#and maybe if i got home early i would have the motivation to draw

[critterofthenight]

everyone's having fun and i just wanna go to the library and finish reading this book in quiet

[andhumanslovedstories]

I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things aren’t going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when it’s happy. Maybe I’ll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But I’m thinking about the way I’m thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.

In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasn’t even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations I’d had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didn’t supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. That’s a real job you can do for almost five years. I didn’t have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.

Those days weren’t bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.

On 2016’s Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night before—not just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope I’d had in human nature because now I didn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost silly when I think about it—so many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didn’t think I was naive to that—but something clicked into place that morning.

It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, I’d tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. I’d written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: “Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.”

I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldn’t be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didn’t work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.

That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.

It doesn’t feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if that’s the grade it actually deserved. We hadn’t been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Grace’s murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.

Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasn’t interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.

I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trump’s election in 2016 felt like that.

After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldn’t kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, “what if I got into politics.” Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trump’s inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.

Now it’s election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, there’s Palestine. Meanwhile there’s Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.

I don’t think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in November— how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.

I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I don’t know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naïveté to the world—not to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. It’s not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynic’s pleasant surprise.

Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a person’s life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.

I’m lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what I’ll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimist’s optimism: to a degree the election doesn’t matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.

But please god please, why can’t it be just a little easier to do it?

[cartoonistcoop]

ShortBox Comics Member Interview: Sloane Hong

Throughout the month of October, the Cartoonist Cooperative will be sharing interviews with members of the Co-op who have a new comic available at the ShortBox Comics Fair 2024! 

NOTE: The Cartoonist Cooperative is not affiliated, associated, authorized, endorsed by, or in any way formally connected with ShortBox.  

Today’s spotlight is Sloane Hong ( @plaest2k ) and their new comic for ShortBox, Expiry Date.

We’d love it if you could introduce yourself and tell us about your background in comics.

Sloane Hong: Kia ora, my name is Sloane Hong (she/her), I’m a Korean-tauiwi illustrator, comic artist and tattooer based in Aotearoa, New Zealand. I only started making comics professionally about five years ago but they’ve always been a significant part of my life for as long as I can remember.

Tell us more about your new comic?

SH: Expiry Date is an erotic, body horror, sci-fi short story about coming home from a long day at your shitty, minimum-wage job, crashing on your couch and fantasizing about how fucking good it would feel to just die.

I mean, it’s also about transness, labour rights, our relationship with our bodies and death under capitalism, etc but it’s mostly about shitty jobs.

My friend described it as “what if David Cronenberg was a transsexual dyke who grew up reading ero-guro”.

What are some early experiences as a cartoonist that shaped you or your process?

SH: My brother’s also an artist, probably better than I could ever be, and I basically owe any good taste I might have to him. Growing up, I always got home from school first so I’d sneak into his room to admire his drawings and read his comics. He had most of the usual stuff you’d find on any Korean kid’s shelf in the 90’s: Akira Toriyama, Masamune Shirow, Yoshito Usui, etc, and a couple of Korean manhwa that are all now damn-near impossible to find. As he got older, he started getting into American comics and brought home stuff like R. Crumb, Daniel Clowes, Fletcher Hanks, etc from the library.

But it’s not just that I had someone to introduce me to all this stuff, it’s the fact I’m six years younger than him and he was already reading this stuff earlier than most. So I think I started looking at all those misanthropic underground comics by horny white men when I was, like, what… about 10 years old?

Besides my brother, the trauma of working shitty jobs for years on end, The Terrible Boredom of Paradise, and this weird and fucked up miracle we call life are probably the wellsprings of both my inspiration and ceaseless burnout. 

Tell us about your creative process; how did you develop this comic and what are the steps you took to bring it to the final stage?

SH: I did something really stupid for the 2023 ShortBox Comics Fair. I have ADHD and one of the many ways it manifests is that I have a debilitating habit of overthinking my stories. “Are the themes too obvious? Is it too heavy handed? Are the motivations for this character clear enough? Is this the right way to phrase this? Is this the right word? Is this the right letter? Is this the right punctuation?” etc, etc.

On paper, it probably sounds like something every writer goes through but when I say debilitating, I mean interferes-with-my-ability-to-live-a-normal-life-kind of debilitating. It’s kind of impossible to articulate how bad it was but it got to a point where I was so sick of myself and all the stories I never finished that I said fuck it–maybe if I just jump into a comic with nothing but a stupid premise, no planning and an impending deadline, I won’t have time to think about all these inconsequential details. So I sat down and forced myself to write, pencil and ink a comic, page-by-page.

It was essentially an exercise in automatism: I was still thinking about draftsmanship, composition, flow and everything but I kinda just let the story tell itself by writing/ drawing whatever felt like a natural progression for the narrative.

That was how I ended up with Marrow, which was kinda funny because the whole point was to make a goofy, low-stakes comic about nothing to circumvent the pressure of having to write anything good. Instead I’d inadvertently made something that was layered and deeply intimate and won the sci-fi category in the 2024 Minicomic Awards. But, more importantly, the whole process helped bring everything together. It reminded me of something I used to tell young artists: developing a style isn’t something you really set out to do, it’s something that just happens. You don’t practice drawing to get better at drawing; you do it to better channel your voice. It’s only when you can stop thinking about how to move your hand that your heart can take the lead.

I’d forgotten my own advice. I was so concerned about the technical details of how to write a story that I was basically assembling components rather than writing anything at all. Marrow helped me realize I’d already internalized everything I needed to write long ago. I just needed to stop thinking.

Expiry Date was a continuation of that process and made in basically the same way. There was just significantly less stress involved now that I knew I could trust myself.

Mostly.

Read the rest of the interview HERE! And dont forget to check out the Shortbox Comics Fair to support these lovely creators!!

[lucy90712]

Can you do something like comforting Jude after losing the league

WC: 2.0k

It's been an up and down season but it has all come down to the last game. For Dortmund to win the title they really need to win this game as otherwise it's out of their hands. I believe in the team but I must admit I'm quite nervous for the game as it's a lot of pressure and Bayern always seem to pull out results when they need them. As much as I'm nervous I've been trying to keep those feelings suppressed and seem calm on the outside as I know Jude is way more nervous than I am and I want to try and keep him as calm as possible. All day he's been pacing around the house completely in his own world which I understand but I wish he would just sit down and talk to me so I can maybe help calm him down. 

Jude so desperately wants the team to win the title as it would mean so much to the club and he would love to win with them before moving on to another team. Knowing that he's injured and can't play I don't think is helping as he's just going to have to watch everything from the bench hoping the team can do it without him. It's the worst possible time for Jude to be out and I know he's beating himself up over it as he's been playing while not fully fit and that's put him out at a vital point of the season. Jude has been so important for the team this year but they can do it without him and they will have to. 

He left before me to get to the stadium early with the team like always but I too left early as I couldn't bare to sit around at home anymore and I wanted to see Jude before the game kicked off. When I arrived I made it in easily as the security know who I am so they let me in no problem and I headed towards the locker room while texting Jude to get him to come out. He was waiting for me outside by the time I made it up the corridor and when he saw me he put his arms out which I ran into to give him the hug he clearly wanted. Jude has never held me so tightly which told me all I needed to know about how he was feeling without even asking. I let him hold onto me for as long as he wanted before pulling away and giving him some last words of encouragement and some kisses that I hoped would make him feel at least a little bit better.

The game had not long started when news came that Bayern had scored and were already 1-0 up meaning the team had to win if they wanted to keep first place. It only got worse a few minutes later when the team conceded a goal but luckily the fans still seemed hopeful and kept cheering which motivated the team. Things got worse with dortmund conceding another goal before half time but afterwards things got slightly better with them getting one back. While all of this was going on I was watching Jude sat on the bench biting his nails which I've only seen him do before his first game at the World Cup so I knew he was incredibly nervous. I sat with my fingers crossed so tightly it was hurting but I didn't care it would be worth it if they won. Soon everyone's prayers were answered when it was announced that it was now a draw in the Bayern game. The fans went crazy and the belief that this could be the year was felt by everyone but you could tell there was still nerves in the air as anything could happen.

As the clock ticked on the excitement was only building in the stadium that was until everyone spirit was crushed. Bayern and Musiala got a last minute goal putting them back ahead and giving them the title. The fans tried to keep believing but it was clear that despite a miracle there was no way they were going to win the title this year. The atmosphere changed so quickly from excitement to pure despair that yet again the team were second best. Just before the end of the game a consolation prize in the form of an equaliser came but it wasn't enough although they were on the same points Bayerns goal difference was better giving them the title. It was hard to believe it until the final whistle came but then it really sunk in as I watched all the players drop to the floor. 

I was mostly in shock until I saw Jude sit down on the pitch with tears in his eyes seeing him so upset just broke me and I couldn’t stop tears leaving my own eyes. It was so hard to watch Jude so upset but I knew that he needed me so I wiped the tears from my eyes and did my best to stay strong. As soon as I was allowed I ran onto the pitch and straight to Jude to sit down on the pitch next to him. I took hold of his hand to let him know I was there and because I didn't want to smother him if he just wanted to sit and be alone. He clearly wanted some comfort as he rested his head on my shoulder so I held him while he cried into my neck. After a while I got him to look up and wiped the tears from his face but they were quickly replaced my new ones. 

"I'm sorry I know how much you wanted it but you did all you could you have worked so hard all season" I said 

"But we could've done better just one more win at some point this season would have been enough even a draw" he said 

"If it were that easy you guys would have got those results in the first place it just wasn't meant to be but that doesn't take away from everything you have achieved this season" I said 

"You're right it just hurts that we lost it so late on" he admitted 

"Don't think of it that way think about how you pushed until the very last seconds" I said trying to cheer him up

He simply nodded his head and got up from the ground to go and talk with his teammates and thank the fans. He pulled me up with him and we walked around together still hand in hand like we have been since I sat down with him. Of course there were lots of cameras around which I was very aware of as I tried to stop them filming Jude as much as I could. As we walked around Jude noticed one camera that was coming towards us and he put his hand over the lens and pushed the camera away a bit. I mouthed an apology as we continued walking because I didn't want for people to hate on Jude for doing that but I didn't really mean it as they shouldn’t have been trying to film him in this moment. It was clear that it was hard for him to try and thank the fans but he still did it as the team would be nowhere without the fans and he really does appreciate them. 

The entire team stayed out on the pitch for quite a while but eventually they headed inside to shower and change and I went back to the car to wait for Jude. While waiting I got my phone set up with a playlist of his favourite songs as that sometimes helps cheer him up although I don't think it will work in this situation it's worth trying. I also ordered some of his favourite food as I don't want to cook and I thought he would enjoy it especially now he doesn't have to be quite so strict with his diet. Just as I ordered the food the door of the car opened and Jude put his bag in the back before getting into the passenger seat. He looked so defeated but he still gave me a smile and a kiss on my cheek. 

When we made it home Jude went upstairs to change into comfier clothes and I collected the food so it was ready for us to eat as soon as he came back down. We ate and then I laid down on the sofa and encouraged Jude to lay on top of me which he did straight away and cuddled as close as he could to me. I played with his hair with one hand as while he held the other twisting my rings which he always likes to do with his favourite being the promise ring he gave to me on our anniversary as it has an engraving on the bottom of the band. He hummed as I continued to scratch his head and he even had a real smile on his face which made me happy as I was worried that I wouldn't be able to get him to smile for a few days. 

As he was smiling I wanted to take advantage of it so I stopped playing with his hair and started tickling him which had him laughing and trying to get away from me in seconds. He hates being tickled but it always makes him laugh in a way that just fills me with so much joy. I was planning to tickle him for a bit and then stop when he seemed like he'd had enough but all of a sudden he flipped the both of us over and started tickling me instead. I'm extremely ticklish so every second was torture but Jude was happy so I let him torture me for a while. It felt like an eternity but eventually he stopped tickling me and left me resting on his chest where he instead started assaulting my face with kisses. Seeing Jude happy again was such a relief I remember after the World Cup he was feeling down for weeks and I didn’t want that to happen again as it was a tough time for both of us. 

At some point we both settled down and there was silence again as this time I laid on Jude’s chest as he brushed through my hair with his hands. It was quite obvious that the longer we were in silence the more Jude’s mind was able to drift and the smile he had started to slowly fade. I had to do something but I felt like I had exhausted all the options I had thought of and all I had left was trying to talk to him but I don’t know if that’s going to work. 

“You know I’m so proud of you” I said 

“Thanks babe” he muttered 

“I’m serious I couldn’t be prouder to be able to call you my boyfriend you are just so amazing” I said 

“And I’m incredibly lucky to be able to call you my girlfriend I don’t know what I’d do without your support and your pretty face is a bonus” he teased

“Well I enjoy looking at your pretty face too” I said 

We teased each other for a while longer before we both started to get tired so I suggested we go to bed. He carried me up the stairs and we got into bed together where any normal night we cuddle slightly but not too much as Jude gets too hot when we cuddle. Tonight however he pulled me to his chest and wrapped his arms around me tightly. After the emotional rollercoaster of the last few hours I was exhausted but I stayed awake long enough to know that Jude was sound asleep and when he was I gave him one last kiss before settling down to get some sleep myself.

[annaraebananawriter]

Day 1 - Stars

Hello all! I come bearing a new fic for a new ship week. This one (created by @starsanspolyweek) (which is also me) is for the Star Sans Poly ship! It's so fun to explore how much they mean to one another, and I thought about doing a ship week for them a few years back, but only got the courage and motivation to start it last year. So sorry about not posting anything for that one--I honestly just didn't get anything written. But this year I have!

I will try and update daily, though today is the only full day I have pre-written. The others are mostly a handful of words, or a blank page. We'll see how it goes.

Without a further ado, happy reading!!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically UTMV

Characters: Dream (Who belongs to Joku), Blue  (Who belongs to P0pcornPr1nce) and Ink (Who belongs to Comyet)

Pairings: Star Sans Poly/Pre-Star Sans Poly

Warnings: None, actually, now that I think about it. Let me know!

