 was not the ideal send off.

He needed to see one person, one girl. His girl.

Eddie walks over to his van, leaning against it as he lights a cigarette, knowing you, his girlfriend, should be there any minute.

But, two smoked cigarettes later, and you were nowhere to be found. Not a trace of you in sight.

“Fuck,” he grits out, throwing his blunt cigarette on the ground and stomping it out harshly with the heel of his shoe, the underneath becoming more destroyed by the day.

He swings open the door, sliding in his seat before slamming it shut, huffing out in frustration. He puts the keys in, turning on the engine, Metallica’s “Kill ‘Em All” blasting through the speaker as he sets off towards his trailer.

Where the fuck were you?

The sound of the bell ringing alerted the store clerk, you pushing open the door with a nervous expression on your face.

You slowly makes your way to the counter, asking the tall man, “Um, hi. I was wondering if you had the latest album by… um, AC/DC, I think they are called?”

“Sure thing!” he replies cheerily, “You want cassette or vinyl?”

“Um, cassette please, thank you.”

Eddie had been rambling for months about their latest album. He’d already bought the album on vinyl, practicing the newest tracks until his fingers were numb and red. However, he recently talked about owning the album on cassette, that way he could take his latest obsession on the go with him.

So, trying to be the supportive girlfriend you are, you went on a hunt to track down the cassette yourself, even if you weren’t the most knowledgable on metal music. But, hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?

After gnawing at your nails in the middle of the store, the man returns from the back, holding up a brand new cassette.

“Here you go, ‘Who Made Who,’ freshly delivered here this week.”

Huh, the name didn’t sound right. You could’ve sworn this was the album Eddie was talking about. Pretty damn sure the artist was correct too. You were no metalhead, but the constant talkings from your boyfriend sure let you in on a lot of facts.

Nevertheless, you take the tape from the man’s hands, eyeing the cover. A blue background. You were certain Eddie’s was red. Maybe they changed the cover for the cassette release?

“Thank you. Just what I needed,” you replied, smiling through your doubts.

“‘Course darlin’,” he says, “That’s $8.”

After giving the clerk your $10 bill, he gives you $2 in return, before you bid farewell and exit the store.

Now, to surprise Eddie.

It took five knocks before you were greeted with the sight of your boyfriend, his hair a fluffy mess and eyes red. The poor boy looked exhausted.

“Hey, baby,” he practically slurs in tiredness, “What are you doing here?”

It was 5pm. You were meant to meet him at 3:30, the end of the school day. He should be feeling more thankful than he was, but with everything that went on during today’s hellish time at Hawkins High, he was knocking on death’s door, both emotionally and physically.

“Um, hi babe!” you reply, holding your hands behind your back, “I have a surprise for you.”

He looks at you dumbfounded, “Uh, thanks, I guess. Where were you earlier on?”

“Well,” you cheerily say, taking a seat on his couch, “This gift may be the answer to that question.”

You hand over the cassette, Eddie taking it in his hands to eye up the cover, just like you did in the store a mere thirty minutes before.

You start to ramble, explaining the reason as to why you made the purchase, “You’ve been rambling a lot about how you owned this on vinyl, but wanted it on tape so you could blast it in your van, so I decided to go out and buy it for you!”

Eddie looks at the cassette you placed in his hands with the upmost confusion. He’d never spoken about AC/DC recently. The only album he’d rambled about to you was Metallica’s “Master of Puppets,” even showing you how he mastered the solo to the titular song.

He shakes his head, a soft laugh coming out of mouth as he replies, “Jesus babe, your listening skills are not working well recently, are they?”

The sense of pride you felt quickly diminished at Eddie’s harsh words. You second guessed yourself already, but decided to trust Eddie’s words over your own, but maybe your worries were right after all.

“Wait, did I do something wrong?” you ask sheepishly, the nervousness slowly creeping back in.

He chuckles, “Baby,” he looks up at you, “You think this shit is metal? Yeah, because talking about how you want to pound women is what we write about. So incredibly metal babe,” he rolls his eyes, scoffing at the association between the two bands.

Before you can even get a word in, Eddie is rushing to his bedroom as you sit there alone for a couple of seconds, the guilt beginning to settle uncomfortably at the bottom of your stomach.

Eddie was usually very patient when it came to you learning about his hobbies. You were sort of polar opposites in the sense that you knew practically nothing about the aspects of his life that defined him. D&D, metal music, Lord of the Rings? Your knowledge on them was subpar.

But, he was willing to teach you, give you the basics, help you understand him more. It built your relationship in that way. But, something about him today was different. That sense of understanding and patience had flown out of the window, a sense of moral righteousness in the subject taking over.

He quickly returns, holding up the vinyl in his hands. You were right. A red background. Definitely not the same as the cassette you had purchased.

Putting the two side by side, he scoffs again, “Sweetheart, tell me one thing about these two covers that look remotely similar. Because to me, they look like completely different albums.”

You’re trying not to let the tears prick at your eyes. All you wanted to do was show that you supported him in his interests. Living in small town Indiana meant that Eddie was constantly called a “Satan Worshipper” simply for listening to the genre. And now that you were one of the only people who accepted and supported him in his identity, you were met with sarcasm and distaste.

You sigh out, knowing that you had riled up your boyfriend. Grabbing your purse, you stand up and walk towards the door, “I’m just gonna go, Eds.”

This made Eddie snap back to reality, realising the words that were coming out of his mouth. You were indeed no expert on metal, and who was he to judge you for that? He couldn’t expect everyone to know as much as he did.

He places both the cassette and vinyl on the kitchen counter, “Wait, sweetheart, I’m sorry. Let me explain—“

But, you cut him off with a disappointed expression on your face, “No, Eds, it’s okay. I know I suck at knowing metal, and obviously I’ve pissed you off by not listening to you well enough. So, next time, I’ll let you buy it yourself. It’ll save all this hassle.”

The guilt was now settling in Eddie’s stomach just like it did yours. But, before he could muster up some quick apology to save himself, you were out the door and gone.

Eddie leans his head down on the counter between his arms, breathing out a “Fuck,” as he realises his mistake.

He needed to make up for this somehow. And not in some half-assed way that he was making up on the spot. He needed to clear his head and plan this out. He needed to prove himself to you.

Once you got home, you headed straight to your room. You couldn’t be dealing with the weight of Eddie’s words, so you took off your make-up and changed into pyjamas, lying in bed until your body decided it was time to sleep.

But, with your mind racing, your body was doing anything but relaxing. It was 9pm by this point, you wishing that a peaceful slumber would take place any minute.

But, the sound of frantic knocking at your bedroom window alerts you from your relaxation. Groaning as you lift up the covers, you pull back the curtain to the sight of your boyfriend, a guilt-ridden look across his face.

You sigh as you pull up the window, “What do you want, Eddie?”

“Could you just let me in sweetheart, please?”

Begrudgingly, you signal with your arm to let him in, the boy clambering through the window.

He breathes out as you take a seat on the edge of your bed, “I guess I should start by saying sorry.”

You nod your head, “A good starter, yeah,” you softly chuckle.

There’s a small smile that creeps on his face as he takes a seat next to you on your pink-coloured duvet, “I know this is gonna sound more shitty than I want it to, but, today’s been hard babe,” he explains. “Jason… He just… God, I wish he would just leave me alone for a second, you know? And just that frustration from him I pushed onto you, which was totally wrong.”

You shake your head, “I mean, I didn’t help matters by picking up the wrong fucking album.”

He places a soft hand on your arm, rubbing it with his thumb, “Don’t blame yourself, okay? I should’ve been thankful you even put in the effort at all. And if anything,” he leans closer, “Even thinking of getting that album is so incredibly metal.”

The both of you laugh as you lean in, your lips connecting in a soft kiss, an apology without words.

As you part, you lean your foreheads against each other, your hand still cupping the side of his cheek as his lies comfortably on your waist. “Again, I’m sorry,” he apologises, “I’ll work on those anger management skills.”

You breathe out, “And I’ll work on my listening skills, compromise?”

“Compromise.”

i hope this is close to what you were hoping for! thank you so much for the ask <3

[shinakazami1]

TapeMan theory (TSP ramble)

Quick ramble before sleep

In the original Tape Ending, the discussion of the nature of the Narrator is brought in. He says that it's ridiculous we would find him to be just a recording but then...Why is he still in the game post-epilogue?

In my opinion, where TSP shines most is ambiguity. The main source of the information we get is from a man who constantly shows that the game doesn't quite care about.

But - this is supposed to be about the TapeMan, right? Why am I talking about this? You will see in a sec.

One of the important details is that the tape recorder is hidden behind a vent. And you know what else is hidden behind it?

That's right - The Memory Zone. Narrator's safe spot from everybody else but also, his subconsciousness. A storage of good memories.

The Tape too, is in a hidden part of a warehouse, nicely paralleling the Memory Zone. For a moment, let's go to the Bucket - a symbol of confidence, progress and comfort. But also, of madness and obsession. It changes people's psyche - or, more likely, enhances some parts.

TapeMan character shows something we see often in the game:

1) Loss of time concept - on one hand, he says what day it is and we even get the tape number but when we look more into his dialogue, it's visible the time passage is becoming a foreign thing.

2) The need to keep having it with him but also to monetize it - just like the people at the New Content presentation, or Narry with the 3rd swimming pool. But it's THE Bucket - even if there is a replacement one, this single one holds all the power. Interesting.

3) He knows who Gambhorra'ta is. They got only mentioned in the Out Of Bounds, this ending and the Bucket Museum but I will try to not retour too much here - WHY and how would Tape know about a supposed evil wizard from a war a long time ago?

My main headcanon is that - TapeMan is a character, just like the Wife that Narrator is playing.

Think about it - 295 days is less than a year. But in the Parable universe, time is weird and the only real passage we get is Countdown and... the Skip Button. I have my own headcanons as to what happened during the latter but for now, I will spare those details.

However - a detail I will discuss is the name of the tape.

Evidence #252.

TapeMan says it's "tape number", not evidence. And while it's a small nitpick - I think it's an important one. Because between the days and tape numbers, we are missing around 40 days. It's plausible that he first found the Bucket and only later realised that something was up. But also - it is possible that someone else named this tape.

You have to remember that the tape recorder is the same and it still says Narrator on it. For me - the day, while showing that the maddening process took time - it's supposed to also be like "Hey wait a minute, there is time in here???".

Sure - the Narrator himself knows when the first game got released but the passage of time is very wonky in the place. So - for it to be the first thing, to mimic a typical recording...huh. Isn't that something the Narrator already did in a normal version of the ending?

Tapeman to the Narrator is a commentary on how something so cherished gets taken and how greed consumes people. The Bucket here can symbolise many things but here, it might be his game. And that sickening madness, waiting for the Player to come back is what TapeMan might be.

Or maybe it's just another recording. Or it's a man losing his mind over an everyday object that somebody poured their whole heart and being into.

But who am I to judge.

[ilkkawhat]

I can't believe it's almost been a year since AW2 was released. It really changed my life. For better or for worse? Who can say, but I've been having fun.

lol it's so surreal to me that it's been less than a year that I bought and played Alan Wake 2 (one month past release, in November) purely on a whim because I saw people on the silent hill subreddit talking about it and someone even made a meme about "friendship ended with silent hill now alan wake is my new best friend" and I kid you not within just a few days my life just...changed entirely.

I have a lot of depression and anxiety and somewhere in 2023 things just...went wrong and I stopped creating. stopped giffing, never thought I'd write again and drawing lmao forget it, that shit's been hard for me to do ever since a very discouraging experience back when I was maybe like, 11 or 12. stopped going on tumblr, had given up on discord a long time before then and became a miserable ghost doing nothing but burying myself in work in what i will admit is a toxic, overwhelming and stressful environment. I still played games, still watched shows but nothing was like. Sticking with me, I guess? Not like to obsession levels and minus some good vacations I was just...empty.

And playing Alan Wake 2 for the first time was a legit terrifying experience for me--not on the levels of the first time I played Silent Hill 2 maybe (legit locked myself in my room and put on my lamp in the middle of the day cause of the sound of footsteps behind me in that game lol and my dishwasher at the time sounded like that one chugging sound in the apartments) but the dread I was feeling as I got legitimately lost in the woods of Cauldron Lake and turned around in Coffee World (having basically explored it all before triggering the parts where the enemies spawn in) and the basement of Valhalla Nursing Home was thrilling and I was excited to be playing something that was so disturbing and mind bending and emotional, too. Not even knowing the story of Alan and Alice, my heart broke during Alice's final tape. Not knowing Alan's character outside of what I saw in the second game, his "fuck it" moment where he went back into the Dark Place felt so heroic. I felt an odd sense of nostalgia watching the Koskela brothers commercials, like I had known them my whole life. Alex Casey (both the FBI agent and fictional detective) is my favorite kind of wise-cracking guy who has a heart of gold, the old guy who I wish could be my dad. Tom Zane was that mysterious wild card that you know under the surface has something sinister, unsettling esp with his manipulation of Alan but is just so fascinating to watch. Of course I saw so much of my obsessive self in Rose with her shrine for Alan. Saga's time in the dark place felt so real to me, I cried and still cry every time I read that note from her mom at that part of the game (I know you can read it sooner but it packs a bigger punch with Saga's fight to get out of her own mind.) All of the characters quickly stole my heart and ran with it and maybe it was over a few days, maybe it was all at once the floodgates just...opened within me.