Summary: "Dream is not mortal. His brother, Nightmare, is also not mortal. They are both gods. An incident in the past involving both of them forced the hand of the other gods to create a new rule: Mortals and Gods are not to interact, let one infect the other with knowledge they should not possess.

This rule becomes a problem when Dream becomes infatuated with two mortals, Ink and Blue."

Word Count: 4420

***

I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen:

***

The tree was always Dream’s favorite place to watch the stars. Nothing beat climbing up to the furthest branch, using skills built upon centuries of practice to get up with the ease and grace as a nimble forest animal would naturally have, using the same skills to balance there on a branch that would’ve cracked had he been anyone else.

Being so high up got him so close to the sky, so close he could almost feel the twinkling lights kissing him. He could spend hours there, crouched in the tree, staring up at the wonder most didn’t think twice of.

Correction: he has spent hours there. He often got so lost in the beauty of things that he forgot to return home, and so his brother would be forced to come and retrieve him. Though he’s often said to Nightmare to just let him be, and though his brother often agrees to do so, forever annoyed at having to leave their house for any reason, he is often going back on his word, there at the base of the tree to call him home before sunrise without fail, every night.

Tonight, it’s still early enough that he knows he has time to watch. He settles in, leaning against the trunk, eyes searching the sky for anything and nothing at the same time. If he were an artist, his fingers would itch with a drawing. If he were a writer, it would be a story or poem instead. He is neither, however, so instead all he does is look.

That is enough to content him.

Mostly.

He does sometimes wish he were more creative. Sure, he can sketch something and have it end up half-resembling the original idea, and he can string together a short story with a simple theme, but they both end up crude and childish. That’s not a bad thing overall, it just leaves him unsatisfied, forever envious of those who can do them.

It’s funny, really, that in all the centuries he’s been alive, he has never mastered the art of art. So many other things he can do with his eyes closed. Never art. The closest thing to it is baking, maybe gardening, both things he can do well enough. Healing might be considered an art in itself, but it’s not paint and words and colours and metaphors. It’s not something people will look at for years with awe, not something people will hang up on their walls or in galleries. It’s simply a skill to help others, as is his duty and job—the only thing he is ever frustrated by.

He doesn’t hate doing his job. No, he does enjoy helping people. It makes him smile when he can dry a child’s tears with some warm magic on the knee, or when he grants a miracle to a family who now needn’t worry about the cost of a funeral for someone so young. In fact, he prides himself on doing good, spreading laughter across the world. He loves the stories told of him, the kind way they portray him in artwork, and he’s flattered by the statues of him in temples. It’s all something he enjoys.

That doesn’t mean he can’t find it uncomfortable at times.

One of the very first things people decided about him was that he was never selfish. He was always working in favor of others, always, no matter the demand or price. As the people have sway over how the universe works, he is bound to this fact. He can never act for himself, not without it also benefiting others. In the beginning, he hadn’t minded this, naïve to there being a different way to live, but when he found out he was the exception to the general rule, he couldn’t help but find it unfair.

Yes, he is not mortal. That shouldn’t mean he cannot be as free as them.

He should not have to bend to their whim, pick up after their messes, make every tiny wish come true. He should not have to heal all their scraps, paper cuts to broken bones, and he should not have to drug them to feel happiness, his aura meant to be something soothing and helpful in a crisis, not something to get addicted to.

Through the years, he’s grown so irritated that the common belief about him is that he enjoys being seen as a slave. It is simply not true at all. He enjoys helping people, yes, but he does not enjoy how it is half of what people see when they look at him. He is so much more than that. He is the sun and the stars and the light of your home, the lightness in your chest. He is the pleasant morning breeze against your flushed skin as you close your eyes and bask in it. He is the relationship you have with your closest friends and family, the way they know you better than yourself, that unspoken trust that they will be there to hold you when you fall.

He is so much more than a helper.

Dream is a God.

Yet, the laws of the universe dictate that he never speak about his wants, for that would be ‘—blasphemy for suggesting that we have free will like the mortals. We do not. We serve Fate, and Fate tells us to serve the mortals, to act the part they want us to play.’

Nightmare is a stickler for the rules. He never used to be. He was once as dissatisfied with the role mortals gave him while he had not been able to see what he meant, too wrapped up in the glitz of attention. Time has seen that their roles flipped over. Now, Nightmare insists he remember the laws, remember the role he plays, the one both of them play. What happened all those years ago changed him so much…

Ah, but he rambles. As he always does when watching the stars.

It’s time to clear his mind, lean his head back against the bark and fall into his trance. Crickets are abound on the grassy floor of the hill below, providing a symphony as he follows his own instructions, stretching his leg out along the branch. On a whim, he plucks an apple out of the air, biting into it, letting the juice fill his mouth.

It makes him sigh, this simple act of savoring what he eats, especially since it’s not needed. It is something he wanted, and so it was something he did.

A small rebellion, if you wish to call it that.

Closing his eyes, he took another bite.

He should eat more often. It’s a pleasant experience, and the taste is amazing. This apple was just one of the many edible things out there, too. Perhaps he should try an orange next, or maybe one of those sweets he’s heard about. Something to consider the next time he comes to the tree to watch the stars, that’s for sure.

When he opens his eyes again to look at the sky, he finds himself looking at a face instead. Freezing like a deer caught in the hunter’s gaze, Dream looks at the face in front of him, eyes wide.

It belongs a skeleton monster, that much is obvious, and it’s eyelights do a curious thing he’s never seen before. They change. Shapes and colours, they change as the monster blinks, making him fascinated. He’s never met a monster whose eyes change colours. It’s intriguing to watch, and he wants to ask this monster how his eyes work. Does he pick the colours and shapes? Or do they just happen? Does he know his eyes change, or will the news surprise him?

And then he remembers the new law, instilled after Nightmare’s incident: Mortals and Gods are not to interact, let one infect the other with knowledge they should not possess.

Remembering it, and realizing this would count as a violation of the law, makes his eyes widen even further, something in his stomach churning uncomfortably. He starts to panic, thinking of the repercussions of this act is found out, how it will affect Nightmare, since the universe is much more willing to blame any fault of his onto his brother.

The apple slips from his hand as his grip loosens.

The mortal catches the apple before it falls too far to salvage. “Hello!” The mortal says, grinning. His eyes change again, distracting Dream from his panic for a few moments. There’s an ink splotch on his cheek. Is he aware of it? “What brings you all the way up here?”

“Um…” Dream says, and then his panic returns, engulfing his line of thought. Automatically, he tugs at his magic, giving it the order to teleport him out of this interaction before he gives away more than he should.

Unfortunately, he does think of a destination along with the order, so he blinks and finds himself falling, having only teleported below where he was sitting, in a space without any branches to catch himself with. The beginning of a scream escapes him before he manages to wrench his mouth shut. It’ll do no good to draw even more attention to himself, not now. The best he can do is keep quiet and begin to teleport again.

Before he can give the order, he is caught, his hand instinctively clenching the fabric of a shirt. Blinking once, then twice, he breathes heavily as it sinks in that if he was caught that means…he looks up at the face of another mortal, another skeleton monster at that, who is looking down at him with concern, checking that he is alright.

Then, his face changes, jaw clenching, and the mortal looks up at the tree. “Ink! You were supposed to ask him why he was up there, not scare him into falling!” The mortal shouts up at the other one.

Ink, Dream thinks. How fitting, considering the splotch of the substance on his cheek.

The mortal who caught him does not have the changing eyelights of his companion, but that does not mean they are any less fascinating. They are blue, a bright blue that almost seems to glow, contrasted by the darkness that surrounds them. It’s a trick, he knows that—and really, the only eyelights that can glow are his own, a tell that he is not as mortal as everyone else—but it still makes his heart skip a beat.

Sounds of leaves being shaken come from above their heads, and they watch the other mortal—Ink—hop down. At first, the height he jumps from makes Dream panic, a feeling echoed from the mortal whose arms he was still in. Or maybe that feeling came first and he was the one that echoed it. Emotions were vague, that way. Landing perfectly fine, though with a bit of a stumble, Ink does not feel regret for making them worry, instead just laughs at them.

“I didn’t mean to, honest!” Ink says, grinning first at his companion, then looking down at Dream, blinking. His eyes change again: two question marks, different colours. “I gotta say, it’s weird that you got down here so quickly. I mean, I know you fell, but still. I didn’t hear any branches break or anything. The only leaves on the ground are from me.”

He’s observant. How terrible. Not only will he have to scramble for an excuse to leave as soon as possible, praying that he makes it home before anyone can get suspicious, he will have to find a way to avoid these questions.

The companion answers before he finds any words. “Don’t be silly, Ink, he just fell. That’s it. There’s nothing different about him.” He says the words pointedly, as if referring to something only the two of them understand. What were they talking about?

No, no, don’t ponder that!

Just go home.

Except he’s still in the mortal’s arms, and now he’s been in them so long, it feels too awkward to ask him to set him on his feet. That is the only reason he hasn’t moved, he tells himself, and nothing to do with the fact that it’s comfy here.

Ink scoffs, throwing Dream’s apple in the air and catching it. He takes a bite out of the other side, opposite from where his marks were. For whatever reason, the fact that this mortal is eating his food makes his cheeks burn. “You don’t know that. I’m telling you, there’s something off about him! Something…magical.”

His companion—he really must discover his name—shakes his head. He feels exasperated. Obviously, they have had many conversations like this. “Magic doesn’t exist.”

Unable to stop himself in time, Dream flinches. To proclaim that magic does not exist in front of a God, a being comprised of and birthed from the rawest form of magic, knowing you were in the presence of one or not…well, that hurts. It’s like someone denying a piece of you exists, no matter how much proof is written down, how many times you explain it to scholars and historians. It’s like they shake their head, telling you that you are the uneducated one, and referring you to a handful of resources that provide all the reasons as to why, exactly, you’re wrong about yourself.

Ink sees this flinch. “Ah, but he flinched when you said that! Why would he flinch unless you wounded him personally?” Grinning in triumph, he walks closer, standing in front of them with his hands on his hips. There is a small bit of apple stuck on the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps it’s time to ask the man himself. What say you, Magician? How do you explain traveling such a distance in such a short time?”

As the mortals wait for an answer, Dream swallows.

The only way to get out of this is to lie, which goes against everything that he is; God of Honesty and all that. Which is different from truth, yes, but it still holds the same restrictions. He cannot lie here, not fully. But there are many ways to lie and perhaps he can use that to his advantage by taking a page out of Nightmare’s book: avoidance and omission.

Yes, this will work. Or else he risks all of them being in trouble.

“Uh…” Dream says, swallowing again as he draws on his courage to raise his eyes to meet Ink’s. The changing eyelights are trained on him with unwavering attention. Clearing his throat, Dream tilts his head, pushing a curious expression to fall over his face. “Your eyelights change, did you know that? I’ve never met someone like that before.”

It’s a very clear avoidance, much like seeing someone you don’t want to talk to, making eye contact with them even, and deliberately turning and walking right back where you came from. Ink doesn’t call him out on it, though, instead just hums. “I see, I see. You want to keep your secrets. I guess I can respect that. A magician never tells, correct?”

“They’re very pretty to watch,” Dream continues as if he hadn’t replied.

Ink stares at him some more before shrugging. “Alright, Magician, keep your secrets. Maybe you’ll tell me your trick one day.” Now that his topic seems to be finished, he smiles, putting on a show of blinking and unveiling the brand-new eyelights. “Thank you! They are my second-best trait, if I do say so myself.”

Dream blinks. “Second-best?”

“Yes,” Ink laughs, eyes scrunching up. New eyelights appear. “They’re fine, but I’m used to them by now. It doesn’t excite me as much as it seems to excite you.” Sending him a wink, he reaches into his satchel, which is sat on the ground on a blanket he had been too preoccupied to notice before now. There are other things scattered on the blanket, a few snacks, and a telescope aimed up at the sky.

Finding what he’s looking for, Ink holds a notebook in front of him. “But these are much more interesting. I say this with modesty, of course. I would never proclaim myself one of the greatest artists of my generation.” With a hand on his heart, and a grin on his face to say how he really feels, he offers the notebook to Dream, who reaches out to accept the notebook but falters, remembering he is still in the arms of the other mortal.

Isn’t he tired yet? His arms must be aching by now. He is not a light God, certainly would not come across as a light mortal. But the mortal doesn’t appear to really notice him in his arms, content to stand as long as needed. Still, even knowing he wouldn’t mind holding him for a while yet, it feels like he’s being mean by taking a notebook to look through, lounging in the arms like it was his idea. Certainly, if he does this, he would come across as selfish, and as already established, this is something he cannot do.

But how to explain such things to a mortal…?

Ink seems to notice his dilemma, and he smirks at his companion. “Are you going to hold him all night, Blue, or are you going to allow him to stand on his own two feet again? I’m sure you’ve had plenty of time to make sure he was uninjured.”

His companion—Blue, Dream thinks to himself. How appropriate, with eyelights the essence of the word itself—jumps as if just remembering he is, in fact, holding someone in his arms.

“Oh, I am so sorry! I didn’t think to—I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t seem to know how to explain himself, stuttering and starting over as he sets Dream on his feet. When he looks back at him, Blue is blushing, flushed from his neck up, the colour just as bright as his eyelights as it glows. Ink is laughing in front of them, not even trying to hide it.

Dream smiles, laughs a little himself, patting him on the shoulder. “If it helps any, your arms are quite comfortable.”

Blue’s blush deepens. “Thanks.”

Taking the notebook from Ink, he first runs his fingers over the cool sensation of the leather cover. He’s unable to tell what colour it is exactly, too much of the pigment sucked into the darkness that surrounds them—which reminds him of another problem. “It’s too dark to see your art.”

Ink looks up at him as he plops himself down onto the blanket. He’s still eating Dream’s apple. “Ah, right. Forgot it was night.” Laughing at himself, he shrugs. “I guess you’ll just have to borrow it and wait till morning to look at it.”

Blue frowns at Ink, having walked around Dream and is fiddling with the telescope. “You’re giving it away? You never give your sketchbook away.”

With those words, Dream’s hand stills, fingers hovering in the air, a hair width away from the cover. Never? What made him so special, then?

It seems that’s Blue’s question as well, the one not spoken aloud. Ink shrugs again, answering both of them at the same time. “I’m not giving it away forever. It’s not like he’s just going to keep it.” Pausing, he looks at Dream, appearing for the first time this night nervous. “Are you?”

Dream shakes his head. “Of course not! I understand how important your art is to you artists. I would never steal it from you.”

“Right.” Gesturing at Dream, Ink continues talking to Blue, “See? I’m not giving it away. I’m letting someone borrow it.”

“Yes, but you never do that either.”

“There’s a first for everything.”

Silence rings in the air as both companions fall silent. He cannot help but feel that an unspoken conversation was just had with those few words, a conversation he is not even somewhat aware of. Like Ink said—a first for everything. What did they talk about? Was it about him? Must’ve been. Was he really that important to them?

Oh no, he didn’t interrupt anything, did he? Is he ruining something by lingering here? Well, he is, but is he ruining something for the mortals, too?

It’s best he leaves, quickly now, before—

“Are you going to sit down, Magician?”

Blinking out of his worries, Dream clutches the book to his chest. “Pardon?”

Ink tilts his head back, looking at him upside down. “Are you going to sit down, join us? I promise you; we don’t bite.” Another pause. “Not unless we have to.”

Blue smacks his arm. “Ink!”

Ink laughs, the sound beautiful, filling the quiet as if it was always meant to be there. “What? Just telling the truth. You really have nothing to be afraid of, I swear it. We’re out here to test run Blue’s telescope, that’s all—he built it himself, you see.”

Mouth opening in surprise, Dream draws closer, inspecting the telescope. It’s true. It’s made out of a mixture of wood and metal. If he reaches a hand out to touch the barrel, he runs the risk of getting a blister. Despite this, it is pretty, the rough wood a nice texture, the cool metal that frames the edges, that makes up the legs and the viewing port a nice difference, a good compliment. He cannot see too many details—again, too dark—but he can tell that a lot of work was put into it.

Shifting his gaze, he finds Blue’s gaze. “It’s amazing. How did you build it?”

Shrugging, gaze dropping back to his fiddling, Blue mumbles. “It’s nothing special, really…just wanted to make something to look closer at the stars…”

Beside him, Ink groans. “Don’t be silly, Blue.” Scooting over, he leans against Dream’s back, his breath warming the side of his skull as he whispers into where his ear would be if he was based on a human. “I keep telling him not to be so modest. It never sticks.” Getting louder, he leans forward even more, pointing at Blue and his telescope. “You built it to prove to your classmates that you didn’t get into school by chance. You built it because you knew you could. You built it with your heart, with determination—that’s how you built it.”

It seems Blue is unused to so many compliments in a row, the flush creeping back in, but Dream can tell that this is a proud flush, not an embarrassed one. “Bit more to it than that, but I suppose…and I can tell that I need to change the glass—I don’t think this was the correct cut. I need to change other things a bit, too, as it’s not zooming in as much as I want it to…” The longer he speaks, the more confident he gets, the more relaxed. He is in his comfort zone now, talking about his telescope, about the intricacies of it.

As he rambles, Dream glances over his shoulder to Ink, finding him looking at Blue with a smile far gentler than his grins were. This one, he can tell, is only used for moments like this, looking at someone he loves. Oh, how much he loves Blue…the emotion is like flying up into the sky, being among all the stars, all the lights, and closing your eyes and letting yourself fall, the euphoria in letting go.

It makes Dream’s essence pulse in tandem, like a heart skipping a beat.

However, in doing this, it reminds him of how different he is to these mortals. Why he puts them all in danger the longer he stays.

If Nightmare were to catch him like this…it would not be worse than the others, but it would mean being on lockdown. He would not be able to go anywhere without his brother breathing down his back, watching his every move, through his own eye or one of his familiars’. His brother is paranoid, afraid of what the others have done. If he sees this, he will worry that the others have as well, that the same thing that happened to him will happen to Dream…

He should leave. He should leave, right now.

But…

Tuning out of the conversation, Dream looks down at the book in his hands, runs his fingers over the leather, feeling an indentation where Ink has carved his name.

Ink has given him his sketchbook, obviously a weighted responsibility with the way they were talking earlier. Then there’s Blue and his telescope, which he built from the ground up with his own two hands, and the way lying in his arms was so comforting—he wants to know everything about them both. Why build things? Why draw things? Why create things?

These two mortals are the first ones he’s spoken to in a long, long time. Since before Nightmare’s incident and the law was fashioned. He wants to know how things have changed from last time, how much progress they’ve made as a society—he has heard of an Industrial Revolution, would like to know about it from the eye of mortals, maybe even see the changes it had made for himself. He longs for it, an ache in his bones that he cannot ignore any longer, has so many questions and two people able to answer these questions sitting so close to him.

It's dangerous to stay…but it would be terrible to leave.

The mortals deemed him selfless, to never act for himself. They might have had good intentions at first, but they quickly grew greedy with their order and wishes, and the gift turned into a curse, a prison. He has spent so long behind these bars, watching mortals grow close with one another, watched the others dictate the laws of the universe like they were the only deciding factor of it. He has watched mortals revolt tyranny all on their own, watched them write into their laws time after time some version of free will, that everyone has the right to be who they are, all of themselves, without judgement, without prohibition.

Perhaps the same can be true of a God…

Perhaps the same can be true of him.

There is a first for everything, and so Dream decides to try and be selfish, sitting down on the blanket to stay in the mortals’ company for a little while longer.

[emeritusemeritus]

86 Baby! [Eddie Munson x Reader]

Part 1

Title: 86 baby!

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader (friends to lovers), Implied Steve Harrington x Reader

Timeline: S4, set two weeks before graduation. Some Canon has been altered to fit the story; no Vecna, Byers never moved and Hop is alive.

Summary: In two weeks, you and your best friend Eddie would be graduating, taking your planned road trip and riding off into the sunset to leave Hawkins behind, until one little secret throws everything down the drain.

Warnings: it’s a little angsty, swearing, implied fake relationship, standard tropes, Eddie gets a little mean in part 2, drinking, deception.

Monday.

"Sooo..." Eddie draws out as he takes his usual seat next to you in the cafeteria, none of the other regulars appearing yet.

Eddie had met you outside of your classroom to walk with you to the lunch room, appearing outside the wooden door suspiciously early before the first bell sounded, a tradition that had begun on your first day of high school. He'd paused briefly as you approached the usual table and gestured flamboyantly for you to sit down first, sliding your chair in for you slightly before taking his own seat at the head of the table.

He sits awkwardly with one leg up on the plastic chair and one dangling next to you outstretched, but somehow for Eddie, that's what is comfortable.

“Tonight. I'm feeling a really crappy budget slasher and too much pizza," He says with a grin, placing down his metal lunchbox and absently pulling out a baggie of trail mix, which is mostly pretzels, navigating the array of suspicious paraphernalia inside.

"Oh," you reply, brain working overtime as you fight to think of a feasible excuse to avoid your weekly ritual, having forgotten all about it under your current stresses. "I'm sorry I totally forgot to tell you!" You giggle awkwardly, the little chuckle sounding absurdly fake to even your own ears. "I've got to help my mom pack tonight, she's going to see her friend from college over the weekend, I said I'd try and spend some time with her before she left, she's actually picking me up early tonight so you won't have to drop me home." You shrug gently, not quite meeting his eyes as you feel his curious gaze lingering upon you as he takes in your words. Okay, not a complete lie but also not the complete truth either.

"Oh, okay," he mumbles, sounding so dejected that you immediately feel the tugging weight of shame at your avoidance of him.

"Maybe we could do it another night instead, maybe Thursday?" You ask quickly, lifting your eyes to his, seeing that his face portrays every ounce of disappointment that his words did.

"On Hellfire night?" He asks sharply, his tone clipped and rudely sarcastic. "What's going on with you?" He asks brashly, eyes squinting as he examines your face, knowing that something isn't right.

"What do you mean?" You ask, trying to feign innocence.

"What do I mean? Lets see princess, firstly you forget our Monday movie night, a tradition unbroken since the dawn of time within the realms of our friendship, you disappeared on me last week, not warning me that your mom was picking you up early so I waited in the car park for 40 minutes. You didn't show up to our gig last Tuesday, and now you're forgetting Hellfire meets?" You can almost feel the twist of the knife with each of his words, his accusatory tone only increasing the guilt within you. Hearing all the examples together made you feel awful; all the evidence laid bare before you as to why you were a shitty friend recently.

"So come on, what's the jig princess?" He leans forward in his chair, eyes still squinting as you fight not to squirm under his intense gaze.

"Nothing! I told you I wasn't feeling well last week at first break, and I left a message with Miss Thomas to let you know I was going home!" You reasoned, still lying through your teeth at the motive, though you had thought to ask the office administrator to pass along a message to let him know you wouldn't be riding home with him, though they clearly had never reached out to him. "And Tuesday I had to take an extra shift at Benny's," you shrugged, trying to deflect the blame. “You know my car’s fucked, I’m trying to get it fixed.”

Mercifully, Gareth and Jeff were quickly making their way over to the table with their lunch trays and you visibly deflated with relief. Eddie shot a look towards the approaching party and turned once more to glare at you, fixing you with a look that told you that this conversation was far from over.

More of the Hellfire group began to spill in and you were thankful for the distraction, seeing that Dustin was hyped up over something that dominated the conversation you were barely listening to. Eddie was tense throughout the lunch, offering little to the conversation as he sat back and ate his pretzels, glaring about the room and huffing under his breath. The guys knew better than to provoke him when he was in this mood, knowing he was volatile at the best of times and so they carried on their conversation around him, trying to include him every now and then but not pushing.

When the bell rang, you quickly gathered up your bag and the lunch you'd only picked at, having found your appetite severely diminished by the tension and lingering guilt from the conversation with Eddie. Luckily, your Monday afternoon schedule did not coincide with Eddie's and you wouldn't have to see him for the rest of the day. You felt guilt and uneasy at lying to him, having never done so before, but you reasoned that it was for a good cause, even if you did feel conflicted.

The afternoon dragged on as you sat in History class, not paying a single ounce of attention to Mrs Click as you jotted down plans and lists and notes in your little notebook as ideas popped into your head. When the bell rang, signalling the time to head to the last class of the day, you all but sprinted out the front doors of the school and out into the car park where a car was waiting for you. Specifically, a burgundy 1983 BMW 733i.

You turned your head quickly to try and see if anyone was looking and quickly slipped into the passenger side, throwing down your bag into the footwell as you turned to greet your chauffeur.

"Hey," you smiled, looking up at the driver, who offered you a warm smile back, before you nervously look around once again to check that no one was watching.

"Hey you," Steve said with a wide smile, running his hand through his hair as he rested his elbow on the open window.

"Drive! I don't wanna get caught!" You prompted, quickly securing your seatbelt as you ushered him to drive away quickly. He chuckled, shaking his head but did as you requested and immediately began to drive out the parking lot and onto the main road.

"You know if you're ashamed of being seen with me, we might need to have a little chat," he grins, not looking at you but instead focusing on the road in front, a grin tugging at his lips at his own sarcastic comment.

"Oh hush, Hair-ington," you joke, rolling your eyes. "Simply thinking of you. You sure you wanna be seen collecting a kid from high school after you graduated last year, old man?" I joked, trying to push his buttons just a little. His face instantly scrunched up on displeasure until he shot me a disbelieving look.

"Pretty sure your boyfriend is older than me," he grumbles. I immediately know whom he's referring to.

"Eddie is not my boyfriend for the hundredth time," I say quickly, perhaps a little too defensively. "Plus he's still at school, so it's not creepy." You chuckle.

"Yeah because that makes it better," he adds sarcastically. You playfully blob your tongue out at him before nudging him gently by the shoulder.

"Not for much longer though," Steve says after a few moments, referring to our upcoming graduation. A pit of nervous excitement settles in your stomach as you think of your plans for graduation, glad to be rid of Hawkins High.

"I know, less than two weeks!" You babble excitedly, earning a laugh from Steve at your apparent elation.

"You know it's really not all it's cracked up to be, the adult world," he reasons, suddenly looking downcast as he thinks to how his life has turned around.

"Hey, just because you didn't go to college doesn't mean you're a failure you know," I protest, knowing that his lack of college education was always a sore spot with him, having spoken about it at great lengths only last week.

"I know it's just, not really how I thought I'd end up. Always figured I'd be able to leave Hawkins and branch out, broaden my horizons and all that, or I'd get stuck working for my dads company. Never thought I'd be working in a rental video store 40 hours a week and still living at home with my parents at 19," he mutters, grabbing his nose with his hand as you'd observed him so anytime he was upset or stressed.

"Yeah but at least you're free," you counter, adding more before he could protest, "the way I see it, you're making money, that money can go on a deposit or the start of a college fund, whatever you want to do more. Then when you finally get where you want to be, you have the satisfaction that you made it all by yourself, no help from mummy and daddy, just your own accomplishments."

He's quiet for a few seconds as he ponders over your words, nodding gently as he processes them.

"When did you get so wise?" He chuckles, looking over at you, earning a laugh in return.

"I've always been wise, you just never chose to listen." Both of you laugh as you watch the tree line get denser and denser as you pull away from the main roads, out towards the Byers' house.

The Byers house was the perfect place for your secret little meetings. It was hidden away at the ass end of Hawkins, tucked away behind the lab, a fair drive from the centre of town and away from all your friends houses, including the furthest place from the trailer park, (not counting the Wheeler house but that was too risky incase saw you and Mike opened his big mouth). The Byers' house was close enough to Harrington's that he could park up at home on Cornwallis and walk across to the Byers' on Mirkwood through the woods and no one would be aware of anything out of the ordinary, should they come round poking their noses in.