I started writing again. First with a character that I never thought I'd write for again because at the time, even just thinking about him legit hurt me. Then I started scheming up fics for Alan. Then I started giffing even from self-captured gameplay footage that I don't think I've ever done before. Then I started drawing in my Alan Wake journal--a journal which, I had not done since the peak of my CSI obsession during my teenage years and even then it wasn't to the extent of what that journal is now (which admittedly, has not been filled out in quite a number of weeks and maybe that's partially cause I tend to journalize myself on here too) And then one day I couldn't contain it anymore. I started sharing again. I don't talk to anybody really like, ever outside of these asks and occasional replies but I truly never thought I'd be part of a fandom again. I worried I'd fuck it all up again (still worry about that) for myself, or others. Or both. But all the kind messages, the kind tags, the awesome people I've started following because of Alan Wake, I wouldn't give any of that up.

And of course things branched off, crushing so hard on him I got obsessed with Ilkka. I played some of Remedy's other games (still working my way through Max Payne 2 and Quantum Break very very slowly) and went back to the first Alan Wake, of course which if I had known about earlier or had an Xbox I'm sure I would have loved it back then as much as I do now. Hell I even platinumed that and Alan Wake 2 and as someone who is notorious for not finishing games other than like. The Legend of Zelda series and playing some other endless games...think it says something that I've managed to beat and complete (I always do the rhymes, stashes, lunch boxes, every playthrough) Alan Wake 2 almost 10 times now.

I was happy. I'm still, for the most part when I'm not at work, happy. Call it what you want, a delusion brought on by a distraction of obsession, a dangerous escape threatening the part of me that is still rooted in reality in the way that like, what if I become too crazy about it where it blinds me to certain things or experiences or chases people away from me because I'm too weird about it (a very real thing that has happened before)

But damn with all of that...I'm having fun with it too.

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Hi! I had the Outsiders prompt and that works for me! If you ever have the chance to watch it I highly recommend it especially the new musical! Speaking of musicals while I’m not sure you’re into them there is talk of the Lost Boys becoming a musical and the trailer looked promising! Thank you again and I’m so sorry for picking something you’ve never seen before! <333

I'm glad! I'll go and see if I can find it on YouTube/Spotify, I absolutely love musicals! I know they're working on a new musical for the Lost Boys, with music from a band (I've forgotten their name) but like three years ago G Tom Mac released a lost boys musical concept album and honestly - that version of Cry Little Sister is so good? It is a bloody shame that the whole album wasn't on Spotify anymore last time I checked. And they had this song that the Frogs were supposed to sing, "when all the damn vampires are dead," and it was a jam, seriously.😅

Thank you for requesting! No need to apologise for your initial request, hon! I hope you like this💜

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

You would have thought that growing up with four older brothers would have prepared me for a life with four boyfriends. I was used to people coming into my personal space, used to people stealing my stuff, stealing my food, poking fun at me. I had seriously thought that having brothers would prepare me for living with said four boyfriends, but in all honesty, it didn't. I didn't think so, anyway.

No, take David, for instance. He could be the sweetest person in the whole world, but sometimes? Sometimes, he would be insufferable. Playing mind tricks on me to mess with me, laughing at my expense whenever I didn't want to eat any worms, maggots, or beatles.

It reminded me sometimes of my oldest brother, who would jokingly hold worms on a stick in front of me, daring me to eat it. Of course, this was when we were little. I had been four, and my brother had been ten. Once, he had actually convinced me to eat it, but mom had gotten so angry and worried that we spent the rest of the afternoon in the hospital. I never felt the need to prove myself to my brother again, and ever since that day, I'd sworn off impressing others by doing stuff I didn't want.

Maybe my eldest brother had prepared me, just in a way I didn't expect. After all, David could try all he wanted to have his twisted idea of fun, but I wouldn't budge. I smiled at the thought, realising that he might find me at times just as infuriating as I found him at times.

When I was younger, my second eldest brother would always play wrestle with me. It started when I was six, and a girl at school had begun to bully me. My brother noticed and took me out to the backyard that same afternoon. He said he'd help me stand up for myself, and he taught me how to fight back. How to hold my own. I liked it in such a way that my parents agreed to let me take actual classes.

It was that skill set, initially taught to me by my brother, that absolutely excited Marko. He was always ready for a fight and to have someone next to him who not only could fight but didn't mind getting into fights? He loved it. So sometimes, when either he or I were in an explosive mood, we'd go to the boardwalk and pick fights, just for the fun of it. And if we couldn't find anyone, we would go against each other. Often, those moments lead to more passionate encounters, but still.

If it hadn't been for my brother, I was certain it would have taken more for me and Marko to become close.

My third oldest brother, who was three years older than me, had always been obsessed with music. He always picked what would be played in the car on road trips, always handed me the tapes and cassettes he didn't want to listen to anymore. My brother and I definitely bonded over that music, and now I realised that it helped me bond with Paul. Hell, it was the sole reason I met the boys.

After all, I had been working in a record store at night when Paul came in, asking whether or not we had the latest Springsteen album. We did, and after I sold it to him, we kept talking. About the Doors and the Beatles - whether or not the white album was worth the hype - about singers we thought were got and who we thought had the best songs. We talked for hours, and the night ended with an invitation to join him and his friends at a concert the next evening.

I'm glad I went. I was encouraged to go by my youngest elder brother, who was beyond happy that I was meeting someone I liked. He had always been supportive. Whether I wanted to talk about my crushes on boys or girls, he had always understood and always been open to it. He helped me get ready, forced me out of the door when nerves threatened to keep me inside, and in the end I met up with the boys.

And then there was Dwayne, the last of my four boyfriends, and quite possibly the easiest to hang out with. He wasn't big on mind tricks, wasn't big on fights - as much as I loved them - wasn't as loud as the others. With him, it didn't matter what you did, as long as it was done together. It was comfortable and often just very lovely. I could just be - and nothing else was expected.

As I looked at them, my boys, knowing I was theirs and they were mine, I couldn't help but feel as if my brothers had prepared me for a live they could never know about. Not since David had offered to turn me, and I agreed. Once I fully turned, I could never see my brothers again. But knowing what they taught me and what I took along with me - the lessons I learned from them - it brought a smile to my face. It was comforting to know that I always carried a piece of my brothers with me, even if they were no longer there.

[paperbackribs]

The Gift (5b of 15) (Witch Steve AU)

previous: Chapter 5 You're Doing That On Purpose (Part A) next: Chapter 6 Help a Friend Ao3 Link - Chapters will be updated ahead of Tumblr Content: 1.3K words, CW: As part of my mlm and wlw loving relationships, the term dyke is used as an affectionate way to tweak Robin's pig-tails.

Last chapter, Steve and Eddie came to an understanding and formed a deeper start to their friendship. This chapter, Eddie just wants to convince Steve about which film to watch on movie night (Part A) and Robin wants to mock Steve about the two of them flirting while his connection to the ethereal makes itself known (Part B).

Chapter 5(b) You're Doing That on Purpose

"...All right, then. Since your band of dogs are happy, let’s do the hobos.” He feels a flash of triumph as he hears Eddie’s bark of laughter at Steve continuing the bit. “Movie night is at my place, Friday.”

“Fantastic my lovely, dear liege,” Eddie affects a bow. “I’ll shall bring the brews. My Madam Buckley, farewell.” She sticks her middle finger up at his blown kiss. Eddie leaves, chuckling under his breath, Family Video's door bell ringing after him.

Steve pushes the now empty trolley back to the counter, looking up to see Robin’s face doing that thing. The Bangles tape smoothly segues into a mix of acoustic and electronic guitars, Susanna Hoff sings of longing to give her partner what they want, if only they knew what they needed. Steve ignores Robin to bob his head along to the catchy tune.

Under the pressure of her gaze, he eventually says, “I don’t know what you mean.”

She stares harder at him, even more amused.

Steve crosses his arms, “It’s just nice having a friend that’s not obsessed with only black and white films.”

She sighs, “You troglodyte.”

“Dyke.”

“Ken doll.”

“Trumpet… blower. Fuck.”

Robin sounds out a sad trumpet noise of failure accompanied by what he’s sure are the correct finger movements.

“Wait, something about fingering?”

“Nope, you lose. Hand it over.”

Steve reaches over to the candy display and plucks out a packet of Junior Mints that he’ll pay for later. Throws it gently to Robin because, while the girl can kick a soccer ball with a mean right foot, she can’t catch to save her life.

Case in point, he thinks fondly, watching her fumble, but not drop, the box.

“But,” she says around a mouthful of mint and chocolate, “you’re flirting with him.”

“I am not,” Steve protests.

“Okay, he’s flirting with you.”

“He is not,” Steve says even more firmly.

“Oh, Steve,” she simpers in a high voice that sounds nothing like a man, let alone Eddie. Flips her dark blonde hair back as if it’s longer, “You just have to come and sit with me in a dark room and watch my favourite movie. And you’re so smart and pretty, Steve.”

“Eddie never said I’m pretty.” Steve pushes the new releases onto the trolley, even though there are only four of them.

“Are you pouting?” Robin laughs.

“I’m not,” he is not. “And it’s not just me, you’ll be there too. That isn’t exactly a hot and heavy scenario, Robin.” Steve very calmly points out, moving towards the New Release section with his back facing her.

“Oh, I’m not going to be there.”

“What?” Steve exclaims, swivelling to stare back at Robin, nerves inexplicably shooting through his fingers nearly causing him to drop Stand by Me.

“I’ve got a date with Vickie.”

“What?” He repeats in an entirely different tone, throwing the case aside with a clatter to rush back to the counter.

Robin leans over, her face close to Steve’s. “I did it!” She whirls in place, “And she said, get this – I’d love to.”

“Hell yeah, of course, she’d love to. What’d I say–”

“53 minutes and 5 seconds,” they both chorus.

Robin’s blue eyes shine. “She didn’t say much about the ex, but she was talking about how she’s looking for something different. And she looks at me, right.” Steve nods, engrossed. “I know I’m not the best with social cues, but she stops suddenly and says in this tone, ‘really different.’” Robin shivers, “her voice was so sexy.”

“And then,” he urges.

“I said ‘I can be something really different.’”

“No!”

“Yes! It just came out.”

“Robin!” He shakes her by the shoulders, “You smooth mother, you.”

Robin spits her hair out and grins, “So yeah, it’s just you and Munson on Friday.”

“Whatever,” he grins rolling his eyes. Robins’ way off, even though he’s proud of her.

Steve puts it all out of his mind, though he does make sure to clean the living room up a little. Just a bit of vacuuming and wiping down the tables. If he’s having people over, he should make sure the place is nice. And Eddie deserves nice.

He needs to order them some pizza on the day. Eddie likes mushrooms, he remembers from their last movie night with the others.

Thank Christ the kids aren’t coming, or he’d have to go through another slew of horror films. He loves Jack Nicolson, but the guy had thoroughly creeped him out, let alone that river of blood through a damned elevator. Who even thinks of something that terrible?

His mental grumbling continues as he gets ready for bed, pulling back the sheets and resting his head against the cool, navy pillow. He has enough nightmares from the Upside Down, he drowsily thinks.

Although, the benefit of Knowing that Vecna is done is that he’s been able to fall asleep a lot easier than he used to. He doesn’t even need his nail bat under the bed anymore, it’s safely stored in the trunk of his bimmer instead.

As the wisps of sleep take hold an image starts to play under his closed eyelids. Strange, Steve thinks distractedly, why would he dream of Eddie’s Uncle Wayne?

Wayne, who he'd briefly encountered at the hospital, appears on a sagging brown couch. He rolls a coffee mug between his palms, a brightly coloured yellow heart is printed on the porcelain while a curl of steam winds above it. Wayne’s brows furrow in concern as he says something that Steve can’t hear. The dream is silent, a detail that doesn’t strike him as odd in his half-awake state.

The older man looks up and the perspective shifts to a boarded-over ceiling in the corner of the room, revealing that this is Eddie’s trailer. Plywood is neatly nailed against the light apricot surface, a protective measure against the hole open to the elements but, thankfully, no longer connected to the Upside Down. Steve begins to realise, with growing unease, that he isn’t merely dreaming but witnessing an ongoing event.