Joyce was a gracious and willing host and had offered you her house for your little meetings, keeping you away from prying eyes, something both of you were thankful for.

Approaching the Byers' house, you climbed out of the BMW and gave a little wave as Steve drove back to his house to park the car; he would join you in 5 minutes after walking the little path that lead him out directly facing Castle Byers, ready for your meeting.

Your little meets had been happening more and more frequently in the past couple of weeks and you were almost sad that they would be coming to an end, both because you were enjoying your time spent with Steve and because it was fun to sneak around. Joyce had naturally been sworn to secrecy and true to her word had not told a single soul, except maybe Hopper. Jonathan had run into you accidentally one day as he arrived home early from dropping Will off somewhere but it really hadn't been too hard to cover up as Steve jolted out the back door and you had stuck around for dinner with Joyce and Jonathan, something not entirely unheard of.

The only issue was Eddie, as proven by your little set-to in the cafeteria today. He was becoming increasingly paranoid and suspicious of your whereabouts and your sudden flakiness, which was alarming. You'd called off your meeting with Steve Thursday in order to sit in on Hellfire instead, trying to prove to Eddie that you were still there for him, though you felt torn once you realised what you'd rather be doing.

The rest of the week came and went and you'd been entirely successful in hiding your rendezvous with Harrington, even seeming to put Eddie's mind to rest once you arrived at Hellfire, much to his surprise. He'd put on quite a show for you that night, his eyes flickering over to you frequently as you listened intently to his stories, the DM telling the cult of Vecna campaign so eloquently that you had been mesmerised by his performance the entire night.

You were never an official member of Hellfire, instead choosing to observe and assist rather than play. Sure you had a few Hellfire shirts gifted by Eddie, some you even used to sleep in that been printed with faults and some practice prototypes on different shirt silhouettes and you'd devised campaigns and character sheet with him occasionally but you never actually joined in the campaigns unless you were acting as an emergency sub. Eddie liked to call you his glamorous assistant, likening you to a magician's right hand lady but you always opposed this, stating you were more like the dungeon master's puppet, pulled by strings for his own means.

With your mom gone, you two had hung out at your place after Eddie had driven you home from Hellfire. You'd ordered a pizza and watched an old horror movie that Eddie loved, hoping that it would make it up to him.

Everything was going well until the following Tuesday came around.

Tuesday: the weekly ritual of Corroded Coffin's scheduled gig at the Hideout, 8pm til 10:30pm, never to be missed. You'd missed the previous week and you knew that you couldn't miss this one, after seeing how hurt Eddie had been, not to mention the offhanded comments from the rest of Corroded coffin at the lunch table. You thought your plan of ditching Phys-Ed Tuesday afternoon and having Steve pick you up around the corner from the school would be flawless; you'd even gone as far as timing your departure with his shift finishing at family video so it would look like a coincidental meet on Cherry, near the church plaza as no one would think twice about him seeing you across the parking lot from the video store and offering you a ride home. Eddie usually skipped that class anyway and had a few deals scheduled in during his self made free period, so he would be conducting business at the bench in the woods, far out of sight of the entire school, and more importantly, your exit route.

All had gone to plan right up until you checked the clock hours later and saw that it was 7:45pm and you were going to be late to the show.

"Shit!" You cried out, throwing down your stuff and quickly reaching for your backpack stuffed on the side of the sofa. You frantically dug through your bag to fish out the handmade corroded coffin shirt that you'd stuffed in there earlier today and quickly threw it on over your bra, which you had stripped down to earlier that evening so avoid getting your shirt dirty.

Steve, who lay on the floor beside you only moments ago looked on with a shocked expression, confusion littering his features as he watched you dress.

"Can you give me a ride to the hideout?" You asked quickly, running to the bathroom to quickly fix your hair and makeup, checking that nothing had smudged.

"Uh yeah, sure," he says, throwing on his shirt from earlier, grimacing as he slips the button up over his sweaty body. He runs a hand through his hair, attempting to smooth it out as he watches you flutter around in a rush.

You appear a moment later, quickly shoving things into your backpack, careful to avoid any liquids from spilling as you try to straighten up Joyce's living room. You all but run out of the door only to exclaim profanities again as you realise you forgot your borrowed keys, knowing that they'd probably been thrown to the bottom of your bag in your haste.

"Relax, I've got it," Steve says, twisting the key in the door that Joyce had graciously had made for both of you for times exactly like this.

"Thanks," you said gratefully, trying to calm yourself but it was a pointless endeavour. Your heart was pounding as you entered the car, eyes never leaving the little digital clock that seemed to taunt you the entire journey. You were thankful that Steve never commented on your frantic demeanour, nor the reason behind it and even more thankful that he'd chosen to drive quickly, just barely on the right side of the law.

You're luck has officially ran out.

With minutes to spare, Steve pulled up to the Hideout and into the parking lot, only to be right in the line of sight of Eddie's van, and more importantly, Gareth. He peered over in curiosity, leaning against the van as he smoked a cigarette, his usual ritual just before they took the stage. He seemed to say something to himself briefly only to be joined by Jeff a moment later, who had jumped out of the van clutching his guitar. You could see their lips moving, both of them looking directly at you, no doubt running their mouths about the curious sight of you in the car with Steve Harrington. You sighed, defeated, knowing that they would never let you live this down and your stomach dropped an inch further with the realisation that there was no was in hell they wouldn't tell Eddie.

"Thanks Steve, I'm really sorry about this," you mumbled, not really knowing what exactly you were apologising for but feeling a level of embarrassment at your actions. You begin to open the car door and grab hold of your bag until he replies, keeping you sat inside the car for a moment longer.

"Hey don't worry about it," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Want me to walk you out?" He asks, his eyes peering into yours as he tries to offer support. 

"No that's okay, I-" you begin to say, only to be cut off by an obnoxious shout.

"Harrington!" Jeff calls out, acknowledging the man in the car as both his and Gareth walk towards you, each with curiously smug smiles on their faces.

"H-hey guys," Steve stammers slightly as he greets them, stepping out of the car as he gives them a small restrained wave with his right hand, whilst holding on to the door.

"Y/n, didn't think we'd be seeing you tonight," Gareth says curiously, his words holding an air of suspicion which made you nervous.

"Well I'm here," you shrug, trying to downplay your panic, "just like always."

"Except last week," Jeff adds quickly, immediately grimacing as he shoots you a remorseful look at his quipped tone.

"So Harrington, what?" Gareth begins to ask, only to be cut off by a figure moving out from the back door.

"Guys what the hell, we're on in- oh." Eddie says as he thrusts his way out of the back door, immediately coming to realise what he was seeing. His face drops instantly, a harsh glare forming in his eyes as he looks between you and Steve, each of you clearly having just exited the car together.

"Harrington," Eddie nods once, clipped and unpleasant as he stares at you, trying to understand why you would be in the car with Steve.

"Munson," Steve replies, though his tone is lighter and more polite as he nods back to the man who still appears shell shocked.  There's a tense silence that washes over us all for a few moments, with both Gareth and Jeff shooting glances at Eddie who's face seems thunderous.

"I should get going," Steve suddenly says, turning to face you with a look in his eyes that shows his discomfort.

"Yeah totally, thanks for the ride," you reply, trying to keep it short and sweet, not wanting to disclose any information to the 3 boys stood watching your every move. Steve smiles in return and ducks his head back into the car as you walk away from the passenger side, over to where the boys are stood.

"What, no kiss?" Eddie says venomously as he watches Steve drive away. You immediately frown at his words and sudden bad mood, trying not to let his words affect you.

"Yeah because I kiss every guy who offers me a lift when I'm too broke to get my car fixed," you sarcastically reply, hoping to deflect away the insinuation.

"I could have given you a ride," he says, eyes still fixed on the car as it drives away onto the north Highway, back into town. "If you'd been around lately."

He then walks off, not once turning to look back at you. The guys wordlessly follow him, knowing it's time to go on stage, but not before shooting you sorrowful looks of apology, neither of them realising that Eddie would be so wound up.

You follow them through the back door and instantly turn left instead of following them right towards the stage area. You stalk over to the bar, Eddie's bad mood clearly rubbing off on you as you throw yourself onto a high bar stool and order a double vodka and coke, hoping to ease some of the tension in your body with alcohol. The hideout was notorious for forgetting to check ID, and you used that little fact to your satisfaction tonight. The night didn't really improve at all, except that you'd had enough vodka in your system to numb the ache ever so slightly, freeing you from the overwhelming discomfort of conflicting emotions brought on by Eddie's venom. Their set was good but not great like usual, no doubt on account of Eddie's tenseness and vile mood which prevented him from playing as well as usual, his entire body seeming tense as he avoided all eye contact with you throughout the show.

You were in two minds to stick around after the show, not knowing if Eddie would offer you a ride like normal or whether you'd have to hitch a ride home some other way. Walking would be too dangerous and frankly too far to walk, given your alcohol consumption and overbearing weariness, plus calling Steve seemed like a really bad idea, like adding fuel to any already burning fire. You could call your mom but you knew she'd smell the alcohol on you straight away and you'd be lectured until the end of eternity. Maybe Jonathan would come for you ?

When you walked up to the guys after their set, offering to help load the van just like normal, Eddie virtually ignored you and instead hoisted the heavy equipment by himself. Gareth and Jeff had tried to make small talk, trying to diffuse the tension and Richard, the bass player, had looked on in complete confusion at the tense exchange.

"Gareth can you take her home? Got some shit to do," Eddie states blankly, nodding his head towards you, never once allowing his eyes to drift in your direction. He couldn't even use my name. Had seeing me with Harrington really hurt him that badly?

"Uh yeah sure man," Gareth replies, looking at me with what can only be described as pure pity. Eddie doesn't wait around for anything other than a confirmation before he climbs into the van and drives away like a maniac, leaving all of us standing out in the cold.

It's quiet for a few moments, no one really knowing what to say. Do they comment on it or do they avoid the elephant in the room entirely? Either way, you weren't waiting around to find out.

"Y/n, you can-," Gareth begins to say, gesturing towards his car parked a few spaces away.

"Thanks Gareth but it's cool, I'll just call Jonathan, he owes me one," you shrug, trying to downplay the hurt you were feeling, embarrassed that you were left to be a burden on the other members.

Gareth tries to protest but you wave your hand dismissing him, silencing him in the nicest way you could as you begin to feel the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes, willing them to disappear.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow, great show," you manage to say before walking back inside the hideout, tears making their way down your face as you can finally hide away from their view. You walk to the pay phone and freeze, thinking of your limited options before dialling an all too familiar number.

"Hello?" The voice answers, sounding sleepy as if you'd probably just woke him up. You check the clock on the way behind you and fight back a sigh, not realising the time.

"I'm sorry, I've just woken you up haven't I," you said sympathetically, feeling guilty of the fact.

"It's fine, honestly, Y/n, you okay?" He asks quickly, sounding concerned. You can hear a faint rustle in the background and you can envision him sitting up in bed, covers falling at his waist as he runs his spare hand through his hair.

You sigh, willing the tears to go away as you fight to take a shaky breath, not really knowing how to answer.

"I- no not really," you fight to get it out, lip wobbling slightly in your pathetic state. "Could you pick me up? I'm alone and I didn't know who else to call, I'm really sorry Steve," you all but whimper, babbling.

"He left you?" Steve sounds outraged, immediately knowing that something must have happened between Eddie and yourself.

"Kind of, he took off," you said, sounding small, not really wanting to go into detail.

"Stay right where you are, I'm on my way. Don't let anyone talk to you or give you a drink or anything okay? I'm coming." He immediately goes into protective dad Steve mode as you hear him bolting around his room for clothes.

"Thank you, so much," you say pathetically.

"I'll be right there Y/n okay, stay safe, I'm coming."

Steve hangs up the phone and you sink down into yourself on the little phone booth, feeling utterly broken and pathetic. The vodka in your system had all but dried up, the actions of tonight sobering you up quickly as you were left alone to deal with the consequences of your actions.

Steve arrived in 7 minutes, which you were sure must have been some sort of record. He immediately burst out of the car after throwing it into park and enveloped you in a tight hug as you cried once again. He pulled back and ran his eyes over you, checking for any signs of you being hurt but then gave you a sad smile when he realised you were only hurting on the inside.

"Come on," he says gently, pulling at your hand as he leads you back to the car, opening the door for you. "Milkshakes make everything better." He gives you a warm smile and closes the door, before walking quickly to his side and climbing in.

"Steve you really don't have to, I already feel bad enough that you had to come get me," you protest but he shushes you quickly, a serious look falling across his face.

"I'm glad you called me, you should have never been left alone."

"He dumped me on Gareth but I knew he didn't want to get involved or really drop me home so I didn't know what else to do," you confessed.

"He should have taken you home, mad or not. You made the effort to be here, he should see that."

The two of you talked in the car for a little while longer, with Steve being the ideal shoulder to cry on, both figuratively and literally and by the end of the night you did feel better.

"I just don't know why he was so angry," you said honestly, finishing the last of the milkshake he'd bought you from Benny's.

"You really don't see it?" Steve replies, giving you a sad smile.

"See what?" You ask naively, unsure of what hr was talking about.

"He's jealous. He probably thinks we are together and that you hid it from him. Not because he thinks he's being replaced as your friend but because he thinks someone else swooped in and took a shot before he could."

"That's... crazy. Eddie doesn't have any intention of 'taking a shot' with me, believe me," you say quickly, feeling as if you'd disclosed too much already.

"So you want him to?" Steve asks curiously, though his question isn't laced with sarcastic undertones or any hint of teasing.

"Yes," you answer quickly and honestly, needing no time to think.

"He drives me crazy, he's so smart but so fucking stupid sometimes. When it started we were just friends then all of a sudden one day I started noticing things about him, stuff I'd never thought of before. I noticed how often he'd look at me or reach out for me, always checking if I was there or if I was paying attention before he'd burst out into dramatics, smiling and laughing with me when it was over. Then the butterflies came each time he'd do something like that and I'd think wow what if he's feeling this too. A few times I was sure he was going to make a move, it all seemed so intimate at times, the looks and the gestures but then, nothing. He'd change the conversation or he'd look away and I'd be reeling thinking of why. I guess he just doesn't see me like I see him."

You couldn't help but babble your way through a monologue Shakespeare himself would be proud of, hardly even pausing for breath as you reeled off your thoughts and emotions into Steve's listening ears.

"I think he does," Steve says calmly after a few moments of quiet. You look at him with sad eyes and he offers a little smile. "You're beautiful, funny, caring, he'd be absolutely blind or crazy if he didn't realise that." You blush at Steve's words, wanting to hide your shy smile but you persist. "I can promise you that the only reason guys aren't lining up at your door is because Eddie has either scared them off or they already think you're a couple. Hell, I'd have shot my shot at you if it weren't so apparent that you were inseparable with him, well, that and your horrible taste in music," Steve jokes.

"Hey! Judas Priest are metal gods and you can't deny that! But thank you Steve," You laugh, along with Steve who's expression had warmed.

"You'll get through this, you and Eddie. You just have to give him some time to come around."

So that's exactly what you did. Problem was, that wasn't what Eddie was doing, he was giving you both space and time.

[starsandgutters]

Spooky Fics Round 2

Did not make it anywhere near 31 lmaooo but an attempt was made

Round 1

Time Can Do So Much | T | 12k words | Ghost AU

“Well, that explains it, doesn’t it? They messed up, must have booked all their rooms out already, and so they put you in the haunted dorm.” “It’s not haunted,” Kevin says flatly. “Hellooooo. Mr Ghost, are you there?” “If it was a kid that went to the school, I doubt his name was Mr Ghost.” “Can you imagine. What a coincidence.” The door creaks. They both look towards it, but it is still under their joined gazes. “Just the wind,” Jeremy says. “I didn’t think it was a ghost anyway,” Kevin says. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

2. Time of the Month | E | 7.1k words | Werewolf AU

“You are so beautiful,” Kevin murmurs near his ear. “Look at how thick and gorgeous your fur is. And your paw is nearly the size of my head. You could kill me.” Aaron whines in protest. “I know you won’t, but you could. It’s incredible that you don’t. You’re amazing, Aaron.”

3. Blood On My Hands (Like the Blood in You) | M | 12.8k words | Carrie AU

“You’re the devil,” Tilda hisses through her compressed throat. “If your version of god is the one that exists, then I would rather be the devil.” Aaron pulls her forward and slams her back against the wall as she slowly walks through the doorway into the living room. The crosses hanging in the room rattle. There are a lot of them. There’s a particularly large one over the fireplace, the bottom of it sharpened into a point. Aaron could draw it off the hook, turn it so that point is facing Tilda’s chest, and drive it home. There would be a poetic justice to that, she thinks. 

4. The Arts and That Other Stuff | T | 6.5k words | Kinda Love verse

“We should do things for Halloween.” “I think we’re going to Eden’s.” “I know. I don’t mean like a big thing for actual Halloween. I mean we, just us, should do things leading up to it.” “What got you thinking this?” Aaron noses at Kevin’s jaw until he tilts his head, leaves space for Aaron to burrow into the curve of his neck. “You like Halloween.” “Yeah?” “So we should do things for it. I don’t really need much more motivation than making you happy.” “Sap.” Aaron nips at Kevin’s neck. “Okay, vampire.” “I vant to suck your blood,” Aaron sleepily murmurs in a terrible Dracula impression, though not as bad as Kevin’s when he tries to mimic him back. “I vant to suck your dick.”

5. O Knight On Rusty Bicycle | E | 22.3k words | Zombie Apocalypse & Omegaverse AU

“We’re not keeping him. Our supplies are stretched thin enough as it is.” “You kept Neil.” “That’s different.” “Heh. Right. Yeah. Because he batted his big blue eyes at you and you couldn’t say no.” “No, because Neil is a beta. He does not draw attention to us, and his presentation is useful in a lot of scenarios. He does not flag the same attention we do, can navigate situations without pheromones flaring.” “Yeah, just running his mouth we have to worry about.”

6. You Are The Girl That I've Been Dreaming Of (Ever Since I Was A Little Girl) | E | 8.1k words | Jennifer's Body AU

“You’re killing people.” “I'm killing boys, Aaron.” “What the fuck? That doesn’t make it okay. Jean’s a boy. Does that mean you’re going to kill him?” “Obviously not. Only boys who deserve it.” “Mario didn’t do anything!” “He made you sad.”

7. I'd Be Anywhere That You Are | E | 8.1k words | Kinda Love verse

“Sorry this isn’t the most exciting Halloween,” Aaron says, stifling a yawn against Kevin’s arm. It’s not always easy to plan things around their work schedules - see the forever delayed wedding - and Aaron knew he would be tired from his early shift. “I don’t care. Halloween’s your favourite holiday, not mine. I’m sorry yours wasn’t exciting.” “This is good.” They’ve done lots of things for Halloween before. They’ve done the party, ghost tours, haunted houses, and fancy dress nights out. Maybe Aaron is getting old, but he does appreciate a quiet night at home with Kevin. Sometimes their schedules mean that even though they live together, they just pass each other at the door. Only an hour or so overlap here or there, or Aaron forgoing sleep to see Kevin when he’s working nights. (Kevin would probably make this sacrifice if he were capable of not absolutely passing out on the couch while waiting.) Even when their schedules do align, they’re often exhausted from work, and do little more than make dinner and clean up before they’re ready for bed. “This is good.” Kevin dots kisses down Aaron’s cheek.

[quidfree]

hear me out…. todobaku as villains???

im going to disappoint you anon bc i am not a like... dark & twisted fantasy villain au person. as per quidfree canon what keeps me going is good characterisation and so you will find no undercut tattoo-laden bad boys here.

if you want my two cents on what todobaku villain au would most likely look like though it's under the cut

todoroki:

this one is easy right? touya exists. shouto already has his villain backstory: his dad is a bigshot hero uplifted by society and also an abusive bastard in private. his motivations in hero-oriented society are obvious.

i think shouto probably distinguishes himself from touya in a number of ways, one of which being style of villainy. touya was a lot more unstable emotionally (?tied to his quirk self-harm stuff) and undiscerning in his resentment (see: woman hater) even before he ran away. i think shouto would be a more classic anti-hero type villain, less quick to cause chaos and death to unrelated civilians or high schoolers. they would have an uneasy relationship if and when shouto figured out who dabi was- i think he would retain his empathy for his siblings and mother, but he would disagree with touya’s choices.

i see him as a loner villain, not likely to join the league. early UA shouto appeared to have literally never spoken to another person in ten years, so if he around that age veered off the expected path and went MIA, i think the whole ice prince thing would solidify pretty definitely. and that’s the kind of personality he’d have too- icy, controlled superiority over a core of red-hot rage. no quips here. though some dramatics. he hides it but shouto always has flair.

shouto is a practical guy first and foremost. i think he’d just wear something similar to his plumber fit. maybe something akin to a balaklava to mask his identity, but maybe not, if he wants to make his father aware of his actions. i do think touya-style he might go for a hairdye, but in his case it’d probably be bleach, as a sort of obvious reclaiming of rei’s heritage and rejection of enji’s.

overall as villains go if we are keeping to a world close to canon shouto is probably one of the more morally upright people you will encounter. very scary motherfucker but pretty targeted enemies, so unless you’re involved in maintaining the hero justice system at some pivotal level you’re probably safe. if you are though? rip i guess. prepare to have your home frozen, your limbs stuck to the ground, and an icepick summarily driven through your skull by a teenager.

bakugou

katsuki is tough because for him it very much depends on setting, and at a basic level when you’re looking at. katsuki fundamentally is not a fuck the system guy- he’s a guy the system loves, and he’s interested in winning it, not destroying it, at least until character development kicks his ass. so really if you want to go early canon for both of them, villain bakugou is just hero bakugou. a katsuki from the start of bnha left to continue on his presumed arc uninterrupted, no deku or kidnapping or war to force him to question himself. arrogant and cruel and uncaring of what heroism is meant to be about. saving big numbers, sure, or at least defeating big ones, but when your defeats involve death or as good as, hard to draw the line.

similarly, in a universe where for some reason heroes have lost their relevance and villains reign, teen katsuki would have very easily risen in that direction, with similar traits.

who would his targets be? whoever’s in his way, pretty much. even in a more anti-hero slant, villain’s goons would not be safe. and anyone who tried to recruit / hire / ally him would inevitably face some kind of betrayal bc katsuki simply got sick of orders and believes he can handle the fall-out.

in terms of looks, katsuki is more style conscious than shouto is, but as lord explosion murder doesn’t necessarily look very heroic i think he wouldn’t look that different. maybe more of the black and winter-suit vibes.

for as insufferable as he would be, he would also be horrifying, yes. i mean, the guy is a starter kit terrorist. even if he was in tantrum ego mode he could level a street. collateral would be nasty if katsuki didn’t care to contain himself.

todobaku villain interaction ???

if we’re going with the above sort of setting? would not stand each other. for bakugou it’s obvious stuff (think sports fest and general canon), but todoroki genuinely would not tolerate villain bakugou at all, given the obvious alarm bells of similarity to endeavor. it’s not his focus but if bakugou died he would not be displeased.

as in any universe they could be begrudgingly forced into cooperation and then be privately disgusted by how well they worked together after the initial predictable faux pas. all of their other villain colleagues are like “can’t we just call that guy in for an assist again” and theyre like *breathing exercises* no.

they are both despite appearances and villainy-amplified dramatics fairly pragmatic so theyd probably not actively seek to cross each other unless they seemed to be getting in the way of their respective goals. they can recognise that this would be getting into it w an unnecessarily big distraction/threat. but i can imagine the “keep out of this” warnings would be fairly inventive. todoroki negligently thwarts one of bakugou’s plots and bakugou turns his entire hideout to rubble. a bunch of todoroki’s contacts are collateral during one of bakugou’s attacks and bakugou wakes up to find all of his security died of hypothermia overnight. lest we forget they both have petty streaks.

hero x villain interaction would be. very funny and very bad. hero todoroki would be So Tired of villain bakugou bc of how frustrating it is that hes actually hard to stop and villain bakugou in turn would resent him immensely. hero bakugou dealing w villain todoroki? that would be (psychologically bizarre) fun. i think for some reason that would be the closest we get to a bakugou w ‘doodling hearts against their own volition’ crush energy. but theyd get along a lot better than the reverse, mainly bc hero bakugou is like a decent person and villain todoroki respects moral integrity. in both duos in a lighter setting the villain of the two might start getting a mild kick out of messing w the hero despite their focus on other things just bc 1) it gives villain todoroki the mildest of entertainment to look forward to every blue moon given he doesn’t necessarily wish bakugou any active harm 2) villain bakugou feels he’s owed some todoroki suffering considering how annoying he personally finds him.

that’s my two cents on it anyways. idk what everyone else has in mind!

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hi! I absolutely adore your works! Can I ask for one where you give benkei head at a place like a cinema or something 👉🏼👈🏼

Yes, yes, you can. Shit I got carried away describing all of this... MAY THE QUEEN OF KEIZO ARASHI SMUT RETURN TO HER THRONE

Nosebleed Seats: Keizo Arashi x Fem!Reader

wc: 1,5k

tw: nsfw with *plot*

masterlist

It had all started as a joke. But when you get into the empty theater, holding onto your boyfriend's hand for dear life, your anxiety spikes.

"Maybe we shouldn't..."

Keizo stops on the stairs to the back of the theater and eyes you curiously. His blue eyes sparkle with mischief, even though you're not sure of yourself anymore.

"You chickening out on me, princess?"

You clench your thighs at the sound of his husky voice. Sure, you might be chickening out, but what if someone did show up to the nine a.m. showing of "Scarface"?

"No one in their right mind would wake up that early and want to see this movie," Keizo had laughed, taking his phone from your hand and hitting the "purchase tickets" button.

"What if someone sees?" you hiss, hurrying past the empty rows as if people were there and listening. "Movie theatre employees walk around the place all the time."

"So you think some kid is going to bother to walk up all of these stairs just to make sure--"

"You never know!" Keizo laughs, moving toward the middle of the row.

"I'm sure we'll be fine. And if you really don't want to do this, we don't have to. Scarface is a decent film, in my opinion." You hesitate once more, watching your boyfriend settle into a seat comfortably and take a sip of his (your) drink. Keizo waves you over, titling his head at you as you stand on the end of the row.

"You want to leave?"

"No, I just..." You pause again. Keizo stands, holding the drink carefully. When he stands in front of you, you look away sheepishly, noting the fabric on the chairs in front of you were fraying and that the air had a familiar aroma of stale popcorn.

"If it's not an enthusiastic 'yes'," Keizo whisper, catching your chin between his forefinger and thumb.

"Then it's a 'no,'" you finish, exhaling gently.

"Let's go home, yeah?" When he says those words, a burst of courage floods through you.

"No." You statement catches your boyfriend off-guard. His eyes blink a few times before he echoes,

"No?"

"No. Let's stay." He stands there for a moment more, trying not to question your motives. But it comes out anyways.

"I'm not trying to convince you--"

"Middle seats," you urge him, pointing. "Right there is good." The unsure way with which Keizo eyes eyou does nothing to your resolve. You stand there, flat-footed, finger still pointing at the seats. "Go."

"Baby--"

"You want your dick sucked?" you say, albeit a little too loudly.

"Yes," Keizo hisses, grabbing your hand. "Fine, fine." You don't miss the smile that comes to his face as he turns around as if he were suddenly a kid in a candy shop. You both sit in the middle, directly below the projector that the trailers are playing on.

"Not until the movie starts," you murmur and Keizo nods, taking the Skittles you offered him from your hand and tossing them all back.