Wayne’s arms fold around him and suddenly Steve’s head turns to the side, his vision obscured by long, loose curls that bear a striking resemblance to Eddie’s dark hair. Panic surges through Steve, who bolts upright in bed, eyes flying open. But the vision persists, overlaying what he can see of his bedroom, the middle between left and right muddled by the combination of the two sights.

This isn’t just a dream, he’s seeing through Eddie’s sight in real-time, a connection forged by the hazel eye that had given back Eddie his life.

Steve’s mind races with confusion. Is what is happening even possible? He pinches himself, hoping to jolt himself out of this bizarre experience. The image wavers but persists. He pinches himself again, hissing in pain, and the vision flickers once more.

Okay, something physical, maybe a little painful. Something to get him out of his head.

Steve laces on his sneakers, not bothering to pull on a jacket over the shorts and shirt he’d worn to bed and throws himself out of the house, only stopping to grab his keys. Determinedly he starts to run, slapping the soles of his shoes against the familiar paved path and pushing his mind to break this strange connection.

The heat of the summer night presses down on Steve, the air like soup in his lungs, and the burning amber of the street lights pass by in one long blur. At first, the combination of his vision creates a small sense of vertigo, but Steve persists.

And miraculously, it works. Wayne’s sad smile is the last image he sees before the image wavers and blinks out. Steve concentrates on the rhythm of his breathing and working his burning muscles, grounding himself in the present, and following the easy asphalt surface back to his home.

As he reaches the front yard, his pace slowing and adrenaline ebbing, Steve can’t ignore the weight of what just happened. He forces his breathing to calm while looking up at the silver of the round moon in the clear night sky, the pearly orb a mirror reflection of his left eye.

Steve can feel that this vision is connected to the ethereal, not a part of the earth or the sky. It is something inherently linked to his soul and body. Yet, as he absently reflects on the use of a full moon for rituals of transformation, a chilling realisation continues to creep over him: he has no idea how this happened or what it may mean.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

Taglist

My taglist is always open, so let me know if you want to be added. Likewise, if you want to be removed, let me know. :) If I've missed you, definitely tell me because it's an accident!

@a-gae-af-racoon

@a-lovely-craziness

@aly-reads-alot

@bookworm0690

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@ellietheasexylibrarian

@everyrandomthing

@finntheehumaneater

@geekymagicalpotato

@goodolefashionedloverboi

@hallucinatedjosten

@ilikeititspretty

@just-a-tiny-void

@ledleaf

@littlewildflowerkitten

@lostonceandneverfound

@manda-panda-monium

@matchingbatbites

@mightbeasleep

@nburkhardt

@newtstabber

@obliosworld

@oliver-sykes

@platonicbesties4life

@probablyscreamingintothevoid

@rajumat

@scoops-stevie-archive

@spectrum-spectre

@swimmingbirdrunningrock

@tartarusknight

@whackyrach

Edit: @bestwifehaver

[alfvaen]

It sucks to not have things that you used to have, or not be able to find them when you know you do still have them. (This is mostly about books and music because that's mostly what I consume.) I often can get more and more obsessive and desperate when I'm just, like, "Why can't I have this thing that I used to have?"

Sometimes it's not like I even legitimately had it before. Some song I taped off the radio, and now I want a digital copy of it, and it doesn't exist anywhere. Like, where did it go?

The transition to digital has been the worst culprit--I might even still own something on vinyl or cassette, but I don't have a setup that allows me to rip it, and I only listen to stuff digitally these days, so it might as well be gone.

Canadian pop from the 80s is particularly bad for this. A lot of it wasn't, or was barely, released on CD, so vinyl rips may be the only form that exists. I used to go on Soulseek looking for this stuff, and a lot of it I gave up on. And nobody is apparently interested in re-releasing it digitally, as a lot of obscure 80s pop has been; some of this may be due to the "Canadian Content" culture where there was a sort of market for Canadian stuff that could satisfy the CanCon minimum quota for broadcasting requirements, but they didn't get a lot of support after an album or two. So maybe it got a lot of airplay on MuchMusic back in the day, but now, it's nowhere.

Out of print books are the other big thing. Some of these aren't ones I actually had, but I had this habit of picking up random first books in series from new authors, and then just never getting around to reading them for years. And now I've been trying to do that more often, and when I do find one I like, then I look for book two and nope, it's vanished. (Sometimes there's ebook versions, but I have issues with ebooks, particularly if they cost as much as a paperback used to, but you don't even have a physical copy, so screw you, I'm not paying that much.) (And don't quote the Internet Archive to me, I'm still mad at them for pretending to be a library when they're legally not. DNI if you want to argue about that.)

Or, I'm trying to do a reread of Dick Francis in order, and I run across Forfeit, which apparently I'd originally borrowed from someone else (someone I am no longer in contact with, for good and valid reasons) and it's no longer in print, why would it be in print? Except as an $8.99 ebook, screw you, that's too much. (Maybe I can Interlibrary Loan that one, because of course it's not in the local library either, probably because it's Too Old.)

And then recently I decided I wanted to do a reread of the Calvin & Hobbes books, because it's been a minute, and I go to the cramped bookshelf in the corner of the former TV room where most of the comic strip collections and such are, and they're all out of order because it's only the kids that have been reading them for some years now, but I go through them and take out the earlier ones (when the books weren't as wide) and put them in order, and...where's the first one? The one that's just called Calvin and Hobbes? Because it's not there. One of the kids must have it in their room. But I ask them (note: said kids are currently ages 15-24) and they say, "No, we've never even heard of this alleged collection. One that's just called Calvin and Hobbes? Are you sure it really exists?" And I am of course constitutionally incapable of just skipping over that one and rereading the other ones, so the project is on hold until I can find that first volume. Maybe I'll show them a picture of the cover and they'll recognize it. Maybe it will turn up somewhere (searching through horrible messy and scattered papers on one disused desk did turn up Scientific Progress Goes Boink!, for instance), but who has the energy for that kind of search in this messy and cluttered house? That one is at the library, and I put a hold on it; I'm currently "#36 on 4 copies" so probably I could get a copy in less than 7 months!

(I'm now going to proceed to rant in more specifics about the music that I can't find, but I'll put it under a cut. Clearly my hope here is that somehow this post will find its way onto the dashboard of somebody who actually has a copy or knows something about it, but my hope are not high.)

Big International Noise: Love Love Lies (song)

This is one of the ones that's bugging me the most right now. I remember this song from MuchMusic, a cool video of time-lapse night-time driving, and the song is...I dunno, "electrofunk" or something? But it has left absolutely zero imprint on the Internet. Nobody has ever posted anything about this song. No Youtube video, no nothing. Nothing on Bandcamp, nothing on Discogs. It was never a particular favourite or anything, but I liked it. And now I can't hear it outside of my own head. What the hell happened to it?

Mark Korven: Passengers (album)

This is one that I do have on vinyl (though all my vinyl is currently stored at my dad's house and he just moved into a trailer so it may be in boxes still). It was an indie album from Edmonton in 1984, before he got a major-label contract for a couple of albums, but I kind of like it, particularly the ballad "Time Heals Slow". It is my #1 candidate for vinyl ripping if I ever get a vinyl ripping setup (and now that I have both the Go Four 3 albums digitally). The opening track, "Clock On The Wall", is on Youtube, and at some point I may get a video-ripping setup working and get that one, but what about the rest of the album? (These days Korven is doing movie soundtracks, with weird instruments from all over the world; I wonder if even he has a digital copy of this album... Maybe I should email him.)

CANO: Visible (album)

CANO was a Canadian musical collective from the late 70's/early 80's. Their early albums seem to be fairly well available, but this one, their final, seems to have never had a digital release. I've seen it on cassette and vinyl, but see above.

Eye Eye: Just In Time To be Late (album)

Canadian late-new-wave album from like 1987, with two big tracks, "Out On A Limb" and "X-Ray Eyes". Those two songs are available because iTunes has their next album with those two tacked on as bonus tracks, but the original album? Nuh-uh.

The Extras: Extrapolis (album)

More Canadian pop. Their great animated video for "Can't Stand Still" is out there, but the rest of the album has also vanished. (I may have found one other random track on Soulseek but that's it. And you try searching for "Extras" and see what you find. Also sometimes it seems to be "Extropolis" instead of "Extrapolis".)

Christopher Ward: Time Stands Still (album) or Spark of Desire (album)

Christopher Ward was a musician, then a VJ on MuchMusic, then he wrote "Black Velvet" for Alannah Myles and quit to become a songwriter full-time. He did come out with a new album recently ("Same River Twice"), and those other two albums are no great shakes for random AOR pop, but dammit, I used to have them, why don't I still have them?

Shari Ulrich: Long Nights (album) and One Step Ahead (album)

Her song "Every Road" was great, and that album was out there, but these ones I only ever saw on vinyl. Again, random AOR pop, but why don't I have them???

Neo A-4: The Warmer Side of You (album)

More Edmontonians, more late new wave, where did they go?

Mrs. Torrance: I'm The Bird (album)

I taped this from the library about the same time as "So Tough" by Saint Etienne and I get them confused in my mind. They've also vanished, so they're probably also Canadian, even though I know they had a CD release at some point...

Everender: Punching Bag (song) and Pepper (song)

An Ottawa band, apparently, who may never have had an actual album release, though I don't know for sure; I got those two songs off of compilations (or maybe the same compilation?), and I loved their sound, where did they go?

Skymonters: Kings (song) and The Danang (song)

An old vinyl album that my dad had, I taped a couple of songs that I liked; I saw it once on the Internet Archive but you couldn't actually download it, so what's the point???

Eva Everything: The Right Thing (song)

This one had a great video with stop-motion effects (inspired by the techniques used to make Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer"), and I taped it off MuchMusic, but did it ever get an actual release? Is it even on Youtube these days? Why can't I have it?

Mike Whitaker & Rhodri James: Monty Who? (song)

From a compilation tape made up for people from alt.callahans on Usenet back in 1991; there were a few Mike Whitaker tracks on there, but with poor recording quality (very quiet among the tape hiss) which were okay, but I'm willing to give up on. But this one had much better quality, and is a hilarious song about overpowered D&D characters from each class, to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of The Republic", and I always wanted me kids to be able to hear it. Apparently it was one one filk cassette compilation once or something, and that was it. Why????

And so on. You get the idea. I'm running out of steam here. But yeah, this crap low-key bugs the hell out of me.

The irony is, of course, that if I do finally find one of these things, I'll be like, "Cool, well done" and then it'll disappear back into my gigantic music collection and I'll listen to it once every ten years, but I'll feel better for knowing it's there.

[chorusfm]

Butch Walker – Letters

I think I’d been waiting for it. Butch Walker released Letters, his second full-length album as a solo artist, on August 24, 2004, two weeks before I started eighth grade. At the time, I was right in the middle of a burgeoning obsession with soundtracking every moment of my life. Music had always mattered to me, but something had clicked during the previous school year and songs had taken on a different level of meaning for me since then. Before, I maybe just liked the way something sounded on the radio. Now, I was falling in love with the way those songs could encapsulate the rhythms of my days and nights. I figured: if movies and TV shows had soundtracks, why shouldn’t my life have one too? And so I’d spent months making mixes for everything: for the end of seventh grade, for my summer vacation, for my family’s annual summer road trip to visit my grandparents in New Hampshire, and for the impending end of the season and all the bittersweet emotions that made me feel. What I hadn’t done yet was make a mix for a girl. I wasn’t too familiar with the concept of mixtapes – with what a collection of songs could mean when you picked the tracks and sequenced them and packaged them for someone you felt romantic feelings for. Surely, I would have found my way to the art of mixtape-ology no matter what, as all music fans do. How long can you obsess over using music to encapsulate your own internal life before you start thinking about how music can play the role of confessional love note? Probably not long. Before I could get there on my own, though, I found my Jedi Master on the subject of mixtapes, and it changed my entire life. “You gave me the best mixtape I have/And even all the bad songs ain’t so bad.” So goes the chorus to “Mixtape,” the lead single from Letters and the first song I ever heard Butch Walker sing. It’s surreal to look back on that first listen, knowing now that it was my first interaction to the guy who would become my favorite artist of all time. But then again, it’s also fitting that it was “Mixtape” that opened up a whole new doorway in my musical evolution, given what that song has to say. Because “Mixtape” is a song about the way music obsessives think about crushes or love stories: where maybe you can’t quite find the words to say how you really feel about someone, but your favorite band can. This weekend marks 20 years since the release of Letters, and in that time, I have made a lot of “mixtapes” for a lot of girls. Some of them I’ve given to the people they were meant for; some of them only ever existed on my computer hard drive or my iPod – little fantasy versions of things I wished I’d said. I’ve made a lot of mixtapes for myself, too: Mixes to remember long-gone years of my life; mixes to commemorate summers I loved; mixes for specific days that felt like they deserved a curated soundtrack of significant import. Every time I make a mix, I think about Butch Walker and “Mixtape,” and about the rules the song sets down. Are the “bad” songs too bad? Are the sad songs too sad? “Mixtape” is the song that made me take my growing fascination with the emotional colors of music and use it as a means for expressing who I was and what I cared about. Letters itself is like a perfect mixtape. It’s a collision of different moods and influences and stories and snapshots of life. The tracklist veers from power-pop heartache (proper opener “Maybe It’s Just Me”) to Laurel Canyon sundowns (“So At Last”), and from bare-as-hell piano ballads (“Joan”) to epic guitar pyrotechnics (“Lights Out”). You can almost feel Butch mixing the tape in the background: a song that sounds like Jackson Browne here, a song that sounds like U2 there; a celebratory summer anthem at track 4, a crushing breakup ballad at track 10. Along the way, he sketches a story about love and heartbreak; about falling in love with a city and then realizing that you have to get the hell out of that city for the sake of your health and your sanity; of life and what it means to write your own… https://chorus.fm/reviews/butch-walker-letters-3/

[pacinosgf]

❝ but i got ahead of myself. let’s circle back. midnight mayhems in all its glory. we were doing drugs and drinking and playing and writing songs everyday. and fighting, of course. i love songs like the chain, you make loving fun, but i think we did our best work at the same time we were at our worst, what would soon become our end. we couldn’t pretend anymore, everything was personal by then.

and we wrote obsessively. all the time. we would fight and stop for a second to write a line one thought one would be good for a song. i think we have so many unreleased tracks that if we put all them together it would become more than a single record, and they are rotting in some studio somewhere. dash had this thing of turning miserable lyrics into catchy tunes, like he did in the river — we changed the lyrics more than he wanted to, but the original idea and the song itself are his. get free is brooke’s, of course, there’s her name all over the lyrics. me and dash had fun composing a structure for that one.

and then brooke showed up one day with cowboy like me. she had the nerve of naming it like that, and no one questioned. i remember i was trembling even before she started singing how she imagined the song would go, this hole in my chest becoming larger and larger as she progressed. it’s one of the songs we barely changed anything. we discussed how we would play and got to a decision quickly, probably because nobody wanted to think much about that song.

we had the habit of recording songs multiple times in different ways. instruments and voice isolated, instruments isolated, voice isolated, so we could get a mix of the best parts. there’s a version of cowboy like me that if you pay attention you can hear me sobbing in the background for one, two seconds: my whole body was aching because of those lyrics. i’m not one to cry, not today and not then, but i had to leave the studio so they could keep playing and we wouldn’t lose the tapes and i bawled and sobbed like crazy because of those fucking lyrics. cowboy like me. and i’m never gonna love again.

i wrote epiphany. dash wrote changes. we all wrote silver springs together. definitely some of our finest work, though we were all hurt and tired while making it.

of course, we had to go on a tour to play the new songs. that tour would be our last one. there’s this journalist that i love, song nari, who your generation knows for her work in culture and political matters, but i’ll always think of as this timid girl interviewing rock bands. she was already known when we got famous, but she got fond of us for some reason. we sent her every record before it was oficially released. she was busy then, out of the country if i'm not mistaken, but she wanted an interview before we got on the tour. she took a look at us, sighed very deeply and said very sweetly i don’t think you should go ahead with this tour. she was right, though we cursed her name for what she said.

i just want to finish this subject as soon as possible, let me shorten the story: arguments, arguments and arguments. me and brooke were finally realizing that we couldn’t be together. it wasn’t the band, or the boys, or the world, we were the ones stopping us from being together. we would cry, fuck and fight all night. we would get on stage too fucked up to remember every lyric, every pause. when you think it can’t get worse, life finds a way of proving you wrong. brooke had an overdose.

she was mixing up a lot of stuff, everyone knew that. we were all mixing up, but brooke went the extra mile. there came a point her body wouldn’t take it. all four of us were discussing something, and i followed her crashing down in the middle of the room with my eyes. she had the habit of pretending she had passed out as a way to win an argument, so it took us a few seconds to realize what had happened. her lips and fingertips were blue, she was barely breathing. our whole night changed in a second.

dash waited half an hour to see if she would wake up. she didn't, he left. fucking asshole. how can your wife be so close to death and you decide to leave? what if she had died then? i had taken drugs too, but i sobered up the moment i realized brooke could die. that could have been the end.

i spent the night awake, scrouched by the side of her body. i made her throw up so we could get the drugs of her system, i vomited too because i was afraid she would die, no one wanted to come help because they thought it was already too late and they didn't want to be the ones to say it was the end. i kept trying to find her heartbeat, kept whispering love promises into her ears, sure she would wake up and mock me for it.

we had a long conversation after that happened. i told her we had to stop taking drugs. i told her i’d be by her side all the time if she wanted to. she had a terrible argument with dash about him leaving her there to die.

they got back together again. she slowly got back on drugs, more eager than ever. brooke was the kind of person who would trade it all for a minute of pleasure, a minute of peace within her mind. the drugs gave her that. she had no mercy for herself, so i couldn't have any either. i wrote the great war about that.

i didn’t talk much to her after that. i was going through my own turmoil, besides what we were going through. i was throwing up three times a day, my body couldn’t take anything i ate. i felt sore and swollen from head to toe. i had fucked jim for the first time in ages just to get back at her, you know? not that she would care, but i did. fucking any other woman wouldn’t affect me as fucking my dear moron of a husband. i thought god was finally punishing me for thinking i was so smart, for wanting more than i should have, and i wanted to be punished. i wanted to be humbled. i had to go back to being that little perfect wife again or simply destroy everything i had earned. now that me and brooke were over, i wanted jim to hate me so much he would finally leave.

obviously, it got worse. i was pregnant. very much pregnant. huge hips and tits. you could see a little belly. first time i had truly slept with my husband in years and i got pregnant. jim always had a terrible timing for those things, we will talk about it later. dash had joked about taking a baby crib on the tour bus.

i couldn’t stay any longer. we never got to chicago, the last show of the tour. i wanted to sing the great war for the first time there. instead, jim packed our things so we could leave the country and i cried. i cried in the airport, i cried in the plane, i cried when i got there. we went to france. abortion had just been liberalised in france, italy, those countries. i had my procedure done in austria. it was all very quick and safe, but i got very sick right after. out of guilt, maybe. guilt because i had ran away from my problems, guilt because god was finally punishing me, just like my parents had said he would.

i spent weeks having random high fevers. i would hallucinate. i felt something growing inside of me, moving around my organs and taking all the space. i cried and i cried and i cried and i wanted to kill myself so bad that i don't even know. i spent months in bed or in bathtubs. jim would get me from one hotel to another and i'd get in the room and immediately lie down. to not say i was completely insane, i would ask the cleaning ladies to give me some products so i could wash the bathtub until my fingers bled, and then i felt safe enough to rot in the bathtub.

do i regret getting an abortion? no. i know i only got to that point because it was needed. i never thought about if i wanted to be a mother, because that was imperative, a woman must be one if the chance comes, but i knew i couldn’t be one at that moment. if i had gotten pregnant during one of the other tours we had done by then, or during a break, i’d probably fantasize about a way of keeping it and showing the world how i could be a great musician and mother. not even because i wanted to show myself, but that's just how i was raised. you get pregnant, you become a mom. i don't doubt i would have done it, i've always been a little too... some have a few loose screws, i have a few too tight.

anyway. i would never have brooke again. the band was over. i was away from home. my body was failing me, and part of my truth was that anything could happen, i'd still have myself. i didn't then. i couldn't recognize me in that body, in that mind. give me a moment to get myself together before we continue. ❞

@gllianowens

[kylekozmikdeluxo]

"Good morning, young master, it's 1882..."

The early years of Paul McCartney's post-Beatles group Wings have been on my mind for the past few weeks, even before the untimely passing of the one Wings member who stuck with Paul and the late Linda McCartney through thick and thin: Denny Laine.

15 years ago... Early 2008...

By March, I was scalp-deep in the solo output of McCartney. I had already went through a Beatle-obsessive phase, now I was onto Paul's stuff. His first two albums and such, the first couple of Wings album, just endlessly fascinated by a lot of it...

One day, I had come across a bootleg of a song called... '1882'...

It was in its home demo form, taped sometime in mid-to-late 1970. Presumably a little after the release of MCCARTNEY... The song, in any form, wouldn't see an official release until 2018...

... and this one fascinated me the *most* out of the unreleased material.

1882 would later be turned into a dreary near 7-minute epic in the studio in 1972, and a similar take was played live throughout the Wings Over Europe tour that took place from July to August of that year. At several points, a live recording from Berlin was to be used on Wings' second album - and Paul's fourth overall - RED ROSE SPEEDWAY, which was released in April 1973 after being cut from a double-LP to a single-disc.

Anyways, where was I? Winter 2008... January-March, precisely... Life was rough. I don't want to get too into it, but my brain was in a very low place... It was small special interests like these that got me through such miserable days, and probably made worse by the bitter winter conditions. New England isn't particularly nice during this time of year, you get some truly bitter days mixed with some inexplicable near-summerish ones. Something something Mark Twain-

And when I heard 1882 for the first time... I felt like, for a moment, after so much going on... It's like I woke up in 1882... Like the opening lyrics of the song... I had such a vivid picture of waking up in a vintage old house in the woods.

At the time, I frequently saw my father on the weekends, when he was living in a city. His house, that he got from his parents, was largely not updated since around the early 1980s I want to say? It still had wood-paneled walls, green shag carpet, '70s wallpaper on a vintage stairwell, and the room I slept in... I might as well have stepped into a bedroom from the 1960s. Like how Thomasin McKenzie's lead character, when she stays in that apartment, in LAST NIGHT IN SOHO.

I honestly miss that house sometimes.

But that all just rammed home the vintage-ness of the song, especially in its home demo form. It sounds like Paul recorded it on his Scottish farm, a bucolic and remote setting far off from Liverpool and London. For sure. I feel that sleepy farm life, a post-Beatles wind-down and restart, is captured so beautifully on MCCARTNEY, RAM, and WILD LIFE, and there's some of it left on RED ROSE SPEEDWAY. (It also helps that two songs on that album are RAM leftovers.)

I also really enjoy the studio and live versions, too, but the home demo fits the time period nicely. It's almost a vivid picture into a mundane, if not grim life in the late 19th century. It really inspired me to write stories set in the late 19th century, British period pieces, stuff like that. Not necessarily Victorian ones, but ones set in the countryside, quaint and relatively uneventful, but very much full of feeling and vibe. Almost like an early Disney film or a Miyazaki film. To this day, I still incorporate those kinds of aesthetics and ideas into what it is I do... It's just endlessly fascinating to me, and I do wonder how a song like this would've been received had it come out when it was supposed to.

And even to this day, sometimes, when all feels like a flurry. An utter tornado, a rush of emotions, happenings, and anxieties... I create a mental black out in my head, and then imagine a character waking up... And it's 1882... Somewhere in the countryside...

(The oil painting is apparently titled A VIEW IN HEREFORDSHIRE, Thomas British, fitting name, made around the 1880s)

[tinytrivialthoughts]

As I stood there looking at the lifeless man who seemed to be in deep slumber on a chilly winter morning, his folks still trying to digest the fact that he's gone once and for all, an air of helplessness and shock sullied the atomosphere. It was heavy, it was sad, it was unbelievable, interestingly it was the most mysterious few minutes of my life.

DEATH

I've been to quite a few funerals in the past. It was an affair of remembrance and obseisance. Nothing more. It was a natural process and probably meant to be, I used to think to myself. I had processed nothing more than that on this phenomenon. Deeply rooted in the physicality of the world and the material success it had to offer, this reality had never hit me.

This time it was like a ton of bricks, it struck hard, it struck parts of me rooted in vanity, rooted in ambition, rooted in funny ideas of success and happiness

A deep sense of nihilism flooded me, over the next few days whilst I should've been rigorously preparing for my final exams, my head was clouded with existential questions

It almost looked like someone had snapped from above and he had just dropped dead

He didn't have to? Did this healthy man know of this impending end?

What about all the identities he had gathered over this lifetime? What about the people and possessions that he called his?

Is he here as they claim, or where is he off too?

Death, made me look silly. All that I had been carrying. All these ideas and notions, the way I think life should be, the things that I glorify, the things that I look down on, I was a dumb shit of  baggage I was carrying and one day I drop it all, it just goes poof into thin air.

It was an intriguing possibility at the same time a hopeless end.

What it did do was strip me off the things I didn't wanna carry, gave me a sense of life than make me a baggage of opinions, ideas and thoughts, where I run my own tapes inside me ( karma - lets talk about it another day ). .It took me on this ride of observing life for what it is rather than what I think it is. Certainly a ride I didn't sign up for, but clearly life had its plans.