"Ew," you comment, but he shrugs, smirking.

"I don't separate my colors like you, baby," is all he adds to his chewing sounds.

It feels like forever until the lights go down and the movie screen flicks on, the old film giving you a sense of nostalgia. It's even longer - at least, it seems that way - until you feel brave enough to sneak your hand down your boyfriend's waistband. Keizo shifts a bit lower in his seat and exhales slowly, each breath straining from his throat as you palm his half-erect cock.

When you pull his length out of his sweatpants, the tip is already leaking pre-cum and shining in the flicker of the scenes on the screen. You lick your lips in preparation to taste it, to let the saltiness of it bloom on your tongue and awaken the lust already rousing from its long sleep.

But you choose to draw out your desires, stroking him and listening to his labored breathing. "You're doing me dirty..." he breathes, just as a character on-screen says,

"Well, you don't know shit 'bout chicks, Chico. When they see this, they know. They go crazy. They don't resist me."

Finally, you lean in and ghost your mouth over Keizo's cock. He almost jolts out of his seat, his hands keeping a firm grip on the armrests. "C'mon, baby," he pleads, but you only dart your tongue out to lick at the ample pre-cum waiting for you. "Not playing fair."

"No such thing," you whisper softly, each breath tickling his skin. It seems Keizo wants to leap up and take you, but he keeps himself under control just long enough for you to suck on his tip once, then let it pop free from your mouth.

You do it repeatedly, and by the time you're good and ready to cup his balls and go to town, Keizo is panting and sweating. He tries to focus on the movie to keep his mind from going insane, but you take him into your mouth slowly - inch by inch - letting your tongue relish in every ridge on the way down.

A hand knots in your hair, not pressing down but holding you there as a sign of pleasure. "Yes," Keizo hums, his body relaxing as you go down his shaft. "Just like that." You can barely make out what's happening on the screen while you suck Keizo's cock, saliva dripping past your lips and smearing all over his thick, veiny shaft. The taste of precum is like manna from heaven, but you choose to keep that pleasure to yourself - Keizo would have plenty of time to hear about how much you enjoyed this later.

"I'm close," he wheezes, and for once, you don't want to hear that. Not when this movie lasted almost three hours, and you're barely an hour in.

You opt to slow down, which seems to frustrate your partner more than excite him. His fingers tense in your hair, but that doesn't urge you to go any faster than you already are.

"Y/n," Keizo whimpers. "Please, baby. Let me finish down that throat."

"Not yet," you reply. You fist his cock and suck on his balls liberally. "I want this to last." The look in Keizo's eyes could kill a thousand men. But it doesn't work for you. "You've got me in here watching a three-hour movie. Might as well savor it, right?"

Keizo doesn't agree, but he groans, leaning even further in his seat. You resume your pattern of sucking him inch by inch, then going a little faster throughout the next twenty minutes. Over and over, Keizo's hands and feet betray his impending orgasm, and each time, you find the willpower to stop.

"...Every dog has his day."

The cock in your hands twitches violently, threatening to erupt with each stroke, each breath, each kiss. But you torture him anyway, smiling even though he can't see you in the darkness.

Finally, Keizo's arms are shaking from restraining himself for so long. His right leg is jumping, and there's very little stopping him from cumming except maybe focusing on the movie. But his thoughts are a blur. All he can think about is cumming. If someone walked in, he'd cum in your mouth anyway, keeping his gaze on the intruder as he did so. But no one comes to rescue him from the torment.

"Ready?" Your voice lifts above the din of the movie, the ra-ta-tat of the guns, the snorting noises, and so many other nuisances. Keizo nods quickly, blood rushing straight to his cock in an attempt to prepare for... whatever.

You don't even speak as you gag on his cock liberally, the sounds of the movie overshadowing your blessed dedication to his pleasure. "Oh shit," Keizo gasps, feeling his toes curl. You place a hand on his stomach, and suddenly, it's over for him.

Hot white flashes burst in front of his eyes, and you feel every single throb and twitch of his cock dumping a massive load of cum into your mouth. You swallow and swallow, but it doesn't seem like there's any end in sight until Keizo chokes out a pained grunt, squeezing his eyes shut and angling his hips a little higher.

Once he begins to go soft, you lick at him a few times, making sure you've cleaned up every single drop. Keizo's hand cups your chin and brings you up for a long, wet kiss to seal the events of the morning.

He tenderly tucks himself back into his pants and sighs, his eyes fluttering.

"Fucking hell," he breathes as you wipe your mouth. "This needs to be a monthly thing."

"Next time it's your turn," is all you say, standing up before the movie's even over.

"Where are you going?" Keizo wonders, standing up despite his confusion.

"I've already seen this movie," you admit brazenly. "Not really a second-time watch for me, though." Keizo's unsure of how to reply, but he follows you anyway, taking your hand in the dark movie theater and guiding you down the stairs, like any gentleman should.

[focsle]

hello! i have a question: what draws you to whaling and that specific era of time in history? how long has it been an interest of yours?

Oh a much too big question for me to answer adequately in one ask. I’ve written tens of thousands of words on this history and the specific points of it that draw me. I’m pouring years of my life into a 400+ page comic about it. Catch me at 3am talking about reincarnation and how much I feel this all caught up in my soul-stuff. This will not be an answer that fully does my feelings justice. But I’ll link to some of my writings in this response that maybe do that better.

I’ve been deeply researching this history for over a decade, but I’ve always had a nautical bent to my childhood that probably sparked it. My grandfather was a Navy man. His house was covered in weird pirate sculptures and little creatures and art pieces he made out of shells and I think I inherited my sense of aesthetics from him. My mum was drawn to sea stories and things of that nature that was probably passed on to me in some way. Like most kids that sea bent manifested in an early interest in pirates, (tho the brief moby dick section of The Pagemaster was formative…it’s funny, I didn’t read Moby Dick until several years into my deeper dive into this history and then I was like ‘ohhhh….melville gets it). Learning about the Globe mutiny many years ago was a big spark to diving more specifically into said history. I first read a book about it where the writer’s (what I now consider, wobbly) thesis was that it was something about the industry itself that generated something within the perpetrator to choose a whaleship for premeditated slaughter, and the story was so rattling to me that I wanted to know what it was about that world that drove someone to something like that.

But instead I found a world that had so much humanity in it. It was one with a unique and isolated society that was unlike any other social sphere. Years on a ship that was a floating home, a floating factory, that had a relationship to the sea in a way that even other maritime trades did not. Fishing had/has some similarities, but not for the same isolating length or uniquely horrific and gruesome labor that whaling voyages held. The merchant trade had briefer voyages on more expected and well-trod routes. Even piracy followed the shipping lines of humanity more than anything else. With whaling your only destination was the sea, in a longer reach as the whaling grounds depleted and the industry stretched on to bring people to further and lonelier places. Where men would briefly touch land maybe every six months, and have liberty in port maybe even fewer times than that. That they were to go out there, and they weren’t to come back until they got enough oil to make the voyage worth it. It was an industry that drew men of so many different backgrounds and motivations, but the common thread tended to be that they were all very young, and that many of them were trying to find something in themselves or for themselves. An industry full of contradictions that I feel is most poetically expressed in scrimshaw, and one of the few places to see a preserved piece of art from an ordinary man. To see a small window into his emotional world and where his heart was in those long stretches of boredom. It was a space of brutal work, demoralizing work, and repulsive work, one where death was a constant shadow for both men and whales in a way that their lives were always inseparably on the same uncertain coin. But within that world, maybe despite that world, there was also a great deal of humanity, be it their music and sense of play, their whaler-specific social functions, their vulnerability. 

That whaling history luxuriously is a field where the words of hundreds of ordinary working class men have been preserved in diaries and logbooks means I get to know so many of them beyond statistics or names in a database. I get to learn about them on a personal level. I know what they worry about, what their favorite foods are, who they care about, when they have fun, when they’re miserable, sometimes what they find sexy, what makes them cry, and what makes them laugh, and what sort of man they hoped to be. In some of them I was reminded so much of myself, but in all of them I saw their unique and individual humanity, for better or for worse. So many of them carried a societal self consciousness within them that made me understand and feel for them. They often weren’t sure where they fit in a world that wasn’t a whaleship, even if that whaleship was a point of great hardship for them. So many of them wanted to be remembered in ways that they necessarily weren’t—few of them became historically important men, many of them died young or didn’t live to see home again, many of them may not have felt like they had anyone who cared about them, but they all had an existence they still clung to, that I feel compelled to try to honor and remember because I feel so much of them within me through that common thread of humanity.

This is a long answer, but as I said I still can’t express this in any way that isn’t shallow in this small space I have. It’s an interest that is both a personal, academic, and daresay spiritual one. I think to fully understand what draws me to it, you just gotta continually lurk in my awhalin tag and that ongoing comic of mine @goingtoweather. But hopefully this is a satisfying enough summary.

[thedruzy]

Judas “JD”

So I got to draw a serial killer oc with some friends 😀 fun right?

Here’s his lore:

Judas grew up in a home where perfection was everything. His parents were highly respected in their community. From the outside, their family seemed flawless, but behind closed doors, Judas witnessed the carefully hidden cracks. His father had a series of affairs, masked by his charm and impeccable reputation. His mother, aware but complicit, kept up appearances to maintain their family’s status, and this silent agreement between them taught Judas early on that people are never who they seem.

As a child, Judas learned to observe everything. His father’s flirtations, his mother’s forced smiles, and the cold indifference between them when no one else was watching—it was a twisted education in human nature. Judas became fascinated by the hidden flaws in people, the secret lives they lived while pretending everything was fine. He honed his ability to read people, understanding their actions, lies, and weaknesses with chilling accuracy. His skill at reading human behavior became second nature, and by the time he was an adult, he could seamlessly blend into any situation, becoming whoever people wanted him to be.

In school, Judas was unassuming, yet highly perceptive. He excelled academically and socially, all the while harboring an internal disgust for the masks people wore. Relationships, to him, were nothing more than charades—performances that hid people's real motives and desires. This view of human nature only deepened as Judas grew older and became a couples counselor, where his ability to deconstruct relationships made him exceptional at his job. But his fascination with infidelity slowly turned into an obsession.

Just before he spiraled into his darker tendencies, Judas met someone who changed everything—Daemon. For the first time in his life, Judas couldn’t see any flaws. Daemon's color palette was perfect, without the disastrous combinations that Judas had always observed in others. They started dating, and for two years, Judas allowed himself to believe in Daemon’s perfection, in the idea that maybe, just maybe, someone could be genuine. Judas, the expert in reading human behavior, finally let his guard down.

But one day, everything shattered. Judas caught Daemon cheating with a woman, and the revelation was earth-shattering. How could he have missed it? How could Daemon, who seemed flawless, betray him like everyone else? Judas spiraled into a breakdown, his carefully constructed world of control collapsing. In a fit of rage, he destroyed everything in their shared apartment, consumed by the overwhelming sense of betrayal.

When Daemon came home that night, Judas was waiting. He ambushed him, held him at knife point, and forced him to kneel. Desperate for answers, Judas asked Daemon why—why had he betrayed him? How had he evaded Judas’ perception for so long? But Daemon, clueless about Judas’ inner turmoil, did what Judas feared most—he lied. He denied everything, the same way every person Judas had ever observed lied to their loved ones. Daemon's lies confirmed everything Judas had always believed: people can never be trusted.

In that moment, something snapped. Judas couldn’t let Daemon’s betrayal go unanswered. He watched Daemon's face, searching for some sign of truth, but all he saw were more lies. Without another word, Judas slit Daemon’s throat, watching him bleed out as he let go of the last shred of faith he had in human honesty.

This was the moment that changed Judas forever. Daemon had been his one exception, the one person who Judas thought was pure. But that purity was an illusion, and with Daemon’s death, Judas embraced the darkness he had always sensed in people. No longer content with merely understanding human nature, Judas became determined to expose it. The world, he decided, was full of liars hiding behind masks, and he would reveal their truth in the only way he knew how—by painting their essence after taking their lives.

Judas began to seek out people like Daemon—unfaithful, deceitful partners—seducing them, manipulating them, and eventually killing them. But he didn't stop there. He captured their flaws on canvas, painting their unique color palettes while smudging out their faces to erase the lies they had lived. Each painting was a testament to their hidden nature, displayed publicly as a way to humiliate them and show the world their true selves.

Daemon’s betrayal was the catalyst that turned Judas into a killer, but it was also his last emotional connection. From that point forward, Judas saw the world through a detached, analytical lens, finding satisfaction only in his art and in exposing the lies of others.