The ride, thankfully did not push me to the nihilistic side as I feared, but rather it made me understand why ambition is good, and essential. Essential is a strong word to use in the same line as ambition, let me justify it separately, its a topic for another day.

But the shift was from vain ambition to a more conscious one. The shift was from self-fulfilling desires to more altruistic ones. The shift was from a life purpose that served my self-image to a more inclusive life purpose that had nothing to do with my self- image.

Breaking up

Oh, the typical 22 year old processing heartbreak. What a stupid way to flush your youth down the drain.

I was in shame for having put myself through this, I promised myself I will not be living a typical life ( again vanity, a bit narcissistic too ), that I shouldn't be obsessing over someone but ironically it has been one of the most liberating experiences. A process of shedding and regrowth. A process of finding myself and a sense of completeness within myself.

When it hit me first, I told myself I am not going to sit and sulk in a corner. No, that's not who I am, I resorted. I sort of didn't, that resolve sure played some role but what I did realize was how interwined your thoughts have become with the other person. How this life perfectly complete and capable of breathing and sustaining itself pines for an addition, asks for that extra, feels so incomplete and incapable of living and existing, that it releases painful chemicals to process the whole situation. I am intentionally making it sound so unromantic.

Oh the days following, especially following something without a closure, an abrupt end, puts you in state of trance. And I started with distracting myself. Signed up for a competitive exam, started exploring a new subject, connected with like minded folks. It worked but last did it not.

what really helped was sitting with myself allowing myself to process the waves of emotion, of sadness and anger and helplessness and grief, being straight with myself and talking about it to loved ones.

I wrote about it, and I had to shed parts of myself. I dropped the baggage eventually, I came out cleansed, lighter and stronger. It made me discover something deep within, a source of everlasting completeness. Moving forward, I understood relationships are a complement, a great sense of addition to who you truly are, they can be beautiful when you co-exist just as you are, but if you let them complete you, you will never get to the source buried deep within.

I write. I wrote. About each of these experiences poetically, and more such. It's been cathartic, a release of sorts. But it has also been deeply revealing about the true nature of things. The way life is. Not how I think it is.

the following are expressions of seeking something larger than myself, the deep need to evolve, to be aligned with it and to most importantly break free from the baggage I/we are carrying, the ideas notions and vain ambitions and to simply exist as life and to find your fullest unique expression here on this short ride. I wrote each of them when a specific emotion overpowered me.

I still wonder if I should just keep it under the wraps, but that would not be true to my discovery, our deeply similar earthy existence although riddled with unique expressions, are we not springing up from the same source? With a deep identity of a seeker and nothing else, I had penned these. Each comes with some music i felt resonated with the theme of the expression, you can choose to play it or skip, it wouldn't make any difference

[summerlycoris]

Bingo.

Like, I remember Chazington and Quinnamon both making videos about 'What if Vanny was an Afton fangirl?' (Though I'd argue those vids were more analysis, based off what was common thought/ what was known at the time.)

And Chazingtons vid?

His main case was he wanted Vanny to be the main villain. One of his main gripes was her lack of screen time and story presense. He didn't want Afton (or the Mimic- who he just considered to be Afton again) to come back- he wanted Vanny to be the main villain.

Like, he recommended her to be a serial killer fangirl. Because he figured that would allow for Afton to not come back. And would give Vanny more focus.

"At this point, I just don't like it being William Afton again. But hey- it's setting up a new villain at least (...)"

If Vanessa had got more time? More emphasis in the story? A actual boss battle? If burntrap wasnt the final boss and presumed canon ending in the basement at the time?

He probably wouldve been more on board for what he called "mind control shit." Because it wouldn't have been shit.

Quinnamon's vid?

He's not the biggest fan of the way the franchise has headed after HW in general. Like above he complains that Vanny isn't easily recognisable as the main villain in sb- all the other threats are in the game more often.

"This character was hyped up as the main villain for this game for over a year."

He misunderstood some stuff from hw, but analysed the trailers for sb pretty well. And from what I've seen of peoples reactions to them, this was what a lot of people got from the trailers- Vanny's going to be an important villain, she may or may not be related to Vanessa, and Vanessa's going to be the heroine, at least helping Gregory to escape. Like I put in my tags above- he gets confused about Patient 46 and think's theyre Vanny, instead of GGY.

You could be uncharitable snd be like 'he doesnt know anything about these games and he's talking about them like he does' but like. These errors are the same errors a casual fan will likely make, and HAVE made. Before GGY released, how many people considered 'Patient 46= Gregory' to be the most likely option? How many people have played HW? How many people have played SB? How many have read ALL the books? (I havent read all the books. I havent beaten hw.)

Versus how many people have watched Markiplier play hw, and sb? And listened to Matpat saying Gregory and Vanessa are robots without realizing theyre missing something?

Anyway I'm getting off topic. He uses these misunderstandings of the story as his basis for why he's suggesting Vanny as a William Afton obsessed fangirl.

I don't agree with his take, but I can see how he got there. If the story of sb had been written better, he may have come to different conclusions.

Like. Both these vids were released before Ruin. Before all the pizzaplex books came out. Before HW2. Both vids understand that the villian of sb is supposed to be the Mimic, but none really respect it as an antagonist- seeing it as Afton again, a cop out. These vids came out before we had proof that sb's developement was hell- that Scott hadn't commmunicated vital information with steel wool.

At this point I think I'm just circling a point without being able to make it so I'm gonna stop here.

Edit- fuck i forgot the AR emails. How many casual fans played AR? And would they have found the emails even if they had- didnt some of the latest ones showing Ness spreading the pizzaplex virus only get added in properly just before the game shut down? I remember to get the story for them off the wiki, I had to alternate between reading released emails, and 'scrapped' (iirc) emails.

And like, even people who AREN'T casual fans screw up details/analysis. Vanessa never worked at Silver Parasol games. But this trips people up a LOT. Tape girl says "I hope the next developement team finds this." She also mentions a buyout, and how a new developement studio wants to pick up the game. She also mentions how she wouldn't know the next person listening to these tapes- Vanessa's part of an unnamed (possibly Fazent, like how Disney has a in house game studio) game developement studio. Plus, she wasnt listed as a Silver Parasol employee on that scrapped website mockup- but Dale and Jeremy were, along with two other women, one of who could be tape girl.

I’m so very tired

[munsster]

hi! could you make a robin buckley x reader where she thinks the reader is dating steve but in reality the reader has a crush on her?LOL and im the end they both confess and it’s like awkward but cute? THAMK U! i hope that made sense

gold medal babe

A/N: this is the sweetest fkn thing i LOVE a good awkward wlw confession

Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Summary: Robin still doesn’t understand everyone’s apparent obsession with Steve. Turns out, neither do you! 1.7k words

Warnings: fluff, miscommunication, mutual pining, angsty/jealous gay behavior

Each poke, each wise crack, each inside joke made Robin want to suffocate. Steve must have been exposed to radioactive waste or something because there’s no way a girl like you agreed to date him without some lawless external force. Not when you’re all smiles and graphic tights and kitten heels and pearl studs. Not when you’re the perfect girlfriend—thoughtful and soft and so charismatic, not to mention the epitome of grace and all things lovely—and Robin’s starting to wonder what makes Steve so goddamn lucky.

So here she is, flicking through random names on the store’s computer screen, bored out of her mind listening to Steve explain the rules of some obscure European sport you’ve never even heard of. She’s scrolled through twelve Richards already when you laugh, clutching your stomach and doubling over from where you’re perched on the edge of the counter, legs swinging out when you lose your balance.

Robin’s quick to whip around in her chair when you tilt forward a little too far, only to find Steve’s hands already on your shoulders. And he looks constipated with worry, which only makes you laugh harder. She spins back around, flushed and jittery hoping you didn’t catch her overzealous reflexes.

“Somebody’s had one too many slammers.” Steve teases, and you flick at his chest.

“Shut up, Harrington,” you say. Robin catches you in the blurry reflection of the monitor: the unmistakable curve of your cherry red lips, the dainty chain peeking from the neck of your dress, the way your ringed fingers brush over the hem of your uniform green vest.

“Shut up, Harrington,” he whines.

“Oh, that’s real mature. What would your mother think?”

“Hey, lay off’a my ma.”

“That’s not what she wanted last night—gross, gross, stop!” you squeal because he pops his pinky into his mouth, pushing the slick little finger towards your ear. But you snag his wrist and shove him away before he can get any closer.

The glass door swings open to a cute little family of four, the two kids bursting off from the group. Excited squeals fill the aisles of shelved tapes, and you chirp out a generic greeting—the one they coached you on when you were hired.

“Not it,” Steve huffs. Robin sighs and stands from her chair, planting her palms on either side of the register with a deflated look. Almost like a grimace.

“I can take this one,” you coo, tugging at her sleeve and hopping down with the nicest fucking smile she’s ever seen, and it’s enough for her to fumble the play and shuffle around a little.

“Oh, no, I can—I’ve got it. Besides, now you and Steve can go… yunno, whatever. ‘S no problem.”

“Okay.” You nod, lips pursed, glancing back at Steve, wide-eyed and kind of panicked while he just whistles and turns on his heel to weave through the store.

He plucks one of the movies off the new release stand, scanning the back when one of the kids scampers up to him. Not saying a word, just breathing heavily and watching him.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, giving her a warm smile that she gleefully reciprocates with about half her teeth missing. The little girl grabs at his hand, her gold pigtails bouncing as she tugs him to the section deemed the kids section, decorated with paper butterflies and instruments.

“What the hell was that? Did you see that? God, that was horrible—”

“You loved Snow White? Maybe you’ll like Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty—speaking of princesses,” Steve stands just to glare directly at you, “I’m trying to do my job. You know, the one I’m paid to do, not relationship counseling or some sh—”

“You can’t counsel something that doesn’t exist! You’re supposed to be Steve Harrington, remember? You get all the ladies, this should be a walk in the park.”

“Clearly not all of them, thanks to you two,” he says, crouching down to the child with her hands grabbing at any and every movie with a cartoon animal on the cover, “let me introduce you to my friend, she’s nice sometimes, and she’s also really good at picking out movies, okay?”

The little girl looks up at you with her big green eyes, and you sigh, smacking Steve on the arm and handing her a film from the top shelf.

“I think you’re gonna find Alice in Wonderland a lot more interesting, honey, here you go”—the blondie hugs the tape to her chest and skips back to the front of the store, babbling with each hurried step. Meanwhile, you turn to Steve who’s leaned against the wall like a bastard—“you promised to help me.”

“Yeah, that was when there was something in it for me. Oh, wait, there never was, I’m just an insanely good friend.”

“Steve, I swear to God, if you help me, I will never bother you again.”

“Robin—!”

The family scoots back through the doorway when Robin sees the two of you huddled awkwardly near the back of the store. Steve grabs your hand and walks you to the counter with a bared-teeth-grin.

“Robin, (Y/n), you’re both girls, right? Great, my friend just called and said it was an emergency, so I’m going to leave. And hey, since it’s only”—he checks his wristwatch frantically—“five minutes until your shifts are over, why don’t you ride home together? Sound good? Awesome.”

And he practically bolts for the door, whipping his beamer out of the lot while you and Robin stand across from each other, mouths open in shock and awe

“What does us being girls have anything to do with that?” She says, and her head swivels to look at you, her hair wild and her heart racing, and you’re smiling at her which isn’t making any of it better. It’s like you’re a siren, and she doesn’t know whether to surrender or seek shelter or swim. You drown every coherent thought she’s ever had with one bat of your swooping lashes, and standing right here is like facing God dripping in grape-flavored sin.

Then you giggle, hiding your face in your hands, which makes her laugh, which makes you laugh until you’re both leaned back against opposing countertops and heaving in deep, huffing breaths between his watch doesn’t even work and he has no other friends.

Once you catch your breath, you’re not even safe. Her head is tilted back, pretty eyes fixed on the speckled ceiling, lips parted and smiling just a little at the thought. The thought that you might actually like her. The thought that you’re everything she has ever wanted and the thought that she’s crazy for it. Even if you are breathless at the sight of her, you’re dating Steve. She’d be nothing but your sidequest. Something to achieve and forget.

“Alright,” she sighs, “I better go. My shift ended thirty minutes ago.” She grabs her blazer from the back of the office chair, and you watch her wave when she steps outside. Her shoes are heavy on the pavement, and she almost doesn’t want to walk away. The thought of you keeps dragging her back by the bootstraps. Every time she tries to leave, get over it, live another day, she sees you and she’s back at square one.

“Robin!”

Her heart sinks. The way you say her name is like life support. The IV drip of gods, feeding her straight simple syrup like she’s a hummingbird with an ache. Indulgent and sated and licking her lips because she’ll always know the taste of your girlish charm.

“Robin, wait,” you pant, hands on your hips, taking a deep breath and drawing a sweat across your brow, “d’you wanna go… out? There’s this super cute diner downtown, Steve showed it to me when—”

“You mean just you and me?”

You tilt your head at her, surely smirking at what she may have thought you meant.

“Yeah. Just you and me. And a little dinner. Is that… oh, did I—? Did I read this wrong? I’m so sorry,” you say, scratching the back of your neck and sighing deeply into your chest.

“Wait, what? No, no, sorry, I just think… I’m pretty sure Steve would kill me,” she says with a laugh.

“Why would… why would he kill you?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because I’d be going out with his girlfriend.”

“His girlfriend? Me? Yeah, I’ll pass. He’s so…”—you wave your hands out in front of you before shrugging—“I mean, he’s handsome, I’ll give him that, but…”

You’re not dating Steve. So then what the hell were the last three months for if she wasted them sulking over her two favorite people who were theoretically sucking face behind the scenes. All that fuss for absolutely nothing. Well maybe not nothing, because the way you’re looking at her now—all tender and soul-crushing—might bring her to her knees.

“Wait, you mean you don’t like Steve? Not even a little?”

“Not even at all. What I feel for Steve is and will always be a friend thing. Strictly platonic,” you say, “plus, why would I need him when I’ve got you to worry about?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Why would I need him when—”

“No, no, I heard you, it’s just,” she huffs, “you worry about me?”

“C’mon, I know you reel in the babes. Gotta make sure I stay in first place.”

She’s short-circuiting right about now. Someone up there’s taking a screwdriver to her central power and going ham. Because this is something straight out of dreams. There’s no cheesy indie rock playing, but there’s a helluva lot of confessing happening. And she feels a little weird standing a sidewalk’s length apart.

So she hops onto the curb. And suddenly, you’re a lot closer now. And she can feel your body heat when you inch towards her in your squeaky new loafers.

“Like it’s even a competition for you,” she mumbles. And your chest swells with pride, flooding hot and sweet with the bright look in her eye. You reach for her waist to pull her close enough to count her freckles one by one. How the sun blessed her skin with kisses and made it predestined at that. Showed her where they’ll be even once they fade for the winter. They’ll come back, and you’ll count them all over again.

“Guess that means the feeling is mutual,” you say, twisting a strand of her wild auburn hair between your fingertips.

“Very mutual,” she says. You nod, grinning so wide it would hurt if you weren’t so stuck on the way she’s holding your hips.

“So… how d’you feel about milkshakes?”

masterlist

[angelguk]

dedicated to the lovely @himboksj​ happy (very late almost criminally late) bday present! so whew... there’s a lot happening in this one! return of jock!jk and his wonderful girl oc now featuring!!: squirting, creampie, oral (fem receiving), mild choking, biting, boobs in face!!, anime tiddy mentions, praise kink galore, multiple orgasms, the use of a vibrator, jaykay is sick actually, over-stimulation, mild spit kink, dommish!jk, (redacted) pet name, mentions (and watching) of porn, everybody is in love and horny, crying cause the dick too good, fingering but not really. 5k of words that should have never left my brain. listen to continuum & nothing without you by tanerelle (kindly check masterlist for the pretty boy drabble mini masterlist if you want to read the rest of this au!)

Jeongguk didn’t mean to go snooping through your things. It was 100% accidental. He just remembered that you kept some athletic tape in your drawers because Jeongguk usually needed to wrap his knee or ankle after practice and you ensured that he always had some near (in case he came crashing at yours instead of going back to his dorm after Coach brutalised him during drills). And, anyway, you were at a point in your relationship where Jeongguk didn’t necessarily feel the need to outright ask you if he could poke around your drawers. Of course, he respected your space, but it’s not like he wasn’t nosy when you were best friends. You were in the shower too, he didn’t want to bang on the door and ask where you kept the tape.

Imagine his surprise when he reached the final drawer in your dresser, idly rummaging around for the blue athletic tape he knows is buried somewhere, and his fingers latch around a silky cloth instead. He knew what it was immediately, the shape a dead give-away. A discreet bullet vibrator, stuffed under your unnecessarily large collection of fluffy winter socks. Perhaps he stopped breathing, the twitch in his loose workout shorts undeniable. He’s not surprised that you own one and yet, his brain can’t fathom you using it. Even now, Jeongguk’s still growing used to seeing you come undone around his length, the feeling of your walls tight on his cock as your mumble his name. It drives him mad. He’s seen you in every kind of state; sobbing hysterically, laughing until tears slip from your pretty eyes, stumbling drunk in the streets, eyebrows furrowed with anger at him, that soft tiny grin you grant him on good days, the pout your lips settle into when you don’t get your way. He never fathomed he’d ever see you in that way, skin flushed with heat, eyes cloudy with ecstasy, your heat pressed against his own. He finds new ways to fall in love with you every day but it reaches new heights when he’s deep inside of you. Maybe he’s mildly obsessed with seeing you unravel, but that’s a secret he keeps to himself.

He does take a peek at your toy though, a soft velvet-like purple vibrator. It’s cute actually, something you would definitely purchase. But then the sound of water hitting the shower tiles slows down and Jeongguk swiftly tucks the toy back into your drawers.

“Oh?” You say when you open the door to him standing stiff in your room. The steam from the shower wraps around your figure in gentle wisps, sunlight filtering in from the window behind you, the image of an innocent angel appearing right before his eyes. “You’re here.”

“Practise ended early,” Jeongguk returns, his gaze trailing the droplets of water that slip down your skin. You smell good, just like that vanilla and peach shower gel that you dearly love. And the towel hiding your body is loose. It’s not his fault that he’s hard in his pants. When he moves to hug you, your face contorts, a downward tug at your lips that Jeongguk longs to change with a kiss.

“I’m wet,” you whine, brushing past him. “Go shower, you always stink after practise.”

He huffs, strong arms catching your fleeing figure and quickly wrapping you into his chest. “No. Don’t want to. I missed you and you can’t even hug me? You’re so mean to me.”

“Guk-” Jeongguk cuts that complaint with his face in your neck, lips colouring your skin rouge with a kiss that intends to leave a mark. “You can’t,” you mumble, but your fingers settle on the nape of his neck, tangling in the growing strands of his hair. “I have to get to work soon.”

“It won’t take long,” Jeongguk returns, feathering kisses across your skin as he nudges you to the bed. “I promise. Let me do this, I’ve missed you, bunny.”

Your towel is discarded somewhere in the amble to your sheets, your thighs wrapped around Jeongguk’s face a second later. He watches your body carefully, teasing your clit with purpose before he allows himself to slip his tongue deep. He notes the twitches in your thighs, the way your buck your hips against his face. He ignores his desire, for the time being, nose buried at the apex of your cunt, tongue covered in your slick, his lips latched on your clit. You like it fast, purposeful sharp flicks that make you squirm until Jeongguk has to pin your hips down, the lave on your heat brutal. His brain can’t help but wonder how you’d behave with your toy grazing your clit and his cock burrowed deep. You’re so sensitive, response to even the softest kiss he lays on your cunt. Would you be wetter than this? You’re already dripping down his face, his mouth glistening with your desire. But he wants to see if you can do more than this, squirm more than this, make a bigger mess than this. The thought surfaces as he feels your body lock, the tension in your limbs drawn high as your hands reach for his. You cum on his face with your fingers intertwined, his name falling from your lips as the afternoon sunlight hits your skin. It’s then and there that Jeongguk decides, with his mouth wet from your release, he’s going to see you squirt one day. For him and him alone.

He waits for the moment to naturally strike, silently scheming wicked thoughts every time you crawl into his sheets. It happens one evening, an empty bottle of wine at the foot of your bed and hentai porn playing brazenly on his laptop screen. Somewhere between downing the bottle and cuddling in his sheets Jeongguk had mentioned an uncanny resemblance between your gigantic chest and the anime boobies he’d grown fond of since his introduction to hentai. You’d immediately dismissed him, whacking him hard on the head and then Jeongguk had to prove it to you, opening his favourite website and pulling up a video that had your jaw-dropping.

“Your boobs do that, you know,” he says. Which grants him a sharp kick to the shin.

“Jeongguk, what is wrong with you?” He can tell you’re not annoyed, but there’s a lilt in your voice that makes him pause, doe eyes flicking to your face. You may be kicking him under the blankets but your eyes are stuck to the video, a distance glaze colouring your gaze. He can tell by the way your thighs draw together that you’re not as averse to this as you pretend to be.

“Turn it off,” you mumble.

“Why? I can tell that you like it.”

“Jeon, I’m not joking.” There’s a glare paired with that sentence, but he reads right through it.

“Fine,” Jeongguk offers, fingers already typing what’s been on his mind since the day he discovered your vibrator.

“What are you—oh.”

There’s a quiet lull. He clicks on a video that’s more familiar to him than he’ll ever willingly admit out loud. It starts the way Jeongguk prefers it to, with a man on his knees, his head buried between the thighs of a girl.

“What are you doing, Guk?” A warning. A question. Jeongguk is not sure what you mean by that and he’s too hesitant to take a look at your face to decipher the tone in your voice just yet. He takes the jump instead, hoping you don’t mind the fantasies of his mind.

“Have you ever squirted?” Somewhere between the exchange of words in Jeongguk's room, the man on his laptop screen slipped two fingers into the girl. It doesn’t help that your boobs are falling right out of your loose camisole, resting right on his bare arm.

“Jeongguk,” you return. “Answer my question.”

“Answer mine first,” he looks at you then, trying hard to read your eyes. There’s no heat in your face, just an innocence that colours your features. Wide eyes, your legs draw together, a hard swallow that he sees in the low lights that illuminate the room.

“No,” you say, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “So why are you showing me squirting porn?”

It’s then that Jeongguk realises he wants to ruin you. As horribly cliché as it sounds, he longs for that. And the urge for it doubles when your gaze falters, flicking quickly for the screen before drifting back to his. The couple is still fucking on his screen, hard quick loud thrusts that travel to the pit in his stomach fast. He’s hard in his briefs, a painful throb ebbing through his length when your hand drops to his chest.

“Guk?”

He shuts the laptop, the moans cut off, a heated silence taking its place. The bed feels too big when he gets up, ignoring the confused look you give him.

The vibrator is exactly where he left it, oddly comforting because it means you don’t use it. You have him after all. But he needs the toy for tonight.

“What? Guk? What’s go—when did you find that?” You’re embarrassed, he knows it from the way you squirm under the blanket. He glances down at it, finger pressing the switch that turns it on. A quick run through shows ten decent vibrators at different levels, it’s rather intense even in his hands, the low buzz that it emits filling the room forbidding before he shuts it off.

“A couple of weeks ago,” he says. You groan, your head dropping into your hands.

“Put it away, Guk! And don’t go through my stuff ever again.”

“Why? I think it’s cute.”

“Cu—what is the point of this, Jeongguk? I don’t get what you’re trying to do?” And there you go, staring at him with those wide ingenuous eyes. So trusting, so clueless. He draws closer then, considers taking his underwear off so you can see just what you do to him. But when your gaze drops he halts. It’s not about him tonight. It’s about you.

The bed dips under the weight of his as he says it, the toy still in his hands. “I want to see if you can squirt.” He sees the way your back stiffens, the raise in your brow.

“I’ve never done that,” you splutter, falling back as Jeongguk crawls over you.

“I know. But you can.”

“I can’t, Guk. I don’t think I can.” Your pretty lips are drawn into a reluctant pout, but there’s a bright curiosity sparking through your gaze that Jeongguk knows all too well.

“See, you don’t think you can. You said that before. And then I made you cum five times in a row.”

“No that was different—”

“We’re just seeing if you can. We don’t have to if you don’t want to but I think it’d be fun to try.”

You pause, trying to ignore the heat blooming between your legs as you weigh the decision before you. There were times when you thought you were about to, an edge in your orgasms that felt dangerous. But your body never let you go there fully, drawing back from your slipped from heights you couldn’t handle. You can tell Jeongguk won’t grant you the same precautions. His eyes a dark, toeing a line that feels forbidding. The covers are gently pulled from you, Jeongguk staying silent as you ponder. But the moment the cool night air hits your skin you know what he’s asking for. It’s a strange level of vulnerability, a bareness that makes your skin prickle. He wants something that you’ve never given anyway else — not even yourself. It’s a lot to ask for and his directness makes you pause. The hesitation crumbles when his hand settles on your thigh, wide warm palm gently nudging your clasped legs apart.