[urne-buriall]

so I remember the outage at Kate in this update the first time around. she's a nurse and should know better than to tell John what Dean said, especially when Dean is stuck in this very isolated place with him. and that's all true, she should know

but we don't know how exactly the conversation started. there's just one clue for us: Dean's been working in the barn for some time before he decides to pick up the phone and call Cas. he hasn't heard the phone ring, or he might wonder about the line being in use

this tells us that John called Kate, not the other way around

the rest below a cut because it's what I think, but it's not in the text for a few reasons, and as is my calling, it just makes things complicated with no black or white resolution

John called Kate. not because he knows anything has gone on, just to have a chat. his kid just stormed out and it's time to work on his other family, where he can start fresh. (Sam called it in his last scene. he's astute that way.) but this means Kate's plan to take some time and think about everything she just learned goes out the window. not ready to talk to John, she probably tried to get off the line, but he needled. picked up there was something off and tried to ask if there was some issue between them (with Sam walking out, a statement of failure on John's part, he's not gonna play the loser twice in a row)

not wanting to draw attention to the fact that there IS an issue, maybe she thought she could be clever. confirm the truth of the surprising things Dean told her. maybe she started by asking about Sam, thinking she'll catch John in a lie. and oh, Sam, he's gone back to school, yeah, they start early there. has John said how proud he is of that kid, how he could get into any college in the world from here? and Adam will be a smart one like Sam, no doubt about it, and go to a smartypants school too, or whatever school Kate wants him in. it's hard when the kids are far from home but at least Dean's stayed close by and John's always got him for the farm, he's invaluable for that

and this is. not what she expected. during her visit, they seemed like such a put-together household, which is what John is reflecting now. which is not what Dean said over the phone. and I think she's still cautious, but now she's confused, and she tries asking another canny question but she slips up. it wouldn't take much to trigger John's suspicion, and he has one goal, which is: don't lose Kate

and he says he can tell something's the matter and she tries to say there isn't and that's when we get into the kind of back and forth where John is playing to his strength. hell, he'd even offer to hang up and give her some time, but in a way that now she's the one apologizing (just like Dean apologizes in another scene, when he isn't the one who should be saying sorry). and when he asks what's changed she admits she had a strange call from Dean and she doesn't know what to make of it. she still doesn't intend to say anything about the content of that call, but John knows enough. he knows what to ask, what to plant, what to make her question Dean's motives until she is revealing more and he's twisting up her doubts and reflecting them back and insisting Dean's story doesn't add up, which, maybe it doesn't? and this is confusing, upsetting, she doesn't know which way is up, and John is just so certain. has an explanation for everything

by the time the call is ending she's just agreeing with everything John's saying because he's shot down every single other point so efficiently that it seems there's no purpose in searching for exhausting counterarguments with him. and she's confused and defeated. and once she hangs up, she knows less than when she started. she doesn't know if the sick feeling in her stomach is worry that Dean was telling the truth and she's just betrayed him or if it's the distaste of Adam having a half-brother, one he's met and adores, who's a sociopath that would make up anything to keep her away. she's stuck between two realities because she knows someone is lying to her very well but can't tell which one

she doesn't speak to John again, letting his calls go to voicemail. if she thinks about making a tip, she doesn't know who it will help or hurt. a week after this, she gets a call from Dean at a different number. she is partly relieved to hear his voice because she's been concerned she got it all wrong, but also unsure at the start of whether she'll be hearing another fabulation to keep her away

Dean's not looking for sympathy or an apology or any of that. he's not calling to accuse her or even tell her directly of her role in that final fight. he just says that he wanted her to know he's pressing charges with the police, here's the case number and this is Jody's extension, and that if Kate and Adam would like to set up no-contact orders it wouldn't be a bad idea and they could piggy-back off Dean's case. he's applying to be Sam's legal guardian, and he doesn't have a fixed place to stay yet but here's where to write or call. that if it's alright with Kate, he'd like to stay in touch with Adam, even if what they share is a rotten dad

she knows, then. she puts the pieces together and I think that guilt plagues her. she apologizes, desperately apologizes and tries to explain, and Dean goes quiet. then says he knows what his dad is like. he always believed John too. it's not an "I forgive you" but it's a sense of commiseration. he wouldn't wish John on anybody, and everything that happened was done by John, not her

[ja3gerb0mbb]

bloodsucker chapter 2: photograph

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

word count: 3k

content warning: none

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

it was three am when i got back. i had just about enough energy to kick off my shoes, and throw myself onto the bed. my memory is cloudy after watching eren leave. jean probably took me and sasha home; he always does. even with my head feeling like mush,  my mind refused to turn off; i just started at the ceiling. eren was coursing through my thoughts like the alcohol ran through my veins. i kept asking myself why i seemed to care as much as i did. it’s just the draw from having mutual friends, is all  i chalked it up to.  

i flip over my phone next to me, checking the time. 5:42 it read. what the fuck? have i really just been laying here? i unzip my dress, pulling it off, before going to find a t-shirt to wear. for the first time tonight, i slip under the covers of my bed. looking toward my window, i notice it’s raining. nothing new. fall starts early in oregon. 

suddenly, my mind sobers up and my thoughts become clear as day. shivers are sent down my spine, and the hair on my neck seems to stand up. i adjust my position on the bed, sitting up to fully face the window. the dark that covers the earth blocks me from getting a good view, but i can't shake the feeling there are eyes on me yet again. 

the inscent blaring of my alarm woke me up just five hours later. my eyelids felt like they were glued together. today was another literature class. quickly, i threw the warm and comforting sheets off me to get dressed. honestly, the only motivation i had was the allure of eren. would he even show? with his previous track record i wasn’t sure.  

did i even want to see him? after last night.. i didn’t know. his hasty absence felt like it was my fault. but how could that be? we’ve barely spoken to each other, if you could even say that. with the damp whether, i opted for an oversized hoodie and baggy jeans. before leaving the dorm, i grabbed a monster. five hours was not going to be enough after the night i had. 

eren was already sitting down; in the same seat as yesterday. that’s good, right? there were a lot of empty seats, he could’ve just switched if he really wanted to. or he just didn’t care enough to. i carefully made my way up the steps, once again hyper aware of my body. overthinking is such a bitch. i pulled the chair beside him out, and he made no move. his eyes stayed trained on the front of the room.

“you were at reiner’s party,” it was more of a statement i spoke. i didn’t like his attitude towards me; but maybe he just needed to warm up to people. he briefly tipped his head in my direction, but his eyes made no contact with mine, “so were you,” his voice has lost all of the husk from yesterday. as i was about to make a snide remark, ackerman had walked into the room. still, eren didn’t seem to be in a talking mood. ever apparently. 

throughout the lecture, i found myself sneaking constant glances at the boy next to me, again. instead of being tied back, his hair was down and fell around his face. but he wore the same look on his face; exhausted. eventually i tuned back into the lecture when i heard “project.”

“-- research paper on the anglo saxon’s work. you can pick any you want, but you will be doing this with a partner since i will be expecting fifteen pages minimum,” groans were heard around the classroom. i glanced over at eren, who had no change in facial expression despite the hefty assignment just given. did he already know of someone he was going to work with? fuck. i looked around the room at my classmates for the first time to scope out my options. definitely not floch, i thought as i spotted his orange hair. 

when class ended, i took one more glance at eren who showed no acknowledgement towards me before making my way out of class. i decided decompressing with jean would lighten the brick in my stomach and changed directions to the dorms on the southside of campus. a few moments later, i felt a hand on my shoulder through my jacket, and turned toward it, slightly stunned. looking into my eyes were the green ones that belonged to eren. my eyes widened, and he didn’t make a move to say anything, almost as if grabbing me caught him off guard too. 

“do you already have a partner?” he asked with a huff, annoyed almost. “um, no,” i responded. 

“then you’ll do it with me,” he demanded with a flat tone. “your dorm or the library,” he asked but neither felt like he was granting me the option. i didn’t feel comfortable working in libraries; too many distractions which might work out well in this case. i contradicted myself by saying “dorm,” anyway. he tilted his head down in agreement, and he turned around. a few seconds later, i blinked and he was gone. i was taken aback, and fervently searched my surroundings: right, left, behind. but he was gone. 

he might’ve been a total ass, but i couldn’t keep the butterflies from fluttering in my chest. there was something about him that allured me. i shook my head in an attempt to scatter the feelings. before i could start walking again, my phone went off.

727 xxx xxx:

it’s eren

you:

hi eren

eren >:(

when did you wanna start

you:

does tmrw work?

eren >:(

yeah, 2pm ?

you liked a message

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the light outside slowly started to become dimmer as the sun set. jean’s dorm always had the best sunset views. with the ‘flannel’ candle burning, the ambiance in the room was almost romantic. but the sounds of ghasts growling on the monitor definitely ruined it. we played minecraft frequently, and tonight was no different. 

“fuck!” i yelled, “fucking skeletons keep killing me!” i lightly threw the controller in front of me. it had already been the third time i was killed in the nether, and i was over it. i got up from jean’s bed, pacing around the room. “can you chill? you’re worse than connie,” jean teased me. i rolled my eyes, and started fiddling with random things around his room. jean was used to me  snooping, but this time something new was in his nightstand when i opened the drawer. 

it was a picture of two boys. for a second the sounds from the monitor and clicking controller went silent as i realized it was jean. and the other boy eren. they both looked so different, it might’ve been taken as far back as high school.

jean was skinner, and his hair was shorter and styled differently. he still looked like himself. i couldn’t say the same for eren. instead of hair long enough to tie back, he had an undercut. jean still had a few inches on him in this picture, but the biggest change was his face. it was fuller, and there was a light in his eyes he was missing nowadays. his smile reached from ear to ear. i’ve never seen him smile… the picture was cut short by a torn edge on the left side. like someone had ripped it in half. 

“why so silent,” jean asked, taking a quick glance over, paying half attention. he did a double take, this time actually looking at what i was holding. “damn y/n, always a snoop, don’t touch that,” he said, peeling the picture from my hands. he walked it to the other side of the room, placing it in his wardrobe this time. “sorry,” i started. looking up at him, jean was staring at the floor.

“i didn’t know you were friends. i thought you guys hated each other.” his response came quick, “we do.” jean didn’t want to talk about it, but i did. anytime the group mentioned eren, jean was tightlipped. the only remarks he made ridiculed eren; i figured they never got along. 

“so.. what happened?” i asked. he looked over at me this time; his eyes were sad, blank. just like erens. he took a deep breath in, and let it out long before he responded to me. “he fooled around with historia our first year here. and you know historia,” i laughed though my nose. 

“then we started fooling around. i didn’t think it was a big deal. at least, eren never made it seem like he and historia were a big deal. i still don’t think they were, but he got so mad at me.” the sadness had returned to jean’s eyes. “we got into a fight, and before either of us tried to make amends, he was just… gone. no one heard anything from him for a whole fucking year. we all just assumed he was in love with historia and couldn’t take it.” he was staring at the floor again. i walked the distance to him, crawling over the bed. “i’m sorry jean-boy,” teasing him to lighten the mood. 

my hands were wrapped around his torso in a half hug. jean pushed me off, “fuck you,” he laughed out. he reached his hand out to mess up my hair before saying, “stay away from jaeger, y/n. he’s not like he used to be.” it didn’t come as a surprise; even i could tell something was off. 

he walked away, grabbing the controller i threw earlier, and shoved it back into my hands. “come on, i need help getting blaze rods,” he said with a light smile. i went back to playing the game, but i wasn’t really paying attention as i mulled over jean’s story the rest of the night. it made sense; in theory. but historia was never one to get serious with anyone at all. even ymir; they have a complicated ‘relationship.’ it was hard to imagine the eren i knew falling in love that like, but people change i guess. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the next day, school work started to pile up. after procrastinating for the first few days, i had a ton of deadlines to meet tonight. a knock at the door drew my attention away from the laptop. i knew i was the only one home, so i went to answer it. behind the door was eren, i can’t believe i fucking forgot! 

i pulled the door wider, inviting him inside, “is it already two?” i became self conscious, knowing i hadn’t bothered to put myself together today. “yeah, is it not a good time?,” his voice finally displayed some sort of emotion. he raked his eyes across my face, i diverted my gaze down in response. 

“no it’s fine, just set up on the table,” i point to the sorry excuse we had for a dining table. it was an old beer table from reiner we set up while waiting for our furniture to ship. i made my way back to my room to get materials for the projects. did i give him my dorm number? the question nagged at the back of my mind. i blurted the thought out. he gazed over at me, keeping his features and tone even and dull, “i asked sasha.”

“oh,” was all i said. my feelings were.. hurt? maybe he texted me and i didn’t see it in time? maybe he didn’t want to bother me? it was easier to come up with excuses than face the fact that he would rather text my roommate for our number than me. whatever. 

i pretended to know what i was flipping the pages of my book for. “any ideas on what text we should analyze?” he asked while tying his hair back. his veins popped out on his exposed forearms and i had to adjust the way i was sitting. before responding, i had to swallow the knot in my throat, “i’m not set on anything, maybe judith?”

eren didn’t take his eyes off his laptop. “it’s kinda short for fifteen pages,” he trailed, “i was thinking beowulf.”it surprised me he was taking initiative. his lack of expression led me to believe i would be doing this project all by myself. “beowulf works.”

we worked for a solid two hours; rereading the text and forming our ideas on themes. he might’ve been putting in effort, but it was strictly school related. don’t complain, i tried to convince myself it was okay he didn’t make it personal. even with all the time we had spent, we weren’t close to finishing. “do you want to take a coffee break?” i asked, “there’s a dutch right down the street.” 

“sure, my car?” i nodded as we made our way out the door. i wasn’t expecting him to walk toward the all blank bmw m4. damn. eren made his way to the passenger door, and to my surprise, opened it. the gesture was sweet, but his face showed a veil of annoyance. the car’s inside was pristine; like no one had ever even driven it before. it’s not what i would’ve expected from him. 

the short drive there would’ve been silent if not for the music playing. fidgeting with my fingers was the only thing that seemed to pass the time; too scared to really say anything to him. he reached his hand over, turning the volume dial down, “what do you want?”

“blended redbull,” i spoke, my voice scratchy from barely using it the whole day. he nodded and placed our orders with the overly-friendly dutch employees (ifykyk). when he handed my drink over, i had the courage to talk while the music was still down. “thanks…”

“you’re not much of a talker,” i realized how rude it sounded as soon as i said it, and it was confirmed when he shot a glare my way. “you aren’t either,” he sipped from his latte. “yeah, because you don’t seem to want to talk to me.”

“i don’t want to talk to anyone,” eren’s gaze was back on the road. his features were still, but i noticed his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. it must’ve been a pretty hard grip since his arm muscles started to flex with the pressure. 

“geez..” i scoffed, “any reason, or just not a people person,” the taunt was light, but it was there. 

“i have to have a reason?” he phrased it as a statement. logic told me this was just how eren was. but my mind kept making up its own excuses; telling me he just has something against me. “is it because i’m friends with jean?’

“what?” he seemed genuinely surprised by my asking. “do you not talk to me because i’m friends with jean?” i reiterated. 

he looked away from the road, back into my eyes. i could see the fire in them now. i was pissing him off, “why would jean have anything to do with that?”