“We really don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Jeongguk says, honey eyes locked on you. You know he’s being honest; he wouldn’t push it if you said no. And yet, something twists in your stomach. You want this. The realisation is sudden and you don’t know if it’s because of how perfect Jeongguk looks tonight. Chestnut curls a messy halo on his head and his shirt hanging loose from his broad shoulders. Or maybe it’s how he looks at you as if this is the only he’s ever really wanted in the world. As if you’re the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

“I want to—I mean I want to try.” You let yourself fall open then, something clicking as Jeongguk slots right against you perfectly, your sleeping shorts bunching up when his hips roll with intent. His lips land on your neck a moment later, a kiss so soft that you don’t feel it at first, lost in the way he hits your clit when he bucks into you. Jeongguk draws you back with a bite, one sharp enough to leave you gasping, your back arching from the sheets. He lets his hands slip under then, the vibrator momentarily forgotten as he maps your skin, lips feather-light once more, kisses gentle enough to leave you delirious.

“So good to me,” Jeongguk mumbles, eyes drifting to your lips. He draws close then, mouth fitting yours in a dreamlike perfectness. It’s flavoured with wine and want, a clear hunger in how he parts your lips. The hands that grip you are hard but his lips are gentle, savouring the taste of you against his mouth as if he wants to commit it to memory. The softness of the act has your skin tingling, bright and wild yet slow like the turning of the Sun. When you part, the air is different — charged, the current that swims through the atmosphere finding a home in your body as it settles in the depth of your gut. Jeongguk doesn’t give you time to ponder, mouth trailing from the corner of your lips to the hollow of your neck where he bites. It hurts enough to shock your senses, sweeping you back from the heavenly haze to the alarming reality of what he’s about to do to you. Your whimper hits the air as his tongue presses into the mark, painting your skin dark. A pointed reminder. You’d thought Jeongguk would be possessive, but sometimes he surprises you with it. The purposeful touches, the harsh bruises he likes to leave high on your neck. Or anywhere on your body, really. There are times he’d press his fingertips into them when you’re willing enough to let him choke you, the flash in your eyes spurring his hips forward.

For now, he busies himself with breathing a new one to life, one you know he’ll play with tomorrow — or later tonight if you give him the chance. Your brain can’t think that fair, zoning out as his mouth works a claim on your skin. Eager fingertips are drifting down your thighs, brushing past the band of your sleeping shorts. It’s expected that you’re already wet, but Jeongguk delights in his find with a muted moan in your neck. His fingers don’t go further though, grazing light against the damp fabric of your underwear. The swivel of your hips is automatic but Jeongguk quickly stills it with a hard press of his palm into your skin. You’re forced into the mattress, freezing when he finally wanders from your neck to your chest. So slow, wet lips idly trailing until his face lands between your chest.

“Gukkie,” you hadn’t realised how gone you already sounded until you spoke, voice wavering. He hums in response, non-committal, his hands shifting from your hips as he focuses on freeing you from your top so he can get your boobs in his mouth.

“Don’t tease me today.” You’re trying to sound firm, pliantly raising your arms so he can get you bare. But that firmness shrinks when your eyes land on his. So dark in the dwindling moonlight bleeding through your half-open blinds.

“Why?” There’s that smile of his, one corner hung higher than the either. You’ve sunk yourself in a sea brimming with sharks. “You sound cute when you whine, bunny.”

“Jeong — fuck.” There’s no point in protesting when he’s buried himself between your chest, tongue already toying with your nipple. Too many guys before him had misunderstood how to touch you there, but Jeongguk knew — he had learned. Studied your body so that he knows when to nip or kiss, shifting from pain to pleasure until the line blurred and so did your vision, until the only sound filling the room are harsh breaths and the quiet murmur of his name. Your hands eventually stray to his head, the heat in your core demanding attention as you guide him down. Jeongguk complies, not because he doesn’t want to tease you any further, but because he loves tasting you too much to ever say no.

The sight he finds sends an ache down his length, already hard but now leaking into the fabric of his grey sweats. You spread yourself so easily for him, light pink panties coloured dark with your wetness.

“Cute,” Jeongguk whispers, falling naturally into his place between your legs. It wasn’t meant to grace the air, but he’s glad it did when he notes the bashful smile tugging at your lips and how you twist to shift your head into the pillows the closer he gets. Which, honestly, makes him pause. He wants you to watch, needs you to. Something in the base of his brain needing constant affirmation that he’s making you feel good driving his next set of movements.

The hand on your chin is unexpected and adamant. You can’t help but give in, wide-eyed when Jeongguk forces your gaze onto him. “Need you to look bunny, can you do that for me?” The nod you give him is instinctual, heat blossoming in your bones when Jeongguk smiles, satiated and proud. Perhaps you should have put up more of a fight, but how could have known what he would do with only the tender touches he’d lift as your guide. Even the quick kiss he plants on your clothed cunt revealed nothing of what’s to come. So gentle as he pulls he fabric down your hips, discarding it somewhere in the sheets, his eyes never leaving the wetness on your lips.

“My pretty girl,” he says, nipping the inside of your thigh. You squirm at that, futile because Jeongguk just held you closer. “All mine, right bunny?”

“All yours,” you return, voice far and your mind slipping from your hands. Jeongguk apparently takes that to heart because he devours you, nose burrowed in the apex of your cunt, breathing you in as his tongue mapped the velvet of your walls. It doesn’t take long for your legs to wrap around his head, back raising from the bed and the drip of your slick coating your inner thighs. Yet, Jeongguk relishes it, forgoing breathing as he eats you open, toying with your clit as if that was his sole life purpose. You forget the world with a speed that should concern you, thighs trembling with each determined swirl of his tongue over that bud. Again and again, until you spill into his mouth, wet and creamy, creating a mark of your own on his lips. He keeps you there, unrelenting even when your whines hit high and your chest heaves. There’s a ringing in your ears as the high wanes away, which is swiftly placed by a quiet mumbling that sinks into your skin.

“Tastes so good,” Jeongguk murmurs, licking between your folds. “So fucking good.”

“Jeon,” Something twists in your gut when he drops a final kiss onto you as if he was thanking you for letting him do that when you should be the one on your knees thanking him. When he softly drops your leg to the soiled sheets you decide it quickly, already shifting onto your elbows.

“Yes?” Such innocent eyes staring back at you like he didn’t just fuck you open with his tongue.

“I want you too,” you’re already shifting but Jeongguk is quick, fingertips hard on your jaw when he halts you. He knows what that means, reads it in how your gaze drops to the crotch of his pants, wet just like you were. But that’s not what he wants, besides, he’d rather save that for other places.

“No.” When he says that you almost deflate, but then Jeongguk drops his hand from your jaw, swiftly dragging his shirt over his back and off his body. There’s nothing that can suffocate the desire that blooms in your chest. He’s so beautiful, hard lines and warm skin, kissed by the Sun herself. There’s an itch in your palm instantly, and you hastily register that if you don’t touch him you might die. Yet, your eager hands are pinned over your head, wrists wrapped tightly in the grip of one of his wide calloused palms. There’s a brief moment where his attention is caught by the bounce of your chest before you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that you’ve never asked Jeongguk to fuck your tits before. But as you stow that away for later concern, Jeongguk’s other hand drifts to the discarded vibrator, sinister now in his command.

“Don’t want to fuck your mouth, bunny. It’s not about me tonight, it’s about you.”

“But—” Jeongguk swallows that protest with a quick kiss, the taste of you on his tongue igniting a fire that crackles and consumes until you feel nothing but heat and want, all fuelled by your erratic lovesick heart. You kiss until the only thing filling your lungs is him, like a heavy smoke that envelopes you, travelling through your body until you pull away, warm chest flushed against his. There’s a stupid twinkle in his eyes and it makes you feel sick, swaying dangerously when he shifts away. You don’t want him to go, but you don’t move when he gives you that look. The devastating ache dissipates when his pants drop from his hips, hard cock meeting the cool air. The twitch that travels down his length echoes between your walls, eagerly clenching around nothing. Jeongguk just smiles, stripping bare leaving himself vulnerable to your eager eyes. You wait, behaving good because you want to for him and Jeongguk notes this, delivering a pleased slap to your cunt when he pulls you close, one hard enough to jolt through your spine when his palm hits your clit.

“I’m kind of sensitive,” you whisper, shy again. Which is funny because weren’t you begging for his cock down your throat a second ago?

“I know,” Jeongguk returns, uncaring. The vibrator comes to life a moment later, buzzing low through the room. He knocks it up to the second-highest level.

“Jeongguk! Start low then work it up. I can’t take it like that directly, it'll chafe me.” Which is right, your clit is already feeling dry, slick staying solely between your walls. Jeongguk notes that, pausing before sinking two of his fingers deep. You squeak, hips lifting when they brush against that spot in your walls. He works you open deftly, pleased when you grind your hips into his hands, spurred on by the feeling of something finally inside of you. But it’s fleeting, Jeongguk dragging his fingers out and over your clit before raising his fingers to his lips and licking them clean.

“Now it won’t,” he states, and before you can open your mouth and deliver a retort the vibrator is pressing against that bundle of nerves, tremors echoing in your bones as your legs squeeze shut in an attempt to get away. Jeongguk pins them open, cock leaking against your thigh and he rolls the edge of the toy over your clit, before you jolt so hard the sheets shift and he knows exactly where to place it. He works it out of you, praise naturally falling from his petal lips when you give in, eyes shut tight and your heart stuck in your throat. The vibration feeds the heat in your gut, drawing it to the surface of your skin, sweat beading along your forehead and a dampness forming down your spine. It feels both quick and slow, coaxed out of you with steadfastness. Jeongguk’s gaze never strays from your pussy, locked there as he etches this moment into his memory. You look gorgeous, whining and twisting underneath him. He can tell that this is a lot for you, judging from how you bury your face away from him. He would have forced your eyes on him, if he wasn’t already so enthralled by how perfect you look like this, moans low colouring the air bright with their sound. His own want multiples when your body freezes, strung tight, the edge beckoning you over.

He pulls the vibrator off then, depriving you of your release because his brain demands that he feels this one around his length.

“Jeongguk!” You’re on your elbows, eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. “Why-w-why would you do that?” There’s a waver in your tone, a lilt so pretty he can’t help but smile.

“When you squirt you’re doing it on my cock.” He states it like it's final. And it is from how he draws you close, vibrator momentarily lost in the sheets, the head of his length brushing against your wetness.

But what catches your attention is when. A loaded promise. A determined one.

You spread your legs open, shifting until he slips past walls stretching to accommodate his welcoming presence. “Okay then, make me.” You say it with your gaze on his, watching as his eyes glaze over hips already bucking deeper, before your words register in his brain and Jeongguk’s gaze shifts into a dangerous glint.

He tugs you hard, pulling close enough so that he sinks in deep, cunt already moulding to the curves of his cock. “With pleasure.” Those words are warning, painted right into the heat of your skin as he sheathes himself inside of you. The groans in the air belong to both of you melting into one distinctive sound. It’s cut by the lewd squelch of your wetness coating his length, one that settles in Jeongguk’s gut, release already creeping into the corner of his vision. But he holds it back by knocking your legs further apart, mouth returning to the bruise he left earlier, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin. You arch into him, shifting as pain bleeds through your nerves. The motion allows the last inch of him to slip past your walls, spearing you open, before Jeongguk draws himself out and returns with a hard slow thrust. He fucks you deep, right into the bed, the frame creaking with each loud meeting between the two of you. You can’t do anything but cling onto him, eyes fluttering as his cock drives into you, determined with every piston of his hips to see you unravel. And you do, with a sickening quickness, already weak with the remembrance of your past edge. You feel soft underneath him, pressed against his skin like you hope you find a home for yourself there. And Jeongguk provides — lips mapping your skin gently and a pride in his tone that makes you want to do anything for him.

“That’s it, good girl.” You can’t say anything but his name, whining with every drag of his length along your walls. “So good to me,” he whispers, sweet, unlike his unforgiving hips. “Pretty girl and she’s all mine.”

“Yes,” you gasp, wanting this more than ever. “All yours—a-all—hnghhhh—y-yours! Jeongguk, please! P-please, please, please.”

He slows, smiling into your neck. “What bunny? What do you want?”

“Wanna cum, Jeongguk p-please let me cum.” When he moves away you feel your gut drop. The vibrator is flicked back one, humming dangerously. “Guk—” you start; he shushes you with a purposeful thrust.

“You said you wanted to cum. Remember what you promised me, bunny?” You nod, slow, nervous but your need overriding your fear. Jeongguk just smiles, shifts himself a little deeper, and then places the vibrator where you need it most. It’s not instant, but it’s quick and violent, travelling through your bones and Jeongguk rocks himself deep, curls damp on his forehead and his shoulders tense but his body still giving. You match his movements with your own, shuddering the closer you feel it creep, ripping itself right out of your limbs, drawn to the surface with no remorse, your eyes falling shut and hips seizing. The vibration paired with the feeling of Jeongguk fucking you full is intoxicating, and unlike you he doesn’t hesitate, playing with your clit unforgivingly.

You don’t even hear yourself, mouth agape and your back high from the sheets, all you know is heat, burning from the inside out. No air in your lungs as it spills from you, right onto his length, walls drawn tight. It hits his abdomen, leaving his muscles wet and glimmering as the moonlight greets his skin. Jeongguk shuts down, hips moving automatically, the vibrator thrown aside, still buzzing forlornly. He couldn’t give a damn about it, bending your legs back and fucking into you hard as you coat his cock in your wetness. If it was loud before, it’s obscene now. The nails in his back spur him further, a need he’s never felt before consuming him whole. It’s already there, the white of his desire clouding his vision, but his brain suddenly stills.

Jeongguk’s hand on your chin draws you back to Earth, mind nothing but mush as he continues to fuck you open. They’re erratic thrusts, and with them, you slowly release that your cheeks are wet. Jeongguk realises it the same time you do, thumb gingerly brushing the tears falling from your eyes away. There’s a strange new awareness buzzing through your body, like your bones feel new, limbs reformed. But nothing could prepare you for that thumb on your cheek travelling down, grazing your lips until they fall open. He slips it past, lets you flick your tongue against it, before demanding. “Open.”

And you do, because what wouldn’t you do for him.

“Can I?” He questions, and somehow you know what he is asking. Another claim. Something else you’ve given nobody but him.

“Yes.”

There’s a fall in his shoulders as if he was afraid you would deny him. But how could you ever? His thumb leaves your lips, hand drifting until it settles on your neck, pressing firmly but not tight. And then his own lips part, hips unwavering, for what he sends down your throat. You swallow, oddly thrilled by it while Jeongguk watches silently, almost in marvel. It does something to you, the way he stares, like he cannot believe you’re his. And you feel that sentiment in how he kisses you next, desperate, pleading, thankful. You return it, tongue soft against his as you feel his back draw taut, a low groan spilling down your throat when Jeongguk finally snaps, euphoria bleeding through his brain. You feel it hit your walls, warm and wet, painting you white, a strange satisfaction settling through your body.

When he eventually rolls over, quiet like he’s still recovering, you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, an attempt to keep his love locked in. His hand cups your own, guiding you back into reality with a gentle squeeze.

The still buzzing vibrator is what you hear first, followed by the joint panting of your lungs. You move to grab it, hoping to hide the revelation in your eyes by glaring at him. Jeongguk is still too lost to care, face flushed a vibrant rouge.

“Turn this stupid thing off,” you mutter, legs still stuck, fused to the bed from the shock of your orgasm. Jeongguk snatches it up, waving it through the air as he turns it off, before giving it a fond kiss.

“Gross,” you comment, smacking his hard chest.

“No,” Jeongguk returns, dropping it. He plants a ginger kiss on your forehead. “I quite like it actually, we should order another one. Do you think they do vibrating panties?”

You hit him again, rolling over until your leg swings over his. He keeps looking at you like that, and it keeps clawing right through your heart. “You’re so sick and evil,” you say instead of the annoying comments that flutter in your delirious brain. You want to call him pretty, beautiful, perfect, maybe the best thing you’ve ever had. But you can’t let Jeongguk know he has all that power over you — not when already made you squirt and spat down your throat in one sitting. “Can you clean me up? I’m getting sticky.”

Jeongguk stills like he’s suddenly remembering what he just did, where he just came. And then you feel the rise of his chest, gaze flicking up to meet his. Bright and full of something akin to adoration, before he blinks it away.

“Give me a moment, I think I just saw God.”

[k3lynn]

mine — katsuki bakugou

yandere! katsuki bakugou x reader

cw: yandere au, 3rd year bakugou, violence, reader got female genitalia, anger, off-“screen” murder, mention of (minor) character death, blood, lucidness, possessiveness, degradation, manipulation, stalking, threats, masturbation, implication of sex, swearing, assault, narcissism, horror, slightly delusional katsuki, panic attack, non con, mention of suicide

- I do not condone any of the behavior here, nor do I try to romanticize it. (definition: make it seem like a good thing) any future/current dark fics are purely for entertainment purposes. Also, I don’t think bakugou would EVER do this- I’m just using some dark traits he used to have and twisting them to fit this situation. Not completely proof read and edited, I am exhausted right now I’m sorry. I say some mean things about some characters but I don’t mean it 💗

words: 1.8k

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙽𝙷𝙰 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝚈𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look at me.

WHY WON’T YOU LOOK AT ME.

Poor little Y/N. You’ve caught the Big Bad Wolf’s attention. Ready to snatch you up and drag you into the deepest parts of the forest where no one will ever find you.

You’ll be all mine, and I’ll be the only thing you’ll ever have to see again.

You’ve been in the same class for 3 years now- and all he had to show for it is an occasional wave, and a shy little “Hi Bakugou” every morning that made his heart leap out of his chest.

Enough for most, but not for him.

In turn, he would tsk. Facing away and setting his head down on the desk- attempting to hide the roaring blush adorning his cheeks and the subtle shuffling in his pants- the way your voice alone could make his balls tighten in need.

Still- you give him merely a glance. He is always around you, but your attention is given to someone else.

Any extra would overlook his grumbling for typical-Katsuki doing his own thing. In reality, he’s holding himself back from snapping and taking you by force.

He wants you to come to him.

You have no reason not to. He’s perfect. Probably the best student to ever enter U.A. High, and on path to become the best pro hero to ever graduate from it.

Coming first in both the Entrance Exams AND the sports festival- a victory he still denies, holding some of the highest grades in class- 3rd only to some geek girl he could easily out-rank in combat and that shitty half n’ half. Even perceptiveness, intellect, and determination that can rival dumb Deku.

He even possesses great skills in cooking and music- Katsuki is a natural-born genius. Anybody who isn’t conscious towards his incredible talents might as well be living under a rock-

Unbeknownst to you, he’s giving you the generous chance to decide when you’ll be his. But his patience wears thinner every day.

It would have only taken a second to turn around in your seat and notice his piercing red eyes glaring at the back of your head.

So why don’t you notice me.

-

He doesn’t understand why it’s you he obsesses about. He can’t even remember when this whole mess started.

He tried denying his feelings. But quickly- they built up and festered inside him, begging to come out. Love, possessiveness, same thing.

Whether it be watching your twist and turn in the obstacle course- then running to the nearest bathroom to furiously grip his cock.

Snatching your chapstick when you’re not looking and rubbing it all around his own lips- imagining that’s what your lips would taste like if you just kissed him-

Restraining you during combat training by wrapping his arms around you- squeezing your breast a little more than necessary. Pinning you to the floor until you admit defeat.

Or even sneaking into your dorm while you’re in the shower to grab a new pair of panties from your dirty laundry, adding it to the stash he keeps hidden under his bed.

Stalking you. Keeping you close at all times without you even knowing it.

Indeed, he knows he’s a sick and twisted human being.

But by now he hardly cares- he’s worked too hard to ever even imagine of changing his perfect target. Nobody is more deserving of you than him.

So if he has to confront, threaten, and beat every single person in this stupid school to monopolize you for himself- he gladly will. Anyone who goes againts that is challenging him.

He scoffs anytime a boy approaches you- it’s well known around school that anyone who attempts to buddy up with you mysteriously ends up in a hospital room with no recollection of what happened. People even started seeing you as a sign of bad luck.

He’s nice enough to allow you some friends though. But only ones who will guarantee you’ll be around him as much as possible.

So you sit with him, Kirishima, racoon eyes, dunce face, and tape boy in lunch. No one else. Right in front of him.

You’re chatting away with Mina, but unusually, something special came up in conversation.

He always stays focused on his lunch- switching between listening in and day dreaming about bending you over the lunch table and grinding on your ass-

Katsuki’s stomach dropped. His eyes widened- what did Mina just say?

There’s a boy in the management department, a quirkless 2nd year nobody smart enough to somehow get into U.A.

And he asked you out on a date after school.

Shit.

No.

No no no no-

No- this isn’t how it’s supposed to-

My throat burns.

When did he- when did you-

You’re going to say no, right?

I cant breathe.

You don’t like anyone- I know this

I know everything about you- I-

My chest hurts-

You’re mine.

And if he thinks I’ll share then I’ll-

“Mina stop being so loud please...” your delicate little voice whispered.

The rest of the table already took notice of what was going on- bombarding you with questions that made you flustered.

“Woah woah- Y/n, what’s your answer?” dunce face peeps out, Bakugou swore he could smack that grin off his face right then and there.

Katsuki turns to look at you again- a chill traveling down his spine once he made eye contact, but your stare quickly fell to the floor.

“I’m not sure yet- probably not.. ha.” You shrugged- a light pink dusting over your cheeks. The others, satisfied, dismiss the topic.

Had it have been anybody else observing, they wouldn’t have thought much of it. But Katsuki knows you like the back of his hand. Successfully deceiving him would be harder than taking down All For One.

You’re lying... aren’t you? In front of him too- All because of this quirkless fucking loser-

Katsuki hates lies.

.

.

.

I’m going to kill him.

-

The walk back to your dorm was disappointing to say the least. But you can’t expect someone to be in the best of moods when they’ve been stood up.

You almost couldn’t believe it either- he had seemed so kind and genuine that you stood there for an extra 2 hours. But that’s your luck with boys-

‘I hope you got a good laugh out of it, jerk.’ You huffed before inserting the key into your rooms lock.

Turning on the lights, you allow your eyes to adjust for a moment before stepping inside and walking to your desk.

“You were waiting for that jackass for so long I almost started thinking you would never come back...”

You let out a startled cry before dropping your keys and whirling around in a flash- recognizing Katsuki’s back as he slowly closes the door.

“Bakugou? Why are you-“

“was he really that special.”

“What do you mean was....“ It’s then you noticed the blood dripping down his arms and hands- your door decorated with the same shade of crimson.

“oh my god.. Bakugou,”

That’s why the poor boy never showed up.

You knew about Katsuki’s “little” crush on you for a while now. His stares weren’t exactly the most subtle after all-

You found his uncertainty adorable, heck, a part of you was waiting for him to confess. But you would have never imagined his infatuation went this far.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. He’ll never love you as much as I do.”

He lifts his head, and your eyes meet his. Bloodshot- as if he’d been crying, but the evident smirk on his face showed nothing but pure malice.

“Not that he’ll ever get the chance to anyways”

He’s too fast, too close to the door, he has all the advantage in this situation. But you have to try. You have to leave this room at this very moment or you may never make it out alive. There’s no reasoning with him.

You clutch your heart. He steps forward, and you instinctively bolt to the door.

A few easy moves and he has you pinned by the neck on the ground, legs bent and used to hold your arms from jerking too much. His free hand is outstretched, creating small explosions that made you automatically stiffen your movement.

“Bakugou please- I won’t ever tell anyone, we can forget about this and I’ll pretend it neve-“

“I don’t need you to be quiet. I’m the boy who rejected a direct offer from the League of Villains, one of the best students in U.A. high- even if you do rat me out, they’ll never believe you...”

His grip on your neck tightened- nails cutting through skin and little droplets of blood start showing up. His hand starts heating up and a panic courses through your veins.

“I’ll kill you before they even begin to suspect me.”

Choked sobs escape your lips from the pain and fear surging through your body- “I- I thought you said you lo-loved me.”

“I do... that’s why you’ll be mine forever.”

He leaned down, low enough for you to feel his warm breath- then used his tongue to sadistically lick off the tears running down your cheek, a salty but satisfying flavor entering his mouth.

“In this life, and the next. It’s up to you when we see the later.”

You nod, hoping he relaxes the pressure on your neck. His face softens, something you swore you would never see in Bakugou. He releases his hold.

“You made me mess up your neck, next time don’t be so mean.”

He tilted your chin up, observing the scratches and bruises littered all around it. As soon as he determines there’s no serious injury, he picks you up to lay you on your bed. Climbing in next to you and wrapping an arm around your hips.

“Couples cuddle like this all the time don’t they.”

You gave him silence, although he didn’t mind. With one glare he had you shuffling to move closer to his chest.

“they also kiss.”

You know that right now, there’s no point in fighting. So you give in to what he wants in hopes that one day, you’ll break free from the hold he secretly had on you for so long. You’ll play along. You’ll survive.

You shudder as his hands reach to cradle your cheek, wiping the blood of the boy all over it. He loved it. It proved he won. He gave a light kiss to your lips before attacking your neck, set on putting a new type of bruise on you.

“You should start calling me Katsuki.”

“Ka- Katsuki.” You barely managed to whimper out.

He caresses your hair, cooing soft whispers into your ear in an attempt to calm your sniffling. An action you would have seen as sweet if it weren’t for the constant threat of death over your shoulder.

Your breath hitches in horror as you feel his warm hands trail down your body, gripping your smooth inner thigh before delicately starting to drag his fingers up.

“You know...

You silently beg for him to stop.

“There’s one more thing couples do.”

-if anyone is interested- should I make a part 2? (Future edit, I’m not satisfied with this, I might end up rewriting in the future)

© 2021 k3lynn, do not modify or repost without permission