“he’s the reason you left, no?” i presumed. jean wouldn’t lie to me, and he sounded sincere. “no. he’s not.” eren’s answer was definitive. bringing his gaze back on the road once more, his jaw ticked shut. it somehow became even sharper, and i could faintly hear the grinding of his teeth. i took that as my sign to shut the fuck up. whatever was going on was bigger than me, bigger than our friends. 

the car made a sharp turn back in the parking lot. eren pulled into a spot with his foot still on the accelerator. he slammed on the breaks, and shoved the gear shift in park. his movements were fast and angry, but not aggressive. just rushed. like he wanted to be anywhere but here. with me. eren opened his door, exiting the car so i mimicked his movements. we made our way back to my dorm, but he led the way as if it were his own we were going back to. 

grabbing his things, he didn’t bother to pack them. just grabbed them within his arms, “we’ll finish it another day,” once again he left no room for disagreement. “i’m sorry, i didn-”

“don’t apologize.” he shot me a look of what looked like disgust. his face had gone back to being blank, but his eyes were still blazing. they had life in them again, but this time it wasn’t happiness that awakened it like the picture with jean. eren was out the door in a split second, the sound of the door closing was the only thing my mind registered. i stood in the living room in the dim light, in awe for a few moments. he gets set off easily.. i guess. i might be able to pry with my friends, but it was off limits around eren.

maybe it’s fucked up to be happy that i made him angry. but that’s what i was. i finally got something out of him that wasn’t entirely emotionless. it proved he was even human. the feeling didn’t last long; he crumbled everything i thought i knew about the situation regarding his disappearance. now i was no closer to figuring it out than when i met him. it doesn’t matter, i kept repeating to myself, trying desperately to believe it. i still had a night full of deadlines; so i pushed my emotions as far down as they would go and focused on what was real and in front of me. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

spotify playlist

[artificialgrinder]

I feel like I've lost my passions...

I remember 5 years ago being on a boat, travelling to University. It was night time, no one was around. My Da and sister were up in their cabin trying to sleep. But it was far too early for me to be sleeping. I mean, I was used to staying up late and writing. Because it was exciting. I didn't know when to stop. So there was me, on the boat, in the empty kids play area, hiding in a tunnel to write.

Such a core memory.

Every job I've had - save my current - I'd often write during breaks....and maybe sometimes when I was supposed to be working. I was committed. I needed the world to read the story I've worked so hard on.

Two years ago, Christmas 2022, I woke up at 6AM to write instead of laying on until 8AM and getting up to open presents. And even later after Christmas Dinner, while we were watching movies, I was writing.

I completed NaNoWriMo 2022. It made me excited for NaNoWriMo 2023....

But I didn't partake this time.

I set up my goals, made the projects...but never felt the motivation.

So yeah, I feel like I've lost motivation to write all together. And I don't know if its my executive dysfunction or just general laziness, but whatever it is, I hate it.

I want to see Drag or Die to the very end. Of all the fanfics I've ever written, this one is my baby. I have been working on this story for half a decade now, how can I not adore this stupid story I've created about my favourite Drag Queens?

But I'm just so afraid that I'll leave the procrastination to go on way too long, and by the time Drag or Die 10 is posted completely, I still wont be done Drag or Die 11. And then I'll just let readers down. I know there is not many of you but idc about numbers, it just means a lot already that I even have readers.

You know what though? I was in a job for 2 full years, only to end up getting gaslit daily, so I left. And that was the job I would write a lot in. Then I went to be a housekeeper, so no time at all to write. And by the time I got home, I'd be too exhausted to do any writing.

And now I'm that used to it I just don't feel motivated at all anymore.

So yeah, I blame that bastardin' hotel. lol

On a lighter note, I've started drawing again. So it seems the creative juices are slowly starting to brew again. Fingers crossed.

Also I want to point out this is nothing to do with views or traffic to the fic. When I mean I don't have motivation to write anymore, it's not just Drag or Die. There are 2 other stories too. And like I said, I already love the fact there are people who read it.

Anyway TLDR: I used to love writing but a hotel made me lost motivation.

Advice please?

[amplesalty]

Christmas 2022 - Day 2 - Home Alone: The Holiday Heist (2012)

On t he second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

...two thousand dollars worth of tools!

Oh hey, we’ve reached the point where they got embarrassed about the number of sequels they were making. We took a diversion last year to look at the newest entry in the franchise, Home Sweet Home Alone, but we’re going back into the archives now to check out the last new to me entry actually set at Christmas. I’ve never seen 3 but I know that’s not set at Christmas and doesn’t involve the McAllisters either but maybe I’ll look at that one day as a random review just for the sake of completeness. With this coming out in 2012, it almost sort of maybe looks like they’re going for a ‘once a generation’ thing where they draw in one bunch of kids, then hit the next batch when the others have grown up. I mean, you had the original and the sequel at the beginning of the 90’s, 3 came out mid-to-late 90’s, then 4 was early noughties, now this one in the early tens and finally HSHA in 2021. At this rate I suppose we can look forward to the next entry in the early 2030’s. Maybe by then it’ll be set on a terraformed Mars.

I don’t know why but I’ve somehow always managed to misjudge this art for the film. I think something about the hair looking floppy made me think he was a spoilt little rich kid. Plus what is quite plainly a hoodie I’d somehow seen as like a blazer of sorts with a tie. I can only assume I only ever glanced at this and didn’t pay too much attention because boy is that ever a wide of the mark assessment. Indeed, this is the story of your average American family with 2.4 kids who have moved all the way from California to Maine in aid of mom’s new job.

At least he’s doing the whole ‘scream’ thing here to immediately remind you of the old movies. They even mention the painting at one point and the kids get oddly embarrassed at their parents doing the pose. I don’t know if he’s really selling fear here though, he just looks slightly appalled by something.

Fittingly for Maine the house is allegedly haunted by the spirit of an old timey bootlegger but we’re not exactly going into Stephen King territory here. It does give extra reason for our young protagonist, Finn (played by Christian Martyn), to be scared senseless but he doesn’t exactly need any help since he’s pretty much scared of his own shadow most of the time. It’s also the motivation for our obligatory gang of baddies as they plan to steal a painting which is said to reside in the house.

And hey, there are actual recognisable people in these roles again! Malcolm McDowell makes another appearance on our Christmas list, this time as the ringleader Sinclair. Alongside him he has Jessica played by Debi Mazar who sort of looks familiar but I don’t think that’s down to some of the more logical places I would have seen her like Goodfellas or Empire Records. She’s apparently Madonna’s bestie as well and she’s been in a whole bunch of her videos.

Maybe it’s because she looks like she’s come straight out of that Jim Carrey Grinch movie at one point. Definite Who vibe off her here. Plus there’s Eddie Steeples who was ‘Crab Man’ Darnell Turner on My Name is Earl and was also in Would You Rather that I watched during Halloween a year or two back.

Say what you will about these sequels being cash ins but they put their hand in their pocket sometimes to get people you might actually know. Granted, McDowell is very much a working actor and whilst thoughts do obviously turn to A Clockwork Orange, you can just as easily find him providing voice work to Pinocchio 3000 (okay that sounds stupid and I kinda want to see it) or Tom and Jerry Meet Sherlock Holmes (...same) so it’s probably not an amazing ‘get’ but I imagine he doesn’t come cheap.

Another recognisable face is Edward Asner who just feels destined to turn up in so many Christmas films. I swear it’s either him or the goddamned Northen Lights. At least he’s not playing Santa this time. It’s kind of a weird performance because he’s hosting this Christmas party and the mum is his new hire, only they’re trying to play him off as being massively drunk but it’s not that far removed from just being a vaguely senile old man.

The whole former bootlegger house does very nearly come close to giving this movie a gimmick and some sort of identity as pretty early on Finn inadvertently finds a hidden safe in the basement. Eventually he and his sister find out that it has a hidden wall that has a speakeasy behind it which, when his sister tries to steal a bottle of alcohol, triggers the door to shut behind her and lock her in. The idea of the house itself having these sort of traps built in and leftover from it’s former occupant would’ve been a new dynamic and you could potentially have moments of peril from Finn accidently finding himself on the wrong end of one. But it doesn’t really come up so we’re just left with the results of Finn’s imagination; icing up the front porch (a classic), pouring oil over people or baking poisoned cookies full of hot sauce. Hey, Home Sweet Home Alone took that one! That movie has clearly sunk to a new low if it’s having to rip off this movie. Thinking about it though, the kid in these movies is meant to be the viewer analogue, the little boys and girls watching at home are meant to be able to imagine themselves being the one setting the traps and getting their own back on all the mean grownups so it doesn’t exactly work if the kid isn’t the one actively setting the traps.

His big secret weapon is the power of sexual harassment as Jessica gets stuck in a window trying to break in so, when he two partners in crime try to pull her out, Finn keeps firing things at her that smack her on the arse and makes her think the guys are trying to cop a feel. A swift mule kick to the nards sorts them right out though. I don’t know if I want to run the risk of upsetting the moderation bots of Tumblr again though in order to show you, I’m not sure what the party line is on a nice bottom.

The traps feel a little tame in comparison to the other movies, especially when you consider the multiple times Kevin nearly killed the Wet/Sticky bandits with blunt force trauma, electrocution, burning, falls, Birdemic... Honestly, the most violent act isn’t even directed at the bad guys, it’s when he’s convinced the house is haunted so tries to collect evidence and ends up shooting his own Father with a taser. I know these kids are shown to be resourceful in these movies but where did he get that from?!It’s like the reverse Chekhov’s Gun as it never shows up again.

Or when this one guy pretty much gets Swatted and maced by about a dozen cops.  See, there’s this whole subplot where Finn just wants to play videogames and not make any actual real life friends, only it comes across vaguely weird when the one guy he’s talking to online is this one dude in like his mid 20’s. Finn kinda has this whole borderline social issue though as he seems geniunely anxious at the thought of any human interaction with his peers. His sister is portrayed as being obssesed with her phone so it’s very much the type of writing you expect from that relatively early period of smart phones where adults are complaining about how their kids just wont get off the dang cell phone or those violent viddy games!

Then there’s this whole scene where Finn tells the guy they’re being robbed so he hacks Finn’s gamertag, gets his mum’s mobile number from the account details and calls her to tell her what’s happening. Only it turns into this whole misunderstanding where she thinks he’s grooming her son and has her daughter locked in the basement. Oh, noncing and child abuse, what japes we have.

Honestly, this one wasn’t too bad. It’s massively derivative and there’s no reason to watch it over 1 or 2 but it’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s just a very safe rehash that makes absolutely no attempt to try and stray from the formula, it just settles into the well worn arse groove that the original movie and the sequel already made and is quite content with that. It’s just the same movie but adjusted 20 years down the line with some new possibilities thanks to the advancement of technology.  Still, because it’s giving itself such a low bar it didn’t really come across as making any massively glaring faults. Whereas last year I think Home Sweet Home Alone kind of forgot it even was a Home Alone movie for large portions so it’s a lot easier to pick fault with it. Maybe that one just set some low expectations for me that this one was able to meet.

It’s not to say there aren’t problems. Like Finn is just a massive dweeb who seems to have this sad look on his face the entire movie. Plus, him being scared borders on the ridiciousless on occasions. Like there’s one moment where he manages to run screaming out of the secret room, through the basement, up the stairs, through the kitchen, up another flight of stairs, into his room, throw off the covers and then dive under them. It feels like one of those jokes where someone is falling for a really long time so they have to stop to breathe before starting to scream again. Granted, Kevin was pretty scared in the first movie but he was a good couple of years younger, was actively left alone for days on end rather then just a couple of hours whilst his parents went to a party and the Wet Bandits were a lot more intimidating the guy guys on show here.  These guys are only interested in the painting and even when they do discover Finn and his sister, they just try to keep them out of the way. The Bandits though, they took that shit seriously when Kevin was fighting back against them and you really did think they were going to kill him before Old Man Marley showed up with that snow shovel. I suppose this is a kids movie after all though and you’ve got to keep the menace and fear to a minimum.

[call-me-copycat]

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

I have a couple of WIPs that I haven't finished, but I've noticed that I tend to joke around especially when it comes to writing Dadzawa and Shinso along with Midnight and Mic.

This is a couple of excerpts from my series "Escaping the Night", it's an X Reader where the reader is a vigilante that just got taken in by Aizawa. I just found it a little funny because I accidentally made Aizawa a little awkward at first (and I only found out after re-reading it)

"First things first, he had to find a way to make you comfortable since you were most likely going to feel isolated, not knowing anyone or anything that surrounded you. He remembered how he felt when he was younger, leaving home early and pursuing a life of justice. It would've been worse if he was alone, but he had his good friend Yamada with him, so he wasn't entirely isolated... Like you are now.

'Where are we going?'

He was brought back to reality when you spoke up suddenly, voice as monotone as ever, and he realized that he had walked past the apartment complex during his moment of thinking, and you had followed him just as you were instructed to.

He sighed before making a circle in the air with his index finger pointing to the sky and muttering "back around" before promptly turning 180 degrees.

You snorted a bit, but quickly covered it by clearing your throat when given a look by the man you were instructed to follow."

There were a few more instances like this, but if anyone wants to read it then the link for my masterlist is in my pinned post ( ⑉¯ ꇴ ¯⑉ )

Has there ever been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

Hmm, normally I believe I try to do everything I can to give my readers the easiest reading experience possible (including drawing pictures so they'd better understand things, but I suppose I can count this one instance where I got a fic request for a Reader that has a friend who died and sought out revenge.

Normally in most fics, I've seen authors glaze over characters that they have to create and they often have no motivation or personality. However I wanted this character to have a purpose so I spent quite an amount of time setting him up so the audience would feel more attached and also so the sting of his Death would also hurt a little more. I don't know, maybe it'd also have helped the audience to see things from the Reader's point of view more? It's not out yet anyways, but it will be soon ⸜( ˶'ᵕ'˶)⸝♡

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Thank you so much for the ask! I really appreciate it and I love answering these! I hope I didn't confuse or disappoint anyone tho >⁠.⁠<

Wishing you well! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)